#if you’re thinking about it……maybe just do it. if you have an extra twenty bucks lying around why not?

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Husk with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario

warnings: aged-up!reader [early to late twenties], spoilers for episode 4 to the season finale, mentions of physical abuse and attempted drugging, violence, Husk's language, dismemberment, mentions of cannibalism.

Hey guys, and welcome to another Hazbin Hotel fics, this time featuring our grumpy bartender and one of my favorite characters, Husk! :) This is a collaborated project with not just @isuckatwritingsobenice, but also with @vikkirosko, @witch-of-the-writing-desk, and @riddle-simp, who gave me honest feedback on the rough drafts and how to make it the best fic I could create before sharing it with the world.

If you would like to see more of Husk x Violet, please do let me know know in the comments section or as an ask! Like always, bullying is not tolerated here so if there is any implication of it happening here, this scenario will be taken down immediately. If you have nothing nice to say, do not say it at all.

With that being said, sit back, relax, and let's see who will win the full house at the card tables tonight :)

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Husk isn’t gonna deny it. It ain’t like him to deny the truth when it’s staring at him right in the fucking face. He thinks you are a little bit of an oddball. You don’t smile, you wear the same outfit every day, and you don’t eat much either unless Niffty practically drags you to the staff’s dining room from wherever she found you hiding. Normally, it’s one of two places: out in the backyard, or the greenhouse, because you’re the hotel’s groundskeeper. And that was on your days off.

 Like Angel, you worked for an overlord, but your boss wasn’t that shitbag Valentino or Vox or Velvette. Your boss is Rosie, the owner of Rosie’s Emporium in the Cannibal Colony. You were her personal secretary. You had been on her payroll for over ten years, working from nine to five unless you had to stay later. She did not seem to mind you staying at the hotel so long as it did not affect her reputation or your work ethic in any way. 

So far you’ve kept your word. Alastor actually seemed to be happy that you were around. 

Maybe. Husk couldn’t fucking tell what that son of a bitch is thinking anymore. But back to you. 

You, who believed in Charlie’s work.

You, who participated in each activity and helped around without getting paid for your time.

You, the expressionless ex-military soldier, has been on his mind recently and he did not like it. 

He lost the ability to feel anything years ago. 

Nonetheless he continued to observe you from afar. When you weren’t busy with watering plants, you were seen in different parts around the hotel with the others. 

You would sit with the princess in the parlor, comparing ideas on what tomorrow’s group exercise should be, even when the only two ideas you’ve suggested were shot down immediately by Charlie. She didn’t like the idea of group bonding through hand-to-hand combat but loved the concept of showing appreciation to one another through handwritten letters. Vaggie approved the former. The latter? Not so much. 

In the kitchen you would go through the cookbook with Niffty and Alastor, trying to decide on tonight’s dinner.  They allowed you to help out, at least when it didn’t involve cracking eggs. Apparently you were not very good at separating the yolk. 

When Sir Pentious was away from the hotel doing God knows what, he trusted you to look after the Egg Bois until he got back. You kept them busy around the greenhouse though they tended to make a bit of a mess. 

Angel started to work extra late at the studio after his show and tell presentation. Something about making a big commercial and Val wanted to make big bucks on this new product that the Vees were launching in a week. You must have noticed that something was off about him, but you didn’t say anything to him. No words of encouragement, no comforting hand on his shoulder. All you did was clench your gloved hands into fists, watching him leave and…unsure of yourself. What you should do. 

Husk heard you asking Niffty what were some of the kid’s favorite foods about that time, and she was more than happy to help you with whatever it was you needed as long as you left the kitchen sparkling when you were done. You were concerned about the kid. Least from what he could remember. He drank a lot that day. 

When he woke up much later after falling asleep at the bar, hearing your footsteps descend down the grand staircase and towards the kitchen. Groggily, probably stupidly on his part, Husk thought it would be a great idea to know what the fuck you were up to so early in the morning. Turns out you were trying to cook something, judging from how you looked at the ratty cookbook propped up on the counter and the wide array of ingredients spread out. 

He saw you cook  finely chopped onions, garlic, and minced ground meat in the large frying pan on the left side of the stove. You stirred something in a smaller sauce pan on the right side with a wooden spoon. He saw you handle all of the ingredients with great care, placing them in a baking dish  even when you weren’t wearing your leather gloves. A small shudder crawled down his spine at how the kitchen lights bounced off of the adamantium skeletal prosthetics that acted as your hands. 

He didn’t even wanna know how exactly you lost them in the Great War. 

Everything was soon laid out, layer by layer and placed in the oven. He didn’t know he stood there for so long, even when you began to clean up the kitchen with a rag. Time ticked by slowly, and then a delicious aroma tickled his nose even as he took another swing of the half-filled booze bottle he was holding. He was about to leave you alone, knowing you’d be fine when he saw you pull out the dish with your hands and no oven mittens on, you fucking moron! Then his mind remembered something that stopped him from making an entrance. You couldn’t feel anything with your prosthetics, not even as you placed it on the stove top to let it sit. 

A couple of hours later - maybe he can’t keep track of time anymore so it might have been the following morning - he saw you giving Angel a large paper bag every morning before both of you left the hotel, and telling him to have a good day. 

Angel grudgingly thanked you later on that evening when he got back…though did say your garlic bread needed some work. The next day, he gave you a paper bag, telling you to taste real Italian grub and try to replicate it. 

Guess it became a game between the two of you, ‘cause Angel was slowly being someone real and not some fake  whiny bitch. 

As odd as you are….you cared about everyone in your own way, even when the words that came out of your mouth angered someone or made them cry, you tried. You never asked for help unless it was necessary, trying to learn everything on your own. And you were smart, Husk will give you that. 

And he…he doesn’t know if he had the heart to tell you that redemption might not be possible. Unlike him, you still carried a spark of hope. You believe in the princess. He doesn’t want to be the one to see you reach your breaking point, to be dragged into a swamp of despair and get drowned in all sorts of addictions to cope with the pain. He was…anxious. No. He was scared for you. He wanted to help you but he was afraid that by intervening, he would just make matters worse.

It was better to just stick to the sidelines with a bottle of booze and watch everything happen like the bartender Alastor wanted him to be, right? Well, turns out he was wrong. 

One night after he made Angel a drink and called him out on his bullshit for being fake, the whiny little bitch stormed out of the hotel. Vaggie tried to make him go out and bring him out, but Charlie intervened. All she asked him was to make sure that Angel was okay. Do not force him to come back if he isn't ready. Obviously judging from the distraught look on her face, something happened between the princess and Angel. 

Husk did not know what or why, and he really did not want to play the role of a goddamned babysitter. Not when it was actually a slow evening and he didn’t have to hear these fucks bitch and moan for hours on end. But Vaggie’s glare, knowing Alastor would force him to do it because he fucking can and not knowing what would happen if he actually violated the terms of their contract, he left the hotel. The first place he went to were the streets. No luck. And no one had seen him. When he moved his search to the bars, he spotted Angel going inside one of them. 

Long story short, he was going to hang back and just keep an eye on Angel getting drunk off his ass with some shady sharks in a corner booth until he saw one of them pour something into Angel’s drink. He took care of the fucker, got Angel out, and listened to him. Angel Dust was not just an act. It’s who he needs to be. Drinking and getting high is his escape. He wants to be damaged so that he won’t be Val’s favorite toy anymore. 

Then when it seemed like they came to an understanding with a song, those bastards opened fire on the streets, targeting him and wanting Angel to come back to have some ‘fun’. Yeah, fuck no. 

That was when he heard car tires screeching against the asphalt, doors opening and closing with more shouting. Husk gritted his teeth. “Shit.” He turned to Angel. “Stay down. I’ll take care of this.” He pulled out his cards, ready to hop onto the roof of the pink Volkswagen they were hiding when he heard a  shnk, a high pitched squeal, then a gurgle. 

THUD.

Shnk.

THUD.

C-crack.

THUD.

“Who the fuck is this bitch?! Kill her, kill her you stupid asshats!” 

“Holy shit, toots?! The fuck - why is she here?!” Angel cried. Husk raised his brow, craning his head as far as he could without being in range of a bullet to see what was going on. There were only two people Angel called toots and he was pretty damned sure they were back at the hotel, safe and sound. Not one of them blitzing across the street, dodging bullets and slicing enemies down with a hunter’s knife in one hand, a large carpet bag in the other. 

He blinked. Nope. He was sober. Shit. He thought as you weaved between the shitheads, disarming, decapitating, and snapping their necks in no particular order. You weren’t exaggerating when you said you were a weapon for the army.  When he saw a flash of movement from the smaller grunt, twirling a knife and aiming it for your head as you pumped lead into his friend, Husk made his move. Hopping onto top of the car and threw his cards. One cleanly sliced the asshole’s neck. 

He quickly made through the growing crowd, running towards you as he threw some dice into a hammerhead’s mouth. But when he turned his back towards them, he felt something light and strong coil around his neck, cutting off his air supply. 

Fuck. Garroting wire! Husk flailed around  scratching, kicking,  and trying to get loose but the fucker was too damned strong. Black spots began to appear in the corner of his eyes when he felt a white hot stinging pain graze his left cheek, then something warm and sticky with a metallic scent. Blood.

The body behind him dropped, and so did he, yanking the wire off  him and inhaling deep gulps of  precious oxygen. Husk looked up and saw Angel with a shit-eating grin and a Tommy Gun in his upper hands. 

“Eat lead, sucker!” The porn star cackled, firing several more bullets into the corpse and his buddies that were closing in on them. Angel grinned at him, extending a hand to help him up.”I told ya. I can handle myself, baby.” Husk felt a grin stretching his own face as the fella pulled out more weapons with more arms. Well….not something he was expecting. 

Between the three of them, they made quick work with the rest of the gang and their reinforcements. Like him and Angel, you were covered in grime and blood but you were all right. 

“Are you two all right?” You asked as you wiped off the blood from your knife with a handkerchief, the carpet bag by your feet and in pristine condition. “No limbs missing that weren’t missing before you arrived?” 

“Yeah, we’re good.” Angel said, putting away his guns and extra limbs. “More importantly, why the fuck are you out here instead of the hotel?!” He interrogated, his voice lowering an octave as he glared at you, stomping towards you. Before Husk could stop him, Angel grabbed  your cheeks with his hands and pinched them. “You know these streets are dangerous, toots! How many times do Vags and I gotta tell ya?! Come straight home when you’re done with work!” Then he blinked, his face turning white, his eyes widening in horror. “Toots,” He said slowly. “Y-you ain’t hooking up with anyone around here, are ya?!” He yelled, now pulling your cheeks outwards as if you were a cartoon character. 

You didn’t flinch from the cheek pinching or pulling; instead, you looked at him in slightly confusion. “I don’t understand. What does fishing have anything to do with this except that these men were quite literally loan sharks standing outside a nautical-themed bar?” You asked. 

“Toots.” Angel said warningly. “If you don’t give me a straight answer, I swear to fucking God I am going to yeet you off a rooftop.”

“ ‘Yeet’?” You repeated.

“[First Name], just tell us why you’re here.” Husk said, already feeling a headache coming on and in need of a drink. You turned your attention to him, then back at Angel before you spoke.

“Rosie sent me out on a last-minute errand to get fertilizer for her plants. But by the time I got there, the shop was already closed. I was on my way home when I heard the gunshots, and saw the two of you being pinned down. I was not going to leave my comrades behind when I could help them. So I did. And now,” You looked over at the bodies strewn across the street. “I have what I need. Two birds with one stone, as Rosie says.”

“Ya mean ‘kill two birds with one stone’, toots?”

“Yes.”

“So, by fertilizer, ya mean these schmucks that we just totally obliterated.”

“Yes.”

“Food for plants.”

“Carnivorous plants. And if the fertilizer is fresh, the better it is for them. Rosie loves her plants very much.” You said, pulling away from Angel and grabbed the carpet bag off of the ground, walking towards the nearest body. “If you do not want to be here, I suggest you leave quickly.” You knelt down, laying the bag down and opened it, laying out assorted tools. Bone saws, knives, a large roll of plastic wrap, etc. “Rosie says I have gotten much quicker at dismemberment.” You carefully peeled off your gloves, replacing them with gray surgical ones. 

Husk glanced at Angel, eyebrow raised. It seemed like they were thinking the same thing because the latter spoke up with a toothy grin. 

“Baby, I was a mobster long before I was a porn star. ‘Sides, hacking up a body all by yourself is gonna take you all night. Better to have more hands to get the job neater an’ faster, am I right Whiskers?” 

Husk smirked. “Can’t argue with that, Legs. Guess you’re stuck with us until this job is done. You got another bone saw in that bag of yours?” He asked with a grin, somehow…happy to actually be doing this. Who would have thought a new friendship started with cleaning up bodies?

You stared at them for a moment, obviously stunned because you must have thought they’d leave you here alone, before you pulled out two more bone saws and more rubber gloves. Your instructions were simple enough: the severed pieces couldn't be any bigger than your body, and they needed to be wrapped up tightly in the plastic wrapping or else you’d have to pay a hefty cleaning bill to get the blood out of the bottom of the bag. Angel’s extra limbs came in handy for the latter task. Between the three of you, quick work was made with the dead loan sharks and everything was loaded inside the carpet bag, and no one was the wiser. This was Hell, after all. Cannibalism, gun fights, and dismemberment was commonplace in these parts. 

You thanked him and Angel profusely, bowing your head to them before you shyly asked if they would be interested in getting a bite to eat. To Angel’s knowledge, the closest place that is still open late at night is Devil’s Diner, which is half a  block from Jackpot, the casino Husk had owned from his glory days as an overlord. The food wasn’t too bad there, and cheap too. 

Now that he thought about it, Husk had worked up more of an appetite after the fight and so did Angel. Better to do that than trying to cook something and waking up Niffty. So, the three of you went to Devil’s Diner. Of course, you tried to just have a cup of coffee, but neither he nor Angel were having it. Conditioning your body to minimize nutrients to complete a mission, his ass. 

Both he and Angel persuaded you to try the day’s special with some water plus dessert. Whatever you couldn’t finish, get a to-go box. Husk himself ordered a sandwich with chips. Angel got pancakes, sausage, strawberries, and a strong drink because he fucking deserved it. 

Conversation started slow at first, but as the orders were placed and drinks were served by their waiter, words were exchanged, and stories were shared. Angel revealed he had a little brother and more family down here, though he rarely talked to them anymore after getting into the show biz. Husk confessed that he used to be a magician in Las Vegas, showing off a trick with his cards. 

They shared a good laugh over Val’s shitty eyesight. It shouldn’t take thirty minutes to count three bills, but it fucking did for the moth man.

You told them that you were once commissioned to help a playwright finish his newest script after being on a hiatus for many years, but he had been a difficult man to work with because he had no interest in doing anything else except drinking his days away. You had actually acted out a scene on the lake where the hero would journey home to be reunited with her father after vanquishing a monster. That was when you began to understand how grief affects people in different ways…and how your actions affected the people you had killed on the battlefield. People who had families and had one-day wishes that would never be fulfilled because they died by your hand. You are here in Hell because you are, you were, a weapon to be used in war. Reconnecting with people, with your emotions…it’s a lot harder than you thought it would be. 

“That’s what being human is all about.” Husk said. “Ya make mistakes, ya regret the choices ya wish ya would have made, or should’ve made, and ya need to live with it.” He knew that better than anyone. 

“The old timer’s got a point but look at how far you’ve come!” Angel exclaimed, spreading his arms out as he began listing all the good things you have done and accomplished since you came to the hotel, though you still needed to learn how to bake real Italian bread, not just heat up the cheap frozen ones in the oven. Husk silently agreed with him, taking another swing of his whiskey. In the end, you got a to-go box, but Angel said he could take it back with him to the hotel. You still needed to deliver the body parts to your cannibal superior and Husk said he’d go with you. But you insisted that you would be fine on your own, and that he and Angel should get some rest. 

“Rosie will not let me stay long in the emporium with how late it already is. She’s very particular about keeping the lights on after business hours.” You said, the corners of your mouth tugging downwards into a frown as your gaze fell upon his wings. “Husk…you were twitching a little and I heard your spine crack earlier, and your voice sounded a little raspy. I do not know what the cause of your ailments beyond the scuffle with those loan sharks could be because I am not a doctor…but it would be better if you and Angel took it easy for the rest of the night.” 

Keep in mind that Husk had once been an overlord. Yes, he’s been out of the game for a while, he won’t deny it. But he was not going to admit that you might be right.  “There’s nothin’ to worry about, I’ll be fine. If I can handle a fight, taking you where you need to go will be a walk in the park.” He grumbled, ignoring Angel’s snickering. 

He watched you raise your hand, fingers outstretched towards one of his wings, and then you pulled it away to clench your hand into a loose fist. Husk saw your hesitancy isn’t because you were disgusted at the sight of them, or his appearance. Hell, you had more bloodstains on your clothes than him and Angel combined. No. You were hesitating because you were afraid that your touch might hurt him, or make the pain he was feeling worse. 

Husk grinned as he grabbed your wrist, pulling it forward and carefully coiling the gloved fingers around the outer part of the left wing near his forearm to give it a squeeze. “See?” He flexed the muscles. “I’m fine. You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.” It took him a second to realize how impulsive his actions were, seeing how your eyes widened and hearing Angel release a low, teasing whistle, muttering “Kinky~!” under his breath. Great. The kid wasn’t going to let this go, not even after a few drinks. Shit. Fuck. 

He tried to ignore the warmth flooding his face as he kept his gaze on you until you nodded your head, removing your hand from his wing. You were convinced that he was more than fine to accompany you back to Cannibal Colony, at least for the moment. You turned to Angel. “Are you going to be okay, heading back to the hotel on your own?”

Angel smiled toothily. “Toots, you should know me by now. Sex isn’t the only thing I’m good at.” He winked, holding up the to-go boxes as he turned on his heel, waving his extra hands over his shoulder. “See ya back at the bar! Ya still owe me a drink, Husker~!” Now that he left the diner, it was time for the two of you to make your exit. 

You walked down the steps and looked at him. “Ready?”

Husk nodded. “Yeah.” He then held out his paw to you. “Let’s get going.” You nodded, placing your hand in the center of his own, covering the golden-heart shaped paw  before he scooped you up in his arms, one claw under your legs and the other around your shoulders. You stared at him.

“What-”

“Hang on tight.” Husk did not give you a chance to respond, unfurling his wings to their full length before putting all of his weight on his back leg, catapulting the two of you into the crimson skies of the Pride Ring. Walking was fine and all, but as you mentioned, it was already pretty late. Why waste more time when he could fly there? 

So here you were, held like a princess with one arm wrapped around the carpet bag and your hand placed on his shoulder. But instead of screaming your head off or pleading with him to land somewhere, your attention was elsewhere. You were captivated with the multi-colored pin pricks of light down below,  your mouth partly open and [Eye Color] irises widened by a fraction. It was obvious that you hadn’t seen Hell from above. Or maybe you hadn’t traveled by air before. Either way, seeing such an expression on your face, one that wasn’t calm or expressionless like a doll who lived by someone else’s order.

You looked like a living, breathing human who had her own thoughts and could find beauty in the most bizarre of places. 

It almost made Husk consider extending this flight for a little longer until he realized he’d have to explain to you in great detail as to why he did decide to do it. So he brushed it off, and followed your instructions to your destination. 

Twenty minutes later, the two of you arrived at the stone steps leading up to the glass double doors of Rosie’s Emporium. The dimly lit streets were mostly empty, the bars were still open and echoed with raucous laughter and jazz. It was tempting to slip inside there for a drink, but Husk wasn’t too keen on being around cannibalistic drunks. Alcoholic he might be, he wasn’t that stupid. And he didn’t want you to get in trouble with the overlord who ran this place. She was your boss, not his. 

He watched you put a hand into your coat pocket and pulled out a small golden key. You put it in the dead bolt, twisting it to the left before pushing the door open. “Miss Rosie?” You called out, stepping inside the darkened establishment. “Miss Rosie, it is me. I am back.” 

A moment of silence enveloped the place, but only briefly because soon a tall, thin woman in a burgundy dress with an oversized hat and feathers materialized in front of you. She was at least two or three heads taller than you, smiling down with rows of sharp, gray teeth and pitch black orbs. “Oh there you are, I was startin’ to really get worried! Did John give you everything for my precious little sprouts?”

You quickly explained what had happened, how you could not see John because he had closed the shop by the time you got there but the fertilizer you collected from a gun fight you got into and came out victorious should be more than enough. Rosie was all but delighted, twirling in a small circle as she cooed.

“Ohh, I knew it was a good idea to hire you from the moment you came for the interview! I wish I could’ve seen you at work, using that bone saw and hacking away at corpses, but there’s always another day~! You know how many people come in wishing to have their husbands or wives ripped from limb to limb, at least the ones that taste bad! Ah?” She stopped dancing, craning her long neck to stare at him. “Who’s this you brought with you, [First Name]?” She looked over her shoulder, wagging a finger at you with a raised brow. “Come now, I know I said I wanted you to find a good fella someday, but this one’s way too scruffy for you and you’re much too young for him! Oh, I’m just kidding, I know you’re dedicated to your job! Well? Introduce us!”

You did, introducing him to the overlord as Husk and the hotel’s bartender. Alastor must have told her about him because she immediately called him ‘Alastor’s kitty cat’ and ‘how he used to be such a sophisticated-looking fella until he gambled against Alastor’. She laughed. “Well, small world, after all! [First Name], be a dear and take that bag into the back, will you? I’ll feed the little monsters myself, and you can go home! Oh, did you want some pinky fingers to go? I’ve got plenty of them and you probably didn’t eat dinner again, am I right?”

“Understood. And no thank you, though I will take up on the offer to try one of those roasted legs next time.” Husk almost gagged at your monotone words and Rosie’s cackle, but he had to keep his composure. As far as he knew, you were not a cannibal. And if you were…well, you probably wouldn’t have gone out of your way to help him and Angel, or at least order something from the Cannibal’s Section at the diner instead of force feeding yourself on the daily special. 

You might have only been gone for a few minutes, but it was awkward to stand near Rosie, the way she smiled at him like she was thinking about adding him to her menu for not dressing up in a vintage outfit. At least he hoped not. He could barely contain his relieved sigh when you appeared again, hands empty with no bag in sight. 

“It’s done.”

“Wonderful~! Now, you march up to bed as soon as you get in the door young lady! No staying up late!” She said, following the two of you to the door. “Give my regards to Alastor and tell that man he must come back soon! These halls have lost their sparkle without his lively presence! Oh! Before I forget~!” She snapped her fingers, and in a puff of dark red smoke, a large wad of bills materialized in your hands. “Here’s your paycheck! I know it’s a little early but I have a very important task for you to do tomorrow!” She grinned. “Go to town and buy yourself some new clothes for work!”

You faltered. “But -”

“Tomorrow is your day off I know, and I really, really love your enthusiasm when you try to come in to help around, but a proper lady of society cannot live on just one dress and a pair of boots! Oh, and you will also need to get a Hellphone in case something like this happens again! No ifs, ands, or buts! If Alastor throws a fit about it, I’ll talk to him! Now, shoo! Husker, be a dear and get my darling worker back to that hotel safely, all right?” She added with a wink.

Husk grunted exasperatedly but did not say a word. The last thing he wanted to do was go pissing off an overlord who just happened to be the Boss’ friend. So he just nodded, and followed you out of the door. When it shut behind them with a click, things got…awkward. Now that you weren’t carrying around a bag full of body parts, there was no need to fly all the way back to the hotel. Or at least that he thought you were thinking. 

But he told you that he didn’t mind, since Charlie was probably already worried about the two of you even if Angel had somehow managed to persuade her otherwise. So…you agreed, albeit hesitantly. Husk didn't waste any more time. He scooped you up in his arms and took off into the night skies, though with this being the Pride Ring, there was really no way to tell if it was day or night anymore. Cannibal Colony soon became another darkened spot, getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared from sight. 

As soon as the two of you made it back to the hotel, Husk had no doubt everyone would be giving him shit. Angel would make comments on his little ‘date’ went, which he’ll deny in every possible way, and the princess might be cryin’ from anxiety or relief knowing that two of you were all right. But that was then. This is now. And…he’s come to like holding you in his arms. 

“Husk?”

“Yeah?” He felt the arms around his neck tighten slightly…but not that it wasn’t too uncomfortable. It felt…okay. Like you were trying to say something, but you struggled to find the right words to say without sounding like an ass. 

“Thank you…for everything.”

His lips stretched into a grin. "You're welcome." 

He felt the cold of your palms, it would seem, through the gloves, but it was not so important. Because as the two of you flew back to the place you called home, he saw you smiling down at the Pentagram in wonder, whispering the places you had visited and or wondered what they were or if he knew anything about them, to which he either answered yes or no. It was such a small smile, but how could he not commit not it to his memory? 

And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad to get a drink with you on a night around town. Or make one for you at his bar. He knew how to make a good non-alcoholic pina colada, even an alcoholic version of it. But who knows? He’ll take things one step at a time, and see what happens. 

What Husk did not realize at the time, not too far in the distant future, you would be the one to close the gap between them…and there would be something more between the two of you. Something that made his days in Hell just a little brighter. 

Taglist: @riddle-simp @kanroji-san @star-fawn21 @luthefriendlywitch @kameyo-kumo @solesurvivorjen @solandis-does-stuff @ladydoe8 @victheauthor @anielly-2010 @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @bones4thecats @mmelionsblog @frompeach @nixie-writes @tired-of-life-86 @trecllllllll @lanxianschoenheit @22carolina08 @justamegafan @the-cat-queen-peasants @oucx @diamondzoey @alyriaschoenheit @lbcreations-blog @alastorsart @nunezs-stuff @sillypenguincats @theunknowntravel3r @imperfectbloodmoon @no1sillybilly @likesugarandcyanide @bladeismine @bones4thecats

[wwilsonbarness]

sweetie

pairings: dbf!bucky x y/n reader

summary: after yet another failed date your dad’s best friend Bucky cheers you up.. 

warnings: smut 18+ only (unprotected sex, oraL (M & F receiving), fingering, creampie, cockwarming, praise kink, safe word(mentioned not used), innocence kink), age gap (reader is early twenties, bucky is mid 40’s), use of pet names, swearing, body shaming (not from reader or bucky), insecure thoughts (reader) - let me know if I missed any :)

word count: 4092

a/n: I’m a slut for dbf!bucky so I had to use him for my first time writing smut🤭 go easy on me please i tried😭

Feedback, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) 

I do not give permission for my work to be copied, reposted or translated on any other platform.

masterlist 

“Y/n?” 

“Yeah! Hey, Ryan right?” He just nodded and sat opposite you, clearly not caring he had shown up 20 minutes late. .

“You’re not what I expected” he tried to play it off with a chuckle but you just looked at him in shock, completely confused.

“What were you expecting?” 

“Someone a little.. you know” he pauses for a moment and looks you up and down before continuing, “it doesn’t matter” Before you could question what he meant you hear a familiar voice come from behind you. 

“Y/n, how are you sweetheart?” As you go to turn your head you feel a cold hand on your shoulder, instantly telling you who was there. 

“Buck! What are you doing here?” 

“I’m picking up some dinner on the way home from work, just spotted you two over here and thought I’d say hi” He looks over at your date with a slight smile. Bucky had always been protective over you, ever since he started working with your dad, he’d always be over at your house for some reason or another, but you’d never complain. You’ve secretly been crushing on him for a while now, there was just something about him that you loved, not to mention he was the hottest guy you’ve ever seen. 

“Oh right, sorry! This is Ryan, my date” You point your hand towards him, “Ryan, this is Bucky, one of my dad’s friends” Ryan stands up and holds his hand out waiting for Bucky to shake it. 

“Nice to meet you Bucky” So he doesn’t lack all respect it seems.

“Call me James” He tightly squeezes Ryan’s hand, maybe too hard as Ryan tries to pull away slightly. You couldn’t help the blush creeping up onto your face. Bucky only introduced himself as James to people he didn’t like, come to think of it you had only heard him introduce himself as James a few times. Once when you brought a boy home in your first year of college, to the creepy neighbours who moved into your street whilst Bucky was over for dinner and one of his colleague’s. He must have a good judge of character because all of those people turned out to be total dicks. 

“Well, I won’t take up any more of your time, have a good night you two” He leans down to give you a hug, and whispers into your ear, just loud enough so Ryan can hear. “See you later sweetheart” He turns to Ryan and nods before leaving. You feel your mood drop as he walks away, you were sad that he was leaving, especially with it meaning you were stuck with your sad excuse for a date. You pick up the menu and go to ask what he’s thinking of getting before the waitress interrupts.

“Ready to order?” Before you can respond asking for an extra few minutes Ryan answers for you. 

“I’ll have the pasta special  and she’ll have the chicken salad.'' You shoot him a confused look, similar to the look the waitress is giving you both. You couldn’t believe he was ordering for you, and ordering you a salad at that. God, you could not wait for this night to be over already. 

Surprisingly the conversation from there wasn’t that bad, he asked you about your job to which you explained the recent job you’d gotten as an elementary school teacher. Things were looking up until your food arrived. “I hope you didn’t mind me ordering for you, salad is always a safe choice, you know?”

“Do you have a problem with how I look or something?” He didn’t even seem shocked or embarrassed when you asked. 

“I’ve just never dated someone as big as you”

“what?” Was he serious right now? You’d gained a little weight recently due to stress eating but you didn’t think other people would notice, or point it out.

“Do you not think you could lose a few pounds? You’d look so much better, especially with a dress like that on.” You could feel the tears forming in your eyes as he spoke, little droplets gathering on your eyelashes. You tried to stop your voice from shaking before answering him. 

“I don’t think this is gonna work out” 

He rolls his eyes and scoffs. “God. Women are so sensitive these days” You didn’t want to show him how he was affecting you so you grab your jacket and walk out without looking back. You’re only outside for a couple minutes before you hear that voice again, along with a car horn. You lift your head up and see Bucky parked just ahead of you.

“You okay sweets?” 

“Buck, you’re still here?” you begin to walk towards him.

“Mhm, food took a while to come out. What’s wrong, are you okay?” 

You quickly wiped away the tears that were rolling down your cheeks “I’m fine, just wanna get home” 

“Hop in, I’ll give you a ride home” 

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna-“

“Don’t be silly, you know I don’t mind” you force a small smile out before making your way to the passenger side. 

“How was your date?” You turn to him with a look that makes it clear it was not a good time. 

“He was an ass” His gaze softens on you and he puts his hand onto your thigh and rubs circles over it with his thumb. 

“I knew it” He notices you trying to smile and softens his tone, “I’m sorry sweetie, come on I’ll take you home” 

“Thank you” He softly squeezes your thigh before moving his hand to focus on driving you home. You missed his touch already, it made you feel safe like you had someone who cared but it also excited you, making your body heat up. You quickly threw that idea out, he was your dads best friend, he would never think of you that way. 

Your apartment isn’t far away, the car journey only lasts around 10 minutes. It was a mostly quiet car ride, Bucky didn’t try and make you open up about your date but he was worried, you seemed really upset with whatever had happened. “Are you sure you're okay?” 

You tried to answer without letting your shaky voice show but you failed, “I just wanna get in and get changed out of this dress” You rub your hands over your dress to try and make yourself look better, you couldn’t help but think you looked bad after Ryan spoke about you like that. When Bucky parks outside your apartment you sit  in silence for a moment, you didn’t want to get out because it meant Bucky would be leaving you. “Do you want to bring your food in? It’ll be cold by the time you get back to yours” 

“That would be great, if you don’t mind” 

“Course not Buck” You both get out and walk up to your door. Bucky noticed you playing with your dress on the way, “you look real pretty in that dress” You turned to him as he spoke to you, surprised with what he said.

“Really? I thought I liked it too but, I, I don’t know” you trailed off slowly. 

“Whatever that asshole said to you, don’t listen to him. You look great” 

“Thank you Buck but you really don’t have to say that” 

“I mean it sweetheart, you look gorgeous” You smile up at him, a little less forced this time. It takes you a minute to compose yourself and find your keys but you finally manage to unlock the door.

“Sit down, I’ll get you a plate” 

“Bring two” he shouts through from the couch to your kitchen. 

“Okayy” you're slightly confused but take two plates out the cupboard along with two beers from the fridge, “but why do you need two?” 

“So you can have some” you weren’t in the restaurant too long, did you eat anything?” 

You were tempted to pretend you weren’t hungry but you really were starving. “Is there enough to share? I left before I could eat my salad” 

“Salad? you went to an italian restaurant and ordered salad?" Bucky laughed. 

“He ordered for me” Bucky stopped laughing as soon as the words left your mouth, and he started shaking his head. 

“What a dick, here” he unpacks his bag of food and lays them on the table in front of you both. “help yourself to as much as you like, lucky for you my eyes are too big for my belly” 

“So where'd you find this guy anyway?” 

You sat on the sofa for an hour or so and explained the whole story, including everything that happened on the date. By the end of it Bucky was angry, angrier than you’d ever seen him. He pulls his hand up to your face and cups your cheek, “Don’t let some boy make you feel insecure, you don’t need to change for anyone, and anyone would be lucky to have you” 

No one had ever spoken to you with such kind words and you could feel the tears forming again, you tried to play it off. You were embarrassed for being so emotional. “I’m sorry, just no one ever speaks about me like that” 

“You deserve to hear it everyday, and I really mean that” 

“Thank you buck, and thank you for sharing your food.” 

“Anytime sweetie” 

“I’m gonna go get changed and then I’ll clean this up okay?” 

“Sure, take your time” 

Only a couple minutes pass before Bucky hears you calling his name from your bedroom. 

“Y/n? are you alright” worry had set in fast, faster than it probably should’ve but he cared about you alot. he practically ran through, only stopping when he walked into you. 

“Where's the fire jesus” he puts his hands on your shoulders to try and steady you both. 

“I heard you calling my name, are you alright?” you couldn’t help but smile at his concern for you, it was nice to have someone who cared for you. 

“I’m okay, my hair’s just stuck in my zip, can you help me with it?” you reply as you walk back into your room, Bucky following you close behind. 

“Yeah, come here” you turn your back to him and lift your hair that isn’t stuck out of the way” 

“We might just have to cut it off” you playfully slapped his arm. 

“You wouldn’t dare” he places his hands to your hair and begins to work its way out, the touch of his fingers sends shivers all over you, you try to stifle the moan you make but you can tell you failed. 

“I'm just kidding don’t worry, there you go that should be it out” he says but he doesn’t move his hands. instead he turns you around and looks into your eyes. “You really are beautiful, especially in this dress” he loves to lean into your neck and whispers quietly, “even if I would prefer to see it on the floor” Yet again you couldn’t stop the blush appearing onto your cheeks, did he really say that?

You pull your head back a bit, Bucky starts to think he made you uncomfortable but it was quite the opposite, you pull his face towards you and push your lips together, it was a deep kiss, slow with an intensity you hadn’t felt before. You begin to pull away slowly, scared of overstepping but he pulls you back up against him, his hand cupping your hair, not too tight so you could pull away if you wanted to. His lips were soft, different to what you expected but it felt good. He pulls away slightly, but you can feel his grin against you. 

“You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that”  he says whilst catching his breath. 

“Really?” he hums in agreement. “What else did you want to do?” you feel his grin grow even more. He pushes you back a bit towards your bed and you follow him. 

“You sure you want to do this?” 

“I’m sure Bucky, please” 

“Just say red if you want to stop, okay?” you nod your answer. “I need words sweetie” 

“Yes buck” 

“Good girl” you can feel your panties getting wetter the more he talks to you, you desperately need him to touch you. 

“Bucky please” he could hear the desperation in your voice and it made him laugh, he loved having this effect on you. 

“What do you want, sweetheart? tell me what you want me to do to you” You got shy all of a sudden and it took a minute to find your words. 

“I want you to touch me” Bucky trails his hand down your body and stops between your legs. 

“Here?” he rubs circles over your clit through your dress making you moan and grab into his shoulder. 

“Fuck.. please Bucky” he takes his hand away, you pout up at him. 

“Take off your dress. and lie down” you do as he says, as he watches you with a grin on his face. It doesn’t take you long before you're laying down and Bucky crawls on top of you. He starts to kiss your neck, slowly making his way down to your breasts. “Can I leave this on?” he asks pointing to your bra, you just nod. Thank god you chose this lingerie set today. “You look so sexy in it, making me so hard baby” You let out a little laugh at him,”You’ve gone all shy on me sweets” 

“I'm sorry” Bucky shakes his head.

“Don’t apologise, it’s cute” He continues kissing you slowly, stopping when gets to the band of your panties. He begins to slowly take them off, “still okay?” 

“Yes, please buck. I need you” you whisper to him. 

He throws your panties onto the floor and opens your legs, biting his lips as he sees your pussy glistening in front of him. “Such a pretty pussy”

He lowers his head down and licks his lips before rubbing his fingers over your pussy, collecting the slick already gathered there. He brings his fingers up to his mouth and slowly licks them. “You taste so sweet baby” you feel your cheeks flush at his compliments, “Sweetest thing I ever tasted” he speaks before lowering his head back down. 

He presses his finger to your clit and pushes down a little, making you whimper. “Bucky please” you try to roll your hips up to get him closer to you. “Please buck i need you”

He doesn’t say anything but in the next second you feel his tongue against you. “Fuck Bucky” it was so much better than you were expecting. 

“Aw sweets, you're so wet. Is this all for me?” you nod again, biting your lip. He had hardly touched you and you already felt better than you ever have with anyone else. 

You tried to close your legs to escape the overwhelming feeling but Bucky pushed them open again and looked up to you. this was something you’d dreamt of seeing, having him looking up to you from between your legs. you couldn’t believe this was really happening.

“Gotta keep them open baby, so I can make you feel good” you nod down at him, as you nod he teases his finger around your pussy making you throw your head back. 

He lowers his head again and brings his tongue to your clit and begins to roll his tongue over it. You start to move around, the feeling is too much, he lifts his arm up to your stomach and presses down slightly to stop you from squirming. He uses his other hand to tease your pussy, “Fuck, your so tight sweetie”, he lifts himself up a little and brings his hand to your mouth and holds out two fingers. “Spit on them” you hesitate at first before dropping your spit onto them. 

When he gets back done to your legs he lightly blows on your clit, making you moan out. He begins to tease your hole and starts putting one finger in, slowly, “Fuck, i can’t wait to get my cock in you baby, your so tight” he pushes his finger in and out slowly a few times before adding in another. You can’t help the moan that leaves your lips. you don’t care how loud you’re being, it feels too good.You could feel the ache in your pussy getting stronger, your orgasm fast approaching, you’d never come this fast before. 

“Bucky, please don’t stop” he doesn’t stop, he speeds his fingers up feeling you tightening around them. “Oh.. Fuck. Bucky please I'm gonna- I’m gonna come. Don’t stop” you throw your hands around you, grabbing onto the covers and squeezing them as hard as you can.

“Come for me baby” a few more thrusts of his fingers and you come, your eyes roll back, your orgasm leaving you whimpering, Bucky drops his head down and licks your come. “How do you feel sweetie?”

“Good” is all you can manage, still trying to catch your breath. 

“You did so good baby” he crawls back up to you and plants a kiss on your lips, you can taste yourself on him. You feel his cock through his jeans touching your stomach and reach down for it. 

“Bucky?” you ask shyly. 

“Yeah baby?” he pushes your hair out of your face and cups your cheek.

“Can I touch you?” you slightly squeeze his bulge as you ask, batting your eyelashes up at him. 

He chuckles a little at how shy you are. “Of course you can sweets” he lays down beside you and guides you to sit up beside him. you start to unzip his jeans pull them down before he lifts his hips up making it easier for you to remove his clothes. When his jeans are off you see his cock jump up, it was a lot bigger than you had ever seen before. nerves started to slowly set in, what if you couldn’t make him feel as good as he made you? 

It was as if Bucky could read your mind, he saw the concern in your eyes and started to reassure you. “Sweetie, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to” 

“I want to” you reply quickly before quieting down and slowly continuing “I just don’t know if it will be as good as you made me feel, I don’t wanna disappoint you” 

“You could never disappoint me baby, I'll help you if you need it okay?” you nod your head, and trail your fingers up his thighs before reaching for him. You grab the base of his cock, your hand doesn’t reach around it fully so you bring your other hand beside it. “Fuck baby, that already feels so good” his praise gave you a bit more confidence. Quickly gathering some spit in your mouth, you drop it down onto the tip of his cock, and use your thumb to rub circles over it. He was feeling so sensitive he couldn’t stop his groans leaving him, “fuck Y/N, keep doing that” you did just that, whilst your other hand slowly rubs up and down his cock. 

“Can I put it in my mouth?” Bucky's a bit taken aback by your sudden confidence but he doesn’t hesitate to answer. 

“Please do” you move closer to him and settle between his legs, you lower your head down and lick his tip gently before bringing your tongue down to the base and working your way back up slowly. “Fuck, baby you keep doing that and your gonna make me come.” His praise was making your cheeks flush and he noticed, so he kept going. “Baby you're doing so good, it feels so. fuck. so good” You begin to put his cock in your mouth, going as far down as you could before bobbing your head up and down. Bucky places his hand on your head and slightly pushes your head down further, “fuck sweetheart, your gonna make me come.” 

You speed up, wrapping your hands around his shaft where your mouth can’t reach, Bucky was moaning and whining loudly beside you, his breathing was speeding up. You could tell he was about to come, you wanted him to come in your mouth, you needed to taste him.

“Baby, I’m gonna come, oh god I’m gonna come” he expected you to pull away from him but you keep going until his come shoots down your throat. “Fuck baby, fuck that was good” you look up to him, come dripping out your mouth and smile. “You look so pretty covered in my come sweetheart” He smirks at you, making you blush yet again. You use your finger to collect the come dripping out your mouth and suck on it, which makes Bucky’s cock twitch. 

You look down and see that he’s still hard, so you crawl up to him and whisper into his ear “could you fuck me?” so quietly he hardly hears you. 

“Sweetie you gotta speak up” you pout at him, but repeat yourself. You could feel your pussy throbbing, you needed him inside you. 

“I want you to fuck me Bucky, please” He turns to you

“Lie down” you immediately do as he says. “I’m gonna fuck you like the good, dirty girl you are” he grabs his cock and stroked himself a couple times to get it ready for you. “Remember to use the safe word if you need me to stop okay?” 

“I remember, but please just fuck me. I need you” he brings his cock to your pussy, pushing just the tip in. “Go slow please, you're bigger than I’ve ever had” Bucky felt a hint of jealousy over the thought of anyone else being inside you but he pushed it aside and focused on you. 

“I’ll be gentle don’t worry sweetheart” He brings his tip out and pushes slowly back in a couple times, letting you adjust to him. When it becomes easier he goes in deeper, nearly halfway in. You moan in the mix of pain and pleasure, he was stretching

you but it felt good. 

“Fuck Bucky, you feel so good, keep going please” He pushes in further, rubbing circles over your clit as he does, making it easier for him to fit inside you. 

“Shit baby, you're so tight. squeezing my cock so good” He hadn’t even fucked you properly yet and you could already feel your orgasm coming close. 

“Bucky fuck me please, just fuck me” he bottoms out inside of you, hitting a spot you didn’t even realise existed within you. “OH my god Bucky, keep going. please. It feels so good” 

“Such a good girl for me, taking my whole cock” your moans make him fuck you harder, chasing the release he so desperately needed “So good sweets, you feel so good” 

“Fuck, Bucky. duck me harder please Bucky” 

“You want more?” he thrusts into you harder as he says each word. “Fuck, you’re gonna milk my cock” you can feel your orgasm coming at you with full force.

“Buck I’m gonna -fuck I’m gonna come, don’t stop please” 

“Aw baby you gonna come all over my cock?”  you nod your head, unable to form words at this point “oh fuck. you're squeezing me so tight I’m gonna come. You want me to come inside you? Want me to fill you up?” 

You nod quickly, trying to bring yourself to speak. “Please, please Bucky come inside me please” 

“Always using your manners, sweets, even when you're so drunk on my cock hmm?” You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him towards you.

“Bucky please” you were desperate for your release at this point. He lifts your hands and puts them either side of you, each of his hands pinning yours down and towering himself over you. 

“Oh fuck. Come with me baby. Come with me” He’s thrusting into you so hard, hitting that spot again and again. Your legs begin to shake as your orgasm crashes through you. “Fuckk.. Oh my god Bucky” 

“So. Fucking. Good.” he replies, just as his cock crashes into your pussy. “You milked me so good, such a good girl baby” 

Bucky goes to pull out of you but you stop him, “stay like this please? Just for a little bit”

He cuddles into you as close as he can without moving out of you, and places a kiss on your forehead.

“Anything for you sweetheart”

[andshesaidwhat]

Cherry - Clay Beresford

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six |

Summary: Clay returns to The Silk Rose to see you again but, this time, you’re aware of who he truly is. He arrives with more of his questions and stories, but this time he pushes it a little too far…

Warnings: angst, arguing, descriptions of sex work, Clay can’t read the room.

Playlist | Masterlist

The smell of sweat and hairspray filled the air as you found yourself back at the club far sooner than you would’ve liked. You sat at your vanity, getting ready to begin the first set of your shift as Frenchie droned on about some creep who kept trying to slip her a fifty for a rule break.

“I told him that there was not enough hair on his head for him to have this kind of audacity,” she scoffed, reapplying her lipgloss. “If he was at least hot, maybe I would’ve flashed him a tit for a twenty, but I have no interest in catering to men who look like death warmed over…unless they’re offering to play my bills, now that would be a different story.”

You laughed as she ranted, amused by her mindless rambling. You’d take anything to get your mind off of the looming shift ahead of you. The place was crawling with the usual sleazy regulars, and the thought of entertaining them made your stomach churn.

Normally, it wasn’t something you would’ve minded. You would’ve known you could make a few extra bucks, and it wasn’t anything you weren’t used to…but then he came along.

How could you be content giving lap dances to sordid men when you could be drinking champagne and dancing to beautiful stories?

Damn him.

“What’s on your mind, sweet cheeks?” Frenchie asked, crossing her legs as she turned in her chair to face you.

You shook your head and said, “It’s nothing, French. Just some customer I had the other day.”

“Ah, the private room guy, eh?” Frenchie mused, wiggling her eyebrows. “I saw Sal hand you a big ole wad of cash afterward. You must’ve given him some performance in there.”

You’d been perplexed by the money at first, too. Of course, now, you knew that it was probably chump change to a man like him.

Clay Beresford.

You still couldn’t wrap your mind around it. What had the city’s hottest playboy been doing at a run down club on the Lower East Side? He was a billionaire for chrissakes, he could buy his own damn strip club if he wanted to. Did he think he was doing some kind of charity work, tipping extra to a girl leagues below his tax bracket?

Fuck that.

“He’s just another one of those men with their savior complex fantasies, trying to see more from this place than there is,” you shrugged, the bitterness in your tone palpable.

“Shit, doll,” Frenchie laughed, “with a tip like that, I’d let him save me any day he wanted to.”

You cracked an amused smile, shaking your head as you took off your robe and prepared for your set. Frenchie locked pinkies with you, wishing you luck before you made your way to the curtain at the back of the stage.

When it was time, the curtains opened and the warm lights hit you as you heard the whoops and cheers of the crowd. Bills immediately started flying as you began dancing about the stage, teasing and seducing as you went. You moved through the motions of your routine, feeling removed from it all, until you looked in the crowd and saw those striking blue eyes.

A smug smile crossed Clay’s face as he raised his glass to you in a silent toast, his eyes never leaving yours.

You tried to shake off the distraction, focusing on the rhythm of the music and the movement of your body. Still, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him as your mind raced with questions.

What was he doing here? Was this some kind of game? Was he trying to prove a point? Couldn’t he just hire his own strippers?

You tried to block all of it out, but those blue eyes stayed locked in the entire time. You’d looked back at him, just to make sure you weren’t somehow imagining it as you left the stage.

Your set hadn’t even been finished for an entire minute before Sal met you backstage to inform you that you had another private room booking.

It didn’t take much guessing to figure out who’d booked you.

With a huff, you made your way down the hall. You took a deep, steadying breath as you stood before room four again.

This is a transaction, you thought to yourself, I am just doing my job.

You entered the room to see Clay lounging on the couch again, as devastatingly beautiful as ever.

You turned on the facade, ready to perform as you asked, “Back so soon, pretty boy?”

Clay’s eyes sparkled with amusement as his gaze raked over you. His voice was rich and low as he said, “I couldn’t resist the temptation, Cherry. Besides, I wanted to see you again. You’re quite the performer, you know.”

“Come, join me. Let’s continue where we left off,” he said, patting the couch, offering for you to sit beside him.

“You know how this works,” you told him, shaking your head as you walked over to turn on the stereo. “I dance, you ask questions.”

You sauntered back over toward him, moving your body to the sensual beat of the music. Clay bit down on his lip, holding your gaze with intensity as you danced.

“I think I remember the rules, Cherry,” he smirked, his voice sultry, “but I have a proposition for you.”

You raised a brow, curiosity etching itself into your features as you nodded, “Go on.”

“How about I tell you a story and you dance for me?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees as he clasped his hands together. “I want to see you dance to my words, to feel the emotions they evoke in you.” He paused, his gaze lingering on you. “What do you say, Cherry?”

You felt your chest ache as your bravado momentarily slipped.

Hearing him tell another story was so tempting, but you didn’t like the way it threatened to make your heart flip — and you certainly wouldn’t let yourself be pulled into exploring his mind. You wouldn’t be roused to finding the story behind him and making something of it. That part of yourself was locked away.

“I don’t dance like that anymore,” you responded, trying to mask the sadness swimming through you. You rolled your hips seductively as you said, “Besides, that’s not the kind of dancing you paid for.”

Clay’s eyes softened, his gaze seeming to understand your reluctance.

“I apologize, Cherry,” he said, his voice sincere. “I didn’t mean to push you. I’m just…intrigued by you.”

He watched, intently, as you danced. His attention never wavering, even as his mind seemed to be reeling with something.

“Tell me, Cherry,” he began, after a moment. “What is it you’re running from?”

Ouch.

That certainly hit a sore spot. You didn’t want to think about your past. You didn’t want to think about the person you were or what turned you into the person you had become now.

“What about you?” You countered, trying to keep your tone playful. “What’s a beloved playboy celebrity doing in a small strip club like this?”

Clay nodded, solemnly, casting his gaze downward. He didn’t allow the slip in his demeanor to remain for long, replacing the small frown with a thoughtful look.

“I’ve always been drawn to the unpredictable, Cherry,” he said, his voice low and measured. “To the raw, untamed beauty of human nature.” He paused, his eyes looking up to meet yours. “Perhaps I’m just looking for something real in a world filled with illusion. Besides, everyone needs a break from the limelight every now and again.”

You cocked your head to the side and asked, “Is this not an illusion? We’re paid to fill the shoes of our paying customer’s fantasies.”

You slowly walked over toward him, placing your hands on the top of the couch as you leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Is this your fantasy?”

Clay’s breath caught in his throat as you leaned over him, his eyes locking onto yours.

“This isn’t a fantasy, Cherry,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “This is a moment of truth amidst the lies,” his gaze burned with desire as he continued, “but maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m seeking an escape. A reprieve from the life I’ve built around me.”

He leaned in, his lips almost brushing against your ear as he whispered, “What about you, hm? Is this your reality, or are you seeking your own escape?”

You threw your head back in exasperation, letting out a laugh as you said, “Don’t you ever ask normal questions? What happened to things like: what’s your favorite color?”

Clay chuckled softly, eyes crinkling as he gripped the edge of the couch.

“Sorry, Cherry,” he smiled, his tone tinged with humor. “I can’t help but be drawn to the deeper questions but, if you insist…” He paused, his eyes locked onto you. “Tell me, Cherry. What’s your favorite color?”

You stopped dancing for a moment and let yourself gaze into his eyes.

Those damned dazzling eyes.

“Blue,” you said, quietly, a small smile threatening to pull at your lips.

“Blue, huh?” Clay grinned, his features softening. “A color of depth and mystery. Just like you, Cherry.”

You know that you shouldn’t be indulging in this. Getting to know each other. It was reckless and idiotic and couldn’t lead to anything good. Still, you found yourself asking, “What about you? What’s your favorite color, pretty boy?”

“Red,” he replied, without a moments hesitation. His grin widened, admiration and playfulness dancing in his eyes. “My favorite color is red.”

You cocked a brow, your tone dripping with amusement as you asked, “Like Cherries?”

“Yes,” he responded, cheekily. “Cherries, passion, danger, love. It’s a color that represents all of the things we crave in life. Mostly, it’s a color that reminds me of you. The fiery spirit that burns within you, hidden under layers of meticulously crafted ice. You’re an enigma wrapped in a riddle.”

“Do you make habits of waxing poetic to every stripper you hire?” You quipped, smirking at him despite the way your heart was racing.

“I don’t make a habit of hiring strippers, Cherry,” he laughed, softly, “but, if I did, I imagine they’d all wish that they were as fascinating as you.”

The tension in the air was palpable. You could hear the drum of your heart beneath your chest as his hands itched to reach out for you.

You swallowed thickly, the need to create distance between the two of you urgent.

You stood back up, continuing to move to the music as you tried to calm the roaring storm inside of you. You were dancing on thin ice and, if you weren’t careful, you would surely sink beneath it.

Clay watched you, thoughtfully. His mind was transfixed, his eyes following the curves of your body. He couldn’t deny the magnetic pull he felt toward you, though he tried to adhere to the boundaries set in place. Still, he couldn’t stop from wondering of all of the possibilities.

“You’re getting awfully quiet over there, pretty boy,” you joked. “Run out of questions?”

“No, Cherry,” he said, laughing softly. “I’m just appreciating the view.” He slowly licked his lips, leaning forward. “I could tell you another story if you’d like?”

“Ah, another one of those poetic stories,” you sighed, giving him a playful grin as you spun around. “You’re paying for your time in here. If you want to fill it with your musings, be my guest.”

“Very well,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Let me spin you a tale of a woman who ran from her past, only to find herself entangled in a web of desire and deceit. The heroin of my story, much like you, struggled to maintain control — to keep her emotions at bay. As fate would have it, she found solace in the most unexpected of places, and love in the arms of a man who refused to be ignored.”

His voice was hypnotizing as he spoke and you stopped dancing for a moment, standing still with curious eyes locked on him — waiting for him to go on.

“In the end, Cherry,” he continued, the sincerity in his voice nearly sickening, “she learned that, sometimes, the greatest escape comes from facing the truth.”

His eyes searched yours, searching for a reaction — for answers.

A lump formed in your throat and you tried to swallow it down. Damn these men and their idealistic savior complexes. They think that they are the perfect hero, searching for their damsel in distress.

“Shakespeare is rolling in his grave, pretty boy,” you said, with less play in your voice than you’d intended.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, Cherry,” he smiled, “but, then again, life has a way of writing its own plays, doesn’t it? So, tell me, do you ever wonder what your story would be?”

“I think we all write our own stories,” you told him, “and I don’t think half of them are as grand and you’d like for them to be.”

“I believe that there’s magic in every day life, Cherry,” he said, softly. “Even the smallest acts can hold immense significance.” He paused, his fingers tapping on the arm rest. “You’re right, though, I can be overly romantic at times.” His eyes met yours, his voice low and earnest. “Your story may not be grand, but I suspect it’s far from ordinary.”

His words, these moments…it was all too much. You wouldn’t fall for these games. You knew how men like him worked. Your job be damned.

“You know nothing of my story,” you said, quietly, turning off the music as the timer rang. “You just pay me to fill whatever void it is you’ve got in your precious high end life. I’m just a fantasy to people like you, remember?”

You held his gaze, blinded by your building anger. You could feel the walls of your defensiveness closing in around you.

You walked toward the door, only pausing to say one last thing.

“Don’t come back.”

Clay watched you go, his face heavy with a mixture of regret and longing.

“Cherry…” he started, his voice pleading, but you were gone before he could finish — leaving him alone with his thoughts once again.

You hurried to the dressing room, changing into normal clothes and grabbing your things.

Frenchie gave you a questioning look, but you simply said, “You can have the rich savior men, I don’t want them.”

You walked out the door, barely stopping to grab the cash from Sal as you left. You didn’t need to count it to know that it was an obscene amount of money.

You went home to your apartment, trying to drown out the sense of emptiness you felt in the pit of your stomach. You never should’ve let his words affect you. You should’ve kept everything transactional. Guys like him just wanted a side project — something to entertain them.

You didn’t have any interest in being a part of their world.

————————————————————————

tag list

@haydensbbg @dinorawrss

[blizzardfluffykpop]

Secrets

Summary: Your sweet boyfriend, a man who can’t get up when a cat sits on his lap and knows you like the back of his hand. Is more than just the sweetheart he is?

Fluff, Angst?, Mafia au, Secrets, Established Relationship au

Word Count: 1,968

Secret mafia boss! Hyungwon X Reader

[Mentions briefly: Minhyuk]

[A/n: @jinkoh and I couldn’t stop thinking of mafia boss! Hyungwon. And I absolutely had to write our thoughts into a fuller story. So please enjoy our brainrot~ And Kebbi, I hope this fulfills your brainrot as it did mine~ Lastly: thank you for checking over this, Kebbi! I appreciate it sm 🥺💖]

------

Like every other Wednesday since you started dating Hyungwon, you’re heading to meet him at the cafe where you had your first date. And now you both meet up there before walking around a bit before heading to one of your homes and watching movies together. You get outside the cafe entrance to see him walking out with your two coffees in his hands. He smiles as he hands you yours, “I got you your favorite~” You grin and thank him before sipping on it. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, “So, how’s my baby been?” You smile, “I’ve been okay.” He pouts, “Just okay?” You sigh, “Do you remember that debut I told you about before?” “Of course I do. What about it?” “They’ve raised my rate by another twenty, and I was going to use that extra money to buy some records. And you’d think I’d already have paid it off by now, but the interest rates have been so high.” He lets out an “Oh,” and you look over at him, and he says, “I’ve dealt with horrible lenders before. It’s hard to hear you going through the same thing.” You shrug, “I suppose it’s okay, it’s just twenty bucks. Maybe by my next bill, I’ll have it paid off!” He smiles and clicks your coffee cups together, “Heck yeah!” 

You smile, “So, how has your business been going?” He hums, “We have more money coming in now, and that’s nice.” You agree, and he leads you to a park bench, “Why do we always seem to end up at this bench?” He gives you an eye smile, “You know why.” You laugh, “It’s where we met.” He removes his arm around your shoulder to hold your hand in his. You lay your head against his shoulder, and he leans his head on top of yours. You chat quietly, taking in the early afternoon air. His phone rings, and he parts from you, “Do you mind if I take this?” You shake your head no, and he gets up from the bench and discusses in hushed whispers. 

You wait for him to return, and he has a small pout playing on his face, “I have to go…” You pout back and go, “No, it’s our only day together until our date next week on Saturday…” He nods, and you get up from your seat. And he goes, “They really need me there. But I promise I’ll make it up to you.” You cross your arms over your chest, and in a faux stern voice, you say, “You better.” He laughs and kisses your forehead. You hold up your pinky and lock them, and he presses your thumbs together. “I promise.” You kiss his nose, “I know you will. I love you.” You let go of your hold. And he pulls you into a tight hug, “I’ll see you later.” You smile as you hug him tightly back, “You will.” And with that, you part ways, much too early for your liking, but you shrug when duty calls you must attend. 

---

When you sat in your debt collector’s office the following day, pulling out the cash to pay him, he told you, “Your loan is paid in full. You don’t owe me anything this month or after.” You couldn’t believe your ears, “What?” He shrugs and goes, “Actually, I owe you some back pay.” You blink at him, trying to process it, “Huh?” And he pulls out a small yellow envelope, “Yeah, you’ve paid over a grand more than you owe.” He must be out of his mind! He just raised the rate last week! You scowl, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t.” You shake your head, “No. Tell me what the catch is.” “There is none.” You glare, “Let me talk to your boss.” His eyes get big, “No one ever talks to him.” You shrug, “Well, I’m not just anyone. I want to know why you’re forgiving my loan.” 

He sighs, giving up, “Okay, but I warn you, he didn’t give me an explanation either.” You look at him, baffled, “What do you mean?” He shrugs, “He walked past me, looked at my records, and recounted them. He threw out your file and told me that your loans were forgiven. Then he gave me a thousand to give back to you.” You huff, “That doesn't make any sense.” He sighs, “You and me both.” “Can I please speak with your boss?” “I guess.” He has you follow him through the several-story building. As you approach the top floor, he says, “I’ll warn you again. He won’t tell you.” You sigh, “Well, I at least have to try.”  

He opens the door to the seventh floor, walks over to the entrance of the penthouse office, and knocks. You hear a loud voice boom, “What do you want?” Your debt collector’s voice is weak as he says, “Someone is asking you to explain why you forgave their loans.” A gruff voice says, “Come in.” Your loan shark goes in and gestures for you to follow him. The person is holding a newspaper with their legs kicked up on the desk without a care. He puts his newspaper down, and that’s when you see him. He’s wearing a long leather jacket, with leather pants and steel-tipped boots. He must have yelled at the guy to “Get out” because your collector is scampering out past you. But all you can see is that your once soft and sweet boyfriend is now your debt collector’s cruel and rash boss. 

In a blur, he’s up from his chair and standing before you, tucking your hair behind your ear, “How did you get here, dear?” You want to be angry. You want to be livid. But you're at a loss for words. How is your sweetheart a loan shark boss? He never specified his business, but this is what he does? He waits for you to gather your thoughts, and you ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” He gives you a tight-lipped smile, “This isn’t the type of secret you tell someone you wish to keep safe.” You sigh, you find that so sweet and kind. Just like the Hyungwon you’ve always known. But he’s different? He has a commanding air around him now. And if looks could kill, your debt collector would have been dead. Yet here he is, trying to protect you from his truth to keep you safe. 

He waits for you to say something, searching your eyes for questions so he can answer them. With another minute of staring into each other’s eyes. He asks, “Would you like me to explain it over coffee?” And you ask quietly, “Will you explain everything?” He nods, “Everything you wish to know.” He looks over at his coffee pot, “Would you like to do it here or at our place?” You look around the room. It feels suffocating, “Our place.” He puts his hand out to you, and you carefully take it, wondering how this is your man. As you reach the main door, the rain starts pitter-pattering as your heart has since entering his building. 

He grabs an umbrella from a stand, and outside the door, he opens it, shielding you both from the rain. “So um, are my loans really forgiven?” He nods, “Yeah.” You ask, “And the grand?” “Backpay, you were right. You've already paid off your loan. He was making a profit off of you.” “Is that why your business has been so great?” He laughs, “No,” and nudges you as he says, “Well… Maybe a little.” You shake your head at him, “Have your ‘lenders’ forgiven other loans?” He nods, “Yeah.” 

He opens the door to the cafe and shuts his umbrella. You hear a bubbly voice go, “You two are never here on a Friday. What a pleasant surprise!” Minhyuk smiles as he goes, “Usual?” You nod with a small smile, and Hyungwon says, “Bring them over to us. I’ll pay later.” He nods, and you head to a booth in the back. “Are you sure you want to know more?” You nod, “I want you to explain everything.” Minhyuk comes over with your coffee. Hyungwon says something softly to him, and he quickly exits, changing the open sign to closed. 

“Is he a part of this operation, too?” He nods, “A different faction. He just does this job for fun. He’s really a florist. But we’re on the same sort of team.” You sigh, “Damn, even our coffee guy.” He laughs, “You don’t seem to be taking it as hard now?” You shrug, “Well, honestly, I’m not sure how to take it. My soft sweetheart is a hardened criminal.” He rubs the back of his neck, “Yeah…” You put your hand over his hand that’s resting on the table. “I have no reason to fear, right?” He shakes his head, “I’ll never put you in harm’s way.” 

You nod, and after a pause, “So, are you really a mafia boss?” He laughs, “In my faction, yeah, but there is someone above me. He’s a good guy, though.” You hum and ask, “I was wondering… Is it common for you to profit from people’s loans?” He grimaces, “Yeah… But I usually catch the loans when their time is up.” You tilt your head, “Why didn't you catch mine?” He drinks a sip of his coffee before brushing a hand through his hair, “I’ve been more focused on being with you than checking on the little details.” 

You shake your head, smiling at him, “So, did you evaluate everyone’s?” He wrinkles his nose, “Not yet.” You sigh, “Won…” He pouts, “It’s partially on you.” You cross your arms over your chest, “But it’s because of me that you remembered a part of your job.” He sighs, “You have me there.” You ask, “Shouldn’t you be doing monthly checks?” He nods, “It’s actually bi-weekly checks because of how many we have, so it’s easier to spread them out across the month.” “And what day did you usually do these?” He averts his eyes, “Wednesdays.” You shake your head at him and tease, “Ditching your duties to be with little ole me, huh?” He laughs, “Exactly, I’d much rather be with you than in that stuffy room.” You nod, “Me too.” He smiles and flips his hand over to hold your hand in his. 

You sigh, “I didn’t expect to see you today…” He laughs, “Same here. I didn’t want you to find out like this.” You squeeze his hand after sipping your coffee, “It’s okay. It’s better than finding out when your guns are blazing.” He laughs, “Yeah, I guess so.” You fiddle with his fingers, and he asks, “Are you still okay with dating me?” You squeeze his hands, “Yeah. You’re different from what I expected, but I’m content with that.” He brings his lips to the top of your hand, “I’m glad I love you.” You smile, flip your hands, and kiss his hand, “I love you too.” 

You sip on your coffee for a while. Just taking it all in before a question pops into your head, “So when will I get to meet the rest of your crew?” He sighs, “I knew you were gonna ask that.” You wait, and he goes, “Whenever you wish, my dear.” You smile, “Okay~” He looks over at the clock in the building, “Technically, it’s quitting time now. Would you like to make up for yesterday?” You smile, “I thought you’d never ask.” 

You leave after paying and waving goodbye to Minhyuk, who yells to Hyungwon, “You better flip the sign over!” Hyungwon laughs and does as asked before heading to your place to finish your belated date.

[woomycritiques543]

As a lackadaisy fan who dropped helluva 5 episodes in, I think you’re overestimating the effect of the fandom has on things outside of itself because you are inmeshed in it. You don’t have the outside view. Don’t get me wrong, it sounds like a toxic shit show, but it doesn’t have a ‘monopoly’. If all it took to gain a monopoly in entertainment was to have a horribly rabid fanbase that won’t take the smallest bit of criticism, the history of indie entertainment would be very different.

(TW: LONG POST, mentions of Vivziepop's behavior, also if you're another lackadaisy fan that's curious about what's been happening over at the Hazbin fandom PLEASE DONT SKIP THIS POST!)

"If all it took to gain a monopoly in entertainment was to have a horribly rabid fanbase that won’t take the smallest bit of criticism, the history of indie entertainment would be very different."

Hm...

As a Helluva Boss fan who's seen how many views most indie projects have nowdays, plus what Vivziepop did here, especially since this wasnt just about the fanbase to begin with:

(Psst. Vivienne, these people got bills and families to pay for, so maybe dont try to push them away from other projects just because you like Hazbin Hotel? You can hire other people, you've done it millions of times before- let other projects thrive, and let them have different projects so they can be successful too! Far-Fetched barely has as any workers compared to you, so maybe stop being selfish and share the load so other projects can get all the help they can get? Especially when you rush out 5+ episodes a year and treat your staff like shit? So maybe... I dont know... treat them better so "A BUNCH!" of people from Spindlehorse wont think of even having to do so much extra work, day jobs and all, when there's 40+ million bucks sitting from your shows RIGHT THERE?! There's a reason why "a bunch" of people would be brought to do other projects at the same time. -and it's not because of all the red...)

I think it's pretty safe to say that theres an obvious monopoly going on. Why else would these episodes be getting 20+ million at a time, for years, while other just as good projects get next to none in comparison. Honestly, look at how much views, how many trends the shows follow, how much mainstream appeal, how much merchandising fills the "shelves" of Sharkrobot, how many episodes were shilled out in 2021 alone, how much it dominates the indie industry, and try to tell me that Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel are " not a monopoly!" Shilling out multiple Helluva Boss episodes full of softcore porn and bright colors a year to keep Spindlehorse's shows on top of the trending tag on Youtube EVERY YEAR SINCE 2019! -and end being what millions end up being reccomended. Though many people dont know that HB exists, many others do, and it's almost constantly being mentioned with indie animation while equally beautiful looking, or much better written projects get only 50,000+ views. Even in spite of Exxes and Oohs situation:

Season Two's premiere got 4+ million views in 15 hours.

While when I was watching the premiere of Exxes and Oohs with my freinds a couple of weeks ago after it premiered:

I noticed that it only had 1 million views in 5 hours, and then pretty much stayed that way throughout the entire week with only about 3 million for several days after Ep 1 had 4+ mil in only 15 hours.

While the premeire of Season Two passed 4+ million in LESS THEN TWENTY FOUR HOURS! -and the last episode is barely over it's despite being over 5 months apart. It's been a whole month, yet Seeing Star's views are still similar to when it was released and Exxes and Oohs is barely surpassing Seeing Stars despite a whole month having passed, while for Season One, in 5 months there would be 20+ million views and at times... more!

-and just to make this worse...

Hazbin Hotel.. a show with a pilot with over 70+ million views:

It's anniversary/sneak peak into the official show got only-

Get this...

THREE MILLION VIEWS!

-when FIVE WHOLE MONTHS have already passed and the fandom's still popular! While most of the previews for the pilot got OVER 3.5 million and the most popular being 20+ mil!

So it's really just people not caring to see the literal anniversary of the show since most were turned off by Helluva Boss or moved on because they grew out of all the stereotypes. It's got only about 0.8% of the views Hazbin's pilot has gotten despite the fact that people have been waiting for this show for THREE YEARS now and the fandom is bigger than ever. So even for that monopoly, it's slowly falling, and people barely cared about Hazbin's anniversary and release date reveal despite having waited for 3+ years.

So "Seeing Stars's" views has barely budged since release, Season Two's premiere has 20+ mil, but has also been that way since over three months ago, Exxes and Oohs only had 1 mil after even 5+ hours and onward, and Hazbin Hotel, a show with billions of fans, it's anniversary got only 3 mil- while the past season made OVER A YEAR AGO continues to receive views regularly. Meanwhile, Lackadaisy, had 6+ million in only TWO WEEKS while Exxes and Oohs barely got passed that in that time period (I remember it having maybe 5+ mil in about two weeks last time I checked, or even less that that.) and has been stagnant in views for 3+ weeks while Lackadaisy got over half of that in only 2+ weeks.

Which now makes it Helluva Boss's very first competitor.

While Murder Drones has Seeing Star's level of views after an ENTIRE YEAR so this is really saying something about the quality of Helluva Boss's latest episodes as Season One still skyrockets, the latest episodes stay stagnant even after 3+ weeks, and Helluva Boss now has a direct competitior due to this lowering in quality and just how many reviews are now criticizing it while Lackadaisy's reviews are majority positive with little to no hiccups in between.

Not joking, the first thing you get when you search "Seeing Stars Review" is thousands of negative reviews because of Vivienne, Adam, and Brandon Rodger's refusing to improve in their WRITING- you know... WHAT THEY WROTE ON A DOCUMENT?! The thing people have been CRITIQUEING?! Not "a personal, useless preference" but ACTUAL CRITICISM that they keep ignoring to look "near perfect" and to keep the monopoly going while other indie shows continue to get mediocure level views in comparison to Helluva Boss.

The views have been stagnant since near release. I remember seeing 17 million 3 weeks after it came out- and now it wont budge!

Yeah, im sure those statistics and thousands of people getting upset for actual reasons are "bad faith!" too. Adam- FUCK OFF! People aren't "bad faith" for telling you that using anti-black and fatphobic stereotypes in your show is awful! Also- you're show is now getting genuine competition so I suggest not being an egotistical jerk to your own fans and to actually listen to them for once before shit hits the fan and you have to further get hit by your own karma!

While look at all of the positive reviews Lackadaisy's getting!

Lackadaisy has almost all positive reviews, is catching up with Helluva Boss's latest episodes, all the other episodes in Season Two are also still static in views and Season One continues to get thousands on a daily basis, and yet is still- and I mean- still, Barely scratching Daisy's success! In comparison to how you'd think these "still being rewatched a lot" last episodes would be doing since this is HB, the monopoly of indie animation, that we're talking about!

So i'd say that Helluva Boss Season Two has been getting it really rough for the past 8 months in comparison to the success Season One still has, and even then, the first episode still has 54+ mil and yet most of the episodes continued to decrease by the millions each release. So even in Season One, the signs that people were losing interest were already there. -and Ozzies and Truth Seekers have just now caught up with Season Two's first episode (You know... the one people got hyped as all hell by but then lost interest once the episode started getting slammed for how terrible it was?) despite being the ones that are praised often, while Season Two's premiere has barely budged for the past year- making this a receipe for MILLIONS of lost views in total, and this is a fandom that constantly says "I binge watch the episodes a ton!" and yet Season One has barely budged in one and a half years. Its been in 30+ mil I think since last year... it's April now. -and they're now all catching up to each other and are about the same views, which would mean that they're barely going up by the thousands for ENTIRE MONTHS and Season Two, is getting even less because of the negative reviews from not a "useless personal opinion" but OBJECTIVELY BAD WRITING!

Season Two stays stagnant in views even after 5+ weeks and onward since the difference in views is that small.

THEY NOW HAVE A COMPETITOR! So Vivienne really needs to start giving a shit or WOOAH boy things are going to get intense!

So though Helluva Boss is still on top, it's falling over, and now has competition to worry about after only two weeks.

-and even then, it's still on top, because of Vivienne manipulating both her audience and staff into meeting constant demands and giving it constant praise regardless of quality under the threat of being seen as a "bad person" for not doing so.

Helluva Boss having almost billions of dollars in merch, 40+ million views with many of their episodes, a majority celebrity cast with little to no indie actors, Vivziepop having basically tried to put down Far Fetch from having any actual success by trying to not get her team with a show of BILLIONS of views to not work on it just because Hazbin is her "favorite project!" when these people have BILLS TO PAY and a FAMILY that can't be held up just by one project- which is why people like Erin had to work extra jobs, overnight, despite this show getting millions of dollars each day, in the first place! Yet to Vivienne, what mattered the most was her project, and not their lives. Which is the reason why she overworks her staff, and according to people who worked there, aren't even actually allowed to work on other projects, including Far-Fetched, either. While Far Fetched has not nearly as many people working on it and everything we see there has with has 100,000+ or less while Helluva Boss continues to monopolize the industry. (in case you're asking: Yes, it was also her supervisor's fault, but she's a million dollar creator, can't she just hire someone else instead of getting in the way of other people's lives other a cartoon show? Most freelancers do multiple projects, how else are they going to pay the bills?)

Yeah, Erin was lifted from a few things- but did they still have to work an extra job just to support themselves despite working for a 40+ million dollar show, did most people in Spindlehorse end up having to suffer even worse to meet those kinds of demands?

YES!

So does that make all the "Erin's not a real victim" or "Erin Frost's mistakes, as a human being, makes everything people say about Vivienne's behavior "not true" just because we beleive people who bootlick Vivienne but not people that she's hurt despite both people "only" using word of mouth. Except no, because no the ex-staff have evidence and yet the current staff who threatened to punch the people who spoke out about Vivziepop's behavior have nothing but word of mouth but we'll still beleive them just because they give us softcore porn! :D" comments now complete bullshit?

YES!

-and with Ashley Nichols in particular:

You'd think that Vivziepop would try to help Ashley... A LOT!

-since Ashley gave her projects millions of views in publicity and support with Hunicast and having actually worked on Hazbin!

But instead, Viv prioritized herself in the situation, fired all of her indie voice actors and replaced most of them with celebrities when she could have easily found other indie vcs but choose to use her status to get an actor from Grey's Anatomy and NORMAN REEDUS- and most likely will get more celeberties for Hazbin just because "famous = don't accociate with indie actors." appparently despite her main thing being "Support indie creators guys! :("

Vivziepop, again, pulling herself up while she's already been the top of the indie industry for the past 4+ years, while other projects continue to be pushed into the mud of a "cult classic" grave.

So in reality- Helluva Boss isnt "helping" the indie industry grow stronger, it's causing a monopoly which gets in the way of people's shows, their careers, their jobs, and even their mental health.

-and many people having little to no mentions of other projects outside of "Look at this pretty cool project I found- Ok, BACK TO HELLUVA BOSS AND HAZBIN HOTEL WOOOOAH LOOK THIS IS THE BEST INDIE SHOW EVAR!1!" is a literal monopoly in it's most capitalistic, trend serving, overproduced form.

Ashley even saw Vivienne trying to blacklist yet another staff member just because that staff member was upset about how much they were being rushed and overworked in order to meet even near the same demands, even with a few things being lifted since they have ADHD, they were still overworked, and for the rest of the staff it was even worse since they were overworked and bullied in order to meet the demands of said monopoly and stay in Spindlehorse.

Far Fetched got announced years ago- yet Vivziepop hasnt even mentioned it once as far as ive seen, she fired Ashley's partner and seeing how HB is, is likely going to replace him with an non-indie voice actor when apparently she could have easily kept them if she just paid a fee, when she has MILLIONS of dollars in support for her show now, lives in LA, and could easily use her platform to support THOUSANDS of indie projects. But as usual, she pulls herself up, bullies her own fandom by saying that they're "NOT A WRITER!" and "CANT UNDERSTAND WRITING!" for giving her any feedback and has basically manipulated her audience into seeing her and her shows as "NEAR PERFECT!" to continue said monopoly with HB's continous trending and high reviews regardless of quality. While other projects are only "secondairy". -and despite having worked on Hazbin Hotel, Far Fetched has gotten the average amount of acknowledgement for indie animation- Which, isnt much... at all.

Compared to that of mainstream shows, and especially Hazbin Hotel!

Yet as usual, Vivziepop manipulates her followers into contuining to put her on top regardless of her channel's ever reducing quality, and even views since it's lost millions since debut. With people constantly making excuses such as "ITS JUST BEEN UP LONGER!" and "ITS NOT LOSING VIEWS THE PANDEMIC HAS JUST ENDED AND PEOPLE ARE OFFLINE MORE NOW!"

Yeah-

Say that to how Lackadaisy has 6+ million in only two weeks despite being another show altogether, despite the show also having been produced in the pandemic since 2019.

It's been only two weeks yet it already has almost just as many views, and if this keeps up, will likely even have more than HB's latest episode while "EXXES AND OOHS!" has been only at 13+ since it was released. It barely has moved on inch in a entire month while Lackadaisy keeps going... and going... and going...

While Helluva Boss's latest episode has barely scratched the surface despite being just as new with only a month difference.

It's honestly messed up how Ashley was shafted after supporting Vivziepop and working for her after all this time. Same for all the other artists who worked for her. -and as Erin said:

-and seeing how Far Fetched is doing right now, this couldnt be any more evident of just how much of a capitalistic, worker mistreating, monopoly that Vivziepop's channel has become to the point where people who worked with her FOR YEARS still end up getting the short end of the stick or even outright harassed by her and her fandom, and she doesnt even defend them, she just... let's the bullying happen, let's her ex staff get slandered, let's her staff threaten to HIT THEM while only caring about shippings involving literal FICTIONAL CHARACTERS! -and last time I checked... going to the levels of not just trying to manipulate people into thinking that Vivienne is a "perfect little lamb" to gaslight people into not looking into how she treats her staff- but also THREATENING VIOLENCE over the fact that someone was actually honest about what was happening in Spindlehorse- Isnt exactly what i'd like to call "good treatment" of your staff since Vivienne let you do this to people. Hell- is- IS THIS EVEN ALLOWED ON TWITTER?! Is it even allowed for people on the platform to threaten to hurt someone on Twitter in their guidelines, hell, is it even legal to threaten to hurt someone like this at all?! Especially if it's being used to threaten people into not speaking out about actual workplace mistreatment?!

HOLY SHIT! Just let these people tell you that you need to do better, and going to the levels of threatening to hit someone for critiqueing Vivienne for her behavior even once and then going out of your way to call them "GLASS JAWED MOTHER FUCKERS!" is genuine hostility and honestly, I dont even think it's even legal to verbally harass and threaten people to this extent. WHAT THE FUCK?!

I looked into this and... yeah! What Monica did was against Twitter guidelines by threatening to hit people who were in the studio that said anything about how Viv was actually acting.

I also checked to make sure, but.... yeah, she actually wanted to hit people for saying that Vivienne was overworking her own staff by rushing and also having to work full day jobs despite Helluva Boss continuisly ranking in millions of dollars. Which means that they were getting a small percentage of pay compared to what ends up being used for Vivziepop's "spectacle!" animation. So this isn't just acephobia, but also threatening genuine violence towards people for saying that they don't deserve to be mistreated. This is vile.

Hell, even without those guidelines- it's disgusting that Vivienne let her staff talk to people this way and then also mistreated Spindlehose for all these years too. NO ONE deserves to be treat this way for speaking out, especially if all they're doing is saying what happened to them in a studio that they worked in, and the fact that everyone demonizes Erin Frost for a few mistakes but then lets Vivziepop's "favorites" threaten to HIT SOMEONE is actually horrifying.

Honestly.

Helluva Boss isnt even "INDIE" anymore, it just fills up space in the indie community while clearly being a million dollar, mainstream show that has Norman Reedus and other celebrities in it to give the "We're indie so we can do what we want just because we're smaller than Disney!" excuse to be assholes to other people for even saying something as simple as "tone down the saturation a bit."

It's a monopoly. A monopoly built on years of breaking trust, threats, more bullying, betrayal, prioritizing in fame over indie creators, worker mistreatment, rushed projects, fanbase manipulation, and it's why I have so much faith in Lackadaisy. It gives me hope, it gives me hope that one day Vivienne will finally get told to "WAKE UP!" through all that's been happening. That the monopoly will end, that the indie industry will become more balanced again, that freelance artists will be treated better and receive more respect for their craft instead of just being used to meet corperate demands. That hope... is why, that though I like Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss, that I also wish for other creators to get the spotlight and that one day... maybe... just maybe... that a new franchise will take Helluva Boss's place.

So to answer your question:

Yes. By defintion Helluva Boss has become a monopoly. It's taking a large chunk of the indie animation industry, and the creators overworked their staff to meet high demands for it to get trending almost every year through high amounts of demand and episodes in 2021 alone. It's taken a large amount of control over the industry and it's come to a point where creators have to rely on supporting Vivziepop to even get a piece of what HB has. Honestly, how is that fair? How is it "fair" to overwork her staff and appeal to even the bottom of the barrels of trends to keep her show trending while most of the other indie shows on Youtube suffer for it?!

It's making the indie animation community almost as corperate as the very companies that caused these people to steer towards indie animation in the first place. Which is such a shame, because there's so many good projects out there- yet to be discovered by most people. -and yet HB gets the trending almost every time because it appeals to as many mainstream trends and porn accounts as possible through all it's fetish and ship bait content and mass amounts of merchandising, and from mass amounts I mean HUNDREDS OF PIECES OF MERCHANDISING every year, even after the show already has 40+ million dollars in it's budget so it's just capitalism and mainstream pandering at this point. The indie community went from going against corperations and capitalism to BECOMING corperate and capitalistic.

It makes me miss back when all we had mostly were just fun short films and play dough animations. It's like people in the indie community have forgotten why we even make all these animations in the first place.. Not just for money and sucess....

But for fun, to animate away from corperations... for fun.

[cheerscoops]

ship: Jonathan Byers/Eddie Munson wc: 1.8k A/N: This one was suggested by my favorite @sherifftillman <3 I take the two freak boys and I squish. Hopefully they (and the minor background ship) live up to everyone's expectations!

“Hey Byers! Wait up!”

Jonathan stopped walking to his next class and turned to find Eddie Munson of all people racing towards him.

“I have a proposition for you,” he said once he’d caught up to Jonathan. “A job opportunity really.”

“What kind of job opportunity?” He was always looking to make a little more money around the holidays, and if the job wasn’t anything illegal, he’d seriously consider the extra work.

“So, as I’m sure you’re aware, I’m the frontman for a pretty spectacular band known as Corroded Coffin, and me and the guys were hoping to do a little something special for our fans this year. Granted, there are maybe five of them total, but still. They deserve a little something special as a token of appreciation for supporting us. Anyway, we wanted to send out a special Christmas card to our friends this year. Maybe include a flier about some upcoming shows in it? It’s still very much in the planning stages. All we know is that we want a really great photo of the whole band to go on the front of the card. That’s where you come in.”

“You want me to shoot your Christmas card?”

“Well, yeah. We don’t want an amateur with a disposable camera doing this. We want it to look good, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re the most talented photographer any of us knows. Maybe the most talented in all of Hawkins. I mean those photos you had in the school art show last year? Magazine worthy. Especially the one of that fort in the woods. It looked seriously haunted in the coolest way possible. Way better than anything anyone else submitted.”

Jonathan was touched. He knew most people only knew him as that freak with the camera, and he’d be lying if he hadn’t assumed that was why Eddie was asking when he first mentioned the card. But Eddie actually knew his work and appreciated it. He wasn’t asked just because he had a camera. He was asked because he had vision.

“How much does the job pay?” he asked.

“We’re not exactly rolling in it right now. Shocking, I know. But we talked about it and pulled our money. We can buy you a roll of film for the project so you don’t have to waste any of your own on us, and then we think we can reasonably afford to pay you for your time with twenty bucks and dinner at Benny’s afterwards. I know it’s not a lot, but it would mean a lot to us if you’d consider it. Plus, you can use the photos you take for any assignment or art show you might have coming up. And, come on.” Eddie gestured to himself. “If this handsome face is in your work, you’ll win all the top prizes for sure."

Eddie was right that it wasn’t a lot, but it was enough that it would make a difference in the quality of the gifts that Jonathan was able to get his mom and brother for Christmas. And if he didn’t have to use his own film, it was a net gain no matter what.

“So, say I agree to do this,” he started. “And I’m not agreeing just yet, but say that I do. What kinds of photos are you looking for?”

“Maybe something goofy and posed with all of us? Or artsy if you prefer. And then maybe a couple photos of us actually playing? We’ve got a Santa hat and some elf hats we were thinking of wearing since this is for a Christmas thing, but wearing them isn’t a deal breaker if you think the pictures would look better without them. Totally willing to defer to the real artistic genius here. I just want the pictures to look good, and you’re the only person I trust to make it happen.”

The idea of creative control was enticing enough to seal the deal for him.

“Alright. I’m in. When and where do you need me?”

“We haven’t settled on a specific day or time yet, but probably sometime this weekend. I’ll talk to the guys at lunch and let you know the plan before the end of the day though. I owe you my life for this. Seriously.”

With that, Eddie was racing off down the hall leaving Jonathan to try and come up with a way to make heavy metal Christmas cards into something appropriate for any of his photography class assignments.

That Saturday afternoon, Jonathan met up with the guys outside of the Hideout. The plan was to do posed photos outside and then go inside to take a few pictures of them playing. As long as they stayed focused on getting the shots they wanted, they'd be done in time for that promised dinner at Benny's.

He didn't think it would take too long, but then again, he didn't really know what working with Eddie would be like. The guy was all over him, and it was more than a little distraction. Eddie just had so many questions about his process, and he wanted to look through the camera and get an idea of what Jonathan was seeing. Or, if he wasn't asking questions, he was touching him. Adjusting a twisted camera strap, placing a hand on Jonathan's back as he leaned in the eye the proposed shot, poking at him to get his attention, grabbing at his arm to pull him over to any place he thought they could get a good photo. If Jonathan didn't know any better, he would've thought that Eddie was into him.

“Come on, Eddie,” he said as he tried to get him to pose properly for what he thought might be their last shot. “Quit it with whatever that brooding, tortured artist look is. You said you wanted something goofy, not sexy.”

“So you think I'm sexy?” Eddie asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Jonathan could feel his face burning.

“Just let me take the picture.”

He snapped a couple more photos in quick succession before putting the lens cap back on his camera.

“I think I got everything you guys wanted out here. Let's take a ten minute break, and then we can set up for the performance shots.”

Jonathan headed inside for a moment alone, but he'd barely sat down before Gareth was joining him at his table.

“You know we didn't need to hire you for this, right?” he started. “Jeff's parents own that hobby shop downtown, and his mom would have lent us a camera for free if we promised not to smash it. A fancy one with a timer so we wouldn't have even needed a photographer to get this done.”

“If that's the case, why am I here?”

“You haven't figured it out yet?”

“Figured out what?”

“You really have no idea. He's about as subtle as a heart attack, and you still don't know.”

“Can you please fill me in so I can make even a little bit of sense of what you're saying?”

“Eddie wanted you to do this so he'd have an excuse to spend time with you and get to know you a little better.”

“And he was willing to pay me twenty bucks for the opportunity?”

“Well, yeah. When he's that into someone, he loses all sense of logic and reason. Even more so than usual.”

Jonathan was stunned speechless. Eddie was into him? Suddenly all of his badgering made sense, and when he really stopped to think about it, the badgering wasn't unwelcome. If he wasn't in the middle of lining up a shot, he could see himself enjoying what was apparently Eddie's attempt at flirting.

“So, why doesn't he just ask me out? It would probably be cheaper than paying me to be your band's personal photographer.”

“He's afraid that you'd say no which I think is stupid because it's obvious how much he gets under your skin.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Dude. Your entire face looked like a tomato after you accidentally called him sexy. Pretty sure that was your subconscious telling you that you're into him, too.”

Jonathan didn't know what to say. Before he'd asked him to do this, he didn't realize Eddie even knew who he was, and now he was facing the very real possibility that he could maybe be into Eddie, too.

“Look," Gareth started. "You don't have to say anything to me or him or anybody. But, if you wanted, I could make something happen. All I ask is that you do a small favor for me.”

“Name it.”

“Put in a good word for me with Nancy?” he asked. “I find her beautiful and terrifying.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

Gareth stood up from his seat and smiled at Jonathan.

“It's been a pleasure doing business with you.”

Their break ended shortly after that, and Jonatham took a series of photos of them playing through two different songs so he could get a variety of different angles for each member of the band. Once he figured he'd gotten everything he needed, he motioned for the band to stop.

“I'm pretty sure I just used up the last of the film you guys brought, so we can call it here. I'll develop everything when I have access to the photo lab on Monday and get the prints to you as soon as possible.”

“We're done?” Eddie sounded more than a little disappointed and he crossed over to where Jonathan was loading his camera back into his bag.

“I think so. But I remember being promised dinner at Benny's as part of my payment, so we could head there now if you want.”

“Definitely. We just need to load up our stuff, and then we can all head out.”

“Actually, the guys and I have a thing,” Gareth said. “And we can't get out of it, so you guys are gonna have to go by yourselves.”

“What thing?” Jeff asked. “We don't have a-”

He was cut off from finishing his sentence by Gareth smacking his arm and pointedly looking back and forth between him and where Eddie was standing with Jonathan.

“Oh! Right!” Jeff said after the realization hit. “That thing. So sad we can't make it.”

“You crazy kids have fun without us!” Gareth said as he ushered the other two bandmates out of the bar.

“I'm going to kill him,” Eddie muttered under his breath, making Jonathan huff out a laugh.

“No, you're not.”

“Oh, but I am. I'm already drafting up posters advertising our need for a new drummer.”

“Go easy on him. He just did you a massive favor.”

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest.

“How do you figure?”

“He just got you a date with the guy you've been shamelessly flirting with all day.”

Eddie's jaw dropped. He definitely wasn't expecting that response from him.

“I'm pretty sure the guys just left without loading their stuff into the van, so pick your jaw off the floor and let me help you get that taken care of. Then you can flirt with me some more.”

Eddie changed his mind. He wasn't killing Gareth. He was gonna owe him for the rest of his life for helping him earn a date with Jonathan Byers.

[calinaannehart]

Hey, question! Did you right a fic about eddie diaz having memory issues, or were you going to?

Hi, I do have a fic with that plot line in the works, it’s currently about half way done, here’s a little slice below…

It was little things at first, items missing from the grocery list, misplacing the keys to his truck, forgetting the odd birthday, planned night out, or an extra shift he’d picked up. Nothing major or out of the ordinary. Then it was words, the correct ones coming out as something different or getting stuck on them all together. The time he forgot their anniversary Buck tried not to take it personally, he was just tired and stressed from a run of twenty-four hours shifts after all. But the day Eddie forgot altogether that he was a firefighter, that was when Buck started to worry.

“There’s just a lot going on at moment, Buck. Stop worrying about me.” Eddie had said as he closed his book with a sigh, and Buck knew he had lost his place on the page yet again.

But Buck always worried about Eddie.

“It’s just been a long week.” Eddie had said as he turned the house upside down looking for his phone which had been in his pocket the entire time.

But they had only worked two days that week.

“I’m just tired, Buck.” Eddie had said as he squinted in confusion at the coins in his hand as he struggled to make them add up.

But he had slept a full nine hours the night before.

“Eddie, I think maybe you should make an appointment to see your doctor,” Buck had said as gently as he could, conscious that, these days, his husband’s mood changed as easily as the hands on a clock.

“Buck, baby, I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

“I’m just tired, Buck.”

“I’m just tired.”

“I’m just…I’m…um…”

“You’re just tired?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that.”

[eddiezpaghetti]

Here’s a tragic little suggestion from someone who’s poor as shit and too tired after work to do any real cooking.

Bags of frozen broccoli are, like, a dollar and there’s like five cups of broccoli in there.

Take a cup of that broccoli. Put it in the fridge to defrost while you’re at work or whatever. (Or shove it between the window screen and the window pane on a cold day if you’re in my exact situation.) Put that shit in a bowl.

Pour the instant ramen you would have been eating anyway over your broccoli once you made it, then wait, like, a couple of minutes. Should have, like, the perfect texture. Nice and crispy.

Boom. Actual nutrients in your cheap-ass ramen for just an extra twenty cents per meal with, like, zero extra effort. The hardest part is scooping out a cup of broccoli. I just divided it into sandwich bags (store brand Ziplock) all in one go on the first day so I wouldn’t have to think about it later. And when this is, like, the only veggie I’m going to get my hands on all day, outside of maybe the lettuce on a McChicken if I feel like treating myself, it’s totally worth it.

I don’t know if it works with other frozen vegetables if broccoli isn’t your thing, but probably.

This has been a pathetic-ass recipe, courtesy of Eddie Spaghetti. Thank you for listening. Maybe it’ll help one of you with depression or some shit, I don’t know.

Oh, also, those little Aroma rice cookers are, like, twenty bucks or some shit and can boil water just fine with surprisingly high energy efficiency, which means it’s light on bills. You can make this with one of those. I know because that’s what I’m using. Just wash the bowl thing the second you’re done eating. Don’t leave it for tomorrow. That’s the devil talking.

[ionlytalktodogs]

POV I am your intrusive thoughts about mobility aids:

Most CVS-like convenience stores have canes for around $20 or sometimes $25. You can try out all the different options, maybe they even have folding ones or different patterns. I got my first cane from CVS for 25 bucks and it has flamingoes on it. And maybe you’ll try it and and decide it’s not right for you but it can’t hurt to try right? Maybe they’ll have one in your favorite color. Yeah maybe you don’t need it all the time but what about that time you took a really long walk and had to lie down for three days afterward? Maybe you wouldn’t have had to lie down if you had a cane. A cane for 25 bucks from CVS or a similar convenience store near you. Stop saying you aren’t disabled and you don’t want to be ‘offensive’ to disabled people. Buy the cane. Just do it.

[winchesterandpie]

Lovin' Feelin': "First" Date

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x wife!reader

Word Count: 1002

Warnings: highly self-indulgent, Hangman is a sweetheart, lots of fluff, I would like a Bradley Bradshaw

A/N: We’re back with more of Bradley and his wife messing with Hangman. I have several other pieces for these two that I'm working on, but they won't necessarily get posted in order. I'm making a masterlist for this universe, so I'll add the link to that once it's up! Let me know if you have any ideas for fun bets, and I’ll see about writing them! Enjoy!

Lovin' Feelin' Masterpost

“You keep grinning at that phone, but I still haven’t heard anything about a date.” Rooster looked up in time to see Hangman plop next to him on the couch. “You stringing that poor thing along or something?”

“She’s been working, dumbass,” he replied, throwing a bunched-up rag at the other pilot.

“But have you asked her out?”

“...No.”

“Then my point stands.” Hangman grinned triumphantly at Rooster’s admission. “Come on, man, it looks like you really like her.”

“I do.” He smiled softly at the thought of you.

“Alright, I didn’t think I was going to have to do this, but I won’t let you wait and wait until the moment’s gone.”

“What do--”

“Twenty bucks says you won’t ask her out in the next hour.”

Rooster couldn’t help it. He threw his head back and laughed. “Alright, alright. Here.” He pulled out his phone again.

Hey, so I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me. Maybe tomorrow night if you’re free?

“That’s definitely not the best you’ve got for asking someone out,” Hangman groaned as he watched Rooster send it. Rooster just shoved him with his shoulder.

“Look, it’s my date, so I’ll ask my way.”

Hangman held up his hands in surrender, both of them looking back at the phone when it signalled a new message.

I’d like that! What are you thinking?

“A good question. What are you thinking of doing?”

“Well, I’m thinking I want to take her stargazing.”

“On a first date?”

“A few days ago, she said she loves the stars but she hasn’t ever gone stargazing.”

“Alright, fair enough.”

“Actually, I have a favor to ask.”

“What’s up?”

“Can I borrow your truck? My car doesn’t have a flatbed.”

“Ah, and you want to do the whole ‘blankets and pillows in the bed’ thing, yeah?”

“I was hoping.”

“Fine, you can borrow my truck after training tomorrow. But only if I get to drive the Bronco.”

“Deal.”

It’s a surprise ;) Pick you up at 7?

He didn’t have to wait long for a response.

I look forward to it, Lieutenant. See you at 7!

Bradley laughed when he slid into the car in the base’s parking lot. The sun visor was down, displaying several sticky notes from Jake, who had felt the need to leave several tips.

If she tilts her chin up at you, she wants you to kiss her.

Consent is sexy

Stick an extra jacket in the back in case she gets cold

Ask about a second date when you drop her off--don’t keep waiting!

Don’t screw this up

You can thank me later

He flipped the sun visor back up and drove to your place. He’d been waiting for a chance to take you stargazing, and he couldn’t wait to surprise you. 

When he saw you in the doorway, he grinned, tucking you into a hug in greeting.

“Can I ask where we’re going?”

“It’s a surprise for a reason,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Want to get going?”

“Let’s get out of here.” You leaned in to kiss him properly, feeling his grin against your lips.

“Mmm, Mrs. Bradshaw. Kissing before a first date?” 

“Is that what Jake thinks this is?”

“It’s certainly what he’s betting me twenty dollars for.” You laughed as he picked up the bag he’d prepared for the evening. You couldn’t wait to see what was in it, as he had told you  sternly not to open it. He offered his arm to you and the two of you strolled to the car.

You stopped when you saw the truck, a question on your face.

“Just wait,” he said, helping you into the passenger seat. He bounced over to the other side and opened the sun visor to show you the sticky notes while he put the bag in the backseat.

“Oh my, this is so sweet,” you cooed as you read them. “Bradley, look at this. Jake’s such a sweetheart.”

“He’s a regular old softie, huh.” Bradley grinned, knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to tease the other man.

“Bradley, we have to do something nice for him.”

He reached over a hand to hold your face. “How about we enjoy our date first?”

“Mmm, I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

When he stopped the car in the middle of nowhere and started laying out blankets in the truck bed, you realized his plan. You hadn’t realized you could love him more than you did, but he had remembered a single off-handed mention that you loved the stars. He offered a hand to help you up into the bed and offering you the snacks he had brought.

The two of you laid on your sides, facing each other and chatting as you watched the sky. You reached out to brush his hair back from his forehead. You kept playing with it, running your fingers through the soft locks as he leaned into the contact.

“I still can’t believe you remembered this,” you said softly.

“Course I did.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

You shook your head affectionately, turning onto your back to look up. “Not possible, Bradshaw.”

He took your hand again, lifting it to his lips briefly. You sighed contentedly without turning your gaze from the pinpricks of light above you.

“I get why you love it up there,” you commented. “It’s beautiful.”

“Beautiful,” he repeated. You turned to look at him, only to find him still watching you, with adoration in his eyes.

“You are so sweet to me.”

“Only the best for my best girl.”

You shifted closer to him, tilting your chin up. He grinned, taking the hint and rolling on top of you. Bradley kissed you sweetly at first, propped up above you. That is, until you took his lower lip between your teeth lightly. He grinned against your lips before deepening the kiss.

The stars in the sky weren’t the only stars you saw that night.

Lovin’ Feelin’ Taglist (I think I got everyone, but if not, shoot me a message):

@red-ace-in-space @ohh-to-be-a-frog @alana4610 @mirandastuckinthe80s @partofmejustwantstosleep @rosiahills22 @alanadetigy @natasharomanoffisbaebby@natasharomanoffisbaebby @havaneselover08 @jules-1999 @katiemcrae @lttlemer @hufflepufftruffle @heavanskitchen @roses-and-grasses @littlehippies-world @cherrycola27 @lol-idk-10 @blue-aconite @angstyjellybean @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @lovemesomevesey @shanimallina87 @luckyladycreator2 @dhekebekenen @junie-july @erinswrld @hope-love-equality2 @blackwidownat2814 @sydneejean

Let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist for this universe of fics!

[wrenreid]

Conflict of Interest

mature content discussed in this story… all chapter in masterlist

Chapter Twenty: Out With It

Nina’s words replay in your head like an echo or a verse of a song that’s stuck in your mind and you can’t stop annoying yourself by singing it over and over again.

“And if he doesn’t?”

And if he doesn’t reject you and tell you your relationship has and always will be purely physical- purely friends with benefits and no strings attached, and all that bullshit that never works out in the books? What if he doesn’t turn down your feelings, but rather reciprocates them?

You suppose you haven’t quite considered that possibility. Well, it’s crossed your mind, but more so in a way in which you think it, then you tell yourself you’re crazy and need to slow your roll.

These thoughts have been going through your head all morning like an annoying snapchat video you can’t click out of.

You texted him back last night, responding with an optimistic and not at all nervous: “For sure, I’ll see you at 6!”

After sending it, you felt pretty good and empowered, then a total of 13 minutes and 27 seconds later, you wanted to throw up and unsend it. In that order. But unfortunately for you, Spencer had already responded with a cute “Looking forward to it!”

Nina, both annoyed and worried that you’re sitting in bed practically chewing your lips and nails off, drags you to lunch in the cafeteria downstairs. You sit with your friends and enjoy spending time with them for the first time in a while. It’s actually nice to not think about Spencer and this incredibly frustrating situation.

Being so nervous to tell a guy you have feelings for him reminds you of your school days. You weren’t necessarily a shy person, but admitting to a guy or girl that you like them was always difficult. So many gone-wrong scenarios played in your head that made you choke up or stutter.

But since you’re nearly 26 years old, you remind yourself to buck up and just fucking come out with it.

After lunch, Nina occupies your time with movies and gossip about her family she learned and or saw during the holidays. Their efforts of distracting you do not go unnoticed. You’re grateful to have a roommate/ best friend like her.

Eventually, it’s time to start getting ready. You head to the showers, missing having the nice bathroom from your childhood to use.

Once you’re back in your room, you get dressed in your favorite jeans and an oversized light blue sweater. You pull your hair back into two somewhat loose pigtails and put on a little bit of makeup. You pull on your boots then head out the door at 5:45, talking a deep breath.

Looking out the window of the cab, you can’t help but imagine either way this may go. And how both ways will ultimately change the relationship between you.

If Spencer does not feel the same, then you’ll have to stop seeing him; that would be the only choice fair to yourself. Class would be awkward as hell and maybe even hard to get through some days.

If he does reciprocate your feelings, then you’ll have to decide whether or not to make that extra step in the relationship. And being your professor’s girlfriend has to be difficult. You’d still have to keep things a secret.

A part of you feels like either outcome this situation will have could end poorly.

The cab driver pulls into Spencer’s apartment parking lot, and parks. You pay him the fee, then get out and take the elevator to his floor. When it lands, the stomach drop feeling comes from nothing the elevator stopping and the fact that you’re actually doing this.

You knock three times and wait the short amount of time it takes Spencer to open the door.

“Hey,” he smiles to you, opening the door wider so you can go in. “I almost thought you were going to stand me up, you haven’t texted me all day.”

“Oh shit, yeah. I’m so sorry, Nina was distracting me all day and we were catching up some more.”

“No worries,” he says softly. “You’re here now.”

“That I am,” you rub your hands together with nerves and follow him as he leads you to the couch.

“How was your break?”

“It was good,” you say honestly. “It was nice to be with my family again. Though my mother did not come.”

“Really?” He says with a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, Y/n.”

“It’s okay. I think it was for the best.”

He nods.

“How was that party your friend took you to?” You ask before you can even think it through. What if he says he met someone?

“It wasn’t half bad actually,” he tells you. “Normally I hate parties or really any event where there’s a ton of people I don’t know, but it wasn’t awful.”

You nod. “I’m glad you could enjoy yourself even if it was just a little.”

He smiles softly. “What about yours?”

You completely forgot until now that you told him you were going to a party. Which you were totally lying about but ended up actually going to one. You can tell your cheeks are burning red. “Yeah, it was nice.”

“Nice?” He questions.

“Okay, it was good until it was kind of awkward. I got a little tipsy then made out with my brother’s old best friend.”

“Oh,” Spencer says.

Oh? What does “oh” mean?

“It didn’t mean anything though,” you say quickly.

“Hey, I mean you can kiss whoever you want. It’s not like we’re dating.”

That sentence hits you like a baseball bat to the gut.

“Right. We’re not dating. And you’ve made it abundantly clear we never will.” You say, turning away from him.

“What?”

You stay silent, still not looking at him.

“We both agreed that this would just be some stupid risk we’re taking-”

“So now it’ stupid?”

“Yeah, Y/n. It is stupid! The whole no strings attached friends with benefits thing is stupid!”

“Well sorry, Doctor, I thought we were enjoying this!”

“I thought we were too. But apparently you’re angry about your own rules.”

“I’m angry because I broke my own rule!”

“What?” He furrows his eyebrows.

This is not how you intended to tell him. You sigh, bouncing your leg. “The most basic rule of this type of relationship is don’t fall for the other person… I broke that.”

His face changes. His eyebrows relax a little and his eyes widen a bit. Spencer’s cheeks turn a bright shade of pink. “Wait… really?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out softly, looking down at the carpet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen, and I definitely didn’t intend to tell you like this. I don’t want to be mad at each other.”

Spencer’s hand cups your cheek gently, forcing you to look at him. He starts to say something, but leans in and presses his lips to yours instead. It’s soft, but passionate.

You relax against him entirely, despite your brain telling you to pull away; you still don’t know how he feels. Your hand rests on his knee.

After a moment, he pulls away, lips swollen. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Really that’s all you have to say?” You say with an almost laugh.

“I’m not really good at saying how I feel, but I’ll try for you. I didn’t want this to just be a casual, no strings attached relationship. I do think those are stupid and hardly work out, especially not for people like us. I agreed because I wanted to get close to you, and I thought that was all you wanted. But I stumbled and fell for you harder along the road. Like the type of fall where you hit your head on gravel, and you’ve got scraped knees and elbows, and everything hurts afterwards.”

You chuckle softly, feeling your heart in your throat. You feel like crying, but you choke it down. “So what now?”

“I just poured my heart out to you, and you ask ‘What now?’” Spencer laughs softly.

“Hey, all you said was that you weren’t mad.”

“Touché, well deserved.”

“But seriously, what do we do now? Do we move on with our lives or-?”

“What? No, of course not!” He says, cutting you off. “I want a real relationship… if you want that too.”

“I do,” you smile softly. “But don’t you think that it’ll make things weird?”

“Things have been weird for months, Y/n.”

You nod, chuckling softly once again. “You’re not wrong there.”

“I’m never wrong.”

“Whatever, genius,” you roll your eyes.

He smiles, bumping your shoulder playfully. “Will you be my girlfriend? Officially.”

“I don’t know,” you tease. “That’s a hard decision.”

“Okay, go home.”

“I’m kidding! Yes, yes I will be your girlfriend.” You grin up at him.

He smiles down at you, kissing you again. “You’re something else.”

“You like it,” you scrunch your nose at him cheekily.

“I suppose.”

You roll your eyes then pull him into you. Your lips find each other’s again, and your hands lock behind his neck. Spencer’s hand trail down to your thigh as he leans you back into the couch. Your tongues graze against each other’s roughly.

Spencer pulls away, drawing out a soft whine from you. “I don’t want to have sex.”

“Oh,” you say. “Okay.”

“Well, I mean it’s not that I don’t want to, but that’s how our last relationship started, and we’re having a clean slate. So tonight could just be I don’t know… am I making sense?”

“You’re making sense,” you assure him, twirling the hair against his neck in your fingers. “I agree.”

“Good,” he smiles. “Good, okay. Um how would you like dinner?”

“Are you cooking?” You wiggle your eyebrows.

“I was thinking takeout, but I can cook for you later this week.”

You sigh, pouting. “I guess that’s fine.”

“Yeah, you guess?” He chuckles, and his smile makes your guts melt all over the couch.

After dinner, the two of you lay in his bed, fingers interlocked as you talk about winter break, the academy, and the BAU.

Earlier your mind was racing about the two different outcomes this night could’ve had. You were worried that either one would’ve ended poorly. But now, laying in this bed next to the guy you’re falling in love with, you can’t possibly imagine how this could go wrong. He’s perfect, this is perfect.

chapter twenty one

tags: @reidsmilf @reidslovely @awhoreforspencerreid @sexualityisajoke @nomajdetective @kenreadsfanfics @calicocatty @hotchandspencearedilfs @kodiakwhiskey @rory-cakes @kbakery @reidsprettygirl @444verse <3

[scuttling]

Paper Rings

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 10,191 Tags: SFW, Fluff, Literature, Friends to lovers, Everyone thinks they're dating, There was only one bed, Some angst with a happy ending, Confessing love in the rain, TW fire and blood/wound Summary: Some of my favorite tropes rolled into one cute fic inspired by Taylor Swift's Paper Rings. (lyrics and music) Link to A03 or read below! “Good morning, my friendly neighborhood crime fighters,” Penelope says as she enters the briefing room, wearing a dress that is bright bubblegum pink, with fingerless gloves and glasses to match. You, Derek, and Spencer groan your replies, because you just got home from a case last night, with less than seven hours between arriving at your apartment and returning to the office, and that is everyone’s least favorite thing.

You can’t deny that her typical sunny disposition makes you smile a little bit brighter, but you’re still exhausted, and even your usual extra large travel mug of breakfast blend is barely taking the edge off.

That’s probably why, when Aaron enters with trays of steaming espresso drinks from the cafe down the street, and a striped box of donuts, you act like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh my god, I love you. Thank you, I love you.” He got an array of basic drinks based on everyone’s usual orders, and you scan for one that has something with latte, but he takes one out and hands it to you, smiling when you take a sip and sigh—okay, he’s smiling with his eyes, but you are well versed in his body language and facial expressions, and he’s practically grinning at getting your order (triple one pump hazelnut extra hot latte) correct.

You are not the only one to notice.

“Get a room, you two; it’s just coffee,” Derek says, taking the white mocha from the tray and drinking half of it in one sip. “Now if you tell me there’s a bear claw in there, I’ll confess my undying love too.”

“I don’t know; I asked for an assortment,” he says, and it’s clear he did, but your cup has your name on it; you cover the ink with your hand and take another grateful sip. “I do know there’s a plain glazed in there, though,” he says a bit lower, just for you, and you smile, give his wrist a squeeze, and dive for it before Jennifer Jareau can get her hands on it.

That’s all the morning meeting consists of—bickering and bantering and caffeine and carb consumption—and when the group disperses, you follow Aaron to his office and sit down in the chair across from his.

“Thanks again for breakfast. You definitely raised the morale of the troops,” you say with a sip of your perfect latte, and he shares the hint of a smile.

“You’re welcome. It helps that you’re all so easy to appease.” He flips open his bag, pulls out a small, worn, paperback book, tosses it toward you. You pick it up, run your hand over the well-loved cover, and hum.

“The Call of the Wild—this made it into the Aaron Hotchner Nightstand Collection?” He arches a brow.

“It’s so overrated that it’s underrated; no one ever actually reads it, they just assume they know what it’s about. It’s a great book, if you’ll give it a chance.”

“Hey, you’ve read all of mine without complaint; of course I’ll give it a chance.” You take the last, sad sip of your latte and stand up, point out the door with your thumb. “Speaking of, mine’s still downstairs on my desk. I’ll be right back.”

Exchanging books started as an offhand comment one night, on a flight home from Georgia, when he’d mentioned that he never buys new books, only cycles through the same ten or twelve he’s been reading since college. He knows what he likes, finds something different in the text each time he reads, and you’d found something so profoundly beautiful about that that you’d asked for the list. You wanted to know more about the books that tug at his emotions enough that he’s read them day in and day out for over twenty years with no boredom in sight.

He’d done you one better, said he’d be happy to lend them to you, if you’d like, and that was an offer you couldn’t refuse. Seeing college-aged Aaron’s notes in the margins of battered paperback novels was a prospect too good to be true.

Of course, you couldn’t accept the gesture without returning one of your own, so you’d offered to share your favorite books with him too, only... you don’t exactly give him your favorite books. You purposefully buy the cheesiest romance novels you can get your hands on, pass them off to him while he hands you poignant, classic novels that have won literary awards and Nobel prizes.

Today’s is called Lord of Scoundrels, complete with a shirtless man on the cover, kissing a woman with dark, flowing hair and a light blue dress; you snicker the whole way to your desk and back up to his office—earning curious glances from the rest of the team—and when you drop it on the desk in front of Aaron, you watch closely for a reaction.

As usual, he doesn’t really give you one, just flips the book over, skims the summary on the back, and nods.

“Sounds interesting,” he says, and your heart does a little flip.

He could easily hand the book back, laugh in your face, refuse to read something so clearly out of his wheelhouse, but he thinks these novels are important to you, and he never fails to read them, offering his favorite parts the same way you do for his.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t.

“I think you’ll really like it. Sebastian and Jessica start out kind of indifferent toward each other, but the more they interact, the more they find they have in common. It’s very acquaintances to friends to lovers, if you’re into that.” He looks up with an expression you place as uncertainty, even if you’re not quite sure the reason for it. You smile softly. “I should get to work, but thanks for the book. I’ll see you at lunch?”

It’s been so nice lately that you started taking your lunch outside, sitting on a bench beneath a huge, shady oak tree, and Aaron had taken to doing the same; you both quickly realized it was stupid to sit outside together, apart, so you meet up in the bullpen now and walk out side by side, spend the hour talking about your books or the team or Jack or life in general. He shakes the uncertain expression, nods his head.

“Of course. Thank you,” he says with a wave of the book, and you head back downstairs to start your day.

You’ve become mostly accustomed to the feeling, but it still surprises you a little when all that gets you through the day is thinking about your next conversation with Aaron. A week later, you’re on a case in Pittsburgh, and you and Aaron are paired up to room together. That’s nothing unusual—it seems like you’ve been rooming together more often than not lately, which is fine by you; he’s tidy, quiet, always interested in a late night snack, pretty much the perfect roommate—but when he opens the door and you step inside, the single king size bed in the middle of the room takes you by surprise.

“Uh… do you think it’s a mistake? Or maybe they just ran out of doubles?” you suggest; he's kind of frozen in place, and while it’s not ideal, you know it’s not actually going to be a problem. You’ve shared a bed with JJ before, and Spencer, and even though you don’t feel the same way about them as you do about Aaron, you think you can manage a couple nights in close quarters.

“Probably just ran out of doubles,” he agrees after a moment; he doesn’t bring up calling the front desk to ask for another room, so you don’t either, just hang your clothes and head into the bathroom to change into your pajamas and do your nightly routine.

It’s a little awkward at first, and you don’t know why; over the last six months or so, he’s actually become your closest friend on the team, and conversation usually comes easily, but silence settles over the room uncomfortably as you slip between the sheets on your side of the bed.

He goes into the bathroom, does his own nightly routine, then comes out in his pajamas and turns on CNN.

You take out your book, pay no attention to Aaron, but the longer he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the news ticker on the television screen but not actually watching it, the more you wish he’d just get over himself and come to bed. If he’s trying to wait for you to fall asleep, he’s going to be waiting a while.

“So you were right; I love Buck,” you say as a way to start some conversation, to bring some normalcy to this unusual situation. You hold up the book you’re reading, the one he let you borrow. “His struggle between remaining loyal to his owner and answering the call of the wild—I love dogs, but I never imagined a book about a dog could be so moving.”

He turns back with a soft smile, then switches off the tv and heads over to his side of the bed; he pulls back the comforter, slides between the sheets, meets you toward the middle of the bed.

“I told you you’d like it; what chapter are you on?” He leans over to look, so close it wouldn’t take much to lift a hand and brush it over his hair; it looks unfairly soft, and part of you wants to card your fingers through it, to tug on it and mess it up a little. He probably wouldn’t even mind if you did.

“Chapter 7—I only have a few pages left.” You snuggle more comfortably against your pillow, lean into his shoulder, and move the book so it’s more evenly between you. “Want to finish it with me?”

He does, and you read silently at a similar pace; he reaches up to turn the pages, and you think about how these hands have flipped through this book so many times before, what he might have been thinking, feeling, while reading. It’s a more intimate act than you’ve shared with anyone in a really long time.

When you finish the book, you sigh, let the feeling of reading a really great story envelope you; you turn to face Aaron, and he’s looking at you… and then there’s a knock at the door that startles you both.

He gets up, walks over and checks the peep hole, then opens the door.

“Are you sure?” you hear JJ ask, and he steps back so she can enter the room; when she sees you tucked snugly into the middle of the bed, she shoots you a soft smile and mouths you’re welcome, which makes absolutely no sense without context. You’ll have to bring it up to her later and ask what exactly you’re supposed to be thanking her for.

“So you said the detective called?” Aaron prompts her, and she looks away from you, nods.

“Yes, he wanted me to ask if we could have a few agents meet him at the second crime scene tomorrow instead of the precinct, figured it could save a little time.” Aaron looks confused, like he doesn’t see why this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, but he ultimately agrees.

“Sure. You, Reid, and Prentiss can head straight there, if that’s what he wants. I’ll let them know in the morning.” JJ nods, and looks over at you, and then back at Aaron, who makes a kind but curious face. “Was there something else?”

“Huh? Oh, no, that’s it. I just didn’t want to forget. I’ll let you guys go—enjoy the rest of your night,” she says with a smile and a wave, and when he closes the door behind her, you both exchange a look.

She’s definitely acting a little weird, but it’s late, so you give her the benefit of the doubt.

You scoot over to your side, put the book on the nightstand and switch off your lamp; Aaron climbs back into bed and switches his off, too, and he turns to face the wall while you lay on your back and stare at the ceiling.

It takes about half an hour, but he falls asleep first; you turn to face him, watching his back, following the rise and fall as he softly breathes in sleep, and the peaceful rhythm lulls you into submission, and you drift off as well.

When you wake up a couple hours later, he is on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow, and you are draped over his back with your cheek against his t-shirt. It’s soft, and warm, and smells like him, and you glance at the clock and realize it’s too early to do anything but get comfortable and fall back asleep, so that’s exactly what you do.

The next time you wake up, to light creeping in between the curtains, Aaron is no longer in bed, but you’re holding his pillow, still warm beneath your cheek. He doesn’t act weird when you get up and start moving around, just pops out of the bathroom with his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

“Got you a latte,” he says around it, gesturing to the desk and the pair of paper cups that sit on it, and you grin.

“Seriously, you’re my favorite human,” you answer, and you grab your coffee and lean against the doorframe, sipping and sighing until you’re a little more clear-headed. “Sorry if I crushed you; guess I was restless last night. I usually don’t move around that much.”

He just shrugs, spits out a mouthful of foam into the sink.

“You didn’t crush me. I’m pretty solid, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed,” you tease, looking at him over the lid as you take another sip. “Now hurry up and quit hogging the bathroom if you want to leave here at a decent hour.” He rinses, zips up his toiletry bag noisily for dramatic effect, and slips past you, rubbing a hand over your unruly bed head as he goes. The day passes quickly, with lots of interviewing witnesses, following dead-end leads, and bad police station coffee. When Aaron calls it and tells everyone to get some dinner, you all split off into smaller groups—Spencer and Derek go for Chinese, JJ and Emily opt for pizza, and you and Aaron end up at a retro diner with burgers and milkshakes and a plate of fries between you to share.

“I think we should be focusing more on the docks,” you say, dipping a fry in ketchup and taking a bite. “Even if that’s not where the bodies end up, it seems to be where the unsub is meeting with the victims. We could stake it out tonight, maybe. If you want.” You never want to step on his toes, because he is the boss, the leader, even if you’re friends too; you try to be careful how you phrase things, especially in front of other people, because you don’t want your comfort to look like disrespect, however unintentional.

“That’s a good idea. You and I can head down there after this; I’ll let the others know to patrol nearby, in case we need backup.”

He dusts off his fingers and pulls out his phone, types out a text, and you look around the restaurant—the place looks like it was ripped right out of the 50s, with a checkered floor and lots of red vinyl, a shiny jukebox in the corner. Out of place is a flatscreen tv behind the counter; during the day, when it’s busier, it might play news or sports, but you two are the only ones here at the moment, so the staff is hanging out beneath it watching a movie. It’s Titanic, you realize, when the iconic ‘Rose floating on a piece of debris’ scene plays, and you snort, take a long drag of your chocolate shake.

“I always hated this part. They could have found a way for him to survive, too. Unnecessary death for the heartache factor,” you say, and Aaron looks up from his phone to the screen, makes a sound of contemplation.

“I always thought it was kind of romantic. When you love someone, you’d do anything for them to be okay, even at your own expense. Even if it’s stupid.” You look over his face, study the features you know like the back of your hand, and you guess you can kind of see that, but you can’t say that, so you just sigh.

“I suppose you think Romeo and Juliet is romantic, too,” you tease, and he looks back at you, rolls his eyes.

“It’s very much of its time; it's a lot harder to suffer a miscommunication like that these days. And there is something to be said for star-crossed lovers—people who shouldn’t be together, for one reason or another, but can’t help but drift close anyway.” You swirl your straw in the metal cup, thinking briefly of how that happens to describe the two of you, and when you look up at him, you think you see a hint of that same thought on his face.

More likely, that’s just wishful thinking.

“I like the sword-fights,” you say to lighten the mood, and he laughs, and you both polish off the rest of your food and then head for the docks.

Two hours in and absolutely nothing has happened, but just when you’re ready to complain, or suggest playing I Spy or something, there’s movement from one of the shipping containers to your right. You nudge Aaron, point to the container, and you both creep closer, trying to make out the situation.

When you’re just around the corner, it’s clearly two men fighting, but you obviously don’t know if this is your unsub, two random guys having it out on the docks, or what, so you mutually agree to wait until you have some kind of sign that this is your guy. When one of them pulls out a hunting knife that looks vaguely similar to your murder weapon—as close as you can tell in the dark, anyway—you raise your guns and identify yourselves as FBI.

The unsub drops the knife, but fists his hands in the other guy’s jacket, manhandles him to the edge of the dock, and shoves him into the water, then jumps as well. You swear, and Aaron takes off his jacket, throws it on the ground, then his phone on top of it, and looks back at you.

“Stay here and call for backup,” he instructs, and then he jumps in too; you call the team from your comms, get a response from Emily, and then toss your phone onto Aaron’s jacket and follow him.

He, of course, went for the victim first, so you look for the unsub, who is not visible above the water. You completely submerge yourself, feeling for more than looking for him, because the water is cloudy on a good day and pitch black at ten o’clock at night; when you pop your head up for air, you see Aaron getting the victim up onto the dock, and the unsub bobbing a bit further out. You swim to him, limbs aching, and he seems to know it’s time to give up.

He’s winded, gasping for breath, so you keep him above the water to your own detriment, dragging him by his wet jacket instead of cuffing him, because you’re not trying to kill the guy or lug his unconscious body back to shore. You just barely keep your own head above water most of the time, coming up for big gulps of air when absolutely necessary.

You finally make it to the dock, and your team has arrived, so Derek pulls him out of the water, makes sure he’s alright, and puts some cuffs on him. Aaron’s hands are on you right after, getting you up on the dock, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

Despite the warm spring breeze, the water was freezing, and you can feel your teeth chattering. He rubs your arms for warmth, crouches down to look you seriously in the eyes.

“Thought I told you to stay here,” he says with an arched brow, a scowl you can tell is more concerned than angry. You wet your frozen lips and try your best to smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack.”

He looks at you like you’re an idiot, but fondly, if that’s possible, then hugs you so tightly, guides your face to press against his warm neck. How he’s not teetering on the edge of hypothermia is anyone’s guess.

“Your lips are practically blue. Stupid,” he murmurs, but his mouth dusts over your temple in what is unmistakably a kiss, and when you’re able to feel your lips again, you reciprocate, press them a little harder against his throat while you shiver in his arms.

It doesn’t mean anything except I’m happy we’re both alive. Probably.

That night in bed, he faces the wall, and you stare at the ceiling, but you wake up with your nose against the back of his neck. The way he’s breathing tells you he’s not asleep, and when you wrap your arms around him, he holds them tight. Things don’t change after Pittsburgh, and that’s okay. You are comfortable with the way things are, and you love what you have—lunches under the oak tree, the exchange of books, late night texts when you both can’t sleep, hands brushing when you walk to the parking garage, glances shared across the jet. All those things make it easy not to focus on what you don’t have, what you’re not even sure Aaron would want anyway.

You exchange books again on Friday at lunch: he hands you Beloved by Toni Morrison, a book you already know and adore, and you hand him Ravished by Amanda Quick.

“Dubbed the Beast of Blackthorne Hall for his scarred face and lecherous past, Gideon,” Aaron shoots you a glance—“that’s purely coincidental”—“was strong and fierce and notoriously menacing. Yet Harriet could not find it in her heart to fear him. For in his tawny gaze she sensed a savage pain she longed to soothe... and a searing passion she yearned to answer.”

You hold back a smile.

“It’s a modern retelling of a classic story—Beauty and the Beast,” you add, taking a bite of your sandwich. He looks you over like there’s something he wants to say, but he just tucks it under his arm and steals a piece of melon from your lunch.

“I have Jack this weekend, so I probably won’t get to read much, but it sounds intriguing.”

“Well I hope you like it when you read it. Tell him I said hi; it’s been too long since I saw him. I bet he’s looking more like you every day,” you say, popping a piece of melon into your mouth. He smiles softly.

“A little, but Haley says she sees her father in him, and I have to agree. We may have to wait a few years until he looks like me; he’s too cute for that now.” He doesn’t sound self-deprecating, just fond, but you can’t let a comment like that stand, regardless.

“You’re cute; the difference is that kids are cute all the time. You’re an adult, so sometimes you’re handsome, sometimes you’re cute, sometimes you’re hot… it can be hard to reconcile.” This time, he looks you over with something light and playful in his eyes, and it’s something you want to explore, but the timer on your phone goes off, indicating that lunch is over, so you just exhale softly and pack up your things.

You don’t talk much after that—his Fridays are usually busy with meetings, and he leaves in a hurry to pick up Jack, which is understandable.

Emily, JJ, and Penelope invite you out for drinks and dinner—“because we know Hotch is busy,” Penelope says, which has literally nothing to do with your weekend plans, but you don’t correct them—so you don’t linger either.

You go out for Italian, so you are sleepy and full of wine and pasta by the end of the evening, and you smile at your friends.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, guys. I had a really good time.”

“Of course,” Emily says, taking her last sip of Pinot Noir. “We barely see you anymore; it was long overdue.”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I should really try to drag my ass out of bed more often.” You can’t help it, though, that after a long day, your bed and a good book just call your name. You’ve always been introverted in that way. JJ laughs softly, chin in her palm, elbow on the table.

“Honeymoon phase. Give it another couple months and you’ll be past that.” You do have a new memory foam mattress that has made sinking into the pillows and blankets all that more indulgent, but you didn’t think JJ knew about that. And you’ve never heard of a honeymoon phase for a mattress before.

“Eh, I don’t think so. There’s literally nothing more satisfying on this earth.” The three of them exchange an amused look, but your phone vibrates, and that catches your attention; you smile when it’s Aaron, sending you a photo of Jack with a toothy grin and his hands covered in fingerpaint. You look up to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.

“Alright, we’ve lost her. See you all Monday,” Emily says, pulling you in for a hug; when she steps back, she smiles. “And tell Hotch we said hi.”

“I will,” you promise as you hug the other two. You hang back a moment, type out a reply—Looks like you’re having lots of fun without me!—and get into your car to head home.

You change into comfy clothes, drink a glass of water, and climb into bed with Beloved, and at around 9:30 you receive a reply.

Having the most fun we can without you. Maybe next time Jack is over, we can tempt you with dinosaur chicken nuggets and fingerpaint?

You smile, the happiest you’ve been all night—and that’s saying something, because you really did have a great time—and send back, It’s a date. Come Monday, you’re feeling pretty good, well-rested and relaxed from probably too much time in bed, but Aaron looks upset when he walks into the morning meeting. He keeps it short and sweet, and everyone disperses quickly, giving you sympathetic looks as you hang back to try to have a word with him. He clears off the white board, tidies up the table that doesn’t need tidying, and you place a hand on his back, gentle and comforting. He sighs, and you can feel the tension leave him almost instantly.

“Hey. What’s bothering you?” you ask softly, leaning around to try to catch his expression; he looks tired, sad, and maybe a little conflicted, leans into your touch.

“Taking Jack back to Haley’s was rough last night; it always is, but yesterday was really bad.” You know a little about this from weekends past, how Jack always cries when Aaron has to leave, how he feels terrible about it for the rest of the evening, but it must have been extreme for him to still be so upset. “And Haley…” He sighs again, runs his hand through his hair. “It’s like it’s one step forward, two steps back with her sometimes.”

“Why don’t we go sit in your office and you can tell me more?” You want to continue discussing this—that’s what friends are for, and he’s clearly in a bad state emotionally, you think it could help—but he just shakes his head.

“No, I… it’s okay. I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems.” You take your hand off his back, lean a hip against the table and look up at him.

“I’m not just your friend when it’s all easy breezy, lunch in the sunshine, talking about our favorite books,” you say with a sad smile; he reciprocates a little, which is more than you expected. “I’m here when things are complicated, when you have bad days, too. The Monday blues especially.” One of his hands rests on the table, and you cover it with yours, lean in to press your forehead to his shoulder. “Let me be here, okay? Even if all you need me to do is listen.”

It takes a moment, and his eyes are wet when he finally responds; he inhales deeply, nods, and brushes his free hand over your head in something of a hug, murmurs a rough, “okay.”

You sit in his office for an hour—which, again, is more than you expected—listening to him talk about his weekend with Jack, how heartbreaking it was to take him back to Haley’s, how he tried talking to her about taking him more often and she just wasn’t sure she could trust him to do what he says he’ll do. He understands where she’s coming from, knows he’s been unable to keep his word in the past, thinks he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt; he hasn’t asked for advice, seems to just want to vent, so you just listen.

“Then I mentioned you, that you might come for dinner next time he’s over, and she was worried about that,” he says, exasperated, and you frown.

“Why would she worry about that? I’ve been around him lots of times.” It doesn't make sense, because Haley has always been nothing but sweet to you; Aaron looks up at your question, and it seems a little like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that part, though you can’t imagine why.

“It’s just different now… because he’s older,” he says after a brief moment of hesitation. “She doesn’t want him getting attached to someone who might not always be around, you know.” You sigh softly, because if that’s all it is…

You lean forward, take his hand, squeeze it tight.

“I’m always going to be around, Aaron. I can talk to her, if you want, tell her that.”

“No, it’s—you don’t have to do that.” He squeezes your hand back, closes his eyes for a beat. “Just hearing you say it, it makes things easier. I’ll talk to her again next time.”

You talk a little more, and he seems a lot better afterward, even if he is a bit less expressive during lunch; you figure any progress is good, but it makes you sad to see him so down, so naturally, you formulate a plan to help get him back to the Aaron you know and love.

At the end of the day, when he makes his way to the bullpen, you spin around in your chair, take him by the sleeve.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” you say in no uncertain tone of voice. “For a few hours. I’ll bring you back for your car.” He agrees with a fond look, and you lose yourself in the expression for a moment, then stand up, grab your things, and walk with him out to the garage.

Rush hour traffic is what it is, and you leave Aaron in charge of the music, which means you get The Beatles and The Who, Rolling Stones and Neil Diamond, and you’re both singing along and so much happier by the time you pull into the parking lot of the bodega nearest your apartment.

“Just running in for provisions—be right back,” you say with a grin, and when you return with two paper bags of loot, he looks at you like you might be his favorite person in the world with an age in the double digits. It’s a look you love putting on his face.

“Do I get to see what provisions you’ve acquired?” he asks, teasing, but you shake your head and tell him he’ll see it when you get there.

With a pit stop in your apartment to grab a blanket and a few throw pillows, you take him up to the roof and get things ready for your makeshift picnic. There is white wine, still mostly chilled; cubed cheese, far from gourmet but no less delicious; crusty french bread that was fresh this morning but at this hour is a little extra crusty; blueberries, because they didn’t have grapes; dark chocolate, because you share a fondness for it; and paper cups for the wine.

Aaron takes a look at your bounty, spread over the blanket, and smiles the first real smile you’ve seen all day.

“Fancy,” he teases, and he takes off his jacket, gets on the ground with you. You pour each of you some wine, pop a blueberry in your mouth.

“No, but I thought a meal—and I do call it that loosely—under the stars might do you some good.” You lift your paper cup and tap it against his, brush your fingers over his hand. “To the best boss, best dad, best friend I could ask for.” You take a sip, but he doesn’t at first, watches you with something simmering behind his eyes.

“Do I get to make a toast?” he asks after a few beats, and you smile, nod, and hold up your cup. “To the only person stupid enough to jump into a freezing cold river after me. To the only person I would consider eating a bodega dinner with. To the only person who sees me the way you do.” You both take a sip, which is hard to swallow around the lump in your throat. He looks into your eyes, then breaks the dark chocolate into slivers and hands you a piece like he didn’t just say the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to you before.

You eat, and talk, and drink, and when you’re done with dinner you put everything back in the bags and lay back on the blanket, side by side, and stare up at the stars. The moon is high and full, shining while the stars twinkle around it, and you can’t think of a single time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“This was really perfect,” Aaron says, almost a whisper, after about twenty minutes of companionable silence. “I can’t thank you enough for being there for me today.” You turn to face him, hands curled up under your chin, and he turns toward you as well. He’s so handsome in the moonlight your heart almost aches.

“You don’t have to thank me. I just wanted to see you happy.” You feel your eyes well up with tears, because he deserves to be happy; you sigh, blink them away, and he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead, rests them there for a long time. When he eventually pulls back, you bring a hand to his hair, brush it back at his temple, and then the creaking of the door makes you pull back, sit up.

It’s your neighbor from 422, who you’ve seen on the roof a handful of times, sneaking away from his wife to smoke a cigarette. He squints in the dark, recognizes you, and waves.

“Hey, 418! You’re not alone tonight.” Aaron sits up too, and you laugh softly.

“Nope, but we were just leaving. The roof is all yours.” Aaron stands, pulls you up, and you grab the blanket and pillows while he grabs the bags, and the two of you head back down to your place.

It’s after ten when you get the groceries put away, and you stand next to Aaron in your small kitchen, contemplating what you want to say next. Your mouth betrays your brain, says what you’ve been thinking but weren’t quite sure how to approach.

“It’s late; I know I said I’d take you back to your car, but you could stay here if you want. I have a spare toothbrush, and I know you have a spare suit at the office, and it’s not like it’s the first time we’ve shared a bed before.”

You’d completely understand if he’d rather go home—you hate when your plans are changed at the last minute, and you prefer to do your full nightly routine for your sanity’s sake—but he only nods, and you lead your way to the bedroom, show him the master bath.

You are in your pajamas, tucked into bed, when he comes out in his boxers and undershirt; he hangs up his suit in your closet where you’d left him some space, then climbs in beside you. He looks over at you, then past you, at your nightstand, which has a stack of books on it—none of them romance novels. You grin, busted after months of book exchanges, and he leans over you to look at the titles.

“Persuasion, To Kill A Mockingbird, One Hundred Years of Solitude—Beloved.” He looks from your copy of the novel to his, which you hold in your hands, and you shrug sheepishly.

“I like reading the notes you put in the margins,” you say meekly, hoping he’s not angry, but all he does is laugh.

“Let me guess: you don’t actually like romance novels.” He leans back against your pillow, and so do you, resting the book on your lap.

“I mean, I don’t not like them… but I’ve been buying those just for you.” The smile on his face is brilliant, and only makes you yearn for him more; things you have been purposefully not feeling are flooding your heart and mind and body now, with him so close, laughing over this stupid secret you’ve been hiding for so long. “And you, sweet man that you are, have been reading them, and discussing them.” You put your hand on his shoulder, and he ducks his head to laugh again.

“Since we’re being honest… I didn’t read all of them. I tried,” he says when you act offended, shoving the shoulder you’re resting against, “but some of them were so bad. I just flipped through, found something I thought could pass as my favorite part, and hoped to hell you didn't ask too many questions.”

You both laugh until you’re breathless—he is so different from how he was this morning it makes you want to cry—and when your laughter dies down you look at each other, sharing breath, two heads on one pillow; is it any wonder you bridge the distance, pull him close for a warm, gentle kiss?

When you break the kiss, you are instantly worried about what Aaron will do—you aren’t drunk, aren’t even tipsy, so you know he can’t be, so much bigger and more solid than you, but will he think it’s a mistake? He kissed back, you’re pretty sure, but maybe that was an accident, something done on autopilot—

He leans in for a second kiss, mouth deceptively soft, and you curl your arm around his back, press into it with lips desperate not to let this end now that it’s started. When you separate, you are both looking into each other’s eyes again, breathing a bit heavily, and you meet in the middle for a third kiss, the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life.

That kiss ends when you yawn in his face, and he chuckles softly, leans over and switches off your bedside lamp; you smile at the ceiling, and he wraps his arms around you, presses his lips to your shoulder, and tells you good night. The next day, the two of you arrive at work early so he can shower and change into his fresh clothes without anyone on the team noticing—not that you think they would really care, but they’re nosy, and a little annoying, so you both agree that’s probably for the best.

You don’t talk about the kisses, even though they’ve been the only thing running through your mind since they happened; you promise to discuss it at lunch, though, and that’s such a sweet, romantic prospect that you think you prefer it better that way anyway.

Only, you don’t ever get to lunch, because there’s an urgent case in Minneapolis, an all hands on deck situation, meaning even Penelope joins you on the jet. You debrief on the flight, hunker down in the conference room, and split up to cover more ground; you barely get to speak to Aaron the whole time you’re there except to be given instructions and to fill him on what, if anything, you’ve learned.

You don’t even make it to your hotel that night, working around the clock to catch the people responsible for terrorizing the city. It takes not one, but almost two full days, and when you board the jet on Wednesday evening, everyone is dead on their feet. You barely remember the flight or the trip home, and you fall onto your bed fully clothed and crash just like that.

Thursday is your birthday, which you almost forgot, and so you assumed everyone else would too. You should have known better, because even if your team can be annoying, they are still your friends, and they love you, so you are well and truly spoiled.

You are treated to a latte and bagels from Emily, purple cupcakes with silver sprinkles from Penelope, a piggy back ride from Derek, a book of poetry you’ve had your eye on from Spencer, and a card from JJ—really, it turns out, from all of them.

“Enjoy a romantic getaway on us?” There’s some kind of certificate in the card, and when you flip it over, you discover that it’s for a hotel and spa that offers couples massages, mud baths, intimate aromatherapy? You arch a brow. “Uh, thanks, guys. Are you trying to tell me something here?” JJ’s face falls a little and she points to the card.

“It’s a romantic getaway. For you and Hotch? Since things have been so hectic lately,” she says, but your ears are kind of ringing and your brain is stuck on the for you and Hotch part.

“Oh. Um. Sorry—it’s just kind of soon, I think? How do you guys even know about that?” you murmur. The two of you haven’t had time to discuss Monday yet, and you haven’t spoken a word to anyone; you wouldn’t have guessed Aaron would have either, but there is a gift certificate for a romantic getaway in your hands, and you’re kind of spiraling.

“Well come on, we haven’t exactly been pretending we don’t know,” Emily says, and you can feel the confusion in your features when you look up at her. “And you guys haven’t been exactly secretive. We’re happy for you, though.”

“I mean, we haven’t been secretive, but we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it yet. It’s only been three days.” You are met with looks similar to the one on your own face.

“What do you mean, three days?” Spencer asks with a frown. “You and Hotch have been dating for almost two months. Right?” he says, looking at the others, and they nod, but it’s tentative. Your first reaction is to flush, and you close the card, fan your face with it.

“You guys think… You guys thought…” You look at them, then up at Aaron’s office; there’s no way he can know that you’re having a moment, but he chooses then to come downstairs, coincidentally. He’s smiling at first, but it falls when he looks at your face.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” He presses a cool hand to your hot cheek, flicks his eyes over yours, and JJ makes a noise; when you glance over at her, she’s gesturing between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, we were wrong? What were we supposed to think?” Aaron frowns, not following, and you take a deep breath.

“They got me a gift certificate for my birthday. To a spa. For you and I to have a romantic getaway, because they were under the assumption we’ve been dating… for two months.” The way he pulls back quickly makes your stomach ache a little, but you say nothing. You should have known.

“You say I love you,” Derek begins like he’s listing evidence. “You have lunch together every day. You’re always smiling at each other.”

“Seriously, some of the softest, gooiest smiles I’ve ever seen,” Penelope adds.

“You eat together on cases, you’re texting all the time when you’re not together.”

“I’ve been pairing the two of you up in hotels since I first figured out you were dating,” JJ says, and the whole ‘you’re welcome’ thing suddenly makes some sense. “I booked you that room with just the one bed so you’d maybe feel more comfortable about us knowing, so you’d see that we don’t mind.”

“You’re always looking at each other, always touching,” Spencer says. “In Pittsburgh—that was the first time you really hugged or kissed each other in front of us. We were trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was kind of a big deal.”

You look over at Aaron, try to gauge his reaction, but for the first time in a long time you can’t tell what he’s feeling. You can’t really tell what you’re feeling, either. Sadness. Worry. Loss? But what have you lost?

“We’re friends,” you say, even if it sounds weak to your own ears. “We’re… close.”

“We wouldn’t exactly make sense as a couple, would we?” Aaron asks rhetorically, and your heart clenches when he says that. He told you this morning that he’d made dinner plans for you, both for your birthday and to discuss the kisses, what they mean, where you go from here, but that doesn’t sound very promising anymore. “We’re just—”

“Star-crossed,” you say, but you feel like your eyes are vacant. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re stupid for kissing him, for letting yourself think he could feel the same way you feel, have felt for a while. Isn’t friendship enough? Don’t you already have this special bond so unlike what you have with anyone else in your life? Why press your luck? You know better than that. “We should get back to work.”

You don’t look at Aaron, so you don’t know whether or not he looks at you. JJ does, and you can tell she knows you’re upset, but she just nudges everyone on their way, and you take a seat at your desk—it’s covered in balloons and streamers, the Penelope special.

You’ve never felt less like celebrating.

At lunchtime, Aaron stops at your desk, and the two of you walk out to the bench, open your bags in silence. You’re almost halfway through the hour before he tries to speak.

“Uh. I. About earlier,” he finally gets out, looking down at his sandwich, and you shake your head even though he’s not watching you.

“It’s fine. We don’t have to.” You take a bite of your salad even though you don’t taste it. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. You are who you are,” smart, sweet, handsome, tender, caring, “and I am who I am.” Too quiet, too young, too impulsive, too silly, too emotional. He nods, looks at your face for the first time in a while, swallows.

“Right.” You’re due to exchange books back—his is on your lap, yours is on his—and he picks them both up. “I’m like this,” he says, holding up Beloved. “Faded cover, dog-eared pages, scribbles in the margins: middle-aged, divorced, a little broken, barely holding it together for the kid I don’t get to spend enough time with. You’re like this,” he says, holding up Ravished. “Fresh and glossy and shiny and new, with your whole life ahead of you, the whole world ahead of you. You could do anything, with anyone.”

You frown, because this is not what you meant, at all. How could he think that about himself, when the well-loved cover and the dog-eared pages and the scribbles in the margins are all the best parts of him?

“Aaron,” you say, but it sounds like pleading; you reach out to put your hands on his arms, but he pulls them back. His eyes are rimmed red, lips pressed together to hold back everything he’s not saying.

“I think lunch is almost over.” He packs up his things, leaves you with tears in your eyes and a wilted salad and a brand new romance novel you’re never going to read.

Later, he cancels dinner, says something came up, and you go home to your empty bed and watch Titanic and bawl your eyes out when Rose tells Jack she’ll never let go. Friday, you get another case. Weekend cases are no one’s favorite, but especially not yours, when you desperately needed that buffer of time away from Aaron to sort out your feelings and get back to some sense of normalcy. Instead, you’re flying to a small town outside of Nashville to catch a serial arsonist, and when you get to your hotel, you and Aaron are sharing a room.

At least there are two beds, this time.

You go with Emily and Spencer to a crime scene, walking around a house that was once picture perfect and is now all charred wood and ash, and you quickly tell yourself to get a grip and not look for metaphors for your own life while trying to solve a case. What kind of investigator are you? Pathetic, apparently.

You work until evening, and when it’s time to break for dinner, you buy a sad looking assortment of items from the police station vending machine and eat in the conference room by yourself.

It’s a good thing you do, because they get a call about the fire while everyone is still away, and you and a few locals are the first on the scene.

It doesn’t start out bad, mostly located in the back of the house, but you know how quickly these things can spread, and the fire department is working hard to put it out. One of the officers is talking to the family, and the mother is crying, so you come closer to figure out why.

“She said the daughter was supposed to be staying at a friend’s, but sometimes she changes her mind at the last minute and comes home. She can’t get ahold of her,” the officer says, and you nod, thinking.

“Where would she be? The front or the back?”

“Her room is in the front, second floor; if she’s here, that’s where she’d be,” the mother says, wiping her eyes with a tissue, and you tell the officer to stay with them, that you’ll take care of it. You talk to the firefighters—this town is so small there are only two that were able to respond, and they’re both busy trying to put out the fire, but they clear you to go in if you stick to the front of the building and get out of there as fast as you can.

Your team isn’t here yet either, too far out for comms to be effective, and you can’t get ahold of Aaron, so you make a judgement call and head inside.

The front of the house is so eerily normal it’s almost easy to calm your nerves and pretend the back isn’t in the process of being destroyed. You open the front door, run up the staircase, and call out for the girl; she answers, not from the front of the house, but the back—a bathroom maybe? Flames lick up the wall beside it, but you can get to the knob, and she comes rushing out, into your arms, terrified. You weren't expecting that, and you both fall back: your head hits off the floor, but she seems okay, so you tell her to run out the front door and find her mom.

You press a hand to the back of your head, and it comes back tacky with blood. There’s ringing in your ears for a couple of minutes, and then your favorite voice in the world comes through.

“Where are you? We’re here, where are you?” You’re getting hotter, and when you crane your neck up, you can see why: the fire is getting closer, creeping toward the staircase, creeping toward you. You inhale, cough, and press your walkie button.

“I’m upstairs in the hall; hit my head. It’s not safe.”

“I’m coming for you.” You groan. Stubborn man.

“It’s not safe, Aaron.” You hear the crackle of static, hope maybe he heard your warning and will wait until more firefighters arrive—but knowing him the way you do, that’s just wishful thinking. His voice rings out again, and despite the pain, you can’t help but smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack. Just stay put; I’ll be right there.” You close your eyes, drift in and out of consciousness; when you see him, all you can think is how ridiculously in love with him you are, and that you really hope you’ll be around to tell him. You are, of course, fine. Your head is the worst of it, even the smoke inhalation was mild, and the fire didn’t touch you, so there are no burns. Aaron doesn’t leave your side the entire time you’re being checked over, looks serious and concerned, though he smiles when the mother comes over and squeezes you so tightly you wince a little. It starts to rain, making the firefighters' jobs a little easier, and it feels oddly cleansing, after the day you’ve had. Someone offers you an umbrella, but you decline.

The fire is successfully put out, and the half of your team that didn’t respond to the scene responded to a call for suspicious activity, which ends up being your unsub. You are all happy no one was killed this time, and since you’re staying the night again, the group decides to grab a drink to celebrate. You don’t have a concussion, but your head still aches, so you pass, and Aaron passes with you.

You head to the hotel, park in the lot, but you don’t even make it halfway across before you stop, a hand on his arm.

“I need to say something,” you tell him, and he looks up at the dark sky like, right here? Right now?, even though you’re both already drenched. You nod, because if you don’t do this now you might never—almost dying always gives you an unhealthy amount of confidence, which you attribute to equal amounts of adrenaline and stupidity. “When we first met, I didn’t think we’d have a lot in common. We’re both quiet, but in wildly different ways, and I’m quick to trust and let people in while your guard is almost never down.”

He looks a little sad at that, and you realize you’re kind of doing what he did, putting the two of you into completely different categories, emphasizing the ways you don’t belong together. But that’s dumb, so you don’t give him time to focus on that for long.

“But being your friend, Aaron—the more time I spent with you, the more I came to feel like no one has ever understood me the way you do. No one has ever seen me the way you do.” Rain is pouring down all around you, beating against the pavement, flattening your hair against your head, but you don’t care. Regardless of his reaction, this is actually kind of perfect. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you—that was an accident, I admit. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You step closer to him, put your hands on his waist; he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t need shiny, glossy things; you're the one I want—faded cover, dog-eared pages, notes in the margins. I love you exactly as you are.”

He is gorgeous in the rain, water in his hair, dripping off his nose. His expression looks hopeful, and you pray to god that’s not wishful thinking.

“Say something, anything,” you beg, anticipation killing you, and he presses his hands to your cheeks and pulls you close for a deep, passionate, soulful kiss that says it all.

The words are nice to hear, though.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you either,” he breathes against your lips when the kiss breaks. “I told myself it was just a crush, because someone so young and beautiful was paying so much attention to me, treating me like more than just the guy giving orders. But the more time I spent with you, the more undeniable it became. You are everything good about the world—bright, optimistic, caring, funny, sweet. How could anyone not fall in love with you?”

You swallow hard, lean up to press your lips against his again.

“When you said we wouldn’t make sense as a couple…” He shakes his head.

“That was just me chickening out. After we kissed, I was all but ready to ask you to go steady,” he says, and you both smile, because he’s such an old fashioned dork, but god, do you love him. “And then we found out that the team thought we’d been together for months, and you looked freaked out, so I freaked out. I’m sorry. I should have made us talk about it sooner.”

“Classic pointless miscommunication,” you say with a laugh, and he chuckles too, kisses you again.

“Let’s go inside and get dried off; there’s a birthday gift in my bag I’ve been meaning to give you.” He takes your hand, and you head up, duck into the bathroom to change into dry clothes, squeeze the water out of your hair. There is a small, flat, wrapped present on your bed when you emerge, and you smile, sink down to open it.

It’s Romeo and Juliet, a brand new copy, but when you flip through it, there are blue inked notes in the margins. Aaron comes to sit beside you, touches your face like you’re something precious.

“The course of true love never did run smooth,” he murmurs, and you smack him on the arm with the book.

“That’s from A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I know you know that,” you say with a grin. He nods in admission, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, lean in for a warm, loving kiss. When you pull back, it’s with a soft smile. “Give me my sin again?”

“My pleasure,” he whispers, and you sink into his embrace and promise never to let go. The following week, you both leave work at noon on Friday so you can enjoy your romantic getaway. You drive to the spa, and Aaron reads over the brochure on his phone with a tone you find hilarious.

“Mud bath—I’m not bathing in mud. That’s counterintuitive.”

“It’s special mud; more like clay,” you say, but he snorts, scrolls.

“Seaweed wrap—nobody is wrapping me in seaweed. That sounds like a nightmare.” You laugh softly and take your exit.

“It’s supposed to be rejuvenating. JJ recommended it.”

“JJ weighs fifty pounds. It would take all the seaweed in the Atlantic to wrap me,” he says, and you roll your eyes, jab your finger into his ribs.

“But what if I get to unwrap you?” you ask, eyebrows raised; you briefly glance over and he makes a face of contemplation.

“Okay, that’s a maybe. Intimate aromatherapy—what does that even mean?”

“I think it means we do something that makes us smell good and then we go back to our room and kiss and stuff.”

“Now that doesn’t sound half bad,” he murmurs. “Foot massage? I’m not letting a stranger touch my feet, that’s weird.” You look over at him, squinting.

“You literally plugged someone’s bullet wound with your finger yesterday, but someone touching your feet is where you draw the line? Will you do anything on the list?” He scrolls down it, and his extended silence makes you laugh.

“Meditation. Couples massage,” he says, reaching over to rest a hand on your thigh. “There’s a sauna.” You think of him, sweat-drenched in a fluffy white towel, and take a deep, calming breath. “I bet the room is nice; did you bring a book?” You smile indulgently, reach out a hand to brush through his hair.

“Yep. It’s called A Duke’s Wild Kiss…” He gives you a mildly withering look, and you lightly tap the bridge of his nose. “Just kidding. I brought To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.” His answering smile is brilliant.

“Are you serious?” You nod, and he gestures to the backseat, where your bags are. “That’s what I brought, too.”

You spend too much of your romantic getaway in your room, but it is really nice; you do the couples massage, though, and aromatherapy, and the sauna, and then you take turns giving each other a foot massage while the other reads To the Lighthouse out loud.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t, but somehow you get to keep him anyway. A/N: Though I snuck in a few parts of a few different lyrics, two lines in particular inspired this fic: 'Now I've read all of the books beside your bed' and 'I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this.' A lot of my fics lately have incorporated books... guess I better get reading!

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

[stevesbestgirl]

Sticky Notes

Stucky x Reader

1268 Words

Warnings: A few mild swears

A/N: The first week of my D20 writing event! The master post with all the prompts can be found here and I’ll be adding each fic as it’s posted!

You took a bite of your cereal, tapping your pencil absently against the newspaper. Hearing the door, you glanced over your shoulder, smiling, “Mornin’ Stevie.”

“Morning sweetheart.” He offered a smile back as he made his way to the fridge.

“How was the morning run?”

“Nothing special- would’ve been better if you’d come along.”

You rolled your eyes, “I can’t run thirty miles before breakfast, Steve.”

“What about after breakfast?” He grinned.

You turned your attention back to the crossword puzzle, muttering just loud enough for him to hear, “Smart ass.”

“C’mon sweets, run what you can and I’ll carry you the rest of the way.”

“You’re gonna give me a twenty-eight mile piggyback ride?”

“Sure, it’ll be easy,” he smirked.

You laughed, “That sounds more fun. Maybe I’ll take you up on it.” You examined the crossword, chewing your lip.

“What’s this?” Steve was holding up the milk, where you’d left a brightly-colored post-it note.

You gave a coy shrug, “I dunno.”

He raised an eyebrow, “It’s your handwriting.”

“What does it say?”

He read the note aloud, “‘Have a beautiful day.’ And there’s a little doodle of a flower.”

“Maybe you should be less worried about who left the note and more focused on having a beautiful day,” you suggested.

He chuckled, uncapping the milk, “Was the quality of my day a concern?”

“Not just you. Things have been sort of gloomy around here lately. Wanda has been down, Tony’s been extra snarky. I thought maybe some nice messages would help.” You kept your eyes on the paper, suddenly embarrassed by the idea.

When Steve was quiet, you thought out loud, “Nine letters, prompt is ‘Deep love or respect, veneration.’”

He hummed, leaning over your shoulder to peer at the puzzle. You could feel his breath on your shoulder, making heat rise in your cheeks. You would think that after how much time you’d spent with Steve and Bucky, you wouldn’t get so flustered. But no matter how many missions you went on, no matter how many old movies nights you had, you never got used to Steve and Bucky being so close.

“Adoration.”

“Huh?”

“Thirteen down, it’s adoration.”

You smiled at him, “Oh, right. Thanks.”

He rubbed your arm, “And I think the notes are sweet.”

*

“What’s this?” Bucky asked, raising a finger with a sticky note attached. This one had a little sun drawn on it and a caption reading, “Life is tough but so are you.”

Steve laughed, “Y/N. Where’d you find that?”

“It was on my locker in the changing room.”

“She must have thought you needed cheering up. Said things were a little gloomy around here and she wanted to make everyone feel better.”

Bucky glanced at the note, a faint smile on his lips, “She’s something else.” He carefully folded over the sticky part before tucking it into his wallet.

Steve smirked at him, “Guess that answers my question.”

Bucky glanced at him, brow furrowed, “It’s time?”

“Yeah, Buck. It’s time.”

*

“Y/N!” There was knocking on your door.

You grumbled under your breath, rubbing at the circles under your eyes, “Steve, it’s still dark out, what are you doing?” You opened the door to reveal Steve blocking most of the your doorway.

“I thought you were coming running with us, doll?” Bucky said, leaning against the doorframe under Steve’s arm.

“God dammit,” you groaned. “I said I might go with you. Might!”

Steve grinned, “Well, you’re up now. Do you want Bucky’s sticky note back? It might make you feel better.”

Bucky looked offended, “No way, that’s mine.”

You glared at both of them, annoyed at how chipper they seemed to be, “I’ll be out in five.” You hastily changed into your running clothes and met them out in the hallway, “Coffee?”

Steve handed you his water bottle, “Water.”

“Ugh.”

Bucky leaned in, “I’ll buy you one of those sugary drinks you like after, alright?”

“I heard that,” Steve chirped, leading the way out to the path around the compound’s perimeter.

You took a swig of Steve’s water, “Let’s get this over with.”

“Not yet, sweets. You gotta stretch.”

“Steve,” you moaned. “Why are you torturing me?”

“You’ll thank me later.”

You reluctantly leaned into a lunge, stretching your calf. Admittedly, it did feel nice after waking up, so you stretched deeper, breathing deep.

“Doll, you’re tilting your hips,” Bucky’s voice came from behind you and then his hands were on you, straightening your stretch.

“Ah!” you squealed, toppling over sideways into the dewy grass. “You surprised me!” you covered, scrambling up from the ground.

Bucky raised his hands in surrender, “Sorry! You okay?”

You nodded, glancing at Steve, who was watching with amusement, “Can we go now?”

“You only stretched one- You know what, fine. Let’s get going.” He set off at a steady, but attainable pace for you and you and Bucky fell in next to him.

“You sure that you big, strong supersoldiers aren’t gonna get bored running so slow?”

“Who could get bored with you around?” Steve grinned.

“Fair point, but I’d hate to get in the way of your peak physical fitness. Maybe I should head back so you two can-”

“You’re not goin’ anywhere, doll,” Bucky chuckled. “It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

“For a frappuccino?” you scoffed.

“Have I ever broken a promise to you?”

You huffed, “No.”

“Then trust me.”

“Fine.”

Two miles of wheezing later, you were gasping for breath. Your cheeks were burning, for once, not from embarrassment. Your legs were starting to hurt and you were regretting your choice not to stretch properly like Steve had told you.

Reaching out with a limp arm, you slapped Steve on the back, “Alright big guy, time to hold up your end of this bargain.”

He laughed, “Alright sweets, fair’s fair.” He trotted to a halt and knelt on the ground. You flopped onto his back, clasping your hands around his neck and hooking your legs over his hips. He glanced back over his shoulder, “You stable up there?”

“Think so,” you rasped.

“Here,” he handed back his water bottle again, “Drink.”

You took a small sip of water, resting your cheek on Steve’s shoulder, “Thanks.” You were so exhausted that you couldn’t even get flustered at the way Steve was holding your thighs.

Noticing you were moving off the path, you picked your head up, “Where are you going?”

“Making a detour,” Steve said.

“Detour?”

“This is where it gets worth it, doll.”

Craning your neck to see past Steve’s head, you caught sight of a little picnic blanket spread out on the grass, “A breakfast picnic?”

“Well, it turns out it’s kind of hard to do a breakfast picnic. So, it’s really just donuts and juice,” Steve laughed.

“Coffee?”

“Vanilla frappuccino with whipped cream,” Bucky confirmed.

You beamed and Steve knelt again, allowing you to drop to the ground, “Have at it, sweets.”

You darted toward the coffee, four steps away when you stopped, wheeling around, “Wait, what’s the occasion? It’s not my birthday. What’s the catch?”

“There’s no-”

Bucky cut him off, “There is a catch, doll, but you’ll see. Get your coffee.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, but picked up the cardboard cup from the drink tray. “If you snuck kale or something into this-”

The words died on your lips as you caught sight of the post-it note stuck to the lid, “We love you.”

You tore your eyes from the fluorescent blue note, finding both of them watching for your reaction. “You guys- you’re messing with me, right? Or you mean as like, a friend?”

“No, on both counts, sweets.”

[sopejinsunflower]

Signed and Sealed - PJM One Shot

a/n: it took me awhile but I'm finally happy with this one. I wanted to write more but I decided to end it as I ended it here. You'll know why by next week (maybe)

Summary: Getting hired at one of the most prestigious catering companies had been a dream come true, mostly to earn a couple of extra bucks to make it through college. No one warned you not to get involved with the platinum blond CEO, though. Especially when he offers you something you can't turn down.

Pairing: Park Jimin x you, mentions of Kim Seokjin

Word count: 11.5k

Tags: AU! CEO Jimin, student mc, dom Jimin implied, slight 18+ content.

Fucking finally!

You stare at the email in both relief and excitement. You can’t believe it. After months of trying to find a part time job and getting multiple rejections or offers for work schedules that don’t align with your classes, you finally managed to land a waitressing job with a catering company. And not just any catering company, but the catering company,  JP Food & Services, which deals with high class events for the rich and famous, dinners and fundraisers among the politicians, private shows for people who pay more money than you could earn in a month for the tickets to. You hold in a joyous scream, punching the air with both fists. Fuck, yeah!

You scroll through the rest of the email a second time, truly reading every detail now. The best thing about this job is that you can choose which events you would like to work in. They will email you a week prior for the list of events they have in the coming week and you just reply back with your choice of location and the shifts you want to work and they will add you to the group chat of the events accordingly. The pay was the deciding factor for you to reply yes almost immediately: twenty dollars an hour, capped at two hundred dollars if the pay is counted by the day. The catch is that the money will only come in by the end of the week, before the list for the next week is up.

You grin. That’s the best paying offer you’ve got.

“Waitressing is hard work, you know,” your roommate, Yuna, commented when you told her of the job over breakfast one day. “You should check what the working environment is like if they’re paying you that much. Seems fishy.”

You brushed her off, too giddy on the prospect of earning a lot of money in the next few weeks or so. You’re already thinking of the shopping you plan on doing, the items in your online shopping cart that you can check out soon enough. You’ll push through it, you think. “It’s not like I can’t quit if it gets too much,” you retort, stuffing the rest of the toast in your mouth before you rush out the door after her to catch the bus.

When your Event Management lecturer is droning on at the front of the class, your eyes are stuck to your phone screen, scrolling through Twitter and Instagram alternately. Yuna keeps giving you dirty glances, nudging you once a while to get you to look up, which you do for at least a minute before your focus is shifted downward again. Bored with social media, you opened your email, thinking you can just clear out your junk but the email waiting in your inbox catches your attention. The list of work locations have been posted. You go through it one by one, trying to find something of interest.

Week 45

Good day, JP servers! Here is the list for next week. Please reply with the number(s) of your choice of location(s), along with the desired shifts. If the chosen shift is full, we will arrange for you accordingly. Should you agree, we will go ahead and add you to the group chat. If the shift made for you isn’t aligned with your schedule, you will have to step back or choose a different event.

You notice how half of the list is weddings happening on the weekends, five on the Saturday and another three on Sunday. You recognise two of the names; one for this social media influencer, a trust fund girl just a little bit older than yourself that you follow on Instagram, the other one is a local actor who is marrying a music producer who have been together since you were in high school. You circle number three in your head, noting the date and shift time. You continue on down the list and see another interesting event: a fundraiser with the Great Gatsby theme. “How original,” you mutter, but chose the number anyway. You hit reply.

No.2, 1100-1900. No.7, 1600-2200

You check again, making sure they’re both on different days (Saturday for the wedding, Sunday for the fundraiser) and hit send. You counted in your head that you could be making a little over three hundred dollars in just these two days and you grin to yourself, excited to start earning your own money. With that thought, the rest of the class doesn’t seem so boring anymore.

The week went by in a flash and soon it’s Friday night. You’re in your room, rummaging through your closet for some white long-sleeved shirt and a pair of black pants, as required. Frustrated, you head over to Yuna’s room and knock once before opening the door. “Hey,” you call out. Yuna is by her desk, busy with homework, a pair of headphones on. You stand there for a few seconds before approaching her, tapping on her shoulders. She turns in her seat, removing the headphones to one side to free up one ear. “What?”

“Do you have any white shirts I can borrow for tomorrow?”

She dips her eyebrows. “Maybe. You can check,” she says as you squeal and run over to her wardrobe, “but do not make a mess.”

“Got it,” you reply, giving her a thumbs up. She turns back around as you help yourself to the array of clothes she has, which is a lot.

Yuna and you come from totally opposite backgrounds. She’s the daughter of a Korean conglomerate, the future heir to the company since her older brother turned it down to pursue photography and her older sister isn’t interested in the business. The weight of her birth right sits heavily on her shoulders that she has a perpetual slouch. She takes her studies in business seriously, taking up electives in different courses and that’s how you two met. You, on the other hand, come from a family of eight from a small town that no one has ever heard of. The middle child of six, you have a much relaxed attitude to life, excelling enough in your Mass Communication classes to not be taken off the scholarship. Your parents hardly ever visit you in the city, too much expenses to bear if they do.

But you two complement each other so well since freshman year; she helps remind you that there are certain things in life you need to put effort in, things that you need to prioritise more than others. She keeps you in check when you’re slacking off, pushes you to do better even when you moan about it, and is a very good friend, albeit sometimes more like an older sister instead. From you, she learns to let loose sometimes, that it’s okay to not be all stiff and serious all the time, to realise that there’s more to life than just books and studying. Although, to be honest, you get the both of you in trouble more times than she approves of.

You pull out a crisp white shirt with a Peter Pan collar, the label reads a famous Asian designer brand, and hold it in front of you in the mirror, turning this way and that. Yuna is taller than you by a couple of inches but you have more curves in the right places. You take off your cartoon T-shirt and pull on the shirt. The sleeves are a little long and the chest area is a little tight but you think you can pull it off.

“Looks fine.” You look at Yuna through the mirror. She’s leaning one elbow on the back of her chair. “Would look better if you could give me a bit of your boobs.”

“If I could, I would,” you sigh. “Can I borrow this one? At least until I can get a new one for myself?”

She waves you off. “Take it. I don’t think I’ve ever worn it in the last six months. But it needs to be hand-washed, though.”

You look back into her opened wardrobe. With that much clothes, you’re not surprised that this piece is forgotten. “Thanks!” you exclaim as you bound over to her to give her a hug, which she pretends to push you off.

“Get off,” she groans but not really meaning it.

You glance at her computer screen. “You’re already starting on your thesis?”

“Yes,” she replies, fixing her glasses back on her nose.

“But we don’t have to do it until next semester.” You take the mouse and scroll it up, wanting to read the title page. You get to it and squint, then gasp. “Your name isn’t Yuna?!”

She gives you an incredulous look. “Yes, it is. What do you mean?”

“Then who is that?” You point to a word on the screen: Eu-na.

She gawks at you. “That’s me, you idiot. That’s how my name is spelt.”

You stare at her. “Are you sure it’s not with a Y?”

She does a double take. “Yes, I am very sure that’s how my name is spelt. Now would you leave already? I need to finish this.”

“But-”

She sighs. “I’m Korean, you asshole. Did you forget?”

You roll your eyes at her. “Gee, how could I?” Your face turns into a scowl. “You’ve seen me write your name with a Y and not once did you ever correct me. That’s on you. And I’m not changing it now.”

She laughs then. “It’s not that big of a deal to me. It still sounds the same. Now, will you excuse yourself?”

You go to leave and as you reach the door, she calls out to you. “Hey, try not to spill food on people tomorrow, okay? I’m sure the media will be there, too, and I don’t want to see your face or name all over the tabloids.”

“Well, you know they say there’s no such thing as bad media, Yuna,” you say as you head back to your own room. You lay out the outfit and get ready for bed, wondering excitedly as to what kind of guest would turn up tomorrow. Too worked up to sleep, you lay awake until half-past two in the morning, groaning awake at close to ten, dark circles around your eyes.

Yuna is standing in the doorway when you finally manage to open your eyes.

“You’re going to be late if you’re not out the door right now,” she says matter-of-factly, a cup of coffee in her hands. You leap out of bed and get dressed, hopping on one foot as you struggle to put on your pants. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I banged on your door so loud the neighbours came knocking,” says Yuna as she hands you a cup of latte. You take a sip. “Oh, I see the bus coming up.”

“Fuck,” you mouth, banging the cup back on the table and running out, a bag of change of clothes on your back. You slip into your black Converse and run down the street to catch the bus that would take you to the wedding just on time. You manage to get on board, huffing and puffing into a seat and sitting down, only to find out you forgot your phone. “Fuck!” you curse out, louder this time, making the two ladies sitting on the opposite aisle to stare at you disapprovingly. You flash them an apologetic smile while you continue cursing under your breath.

Twenty five minutes later, the bus made a stop in front of this very fancy golf club, known for the many luxurious events held on its beautiful lush, green lawns. It’s a beautiful day, you think as you walk up towards the entrance, sunny and not a cloud in the sky and a light breeze just cool enough to keep the sweats away. There’s no specific instructions for crews to enter so you walk in through the front door, looking around for, you’re not even sure what. You think hard, trying to recall if there was any mention of the person in charge, someone you can find to receive direct orders from but your phone isn’t here for you to check.

But everyone in the foyer is busy; workermen racing around moving or carrying heavy things, men in dark suits and ties walking here and there, speaking into walkie-talkies, a few guests, probably the relatives or close families who arrived back early from the ceremony laughing and talking in groups, kids running around with not a care in the world. The subtle ambience music is barely audible among the noise. You check your watch; 11.10. You sigh, deciding to approach the man in the dark blue suit standing in one corner, platinum blond hair slicked back, a pair of RayBan hiding half his face. He’s so absorbed looking at his phone that you have to clear your throat to get his attention, standing close enough you can smell his cologne.

“Hi, excuse me.” You clear your throat again. “Um, sorry, I’m supposed to be with the serving staff here? But I’m not sure where I’m supposed to go.”

He regards me. “Are you new?”

“Um, yes?”

“You didn’t check the group chat?”

You gulp, realising that this could be the supervisor on-site. First day and you already fucked up. “I…forgot my phone.”

“You couldn’t turn back to get it?”

“I was already on the bus when I realised, sir,” you reply in a small voice, the intimidation rising by the second. You feel a lump forming in your throat but you try to hold back, telling yourself this is the consequences of your own actions.

“You took the bus?”

You nod, not trusting your voice to speak. At this point, you’re already considering just going home and going back to sleep again. Forget about the money. Yuna will probably laugh at you and make fun of this day until you graduate but it seems so trivial right now. Timidly, you raise your gaze to meet the man only to feel overwhelmed, flitting your eyes back down. He still hasn’t removed his sunglasses and yet you can feel his piercing gaze.

“Follow me.”

You didn’t get to ask anything when the man marches off, you scurrying behind. He leads you to the back towards the kitchen area where you see more people wearing the same outfit, black and white, running around. A woman dressed sharply in a light blue suit is barking orders around, a clipboard in hand, standing by one of the metal kitchen counters. The man pauses by the doorway and turns to you. “Tuck in your shirt.” He looks down to your Converse and, even if you can’t fully see his face, you feel the distaste. He sighs but turns back around and approaches the woman. They exchange a few words, the woman glancing your way, nodding once and the man walks off, leaving you without another look.

“You over there,” the woman calls, pointing at you and snapping her fingers. “Put this on.” She slides a bowtie across the counter. “And tie up your hair. Did you bring any black heels?”

You shake your head, not recalling any specific shoes except that they had to be black. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. She calls out to another server. “Jodie, can you find her a pair of heels, please?”

Jodie comes over and takes you by the wrist to a backroom. Judging from the piles of bags and clothes on hangers, you guess this is the changing room for the staff. She rummages through a big box and takes out two shoe boxes. “Here, try these on and see which fits better.”

You take them and open up one, unboxing the Mary-Jane style three-inch heels and putting them on. They look pretty fancy for waitressing but you don’t question it. “These are fine,” you tell her, handing the other box back. You fiddle with the bowtie around your neck before Jodie comes up and fixes it for you. “First gig?” You nod, feeling suddenly nervous.

“Don’t worry,” says Jodie, patting your shoulders. “You’ll get used to it fast. But the heels are gonna be a bitch at the end of the day. So I suggest you go get your own pair for the next one. Which shift are you on?”

“The full day,” you answer, checking yourself in the mirror and already feeling the blisters that are going to form on your heels later.

“Me, too. We can stick together and I’ll show you the ropes.”

“Thank you.”

“No worries. I was once in your place, too.” You follow her out back and towards the kitchen, where the woman is reading out the itinerary in a loud, commanding voice. “Just let me know if you have any questions but the job is pretty easy. Just walk around the room with whatever they hand you. How’s your arm?”

“My arm?” You shot your eyebrows up.

Jodie chuckles, gesturing to the huge metal trays arranged in one corner, still empty. “It’s going to be a helluva workout to be carrying those trays the whole day today.”

“How long have you worked with this company?” you ask but then the clipboard woman’s icy stare zones in on you and you feel your stomach drop.

“If everyone has enough chit-chatting, let’s get on with business.” She clears her throat and flips through her clipboard again, this time assigning people to their respective jobs, reminding of the itineraries as she goes along so that everyone has a clear idea when and where they should be throughout the event. When she finishes, she looks up at the group surrounding her, especially the servers. “I should remind you once again that you are not to interact with any of the guests any more than you have to. No flirting, no fraternising, no asking for photos, or signatures or anything of the sort. And god forbids you if you fall on your asses. We are professionals! Please don’t embarrass the company by being on the tabloids tomorrow.”

The crowd of people in black and white nod their heads, murmuring yes, ma’am as they do, much to her satisfaction. Her eyes fall back on you and there’s a silent resignation in her expression almost as if she expects the worst from you. Jodie leans in close and whispers, “Don’t worry. You’re not the only new face today. Just stick with me, alright?”

The trays are divided into two piles; one for champagne glasses, another for the canapes. The first hour or so, the time between guests' arrivals and brunch, your job is to carry the canapes around the event area, offering up food to whoever you see with their hands empty. The canapes aren’t so heavy so it’s a breeze for you to weave around the people as subtly as you can. You recognise some of the people; actors and actresses, singers, a couple of politicians, famous TV hosts and hostesses, even one of the news anchors you see on TV every night is there. Most of them accept your offer, some of them completely ignore you as if you’re part of the wall fixtures.

That first hour is easy, leaving you feeling a bit more confident now. The heels don’t hurt as much as you expected them,too, so all is good so far. You catch glimpses of the platinum blond man, sometimes talking to the guests in low murmurs, most times standing by himself alone, watching the crowd. He has taken off his sunglasses and you notice he’s very handsome. Something about him, the air around him, makes him highly sexually attractive. It’s not just you who notice this, but most of the guests do, too, chancing furtive glances his way. Even some of the servers went up to him multiple times despite the same answer; an almost imperceptible shake of the head, his face serious and unreadable, eyes looking past them. It’s almost like he’s magnetic, pulling in everyone just to repel them back.

That’s when his eyes glide over to you and your heart jumps to your throat. Flustered, you turn to scurry out of there but, as fate would have it, you bump straight into one of the guests, the tray flipping over from your hand sending the canapes flying through the air before landing on the ground at your feet. It’s a good thing you’re on grass; it muffled the sound of the tray falling. The nearby crowd gasps and stares. The guest you ran into is brushing down his suits, checking for stains. You stand there, frozen, watching as this tall, handsome actor assesses himself before finally looking up at you. Your whole body is stiff, waiting for the berating that doesn’t come.

“You okay?” he asks, peering down at you. You instantly recognise him and your heart almost stops beating. This up close, he’s ethereally beautiful you realise the cameras could never capture his true beauty. “Are you hurt?”

You slowly shake your head as Kim Seokjin picks up the tray and hands it back to you. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve looked where I was going.”

“N-no, it’s fine.” You hug the tray to your chest. “It’s, um, it’s my bad. Is your suit okay?”

“My suit?” He laughs, a twinkle in his eyes. “My suit is replaceable, it’s just a suit.”

You nod, eyeing how the clothes he’s wearing look like they’d cost you a yearly salary of a normal office person. Behind his shoulder, the lady with the clipboard is staring daggers at you. You hurry to pick up the fallen canapes, just as Seokjin does the same. “No, no. It’s okay. Please, just leave them and enjoy the party. I’ll do it.”

But Seokjin persisted, picking up the ones nearest to him and placing them all into your tray just as the clipboard lady comes over. She clears her throat, plasters on a huge smile on her face and taps him on the shoulder. “Sir? Mr. Kim, sir, please, don’t worry. We’ll handle this. After all, this is our job.” She looks pointedly at you and you wither under her gaze. Seokjin stands up, smiling. “And I’m just trying to help.”

You gather everything and hurry out of there, Seokjin staring after you. But Seokjin isn’t the only one that’s keeping a close eye on you. Just as you disappear into the back, the platinum blond man makes eye contact with the clipboard lady and she, like you, shrinks back a little, reversing out of the crowd and going off to find you.

You find yourself in the staff changing room, squatting down on the floor with your head in your hands. Fired after an hour, you think. How lame is that. You take a few deep breaths, collecting yourself. The door bursts open and the clipboard woman is standing there. “There you are!” She straightens her hair before continuing. “What are you doing? We’re not paying you to sit around. Go! Get back out there.”

You gape up at her. “You want me back out there?”

“Yes! Now, hurry! Brunch is about to start.” She ushers you out, pushing you out the door and towards the kitchen. The trays are now filled with four to five plates, covered in domes. “Take this one. Table number twelve. Just match the plates with the names on the table. Remove the dome once served. Got it?”

You nod but are a little hesitant. The tray looks a lot heavier now. The lady rolls her eyes, pulling you by the wrist. “Palm up, one hand. You’d need the other to serve.” You follow her lead and she places the tray onto your palm. Your knees buckle a little from the weight and you’re finally starting to feel the blisters on your feet. As the other servers pick up and carry the food with ease, the lady is still looking at you with concern, wondering if it’s worth the risk. It’s the guests she worries about more so than you. You turn to leave, tottering a little and the lady jumps to catch the tray but a pair of stronger hands catch you by the waist and steadies you.

“Use your core,” the platinum blond man says, fingers digging into your sides. “Here.” He pushes his thumbs into your soft abs. “Stand up straight. The heels are there for a boost of confidence.”

“They’re hurting my feet,” you whine then catch yourself.

His eyes flash and you shiver, looking down. Without a word, he takes the tray from you and your heart sinks. “Watch me.”

“But-”

With one look, the lady bites down on her tongue, watching helplessly as the man takes the tray out. You follow him, wondering who the hell he is. He’s a head taller than you, slim-figured but commands such a strong presence it’s almost suffocating. Not in a bad way, you think. More like in a way that if he asks you to strip naked in front of the crowd you wouldn’t even dare to say no. You shake the thought out of your head, a little surprised with yourself, but as you walk behind him, you just can’t help but notice how firm his butt is. It’s almost as nice as looking at his face.

The outdoor wedding has moved over to the dining area where tables have been set up under this huge, cream-coloured canopy, divided into two sections with the middle aisle leading up to the couple’s table and the beautiful four-tiered cake standing at the front. Twenty-five tables are set up on one side, ten people per table, and yet the guests have been whispering how the couples wanted a small wedding, thus the limited guest list. The platinum blond man heads towards table number twelve and you follow close behind, hands clasped in front of you, fiddling your thumbs together. You see Jodie up ahead and she cocks one eyebrow at your situation. You give her a shrug.

When he approaches the table, all ten pairs of eyes widen. One of the women, elegantly dressed but looks like she’s in her mid-30s, stands up, smiling ear to ear. “Oh my, Mr Park, what an honour to be served personally by you.” She continues to giggle like a high-schooler, twirling her hair on one finger. The platinum blond man, or Mr Park as she called him, flashes her a smile that could’ve probably saved the Titanic by melting the ice they hit.

“A little treat for you today, Mrs Williams,” he says as he places her plate in front of her, winking. The woman lightly hit him on the arm. “I’m recently divorced. Just call me Amy.” She bats her eyelashes at him, her hand lingering on his arm. Your eyes zone in one the gold band around her left ring finger that she keeps at table-level just as Mr Park smiles wider. “Right. Well, I hope you enjoy your food, Amy. Let me know if you need anything.”

He finishes serving the whole table and quietly slips the tray back to you. He fixes his suit jacket, leaning in to speak in a low voice. “Do the same with the rest of the meal. And for heaven’s sake, smile. You don’t have to look like you’re having the worst time of your life.”

“Thank-”

But he is already walking away into the sea of tables, greeting people as he passes by, shaking hands with some and returning flirtatious banter with the ladies who unashamedly throw themselves at him any chance they get.

-you,” you huff, watching him from afar. You sigh, heading back to the kitchen, prep-talking to yourself the whole way to do better and step it up. For some reason, you manage to stay close to Jodie for the rest of the shift, your assigned tables closer to hers and as the hour passes by, you get better and better to the point you can feel yourself enjoying the job. The confidence grows along with the smile on your face, finally catching some attention from the other servers and even a few of the guests. Even Seokjin stops you to get a short conversation in before you have to rush away. It feels good to be noticed, especially from that star actor who seems to always be surrounded by people.

By the end of the shift, the staff gathers in the kitchen to listen to the event post mortem by the clipboard lady. She’s telling everyone good job but her face is set straight, like she’s not happy to commend the people on their work. The group finally disperse after the final thank yous and see you again and you check your watch. It’s already 8PM and your stomach growls, having only eaten half of the lunch provided before being rushed back to work. Your feet are killing you even when you already changed back to your Converse and your left arm probably has developed muscles from all the heavy lifting and balancing.

“So,” says Jodie as you both exit the building, “will I see you again at the next job?”

“I signed up for the fundraiser tomorrow. The Great Gatsby one,” you answer, looking hopefully at her.

Her face falls. “Oh. I chose the instgrammer’s wedding. Fundraisers are boring. A lot of old people talking business and politics. But much easier, I’d say. No heavy plates. Just snacks all night round. And champagne. I’m glad today didn’t scare you off. Maybe we can choose the same event next time.”

You agree and exchange contacts with her. To your surprise, you watch as she gets into a convertible Cooper parked in the guest parking lot, starting up the engine. You wave as the car drives off, heading to the bus stand yourself. All the way, you can’t help wondering why someone who drives an expensive car would work as a server.

The next bus is in the next forty-five minutes so you sit down, hugging your backpack to your front, feeling drained. You rest your head on the backboard, closing your eyes. You have no way of knowing if Yuna is cooking dinner or not so you figured you’ll get McDonald’s from around the corner of your place. Your stomach lets out another loud sound and you yearn for something more than fast food.

A Porsche Panamera glides to a stop in front of the bus stop and you squint at it, wondering if it’s waiting for one of the guests. The passenger side window rolls down with a whirr and you sit up straighter when you see who it is. “Are you taking the bus again?”

You hesitate. “Um, yeah? That’s how I came.”

“No one who can pick you up?”

You shake your head, your lips turned up in an amused smile. “No.”

Mr Park regards you for what feels longer than a few seconds. “Get in.”

“What?” you splutter.

“I said, get in,” he repeated. “Hurry up.”

You stand up but pause. “The bus will be here soon, sir. It’s fine.”

He scowls. “Why are you so stubborn? Just get in. I’ll take you home.”

Something clicks in you and you start to feel annoyed. “I don’t even know you. I don’t even know your name.”

He sighs heavily like he’s dealing with a difficult child that he has no time for. “Never mind, then. Take the bus.” The windows whirr closed much to your astonishment and the car revs off noisily down the street. You stare after it. “What an ass,” you mutter, plopping back down, slightly regretting not taking the offer. But flashes of news of females who are abducted and raped then killed cross your mind and you’re once again convinced you did the right thing.

You check the time again. Thirty more minutes. A few of the servers have joined you at the bus stand, three guys and another young lady who has a cigarette in between her lips. Suddenly you see headlights coming up the other street and you see the same car making a half turn to switch lanes and stop right across from where you’re sitting. The window is already open. At the sight of the others, he motions you to come closer with his finger. The girl is staring daggers at you as you approach the car.

When you’re close enough, he asks in an irritated voice, “You really don’t know who I am?”

“No. Should I?”

“I would’ve guessed most people should when they decide to work for me,” he says vehemently. You stare at him. “Yeah, I’m the one paying your salary. Now, will you get in?”

“You’re Jimin Park?”

He heaves a sigh. “Are you deaf or just dumb?”

You step away from the car, frowning, and feeling a little hurt. He groans, banging his head into the headrest. “Look. I’m really tired and I thought you could do with a ride home. It must have been a long day for you.”

Your stomach chooses that exact moment to betray you, sounding out the hunger alarm for all to hear. Mr Park gives you a hard stare. “As your boss, I’m ordering you to get in the car.”

“The bus will be here soon,” you attempt weakly, your resolve shaking.

“Or,” he adds with a mean look in his eyes, “I’ll withhold your pay until the end of the month.”

Your eyes widen. “What? You can’t do that!”

“Wanna bet?”

You stare at each other but as your stomach growls again you relent. “Fine,” you say in a meek voice, opening the car door and getting inside. Immediately, the intimidation starts again, almost as if you’re suddenly enclosed in his predatory bubble. You can’t quite put a finger on it but it feels like sitting next to a salivating demon who’s looking at you with hungry eyes, quite the contrast to his very sweet, very devilishly handsome face.

“Do you like Korean food?” he asks, shifting the car into gear and speeding off. You only nod, your throat prickling at the thought of some spicy food. The hunger almost feels unbearable now. He nods along. “Good.” He glances at you. “I like you better when you’re obedient.”

Something about the way he says it makes goosebumps run up and down your arms and you cross them together, hugging yourself. You throw your gaze out the window but through the reflection, you catch the hint of a smirk on his face.

***

Just like you expect, he pulls up in front of this restaurant known for not only its Michelin Star chef, but also its view as it is situated atop a hill that overlooks the city. The only way you ever saw the interior of the restaurant was through photos posted on social media by famous people and on Yuna’s Instagram page while you only daydream about it. Although Yuna swears the food is just mediocre but you wish you could have been the judge of that yourself.

Now as you follow behind Mr Park up the steps and through the main doors, you can’t help but feel a little excited, like a child on Christmas, your eyes taking in the decors and every little detail, even the smell wafting in from the dining area. The maitre’d eyes you suspiciously but greets Mr Park with such enthusiasm it’s comical to watch, but you remain silent all the way to your seat. He comes back later with a green glass bottle and pours out two shots of soju. He leaves the bottle on the table and goes away.

You watch as Mr Park down the shot in one gulp, throwing his gaze out the glass window, the lights of the city twinkling orange and red. Your drink remains untouched as the maitre’d returns again, this time with plates of different types of food, placing them carefully and silently, not even a thud, in front of you. You look at the selection, a variety of meat and seafood, spicy and non-spicy, stir-fried and soup, hot and cold, along with about a handful of side dishes. The table is almost covered with food. The bowl of rice, one for each of you, comes last.

“Dig in,” says Mr Park gruffly, skilfully using his chopsticks to get the rice. You stare at the food again, licking your lips, not even sure where to start. You watch as Mr Park picks up some meat and piles them on your rice. “Eat. I thought you were hungry.”

“I am,” you answer breathlessly, bringing the meat up to your lips and into your mouth. You chew slowly at first, and as the flavour bursts on your tongue, you chew more adamantly, shoving more in. The only problem you have is with the rice, wishing you had a spoon instead. Mr Park just silently watches you, eating much slower, choosing his food carefully and almost minimally.

“You don’t like rice?” he asks casually.

You shrug, a pout on your lips. “I do.”

“Then why are you barely touching it?”

You look up at him, sighing, putting the metal chopsticks down. “These are hard to use.”

Without breaking eye contact, he raises one finger and the maitre’d is suddenly standing there, ready to take his order. “Can we have a spoon for the lady?”

The maitre’d glances over to you. “A…spoon, sir?”

Mr Park flickers his eyes over at him to confirm and he straightens up and scurries off, coming back with a metal round spoon. “Here you are, ma’am.” His eyes are nothing but judgemental but you just smile sweetly and brightly. “Thank you so much.”

Dinner went by much smoother and at the end of it, you’re sitting back in your chair, wishing you could unbutton your pants. There is still leftover food and you look at them guiltily, realising that you had done most of the eating. When Mr Park puts down his chopsticks and takes a napkin to his mouth, you frown. “Aren’t you finishing those?”

“No.” He puts down the napkin and checks his watch.

“But there’s so many left,” you moan, gesturing to the table.

“And?”

You look at him disbelievingly.  “You know how many hungry children are there in the world that would love to have this food?”

He gives you a quizzical look. “If there’s that many, I don’t think these would be enough.”

You groan exasperatedly. You look up, trying to wave over the maitre’d but he keeps avoiding looking your way. You wave your hands over your head but he is adamant to ignore you. “What are you doing?” Mr Park asks, sitting back in his chair.

“Trying to get them to take away all this food,” you answer.

“For who?”

You pause, looking back at him. “Seriously? I didn’t know you’re such a waster, Mr Park. You’re one of this world’s problems.”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Right.”

You scowl but don’t say a word, still too busy trying to catch the head waiter’s attention, half standing now.

“And it’s Jimin.”

“Huh?” You turn your attention back to him. “What did you say?”

“I said it’s Jimin,” he repeats impatiently.

“What is?”

“My name,” he snaps. “Are you that dumb?”

“But that’s a girl’s name,” you say, scrunching your nose. “And I’m not dumb. Don’t go calling people dumb so easily, Jimin.”

He groans, rolling his eyes. He snaps his fingers and the maitre’d rushes over immediately. “Pack these up, will you? And the check, please.”

“Certainly, sir. Right away, sir.” The maitre’d waves his hands and a couple of waiters come over and take the plates away. A white receipt is placed face down on the table as the head waiter walks back to the front. Jimin slides the paper to himself and stands up and you follow suit. You arrive at the front counter just as the food comes out again in paper bags, to which they hand over to you as Mr Park, or Jimin, pays. The maitre’d gives you one last dirty look as you both walk out the door he is holding open.

“Give me your address?” Jimin instructs as you pull on your seatbelt.

“Why?”

He gives you a look that says he might end up driving to the lake to dump your body there. Realising what he needs the address for, you quote it for him as he types it into the car’s GPS. Fifteen minutes later, the car is parked in front of your apartment building. He looks up at it. “Kind of small.”

You unbelt yourself. “Well, that’s cuz I’m the one working for you, not the other way around.” You open the door and step one foot out when he puts the paper bags of food into your lap. “All of them? You don’t want any?”

“Just take them and get out already,” he sighs. You shrug, stepping out and about to close the door when he asks, “Did you sign up for another event?”

“Yeah,” you say, hefting the paper bags closer to your chest. “Tomorrow. The Gatsby fundraiser.”

He frowns, not quite getting it but then it dawns on him which event you’re talking about. “Well, it’ll be good to have your phone with you. And be there at least thirty minutes early.”

You watch him pull out but don't drive off. You wait, but the window rolls down again. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he shouts through the window. “Go on up, then.”

Slightly taken aback, you bounce up the steps and open the lobby door. You turn and wave at him before shutting the door. You wait another ten seconds and you can still see the silhouette of his car through the crystallised glass. Thinking that he might be on his phone before driving, you go up to your floor and to your unit. Yuna is watching TV when you hurry past her to the window that overlooks the car park. You can see him leaning over the passenger side to look up and your eyes meet. He sits back and finally drives off.

“That’s just creepy,” you muse. “Was he trying to see which floor I was on?”

“Who? What?” Yuna joins you by the window, watching his car tail lights disappear into the night. “Whoa, who’s that?”

“My boss, apparently,” you huff, transferring the paper bags into her arms instead. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“Oh, you got my message,” she replies, peeking into the bag.

“No, I didn’t. I left my phone this morning,” you tell her, going off into your room to find your phone on the bed, still plugged in. You checked it, cringing at the many unread texts, especially the group chat for today’s event, and Yuna’s more recent one asking to get dinner on your way back. You read all of them, disregarded the other notifications, and exit the wedding group chat, as per the instruction once the event finished.

“Wait,” says Yuna as she follows you to your room and stops by the doorway. She pulls out the tub from the paper bags, eyes widening as she registers the name of the shop. “You went to Seoul of Korea?”

You nod. “Yeah, pretty neat place. The food’s not as bad as you said it was. It was actually good.” You start to undress, ready to hop into the shower.

“With your boss?”

You nod again.

Yuna leans back on her hips. “Damn, girl. You move fast.”

You snort. “I was practically coerced there. And he’s pretty rude.”

You follow her back into the kitchen as she unpacks the food. “Did you eat there or these are the takeouts?”

“We ate there,” you reply. “And these are leftovers. He ordered so much food and he didn’t even finish them!”

Yuna gives you a funny look. “So you went to the most fancy restaurant and told them to pack the leftovers?”

“Exactly.”

She laughs, mouthing wow as she puts a couple of tubs into the microwave. While the microwave hums, she leans against the counter. “So who is the old dude? Do I know him?”

“I don’t think he’s that old,” you say, picking on some of the food that is waiting for their turn to be reheated. “He looks super young. Jimin Park?”

Yuna’s eyes widened again along with her mouth. “Park Jimin?!”

“That’s what I said. In reverse.”

“Wait, hold up.” Yuna holds up both hands as if to stop time. “That car just now, that you came back in, that was Park Jimin? You went to have dinner with Park Jimin?!”

“Why do you keep repeating his name?”

“Do you know who he is?”

“I told you,” you say, rolling your eyes. “He’s my boss. I’m going to take a shower.”

Yuna rounds over to you just as the microwave dings. She puts her hands on your arms, shaking. “Park Jimin is like the Korean version of Christian Grey, everyone knows that!”

You stare at her. “As in he’s as rich or he’s…y’know, a sex maniac?”

“He’s fucking rich!” Yuna exclaims, shaking you a little harder. “And he’s hot as fuck! He’s like the most sought after bachelor among the rich and famous! Everyone wants him! Though I don’t know if he’s a sex maniac but given that everyone would love to fuck him, it wouldn’t be farfetched.”

“Are you done?” you ask, glancing at where she’s holding you. She steps back, taking out the food from the microwave and putting in the rest. “I don’t know why it matters so much. He’s rude and seems full of himself. And he’s my boss. He just gave me a ride home. No big deal.”

Yuna splutters. “No- no big deal? I’d be freaking out if Park Jimin sent me home.”

“You are now,” you point out.

“Look,” she says, gathering herself. “The point is, you should consider yourself lucky. Everybody wished they could ride in his car.”

“Yeah,” you snort. “Let him see you take the bus and be pathetic on the first day of work. Maybe he’ll take pity and drive you home. Cuz that’s what happened.”

Yuna laughs again, darkly this time. “Park Jimin doesn’t care about anyone. He’s a cold sonofabitch. I know because I tried talking to him once at this party and-”

“You mean at the rich people party?”

“Yes, that. You know how my parents want me to socialise,” she says, air-quoting socialise.  “Well, anyway, my mom pushed me to talk to him but he’s not a friendly person. Couldn’t get more than ten words from him. I don’t think he talked to anybody that night, except for a few key people. Kept to himself, glared at everyone that approached. Worst five minutes of my life. It felt like he was just waiting for me to leave, y’know.”

“And yet you said he’s hot as fuck and all that?”

She nods. “Because he is. All my friends, even my mom’s friends, are just infatuated with him. But he doesn’t seem to notice or give a shit. Maybe he’s gay.”

“Maybe,” you answer absentmindedly. “I’m going to shower. For real, this time.”

You hear Yuna sigh longingly but all that’s on your mind is your next job tomorrow. There’ll be more important people, people you wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of; not that you wanted to today, either. Your feet are still hurting and so is your arm and, to be honest, you’re actually dreading going back to work. But a part of you is somewhat curious if he would be there too, Park Jimin. You finish showering and go to bed wondering if you will get to see him again.

The answer is, yes.

At 3.30PM, you are gathered together with a group of people wearing the same outfit. This time, instead of a bowtie, you are given a plain black tie. The leader this time is a no-nonsense man, gruff and speaks with a perpetual scowl on his face. He has on an earpiece that is connected to a mic at his wrist and he gives the impression that he’s from the secret service. The instructions had been more or less the same as last time; no flirting, no fraternising.

You have bandaids plastered in all the right places on your feet so the heels hurt less, feeling a little more confident now that you know what to expect. You haven’t seen Jimin anywhere today, catching yourself craning your neck to look around. Even when the event started, there was still no sign of him. By 7.30PM, when the bidding starts and dinner is in full swing, your arm is starting to hurt and your feet are starting to cram up. You are walking around the floor, picking up empty glasses and used plates to clear the tables, carefully dumping them into a large basin at the back of the hall where the busboys will come and take them out when they’re full. That’s when you finally see him, dressed in an all white pristine suit, walking down the middle aisle towards a table, a lady in a matching golden and white sequined dress walking next to him, hand on his arm. They both take a seat, side by side, the lady leaning in to whisper something to him.

You start your round again, deliberately circling around the table adjacent to theirs, hands and feet moving automatically to pick up used dining wares as your eyes are glued to Jimin and his plus one. The bid continues on stage, currently over an eight by ten painting that started at ten thousand dollars. You watch as the lady, who looks to be in her late thirties or early forties with a beauty that’s classical, leans in again, whispers something in his ear that cracks a smile on his face. He nods and whispers something back. You notice how her arm is still resting on his upper arm, how he would sometimes brush over it lightly as she gives him a squeeze.

“Excuse me?!”

You look down at the woman whose half-full wine glass is in your hands. You put it back down, accidentally slamming it and making the wine slosh around dangerously. “What the hell?” she shrieks, standing up and gesturing at her glittery dress. “You got wine all over my dress! Do you know how much the dress cost?!”

You shrink, stepping away. “I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. Here, let me help.” You pick up an unused napkin and try to dab at the spot she’s waving at but can’t seem to see anything wrong with it. She jumps back, raising her voice even more. “Don’t touch me! Where’s your manager? I’d like to make a complaint.”

You panic, unsure what to do, feeling the colours draining from your face. Your mind is blank and it feels like your lips are glued together to say anything, not even to apologise. The woman is still demanding a manager, making the people in the vicinity turn their heads, even some of the other servers, wondering what is going on, but you can’t quite hear her. You stand there, frozen and speechless, gaping like an idiot at the woman screaming in your face, right until you see someone in white comes over and talks to her. She finally calms down but before you can realise what’s happening, a hand is clasped strongly around your wrist and pulls you to the back.

In the service hallway, where the music is muffled, the loud booming voice of the auctioneer faint in the distance, your senses finally come flooding back. The tears pricked the corner of your eyes and as you see Jimin’s darkened face looming close, you turn away, hastily wiping them away.

“Just breathe,” he says, his voice low. “Breathe.”

“I’m fine,” you reply, sniffling the last snot, breathing in gulps. “Fuck, I should go back and apologise to her properly.”

His hand stops you. “It’s been taken care of.”

You take a few steadying breaths, clenching and unclenching your fists on your sides as you try to get a grip. You nod shakily. “Thanks. Look, I’ll pay for the damaged dress. You can take it out of my paycheck.”

“Of course,” he replies coolly. “That’s a given.”

Your heart sinks a little but you nod, accepting the consequence of your action.

Then he adds, “If it was actually damaged.”

You look up, not comprehending. “What do you mean?”

A small smile creeps up his lips. “Her dress is fine.”

“What? Really? But she was pissed!”

Jimin arches an eyebrow. “You made the mistake of picking up something she was still drinking and you did slam the glass down.”

“But it was an accident! I didn’t mean it,” you say, then pauses. “How did you know what I did?”

He looks a little taken aback but quickly recovers. “She told me. Plus, it’s common sense from what she wanted to complain about.” He fixes his tie then turns to head back inside. “Just stop slamming glasses down from now. And make sure you watch what you’re doing instead of staring at someone, why don’t you? I’m not cleaning up your mess again next time.”

You watch him leave, your mind barely processing what he said.

“What are you doing?” a voice barks from behind you. You jump, turning around to come face to face with the team leader. “Get back to work.”

***

The event ended later than scheduled so when you ran down the street to the bus stop, you manage to catch sight of the last bus disappearing around a corner.

“Fuck!” You kick at the curbside. “Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck!”

You groan out loud, running your hands through your hair. The only good thing is that you brought a pair of sneakers to change to so at least your feet don't hurt so much. You take out your phone and dial Yuna’s number but the phone keeps on ringing until it goes into voicemail. She’s probably already asleep as her first class tomorrow is at eight o’clock. You groan again, trying to think of anyone else who you can ask to pick you up but having a small circle of friends, no name comes up. You open up Google Maps and check the distance to walk back home and find out it would take about forty-five minutes. Sighing, you start walking.

Not even five minutes, you hear the sound of a car gliding along next to you and without checking to look, you hasten your pace, pretending to be affixed to my phone screen, the emergency number ready on the dialpad.

“Not taking the bus today?”

At the familiar voice, you finally look up only to scowl again to see Jimin following you with his car. “Are you following me?”

He looks around, at the steering wheel, then back at you. “I think so. Isn’t it obvious? So why aren’t you taking the bus?”

You roll your eyes. “I missed it, the last one.”

“How come?”

“That’s a stupid question,” you remark. “Because the event ended later than when it was supposed to.”

“Why don’t you just drive? This thing is bound to happen in the future if you’re still with us.”

You give him an incredulous look. “Well, gee, why didn’t I think of that! If I just drive it’ll solve all of my problems.”

He doesn’t look amused. “Is it the you work for me thing and not the other way around? If so, I understand.” He has one hand on the wheel, glancing between the road and you. “Or maybe not since I am driving.”

You groan. “You’re a piece of work, y’know.”

“I’ve been told,” he replies lightly. “Are you getting in or not?”

You stop walking, staring at him. “Sorry, was there an invitation implied by your whole assholery?”

He shrugs. “I thought it was obvious. I mean I’m holding traffic to keep up with you.”

You look behind the car at the empty road and then back at him. “Right, I can see that.”

He sighs heavily. “Fucking hell, do you need an invitation? Fine, get in the damn car so I can take you home, your hindness.”

You glare at him. “Have you ever been told to fuck off?”

“It might not look like it but yes, yes I have.”

“Well, here’s another one. Fuck off.” You start to walk faster down the hill but the car keeps rolling at a slow and leisurely pace next to you and is he whistling? The radio is off, you know because the window is still rolled down. “You know,” he says again, “this area isn’t a good one. Lots of people getting jumped, robbed, killed. The stuff.”

You ignore him, the sound of your footsteps loud on the pavement but your heart is beating even louder now as you glance left and right at the low bushes lining the side of the road. It’s dark enough for anyone to be lying in wait for a helpless victim, especially one like you that fits all the right criterias; female, small, alone, have no self-defence skill whatsoever. But the idea of giving in to his arrogance makes your blood boil so you keep going, much to his frustration.

“Y/n l/n,” he calls in a voice that makes you stop dead in your tracks, your heart jumping in your throat as it triggers a childhood memory of being summoned after getting into trouble. “Get in the car. Right now.”

Almost as if compelled, you drag your feet over to the passenger side, stopping just outside. You look at him without saying anything as he locks eyes with you, his face stern. “Get in,” he reiterates in the same commanding tone. You open the door and get inside. When you finish buckling up, he drives off, the window whirring up to a close.

The drive home is a silent one. He doesn’t even bother to ask for your address, having it registered on his car already, which makes you wonder about it but don't ask. Your voice is stuck in your throat, too scared to tip him off even more so you remain quiet, hands clasped in between your legs. The radio is on but turned down low and from the corner of your eyes, you glance at how he has one hand on the wheel and the other on the middle armrest. He has taken off his suit jacket and loosened his tie just enough to undo the first button of his shirt, the sleeves rolled up just below his elbows.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” the question pops out of you involuntarily as you suddenly remember the woman with her hand on his arm earlier.

“I don’t have one,” he replies shortly.

“What about that lady you were with?” you remind him, feeling a little tense that you even dare to ask.

“That’s none of your business.”

Silence.

Then, he says, “You’re much more obedient when I have to handle you like a child.”

You don’t answer, keeping your eyes on the road, your body coiling in as if ready in case he does something that requires you to have quick reflexes to protect yourself. But nothing happened. You remind yourself again that this is your boss, not your parents.

In your peripheral vision, you see him glance at you, watching you with eyes that make you feel assessed and gauged, like he’s looking for something that can give him a sign of what he’s curious about. “Are you in college?”

You nod. “Yes.”

“What are you studying?”

“Mass Communication.”

“What year?”

You lick your lips. “Junior. I got one more year and then an internship.”

“So you’re of age?”

Your eyebrows dip a little, turning your head just slightly to see his face. “What do you mean?”

He doesn’t answer but poses another question. “Do you have a boyfriend? A girlfriend? Husband? Any partner whatsoever?”

You frown but shake your head. “No. Why?”

“Just curious,” he says but his tone is that of someone mulling over the information. You see your apartment building coming up and you grab your bag tighter around you. You hear him chuckle. “Ready to jump out of the car?”

You give him a scowl but your expression softens at the amused look on his face, the way his eyes twinkle in the darkness. As he puts the car in park, you wait for him to unlock the door. When he doesn’t, you look back at him questioningly.

“Say,” he starts, fingers drumming on the wheel, eyes looking up at the building up front. “Are you sticking around? With the job?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately. “I need the money. I suck at it but I’ll get better.”

He nods but almost as if he isn’t even hearing you. “Good. Are you an open person, y/n?”

You stare at him, trying to understand what he’s asking. “I like to think that I am?”

He nods again, the same faraway look in his eyes. “So if I say there are…other events only listed for our…more exclusive servers, would you be interested? Of course, the pay is double, sometimes triple the normal amount.”

You notice the red flags in the things he’s saying but the words double and triple stand out the most. You swallow then nod. “Yeah, I’d like to be involved. If it doesn’t clash with my class schedules, of course.”

He smirks. “No, don’t worry about that. You still have the freedom of choosing your own shifts.” He finally turns to look at you straight in the eyes and your breath hitches. “But, these events are strictly private. If you agree, you will be requested to sign an NDA first before the list is provided to you.”

Your curiosity is peaked and it is enough for you to nod your head. “Yeah, okay.”

He regards you for a few seconds, eyebrows stitching together like he’s not sure about you. But then he looks away, reaching over to open the glove compartment and pulling out an A4 brown envelope. He hands it to you. “This is the NDA and an agreement contract you need to adhere to should you agree to be our exclusive server. Read through everything, all the details, the fine prints. Sleep on it, really think about it. I don’t want my servers running out on me after signing the contracts. It’s a pain to chase them down to pay the penalty for contract breach.” He sighs heavily. “They always want their pay on time but when it's the reverse it becomes such a hassle.”

“How do I get it back to you?”

He gives you a long look before answering. “Scan it and email it back to me.” He takes out a card from his breast pocket and hands it over. “Not the work email. This one, my personal one. It’ll be delivered directly to me.”

You take the card and shove it in the front pocket of your bag. You go to open the envelope but he stops you with a hand on yours. Your knuckles feel like they might burst into flames from the contact. “Not now,” he says. When you’re inside.” He gestures to the apartment. You give him one last confused look before exiting the car. Like last time, he only drives off once he sees you through the upstairs window and you watch as he drives away.

Plopping down on the bed, your tiredness forgotten, you upend the content of the envelope into your lap. There are two documents; one an NDA, the other the agreement. You go through the latter, skimming through the first page easily. You pause on the second page, staring at the list of rules you had to adhere to. There are only three.

1. All exclusive events have their own designated rules. You must uphold and adhere to them as per requested.

2. All exclusive events have specific and strict dress codes that you must follow. Any deviation from the dress code will result in being sent home with no reimbursements or any payout.

3. All participants are bound by the NDA.

Any breach of these and the NDA will result in a penalty set by our law team. Any withdrawal from the agreement before the completion of the tenure will result in a penalty set by our law team.  A bonus of one year salary will be rewarded with a contract renewal.

The agreement is set to one year, dating from the day you sign the contract. You stare at the list of rules again, your gut screaming at you not to do it but can’t find anything in the writing that clearly states anything that can go against your own values, considering that you are free to choose your own events. You try to analyse the rules again; the first one is a given, any event has their own rules. Dress codes are normal, too, and the NDA is a binding contract that you understand perfectly well as a mass communication student. As much as you’re wondering what kind of event that requires NDAs, the lucrative money promised is much more enticing. It’s the kind of money you can never quite fathom.

Sleep on it, really think about it, his voice echoes in your head. But that amount of money, for someone like you, is something you don’t have to really think about, much less sleep on it. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity and you’re not going to let it get away just because of a gut feeling that could stem from paranoia or something else. You move to the desk, taking out a black pen in a mug in the corner. You scribble on a piece of paper first to check if the ink is working before taking the pen to the agreement contract first, signing your name and the date, before doing the same with the NDA. For some reason, your heart is hammering in your chest. You take out your phone and open the note application to scan the pages of both documents before opening your email.

As you key in his email address and paste in the scanned documents along with a short message, you stare at it for a good minute. You take a deep breath and press send, the whooshing sound signalling that the email is sent. You sit there, frozen, as if you’re waiting for the whole apartment to cave in on itself or the world to stop spinning but nothing happens as it always never does. Shrugging, you crawl into bed, not even bothering to shower first, content that your first class tomorrow isn’t until noon. You fall asleep almost immediately.

~~~

Across town, in a penthouse in one of the largest buildings in the city, the CEO of JP Foods & Services opens up the new email that just dinged on his phone, smirking to himself to see the documents he just passed not even two hours ago signed and delivered. He flags the email for printing later.

Barefoot and shirtless, he pads silently over to the second unoccupied bedroom. Well, it’s supposed to be unoccupied, he lives alone after all. But not tonight. Tonight he has a guest. He pushes open the door and steps into the dimly lit room, approaching the four-poster bed that creaks with every move the tied, naked woman makes. She’s spread-eagled with not a single thread on her, hair tied up in a ponytail to keep them off her face. The room is silent except for the vibration sound coming from between her legs.

He sits on the bed and runs the back of his hand on the side of her face as she leans into his touch. She looks up at him. “So? Did she sign it?”

He smiles. “I guess you’ll be meeting up with her more often now, Jodie.”

She grins back before moaning. “Jimin, please. I think I’ve been a good girl for long enough.”

His face darkens, pulling away his hand. “I told you not to call me that.”

She pouts. “I’m sorry, sajangnim. Please?”

As he takes out the leather paddle, as he unzips his pants and lets it fall to his knees, as he spreads Jodie’s legs even wider, taking out the vibrator from her well-trained ass, he closes his eyes and pictures your face. As he sinks into her, as he feels her clenches around him, as he hears her scream his name with every resounding smack of the paddle, he imagines it’s you. Not long now, he thinks, just a little while longer before I have you begging at my feet to ruin you more.

:MASTERLIST:

[helloalycia]

girl next door [three] // wanda maximoff

summary: the time has come where you realise your boyfriend just isn’t worth it, and your neighbour may or may not be an Avenger

warning/s: none i don’t think??

author’s note: part 3 is here! I kinda got carried away and wrote two more parts so my bad, but i hope you like it!

part one | part two | part four | part five | masterlist | wattpad

I couldn't be bothered with today. I just wasn't in the mood to go to work, so of course, I procrastinated as much as I could in the morning until it was finally time for me to get out of bed without being late.

Teddy had fallen asleep here last night after we watched a film, but he left earlier for work, so it was just me. I knew I had to break it off with him, it was time. But I didn't know how to tell him without hurting him. So, I was cowardly in that sense, which was only worse because I was leading him on. I'll find a way to say something soon, I promised myself as I took my clothes off and wrapped a towel around myself.

When I headed to the bathroom, I immediately slipped on the wet floor that only one person could have left behind. But, unlike the many times I had done so, I wasn't able to catch myself and instead fell on my leg, hearing a deadly crack noise, forcing a scream from my lips.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," I got out through gritted teeth, tears slipping from my eyes. The pain was unbearable and as I looked to my leg, I knew something was wrong because it instantly began to swell up and change colour.

Taking deep breaths to get through the pain, I tried not to imagine the several ways I was going to skin Teddy alive. He was so ignorant! How many times did I have to explain to him how dangerous it was to leave the floor wet?!

"It's okay, Y/N, you're okay," I told myself, before stretching and grabbing my phone from the side.

A striking pain shot up my leg and I suddenly felt nauseous, unable to deal with it. Swallowing hard, I called Teddy to give him a piece of my mind but also ask for his help since I couldn't move. Unfortunately for me, it went to fucking voicemail making me scream with frustration. I clenched my jaw as I tried to stand up myself, but more tears rolled down my cheeks as I accepted I was stuck.

The next person who came to mind was Wanda. If I was lucky and she wasn't at work, she'd be able to help me up and get me to a hospital.

I called her next and thankfully, unlike the arsehole that was my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend, she answered.

"Hey, Y/N!"

I breathed out as calmly as I could. "Hi, Wanda. I, er, I need your help."

"Everything okay?" she asked with concern.

I nodded, though I felt really sick as I tried to avoid looking at my leg. "Yeah, well– no. This is really embarrassing, but I slipped on the bathroom floor and I think my leg is broken. Please can you come 'round and help me up?"

"Shit, Y/N, of course!" she exclaimed.

"Thanks," I got out breathily. "Spare key is taped under the plant pot outside my door."

"Just hold on," she insisted, before hanging up.

I dropped my phone to the side and glanced down at myself, definitely embarrassed that I was sat here in my underwear and bra, but also glad that I wasn't completely naked.

As promised, Wanda came as soon as possible and I heard her approaching the bathroom before she squeaked and covered her eyes.

"S-sorry!" she said, flustered. "I didn't mean to look. I just–"

"Wanda, you need to see if you're to help me up," I said as nicely as I could without snapping from the pent up anger reserved for Teddy.

She removed her hand, though her eyes wouldn't meet mine. "Right, yeah, duh. Okay, er..."

Successfully, she managed to lift me up and let me use her for support as we limped to my bed and I took a seat.

"Can you pass me my–"

"Clothes, right," she caught on, still not meeting my eyes, before moving around the room to grab a shirt and shorts.

I put my shirt on with ease, but she had to help me with my shorts as I tried my very hardest not to cry from the pain. My leg, or rather my knee, was turning a yellow-purple colour pretty quickly, making me flinch.

"How did this happen?" she asked with worry, gaze falling to my leg.

I clenched my jaw. "My stupid fucking boyfriend. I've told him so many fucking times to mop the damn floor! And he always says okay, but he never does! Oh, boy, when I get my hands on him, he's gonna wish he'd never been born!"

"Y/N–"

"And can you believe he has the audacity to have his damn phone switched off?! I could be dying and he wouldn't even know! That selfish, ignorant son of a–"

"Y/N!" she called, snapping me out of my rant. "Hospital."

"Right, hospital," I agreed. "No ambulances because they're way too expensive. Maybe you can get me down to a taxi and I'll take it from there?"

She raised her eyebrows with disbelief. "You're kidding, right?"

I mirrored her expression. "Er, no? Ambulances are like $700, and even with my insurance that's like $400. Taxis are, what, twenty bucks?"

She wasn't convinced as she crossed her arms and stared at me with uncertainty. I sighed and tried to stand up, but I pulled a face at the pain. She was quick to help me stand, giving me support on my right side.

"This is gonna take a while," I mumbled, biting back annoyance.

"Don't hate me," she said suddenly.

I looked to her, furrowing my brows. "What are you talking about?"

She avoided my gaze and instead swept me off my feet quite literally, taking me by surprise. I wrapped my arms around her neck on instinct, eyes widening as she held me close, bridal-style.

"Wanda, you can't just carry me like this," I said, though I was surprised at how strong she was.

She ignored me and walked out the bedroom before stopping at the fire escape. I gripped her tightly, wondering what the heck was going on. There was a hint of red in her eyes, startling me, before I noticed the two of us rising into the air. Levitation, to be exact.

"Woah!" I shouted, holding her as tightly as I could. "What the hell?! How–?! What–?!"

As she flew us away from our building, there was a red hue floating all around us, like an energy I'd never seen before. Except it seemed familiar... and that's when I put it together.

"You're that Avenger!" I blurted out. "The witch, the one with all the magical powers! You're– you're– Oh my God."

She frowned, eyes darting to mine apologetically. "I know. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

I swallowed hard, fearfully glancing over her shoulder at the clouds interwoven with the tall buildings of New York. Never in a million years did I think I'd be flying amongst them, with an Avenger nonetheless. She'd fought at the battle of New York, I remembered seeing her on the TV. She was dubbed an official Avenger not long after, but then coverage of her went quiet... because she'd moved away. It made so much sense now!

"I knew I recognised you," I said with disbelief, studying her face closely as I now knew who she was.

Her eyes still had a red hue surrounding her irises, matching the energy surrounding us as she flew us to, presumably, the hospital.

"I didn't intend to hide it," she explained guiltily. "I thought you'd figure it out. But then you didn't and it... it just never felt right to bring it up."

I thought back to the random hours she worked, the spontaneity of being called in for her shifts, her whole backstory for crying out loud... how stupid could I be?

"This... this is a conversation we should have," I said, nodding slowly, "but maybe not right now."

"Right, yeah." She nodded in agreement, jaw tensed as she stared ahead. "Just hang on."

–

After getting an x-ray at the hospital, the doctor told me I'd need to go into surgery so they could realign my knee – it wasn't anything concerning, but I wasn't exactly over the moon about it.

I returned to the hospital room to find Wanda had been waiting for me. I'd say I was surprised, but I was more grateful that she stayed. We hadn't had a moment to speak about her whole Avenger situation, and she was oddly quiet about the whole thing, so I decided to ease it into conversation whilst waiting for the doctors to return to prep me for surgery.

"You know, you didn't have to stay," I said to her, watching as she distracted herself with the stuff on the bedside table. "It's only a broken leg."

She stopped whatever she was doing and gave me a knowing look. "It's not only a broken leg. And I just thought you might like the company. Who else is going to make sure you're okay?"

I offered her a small smile. "Thank you. But the surgery is gonna take a while. I'll head home after and catch up with you then."

She seemed against the idea, but said nothing, before resuming whatever she was messing around with. The tissue box, I think.

"So... magic, huh?"

She swallowed visibly. "It's, er, not magic... at least, not exactly."

I hummed in acknowledgement, still adjusting to the fact that she had actual powers. It was amazing and unusual all at once.

"It's okay that you didn't tell me you know," I said gently, making her glance at me. "You apologised earlier. Back when we were–" I breathed out, still in mild disbelief, "–well, flying. You didn't need to. You don't have to be sorry about anything, Wanda."

She frowned. "But I lied to you."

Her Sokovian accent was more noticeable when she was upset, I noted. I wondered if she realised.

"You didn't lie, per say... more like bent the truth," I tried to make her feel better, stifling a laugh. "Either way, it's alright. Well, for me anyway. I don't know if you wanted to tell me or–"

"I did," she cut in with nod, eyes focused on me. "I wanted to."

I hoped she couldn't hear the way my heart rate picked up a little. "Okay, then I don't see a problem. You're still the same Wanda, just with a little something extra, right?"

Her shoulders relaxed and a small smile tugged at her lips. "Right."

I mirrored her expression, holding her gaze for a moment longer than necessary, before tearing away when I heard the doctor enter the room. After prepping me for surgery, I headed off into the operating room and made sure Wanda knew she didn't have to be there when I came back.

They put me under, so I wasn't awake until several hours later when I woke up to horribly bright, fluorescent hospital lighting and the accompanying nasty disinfectant smell filling the room. The first thing I noticed was the giant cast on my leg, followed by the sleeping brunette in the corner of the room that was Wanda. I would have questioned why she was there as my first thought, but I couldn't help but take notice of the lovely room I was in – for starters, it wasn't shared with other patients like I expected.

"Wanda," I called, my voice rough-sounding, but she didn't stir in the slightest.

I chewed on my lip as I found the remote that controlled my bed, using it so I could sit up. I was able to grab the water on my bedside table and take a few sips before calling for her again, sounding a lot better. To my relief, she began to wake up, eyes blinking open and looking around with confusion before realisation crossed her face and she settled on me.

"You're up!" she exclaimed, before a yawn escaped her lips.

"And you're here," I returned, hinting my confusion.

"I told you I was staying," she reminded me, before standing up and approaching my bedside. "Had to make sure you were okay. And obviously to help you home. By taxi, not flying, don't worry."

I smiled at her caring nature, expression softening at how cute she was.

"Also, before you ask," she added, "your hospital bills are taken care of. Hence the room."

I lost my smile, eyebrows raising. "Come again?"

She sat at the edge of my bed, getting comfortable as she looked out the window opposite us. "I didn't want you worrying about it, especially when none of this was your fault, so I called in a favour at the Avenger's compound. Tony owed me."

I almost forgot how to breathe as my eyes widened. "Tony Stark? The Tony Stark? He's paying for my hospital bills?"

She looked to me, a hint of panic in her eyes. "I hope that's okay. I mean, I knew you would say no, but I feel like I should've done something. You've done so much for me and it was only fair."

"I can't believe..." I trailed off, losing track of what I was going to say, still shocked. It made sense with her being an Avenger, but it was still hard to believe.

"You still with me?" she joked, her hand resting on mine.

I cleared my throat, ignoring the warmth from her skin touching mine. "Yeah, sorry. I just– wow. Still digesting is all."

"Don't worry too much about it," she said gently.

I nodded weakly, swallowing hard and avoiding her gaze.

"I should go get the doctor and let her know you're awake," she said, letting go of my hand. "You okay on your own for a minute?"

"Yeah, of course. Thanks."

After a chat with the doctor and an explanation of how everything would play out from here, I was getting ready to leave for home. I got changed out of the annoying hospital gown in the bathroom attached to my hospital room (another perk of Tony Stark paying for my bills – no shared toilet) and was in the middle of adjusting to my crutches in my room when there was a knock on the door.

Wanda and I paused as we looked up, and I was about to say for whoever it was to come in, but the person came in quickly and without waiting. To my bitterness, it was Teddy of all people.

"Oh my god, Y/N, there you are!" he exclaimed upon seeing me. "I got your message, both of them. I was so worried!"

In addition to the message I'd left him when breaking my leg, I also left him another before the surgery to see if he actually cared enough to check in. Clearly not.

I gripped my crutches to get out my frustration. "It took you long enough. I went into surgery five hours ago."

He scratched his head awkwardly. "I was at work."

I rolled my eyes, promising myself I wouldn't snap, but the annoyance of everything happening was building up and I couldn't help but blurt out, "I told you to mop up when you freakin' showered, Teddy!"

"I did!"

"No, you didn't!" I shouted, raising my voice. "If you did, I wouldn't be in this fucking cast!"'

He winced. "Are you, er, sure that it was the water that you slipped on?"

I clenched my jaw, knuckles turning white from how hard I was gripping my crutches. I didn't care that I was temporarily crippled, all I could see was red.

"Am I sure?" I repeated his question, tone laced with anger. "Am I sure?!"

I attempted to lunge forward, but Wanda seemed to know what I was thinking before I did it, holding me back suddenly.

"Y/N, just leave it," she mumbled, eyes meeting mine.

Something about the way she looked at me made my anger temporarily melt away, and I almost forgot why I was mad, until...

"Who are you?" Teddy asked with confusion.

Wanda and I looked to him, figuring he was just being his usual rude self, but he genuinely had no idea who she was as he studied her curiously.

She blinked with disbelief. "Wanda....?"

He waved his hand, motioning for her to say more.

Wanda raised a brow with offence. "Y/N's neighbour...?"

He pursed his lips, eyes squinted with thought.

Wanda almost scoffed. "Really? You got nothing?"

He chewed on his lip, genuinely stumped, and I couldn't help but groan with frustration, earning his attention.

"Of course you don't know who she is!" I glared at him. "You don't listen to a word I say! Not about this, not about mopping the floor–!"

"Y/N, just calm down!" he cut me off, only adding fuel to the fire.

"No," I said sternly, before nodding to the door behind him. "You can leave. You have no need to be here since we're not together anymore."

He raised his eyebrows with shock. "Seriously? You're breaking up with me? For what?"

I breathed out through my nose, genuinely stunned at how I managed to stay with him this long without either losing my mind or killing him. I could swear he wasn't this stupid when I met him.

His eyes fell to Wanda with distaste. "Is it because of her?"

"Did you actually manage to get stupider since this morning?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Because I totally accepted when you said you were bisexual," he continued, "but I didn't think you'd actually leave me for a woman."

I pressed my lips together, looking to my shoes as I tried to talk myself out of not killing him there and then. The fact that he was blaming the breakup on anyone but himself was disappointing but not surprising.

"Can you leave now?" I finally spoke, looking up to him with expressionless eyes.

His smile of disbelief turned into a scoff as he headed for the door. "Whatever. Your roast lamb is shit anyway."

I scrunched my face together with annoyance, unable to stop myself from yelling, "No it isn't!" as he walked out the door.

Unexpectedly, I saw the familiar red wisps of energy by the door before it suddenly slammed shut, smacking Teddy in the butt and propelling him forward with a start. He turned around to look through the glass, expecting to blame someone, but Wanda and I were nowhere near the door, so he glared our way before storming off.

"Sorry," Wanda said, referring to the door, lowering her hand and red eyes returning to normal. "He's just a real dickhead."

I tried not to laugh as I nodded in agreement, already feeling better. "You're not wrong there..." I sighed, losing my smile as I gave her an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry for everything he said. Again."

Wanda rolled her eyes dismissively, shrugging her shoulders. "You should really stop apologising on his behalf. Especially since he's not your boyfriend anymore."

I relaxed my shoulders, leaning against the bed and looking to the floor. "Yeah, you're right... I just can't believe I put up with him this long."

Wanda didn't respond, but I heard her make a weird noise before she fake-coughed terribly, making me look up. Trying ever-so-hard to suppress a smile, she shook her head apologetically when she realised I noticed.

"Sorry, I– it's not funny," she attempted.

I smiled with amusement. "What?"

She licked her lips, before giving into her smile. "I just– I can't believe it either sometimes."

I breathed out with defeat, my smile turning into laughter alongside her. Eventually, she continued to help me with my crutches before I got the hang of it and the two of us began to leave the hospital. On the way out though, a random thought dawned on me and I stopped walking suddenly.

"What is it?" she asked worriedly.

I looked to her with curiosity. "That guy who stopped by your place a while ago. Your friend. Are you telling me that was–"

"Captain America?" she filled in with an amused smile. "Yeah."

"Woah." I was amazed, eyebrows raised as I let that sink in. I spoke to the Captain America and even implied he was a stalker. Woah.

"Come on, idiot," she laughed before leading me out the hospital, finally.

–

Breaking up with Teddy was long overdue, and whereas I thought I would feel bad for doing so, it was quite the opposite. I felt better, freer, unrestrained by the stupidity that was my ex. It was a few days after leaving the hospital when I found myself sitting on the couch with Wanda. She'd been helping me during my recovery, even though I insisted I was fine alone. She, of course, didn't listen though, and I was secretly glad because it meant I could spend more time with her.

"What about that fork? Can you move that?"

Wanda gave me a knowing look from the other end of the couch, amusement knitted in her smile. "Yes, Y/N."

To prove her point, her eyes glowed red and she flicked her hand, raising the fork on the dining table up in the air before setting it down.

I was amazed. "What about that cushion?"

She stifled a laugh before levitating the cushion between us and setting it down.

"And that book?"

"I have other powers, too, y'know," she pointed out, but levitated the book nonetheless.

I grinned. "Yeah, like flying."

She nodded in agreement. "Yeah, like that..."

And this.

"Woah!" I said with a start, eyebrows raised with surprise. "Did you just– what?!"

She laughed, the sound sending a swirl of butterflies in my stomach. Her eyes sparkled as she met my gaze, amused by my amazement.

"You can speak in my mind?" I asked in bewilderment.

"I can read minds, too," she continued.

"Wow." I breathed out, still not used to her having powers. Suddenly a thought came to mind and I glanced at her. "Have you, er, read my mind?"

"Never," she assured me, before adding with a head tilt, "at least not on purpose. Sometimes, if somebody's thoughts are too loud, I can't help but hear it."

I felt my face heating up as I avoided her eyes. "But my thoughts are quiet... right?"

Every potentially-embarrassing thought I'd ever had, including those I'd had of Wanda, came to mind and I suddenly grew nervous to her answer.

"Er, well, I mean..."

I looked to her when I heard her forming an answer, but the look on her face told me she had heard my thoughts at times and I ran a hand down my face with embarrassment.

"I promise it's never anything embarrassing or anything," she tried to make me feel better.

I groaned quietly, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Hey, I promise," she said with reassurance, before I felt her rest a hand on mine and squeeze it gently.

"What was the last thing you heard?" I asked, trying to veil my curiosity with a shrug.

I felt her gaze on me and looked her way to see green eyes sparkling with amusement. "Mostly you cursing at your ex."

Cracking a smile, I nodded. "Okay, maybe that's fine then..."

Her laughter surrounded us again and she let go of my hand before pulling her legs up on the couch to get comfortable and face me. She watched me with an endearing smile, making me unusually nervous.

"So, what other things can you do with your powers?" I asked, partially curious and partially trying to distract from my nerves.

She studied her right hand, red energy wisps at the tip of her fingers. "I can... I can throw energy balls," she remembered, looking to me before smiling, "but I won't demonstrate that since I'm sure you love your curtains."

"That I do," I said in agreement, leaning on the back cushion with my elbow as I faced her better.

"I can also manipulate thoughts, but once again, I'm sure you won't want a demonstration." She chuckled as she saw my change of expression.

"Yeah, no thank you," I said jokingly.

She pressed her lips together, thinking of what else she could do, but her smile faded into a thin line as a dark thought seemed to cross her mind.

"My brother had powers, too," she said quietly. "Super speed."

Since finding out who she was, I tried to piece together Wanda's background without bringing it up to her for fear it would upset her. It made a lot more sense why she'd moved next door now that I knew who she was, but she hadn't once brought up her family again until, well, until now.

"Pietro," I said, hoping I'd got his name correct. "Right?"

She nodded, lowering her hand and looking to me. "Yeah, that's him... he also had powers. It was actually what got him killed." She barely flinched as she spoke. "He saved someone's life in the battle against Ultron."

I sensed her sadness when her gaze softened as she finished speaking, and my heart ached now that I knew the truth.

"You don't have to tell me, Wanda," I said gently, hoping she didn't feel obligated to.

"No, no...," she shook her head, "it's nice to finally be able to tell you the truth. The whole truth. Not some rendition of it."

I nodded, relaxing under her stare. I was glad, too, to know she trusted me with such sensitive information about her life. It made me feel important, kind of like confirmation that I meant as much to her as she did to me.

"Do you think you're gonna go back to the Avengers tower anytime soon?" I asked. "I know you mentioned living here was temporary, so..."

It was selfish of me to think, but I hoped the answer was no. She hadn't said, but I gathered she hadn't been fulfilling her role as an Avenger as much as she should have been, as she was still on a break from there since grieving for her brother. But she seemed better than she did when she first got here, and if that meant she was going to go back there... I hoped it didn't, selfishly enough. I know the world needed another hero, but, I mean, did they?

"Trying to get rid of me already?" she teased, quirking a brow, making me smile with embarrassment. She noticed and added, "I'm kidding, Y/N. But to answer your question, no, not yet. Maybe not ever. I thought I would be here to get away from them whilst I grieved, but I've come to like it here. It's become my new home. I can still help them and not stay there."

I tried to resist the urge to smile like a weirdo. "Oh, cool. Yeah, I get you."

Calm on the outside, but over the moon on the inside.

"Though I may have to reconsider if my neighbour keeps using me like a carnival attraction," she added playfully.

I laughed, putting my hair behind my ear as I shrugged. "I'm sorry, I can't help it. It's just so cool that you have powers!" She laughed quietly, making my smile widen. I continued without thinking, "Plus, your eyes go this pretty red colour whenever you use them and I just think that's pretty neat."

She rolled her eyes playfully, but I was surprised to see her cheeks turn the colour of said powers. God, she was stunning. I was sure I'd always known that, but maybe I'd never acknowledged the thought. Now though... she was adorable when she bit back a smile and her hazel eyes sparkled with distraction.

Suddenly remembering the beautiful girl before me had the ability to read minds, I cleared my throat and tried to debate whether or not that would be classed as a 'loud' thought. I'd liked to think it wasn't, but now I wasn't so sure... what if this was a loud thought? And she could actually hear everything I was saying about her in my head? Oh, no... I was definitely overthinking this. It was nothing to worry about.

"You okay over there? I can practically read your mind."

I looked up and saw she was teasing again, though now that I knew she had powers, those words carried a double meaning.

"Yeah, yeah, sure you can," I played along dismissively. "Nice try, Wanda."

She shrugged, laughter slipping from her lips. "Okay, whatever you say."

Nah, she was definitely playing me... right?