#polish job search ad

[bestfurryhusband]

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 23 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: As the trial date creeps closer, Bradley is having a harder time keeping himself from panicking. After you learn some interesting things about Bradley from an unlikely source, you do a little bit of digging. 

Warnings: Angst, swearing, smut, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

You slept in until ten. You were sore. The good kind. The kind where you couldn't stop smiling. As you sat up in Bradley's bed and stretched, your eyes caught on your purple crown. There was a piece of paper hanging from it now. You reached for it and read the note he had left for you.

Princess,

I left my computer and the charger in the kitchen. I also plugged your phone in before I left. There are Skittles in the kitchen cabinet. Please text me when you get up. Noah asked if you're staying for dinner. Please stay for dinner. 

I love you.

My computer password is password1234

You snorted and rolled your eyes. "Of course it is," you muttered, climbing out of bed and searching for something to wear. You made yourself some coffee with the vanilla creamer, and you spent the day filling out four job applications, eating Skittles, and attending a zoom lecture. You had done basically nothing strenuous, but by the time Bradley and Noah got back, you were yawning as you ran to see them. 

"Hello, boys," you said, kneeling to hug Noah. 

"Let's color dinosaurs," he told you, and you laughed as he led you to the table. 

"Don't I get a kiss or anything?" Bradley asked, unbuttoning his uniform shirt.

You looked at him and said, "You keep that on and I'll kiss you somewhere special later."

His hand paused on the buttons before doing them back up again. "Does that mean... you'd like me to have the uniform on later? Like after bedtime?"

You licked your lips and looked up at him, going for the most innocent look you could manage. "Please?"

Bradley grunted and kissed you a little rough. You tasted his tongue before pulling away from him. "I have dinosaurs to color," you informed him, dropping down onto the seat next to Noah. "And dinner is in the oven. I hope you like lasagna."

"You already know I'll eat anything you make," Bradley said, kissing you on the top of your head.

Noah tried to pronounce lasagna until you were barely holding in your laughter. "What's that?" he asked, handing you a pink crayon.

"It's kind of like spaghetti," you promised, coloring in a tyrannosaurus rex. "I already know you like spaghetti, so I'm just trying to expand your palate."

"Okay," he said with a shrug. "Can I have ants on logs?"

You knew he was going to ask, so you had already made them. When you took the container out of the refrigerator, Noah and Bradley had them polished off in a matter of minutes. "Your weekly grocery bill is probably more than mine is for the month."

"I don't doubt it, Princess," Bradley said, biting into the last carrot stick, still in that sinfully hot uniform. "Let's eat dinner, and then I'll clean up while you and Noah play."

"And then you'll take me home?" you asked cautiously looking up at him where he stood.

"Do you want me to?"

You didn't answer him. You just turned back toward the coloring book while he pulled dinner out of the oven. Did you want to leave? And go back to your tiny, lonely rental? No. You were still wearing Bradley's clothes, and you kind of wanted some more of your own stuff, but you didn't want to leave. Not really. You said nothing, and he didn't ask again. 

He did everything else to get dinner on the table. He plated the food, got drinks, and set the table. Then after everyone including Noah enjoyed the meal, he cleaned up. "You don't want help?" you asked, scooping Noah up in your arms. "Then we're going to watch some Mickey Mouse while we play with blocks."

"Sounds good," he said, putting some foil on the leftover. "Love you," he added casually as you took Noah into the other room. No, you did not want to leave.

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

Bradley was still wearing his uniform. He'd tried to change out of the shirt twice now, but both times you had stopped him. Noah was looking a little sleepy, and Bradley didn't know what you wanted to do. He wanted you to stay over again. He wanted you to stay over until he got through the court appearance on Wednesday and hopefully returned home with Noah, free and clear of Meredith. But honestly, he wanted you with him longer than that.

"Princess?" he asked softly, and you stood up from the pile of blocks that Noah was working on.

"Yes, Daddy?" you asked, standing right in front of him and smirking. If he was alone with you right now, that smirk would be gone in an instant. 

"I need an answer, Baby. You want me to drive you home before I put Noah in bed for the night?"

Your hands found his waist as you gazed up at him. "I want to stay here, but I don't want to distract you leading up to Wednesday."

"Stay," he sighed. "Stay. We can swing by your place and pick up some of your things and then come right back here, okay? Stay."

So that's exactly what the three of you did. Bradley stayed in the Bronco with Noah while you ran inside your place for a couple minutes, and you came out with your usual tote bag plus a backpack. 

"You don't mind if I keep using your computer, right?" you asked before you climbed back in the front seat.

"You can use anything at my place."

The smile you gave him in response had him thinking about asking you things he had no business asking you yet. He closed his eyes briefly before putting the Bronco in reverse and heading back to his house. When you reached for his hand in the dying light, he held yours. And when you asked to turn on the playlist you made for Noah, he fell even more in love with you. 

Noah was half asleep by the time Bradley carried him inside, and when he reemerged from his son's room, you had changed into your own clothes. Bradley kind of missed his oversized shirts on you.

"I have a fun idea, Daddy," you said, and he was practically salivating in response. "I'm going to teach you how to cook."

His brow furrowed and he gave you a look. "That doesn't sound fun at all."

Your laughter in response had him agreeing with you anyway, and you were immediately coaxing him into the kitchen. "We can use up all of your food, and tomorrow I can go grocery shopping for you if you want. I could drop you and Noah off in the morning and then use your car."

"Baby, it's not a car.... it's a Bronco. And you can use it if you promise to be very, very careful with her. You can't park next to the cart return. Actually, you can't really park by anything. No trees, no shrubs, no other cars. Nothing."

You were trying not to laugh, he could tell. "Sure, Daddy. No problem. Now let's start cooking."

He kissed you softly. "You gonna let me change out of my uniform yet?"

"Don't ask me stupid questions. Of course not. You look hot. Now go ahead and grab all of the ingredients for this recipe," you told him, handing him your phone. He sighed and skimmed a recipe for chicken stir fry.

"Princess, there's no way I'm going to be able to make this," he murmured.

"That's an order, Lieutenant Bradshaw!" you snapped, and Bradley was instantly looking at you. "Or I'll make you do fifty push ups!" 

"That's nothing, Baby. I'll do a hundred for you," he said with a smirk, but what he got in response was a slap on his ass. 

"Get to work," you told him, hopping up on the counter with a bag of Skittles and a no-nonsense look on your face.

"Oh, shit," he mumbled, reading through the recipe again.

"And that dinner better be edible, or I'm not going to suck your cock, Lieutenant."

"Yes, ma'am." He read the recipe a third time before he got the chicken out of the refrigerator. Bradley was starting to get a little nervous about Meredith, but you were certainly helping him keep his mind off of that. He got a cutting board and a knife ready along with some vegetables. 

"Don't forget the salt," you whispered, holding out a green Skittle and popping it in his mouth. 

"Thank you," he whispered back. And you kept offering him little hints here and there. You told him he was cutting the vegetables too small, and then you fed him a purple Skittle. You told him the oil needed to be hotter, and then you fed him a yellow one. You reminded him to keep moving the food around in the pan, and then you let him take a red Skittle from between your lips with his mouth.

"You're better at cooking than you think," you told him. "Noah won't have to keep eating boxed foods."

"That's really your goal here, isn't it?" he asked you, pushing his sweaty hair back from his forehead with his forearm.

"Of course. I'm not worried about you. I'm worried about him," you replied with a playful eye roll. "What's he supposed to eat when I'm not around?"

"Why would you not be around?" he asked cautiously. Then his mind started swarming with thoughts of Noah living with Meredith. 

He watched you chew on a Skittle before you softly said, "I'll be around." Your eyes dipped down his chest to his pins and buttons. You looked so young and sweet, and you reached for the knob to turn the burner off. "Don't want it to burn."

Bradley nodded and got a plate down. He carefully scooped some of the hot food onto the plate and handed it to you for inspection. "Give me a fork, Lieutenant," you commanded, and Bradley grabbed one from the drawer while you blew on the food. "I just ordered you a rice cooker and an apron from Amazon. The rice cooker will make your life easier, and you'll look cute in an apron that says Hot Daddy."

Bradley laughed as you raised the fork to your lips. "Thank you, but baby, I don't want you spending your money on me. You haven't even graduated yet."

"Just pretend like you never paid me to watch Noah, okay? I don't like that you ever did."

"Okay," he whispered, placing one hand on either side of you where you sat on the kitchen counter. He watched you take a bite of the chicken, and you moaned softly. Then you tried some of the vegetables before you fed him a bite.

"It's so good. And I barely helped you at all."

Bradley was actually impressed that he'd made something that tasted that nice. "So I have no excuse now but to make Noah a homemade dinner? Is that what you're saying?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," you said, smiling at him as he set the plate aside. "You know how to cook, Lieutenant. I'm so proud of you."

He leaned in and rubbed his nose against yours before kissing you. "Do you still want me to do push ups for you?"

"Kind of," you replied, kissing his mustache. "Just because it would be sexy." 

Bradley did fifty push ups while you stood in front of him and counted them off, and he looked up at your legs and your denim shorts the whole time. 

"Damn, Daddy," you groaned as he hopped up when he was done like it was nothing. "My boyfriend is so strong!" He didn't even have time to respond before you were unzipping his pants and slipping your hand inside. 

When you knelt in front of him, he said, "You weren't kidding about sucking my cock, huh?"

"Not at all," you whispered looking up at him. Your lips were glossy again. Whatever you grabbed from your house, it must have included your lip stuff. God, he loved the way you looked. He loved the way you felt. He loved your tongue, licking the bead of his precum away as you stroked him with your hands.

"You're really fucking good at this," he moaned as you wrapped your lips around him and sucked gently. He stroked your cheek as you took him a little deeper, swirling your tongue as he throbbed. "Goddamn it." The slow, deliberate drag of your lips along his length was enough to make him buck gently.

You moaned around him before pulling him free, and then Bradley was treated to you sucking on his balls until he was panting. "Baby," he whined, his cock resting on your face. You weren't going to let him go any faster. He couldn't decide if fast or slow was what he wanted, so he left you in charge. 

And he was not disappointed when you licked him from balls to tip and said, "I want you to cum on my face."

He ran his knuckles along your cheek and chin. "You're so gorgeous, Princess. I'd love to paint you up and make you even prettier."

"Daddy," you whined before taking him so deep he saw stars. You bobbed along his length, gagging as you tried to take all of him. Your hand was cupping his balls and your saliva was dripping onto the floor as you gagged again. You looked up at him with watery eyes, and this time when he stroked your cheek, he could feel himself.

"So good," Bradley growled. "God, you're the best."

You sucked and bobbed until he was sure he was going to lose his mind, and then he withdrew with a snap of his hips. He stroked himself twice, whispered, "I'm about to cum," and then he watched you flinch and giggle as ribbons of white landed on your cheeks and lips. His cum hit your nose, and then you opened your mouth for him.

"Fuck," he grunted, pumping every last bit onto your beautiful features, and then he was between your lips again as you licked him clean.

"Baby, don't move," he begged, scrambling to find his phone. "Will you let me take a picture?"

"Yes," you said with a laugh, licking him from your lips. "You can add it to your dirty photo album. Remember the passcode?"

"I sure do," he grunted, snapping a few pictures of you kneeling on his kitchen floor with his cum on your face. And then he was kneeling too and kissing you and telling you he loved you. 

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

You slept better in Bradley's arms than you ever did at home. He told you once you were curled up in his bed with him that he was getting nervous about the custody hearing. You tried to be encouraging. "There's no way anyone would let someone take Noah away from you. You're his only parent as far as he's concerned. He only knows love from you, Bradley."

"And you," he said softly. Warmth filled your heart as he added, "Noah knows that you love him. He lights up around you, and he's just as comfortable with you as he is with me. You're the best thing that ever happened to us."

You were supposed to be the one comforting him. But you ended up dozing off in his arms filled with hope instead. The next morning, he let you drive his Bronco "as a test" on the way to Noah's daycare. You had offered to keep Noah with you for the day instead, but Bradley insisted you spend your time finishing your school projects. 

"Okay," Bradley said as you parked in the daycare lot. "I'm fine with you driving the Bronco around. Do you remember the rules about parking lots?"

"Oh my god," you mumbled. "You're really not going to get Noah out and move along with your day until I answer correctly, are you?"

"No." His face looked serious as you laughed and promised you wouldn't park next to the cart return, another car or any sort of living plant.

"That's my Princess," he crooned, running Noah inside once you'd said goodbye to him. Then you dropped Bradley off at work, but this time, you crawled across the seat to straddle his lap for a moment.

"I love you," he whispered as you combed your fingers through his hair and kissed him. 

"I love you too, Daddy. I'll pick you up here at five," you promised, pressing your forehead to his. "And then I'll cuddle you all night, and you won't be worried about tomorrow at all. I can see on your face that you're thinking about Meredith. But think about Noah instead."

He wrapped his arms around you and sighed. "I'm always thinking about Noah. And you. And us." He kissed you one last time, and you let him climb out. "I love you, Princess."

You waved to him on the sidewalk, and then Jake joined him, and you waved to both of them. Then you stuck your head out the window and called out, "Can't wait to have you again later, Bradley! Oh, hi, Jake."

Then you started the engine again as your boyfriend laughed while Jake walked away. If you could at least make him laugh today, maybe that would make dealing with tomorrow a little easier. But it was hard not to think about what he and Noah might be up against. You couldn't let yourself dwell on it. Instead you drove to the grocery store with Bradley's credit card tucked inside your wallet.

You got all the staples, including your coffee creamer and everything you would need to make a big batch of ants on logs. Then you picked out some things you could teach Bradley how to make along with everything Noah liked. And you spent over two hundred dollars. Bradley had assured you that you could get whatever you thought they all needed and put it on his credit card. 

You were skimming the receipt as you pushed your cart to the Bronco. "Yikes," you muttered, loading bag after bag into the back, extra careful not to bump his precious vehicle with the cart. Then you closed it up and took the cart to the return. 

Just as you were digging his key out of your pocket, you looked up. You made eye contact with Meredith. She was standing there, right next to the Bronco.

"What do you want?" you asked. Your voice sounded strong, and you realized you were not even slightly intimidated by this woman when Noah wasn't with you. What could she really do to you in the middle of a parking lot at nearly ten in the morning?

She looked angry, eyeing you up and down and glancing at the Bronco. "I can't believe he lets you drive that. It's worth a fortune," she said, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder and scowling. 

The car key was digging into your clenched fist, but you didn't close the distance to her. "Let me rephrase my question: What the fuck do you want, Meredith?"

"Such a filthy mouth on you. And you're spending time with my child," she said casually. "Lovely."

"Are you following me?"

She rolled her eyes, and you hated her so much. You supposed you could see how she was physically attractive, but you only felt the desire to kick her. 

"I'm not following you. I'm about to go grocery shopping. This is the store I always come to. But I wouldn't mind chatting a bit. I'd be more than happy to use your potty mouth and the fact that you're sleeping with Bradley against him in court."

You laughed out loud. "Well, you'd have to actually show up first. Are you going to be there tomorrow? Or run and hide at the last minute again?"

Her scowl was back. "You have a lot of questions, huh? Well, so do I. Is all that life insurance money still in an account for Noah? Or did you spread your legs open wide enough to get Bradley to pay for your little nursing degree?"

You gasped out loud. You would never do that. You loved Noah and Bradley. And now you were afraid you'd just walked into a trap. Meredith was looking at you from ten feet away like it was a showdown. One that she intended to win, because she brought the correct ammunition when you clearly had not. 

"I guess the money is still there then," she said, starting to look more satisfied. "You know he'll never commit to you, right? He was always afraid of commitment."

"Yet you're the one who abandoned her child," you said softly, but not without conviction. 

She took a step closer to you, venom in her voice. "I didn't want to be held down, but things change."

"Do you even want him? Or are you just trying to get back at Bradley?" you asked, unable to stop yourself. "Because Noah deserves a family who loves him. You left them. But Bradley loves him. Bradley would do anything for him."

Her voice was like steel. "And I deserve a lot more than what I'm getting." She spun on her heel and started to charge away.

"What does that mean?!" you called after her. But she didn't stop or turn back. "Meredith!" You got nothing but the back of her blonde hair, and then she was in her BMW and driving away.

"What the hell?" you muttered to yourself, hands shaking as you put the key in the ignition and started the Bronco. You had to sit for a minute until you were calm enough to drive. Thank goodness you hadn't kept Noah with you today. Thank goodness you'd been alone. And at least Bradley didn't have to deal with this either. 

Oh, he was going to be so upset when you told him later. He'd be mad you didn't interrupt him at work this instant, but you weren't going to do that. You needed to get back to his house right away and get on his computer. Carefully, you put the Bronco in drive. Apparently this thing was worth a fortune. Bradley had a nice house, and he probably paid a pretty penny for Noah's fancy daycare. He told you to spend his money on whatever you wanted at the grocery store. But there was some sort of life insurance money, too? What was going on here?

Your brain was swimming, or maybe drowning as you parked in Bradley's driveway and forced yourself to carry in the groceries and put all of the food away before you locked the front door behind you and turned his computer on. You entered his ridiculous password which you were definitely going to have to make him change, and you started your search. 

Hours went by, and you subsided on only coffee. Then you checked the time on your phone. It was almost five o'clock. You were going to be late to pick them up, and now you had more questions than answers as you ran back out to the Bronco.

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

Okay, Meredith. Okay. Daddy will see you in the courtroom. Hope you enjoy your fic, @beyondthesefourwalls And thank you @mak-32 !

PART 24

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

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@throwinsauce

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@xoxabs88xox

[mayajadewrites]

Sweet Secret (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F! Reader CEO Levi Ackerman coming in hot. I've been wanting to write a CEO Levi/Sugar daddy Levi story for a hot minute. Enjoy!

Summary: You needed a job. Ackerman Inc was hiring for an in house assistant for none other than the CEO: Levi Ackerman. He's known to be essentially the worst to work with, you decide to take the job and take on the challenge that is Levi Ackerman. Will your relationship remain professional, or will their be monetary value added to the stakes?

ao3

Chapter One: Opportunity

“Breathe. It’s just a job interview.” You take a deep breath just like your yoga instructor taught you. 

The economy is shit, much to your dismay. Being an adult isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. Just like many other people in the country, you’re applying to several jobs a day and receiving multiple rejection emails almost daily. 

Your last office job laid you off - they claimed it was for ‘budget reasons’ but who knows. During your latest job search, you found a listing for an ‘In House Assistant’ for Ackerman Inc. 

Ackerman Inc is known for their property management - they own much of the city and are continuing to grow. This job also supplies a place to live, who can say no to that? No rent, no utilities, and you’re getting paid.

You grew up in the city, so the skyscraper before you doesn’t scare you much. The windows are glossy, definitely freshly cleaned. 

You take your first step into the building.

“One step at a time.” You say to yourself. The doors automatically open and you’re greeted by an auburn haired receptionist. 

“Good morning! How may I help you?” Her attitude is cheerful as her hair follows her head movements.

“Good morning. I’m here for an interview for the in home assistant position.” You hold your bag close to you.

“Amazing! And you’re early. Mr. Ackerman will love that. My name is Petra, I’m the receptionist here at Ackerman Inc.” She reaches her hand out.

You tell her your name and shake her hand gently. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Let me take you up to the conference room, Mr. Ackerman should be in shortly.”

Walking through the halls of Ackerman Inc makes you feel like you’re in a museum. Awards strategically placed on the wall, aesthetically pleasing paintings lining hallways, and not a speck of dust in site.

“Here we are!” Petra opens the door for you. “Would you like any coffee? Tea?”

“I’m okay, thank you though.” You take a seat at the long conference table. You’re too nervous to drink or drink anything before an interview. 

You look down at your fingertips, your well manicured nails shining against the overhead lights. You’re happy you went with OPI’s bubble bath nail polish shade, you think to yourself.

Soon the door opens and you see a man with a strong stature paired with jet black hair walk through. You immediately tense as you fix your posture  and stand up to greet him. 

“Hi, it’s so nice to meet you. My name is-“ You hold your hand out.

“I know your name.” The man glances at you before he sits down. “I’m Levi Ackerman, the CEO of Ackerman Inc. I’m gonna cut to the chase for this, because I need an assistant asap.” 

You nod your head as you listen to Mr. Ackerman. He shuffles through the papers in his hand, pulling out a laminated copy of your resume.

“Your resume looks great. How do you feel about cleanliness?”

“I appreciate a clean environment, sir.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” His half lidded eyes meet yours. His eyes are a blue-gray. You take note that they match his grey pressed suit that was definitely recently dry-cleaned and ironed.

“I clean every day. I’m not sure how you want me to answer that. I’m a clean person.”

Levi only nods as he places your resume on the table gently. 

“This position requires you to work at my home, work here, basically anywhere I am.” Levi taps his index finger on the table. “It’s a 24/7 job since I work 24/7. You’ll get days off, but they’re almost like on call shifts. If I need you, I need you.” 

You nod in response. “That sounds okay.”

“You’ll have to move in asap as I need you to start this Monday. How does that work for you?”

“I can have my stuff ready tomorrow morning.” 

“Congrats, you have a job.” Levi stands up and grabs his papers that were on the table previously. He pulls out his wallet - a designer one at that. He hands you a business card that’s nestled between his middle and index finger. “Call me tomorrow when your stuff is ready. I’ll have movers bring it over.”

“Thank you Mr. Ackerman.” 

Levi nods as he leaves the room. You can’t help but watch him through the glass windows as he makes his way to the elevator. His demeanor is… cold. He didn’t ask too many questions, which makes you think he already did his research on you. 

But hey, a job is a job and the pay is better than your last one.

Why did he need an assistant so quickly though?

As you walk out of Ackerman Inc, your phone buzzes in your purse. You see your little sister’s name across the screen.

“How did your job interview go!” She says enthusiastically.

“I got the job. I start Monday.” 

“Is Mr. Ackerman hot?” 

“Alexis!” You roll your eyes. “He’s my boss now so I have no… opinions about his looks.” You lie. He’s obviously attractive. But he’s your boss - therefore forbidden.

“You can think your boss is hot. A lot of people fuck their coworkers.”

You roll your eyes at her statement. “Bye, Lex.”

“Love you!” She sings before hanging up the phone.

Your little sister, Alexis, is more like your daughter at this point. You’ve been on your own since you were 16 and Alexis was 6. Your parents are addicts that could not care less if you lived or died, so you took your sister and ran. 

You haven’t seen them in 12 years and don’t plan on seeing them ever again.

___________________________________________________________

The reason you could move in so quickly to Mr. Ackerman’s house is because you’ve been couch surfing for the last 4 months. Alexis for once has a stable job and lives with a roommate, so you were on your own.

As you entered your friends apartment, you took a deep breath. This will be your last sleep here. You won’t have to burden anyone anymore.

“Hey! How’d your interview go?” Ymir, your best friend, emerged from the kitchen. Her girlfriend, Historia followed behind her.

“I got the job!” You smiled. “I’ll be moving in tomorrow morning.”

“Where did you get the job again?” Historia tilted her head.

“Ackerman Inc.” You watched as she typed the name into the search bar.

“Wow, THE Ackerman Inc!” Her eyes got wide as she kept reading. “Did you… read the reviews about the CEO?”

“Levi Ackerman? No I didn’t. Why?”

Historia said nothing and handed her phone to you.

While the pay is great, Levi Ackerman is the biggest dickhead I’ve ever met.

Be careful applying to this place. The CEO, Levi Ackerman, has no soul. No heart. 

Do yourself a favor and steer clear of Ackerman Inc. It’s not worth it to deal with the king of assholes - Levi Ackerman.

You sigh and hand the phone back to Historia. “It’s too late. I need a job and it provides housing.”

“You always have a place here.” Ymir wrapped you into a hug. “We love having you live with us.” 

“Thank you.” You hug Ymir. “I appreciate you so much. But I’ll be out of your hair soon.” You walk to your ‘bed’ which is the living room couch. You gather some of your knick knacks and shoved them in your tote bag.

You barely had anything to your name. Just a few outfits for interviews, your laptop, phone, and various chargers. Unemployment only helped with so much.

As you look up into the TV, you take a sigh of relief.

You have a job. This is the start of your new beginning.

You pull your phone out and text the number that’s on the business card that Mr. Ackerman gave you. 

> I’ll be ready by 10 AM. Here’s my address.

You received a text back rather quickly. 

The movers will be there at 10. <

> Honestly, I don’t need movers. I only have 1 bag.

You stared at the screen as the three dots appeared on the screen. You felt butterflies flutter in your stomach. Does he think you’re pathetic? That you have nothing to your name? 

I’ll pick you up at 10. Do not make me wait. <

> Of course.

You think to yourself, why would he come pick you up himself? Surely he has people to do that for him. 

Oh well. 

[linkemon]

Boysband AU headcanons (4nemo) 1

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here.

For those unfamiliar with the concept, 4nemo is a group of anemo boys who started a boysband.

AN: it's very hard to keep up with haiku syllables in English but I'm trying my best to modify my orginal poetry.

When you were left without a job, but with a whole bunch of bills to pay, you decided to look for something new. The offer was quite enigmatic but it matched your qualifications. Attracted by the vision of money, you volunteered. You had to sign a non-disclosure agreement before you were hired and that was a bit of a bummer. Everything became clear when you were accepted as the manager of the not so long ago formed band 4nemo...

Xiao

✧ Quiet and mysterious type of man. At first you thought it was the label that made him look like that but you soon realized that it was not true. Xiao is like that in every way. Naturally, he has a lot of female fans who are attracted to his way of being. You can safely say thanks to your re-search that he has the most fans out of all team members. Not that he really cares because he doesn't like attention very much. At fan meetings, he always fidgets impatiently and wants to get away as fast as possible.

✧ In 4nemo he is a rapper. He's doing pretty well, though not great. Apparently, his mentor was a certain Zhongli. He's one of the few people you see him hanging out with that you initially thought were his family. You're pretty sure whatever his mentor was, he didn't teach him how to rap because the man is very calm and elegant.

✧ Xiao likes to sit quietly with you on the stairs sometimes. It's kind of your ritual. If he's not feeling well, he'll somehow catch you on your way out of the studio. You don't ask what exactly is bothering him because he won't tell you anyway. You stay like that together for a while, talking about various, unimportant things. You even fell asleep on his shoulder once but he didn't reproach you for it. He just woke you up brutally.

Kaedehara Kazuha

✧ His specialty is dancing. Fans say he moves like he has the wind on his side. Perhaps because he trained martial arts in his childhood. He has offered you several times to join him as he practices new routine moves. He's managed to teach you a few things.

✧ He sometimes disappears and no one knows where he is. If he decides to hide, no one from the production will find him. You are one of the few people who are somehow able to locate Kazuha at almost any time. He was surprised himself.

✧ Kazuha likes to wander around the city. Preferably, however, surrounded by nature. Every frame he is allowed to record outside is a win. The same goes for photo sessions. There he seems to be in his environment. There was even a stereotype among the fans that if the music video has Kazuha and nature in the background, it must be a hit.

✧ The boy writes a lot of song lyrics. Most end up in a drawer but he showed you some sketches. On the side, he also writes poetry, saying it helps him. He wrote a haiku for you to thank you for your work for the team:

Bright glow of night light

Flowing the eternal wind

Our biggest support

Venti

✧ He's the best at singing. Still, he also has the ability to play multiple instruments and if only the record label would let him, he would definitely use it on every single hit. All he has to do is satisfy the audience's hunger with covers or short videos showing his skills.

✧ He is the biggest prankster of the four. If there's one thing for sure, it's that every joke comes from Venti. Whether verbal or prank. He recently added a tinted shampoo to Kazuha's bottle and now the boy has red tips left on his hair. He left them for the fans, although you had to convince him a lot. The culprit, of course, ran away for the day.

✧ Venti had several scandals. Mainly related to him being in clubs. Some of them were not known to a wider audience but fans still remember his drunken incident when he sang a hit from the latest album (not yet published at the time) and someone recorded it. Somehow he always gets away with the public and that's probably the only reason he hasn't been fired yet. The label knows fans would probably boycott them.

✧ He loves social media. Even if he's given instructions not to involve you as a manager or limit it in the photos, he does it anyway. He vlogs non-stop. Tomorrow he will definitely post a picture of what he eats for dinner so that everyone will know...

Aether

✧ Group leader. Very attached to his sister, which you noticed almost immediately. It was thanks to her that he even came to the preliminaries before 4nemo was founded. Lumine travels a lot but calls her brother very often. Very often you picked up a phone call from her to let her know there was a rehearsal still going on so she can't talk with her brother now. The boy often misses her and home but he tries to put on a brave face. You comforted him several times because he couldn't handle it.

✧ Modest is the word that defines him. Aether does not take credit for most meritorious achievements. This can be seen, among other things, in his speeches. He also mentioned you there, saying that no one sees your work behind the scenes. You were extremely touched. You have to constantly remind him how important he is because he will always forget about himself.

✧ He supports the whole group. Guys seem to orbit around him and you quickly noticed how he binds them together. He's the one in charge who will make a normal breakfast instead of stuffing himself with anything like Venti, nothing like Xiao or anything quick like Kazuha.

✧ Aether likes to ask what you think about their performances. He is very open to criticism and will definitely try to improve what you tell him at the next show.

[corporatefrog]

↳˗ˏˋ loose change ˊˎ˗ ↴ level 1 - new beginnings

featuring: an overworked intern traveling to a new town for a new job opportunity notes: the first one AHHH! whenever a chatacter is introduced, they'll have a mini intro in the chapter and be added to the 'characters' page as the story progresses

series masterlist previous level | next level

The sun rose over the peaks of Colorado’s mountains, casting shadows across the rocks as a car sped through the morning light. Fingers with chipped polish and tattered cuticles tapped on the steering wheel. Windows rolled down to let in the fresh breeze and let out the sounds of a local podcast into the empty mountainside. 

"In other news, it seems like the whole food turf war has ramped up again as the environmentalists continue to harass shoppers who buy almond milk-"

"Wait wait wait, I thought almond milk was the good milk? Why are they flipping the script on us the moment we start drinking the stuff?"

"Well, apparently when it’s produced, it’s terrible for the environment."

"So we can’t win?"

"Not unless we start crafting milk in laboratories that don’t use any electricity or water"

"This is why I said breast milk should become the nationwide standard and no one believed me."

"Clyde, you said that while wearing a “Daddy wants Milfy” shirt so excuse everyone for not seeing your genius."

A laugh caught in the driver’s throat, sending them into a coughing fit. They leaned forward into the wheel in an attempt to keep their eyes on the road while clearing the residual shock from the unexpected reveal from their system. 

They turned down the volume to avoid any further surprises while driving on a narrow mountain road. The voices of Jimmy Valmer and Clyde Donavan, host and guest of Walk the Walk with Jimmy Valmer respectively, grew distant as the volume lowered. Another laugh fell from their lips at the thought of what they’d heard. 

“Jesus, what kind of shirt is that and how do I get it?”

—

Name: YN LN

Age: 22

Status: Overworked Intern

Fun Fact: This is you! What’re we doing talking in 3rd person? Be yourself!

—

A chill ran up my spine as I glanced into the rearview mirror. 

I just got the weirdest feeling that someone was watching me and narrating my every movement.

I shook off the thought. Today was not a day for stressors. I’ve already got too much going on to worry about the possibility that someone somehow got into my car when I stopped for gas three hours ago and hasn’t made a single noise since then. Instead, my mind latched onto the reminder that I’d been driving for three hours. 

I groaned, leaning back in my seat in a feeble attempt to stretch my back.

“Why did I agree to this again?” I mumbled to no one in particular.

Because our boss told us to and if we want to turn this internship into a job we’ll do whatever we’re told. Even if it means driving to a nowhere town to try and network. 

Oh yeah, that’s why. What a great reminder. 

As the newest graduate intern at Retro Revolution, my boss tasked me with searching for local businesses that would be interested in renting out the retro arcade games the company owned. I’d be starting in this town for three months then maintaining whatever accounts I managed to open with the businesses I met. It was a huge step towards making a name for myself in the marketing field and I wasn’t planning on coming back empty handed. 

A miniature car chugged along the blue path of my phone’s gps, moving with a neverending vigor that I envied. The timestamp at the bottom of the screen reminded me that I still had another 45 minutes before I’d reach my destination. 

45 minutes is the perfect amount of time to slowly go insane and get lost in the Colorado mountains.

Can we not do this right now?

What? I’m just saying it’s a way to pass the time.

I turned up the car’s audio to drown out my thoughts, preferring to take my chances with whatever the milf lover could come up with over my own mind. 

"No way. You’re joking!"

"I am being 100% serious! They’re opening an arcade in town and they’re all co-owners. I wish I could write something this funny."

My ears tingle at the mention of an arcade. No fucking way. That’s exactly what my boss was looking for! If I could get in with the owners maybe this place can be the perfect way to expand production. I focused on the podcast, listening to the guest begin laughing as he spoke. 

"They’ll kill each other. There’s no way they survive a week."

"Oh absolutely. I already bet Craig fifty bucks they go bankrupt in the first 30 days."

"I want in on that. I’ve got a hundred on them not lasting 20."

"You are so on."

My hopes deflated as the host and his guest continued to joke about the eventual downfall of the business. The one thing that would’ve been worthwhile on this trip and it’s already falling apart. 

Feels like a sign of what’s to come. 

I push back the negative thoughts, focusing my attention back on the road ahead. It doesn’t matter if they’re bad business owners. I’ll just have to show them how a real business is run. And then make sure they keep running it that way for the duration of my trip. And then make sure they stay open after I’m gone so the one contact I bring in doesn’t immediately burst into flames the moment I’m not micromanaging.  

I sighed, deflating slightly in my seat. 

This is going to be harder than I thought. 

A change in scenery caught my attention. The mountains began to fall into rolling fields with mounds of melting snow morphing into a slush along the sides of the road. In the distance, houses began to rise as if being erected from the ground itself. 

A voice chimed from my phone, “In 2 miles, your destination will be on your left.”

I sat up straighter in my seat, hoping to catch the best first view of the town I’d be staying in for the next three months. As I grew closer, a sign came into view with the town’s name scrawled messily over some old wood.

Fucking finally. I thought as my car pulled past the sign and into the town of South Park.

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[lostmyremembrall]

𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝒩ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓇 ℱ𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝐼𝓃 ℒℴ𝓋ℯ 𝒜𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃

Tom Riddle x Gender Neutral! Younger! Reader Genre: Teeth rotting fluff stuff, slight humour

Summary: It's the end of the night. The dance is coming to an end. Your boyfriend left you with another girl. Your feet hurt. But, a certain Head Boy, who had stayed around to chaperone the event, comes your way. Now officially off-duty, he is asking if you would join him for one last dance in celebration of the successful event.

Warning: Drinking. Socially awkward! Tom. Antisocial! Tom. Tom being a considerate gentleman :) A wholesome message from Tom that you deserve happiness. Photos aren't mine.

This was fine.

Everything around you burning down. The pillars giving into the gravity. The streamers that had caught aflame raining down on you, vanishing in the air before it reached the ground. The papiers and tablecloths crumbling to the floor into nothing but soot and ashes, still smouldering in the dying embers of fire as it neared the end of the night.

You lied. You were having a world-class wretched time.

You stared blankly ahead of you, the few remaining couples around you, taking tired, slow steps to the rhythm. Somewhere out of the corner of your eyes, a pastel pink streamer fell from the ceiling. Your eyes numbly followed a single twirling line reaching for the floor, tired of everything this life had to offer for it.

You felt like you knew how the ribbon felt.

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

A quiet murmur sounded from above you. Your eyes flickered up to find the Head Boy standing, blankly staring down at you. Despite the yawns that were starting to appear here and there across the hall, he looked like he had stepped into the future from a few hours ago when the Dance had started. His hair impeccably combed, his skin still fresh as if straight out of a bath, his cheeks distinctly smelling of aftershave.

“Hello, Tom Riddle,” you breathed out. You couldn’t care less that you sounded a little duller than your usual self. Surely, he would understand that you were tired after the night. “Just tired, really,” you added.

You placed your chin on your tightly pulled knees and massaged your heels, your shoes discarded haphazardly on the floor beneath you, hoping to make for convincing theatrics. It wasn’t a lie; your feet were actually sore after a night of walking in foreign shoes. But, it wasn’t your feet that bothered you the most. No, it only added to the misery you called your first dance.

Tom Riddle’s eyes furrowed slightly. He raised his head and looked around the room, his eyes searching for something, or someone. “Your date?” his eyes narrowed at the apparent lack of remaining people, the others already paired off with someone else.

You looked down to your reddened feet and shrugged. Your poor feet. And all of it for nothing. You weren’t really in the mood to explain to anyone, not to the Head Boy out of all people.

“You did a tremendous job,” you mumbled, hoping to change the topic. You looked around as the other streamers cascaded down one by one, noticing that it inconveniently made you sound sarcastic. “Really, it’s beautiful,” you bit down on your lips as you heard your voice tremble again, ready to burst into tears.

Tom Riddle did not sit next to you, but remained still as a stick as he continued to stare down at you. At least, you assumed; all you saw were his black polished shoes pointing towards you through your teary eyes.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” you sniffed, your voice coming out a little stronger than before after taking a few breaths. You found the courage to look up to him and flash a smile.

He remained unblinking for a while, like a really old computer struggling to translate human emotions into zeros and ones. “Not really, actually,” he blurted out in the end.

That was surprising to hear. You could easily see an endless line of girls and boys forming to have one dance with Tom Riddle jr. One night probably won’t be enough. The line would probably reach the end of horizon, really, you mused.

Tom Riddle must have understood the confusion in the tilt of your head. “Too busy making sure the place doesn’t burn down to the ground,” he breathed out, looking around himself, as if he couldn’t keep his eyes off of the Great Hall even for a second.

That was understandable. A lot on his shoulders to make what could be the most important event of the year into a smashing, unforgettable event. From planning, permissions, decorations, hors d’oeuvres, music, chaperones, to clean-up without any help from the faculty, it was a lot riding on just two students.

You hummed. So not everyone had the greatest night of their lives, not even the popular 7th year Tom Riddle. That was somewhat comforting.

An awkward silence passed between them. Your eyes followed a couple walking out of the Great Hall, hand in hand, giggling and reminiscing the night away. The already sparse crowd had thinned out quite a lot in the past few minutes of you chatting with Tom Riddle, you noticed. Maybe two, three couples remained, slow dancing and blissfully smiling into each other’s shoulders. Professor Slughorn had fallen asleep on the chair in the far corner, precariously balancing a glass of his fifth firewhiskey of the night on his belly. Professor Kettleburn and Professor Merrythought chatted at a table over a plate of cheese.

Your eyes wandered back to Tom Riddle, still standing in front of you. Still aimlessly looking around the hall. Your eyes narrowed up at him. There was something about Tom Riddle that made it extremely difficult to read him. His voice monotonous, only replying in one or two words, his eyes completely blank as if he was always bored. Perhaps, the line wouldn’t reach the horizon; he was not just easy, but delightful to the eyes. But, you couldn’t picture him maintaining more than a minute of a conversation with anyone. 

What a curious dance that would be.

It was then, when his eyes flickered back to you for a brief split of a second. You blinked your thoughts away, and averted your gaze as well. Tom Riddle must have felt your gaze while your mind drifted  away, only risking a glance momentarily to affirm that, indeed, you were gawking at him.

You cleared your throat, almost wishing that the Head Boy would leave you alone if it would spare this embarrassment. A light flashed in your peripheral vision. Your eyes drawn instantly, you noticed that the first sunlight had shown itself through the stained glass windows of the Great Hall.

Despite it all, despite the horrendous night and the embarrassment that made you want to end the world in all its misery, it was still beautiful.

“Looks like you made it,” you found yourself murmuring. “Everything’s still intact at the end of the night.”

His gaze followed yours, and you were surprised to find that there was a small smile perched on Tom Riddle’s lips. “Seems so,” he sighed, shading his eyes with a hand as he admired the sunrise.

For once, everything felt completely natural and easy to converse with him, the silence and chitchat comfortable. So easy, when you expected you would have to talk with him in ones and zeros.

“Finally off to some well-deserved sleep, then?” you found yourself biting down a teasing grin. “Looks like you need it,” you couldn’t help but add. 

A lie. Tom Riddle never looked like he needed sleep.

His eyes narrowed on you, his lips slightly pouted in an exaggerated annoyance. You found yourself stifling a chuckle. It was easier to laugh; maybe it was the soreness in her feet retreating after some rest.

But his irritation only lasted a second as his lips soon twisted into a smirk. “Might finally enjoy myself, actually,” he rubbed his chin, his eyes wandering to the drinks, or at least, what remained of them. “Celebrate the success of the event and what not.”

You grinned in agreement. Even the Head Boy, however disinterested he seemed in events like these, deserved to enjoy himself at a party. Especially if he planned it.

“Want anything?”

Caught off guard, your eyes found their way back to Tom Riddle. An eyebrow raised at you, he was already leaning towards the drinks table. Moments passed by as your tired brain finally processed that he was asking you. That he intended to come back to you.

“Whatever you’re having,” you stammered out. It was the first drink that came to your mind that would cause him the least trouble.

Tom Riddle nodded silently and strode off, gracefully dodging another drunk couple that was leaving the Great Hall. You stared at him across the Great Hall, his eyes sampling the very limited options of drinks left. Soon enough, he returned with two fluted champagne glasses, held in his hands.

“What is it?” you thanked and received the glass containing a brown liquid that definitely was not champagne.

Tom Riddle pondered the question, thinning his lips, “My own mix,” he said in the end and took a quiet sip.

“Would you like to sit?” you patted on the empty space next to your bench, seeing that Tom Riddle was planning on just standing in front of you again. He took up the offer. You took a sip as you searched his eyes, wondering if he had only been standing because the invitation was never extended to him.

Your thoughts were interrupted immediately, however, when you started choking on the drink. “What is this?” you managed to say through your coughs, “Is this–, is this tea with vodka?”

“And a dash of lemon,” he added. “I had to make do with what’s left,” his expression a little soured. It was unfortunate; surely a student who worked tirelessly for the past few months for this event deserved a little better than something that tasted like polyjuice potion with Dippet’s beard in it.

“Are you going to name it?” you asked, putting the champagne glass down. The lemon only succeeded in souring the night, complimented by the bitterness of the tea, and the vodka that felt like a punch to the face that was too early in the morning.

“Be my guest,” he murmured before he took another sip, his eyes gliding across the hall.

Your eyes joined him across the Great Hall. The place was a mess. A ballroom basically destroyed at the end of the night: someone’s shoe left, spilled drinks, the balloons falling off of the walls. And above all, your date leaving the Great Hall with another girl, laughing and giggling.

God. You fucking hated dances.

“A reason to get hammered,” you decided in the end. Your eyes resolutely staring ahead at nothing in particular, you took up the champagne glass and downed it all in one go.

Tom Riddle watched all of this quietly. As always, it was impossible to truly tell what went on in that brilliant mind of his, even with the golden light of the sunrise illuminating him.

He shifted his gaze forward. You thought a corner of his lips twitch into a bitter smirk, the smile never reaching his eyes. “I’ll raise to that,” he sighed and downed the drink as well.

You pulled your knees close to you and placed your chin on your knee again, smiling somewhat forcefully at Professor Kettleburn and Professor Merrythought waving to them on their way out. There was nobody else left, save for a few professors and students wasted and asleep.

It was surreal. The Head Boy, the Tom Riddle sitting next to you as you two sipped not-champagne quietly from the champagne glass. Discussing naming the drink...

“Will you be needing any help cleaning up?” you blurted out, suddenly realising the astronomical task still left for the Head Boy.

Tom Riddle groaned, dragging a hand down his face before it dropped onto his outstretched lap. “Christ,” he sighed tiredly and chuckled, “I do not want to be thinking about that just yet, Y/L/N.”

You blinked a few times in shock. This may have been the most you’ve seen him express himself. Not to mention that he knew your–, he knew your…

“Well,” he sprung to his feet, causing you to jump, wondering how it was that he seemed more energised than when the night finally started. “This is our last chance before it’s officially over.”

He turned around to you, as you wondered what it was that he was referring to. He leaned forward and offered his hand to you.

You stared at the slender fingers, waiting patiently for your hand, then up to his eyes. Your eyes fluttered in disbelief.

Tom Riddle, on the other hand, actually looked hurt by your lack of response. His eyes drooped, the bewilderment and confusion concealed behind a haughty smirk. “You’re not really going to make me walk back to my room without a proper dance, are you, Y/L/N?” He asked with a raise of a brow.

Your eyes flickered in between his as the cowardly voices continued to whine inside your mind, listing all the reasons why you didn't deserve this. Why you didn't deserve a happy ending.

But eventually, your curiosity won out. Hesitantly, you placed your hand atop his.

A mixture of a relieved smile and an exultant smirk spread on his lips. He sprung you up to your feet and whisked you away into the centre of the room, leaving your heels by the table.

You placed your hand on his wide shoulder as he placed his around your waist. His hand was soft and warm to the touch, contrary to what you expected. For someone who spoke like a robot, his touch felt nothing like one. He gently held your hand. It was merely a place to rest your hand, as his thumb rested on your hand.

“Won’t it end soon, anyway?” to your chagrin, your voice barely hid the nervousness.

“It won’t end until I say so,” he reassured you, his voice soft.

“Right,” you managed to say. Of course, you chastised yourself. He cast every damn enchantment in this room, including the many instruments and a microphone that performed on their own.

You were barely breathing, you noticed, only taking the bare minimum from the air that they shared. It felt...impudent to breathe the same air as him. If it was difficult to breathe, it was nearly impossible to look him in the eyes. You were thankful that your eye level only reached to his chin, at least.

“Enjoy the dance, Y/L/N,” Tom Riddle’s soft voice sounded from above you, his hot breath on your forehead. “You deserve that much.”

Your lips involuntarily twitched into a smile at his words.

So he knew you were nervous. And he knew you were feeling miserable.

He probably knew that you would say no to his invitation at any hints of causing him any trouble. You felt your heart soften at the consideration Tom Riddle had shown, feigning a celebratory mood, even heartbrokenness, to get you to say yes. To get you to enjoy yourself once before the dance was officially declared over.

It was surreal to know that someone like Tom Riddle noticed you. But more than that, it was nice to know that someone cared.

“Your partner’s an arse, by the way.” The indifferent voice spoke above you again matter-of-factly.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his words that spoke the truth, finally starting to feel like yourself. “You aren’t the first one to tell me that.”

Your eyes travelled up to find him again. His eyes remained trained on a particular spot in the corner as he continued, refusing to meet your eyes, “Why didn’t you leave?”

You bit down on your lips. It was the exact thing you questioned yourself over and over throughout the night. “He said he will be right back with the drinks,” you murmured bitterly, your eyes drifting to the hint of stubble forming on his chin.

Tom Riddle hummed. His eyes flickered back to your direction for a brief moment, before returning to that corner. His eyes curious enough to look in the general direction of your face, but not quite brave enough to meet your eyes. His lips parted before biting down on his lips.

It was then that you noticed; Tom Riddle was nervous. Desperately searching for the right words to say: a difficult task of comforting you.

“Will you stay with him?” In the end, he settled with a question. Unexpected, but you figured it was his way of politely suggesting ‘you shouldn’t.’

You remained quiet, trying to figure out how to answer that question. You were certain you wanted to, or you thought so, at least. There was something about that wretched man that made it impossible to leave him. Just when the words were ready in your throat, after marching over to his dorm to bang on his door rehearsing the words over and over, when face to face, the words tended to dissolve on your tongue, just to be swallowed again back into your stomach.

"You don't have to answer that," he added after the prolonged silence. It almost came across as an apology for bringing him up: “Forget about him,” the words spoke.

Your stole a glance at Tom Riddle. He stirred under your gaze, but his eyes remained stead forward. It was surreal. The Head Boy giving you advice on love life.

The idea of ruminating on your boyfriend was getting ridiculous when you were supposed to be enjoying the moment, dancing with Tom Riddle. Slowly, the weight on your shoulders seemed to get lighter, the room brighter as your attention shifted to the music.

The microphone stirred its voice in vibrato accompanied by the soft strumming of the guitar, singing aloud the words ‘I’ll never fall in love again.’

It was a surreal feeling; difficult to tell whether you were gliding through a dream, already asleep back in your dorm, or if the handsome Tom Riddle was actually dancing with you. 

The marble stone cool underneath your bare feet. Reds, greens, and blues of the stained glass flickering on his features. His shimmering eyes had turned into a golden hue as the sunlight streamed down on them. You were enveloped in the soft scent of his cologne. His hands holding and guiding you, making you feel like there was nothing to worry about. That, in the hands of Tom Riddle, everything was going to be alright. 

He spun you on the spot, eliciting a giggle out of you as your skirt flared around you.

You decided you might as well enjoy the last minute of the song while you can. Nobody was there except Tom Riddle. Nobody was there to judge you. You let your hair down from a tight bun, shaking your hair out. You closed your eyes and let yourself go, hopping, jumping, pouncing.

Your feet seemed just as carefree as you, celebrating their liberation from the painful heels. You swapped to holding both of his hands, the two’s hands lazily dangling in between you two. You laughed out loud, swinging his arms and urging the very reluctant Tom Riddle to join in.

Tom Riddle rolled his eyes. His tired face screaming, “I did not sign up for this.” And it was true. When he became the Head Boy, he did not sign up for any of this: the party planning, the dance. You.

Still, he let out a brief sigh as he reluctantly let you swing his arms in the air. He did not hop alright, but he still allowed you to pull his arms in alteration, creating an illusion of him actually and willingly dancing carelessly.

“Come on, let loose!” you said over the music. “What happened to celebrating, Tom Riddle?” 

His tired face tilted away from you in annoyance, but you still caught that restrained smile playing on his lips. You took that as a cue and twirled him before catching him in your arms. Tom Riddle’s eyes widened in shock, but let out a chuckle when he returned to you as you steadied his balance in your arms.

“I was, until you turned this into something freakishly different,” he said through a smirk, shaking his head exasperatedly. Yet, you saw the playful sparks in those eyes.

Even if he was just staying behind for you, just keeping the party going for you, just twirling you to turn your frown upside down… there was still a soft smile on his lips. As if he was enjoying himself as well, capturing you in his eyes in the golden light, your hair loose and your makeup fading.

For once, you two were careless teenagers fooling around. As they should be.

Everything felt right. No horrible boyfriends. No NEWTs. No professors blabbering about rules. At least in those 2 minutes and 55 seconds, the two of you were living in blissful denial.

Their laughter died down on their lips at the slowing of the music. Your breathing laboured, but you never felt as energised as ever. Perhaps it was the ‘Reason to get hammered’ working its effect on both of them. You felt just about ready to float away.

“I was lost within the darkness, but then I found you,” the microphone exerted its own voice louder at the chorus, “I would never fall in love again until I found you.” The loud music echoed in the now brightly lit Great Hall uninterrupted, save for the occasional snores from Slughorn.

Tom Riddle slowed the steps, sensing your laboured breathing. He twirled you one last time before bringing you into his arms. His arms lazily draped fully around you this time, bringing you closer to him. He placed his chin on top of your head. His steps now more loose, lazy, and carefree as he shifted his weight back and forth between his left and right. 

The streamers were now raining down on them from the ceiling, drawing colourful pastel lines across your field of vision.  Even with everything coming to an end, everything felt fine.

Neither of you cared. Tom Riddle kept rocking you back and forth, as if the streamers, the cleaning, sleep, everything else could wait. You leaned your head against the nape of his neck, distinctly hearing his slow, constant thudding of the heartbeat. Tom Riddle readjusted the angle of his head on top of yours. You swayed to the rhythm as well, allowing yourself to close your tired eyes in his embrace.

“Thanks, Tom Riddle,” you smiled into his shoulder, 

They were just two strangers who barely knew each other’s name. Just enjoying themselves. Just enjoying the night.  Entangled in each other’s comforting embrace.

“You’re welcome, Y/L/N,” he replied.

A/N: Unintentionally inspired by the end of the fucking world.

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[doodlebloo]

TubNet Keynote Summary!

NEW BLOCK PLAZA:

The server lobby is the New Block Plaza. There are two main NPCs that will transport you to the games you want to play, and there's a Postman NPC that will give players daily login bonuses for watching a video!

There's a Snack Attack mini game in the plaza, and a Taxi that will let you explore and sightsee!

The Plaza's New Block Fashion store allows you to get custom cosmetics, and through the TubNet store you can buy cosmetics and ranks!

There is a garage attached to the Plaza, mounts will be available for players very soon!

The Plaza's Craft Cafe is a place to socialize and play social games, such as chess and checkers!

There is a Plaza gift shop that will eventually let players gift cosmetics to each other

New Block City is full of scenery and landmarks, and players will walk from game lobby to game lobby instead of teleporting

New Block City has LORE!!! Which Tubbo shared some of!

CRYSTAL RUSH

A mysterious device has gone haywire, and your mission is to help stop the crystals that are appearing!

You gather crystals to help buy things to defend your own nexus or attack others' nexus (the Nexus allows other teams to respawn)

You spawn with leather and wood, and collect or mine crystal shards to upgrade gear and buy blocks, custom items etc!

Upon death, a player loses all shards in their inventory, but can deposit them!

Nexus Shards can be gained from mining another team's Nexus, it lets you get much better items like nearly impenetrable armor or interesting power ups

Powerups shown in the CraftMaster event like Totems (Cloud, Healing, Defense and Wind), Grapple orbs, and the auto-bridging powerup will be in Crystal Rush!

Tubbo shared tips and tricks for Crystal Rush, such as which items are permanent and which are lost upon death

If a Crystal Rush game goes on for too long, Sudden Death will kick in, which implements a world border and removes all Nexus crystals to force a fight to the death

Forums.TubNet.GG is the place to go for suggestions or criticism about the game!

LIGHT STRIKE:

New Block City detectives have found unauthorized devices being planted throughout the city

This is a 4v4 team search and destroy game mode

There are two teams: The Placers, whose job is to place the devices (known as stars) and the Breakers, whose job is to break them!

The aim of the game is for one team to win four rounds. If a stalemate is reached, the game enters overtime, where three more rounds are added to the clock. Overtime can end in a win, loss, or stalemate.

Light Strike players have a Radio item, a built in Comm system that lets players send messages to various parts of the map so they can communicate with their teammates!

During the shop portion, players can buy weapons, instant-activate potions, and pickaxes for breakers. There are several custom items in the game, which Tubbo went over.

There are two maps available upon launch: Portside, an abandoned warehouse/shipping dock, and Zero, a laboratory built into the side of a mountain! It has boost and hover pads, as well as secret passageways!

PART 2: UPCOMING PLANS!

TUBNET TUESDAYS

TubNet will be hosting weekly events in Tuesdays, starting on Dec 5th!

There will be three TubNet Tuesday events leading up to the holidays, followed by a short break to polish things before more are announced!

CRAFT MASTER THEATER

This is a way for TubNet to get community feedback and see how games work on a large scale

TubNet has taken feedback from everyone playing the Showdown event and has implemented Showdown into the server!

TubNet will be having a "Snowdown" event for the holidays! :]

COMMUNITY REWARDS

TubNet will be giving prizes to the most active members of the community!

For the first 100 people that join the server, an exclusive "First 100" cosmetic hat will be given!

First 1,000 and First 5,000 hats will also be given to players!

LEVEL UP/XP AWARDS

Every 5 level increase gives players a free cosmetic

For the first 48 hours of launch, players will get DOUBLE XP!

TubNet's IGC, Cubits, will be available to earn without spending real life money if you are one of the top players in any game mode!

Number One on leaderboards will be eligible to get TubNet PCs!

Top Ten players on the Network Level leaderboard by Dec 5th will be given Star Rank for free!

TUBNET E-SPORTS

TubNet is doing a series of events with prize pools, both invitationals and open tournaments! Open tournament winners can be invited to invitationals! Invitational tournaments will be broadcast live on the TubNet Twitch Channel

TubNet will be launching a TubNet Challenge Series this upcoming summer!

TUBNET IS NOW LIVE! GO PLAY! :D

[incorrect-koh-posts]

If you search Krol Tredowaty in Polish you mighy find images of Baldwin IV. An early take. Very cool.

Oh, thank you for pointing that out to me! 💛

Have some lovely Baldwin IV cover illustrations for Zofia Kossak's 1937 novel The Leper King (Król Trędowaty):

I'm particularly fond of these two - I think the minimalist art style suits both the subject and our leprous boy quite well, and I like the design the artists chose for his cloak and veil.

I also came across a rather pretty Polish cover for the Bernard Hamilton book:

My version of the Kossak novel (published in Germany in 1964), sadly, looks quite boring in comparison:

And while we're on the subject: I have to admit I rather enjoyed Kossak's take on the events in the Holy Land between roughly 1176 and 1187. Of course, it is very old-fashioned in terms of its writing style, and far from historically accurate - but considering that it was published in 1937, long before most of the decisive academic works we know had been written, I think Kossak nonetheless did an admirable job with presenting the historical events in a way that is both comprehensible and somewhat entertaining. Being nitpicky about the details while having access to almost a hundred years' worth of further research would be a little unfair, in my opinion.

That said, I'm not sure this is the right novel for you to read if you are simply looking for some good sauce about Baldwin, since Kossak's portrayal of him is a bit of a mixed bag. In some instances, her Baldwin resembled the wise, gentle king we know from KoH very closely, but in others, he came across as whiny and wallowing in self-pity, acting much more childish than he should. (Remember: In that time and place, men were considered legal adults at the age of fifteen.) So, what I missed in Kossak's Baldwin sometimes was the inner strength that - according to the chroniclers - he must have possessed in spades. His mother Agnes of Courtenay, by the way, receives a similar treatment and is presented as an overweight clucking old hag, which is, unfortunately, the default characterisation she is given in older historical fiction.

Apart from that, though, The Leper King was a hoot. This may be just my particular brand of weirdness talking - I'm currently writing my thesis about medieval German literature, so go figure - but I unapologetically love those early literary takes on Baldwin & Co. Their differing characterisations of the various historical figures are always fun to compare, sometimes I merely get a good laugh out of them while other times I end up being surprised or even genuinely impressed. This novel, somehow, managed to pair the WTF-factor with moments that I found genuinely heart-warming and dialogue that was by turns either well-written or absolutely laughable.

To be fair, some of this can probably be chalked up to the translation because - let's face it - many things that sound fine in any other language become very odd, all of a sudden, when translated into German. Towards the end of the book, for example, Kossak covers the Hattin episode and thus briefly tells how Eschiva and her sons retreated into the citadel at Lake Tiberias when Salah ad-Din laid siege to the city. Upon hearing this news, Kossak's Raymond exclaims affectionately "Meine tapfere Alte!", which is best translated as "My valiant old lady!", and if that isn't the funniest shit ever, then I don't know.

What I also found particularly wholesome - though of course not historically viable - was the way Kossak depicted the relationship between Baldwin and Raymond. For some reason, she seems to think Raymond was Baldwin's uncle (when in reality he was his first cousin once removed), but the "favourite uncle & favourite nephew" dynamic she builds between them really works for this novel. As a Raymond fangirl, it was also quite refreshing to read something that showed him as both sympathetic AND ambitious and, for once, didn't make him do the whole "cackling evil relative who is after the crown" act.

In the German translation, Raymond repeatedly calls Baldwin fondly "Mein Junge" und "Mein Kleiner", which literally means "my boy" and "my little one". I'm not crying, you're crying. Baldwin, in turn, refers to Raymond as "Oheim", which is an old German term for "uncle" (specifically: the brother of the mother - imagine that: Raymond as Agnes of Courtenay's brother! 😂). Hence, while it is simply a genealogical mistake and historically speaking, of course, a cartload of bollocks, it nonetheless warms my heart that this novel chose to present us with the one and only depiction of a literal "Uncle Tibs".

So, yeah - this was a fun read.

[animehouse-moe]

Heavenly Delusion Episode 2: Two Confessions

Where. Where Where Where, where to begin? Maybe explaining some of the foreshadowing? Or what about the incredible choices in direction? What about the incredible additions that IG has added to the series? Whichever it is, Production IG has nailed it and then some. Their know-how, ability, and execution has continued to dazzle and stun with this second episode from opening to ending.

I think the first thing that stands out is the sense of direction within the episode. Right off the bat we're playing into the sense of voyeurism that was established in the first episode. The viewer being hinted at as existing, as Tarao makes a point of pondering what is in the vents.

Hirotaka continues with that stellar sense of direction, with plenty of shots with characters in motion, from behind, partial close ups that hide their face. In a word, it's like a found film anime, it completely avoids the typical sense of exposition and allows the excellent writing and world to truly flourish. It presents something that feels incredibly lived in and something that remains definitively separate from the typical anime. The characters aren't there for the viewer, it simply happens that we come across them. They can end up partially hidden from view, or even completely obstructed, it's such a perfect approach to a post-apocalyptic world steeped in mystery and curiosity.

Alongside what Hirotaka's already established, the main dish from this episode was outstanding. The Hiruko was handled impeccably, continuing to lean into the horror aspects of it. Partial sightings, incredibly fast movement, and inhuman motion. It all slots into place to create a very disturbing picture of the man-eater.

Then add in the intervention of the inn-keeper. From there the Hiruko transitions to natural motion. Acting meek and injured in the face of its protector, behaving like there's some degree of humanity or nature left within its existence.

Once more it changes pace and nature incredibly quick, and presents a prime example of visual storytelling (which I'll dive into later), but the piece that gets me is its death. Pitiful, as it lets out just about the only cry during its existence, as its head/neck cranes towards the moon before giving out. A wonderful piece to neatly tie off its involvement, both in a symbolic sense, but also a stylistic one as this Hiruko has been constantly featured in association to the moon.

So how about that visual storytelling then? Absolutely incredibly work that Production IG leverages thanks to the medium. Visual and auditory cues that feed directly into what the characters are doing, and sometimes even giving implicit information.

Take this two-in-one scene of Maru luring in the Hiruko for Kiruko. Firstly, it didn't exist in the Manga and was an original scene to flesh out the encounter and give it more of a body. But secondly, it shows the depth of their teamwork already. That they're able to work through plans together and trust each other so much. It really adds a great deal to the dynamic.

Especially considering that it piles itself on top of other scenes like Kiruko taking the lead throughout the episode, and even in original scenes like when the pair flee from the Hiruko.

Or maybe even the simple act of having a flashlight dance across a box so that somebody could catch a glimpse of it.

It's also so incredibly well polished and understood. This isn't just a team that's "read" Heavenly Delusion, this is a team that is in love with it. They totally get it and are finding ingenious and incredibly intuitive ways to help improve every facet of it to make an anime for the ages.

Alright, bear with me, two or three more things I want to go over from this episode. I'll start with the lighter one, comedy. They do a really solid job of defusing moments like when Maru falls down while they're searching for the Hiruko, and at the same time even make use of comedy to amp up more dull ones quite well like paddling their raft across the large expanse of river. Both sides of the coin do really well and adding that "lighter" aspect to the episode, and the malleability of the art style in various moments also really helps with that.

The next piece is the expression of sexuality. I think they handled the really sensitive pieces of it quite well today while making it sanitized enough to be broadcast. Overall, similar to the prior episode (and something that ties into it), there's a lot of expression about sexual exploration and interest, both with Kiruko and Maru, and the institution. Though with the former the exploration of sexuality is through the lens of Kiruko, and the latter is (mostly) that of Tokio. With Tokio, it's her curiosity in the fact that there's two people kissing, that there exist romantic interest and interaction, of which Tokio has never seen, between two people.

Following that, we get an answer to a "mystery" from the first episode. Incredibly well done to better express the intent behind it, the scene of Kiruko moving to kiss herself in the mirror now has two purposes in the anime. The first is to liken it to the scene of the two girls kissing in the institution, but the second was to hint at Kiruko's true nature. For those that weren't quite paying enough attention, Production IG changed the nature of the fracture in the mirror during her scene. In the anime, it creates a clear separation between Kiruko's head and her body, to foreshadow her confession from this episode.

It's really great to see how they handle the expression of sexuality, considering how delicate a subject it can be. There's comedic moments within it to lighten the mood, a few scandalous pieces to allow it to keep that edge, and plenty of deeper meaning in regards to exploration and interest.

Phew, alright. Made it to the end. Despite not having "a lot" of content in the episode, there's a mountain of details, information, and interesting pieces to pick up and pick apart (especially including the OP which I might do later). Also, not to mention a world of foreshadowing and hinting at stuff still exists, but I'm not going to ruin the fun of anime onlies. But yeah, if it wasn't clear by the first episode, Heavenly Delusion is going to be the king of this season as Production IG continues to act as its experienced steward, guiding it to victory, whispering secrets to success in its ear.

[officialleehadan]

I don't remember if you've posted about this before, but can you please briefly talk about the editing and publishing possesses as a beginner author?

Hello darling! I haven't really talked about this here, but if people are interested, I certainly can.

So, the first thing I'm going to say is that there's no One True Way for editing. I can't tell you what will work best for you. I can only tell you what works best for me.

The way I do editing is pretty straightforward. Once a project is done (finished, but not edited or even spellchecked in any way) I put it down. Generally, I try to give a finished project at least six months to cool off, and a year is better. I don’t even spell-check it until the entire project is finished.

After six months, I’ve sort of forgotten the project. That makes it much easier to come back to it with fresh eyes, and read over it. Errors, bad wording, all of that, will be much easier to spot. Bad plot moments are easier to fix because I’m less connected to the project. It’s less emotional. It makes for a much more comfortable process.

Once you’re done with the project (it’s all written, start to finish. DO NOT EDIT BEFORE THIS POINT!!) and it’s cooled for a few months, it’s time for what I call the Three Draft method.

Draft 1 – Big changes. Rewording, plot holes, introducing or removing characters. Adding or removing content.

Draft 2 – Little changes. Spellcheck, typos, misused words (form/from, etc.) small rewordings. Add all your spelling errors to your autocorrect at this point. The more you can teach your autocorrect to fix things, the easier future projects will be. Also build out a spreadsheet of ‘frequently-used words’ that you use too much, words that get swapped with each other (though/through, there/here) so you can use the ‘find word’ search to check them quickly on later projects. This spreadsheet will be a living document, and you can add to it with every project as you catch more words (and punctuation errors like “” or ..) quickly.

Draft 3 – Typos. Final polish. Little things you missed. This one will take the longest, because you very much have to go over the whole manuscript with a magnifying glass. It helps to change it into a different font at this point, because it will change how you look the characters.

And that’s it. After three drafts, it’s done. Stop tinkering with it. Don’t change anything else. It’s not going to get any better than it currently is, and you’ll make yourself crazy chasing perfection. It will never be perfect. Finish it and move on.

+++

Now, publishing is a longer conversation, so I’m not going into details in this post. If you want more, let me know and I can expand on it. Ultimately though, there are two options. Both require you to have a finished manuscript, so do that first.

Option 1 – Traditional publishing.

This is where you send query letters to literary agents until one offers to represent your work. (QueryTracker.net is a great tool for this, but you can also look for #MSWL on Twitter and post your pitch on those.) and you sign a contract with them. At that point, they will send your manuscript around to publishers until one of them offers to publish it.

Traditional publishing is much easier on the author than self-publishing, which I’ll talk about in a moment. Your job as the author is basically to write a good book, edit it as well as you can, and then send out about a hundred queries (and get 99 rejections, so be ready for that) until you get representation. After that, you basically do what your agent and editor (supplied by the publisher) tell you, and cheer a lot when your book comes out.

Option 2 – Self-Publishing

Self-pub gets a bad rap and I understand why. There’s a lot of very predatory companies that will offer to put your book into print for a ‘small’ fee (usually hundreds or thousands of dollars) and let you keep all the royalties. This is a scam. If someone asks for money to make your book happen, and you did not explicitly hire them for a specific job, they’re a scam. If you’re looking for professionals (like typesetters or editors) try Fiverr or Upwork. Both have a lot of great people who will do what you need. Do not go to Reedsy. Their professionals are wildly overpriced for the same (or lower) quality of work.

That said, there’s a lot of benefits to self-pub. You have full control, you don’t have to query, and you get more of the money from the sales than you would if you went traditional. Unfortunately, the trade-off is that the upfront work and money are a lot harder, because you’re the one doing all of it. That means editing, cover art, typesetting (VITAL for print, less important for ebooks) the ISBN number (Amazon and Ingram Spark will provide a free one, but there are strings attached) and everything else your book needs. Plus, you’ll be doing all your own marketing, which is a whole lot of work.

+++

I’ve done both over the years. My first two books were traditional through a small press, and everything since has been self-pub. I very much prefer self-pub personally, but I’m capable of doing every part of book production myself. I have a degree in graphic design, I know how to typeset, I’ve been doing my own marketing for years, and I know the ins and outs of KDP (Amazon’s publishing service) well enough to be comfortable with it.

That said, it’s a lot of work. Publishing has been an unpaid full-time job for me for the last ten years, and for most of that time, I also had a paying non-writing full-time day job. In the last three years, I was able to transition from my day job to writing exclusively, but it took seven years of hard work to get to the point where my writing pays more than nothing.

I am not wealthy. I do not make a lot of money on my writing. I make more than none, but it’s about what I would make on a minimum-wage retail job. I could absolutely make more if I went back to my career as a jewelry professional, and I could make a lot more if I took a few classes and got an additional certification or three. I don’t do that because I love writing. I also take contract writing jobs for video game studios, and commissions.

+++

Ultimately, which path you take is entirely up to you and they’re both really great options. No matter what you do, you’ll be very involved in your own marketing, so be ready for that, but it’s not terrible. If you don’t have a wide social media base (all under the same username, which is associated with your desired publishing name) you’re going to need them. It’s much easier to get published if you have lots of people who are eager for your next book.

This kind of got away with me, but I hope it helps! Best of luck, and happy writing!

[rouxthewriter]

Hound Dog

Pairing: Tom Riddle/Reader

Word Count: 1,039

Warnings: reader is a BAMF

Summary: You're a famous actress who's used to dealing with the entitled attitudes of Hollywood's elite. But when you meet Tom Riddle, you find yourself facing a different kind of challenge.

You were at a celebrity event, surrounded by the usual crowd of self-absorbed assholes. You weren't particularly interested in being there, but it was part of the job. As a famous actress, you had to attend these kinds of events and pretend to enjoy yourself. That’s what your publicist told you, at least. It felt like that man was trying to suck the life out of you sometimes

The room was dimly lit, with warm yellow lights casting a soft glow across the walls. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and alcohol, a mixture of cigars and whiskey permeating the space. The walls were lined with plush red velvet curtains, which added to the sense of opulence and grandeur. In the center of the room, a large circular bar dominated the space, with polished chrome fittings and shelves lined with bottles of all shapes and sizes. The bartender was a tall, wiry man with slicked-back hair and a pencil-thin mustache, who expertly mixed drinks and served them up with a flourish.

The room was filled with people, all dressed in their finest attire, sipping cocktails and chatting animatedly. The sound of chatter and laughter blended together, creating a low hum of noise that filled the air.

The seating areas were arranged in intimate clusters, with plush armchairs and couches arranged around small tables. The upholstery was a rich deep red, adding to the sense of luxury and comfort. The tables were littered with empty glasses and half-finished drinks, and the sound of ice clinking against glass added to the overall ambiance.

You were sitting at the bar, a perfect place to be alone when all the tables are taken by people you could never take home to your mother.

But you didn’t want to be alone.

You were scanning the room, searching for someone to talk to, when you caught sight of Tom Riddle. He was standing near the bar, talking to a group of people, but his eyes were locked on you. He was handsome, that was for sure, but you'd heard about his reputation as a womanizer. You weren't interested in dealing with that kind of drama.

But before you could turn away, he started making his way over to you. "Hey there," he said, flashing you a charming smile. "I don't think we've met before."

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I'm sure there's a reason for that."

He chuckled. "Well, I'm Tom. And you are?"

"Someone who's not interested," you replied coolly.

He didn't seem to be deterred by your attitude. "Come on, don't be like that. I'm just trying to get to know you."

You rolled your eyes. "I'm not interested in getting to know you."

Tom seemed to be taken aback by your bluntness, but he didn't give up. "Why not? I'm a pretty interesting guy."

You looked him up and down, taking in his cocky grin and confident stance. "I don't know, maybe it's the hound dog look you've got going on. You're not exactly my type."

He laughed. "Oh, I get it. You're playing hard to get. Well, I like a challenge."

You scoffed. "I'm not playing anything. I'm just not interested. And I'm definitely not interested in being your 'challenge'."

Tom's grin faltered slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. "Well, that's too bad. You're missing out on a good time."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm sure I am."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot on your ear. "You know, I bet you'd change your mind if you saw what I can do."

You pulled away, disgusted. "I don't want to see what you can do. I'm not interested in anything you have to offer."

Tom's face twisted into a sneer. "Fine. Whatever. You're not that hot anyway."

You couldn't help but laugh at his childish behavior. "Is that supposed to bother me? I don't care what you think."

But as Tom walked away, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance. Who did he think he was, acting like he was God's gift to women? You were a successful actress, and you didn't need some arrogant asshole like him trying to impress you.

But as the night wore on, you found yourself unable to shake the memory of Tom's smug grin. You kept catching glimpses of him across the room, chatting up other women and basking in their adoration.

You knew you should just forget about him and move on, but something about his arrogance was driving you crazy. So when he made his way over to you again, you decided to give him a piece of your mind.

"I'm done with this game," you said, standing up from your seat. "I don't have time for boys like you who think they can treat women like toys to be played with and discarded." You gave your card to the eavesdropping bartender, who reluctantly left the scene.

Tom looked up at you with a mix of surprise and annoyance. "What, are you too good for me now? You're just like every other girl in this town, thinking you're better than everyone else because you're famous."

You scoffed. "I'm not saying I'm better than anyone, but I do know my worth. And I won't settle for someone who can't treat me with respect."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Respect? Please. You're just like every other Hollywood diva, thinking you're entitled to everything just because you're famous. Well, let me tell you something, sweetheart, you're not that special.

You took a step closer to him, your eyes locked on his. "I may be a Hollywood actress, but that doesn't give you the right to treat me like garbage. And you know what? You're right, I'm not that special. But I deserve someone who treats me like I am."

With that, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving Tom sitting there with a scowl on his face. As you walked out of the club, you couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, he'd learned his lesson. But even if he hadn't, you knew you weren't going to waste any more of your time on a hound dog like him.

Being alone wasn’t so bad after all.

[synthy-sizer]

You open the bedroom door and step out into the hallway. It’s completely dark except for a dim hallway light and the light now spilling from your bedroom, scattering across the hardwood floor. Directly in front of you is your LIVING ROOM. To the side is an entrance to your KITCHEN. To the left is your BATHROOM. To the right is your HALL CLOSET and FRONT DOOR. If you want to go anywhere, though, you will need to turn on the LIGHT SWITCH nearby that will illuminate the living room area.

Turn on lights>

You flick the switch on and the living room brightens. You can see scattered furniture in the still dim room, shrouded in shadow.

Go to your front door>

You step to the side, facing your front door. The apartment is old but sturdy, built in a time that used much more reliable materials. The door, much like the build of the house, is finely crafted and reliable, painted a fresh white. There is a PEEPHOLE at eye level, and a MAIL SLOT, made of polished golden metal.

Look through peephole>

You close one eye and peer into the small window, looking out. It’s dark outside, so not much can be seen beyond the railing, a warm light cast from a mounted light outside. You’re on a high floor, so you can make out the skyline, illuminated dimly by the glow of the moon. The main city lies beyond, dark towers cutting into the darker blue of the sky, random lights still glowing from people awake at this hour. The city never fully sleeps, you suppose.

Look at mail slot>

The mail slot is overflowing. Although there is a compartment on your side of the door meant to hold mail delivered to the address, it is crammed full and mail has begun to spill out onto the floor. You almost don’t dare OPEN it.

Open mailbox>

You hesitantly turn the lock and don’t even need to swing it open as mail comes pouring out, piling on the floor in a scattered mess. Would it even be worth the effort to clean it right now? Well, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to at least LOOK at them.

Look at mail>

You crouch down, examining the envelopes and skimming through them. As usual, most of it is junk or ads, but you suddenly notice something that sends a small tinge of guilt through your system. It’s a letter from your old job, perhaps officially stating that you are no longer employed there. It was you who walked out without a word, but somehow you can’t bring yourself to think more about it. You shouldn’t even bother opening it, after all, you already know what it says.

…

Is that the only reason?

You sift through more letters, trying to forget what you’ve seen, but come across more frustration. A notice of utility shutdown. You suppose that’s what happens when you use so much electricity and buy so many electronics without a job. But even more frustrating is that they would dare attempt to step in the way of your sacred mission. What you are looking for is more important than their petty electrical costs.

…

Right?

It’s then that you see something you hadn’t noticed initially, a folded piece of paper not in an envelope. Opening it, a handwritten note. READ it?

Read note>

“Jordan, please talk to us. Answer your phone, your instant messenger, anything. Mom went to your job and they told us they hadn’t seen you in weeks. You didn’t even tell them you were leaving, much less your own family. I understand that what you’re looking for is important to you, but what you’re doing isn’t right. You and all these people you talk to, spending all your time on the Internet searching for some greater purpose isn’t what you need to be doing. You can’t find fulfillment that way. Just come back home and talk to us, we only want what’s best for you.

-Dad”

You suddenly notice drops of liquid on the paper. In denial of what caused them, you tear the paper up, tossing it to the floor with the other letters.

Go to bathroom>

You step inside the bathroom. It’s dark, even with the light spilling in from the hallway. You need to turn the LIGHT SWITCH on if you want to see anything.

Turn on light>

You flick the switch.

Look around>

The bathroom is small, with just enough room for a SHOWER, a TOILET, your VANITY, a MIRROR and a MEDICINE CABINET. The walls are tiled, the tiles tiny, glossy and white. The floor tiles, in contrast, are larger and muted, a light beige with darker grout. The room is fine, you suppose, hardly dirty. But clearly not kept up with.

Look at shower>

You look at the shower enclosure, a combined bath and shower. The simple gray shower cloth is open. Bottles of hair products and body wash sit on the edge of the sub. It’s hardly pretty, but it is practical.

Look at toilet>

The toilet is utterly plain and unremarkable. Unlike some apartments, which sought to add a splash of color with blue tiles and yellow toilets, yours is plain and white. Quite pragmatic.

Look at vanity>

The vanity sits comfortably in the corner of the bathroom, a dark wood color with no polish. It was probably purchased cheap. The sink sits above it, the bowl built into the counter. It makes cleaning easier.

Look at mirror>

You look at the mirror and are confronted by yourself. Despite the surface being smudged and dirty, you can tell you don’t exactly look your best. Your hair is unkempt, your face unshaven, and your eyes have dark circles under them. You choose to ignore the other noticeable detail.

Look at medicine cabinet>

You open your medicine cabinet and find a number of unremarkable medications. Cold meds, painkillers, there is truly nothing special here. Then again, you are in some discomfort. Perhaps TAKING SOME PAINKILLERS wouldn’t be so bad.

Take painkillers>

You take the bottle from the shelf and close the door to the medicine cabinet. You can open the bottle and take some with water in the kitchen.

[ACQUIRED PAINKILLERS]

There doesn’t appear to be anything else of note here.

Exit bathroom>

You step back out into the hallway.

Go to living room>

You make your way to the living room, and step into the darkness. Despite there being a light, the room is still quite dim in the night sky. You can make out a COFFEE TABLE, several COUCHES and a FLOOR LAMP.

Use floor lamp>

You step over to the floor lamp, flipping it on. The room is much brighter now.

Look around>

The couches sit idly, both against one wall, forming an L shape in the corner. A small end table sits between them. In the middle of the room is a square coffee table, sitting on a small area rug. The room is cluttered and hasn’t been cleaned in a long time.

Look at couches>

You look at the 2 couches sitting in the corner. They’re both spacious and leather bound, colored a warm tan. Clothes and sheets have been absentmindedly thrown onto them without a single care.

Look at coffee table>

The coffee table is littered in food wrappers, cups and glasses. It’s a real mess. Wrappers are scattered around the floor, having fallen off the sides.

The whole space is such a wreck, it causes your guts to tighten. You once again cannot help but ask yourself why these feelings are only just now emerging, or why they are at all. Weren’t you focused and steadfast on your mission, no matter the cost? Why is your environment suddenly so upsetting? Your stomach grumbles. You really need to eat and clear your head.

Go to kitchen>

NEXT

PREVIOUS

[ultdete]

          Good money was good money. But this money — " heavenly " was nowhere near a good enough description for the number in front of him. Triple zeroes tailed the very satisfying number in their lead, a giant number five written in red ink. ❝ Five thousand dollars .. ❞ the detective whispers, mesmerized by the number. It had been a long time since he had so much money at once. He could afford to eat again, afford to pay the electric bill for the shabby apartment he lived in. Who knows, maybe he could soon afford a much better place! The idea itself felt euphoric, and he hadn't even received the money just yet.

          With the promise of such an award, Shuichi set out on his search for the perpetrator who had this hefty bounty on their head. A bounty he had already convinced himself he'd claim. It had been a few months since he was given a case, and the lack of work was getting to him, it was unavoidable. Being one of the latest additions to his agency's team, all the good jobs went to the detectives who were used to the dangerous work, the best in the field. But this time, the chief cut him some slack. Whether this was good karma for something he did or not, he thanked every star in the sky for this opportunity. At long last, he was needed! ( If one could even call giving the runt of the litter one of the shittiest, unsolvable cases being needed. ) The case file slapped upon his desk was paper thin, not many details and leads inside to speak of. Atop the opening page, however, was " $5,000 " written across the top, circled in sloppy red ink. As the report discloses, there's been wind of a very dangerous, underground drug dealer making black market deals all over the West side of the region. Apparently this person is so good at avoiding detection, detectives and police do not even bother going after them. He couldn't blame them. By the looks of this pathetic case file, Shuichi could only assume they got so frustrated with the lack of details that they no longer considered this man hunt a priority.

          An award such as this on the line, it was all the motivation he needed to get to work. Jumping from his work desk, Shuichi grabs his work coat off the rack and heads out the door with an unceasing gleam of determination in his eyes.

          ... It's been three days. Three days of what felt like endless sleuthing have finally lead him to a location of interest. The detective found himself in a province he did not typically visit. Leads and suspicion equally have lead him to one of the most upper class areas the province had to offer. ❝ Could someone so dangerous.. really be residing here? ❞ He'd ponder for a moment, but quickly trashed the thought. Of course it's possible. Secrets run deep, people are cruel. He has seen his fair share of the evil people do and what it can bring, no matter how trustworthy they are. Well, that was sorrowful reminiscing for another time. The more he explored the area, he closer he got to his prioritized location of interest. Eventually, he found himself standing in front of set of satin, red wine doors, matte black trim and golden doorknobs adorning it.

          ❝ Lapin de luxe. ❞

          The sign reads like something straight out of a luxurious French ad, it's vibe very obvious. The cursive was beautiful, but the real eye catcher was the provocative sketch next to the club name's logo. A depiction of a male with what appeared to be a bunny suit hanging on to a pole was printed aside the advertised title. He had heard of these types of places before, but he had never seen one with his own eyes. This was very much.. a gentleman's club.

          After taking a few moments to muster up the courage to enter a place like this, he made his way inside. As he ventured through the club's corridor, he admired the architecture. Everything looked so polished, so elegant, the complete opposite of what he had seen on television and in sleazy classic films. From across the room, beyond velvet curtains, cheering and whistling echoed from the inside. Male waiters in what appeared to the club's signature bunny uniform went in and out of the room, leaving Shuichi to only assume exactly what was going on in there. A passing waiter winks at Shuichi as he makes his way through, likely entertained by the detective's accidental staring.

          He'd be lying if he said his curiosity was not tickled, but he was here for urgent business. A quick shake of his head was his best attempt to erase the thought. Treading further into the building, he scanned the room intently as he he made his way through. Halting his trail, something caught his interest — a bar. It looked like something straight out of a regal strip in Paris; it's polished marble tabletop reflected the beautifully dim lights hanging from the ceiling above. He recognized a few of the selections of the top shelf alcohol bottles from afar, his astonishment at the sight of them luring him in. Tucking in his jacket beneath his rear, he sits at the very middle stool of the bar. The bartender, polished and handsome, greeted him with a smile. His mannerisms were a bit strange.. He staggered. He seemed hasty.

          ❝ A black tea toddy, please. One ounce scotch. ❞

          .. Two hours pass as the two exchange small talk that eventually turn into exchanges of stories. Shuichi's drink runs low, still on his first glass. Collecting his coat, he uncrosses his legs to turn in his stool, straightening his clothes as he stands back up. ❝ One more round if you would, bad habits call. ❞ He jests, placing a twenty dollar bill on the table as he pulls out his cigarette pack with the other, giving it a quick rattle as he smiled back at the obliged bartender.

          Making his way outside, he waited until he was out of the bartender's line of sight before pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. It took a moment, but he managed to successfully type out a message with one hand, reading it over for any possible grammatical error for hitting send. In the meantime, to keep up appearances in front of passerby ( who could very well be potential witnesses ), Shuichi selects the most pathetic looking cigarette of the pack to tuck it in between his lips. He hated these things; the smell, the health risks. But for the sake of the case, just this once.

          Agitation surfaces amidst his anxiety as he hastily stifles through his coat pockets, every single one. He swore he packed a lighter for this backup plan, where is it? Did he not pack one at all? Blending in with your surroundings during an investigation is one of the most important things when it came to wrapping up a successful case. He felt himself starting to panic, until .. —

Closed & plotted AU starter for @ultlie.

[smileygoth]

Chrissy Wakes Up (Stranger Things)

(My first official, from a tv show, not my IP, not original characters based on a RPG, story. I'm in weird new territory here. It's my idea of how everything might have been different if Chrissy just hadn't stayed out in the living room on her own ... Hope you like!)

CW: mention of drug use, mention of vomiting. Spoilers for episode 1.

Word Count: 1713 words.

"Chrissy, wake up!"

She snapped out of her reverie with a start, her blue eyes wide. "Huh?"

Eddie's grin faltered a little. "You uh ... you kinda spaced out on me there a little. You okay?"

Chrissy gave a rapid nod. "Yeah. Sorry." She paused, wrapping her arms around herself in a childish gesture that made her seem even smaller than her slight frame. "Did you find it yet?"

"Oh ... Er, not yet, hold on." Eddie started rummaging through his boxes and bags again.

"You sure you have it?"

"Yeah, yeah," he assured her. "It's uh … somewhere. Uh ... one sec." Jumping to his feet, he almost sprinted out of the cramped living room and into his bedroom. The guitar on the wall gleamed as he flicked on the light, and out of habit he pressed his fingers to his lips and then to its polished surface. “Sorry I’m late, sweetheart,” he mumbled.

Why was he stressing out so much about impressing this girl? Did he think there would ever be anything more to this than a quick transaction? She was Chrissy Cunningham, queen of Hawkins High, head cheerleader, dating that asshole Jason Carver. And he was Eddie Munson, the freak drug dealer who couldn't even graduate high school. So why did he care if he disappointed her? What was it to him?

He was so wrapped up in these thoughts that her quiet question nearly escaped his notice entirely.

"Can ... can I come in there with you?"

He froze. “In … in my room?” Suddenly he felt hot all over. Turning back to the doorway, he could see Chrissy looking back art him, still standing in the centre of the living room’s dirty carpet. Her cheerleader uniform shone immaculately against the backdrop of his uncle’s rundown trailer home.

She smiled and gave a weak laugh, her pale cheeks flushing. “I don’t mean … No funny business,” she said. “I just … don’t want to be alone.” She paused, then added: “At all.”

“Oh!” The heat receded, leaving Eddie feeling … what? Disappointed? Oh come on, he scolded himself. Like anything was ever going to happen. Aloud he said: “Sure! Come in.”

She came forward hesitantly and stood in the doorway to his room, looking around curiously.

“You … want to sit down?” Eddie invited, waving a hand at the end of his bed. “No funny business,” he added with a lopsided grin.

Chrissy smiled briefly and sat down on the end of his bed. The sight of her sitting there was so unreal, so at odds with what his reality was supposed to be, that for a second he felt like laughing. Instead he turned his back to her and started searching for the K again.

“Is that the guitar you play with your band?” he heard Chrissy ask from behind him.

“Uh, yeah!” He looked up at it and smiled affectionately. “That’s my baby.”

“It looks great,” Chrissy replied. “A real rock star guitar.”

Now Eddie was beaming. “Well, you know,” he shrugged, still rummaging through his drawers. “They say you should dress for the job you want … Aha!” He held up a small tin triumphantly. “Here you are! Told you I had it!”

Turning back to Chrissy, he saw she wasn’t looking at him, but out into the living room with a tight, pinched expression. Apprehension? Desperation? Fear? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t like it. “Hey,” he said, his own smile fading. “You sure you’re okay?”

Chrissy turned to look back at him, and he saw plainly now that it was fear on her face. She wasn’t just nervous or spooked, though - she looked terrified. She opened her mouth to reply, but no words came. Instead she looked down at her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap.

Slowly, as if he was afraid she would run away, he sat down next to her on the bed. “Look,” he said gently. “I know it’s none of my business, and you can tell me to get lost if you want, but … I’m getting kinda worried about you. Are you … in some kind of trouble?”

“No,” Chrissy replied, shaking her head. Her red-blonde ponytail bounced.

Eddie took a deep breath. “Can I ask what you want this for?” He held up the tin. “Call it professional curiosity if you like. I mean, I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess that you’ve never done drugs before?” She shook her head again. “Well, starting with K is like, going from zero to eleven really fast. Why do you want to do that?”

For a second he thought she wasn’t going to reply. He tried to ignore the nagging voice in his mind telling him that something was wrong here, really wrong, he shouldn’t sell to her, and instead set his mind to getting the cash from her and getting her out of here. Then it wouldn’t be his problem any more. Unless she ODs, the little nagging voice piped up again. Then it could be a big problem for you. I mean, why else would she want K out of nowhere?

Then she said, very quietly so he almost missed it: “I’ve been having these nightmares …”

“Nightmares?” he repeated, encouraging her.

She nodded. “The worst I’ve ever had.”

“What are they about?”

She gave a choked laugh. “You’ll think I’m crazy.” He could hear tears in her voice.

“No crazier than the rest of us,” he assured her. “But I’ve got some bad news for you there, honey. You don’t want K to stop your nightmares, if that’s what you’re thinking. K’ll only make them worse.”

She looked at him with wet, hopeless eyes. “Really?”

He nodded. He didn’t know if that was true - he was strictly a pot man - but he was betting she didn’t know either. Behind his back he slipped the tin under his bedsheets, out of sight. Those eyes had made his mind up for him. He wasn’t going to sell to her tonight. Maybe not any night.

“Do you have anything that will?” she was asking.

He sighed regretfully and shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he replied. Then he gasped as if remembering something. “Oh! There is one thing …”

Chrissy brightened a little. “What is it?”

He looked at her. “You could try talking to someone,” he said.

Her face twisted, somewhere between shame and anger. “What, like a therapist?” she retorted. “You do think I’m crazy.”

“Well, actually, I was thinking ..” He summoned his courage - it didn’t take much, she looked so lost - and took her hand in his. “You could talk to me.”

There was a long moment where she just looked at him in silence. This is it, he thought. This is where she laughs in my face and calls me a freak and tells me to drop dead and then she’ll leave and I’ll be lucky if her jock boyfriend isn’t outside waiting to kick the shit out of me like this is some kind of big joke …

And then she burst into tears.

Startled and dismayed, Eddie acted reflexively, pulling her into his chest and hugging her tightly. “Oh no, hey, don’t do that,” he said, panicking a little. “I didn’t mean to upset you! I’m sorry!”

She shook her head against his chest. “You didn’t,” she muttered, her voice muffled. Pulling herself away, she swiped at her wet cheeks with the heel of her hand. Eddie pulled up the hem of his t-shirt and used it to wipe away her tears.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, when she had composed herself a little.

Eddie shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he replied. “Look, something’s obviously wrong, and what kind of an asshole would I be if I didn’t at least try to help?”

She looked at him in wonder. “You’re … not what I thought you’d be,” she said.

“You said that earlier,” he smiled. “In the forest.”

She smiled and looked down. “Oh … I got your shirt all wet.” Her hand reached out, her fingertips brushing the red devil face.

“Don’t worry about it.” He caught her hand in his, his doubts and insecurities vanishing. “Chrissy, come on. Talk to me.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

With a deep breath, Chrissy started to tell her tale. Eddie listened, at first concerned, then amazed, and finally horrified. He was so caught up in what she was telling him that he didn’t hear when the screams began in one of the neighbouring trailers. He didn’t even notice when the sirens began to draw near. It wasn’t until the flashing blue lights came through the windows, painting Chrissy’s face in their ghostly hue, that he even remembered the world outside his room and her nightmares.

Chrissy looked up, frowning. “What’s happening?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Eddie replied. He got to his feet, taking her with him, his arm remaining around her shoulders. She leaned into him as they walked into the living room and to the trailer’s front door. Opening it, they peered outside and saw three police cars parked outside of a trailer a few spaces down from them. A woman had come out and was kneeling in the grass, screaming and sobbing. A moment later a police officer stumbled out of the trailer, his face ashen. He made it four or five steps away before he bent over and vomited.

Eddie and Chrissy wandered over to where a small crowd was already starting to gather. They stopped next to a young red-haired girl Eddie vaguely recognised from school. “What’s going on?” he asked her.

She shrugged, giving the two of them a strange look. “Somebody died,” she replied. “I saw the body before the cops pulled me back. I think they were murdered.”

“Wow.” Eddie craned his neck, but couldn’t see anything past the flashing blue lights. “Must’ve been pretty nasty for that guy to toss his cookies like that.”

Beneath his arm, Chrissy shuddered. “I want to go home,” she said, sounding very young.

Eddie tightened his arm around her. “No problem, sweetheart,” he said. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

[callboyjobsindia]

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[emepe]

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: A Halloween party where tensions rise and finally snap, and an unlucky encounter with the power to cancel out the happiness that comes out of it.

— Content warnings: slightly nsfw, drunken kissing, alcohol consumption, yandere behavior, misogyny, mention of murder.

— Notes: Hello, everybody! Welcome to chapter 4 (aka my favorite chapter in the series) <3 You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to post this one. Fun fact: the romantic scenes here were the first thing I planned for this story (added a serial killer and boom, Tunnel Vision was born). Happy reading!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

can you feel my heart?

“I don't think this costume is original enough to place,” you mutter, smoothing out the skirt of your babydoll dress and shifting in your seat.

It's too cold to go out in minimal clothing, but you agreed to wear the dress for the sake of making the girls happy. Besides, you're supposed to match with Mikasa, who's sporting a red version of your dress so you can go as an angel and devil duo. It was her idea, so it saved you the hassle of coming up with your own costume while also filling you with reassurance from being well-liked.

“Well, we're not going for the costume contest. We're going to support Jean… and for drinks, of course,” Sasha prompts. 

“I still can't believe Jean is in a band. How did I not know this?”

“He's just filling in for the bassist tonight, but he's really good,” she explains. “He used to play in college.”

The Bobby pins in Sasha’s mouth mess with every other one of her words. You're sitting on the edge of Mikasa's bed as Sasha sits on her knees behind you, fixing your hair, while Mikasa is seated in front of you, doing your makeup.

It's not the most practical process, given that Sasha keeps moving your head around to do her job, earning annoyed looks from Mikasa as she struggles to finish applying your eyeshadow.

“Sasha, I love you to death, sweetie, but you're delaying my masterpiece,” Mikasa grumbles.

“Sorry,” Sasha sings. “I'm done now.” She climbs down from the bed and goes up front to admire her work.

“Ugh, you're so pretty,” she gushes, hands clasped together. You're not sure what Sasha is supposed to be. When she got to Mikasa's apartment, she said her costume was in her bag. For now, she's dressed in a black turtleneck top, black leggings, and red Converse. She squeals one last time before sitting down at Mikasa's vanity to fix her own makeup. 

“It feels a little weird,” you admit. “I'm, like, hyper-aware of how different I look.”

You like dressing up, looking sleek and polished. But the combination of the glitter sprinkled in your hair, the feathery halo headband on your head, and spaghetti straps step too far out of your usual fashion choices. It all leaves you feeling a bit vulnerable. 

Mikasa smiles.

“Don't sweat it. You look amazing.” 

The way she says it, so warmly and confidently, is comforting enough to pull a smile from you. You've never had a sister, but if you did, you imagined someone like Mikasa would be perfect.

“I know for sure one guy won't keep his eyes off of you tonight.”

Her words throw you off guard. Your lips fall open, ready to ask questions, or throw an excuse, or change the subject. But nothing comes to you, so you end up just staring at her in shock as you feel yourself build up a sweat.

She giggles as she makes the last finishing touches on your face.

The doorbell rings.

“Sash, get the door, please?” she asks as she walks to her vanity and starts rummaging through her makeup drawer in search of the perfect shade of lipstick to tie the look together.

“On it.” Sasha promptly stands, gives herself one last look in the mirror, and walks out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Eagerly, she unlocks the front door and swings it open, only to instantly drop her smile for confusion when she takes in all four men lined before her.

“What are you supposed to be? A bunch of beat-up accountants?”

“Hey,” Armin whines.

Jean, Armin, Connie, and Eren are all wearing suits stained with fake blood. Minus the bass case slung on Jean's shoulder, which likely isn't part of his costume, there aren't many more hints to go off of.

Jean scoffs as he hooks his thumbs around his suspenders.

“Um… Reservoir Dogs? Hello?” 

“I've never heard of it,” she deadpans. She turns on her heel and goes to the sofa where she left her bag earlier, leaving the door wide open for everyone to follow inside.

“You cannot be serious, Sasha. It's Quentin Tarantino!”

“Ew, the foot fetishist?” Her face contorts in disgust.

Eren throws his head back in laughter. 

Jean throws his hands up in the air. 

“Oh, that you know.”

Sasha shrugs, not caring one bit about Jean's frustration.

“Connie, help me get this thing on,” she says, smoothing out her costume on the sofa. It's a hot dog.

The rest of the guys watch amusedly as the pair struggle to get Sasha into her costume. When her head finally pokes through, strands from her ponytail have come loose and she's gasping for air.

“Oh, man. They should add a zipper to these things,” she huffs.

Armin leans closer, his eye catching a flicker of silver movement on the side of the costume. His fingers hold onto the zipper as he looks up at Sasha with pursed lips.

Jean scoffs incredulously. 

“It has a zipper, you big dummy. I swear–”

He and Sasha lose themselves in a wave of bickering. That is until Eren clears his throat. He's been looking for signs of more people around the apartment, glancing at the kitchen or through the open crack of the bathroom door.

“Where's… everyone else?” he asks nobody in particular.

Jean abandons his play fight with Sasha to smirk at Eren. 

“Excited to see your girlfriend, Jaeger?”

Eren freezes, instantly taken aback by Jean's accusation. Everyone else exchanges shocked glances with each other, before ultimately landing their focus on Eren to gauge his reaction.

But he doesn't even move. All he does is look at the floor, cheeks red, and lips curled inwards as he struggles for a comeback.

Sasha’s the first to move. Her palm lands with a reprimanding force against Jean's head, who whines in protest.

“Oh, come on! We've all seen the way he looks at her.” He turns to Eren. “Why don't you just ask her out?”

Armin's quick to intervene.

“Jean, I don't think it's our place to say anything. I'm sure if Eren wants to, he will. It's none of our business.”

“I'm just saying… we all know you like her, you've got our support, Jaeger.”

Eren rolls his tongue against his cheek. When he finally speaks, his voice is practically a ghost of itself.

“We're just friends.” 

“And you're okay with that?”

Jean's question burns at Eren's cheeks. But before anything else can be said or done in his defense, Mikasa's bedroom door cracks open and the raven-haired girl's head pops out. Sasha instinctively shoots a warning glare at everyone to be quiet.

“Sorry for the wait, everybody.” Mikasa grins as she opens the door wider and steps out into the living room. “We're ready now.”

Eren waits with bated breath for you to come out. It seems like an eternity between the moment Mikasa moves aside and when you finally reveal yourself in a flowy white dress and a halo bouncing above your head. 

A soft ‘woah’ escapes him as he feels the usual flutter in his stomach he's been doing so good to ignore. 

Jean whistles in approval and all the other guys proceed to shower you with compliments. Your gaze bounces from face to face, flustered from all the attention, ultimately meeting with Eren, who keeps his distance from across the room.

It's been a couple of weeks since you last saw each other. It's been the same number of days since you realized why that flutter in your stomach came to be. It's no surprise to you when it happens now, along with a warm pressure in your chest when his lips curve into a shy smile. For a moment, it's just you and him.

The magic cuts off and scatters over the floor in imaginary golden dust when Connie announces the arrival of your ride to the bar. 

Everyone starts making their way out the door.

A heavy hand lands on Eren’s shoulder. Jean's voice murmurs the words ‘good luck’ in his ear before walking away.

Eren stands in place, watching as you close the distance between you with just a few steps.

“Hey.”

It might be Eren's imagination, warping his surroundings to further feed into the concept behind your costume, but he truly can't deny how breathtaking and radiant you look. It's like a vision from dreams he'll forever be too embarrassed to confess to. He can barely cough up a strangled ‘hi’ back.

You walk side by side until you reach the car. The entire time, Eren's careful not to brush against you, scared it might trigger his nerves and he won't be able to hide it. But once you're in the car, it's hard to avoid any physical contact, given that three of you are squished together in the back with Jean's bass. 

The entire ride is clouded with hyper-awareness of every accidental touch between you and Eren, hushed apologies for bumping knees, and trying to remain unfazed by each other's warmth as you draw closer to your destination — you're much better at it than he is.

The scent of your perfume is heavenly, the soft, mellow notes intoxicating Eren to the sweetest high. 

By the time you get to the bar, there's already a small crowd of people waiting for their turn to be let inside. In one swift glance, you make out several witch hats, vampire fangs, kitten ears, fairy wings, and much more.

A large banner that takes up the width of the entrance announces their Halloween weekend event in bursts of purple and silver tones.

Thanks to a laminated pass Jean digs from his pocket, the whole group gets to skip the line and are ushered inside right away. A staff member calls Jean aside to lead him to a greenroom in the back where the other band members are.

“I'll see you guys in a bit,” Jean calls over his shoulder, offering a salute before getting lost in the shadows.

“Let's find a booth before more people come in,” Mikasa suggests.

As you all follow her lead to an open spot, your eyes roam around, taking in the details of the place. It's a fairly large venue, the booths lined in an L shape against the left wall, and several round tables spread out before them until the open floor for crowds to gather in front of the stage. To the right, a dimly lit bar occupies nearly the whole length of the wall, with shelves upon shelves of liquor and glasses. Looking up, you have a view of the balcony contained by silver railings decorated in decorative skulls and purple tinsel, where more tables and booths line the four walls and large lamps hang from the high ceiling.

You shrug your jacket off your shoulders as you settle into the booth Mikasa chooses. It's center to the stage with a perfect view of every corner of the venue's bottom floor. Mikasa slides in at your right, Eren to your left, and Armin at the end.

“I'm gonna get us some drinks,” Connie offers, as he leans with his phone to scan the code for the menu taped to the table. 

“Gin and tonic, for me,” Armin says, not bothering to scroll further down the menu.

“Ooh,” Mikasa zooms in on an item on her screen.

“Long Island?” Connie grins, spotting the same name on his phone.

“Yup,” she replies.

“A cosmo for me, please,” you say, setting down your phone on the table. 

Connie shoots finger guns at you and clicks his tongue.

“You got it. Gin and tonic, Long Island, Cosmo…” He points to each of you as he recites your orders. “Eren? Vodka cranberry?”

Eren nods shyly.

“Yeah.” 

Connie recites your orders one last time before heading off to the bar, Sasha trails behind him to help carry the drinks back.

“What time is Jean supposed to come out again?” you ask.

“He's in the second band. I think around ten-ish?” Armin replies as he confirms the time on the flyer Jean sent into the group chat. 

“God, he's gonna be insufferable when he gets back,” Eren groans. Armin nods along, and Mikasa simply laughs.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“He's always so cocky after playing,” Eren explains. “When we were in college he had a ton of girls fawning all over him just because he was in a band, and it gave him an even bigger head.”

“Well, to be fair, he never acted like a jerk,” Armin argues. “He just liked the attention.”

“That's because he thought it'd make Mikasa jealous,” Eren scoffs.

Your head is whirling in every direction as you receive every new piece of information.

“I mean, it worked,” Mikasa counters with a shrug. 

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Not once did it ever seem to you that anything was going on between Mikasa and Jean.

“You're dating Jean?” you express with shock laced through your tone.

She laughs.

“Someone has to take one for the team,” she jokes. “I kid, it's been great.”

Before you can ask how long they've been together, her phone starts buzzing on the table.

“Speak of the devil,” she grins, eyes skimming the text on her phone before she slides out of the booth. “I'll be back in a bit.” 

With a cheeky wink tossed over her shoulder, she's off. 

“I can't believe I never noticed Jean and Mikasa are together,” you say as you watch her scurry off into the backroom.

“They're pretty lowkey,” Eren replies with a shrug. “But I don't blame her. I'd be embarrassed if I were dating Jean, too,”

You laugh. 

“Come on, don't be mean,” Armin says, nudging his friend with his shoulder. He then turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “He acts like he hates him, but he actually helped Jean out when he asked Mikasa to be his girlfriend.”

“All I did was blow up balloons and buy flowers,” Eren huffs, embarrassed that his affection for Jean is out in the open.

“A little help, please,” a strained voice calls from a few feet away. 

It's Sasha. She's slowly walking toward the booth with her hands contorted at odd angles to balance four drinks in her hold. You all stand to relieve her from one drink each.

As soon as you settle into the booth again, Connie makes his way back, balancing a wooden bowl on top of everything.

“I got us some peanuts,” he grins, carefully setting everything down on the table. You all pass around each other's drink and take your first sips.

“Where's Mika?” Sasha asks, popping a peanut into her mouth. 

“Making out with Jean, I bet,” Connie jests.

“You're not wrong,” Armin sings.

You're interrupted by a brief sound of feedback screeching through the speakers, followed by a tap on the microphone at the center of the stage. The first band introduces themselves and begins to play. Every song gradually builds up the energy of the crowd which starts to gather to dance and sway to the music. It's loud enough to keep everyone nodding their head along to the beat but low enough to still have a conversation where one doesn't need to yell to be heard.

The peanut bowl is refilled and a second round of drinks is soon brought to the table, courtesy of Connie's credit card.

He and Sasha are the first to stray from the group to check out the band up close, just moments before Mikasa finds her way back. 

She's got a giddy air about her, and the artificial red of her lips is replaced by a more natural one.

When she asks for the missing pair, the three of you that remain nod toward the crowd, where you can easily spot Sasha’s hot dog costume bopping around to the music.

Mikasa laughs at the scene in between long sips of her Long Island. The two of you engage in a mushy conversation about her timeline with Jean. By the time she's halfway through her second Long Island, she's a giggling and blushing mess.

“I was right, you know?” she smiles as she affectionately strokes your head.

“About what?” You can't help but feel amused by her behavior, her enthusiasm is contagious. It pulls upwards at the corners of your lips. 

“Eren hasn't stopped looking at you.” 

Though tipsy, she's still grounded enough to speak lowly and close to your ear — you're grateful for her consideration. Otherwise, it would make the situation a lot more embarrassing. 

You don't have the guts to look back to verify for yourself, but Eren's track record makes it believable. Even so, you've glanced at Eren a couple of times during the night, only to find his gaze already set on you. He hasn't shied away as much tonight — a likely effect on his courage from the drinks he's had, or maybe because his instincts are dulled by the liquor. He still blushes like crazy, though. It's driving the butterflies in your stomach mad. Mikasa's notice only makes everything more real. It's a reminder that the world surrounding you and Eren doesn't disappear each time your eyes meet. 

“I'm gonna try to get a good spot before Jean comes out,” she says in a slightly louder voice. She stands from the booth and holds a hand out to Armin, gesturing for him to come with her. 

Quizzically, Armin allows himself to be pulled from his seat by her but then looks back with a mischievous grin spread across his face when Mikasa speaks something in his ear.

They both leave, and it's just you and Eren alone at the booth. You haven't been drinking much, just enough to feel a soft buzz in your muscles. But the sudden tension builds up a fever in your system. 

You glance back at Eren. He's laying back into the cushioned seat, legs spread, tie loosened, and eyes zeroed in on the glass nursed in his large, veiny hands. When his emerald irises look up at you through his lashes, his lips slowly part as if he's about to say something — or to suck in a breath — and finally press together in a lopsided smile.

Mirroring his expression, you scoot closer to him to close the distance that's been growing without intention as you lost yourselves in separate conversations throughout the night. 

“You know, you look good in a suit,” you say, allowing your back to fall into the cushioned seat. You lean your head back, angling it so that you have a good view of his face.

“Yeah? You think?” He mirrors your actions and allows his head to rest next to yours. It's a safe distance, yet your perfume still circles around him, getting him a different kind of drunk. Albeit, you can say the same thing about his cologne. 

“It's a big change from your usual t-shirt and jeans get-up.” 

“But still the good kind, right?” 

Your eyes wander over the glassiness hovering over his eyes, to the messy strands of hair that poke about on his head from combing through it with his hands so much, to his plump lips glossed over with saliva from his last sip of watered-down cranberry vodka to the two unmade buttons on his bloodstained shirt. 

“Absolutely,” you murmur, lips curved softly.

He bites back a smile, eyes darting to the side to seem nonchalant. Your gaze flits to the movement, taking in the way his teeth dig into the plumpness of his bottom lip. 

“So was the whole angel thing your idea?” he asks, hand motioning in your direction.

“It was Mikasa,” you murmur. “She got the first pick so I was pretty much cornered.” 

Pursing his lips, he nods.

“I don't think it suits me, though. I feel out of place.”

“Ah, because you're the devil incarnate?” He quirks a teasing eyebrow, causing a laugh to sputter from your lips. “I'm surprised this thing isn't burning a hole into your head.” He flicks the feathered halo, causing it to bobble. 

“Does it make me look silly?”

He fakes a long moment of contemplation. 

“No,” he finalizes. His voice grows lower, gentler. “It makes you look cute.” 

You cringe.

“Ah… so without it I look…”

He laughs. 

“Come on, you know that’s not what I meant!” 

He runs a hand through his face. You're not sure if it's the alcohol or you that has him blushing profusely. 

“You’re still pretty without it. I’m just having an easier time talking to you when you’re wearing… this.” 

The irony of his nervous hand gestures and the cracks in his voice isn’t lost on you. Your eyes twinkle with amusement as he straightens his posture but continues to stumble over his words. 

“Not that it’s hard to talk to you. You’re not scary or anything! I mean, you can be a little intimidating but that’s only at the beginning! You just—”

He heavily sighs as he falls back into his seat again.

“You look cute right now, that's all. But you're always pretty.” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose in an attempt to calm his nerves.

“I’m sorry, I’m rambling. I just… I still get nervous around you,” he softly laughs. 

His admission can only be attributed to how foreign everything feels in his hazy state. It’s as if he can’t stop himself from spouting whatever comes to mind — no premeditation, no reason. He’s fully aware of what’s going on, but it’s easier to hide behind too many highballs as an excuse. This moment is what makes him finally understand what people mean when they refer to liquid courage. 

“I know.”

Your words knock the air out of his lungs. He already knows you know. How can you not if he’s been so blatantly obvious in his perception of you from the start? Still, it’s different when you openly acknowledge it. It breaks the barrier of politely feigned ignorance and makes everything much more real. And yet he held this microscopic hope this whole time that his date proposal is nothing but ancient history and his behavior toward you could’ve passed as ordinary shyness. 

Guilt starts pooling in his stomach. That feeling of rejection starts bubbling in his chest without warning. He doesn’t even register the affectionate way you gaze at him, glossy lips shaped into a gentle smile, as your eyebrows upturn in sympathy. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He keeps his head low, afraid he might’ve just set himself up for failure yet again. But you shake your head.

“Don’t apologize,” you murmur. “It’s cute.”

The world falls silent. It’s either that or the first band of the night is done playing and the following act has yet to come on stage — Eren can’t tell the difference. He turns to you, all too used by now to face you with reddened cheeks and wide eyes. 

There’s a soft smile playing on your lips as you stare down at your lap, where your fidgeting hands rest. He averts his gaze, facing forward to spare his mind a moment to clear itself of any silly assumptions. His lips curl inwards — a habit for when he’s unsure of what to say. But when he looks back at you seconds later, you’re already looking at him — glossy lips parted and that glassiness to your eyes that makes his heart flutter.

Eren knows better than to think your gaze flickers to his lips. There’s no other explanation than it being a trick of his mind, right? And yet his tongue darts out instinctively, coating his lips with saliva, as his breaths grow shallow.

In one swift motion, your fingers wrap around his loosened tie to pull him closer as you lean forward to meet him halfway. There’s a brief pause just a hair away from your mouths colliding — a moment for him to process that this is truly happening and for you to wind up more courage — where your breaths swirl together before they’re absorbed by the other. Your lips meld perfectly into each other in one warm, cranberry-flavored kiss. You kiss once, twice, three times, and then once more. Each sweet contact brings you closer together, makes your heads grow dizzier and your chests to be relieved from their previous tension. 

Eren’s hands grip the edge of his seat, nails digging into the leather as if to keep himself tethered to this dimension. Each time your lips slot into his intoxicates him several times more than any liquor can. For weeks he’s wondered what it would be like to kiss you, and now that it’s happening, he’s scared for the moment to ever stop, afraid that no matter how hard he tries to convince himself, it’ll lose its quality to be real, and he’ll be left to wonder if it truly happened.

You’re the first to pull back, slowly and carefully, like you fear he might fall apart if you move too fast — and he just might. 

As you catch your breath, faces still inches away from each other, the world slowly comes back. The music crescendos along with the collective buzz of scattered conversations and clinking glasses. Your eyes flutter open, slowly taking in the shiny emerald gaze and dilated pupils that look down at you, mesmerized.

An energetic voice calls your name from a few feet away. To Eren’s dismay, your hand loses its grip on his tie, falling to your lap as you tear your gaze from him to watch Sasha clumsily make her way to the booth. 

“Come on, Jean’s band is starting!”

She pulls you from your seat, urging you to follow her. Flustered, you slide out of the booth and allow her to drag you away, but not before looking back at a still dumbfounded Eren and saying “I’ll be right back.”

Eren watches you leave, the disappointment gradually settling into the deepest parts of him. He brings a hand to his lips to gently trace the place where you marked him with the pads of his fingers. He can still feel the plush of your lips against his. If he closes his eyes, he can conjure the moment again and replay it in his mind. The scent of your perfume lingers and it suddenly doesn’t seem like such a wild idea that he can deeply miss someone who’s only wandered a few feet from him.

“Okay, I had to get out of there. The girls are getting rowdy.”

Armin’s voice pulls Eren from his daze. He laughs as he slides into the booth next to his best friend. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, making note of Eren’s flustered state.

Eren turns his gaze to the cluster of empty glasses on the table. 

“We kissed,” he murmurs, a red tint pooling his cheeks.

Armin’s face goes through a myriad of emotions. His features contort from confusion to realization, to shock, and excitement. 

“Are you serious?” he yells enthusiastically, grinning from ear to ear at the news. “Dude, that’s fucking awesome!” 

He gleefully drums his palms on Eren’s back, slipping in a few teasing punches to his arm.

“I fucking knew it, I frickin’ called it. I’m literally Cupid!”

Eren finally laughs, raising a hand to comb nervously through his hair.

“So what happens next?” Armin asks, shuffling to find a cozy angle to hound his friend.

Eren shakes his head, still hesitant to accept his new reality. It’s starting to look foreign to him and he’d hate to think the kiss was just a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing.

“I don’t know. What do I do, Armin?”

The panic on his face causes Armin to soften with sympathy.

“What do you wanna do?” he murmurs.

A soft laugh pushes past Eren’s lips.

“I wanna kiss her again.”

Armin scrunches his nose, but he can’t help but grin at Eren’s bashful confession and his adorable demeanor.

“Well, she’s right over there.”

He juts his chin in the direction of the crowd in front of the stage. 

Eren presses a fist to his mouth. His cheeks are still burning and his heart has yet to fully calm down from the erratic rhythm your sudden kiss provoked.

“I think I still need a minute to recover,” he murmurs.

You didn’t make it back to the booth as soon as Eren and you hoped. When you did, there was usually another person or two coming back to catch their breath, leaving you no privacy to talk about what needed to be talked about. Eren had a turn to be dragged away to watch Jean’s performance. After everyone was back at the booth, you volunteered to get Mikasa, Sasha, and Connie — the drunkest of your group — water to rehydrate. The entire time it seemed to Eren like his luck had run out for a second chance to be alone. 

You make your way to the bar, navigating between people sober and drunk just the same. A few minutes go by before you’re finally at the front of the line. 

“Three waters, please,” you say, holding up the same amount of fingers to the bartender. 

He promptly slides three bottles over the bar, a flirty grin on his face.

“Here you go, angel.”

When you don’t give him a reaction outside of politely nodding and thanking him while offering your card to pay, he kills off his coy demeanor. You start to make your way back to the booth, going over the exchange in your head and feeling awkward about it. You’re sure bartenders can act a bit friendly with patrons —  it’s part of the experience — but you’re not big on acting overly friendly with strangers. 

A tall, muscular figure bumps into you, causing your body to stumble back and your hands to lose their hold on the bottles. You glance up, ready to apologize before you can even collect your things, but you’re met with a pair of concerned eyes. 

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” 

He crouches down to retrieve the dropped bottles for you. When he stands again, he smiles at you warmly. 

“I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. Again, I apologize.”

His polite manner seems sincere — certainly not like the kind other men have shown you.

For a moment, it seems like he hopes to hold a conversation with you. From the booth claimed by your group, a pair of stern emerald eyes watches the scene carefully, the owner ready to intervene against the man with his back to him. But the stranger’s chances of holding you up any longer are interrupted by a pretty girl calling his name — a name you don’t bother to register — from a few feet away as she stumbles her way to him. You catch a falter in his demeanor that goes as quickly as it arrives — though much too fast for you to get a hint of the emotion behind it. 

Before you can be witness to any foreign business, you murmur your own apology and thank him for his help before turning on your heel and continuing to where your friends are. 

“Sash, you don’t need two rides. I already told you, you and Connie live in the same apartment.” 

Armin pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. For the past ten minutes, he’s been trying to convince a still lightly buzzed Sasha that it doesn’t make sense for her and Connie to take separate rides. In her haze, she argued that it was completely reasonable for her to book a ride for herself and then book a second one for Connie once she made it to their apartment.

“Jean, you think you can go with them and make sure they get home safely?” 

Armin puts on his best pleading look for him. Jean clicks his tongue in aversion.

“No can do. I gotta take care of my girl.” He nods over to the bench outside of the bar where Mikasa is curled up in a way that should be uncomfortable but makes her look rather peaceful as she dozes off in fragments. 

Armin purses his lips, hands on his hips. 

“You know what? I give up, I’ll take them,” Armin huffs as he swipes Sasha’s phone from her hands and waits to be matched to a ride. He turns to you. “Oh, but we were supposed to ride together.”

You dismiss his offer with a wave of your hand. 

“I’m really not that tipsy. I can ride alone.” 

“You sure?” Armin’s eyebrows upturn in worry.

Eren raises his hand, a meek look on his face.

“I can make sure she gets home okay.”

“Don’t you live in opposite directions?” Jean smirks, as he hoists Mikasa up by her waist to prepare for their ride’s arrival.

Armin shoots him a warning glare over his shoulder. 

Jean clicks his tongue and theatrically smacks his forehead.

“Ah, no you don’t, silly me. I’m so out of it tonight.”

Ignoring Jean’s poor acting, you turn to Eren.

“You don’t have to. It’s fine,” you assure him.

“I want to,” he murmurs gently.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you nod. 

He whips out his phone to find a ride and minutes later, you all head your separate ways.

The ride to your apartment building is quiet, save for the low music playing on the radio. Eren can’t keep himself from stealing glances at your side profile from the corner of his eye, and you can feel the burn in your cheeks as you stare out the window.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks, finally fed up with the silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but he’s been fighting for a chance to talk to you since the kiss and this is a very brief opportunity, perhaps not to address what happened, but maybe just to get a feel for where you stand after the fact.

But you don’t seem up for a lengthy conversation, as you barely look back at him when you nod and reply with a solemn “I did”. 

He shrinks into his seat, chewing on his bottom lip as he tries to find a different tactic to get you to look at him. But again, his luck seems to have run out, as you hit every green light on the way to your apartment. Sooner than he would’ve liked, the car comes to a halt in front of the brick building.

In a desperate attempt to collect a couple more minutes with you, he climbs out of the car with you. 

“I’ll walk you up,” he says. You just nod and turn to lead the way. 

There’s a hint of tension as you ride the elevator to the third floor. There’s something awkwardly polite about the strict distance you maintain until the elevator dings and you step into the hallway.

The silence between you has never felt so dreadful to Eren now that there’s something he so badly wants to talk about. But how does one bring up a surprise kiss if not right after it happened? By now it seems too embarrassing to suggest for conversation, even if it did happen less than two hours ago. The moment has passed, and if you don’t seem willing to talk, maybe it’s because you’re hoping to leave it in the past. 

You stop in front of your apartment door, number 307, and fish around your purse for your keys. Eren steps back in preparation to bid you goodbye as soon as the lock clicks open. 

“I’ll see you a—”

“Do you want some tea?” 

The question tumbles so quickly from your lips that he almost doesn’t comprehend it.

He blinks at you in surprise. A flutter stirs in his stomach at the idea of entering your apartment — your personal space. He doesn’t even think Armin has been inside before. It’s exciting. There’s a look in your eyes he’s never seen before. They shine differently now — with hope.

He runs a nervous hand through his hair and clears his throat, nodding fervently.

“Yeah, tea… tea sounds incredible right now.”

You release a breath of relief and push open the door, welcoming him to your corner of the world.

A flick of a switch bathes the area in bright, warm light. Eren soaks up every detail of your home, not wanting to miss a single thing. There’s a bookshelf overflowing with hardcovers and paperbacks, a collection too big for its modest size that you’ve opted for stacking anything that couldn’t fit on the floor beside it. A handmade blanket in warm colors is thrown over the loveseat fixed in front of the TV. Everything is colored in joyful pastel hues with a few more vibrant splashes from vases with flowers and some ceramic figurines scattered along the windowsill and the furniture — a stark contrast to your mostly neutral wardrobe. It’s all neatly put together save for a single forgotten book left at a careless angle on the coffee table — likely to be your current read — and a faint cinnamon scent wafts in the air, the probable work of a candle or an infuser somewhere. There are three more doors he assumes lead to your bedroom, the bathroom, and perhaps a storage closet.  

You toss your purse, headband, and coat onto the sofa and make your way across the open space to the kitchen, turning back to ask him to follow with an inviting look.

You move in silence to fill a pink tea kettle with water and set it on the stove. Your hands rummage through your pantry to find a pair of teabags to set aside while you wait for the kettle to whistle. 

“Your place is really nice,” Eren murmurs as he takes a seat at the breakfast bar. “It’s very… colorful.”

The corners of your lips tug into an awkward smile.

“Does it not suit me?”

He chuckles softly, bringing a fist up to cover his amusement.

“No, it does,” he says, looking around once more. “It’s a nice surprise, to be honest.”

Your lips curl inwards as you nod. 

An easy silence blankets the room until the kettle signals the water’s ready. 

Eren stands to help you. 

“Where do you keep your mugs?”

You point to the cupboard next to his head as you grab a tea towel to wrap around the kettle.

He sets two mugs on the counter next to the stove — a yellow one for you, a blue one for him — and starts wandering around in search of something.

“You want sugar, right?” he asks, going through his memory of the time you met at the coffee shop. 

He spots a set of green ceramic containers on the counter and starts reaching for them until your voice interrupts him. 

“Actually, I'll have it with honey. It’s over there.”

You point him to the pantry where you took the tea bags from.  

A proud grin takes over his face as he strides over.

“I see I've spread the honey gospel.” 

You smile.

“Not really,” you murmur. “I use honey all the time. That day we met at the coffee shop was just an exception.”

He pouts.

“Why the sudden change back then?” he asks.

You shrug as you transport the mugs to the bar and fetch a honey wand from a drawer.

“Some stupid reason. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Eren’s brow furrows in confusion, but he doesn’t press any further. You take a seat next to each other and take turns with the honey wand before your first careful sip of tea. 

A fuzzy feeling swells in his chest when Eren looks over at you. The domesticity of the situation has him biting back a smile. He loses himself in your image for a moment. the way your hands nurse the mug as you blow at your tea, and the sheen left on your lips after you take a sip. Maybe this — being welcomed into your home and sitting beside each other while you share tea — is all he needs to gain some clarity on where your head is at. 

He takes another sip and sets his mug down, the heat threatening his pain tolerance in his hands.

“So, you live alone?” he asks.

You nod. 

“Yeah, I’m kind of a lone wolf.” You pause and start smiling. “I might be growing out of it, though.”

“What do you mean?”

A few seconds tick by as you ponder for an answer.

“I’ve never had this many friends before. I just keep to myself, usually, and that's worked great my whole life. But now I’m really happy to have met everybody.” You smile. “I’m having a lot of fun being surrounded by more people now. I can feel myself becoming a different person.”

He mirrors your expression as he returns his gaze to his tea. Your words tug at his heartstrings. Frankly, he couldn’t be any happier to hear those words come out of your mouth.

“I also told a guy I wasn’t into dating, but now I’m hoping he didn’t take it to heart.”

Your words echo in Eren’s head as he turns to look at you with hopeful eyes.

“Me?”

The question has him feeling stupid, but he has to know you aren’t talking about someone else, that it can only be him. 

Your timid gaze has his chest pounding furiously against his ribs. It’s not until you nod that he finally releases the breath that was caught in his throat.

“I thought that— You said you didn’t see me that way.”

Your expression softens.

“You kind of grew on me,” you murmur, looking down at the remaining tea in your mug as your cheeks warm with shyness.

Eren watches you in awe as you bite down on your bottom lip, too focused on the yellow mug to even notice his shaking hands and burning cheeks.  

The following seconds pass by in slow motion. Eren’s warm hands wrap around your face, demanding your attention as he closes the gap between you. Like you at the bar, he spares a split second for you to realize what’s happening before slotting his lips against yours. You sigh into his mouth as an instant fever courses through your body. 

His strong hands pull you closer in his desperate need to devour you. It’s all much more real now. Now he knows how you feel, and you’ve known how he’s felt about you this entire time so all that’s left to do is act on it. 

One of his hands drops its firm caress on your face to pull you from your seat by the waist and settle you on his lap. He presses you into his chest, relishing in the soft moans you pour into his mouth. 

It’s a moment that he’s sure will be etched in his memory for the rest of his days.

Your heart thumps erratically, threatening to break free from its cage. Your breathing has grown shallow and eyebrows upturned in desperation as you cling onto his shirt. His cologne travels to your nose, enveloping you in a comforting embrace as the hand he has pressed against the small of your back pushes you closer to him with every wanton kiss.

You pull back abruptly, breathless, chest heaving, and eyebrows knit together as you swallow thickly.

“You okay?” Eren asks, equally short of breath.

You nod. 

“I just— I keep forgetting to breathe… and it feels like my heart is about to burst out of my chest.”

You look down at him with distress painted across your features.

“I'm sorry.”

For the second time since Eren met you, you look so small and fragile even if your compromising position has him tilting his face up to look at you. 

“You're joking, right?” he murmurs.

With a tremor still consuming his bones, he peels your right hand from his shirt and slides it down his chest, resting it right above his heart. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, watching you closely to see if you understand his message and the effect you have on him — he’s right there with you. 

The erratic beat of his heart thumps against your palm. You stare at your linked hands, completely mesmerized by how perfectly your hand fits in his and how ardently his heart beats for you. 

A soft laugh travels past your lips as you find relief in Eren’s matching anxiety. 

Without removing your hand from where he’s pressed it, you bury your face into the crook of his neck.

You stay there for as long as it takes for your breathing to steady and your heartbeats to sync to a peaceful rhythm.

“I got scared when you barely talked to me on the way here.” 

The vibrations of his voice are a comforting sensation; if you could snuggle further into his chest, you would.  

“I thought you were regretting what happened at the bar.”

Your breath tickles his neck when you laugh.

“I just didn’t want to talk in front of our driver.”

It’s his turn to laugh and if you could capture the sound in a bottle to cherish forever, you would.

“I have a question.”

You hum in encouragement, feeling yourself grow sleepy in his embrace. 

“If I ask you out on a date right now, will you say yes this time?”

“I don’t know. I’d have to check my planner; now that I'm open to dating I’ll be pretty busy.”

You can’t tell from your angle, but you can hear the amused grin in his voice when he talks again.

“Ah, right, of course. I wouldn’t want to make a fool of myself all over again,” he jokes, rolling his eyes.

Neither of you makes a move to separate from each other. His thumb makes soft strokes against the back of your hand.

“I really like you,” he murmurs.

“I know,” you murmur back. “I really like you, too.”

“Did I tell you how pretty you look dressed like an angel?”

You straighten your posture but remain on his lap.

“Not once the entire night. I'm actually kind of disappointed,” you joke.

He stifles a laugh.

“The things you do to me, I swear,” he whispers as you lean forward, brushing your noses together. “I couldn’t stop looking at you. I felt like I was losing my mind.”

He leans closer, nipping at your bottom lip teasingly before pressing a chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth.

Your phone buzzes from inside your bag on the sofa.

“You think it’s an emergency?” he whispers against your lips.

“Not likely,” you whisper back before returning his kiss.

You’re fully prepared to ignore whoever is on the other end, but the buzzing refuses to cease, so you ultimately stand to answer the call, though with much reluctance.

“Hey, Armin.”

Eren brings a fist to his mouth, mentally cursing at his best friend for interrupting such a tender moment.

“Yeah, I made it home safe… Eren? Oh, um…”

You turn to Eren for a sign of what to say. You’ve never been in this situation before, so you’re unsure of what to do. 

Eren mouths a response you struggle to understand.

“He’s… he’s still here.”

Eren’s jaw drops. You shrug innocently.

“Yeah… he’s on his way out though. We just had tea… Oh god, Armin.”

Eren watches your flustered demeanor closely, trying to make sense of the buzzing that reaches his ears from your phone — he deciphers nothing.

“Well, you can come over next time… okay… bye.”

You hang up.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. Just something about never getting to see my apartment,” you mutter with a shake of your head.

He laughs as he makes his way over to you.

“He’s definitely gonna hound me later for this,” he groans, rubbing his hands down his face. 

He rolls his shoulders back as he catches a glimpse of the time from the clock on your wall. “Oh, man, I really should be heading out, though.”

“I’ll walk you to the elevator,” you offer, already leading the way to the door.

The two of you walk side by side, now close enough for your shoulders to occasionally brush against each other. You exchange secretive glances along the way, biting down on smiles as you recall the events of the night.

When Eren steps into the elevator, you wave him goodbye. A second before the doors close, his hand shoots out to keep them open.

Your eyebrows rise in question.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow, then? Or, I guess, later.”

He watches your lips part and eyes wander in confusion.

“For what?”

“Our first date,” he grins. “Or is it too soon?”

A pleasant warmth tingles in your stomach as you try your best to contain your smile, but the excitement in your eyes shimmers brightly for him.

“No,” you say. “Tomorrow’s perfect.”

His lips curl inwards to keep himself from grinning harder. He nods.

“I’ll pick you up for lunch, then? Two o’clock.”

You smile and nod. He smiles back.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Eren.”

October 27, 2024

There’s nothing I hate more than loose women. They’re the worst. Always throwing themselves onto men and desperately groveling for attention. That’s why I had to kill this one. Disgusting little whore wouldn’t quit following me around the bar the whole night. 

But the good news is, I met a girl tonight. An angel. She was a vision from my purest dreams dressed in white with a halo on her head, smiling and laughing with her sloppy drunken friends. But she’s different from them, I can tell. If she could just smile at me the same way she smiled at him, maybe then I’ll be satisfied. If I could just have her smile at me every day, I’d be so happy. I'll do anything to have that look of adoration directed at me.

I wasn’t even looking to fall in love tonight and yet there she was. It has to be fate.

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