#balance blood sugar naturally | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

urhoneycombwitch · 2 months

Text

imagine being loved by me

🍯 honey flavour: your love has stood the test of time, thus far, but a party fit for a rockstar brings up some bitter emotions.

🐝 the bees: rockstar!Eddie x jealous!Reader

wc: 8k

cw: drugs and alcohol consumption, mentions of weight gain (eddie’s, in a positive manner), R has panic/anxiety attack, jealousy (talked about and resolved tho), softdom!Reader, softdom!Eddie, oral (E and R receiving), R has breasts + a V and referred to with she/her pronouns, P in V sex, cumming inside w/out protection

foreword: timeline is wobbly and may not align perfectly w canon bc I’m bad at math so shhhh suspend ur disbelief. based on this anon thank you v much anon <3

___

It’s the coldest January Hawkins has seen in ages. Snow banks sit high on the roadsides, air thick with snowflakes, three-AM fog brought in courtesy of the bitter wind chill.

Under the yellow floodlight of a nearby streetlamp, your boyfriend is sucking down the last of a joint while you stamp your feet against the gravel parking lot.

“C’mon, Eddie,” you whine, crossing the arms of your fleeced puffer jacket, bouncing on your heels to keep the blood flowing. “My toes are gonna get frostbite.”

“A touch dramatic,” Eddie replies, unbothered. The cherry of the joint between his lips burns orange, casting a warm glow over Eddie’s cheekbones, the twinkle of snowflakes caught in his bangs. “I told you to go in without me, princess. Warmer in there.”

“Without you? As if.” You pull the pity card, and it works, ‘cuz it always does- that boy has got to learn how to say no to you, one of these days.

Not today, though, because Eddie is tamping out the ember on the sole of his boot and crunching up the snowy path to sling an arm around your neck.

“Grub time,” he says against your hair, pressing his cold lips to the side of your forehead as you both make your way into Benny’s Burgers.

The heated air is a welcome relief, and save for a couple of old-timers at a side table, you and Eddie are the only customers in the place.

Benny greets you both from where he’s flipping patties on the kitchen grill, waving a spatula at the corner booth- “All yours, kiddos. Want the usual?”

You and Eddie call out affirmatives as you sink into opposing seats, unwrapping yourselves from all your winter gear as you go.

“God bless Benny Hammond for expanding his night hours,” you say, piling your green scarf on the tabletop. “This is a good tradition for us, y’know. Post-band practice smoking and coffee- very rock and roll.”

“I concur.” Eddie tosses his knit hat at you playfully. “You, my lady, have the most rock ‘n roll soul I ever did see.”

As Benny approaches with two mugs of steaming coffee, you muse aloud, “Not sure if the amount of sugar you’re about to dump in your coffee is very metal, per se...”

“Y’hear that, Benny?” Eddie grabs a fistful of sugar packets and shakes them indignantly. “My girl’s trying to keep me on the straight and narrow. How’s a rockstar s’posed to live in these conditions?”

“Lord knows,” Benny says, sardonic, setting the mugs down and turning back to the kitchen.

Eddie winces as his hands wrap around the heat of the mug, and you notice right away. “Your fingers splitting again? I have that salve that you used last time, but it’s back at the trailer.”

He puts his hand face-up onto the table, and you slip yours into his, the deep fingertip grooves from guitar strings rough against your soft palm.

“I’ll live. Plus, it’s kind of metal, right?” Eddie runs a calloused thumb across the back of your hand.

You squeeze back, give him a wink. “Very metal.”

Eddie’s been working himself to the bone lately. Trying to stay in school and not drop out is a feat in itself, but compounded with the band practices that have only ramped up in length recently, it’s a lot to balance.

He hasn’t complained at all, of course. It’s not really in his nature.

In the past few weeks, however, he’s been imbued with this near-manic energy, a renewed sense of purpose. In between your own fitful sleeps you often wake in the early hours of the morning to find Eddie hunched over his desk, pen flying across his notebook as he reworks an old song or outlines a new one. Not that you weren’t proud of him before, but seeing him apply this newfound passion to his music has been a huge source of joy for you.

And, if you’re being really honest, also a major turn on. I mean, the boy’s got swagger like no other, and you’re so glad he’s finally utilizing it on stage. Even if that stage is in the middle of a piece of shit dive bar. Still counts, in your book.

Benny drops off baskets of hot fries, a burger for Eddie, and a BLT for you. Methodic and familiar, you offload half your fries to Eddie’s basket as he slides his burger towards you for the first bite.

After a few minutes of peaceful eating, Eddie balls up a napkin in his fist and raps the table with his knuckles. “So, uh. Kind of have some news.”

You slot the ketchup bottle back into its metal holder and look up with raised brows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks suddenly nervous, knee knocking into the underside of the table as he bounces his leg compulsively. “You remember Paige Warner? Graduated in ‘81, brother is a baseball jock?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath- his unease is kind of setting you on edge.

“What about Paige Warner?” you prompt.

“She moved out to L.A. for a job and she’s working this scouting gig for some bigshot record,” he continues, absently pulling the thin napkin in his hands into pieces, staring vacantly at the mess. “And she wants Corroded Coffin to record and send out a demo to the label.”

As the news sinks in, your jaw drops. “Holy shit. What?”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s fidgeting with the paper scraps now, still not making eye contact with you. “She wants us to start recording next week. I haven’t told anyone else, yet, I wanted to make sure you were the first-”

You interrupt him with an excited little squeal (drawing glares from the old guys across the diner) and shove up from your side of the table to throw your arms around Eddie.

“Holy shit,” you repeat, laughing as Eddie pulls you into his lap- “Eddie, that’s amazing!”

“You think so?” he asks, your enthusiasm allowing his own to creep in; He slides his hands to your denim-clad hips, his self-professed favorite stress toy (well, tied for favorite with your thighs).

“How come you were so nervous to tell me?” You ask him, gently, tucking his dark hair behind his ears so you can see his face better. “Were you thinking I’d react differently?”

He looks up at you wide-eyed, shakes his head- “No, no, I wasn’t worried about you reacting a certain way. I just… I’m just worried about what this’ll mean. You know. For us.”

“Us?” You echo, encouraging him to continue.

Eddie squeezes at your hips, presses the crown of his head against your collarbone like he’s mustering up the courage to speak. “Yeah, us. I know L.A. isn’t your dream- shit, I don’t even know if it’s mine- but you didn’t sign up to go on the road like this. You’ve got college to consider, and-”

“So I’ll take a gap year,” you interrupt, putting a hand to his cheek to make him look at you again, and when he starts to protest, you talk over him. “No, Eddie, I’m serious. I don’t know what the hell I wanna do with my life yet anyways. Following my hot rockstar boyfriend to a new town sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

He shakes his head again, and you can feel his dimples spring to life under your hand as he teases, “Gonna be my little groupie?”

“And more,” you confirm, giving him a kiss (chaste, so as not to invoke any more ire from the grumpy other customers) and sliding off his lap to return to your own seat. “I’ll be your assistant extraordinaire, if you want. Or bodyguard. Make sure none of the other groupie chicks get too close.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, fondly. “You’re the only groupie I need, sweetheart.”

Settling back into your respective seats, you both work on the last basket of fries while chatting genially about the future. Eddie mentions getting an apartment in Los Angeles, so there’s less of a commute, which branches the conversation into the logistics of a cross-country move, and then on to more important topics such as the alleged coolness of west-coast parties.

“Who’s your celebrity hall pass?” you ask, out of pure interest, dipping a fry into the well of ketchup. “Like, say you’re rubbing elbows at some famous muckety-muck’s party and someone catches your eye. Who’re you taking back to the motel for a slutty roll in the hay?”

Eddie snickers at your phrasing, then says, “I mean, preferably, my super hot girlfriend-”

You throw a fry at his head. “That’s such a cop-out answer. In this hypothetical, Joan Jett is in red leather petting up on you and you’re saying you wouldn’t take her up on a one-night stand?”

A laugh bursts out of Eddie, a real, proper one where he throws his head back. “Are you actively encouraging me to hook up with some bimbo at a random party? Without you? Unlikely scenario on all fronts, babe.”

This earns him another launched fry, and he squawks, trying to shake it out of its place caught in his hair as you reprimand him- “Joan Jett is not some bimbo, watch your mouth! And what I’m saying is, if you didn’t at least try to score us a threesome with her, I’d be pissed.”

“Okay, baby,” Eddie soothes you a tad derisively, likely a ploy to avoid more flying food- “if I meet Joan Jett I will do my level best to get her in our bed. Scout’s honor.”

He holds up two fingers and wiggles them obscenely, grinning when you laugh again. “All right, Nosey McGee. Who are you taking home from the party?”

You hum, eyes flicking up to the ceiling, contemplating the options. “I guess I could be talked into a night with Kirk Hammett.”

Eddie’s turn to launch a fry. “You slut,” he chuckles, “That was a way quicker answer than mine.”

“Okay, fine. If I meet Kirk Hammett, I promise to at least make a bid for threesome. Deal?” You extend your pinkie across the table.

Eddie loops his little finger into yours. “Deal.”

____

The memory of that cozy diner evening years ago fades as you shake yourself to the present.

You aren’t two highschool kids with lofty dreams, anymore- after Eddie’s recovery from all that Upside Down bullshit in ‘86, Corroded Coffin took off. Even though Paige didn’t end up coming through with any deals, Eddie and his bandmates fought like hell to get signed- and by the end of that year, a small record label in the heart of downtown Chicago had taken the bait.

Corroded Coffin turned out to be the best thing to ever happen to Arken Records; by the spring of ‘87, business was booming thanks to the help of Corroded’s debut album, The Banished Ones- their new single was a chart-topper for over 6 weeks. (Smash Hit magazine’s latest review was titled “Fresh Sound Rises from Dirt Nowhere.” You have the paper clipping saved in your ever-growing folder with “rockstar boyfriend!!!” handwritten in black ink.)

And in a few weeks, the band will set off on their first real tour, starting in Chicago and ending with a bang in an already sold-out show in Hawkins- Dustin, Steve, and the rest of the gang with VIP front-row seats, of course.

As much as you and Eddie have grown and matured in the past few years, the core of you both has remained the same. Eddie is still just as dorky, goofy, and caring as he always has been, while you’ve kept that tenacious spirit and quick wit that he fell in love with back in the early days of dating. Even now, with his popularity rising and his rockstar dreams on their way to coming true, Eddie constantly brings his focus back to you.

Pillow talks in cushy hotel beds, late night ramblings over post-show whiskeys, holding hands in the back of yet another cab- when he could be talking about the thousands of exciting things happening in his own life, Eddie is asking about you.

Did you talk to Robin last night, sweetheart? How’s ‘ol Birdie doin? What do you wanna wear to that dinner thingy tomorrow… could go naked for all I care. In fact you probably should because of feminism and all that. Did you sleep okay last night? Let me look at ya. You thinkin’ any more about those applications you got?

You’d taken a gap year to support Eddie, which you were happy to do, but with ‘87 drawing to a close, he’s been more insistent lately that you take a look at all your college options. Honestly, you’ve been enjoying the adventures that come with touring way too much to consider going back to the rigidity of school.

And plus, having the love of your life nearly bleed out in your arms in a parallel dimension has totally realigned your priorities. If folks thought you and Eddie were attached at the hip before…

He’ll likely argue you into academia, eventually. He always rolls high on persuasion. Damn him.

For now, you’ve got a party to attend.

Arken Records is playing host, on the last night of 1987- in celebration of Corroded Coffin’s success and to kick off the New Year’s festivities, they’ve rented out a house in east Chicago for the event.

Well, house isn’t the right word. More like mansion. Vaulted ceilings tall as a church’s, huge windows overlooking the Chicago river, a grand chandelier with flickering candles in nearly every room.

When you and Eddie had toured the place a few days previous, he’d made a joking complaint low in your ear about not having the time to fuck you on every surface. Your laugh had reverberated off the sweeping mahogany floorboards, mostly at the expense of Eddie’s poor publicist who’d happened to hear his comment. (Melanie had really been putting in overtime lately; you made a mental note to send her a very nice flower arrangement and vouchers for a spa trip.)

The party was in full swing by the time you and Eddie arrived, fashionably late, and he had been folded into the throng of other musicians and partygoers against his will pretty much immediately- which you’d expected. The last hour, he’s been throwing you piteous looks from his spot across the room, where he hasn’t had the chance to move an inch with the amount of people keeping the conversation going. You’ve slipped to his side a few times, refreshing his drink, letting him curl an arm around your waist as you perch on his knee, only half-focused on whatever story some producer is saying as Eddie’s hand trails up your thigh.

You’re back on the nearest wall again, sipping champagne, taking it all in. There are probably over a hundred people crammed into this banquet room, bass thumping through the floorboards, tables shoved to the outer corners making space for a makeshift dance space.

The air is hazy with smoke from various cigarettes and joints; as the night has progressed, the smell of freshly-applied cologne has been replaced with heady sweat as the dance floor calls more people to writhe and grind in groups and partners. Eddie is still stuck in the lone pod of living room chairs, surrounded by a rapt audience of people crammed in to hear him better over the blaring music.

He looks damn good tonight, in a cut-off black tee and his favorite ripped jeans, leather jacket hung on the chair behind him. Silver catches the light from every angle- on the chains at his hips, around his neck, glinting off his rings as he gestures animatedly mid-story. He’d asked you to do his eyeliner at the hotel earlier, and although it’s smudged and blurred at the edges now he’s still pulling it off. Tiny silver stars, hand-drawn with your eyeshadow brush, twinkle across his cheeks like freckles.

Eddie wanted to match with you, whined until you added a belt made of gold-plated stars to your outfit. You went simple, the gold to his silver- belt cinching your short black satin slip dress, delicate brass rings and bracelets around your fingers and bare forearms. The one piece of silver you are wearing is a chain around your neck, Eddie’s guitar pick nestled snug between your breasts.

You still resolutely refuse to wear heels, even after Eddie’s stylist cajoled you into practicing on stilettos for a disastrous media training session last month- tonight you’re in a chic pair of Mary Janes with the slightest suggestion of a heel. Compromise.

There’s a big laugh from the crowd in the corner again as Eddie knocks a hand into Gareth’s chest for emphasis, nearly knocking the younger boy off his seat. You stare unabashedly at Eddie’s forearms, biceps on full display; he’s filled out a bit since leaving home, his usually lean frame boasting a bit more weight and bulk now that he’s got consistent access to well-rounded meals.

He’s looking healthy, down right glowy. You’re thinking about that smattered trail of dark hair that slides down the crest of his stomach, now with extra padding enough to sink your teeth into. As if he knows, Eddie catches your eye from across the room and winks, cheekily.

You shiver and unconsciously press your thighs together, hiding your grin with another swallow of champagne.

The alcohol turns a bit sour going down, though, as a crimped-haired blonde girl worms her way to Eddie’s side, laughing a little too loudly at the joke he just told. When she places a manicured hand on one of his shoulders, the thin stem of your glass nearly snaps in your grip.

The thing about rockstars is they have crazy sex appeal. The thing about your rockstar is he’s only interested in you, something that has been proved many times over.

So why is tonight hitting you so hard? Why do you feel nauseous the longer Eddie lets some random woman’s hand stay on his bare skin when you know he’s going home with you, and only you?

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the overcrowded room, or the memories of Benny’s diner still lingering like a bruise in your mind. Hard to pinpoint exactly. All you know is that jealousy is gnawing like a thing raw and seeking in the pit of your stomach, and if you don’t get out of this stuffy room soon you’re gonna do something tabloid-worthy, like cry in the middle of a New Year’s Eve party.

By the grace of some god you make it across the dance floor and into a side bathroom unscathed, the pulsing sound of the party blissfully dimming as you shut the door behind you. Your mind whirls as you grip the gilded sink for stability, blinking hard at the tears beginning to form.

You love having a boyfriend who’s larger than life. You love that he’s taking up space and getting to use that charm that was nurtured on the DM throne back in Hawkins. You’re so proud of him, you really are.

You’re just starting to hate the way other people’s surface-level love of him makes you feel.

Because that’s what it is, right? Just surface-level, you reason with yourself- the level of intimacy that you and Eddie have is unmatched, something that the newly-formed masses of admirers won’t ever get to experience.

Christ, can jealousy give you hives? You grab a handful of paper towels and soak them in cold tap water, then press the damp bundle to your chest, breath stuttering.

You’ve never been the jealous type, or the overbearing type- it’s a new feeling, and maybe that’s why it feels so scary. The more you try to tamp it down, the more it rears its ugly head, making you, in turn, feel embarrassed for having such a strong reaction in the first place.

It’s a vicious cycle that’s only seeming to gain speed as you realize you haven’t yet managed a full breath since coming to your hiding spot. Your lungs are pinched and burning as you drop the soggy paper into the sink, leaning into the lip of the porcelain to steady yourself.

There’s a knock on the door, and you choke out “Just a minute”, not sure if the person on the other side can even hear you over the music when Eddie’s voice leaks through.

“Baby? That you in there?”

Against your better judgment, you open the door, and he crams in the small space, locking it again behind himself.

“There you are, I saw you leave and thought you were getting a drink or something but then you didn’t come back and- are you okay?”

He interrupts his own stream of consciousness when he notices the state you’re in. You give him a trembly smile, waving a hand dismissively.

“Yeah, all good. I’ll come back with you, just needed to pee.”

Eddie is not so easily thrown off the scent. He murmurs your name, sliding his hand into yours, looking at you with a wounded puppy gaze- fuck, you can’t have a breakdown. Not here, not on New Year’s in some knockoff-Playboy’s bathroom.

And certainly not in front of Eddie, who’s asking you to tell him what’s wrong, what happened, with an increasingly pleading tone that’s really, really not helping your whole Don’t Cry agenda.

Hoping your voice doesn’t break, you clear your throat and pull your hand from his grasp. “Nothing happened, okay? I just had too much to drink, feeling overly sentimental or something. I’m okay.”

You think your white lie was convincing enough when Eddie reaches back for the door handle, that maybe he’ll rejoin the party and leave you to have a good cry, but after poking his head out the doorway briefly he grabs onto your wrist, tugging you to his side and hissing “Quick!”

And then you’re both making a break for it down the mostly-empty hallway, Eddie pulling you smoothly past a wall of expensive-looking oil paintings before going through a set of double doors that lead to the outside.

It’s December in Chicago, which means a light layer of snow covers the terraced garden that Eddie is leading you through, stopping at a stone bench flanked by two scraggly bushes.

“Made it,” he huffs with exertion, dropping your hand to shrug his leather jacket off in favor of draping it around your own shoulders.

“You’re gonna be cold,” you sniffle, partly from the tears, partly from the crisp night air.

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, wrapping you in a hug. You press your forehead to his chest. “Got my girl to keep me warm, though.”

You stay like this for a few moments, his arms solid around you, breaths coming easier as the familiar smell of his tangy skin and that spicy bar soap he uses fills your senses.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, gently, holding you at arm’s length to study your face.

When you shrug, unsure of where to start, he lets go of you and walks backwards, taking an unflinching seat on the snow-covered bench.

You gasp despite yourself, reaching to pull him up even as he twists out of your grasp- “Eddie, jesus, you’re literally gonna freeze your ass off. Get up!”

But he’s solid in his seat, widening his stance, boots planted on the ground- “I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, so you better start talking before my jeans freeze to the concrete.”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, but he’s giving you that look again, the one that cracks through the tough exterior every time, and you wrap your arms around yourself under the warmth of his jacket as you admit, “Okay, fine. It’s something. I’m just… having an overreaction.”

“To the shellfish?” he deadpans.

“No, asshole, to the blonde girl who was rubbing up on you earlier,” you snap.

Eddie blinks, genuine confusion in his voice- “There was a blonde girl… rubbing up on me?”

“She was petting your shoulder,” you continue, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the ground. “She was touching you, and I got- jealous, I guess.”

“Baby, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t remember her, at all,” Eddie emphasizes, spreading a palm flat against his chest in a gesture of sincerity, hair shifting across his shoulders as he cocks his head to the side.

His face is too familiar, too earnest for you to be able to say what you’re feeling without bursting into tears, so you turn on your heel, pacing a short loop in front of the bench, your breath hanging in misty clouds as you speak.

“It’s not even about her, necessarily. It’s about me and my stupid emotions. I’m not usually like this- jealous, you know? Like, I’m so proud of you, and everything you’ve accomplished, and I don’t mind sharing you, really I don’t, it’s just…”

You pause in your pacing, let your head drop back to look at the inky black sky pinpricked with stars, and your next words fall out like a confession.

“I just feel like I’m in mourning.”

You can feel his eyes on you still, as you loose the feeling that’s been caught tight in your chest. “It sounds so dramatic, when I say it like that. But I think that’s what it is. I miss when it was just the two of us, in this little bubble where no one knew our names and we just had each other.”

As the words leave your mouth, you scramble to explain, to soften the blow, hands tightening around your upper arms as you turn back to face the boy on the bench. “And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, or, like, a total jealous bitch, because I really love you and I hope you know I’m not- are you laughing?”

Eddie tries his best to stifle the laughter into his fist when he sees how indignant you look. He rises from the bench, still a bit mirthful, pulling you back into his space. “Sorry, honey, I’m not making fun of you, I promise.”

You’re glaring at him now, and he ducks to kiss at the lines between your brow before pulling back and saying, “I think what you’re feeling is normal, and I don’t think you’re overreacting at all. Remember that asshole at the Smith Center party who kept trying to get your number right in front of me?”

“Vaguely.”

“I wanted to punch his lights out. Make a real scene, kiss you sloppy in front of some cameras.” Eddie cups your face in his hands, soothing his thumb against the wetness of your lashline. “What I’m saying is, I get jealous, too. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“But…” there’s a well of emotions that you’re drawing from, and it’s not empty yet, one nagging thought still surfacing. “But these girls that are coming on to you, they’re like… really hot. I don’t look anything like them.”

Eddie frowns. “Are you seriously trying to make a case for yourself on the grounds of not being really hot? That’s not gonna hold up in court, gorgeous. I mean… have you even looked in a mirror recently?”

He lightly taps his knuckle against your head, trying to get you to crack a smile, but you’re not ready to give in yet.

“You don’t think you’ll get bored of me?” you whisper, dropping your eyes from his consuming gaze to the wyvern inked on the inside of his arm.

“Sweetheart…” Eddie sounds genuinely pained. The ink in his skin stretches as he slips a hand to the back of your neck, cold rings against your skin making you shiver. “I couldn’t ever get bored of you. Not in a million years. We've been through too much together for you to think like that, hm?”

He strokes his thumb down the column of your neck, those doey brown eyes on you again. “Now I’m not saying you shouldn’t ever be jealous, ‘cuz god knows it makes me hot under the collar when you are. But I’m sayin’ I never wanna make you feel like you need to earn me, okay?”

His thumb tracks back up to the hollow of your jaw, taps twice questioningly, and you nod, letting out a shaky, “Okay.”

When he kisses you, it feels like every other time- comfortable, grounding, familiar. His tongue presses against the seam of your lips, and you let him lick into your mouth, gripping at his arms, flushing hot as you give it back to him in spades.

With a short groan, he pulls back, a wet click as your mouths separate- “As much as I wanna jump your bones in this wintry wonderland, I think the snow might’ve actually frozen my balls off.”

You giggle, spanning your hands around the meat of his waist, kissing up into his mouth again- “Poor baby. Want me to warm ‘em up in my mouth?”

He gives a solid smack to your ass for that, his palm smoothing over the stinging skin with condescension when you yelp- “All dish and no take, baby? Not exactly fair.”

____

Despite your weak protestations that you both should probably rejoin the party, at least until midnight, Eddie insists on taking you back to the hotel.

“This party blows, anyways,” he says over his shoulder to you as he leads you back through the halls of the house. “If I hear one more Tears for Fears track I might throw myself into the river from one of the hundred balconies in this place.”

He manages to track down Melanie with some effort, winding his way through the throng of people to where she’d been chatting with a reporter, plucking at her elbow to get her away from the crowd and into the quieter hallway with you.

“We gotta scoot, Mel,” he tells her, really hamming up the charm as the young publicist widens her eyes. “Think you can get us a ride outta here?”

“Mr. Munson, you can’t just leave,” Melanie insists, frazzled. “Someone from Rolling Stone has been waiting for the last hour to talk to you, if you could just-”

“No can do.” Eddie shakes his head, mock-apologetic. “There’s been an accident. Of a personal nature.”

You manage to choke down your laughter as Eddie turns around to show off the dark stains on the back of his jeans. They’re just wet from the snow that he sat in earlier, of course, but it looks convincing enough to make Melanie blanch and pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I’ll have a cab out front in ten for you both. Please keep a low profile until then.”

Eddie gives a sharp salute and you mouth an apology at her before she retreats to find a phone.

Okay, so maybe add a hefty bonus to that Nice Things for Melanie list of yours.

____

One of the perks of having a rockstar for a boyfriend is the sweet digs- the label shelled out for Chicago’s finest penthouse suite; an entire luxurious upper floor with a private elevator, windows overlooking the far-below city lights, and a sunken bath big enough for two.

Also included? Soundproof walls.

A perk you’re very grateful for as Eddie walks you backwards into the room, sucking a mark with stinging teeth into your neck as you moan, then giggle breathily, admonishing- “Christ, Eddie, slow down. We have all night.”

Eddie pulls back just far enough to frown down at you, his hands slipping under the hem of your dress to squeeze at your ass. His rings are cold against your bare flesh, and he grins when you shiver. “Uh huh. Sure do have all night. You gonna take advantage of that?”

He wiggles his eyebrows, cheekily, but that smirk drops from his face in record time the second you shove him to the bed. As his knees give out in favor of sitting on the mattress, you steady your hands against his broad shoulders to swing yourself into his lap.

Eddie’s looking up at you, cinnamon eyes darkened with lust- it makes your stomach flip something awful. Your skin feels alight with heat as Eddie’s hands drip like water down your sides, then to your parted thighs.

You sigh into his mouth as his fingers trace the front of your underwear, the silk sticky with your arousal.

“Oh, baby,” Eddie says, equal parts admonishment and pitying as you squirm into his touch. “What’s got you this worked up, hm?”

He’s asking like he doesn’t know- like he didn’t tease you with filthy whispers and wandering hands in the back of the car the whole way here.

“Whaddya think,” you scoff, not quite ready to give in yet, enjoying the thrill of being cagey as Eddie hooks a finger to tuck your panties to the side.

He grins, simmering, enjoying the chase just as much as you. His middle finger swipes through your folds and you shudder in his arms, hands tightening into the meat of his shoulders as he brings the wetness up to your clit.

Eddie rubs quick, steady circles until you’re mewling, bucking hips grinding down to seek more friction. You can feel the wetness seeping out of your core, dampening his jeans as he licks back into your mouth, capturing the soft noises you’re making as he winds you up.

“Can’t believe a pretty thing like you has anything to be jealous of.” Eddie noses at the spot under your jaw, and when you let your head fall back on a hinge to grant him access, he sucks another mark into the column of your throat. “‘M all yours, sweetheart. You gonna take what’s yours?”

Truth be told, your mind went fuzzy the second Eddie got his hands on your clit, the consistent build of pleasure sparking between your legs rather distracting. You’d almost forgotten how the night had started, but you let the jealousy and possessiveness creep back in as you push at Eddie’s chest.

He goes down easily, toeing his boots off and lying flat on the mattress; big hands settle on your waist as you rest your weight into him, warm cunt pressing against the bulge of his clothed cock.

At a light drag of your nails against his bare chest and across his nipple, Eddie groans low, squeezing your hips and rucking into you.

“You’re all mine, Eddie, right?”

His pupils nearly eclipsing their soft brown irises, Eddie stares up at you like you hang the moon and stars every night just for him. “Yeah, sweetheart. ‘M all yours. Lemme show you.”

Eddie pulls at the backs of your legs, helping you shuffle up his body until your knees are dipping into the mattress at either side of his head. Your core hovers just above Eddie’s mouth- you can feel his breath speed up on the inside of your thigh at this new position.

“Oh, fuck, Eddie- jesus… christ,” the last word ending in a moan as Eddie’s tongue licks a wet stripe through your folds.

He pulls you closer with an arm over each thigh until you’re sitting on his face, his nose hitting your clit with each tilt of his head. You’ve got no idea how he’s able to breathe down there but you’re hardly able to hold onto that thought when his tongue has started plunging in and out of you.

Automatically, your hands shoot out to stabilize yourself- one hand goes to the headboard and the other ends up in his hair, gripping the roots hard. Eddie groans, sending vibrations that make your cunt clench around his lithe tongue.

“Like the taste of my pussy, baby?” you coo down at him, regaining some of your breath to give him attitude.

Reaching a hand back to palm at his cock, you say “No one else can have you like this, hm?”

Eddie catches your eyes as he mouths wetly at your clit, then sucks it into his mouth. Your thighs shake around his ears, your orgasm unfurling in clenching ripples.

“Oh, yeah, Eddie, fuck, I’m coming- just like that, fuck fuck fuck…”

He doesn’t stop suckling at you until you’re gushing around his mouth, then pulling him off by his hair to make him stop.

Eddie heaves in a breath, kissing at the inside of your thigh, his lips and chin shiny with your release. “God, baby. Such pretty noises for me.”

“Mhm.” You shuffle down until your hips are aligned over his, then lean in to lick his mouth clean. “Gonna make some pretty ones for me, now?”

After helping pull his shirt off, Eddie whines softly as you press kisses down his bare chest, and by the time your mouth is pressing over that dark trail of hair that leads into his denim, Eddie’s begging.

“Please, angel, please- need your mouth. Do anything for it, baby, please…”

You rub your cheek against his bulge before pulling back to pop the button on his jeans, then help him shift them down and off his body. Once his black briefs join the growing pile of floor clothes, Eddie’s completely bare and at your mercy.

He gets on his elbows to watch as you mouth at the inside of his thigh, dark hair splayed around his shoulders, chest heaving when you ignore his leaking cock in favor of grazing your teeth against a sensitive spot. “Fuckin’- christ, sweetheart. Come on. Please?”

“Sound pretty when you beg,” you say, mildly, kissing across his heavy sack, hiding a smile when the contact makes him jolt. “Gonna do it some more?”

You keep eye contact as you take one of his balls into your mouth, watching his own eyes roll back so far you can see the whites of them as you use your tongue on him.

“-yeah, baby, yeah- just like that- fucking, fuck, you’re killin’ me…”

Eddie sounds wrecked already, and a hot flush of pride courses through your body at the knowledge that he could come from just this and it’d be you getting him there.

You mouth over to the other side of his sack, rolling the skin wiry with coarse hair against your tongue as Eddie moans above you. When your hand wraps around the base of his cock, starting to move in tandem with the pull of your mouth, Eddie makes a noise like he’s been punched.

A line of drool breaks and hits wet against your chin as you straighten up, settling yourself into the V of his legs and using his thighs as handholds while you begin to kiss up the line of his leaking cock.

He’s got a gorgeous dick, truly. Thick and long, curving slightly to the right, a pretty blue vein snaking up the underside that you lathe your tongue against, seeking out the salty brine at the ruddy head.

Eddie moans, brokenly, white-knuckled hands twisting into the sheets. When your mouth closes around the tip, his elbows give out, leaving him flat against the mattress as you work his length further in.

“Oh my god. Oh, fuck, baby. Please don’t stop. Please. Y’feel so good…”

You hum around the stretch of him in your mouth, relaxing your throat to draw him in a bit more. The spiky jealousy from earlier really is your biggest motivator here; covetous, you’re thinking back to all those first times with Eddie- trembling hands under your bedsheets back in Hawkins, stilted voices and giggles to cover up the awkwardness of trying to learn the other person’s body.

No one will ever know him like you do. No one will ever have all that shared history, those fumbling nights that slowly turned to lovesick days; memories of him on his knees for you, learning all the little things that make you tick, memorizing the song of your body.

The boy is all yours.

Your throat automatically constricts at the intrusion of Eddie’s cock slipping past your soft palate- his hips cant up, which you can hardly fault him for, patient as he’s been with your retrospective and teasing.

Before he can apologize you’re sitting up, wiping at the excess drool with the back of your hand and shucking your dress over your head, letting it and your belt fall to the floor with a soft clunk.

Eddie reaches for you again as you slide your panties down and off, and you let him help you up his body, your knees coming to rest alongside the lightly raised scar tissue at his sides. You stroke a hand down his chest, giving in to a moment of softness before seating yourself fully in Eddie’s lap.

His hands snap to your hips, a near-brutal squeeze as you sink onto his cock. The stretch is always an adjustment, but you’re so wet right now that he slides in easily, a breathy moan from the both of you as the walls of your cunt fit snug around his sizeable length.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” The crown of Eddie’s head is pressed back into the bed, veins in his taut neck on full display as your hips start to swivel, blunt nails scraping into the soft flesh of your waist. “Just like that, sweetheart. Fuck me.”

With your knees planted on either side of his body, you begin to bounce in steady, rhythmic earnest, going for gold, the desire to bring your boy to the babbling edge overtaking every other thought.

“Feel so good, Eds, so big… can barely fit…” There’s a wet squelch accompanying each bounce now, slick dripping down to the base of his cock, your vice of a cunt flexing with every movement.

“S’all you, baby,” Eddie rasps out, toes curling in the efforts to keep his orgasm at bay for awhile longer. “Got a perfect pussy. Takin’ me so well.”

He’s almost in delirium territory, with you chasing after that bright unwinding pleasure at both of your cores; your hips stutter, hands flat on Eddie’s chest to center yourself, a hunger that you can’t seem to satiate gnawing at the edges.

Eddie notices immediately, feels the falter in your motion and brings his hands to your forearms, rubbing a path up them soothingly- “What’s wrong, angel, hm?”

You’re not sure how to put it into words, wishing (not for the first time) that you could just rest your forehead against his and transmit all the complexities of your emotions through touch alone.

Instead, you sigh out the name that you use when you’re done with taking, a name that lights Eddie up from head to toe as you say it- “Teddy.”

In one swift movement, Eddie slips an arm behind your back and flips you to the mattress, his hair a curtain around both your faces as he leans in to whisper against your mouth- “Teddy’s got you. Arms around me.”

You’re quick to obey, looping your arms around Eddie’s wide shoulders. He slides one hand up the back of your leg, pushing a knee up until it’s at your chest, mouth dropping open briefly when the new angle allows the head of his cock to kiss against that gummy upper wall of your cunt.

“Bored of you,” he huffs, recalling your words from earlier with disdain. “You’re talkin’ to the guy who memorized the first six chapters of The Hobbit just to recite for your bedtime.”

A quick thrust of his pelvis into yours has your stomach clenching in anticipation, brows on a tilt and knitting together as Eddie grins down at you. “Got a wicked attention span, baby. Lemme show you.”

He starts slow, agonizingly so, every inch of his thick cock dragging in and out, wetness pooling down your ass and probably the sheets, too; errant thoughts of housekeeping are rapidly erased as Eddie begins snapping his hips into yours in faster tempo.

He’s working to find that spot, the one that turns your brain to mush and is guaranteed to cause full-body muscle fatigue from the force of your orgasm. Your back arches off the bed, breasts pushing into Eddie’s chest, one arm still supporting your lower back as he laughs hoarsely, half-amazement and half-pride.

“That’s the spot, huh, sweetheart? Atta girl. M’all yours. Take it. Good girl…”

With each thrust, the wiry patch of hair dusted across Eddie’s pubic bone grinds slick and filthy against your clit. You’re so close to the edge now, a wave of pleasure cresting as you look up at Eddie.

There are two thin tracks of black makeup trailing down his face from where tears have made a mess of his eyeliner; rosy spots of flushed color in his cheeks, eyes like twin pools of chocolate, locked with yours as he rocks into you.

He’s learned the song of your body so well, knows every chord to strike- his hand leaves your leg to grasp at your breast, calloused palm against pebbled nipple sending more shockwaves through your body, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you sing for him.

“All yours,” you gasp out, and it feels like victory when his hips stutter and the cresting wave crashes around you both at the same time.

The pleasure roils through your gut, clit throbbing and cunt spasming around Eddie’s cock as he spills into you.

A wrecked, broken string of moans leaves you as you ride out the highs together. Eddie presses his forehead to your collarbone as he chants your name, twitching out the last of his spend, warmth blooming inside.

The quiet that follows is filled with shaking breaths, soft kisses, murmurs of “good job, sweetheart” as you both float back down to earth.

Eddie stays in you for longer than usual, his draped weight a grounding comfort as you trail gentle fingertips up and down his skin, lovingly against the scars that interrupt the smooth flesh of his back. Through the closed windows, you can hear the distant sounds of car horns and the deep boom of fireworks.

Sometime in the last foggy hour of lovemaking, 1987 has given way to a new year.

Eddie pulls his heavy head up from your chest to press kisses to your collarbone. “Happy new year, lover.”

You tuck his hair behind his ears, hands squishing lightly at his cheeks to bring his face close enough for a kiss. “Happy new year to you. Hell of a way to kick it off.”

Eventually, Eddie extricates himself from the intoxicating heat of your body (with minimal whining) and brings a warm washcloth to tenderly wipe away the mess between your thighs. Once you’re both cleaned up, he stretches out against the sheets, pulling the covers up as you hook a leg around his waist and snuggle in.

“So I was thinking,” he starts, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “I wanna take a trip back to Hawkins. Before the tour.”

Your hand stills in its rhythmic circles against Eddie’s chest; heart in your throat, you tilt your chin up so you can gauge Eddie’s reaction. “...yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie picks up your hand on his chest, twining his fingers with your as his other hand settles on your bare hip beneath the sheets. “Could visit Wayne for a few days, fool around in that twin bed like we’re teens again.”

He grins at your giggle, taps playfully at your hip- “Gonna parade you around all our old haunts. You’ve gotten even hotter since we left, babe. Gotta really rub it in the faces of those Hawkins Tigers burnouts whose best dates are their own left hands.”

You snort, and Eddie looks pleased again, but then sobers a bit before saying- “I mean, I’ve got my piece of home with me. But I think it could be good, to visit. Just the two of us.”

You’re quiet for a moment, a longing for home that you’ve managed to ignore these past few years resurfacing. “Can we get high and go to that diner? I mean, Nell’s isn’t as good as Benny’s was, but I’ve been craving a Hawkins milkshake.”

“Christ.” Eddie hides his smile in the crook of your neck, dimples springing to life. “You could ask for the Mona Lisa and I’d find a way to get it to you. Fries and a milkshake, that all I need to keep my girl happy?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a contented noise as Eddie settles against your chest again. “That’s all I need.”

___

thank u thank u for reading if you made it this far have a little kiss from me to you <3 xx lulu

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie

875 notes · View notes

talonabraxas · 1 month

Text

Blue Lotus: Flower of Intuitive Ascension

Blue Lotus (Nymphaea caerulea) is a beautiful, water-dwelling flower with mild psychoactive properties. Sacred to the Ancient Egyptians, depictions of Blue Lotus flower are ubiquitous in Egyptian art. Though alluring to our modern imaginations and worth further investigation, Blue Lotus is rarely used in Western herbalism as it is not currently a well-understood plant, nor is it native to or abundant in North America.

Etymology & Botany Blue Lotus is a tropical, aquatic plant in the Water Lily family that features day-blooming, light blue flowers which sit on the water’s surface. Long petioles connect the visible leaves with the deep, underwater rhizomes. The star-shaped flowers typically bloom for 3-5 days, moving with the sun and closing at night; Ancient Egyptians noticed this solar attunement and believed the flower’s golden center to be where the sun god, Ra, emerged from. All parts of the Blue Lotus plant (flowers, leaves, rhizomes, petioles) can be used medicinally.

Traditional Uses Once naturally abundant and extensively cultivated in temple lakes and along the Nile River, Blue Lotus was a highly revered and sought after crop. It was exported throughout the Mediterranean, Greece, the Middle East, Tibet, and as far as the Alexandrian empire extended.

Origin While it’s rare to find this flower growing along the Nile now, it is native to northern and central Africa. Ancient Egytian temples and monuments are a testament to how well loved this emblematic flower was to their culture; Blue Lotus can be seen embossed on everything from thrones to calcite drinking chalices to papyrus. The herb was used ceremonially but was also made into cosmetics and perfumes; imbibed as a tea or elixir; and simply inhaled for its relaxing, intoxicating fragrance. The flowers and buds were often used recreationally as well, for their narcotic and aphrodisiac effects.

Spiritual History In addition to being the birthplace of the sun god, Ra, this herb came to be associated with the afterlife and rebirth in Egyptian culture, specifically the Osiris myth. Brought back to life by the assistance of his sister and wife, Isis, Osiris became a symbol of life after death and rebirth through the legacy of Egyptian royalty. Thus, this herb was also considered to be the symbol of royalty and rulers, and indeed many royal accoutrement featured depictions of the flower; King Tutankhamun’s mummy was found covered with dried Blue Lotus flowers when exhumed hundreds of years later.

Herbal Indications for Blue Lotus Blue Lotus is bitter, aromatic, and warm energetically. In modern, Western herbalism, it is considered a sedative, febrifuge, aphrodisiac, antidepressant, antioxidant, anti-convulsant, and anti-inflammatory herb. It has been successfully used to purify the blood, treat tuberculosis, expel worms and parasites, relieve edema, enhance libido and treat erectile dysfunction, improve lactation, alleviate anxiety and depression, staunch internal bleeding, and balance blood sugar levels. Blue Lotus has a particular affinity for the kidneys, heart, and nervous system.

66 notes · View notes

myouicieloz · 10 days

Text

Heartbeat

Shin Ryujin x reader

Synopsis: you’ve promised to take your best friend to an awaited party, located in a nearby city. Ryujin catches your eye, and you fall right into her web of plans, with the promise of having a good time once and for all.

Warnings: mentions of gangs, guns and drugs. smut. blood. violence. nsfw.

Word count: 13.8k

Notes: i thought abt this after watching ryujin’s solo mv! it was so good <3. this was a fairly new topic for me to write about, so I apologize if it’s poorly written or unrealistic. nevertheless, I had lots of fun writing it ˆˆ. english is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

You don’t mind helping out your parents by working at the family’s Diner: there usually weren’t many customers, and days went by slowly without you being bothered.

“Hey, Y/n. Can I grab another soda?” Your best friend asks, brushing her hands in front of your face to get your attention. Facing you from the other side of the diner’s endless counter, Chaeryeong looks like a hyper child, standing up from her seat to take a look at the soda machine, placed behind your frame.

You roll your eyes at her, simply grabbing the large cup she hands you and filling it up with Coke Zero, this time. “Here.”

“Awn, man, come on!” She protests, grunting. Lets her head fall back. “Coke Zero tastes like shit, Y/n! Give me something tasty, damn.” Chaeryeong turns to the few other customers, gesticulating, “What does a girl have to do to get the good stuff around here? Stop with the misery!”

She has her finger pointed at you, to which you giggle. You’ve known Chaery since your diaper days, with her living in the house in front of yours, and the two of you have been best friends ever since. Her careless, playful nature provides a nice balance to your calm, responsible one. You love her to pieces, which means you are always taking care of the dark-haired girl, in many ways.

“You’ve reached your daily quota of sugar.” You don’t even look at her as you answer, busy giving an elder woman her exchange in cash. “And don’t make those faces. I might as well just give you water, from now on.” Smiling at the customer, you ignore your friend. “Thank you, ma��am! Have a pleasant day.” Chaeryeong gulps, knowing fully well you mean your words.

She keeps her thoughts to herself, mumbling something incoherent while the loud slurps of the iced drink can be heard. Still not paying her much attention, you lean your elbows on the counter marble, sighing tiredly. Even though it was only an hour past noon, you could feel the heaviness in your eyes, the tiredness getting to you. Not having any orders, you allow yourself a few moments of rest, closing your eyes and resting your head on your hands. Just some seconds of peace, you decide.

The bell chime’s noise announces the end of your calm state of mind. In a blink, your sister is placing a medium-sized box on the counter, her usual smile directed at you. You know better than to trust her angelic looks, though — behind her rose gold hair and delicate features, Rosé is nothing but a devious manipulator.

However, she’s still your older sister, and you love her to pieces. It’s the only reason you don’t ignore her, crossing your arms and waiting for her to speak up, instead. She pushes the box towards you, smiling sneakily.

“Good morning, baby sister.” Rosé greets you. As usual, she never goes straight to the point.

You narrow your eyes at her. “It’s past noon, Rosé.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She brushes you off, winking at Chaeryeong to say hello. The girl nearly drowns in her coke, coughing violently.

Chaeryeong has had a massive crush on your sister ever since she was fourteen. Fortunately for you, Rosé has never seen her as anything apart from a little sister too, like yourself. Although the not so subtle rejection has never stopped Chaery from freaking out whenever Rosé addressed or acknowledged her.

“Good morning to you too, Rosie unnie.” She says, after finally gathering her breath. You huff, muttering about how biased she was and being promptly ignored by both girls. The package catches Chaery’s attention, ever so curious, and she pokes it with her bony fingers. “And what’s that about?”

Rosé pulls the package towards you, shrinking her shoulders down a little. For some, she might seem hesitant, but you know her too well to be aware that her movements are anything short of calculated.

“Could you deliver this for me?” She asks —tone dripping with sweetness. It always is, whenever she wants something from you. This is no different. “They asked for the pieces pretty urgently, and I’ll be off to deliver another package in a nearby city in a few minutes.”

Apart from the Diner, your father also owned a mechanical workshop, and would often sell and deliver car pieces to his clients. Rosé, being her outgoing self, dealt with them and the business part of it while you preferred to step aside, helping with the Diner instead. It was only when she had too much work to do that you had to deal with her customers, instead —and those were never pleasant experiences.

Perhaps you were just not cut for the job, or your calm aura was easy to be taken advantage of, but it was a matter of fact: you sucked at negotiating deals and making small talk. It made you uncomfortable and anxious, having to put up a superior act and bargain with assholes until you got enough profit to go home satisfied, so you avoided it vigorously.

Unfortunately, Rosé never hesitated to ask for a hand.

You eye the box suspiciously, trying to figure out the content inside without having to touch it. Even though it seems heavy, you can never truly trust appearances. After all, car pieces are not the only thing they sell at your father’s shop.

“I mean… I could.” You smirk back at Rosé, your identical smiles mirroring one another. “But I don’t want to.”

Before you even register, Rosé smacks you on the head. You’ve never been able to buck from her quick hands anyway.

“Hey!” You massage your scalp, moving your upper body forward to give Chaeryeong a push, too, since the action has her laughing loudly. “Bitch.”

Rosé giggles, too, standing on her tiptoes to give you a kiss on the cheek.

“Pretty please, Y/nnie.” She sighs, joining her hands in a prayer. “I’ll owe you one. I’ll even give you that dress of mine you love, promise.”

Chaeryeong gives you a thumbs up, biased as she’s always been.

“Come on, Y/n, let’s just do it. It’ll be fun! It’s too monotonous to be at the Diner all day, anyway.”

“See?” Rosé gestures to your best friend, pleased to be supported. “Chaery, you’re so sweet.” Your sister pinches her nose, and Chaeryeong’s face turns as red as a strawberry in a matter of seconds. She turns to you once again, then, still faking that hesitation. “Please? It’d be an outstanding deal for us. Lots of profit and all.”

You roll your eyes, still not convinced. Even though Chaery’s eyes are nearly popping off her face with how intensely she’s glaring, you refuse to give in. Rosé was stubborn, but you share the same blood, after all.

“Aren’t any of your friends available? I can’t just close the Diner and go.” Lies. You simply refuse to bulge, to relent to Rosé’s wishes as you always did.

She doesn’t even blink, though, unbothered by your lack of cooperation.

“Lisa, Jisoo, and Jennie are all busy with other work deals too, as well as the boys.” She shrugs, going around the counter to grab a beer for herself. “Trust me, Y/n: if I had anyone to go deliver this, I would… but you know how busy these past weeks have been, and we’re all so overworked. Help me out, please?” She touches the cross hanging on her chest, identical to the one you never took off.

A symbol of your bond.

You sigh, jumping off the balcony and giving in to Rosé’s orders for the nth time. “Fine.” You mumble, grumpy. “Chaeryeong can take care of the place while I go.”

“What the fuck, Y/n!” The girl jumps from her seat, suddenly interested in the conversation as if she hadn’t spent the last five minutes scrolling on her phone, all bored. Suddenly, she’s all ears, eagerly advocating for herself, “I don’t want to do the boring stuff! Let me go with you.”

Before you’re able to tell your friend to get fucked, Rosé stops you with her hands, signaling for someone to come in.

“It’s good for you to not go alone, baby sis. Chaery can make you company.” She nods, grabbing the young girl who came in by the shoulders and positioning her in front of you and Chaeryeong. “This is Rami. She’s Mingyu’s little sister, remember? She said she could handle the diner for a few hours while the two of you are at it. Such a sweetheart, is she not?”

The girl — Rami, nods energetically, looking at your sister with adoration in her glittery eyes. It was no surprise Rosé had brought one of her little fangirls to help, actually. Living in a small city for all your life, everyone knew Rosé. She’s been a notable presence since her teenage years, whether it was attending fancy balls or setting fire to the shops downtown. The blonde girl has been remarkable for as long as you can remember. She’s always been either feared, hated, or loved, but remarkable nonetheless.

Which only proved your theory that you were not going to deliver any car pieces, after all.

You and Chaery exchanged a knowing look, neither caring enough to ask anything about this girl or explain the job she’d have to take at the Diner for free.

“Very well, then.” You sigh, watching Rosé’s excited clapping and giggling. “I’ll grab my car keys.”

Chaeryeong follows you closely, also jumping of joy. You’re well aware she hates being at the Diner, always complaining of boredom, but it isn’t like she has any other friends to go out with. Behind her bubbly, chatty, and energetic personality, she’s is actually very frail and shy, which makes her an easy target for the mean fuckers your age. She struggles, and would much rather just have a single, loyal friend. And you’ve always made sure to protect her fiercely.

“Adventure!! Finally.” The dark-haired girl raises her hands, thanking God you’d go out.

“Don’t get too excited.” You warn her, turning to Rosé. Pointing a finger at the rosy-haired woman, you add. “I hate you.”

She pulls you in for a suffocating hug, used to your harsh behavior. “And I love you so, little sis. Thank you!”

Both Rami and her wave as you and Chaeryeong leave the diner, the package weighing heavily in your hands. You don’t have a big 6th sense, but something does not feel right. Although you ignore it anyway, turning the car on and driving to the address your sister texted you.

“Do we really have to do this?” She whines, closing the passenger’s door rather roughly — to which you grunt, paying her a harsh stare for not being careful with your precious car.

She realized the whole thing would be anything but fun sometime mid the 40-minute journey to the abandoned warehouse you were currently walking into. Besides, once you reminded her that Rosé’s request would put off her wishes of going out and partying for a few hours, that little pout of hers hasn’t left her lips. Now, Chaeryeong is all regretful to have supported the older girl in her wishes.

“Not really.” You pay your friend no mind, walking towards the place that was falling into pieces. Seeing you weren’t backing her up, her pout deepened.

“It’s my birthday.” She argues, kicking rocks along the way.

“I already bought you a cake. And milkshake, and fries.” You roll your eyes, remembering how you’d all chanted your best friend happy birthday at your parents’ Diner, during breakfast. “And a shit ton of booze, throughout all these years of knowing you. You haven’t paid me back once.”

Chaeryeong sighs, hurrying to your side, defeated. You keep walking without waiting for her, making it harder for her to catch up — truly opposites, the two of you.

“Fine. But let’s do this quickly. You promised we’d still go to that party.” She decides, playfully bumping into you. Any other time, her actions would’ve helped you to be at ease, but you’re unable to relax this time. You know this is some serious shit.

“Yeah, let’s do this quick.” You repeat her words, entering the abandoned place at a slow, nearly languid pace.

Let you both be out of here in no time. You wish, once again sensing the bad omens.

The warehouse, although old, mistreated and nearly falling into pieces, is not unsettling to you. It’s merely the place Rosé sometimes treats business, and you’ve accompanied her once or twice, before. The wooden beams are rotten, and the flooring has long disappeared, fading into dust that clings to your combat boots. You’d have to clean them later, and that somehow annoys you more than the situation itself. The place is empty, with walls that were once covered by big, expensive windows, yet all that remains are tainted, broken glasses hanging wherever you could look. Machines are still forgotten in random locations inside the building, a ghost of times when the government tried to rebuild the massive area. None of that was successful, obviously. Now, this ghost of a place belongs to your father, your sister, and the other people who were also part of the darker side of this shitty town.

Only a single table hangs in the open area of the first floor, clearly meant for dealerships and businesses. Upon arriving, you notice 5 — no, nearly 10 people waiting not so patiently. Wearing dark, shabby clothes, none of them seem welcoming, to say the least. Rosé had told you’d be doing business with Wendy, a familiar customer from another small town nearby, in hopes to ease down on your nerves. It worked, in a way: having met with Wendy a few times prior, you weren’t all nervous about the upcoming meeting. She was intimidating and oh, so pretty, but you got along well with the auburn-haired woman and her business partners, from previous experiences such as charity dinners and dealerships alongside your sister’s presence.

The woman that stands in front of you, however, looks nothing like Wendy. You know her, naturally; it was impossible not to. Jinsoul’s troublemaker fame was much different than your sister’s — while Rosé’s actions, even though batshit crazy at times, are dreadfully calculated, Jinsoul’s insanity comes with the sole purpose of enticing chaos. Her unstable nature is much of a pain, you’ve personally experienced so from watching herself prove her influence on a crowd by torturing some poor girl who accidentally spilled champagne in her dress at a ceremony, or setting fire to a man’s car at one of the car rifts you often attend. Out of all the girls from her gang, Jinsoul is the least pleasant one to set off deals with.

Naturally, Rosé and Jinsoul hate each other with a passion, being two different flames of the same fire.

With all of that knowledge, you fix your posture, observing Chaeryeong do the same with your peripheral vision. Even though you absolutely despise it, you’ve been taught well how to keep a powerful, imposing façade. Standing tall, you tower over Jinsoul and her subordinates.

“I see Rosé sent her little minion, instead of herself. Must be really busy, of course.” Jinsoul doesn’t greet you, as expected. Her tone is dripping with venom as she examines you and your best friend with harsh eyes.

Now that you’re in front of her, you’re no longer hesitant or scared. Instead, you’re bothered, irritated that you have to deal with your sister’s cheap copy instead of Wendy or Joohyun. Taking a step towards the young woman, you curse Rosé under your breath, fully aware the eventful encounter is not a misunderstanding.

“Nice hair. I love the new color.” You say, leaning your head with a knowing look. Jinsoul’s hair falls a little past her shoulders, in a strawberry-blonde tone that is exactly like Rosé’s past one, from a few months prior. “I’ll tell Rosé her oldest, most faithful fan sends her regards.”

Your words seem to stir something inside the leader in front of you. She scoffs, gritting her teeth. “This is too tedious. Give me the shipment we agreed on, I’ve got better things to do anyway.”

Rolling your eyes, you gesture for Chaeryeong to drop the box on the ground. She does as told, the metallic sounds of the guns moving inside. It echoes in the empty place, as the box falls onto the ground.

Jinsoul remains stoic, hands resting neatly inside her pockets, while her guards reach out for the box. Before they can touch it, though, you step on it, preventing anyone from moving.

“Give us the money first, Jinsoul. No funny business.” You stare right into her eyes, remembering the times you’ve caught her fooling around in her deals, leaving other people empty-handed. “Then you can check as much as you want.”

She laughs, knowing you’re no fool. “I see you’ve gotten wiser, Y/n. Well done.”

In a second, she’s handing you another small, compacted package. You take the money with your delicate hands, not in the least made to deal with such dirty stuff. You count it, already feeling the blood in your veins boil. Chaeryeong breaths are heavy beside you as you say. “This is not what we agreed on, Jinsoul. Stop being a whore for once and give me the other half of the fucking money.”

You and Chaery don’t need words to understand each other. She grabs the box back from the ground as soon as she sees you go rigid, holding on to it with the same look of disdain you bear.

“Oh, my dear.” Jinsoul stands close enough to grab a strand of your long fringe, knuckles brushing your jawline with feigned affection. “Your sister should know I am only faithful to the people I treat business with… and I didn’t discuss anything with you, precious.”

Turning your face, you hold Chaeryeong with one arm to prevent her from jumping on Jinsoul and beating her up.

“You bitch!” Your friend screams at her face, her voice muffled by Jinsoul’s hectic laughter as she walks away, back turned to you and Chaery in a clear show of disrespect.

Before you can go to Jinsoul yourself, her guards strike, going straight to the two of you. You manage to buckle and give them a few punches — causing a fair amount of trouble for someone who didn’t practice often at all, honestly. However, you were outnumbered, and soon enough you find yourself on the ground, punched and disheveled.

Coughing violently, you turn to see one of them kicking Chaeryeong in the guts, a few meters from you. The sight of your friend, cheerful and pure Chaery, being hurt enrages you to the core. You spit at their feet to gather all the attention to yourself.

“Don’t touch her, fucker!” You scream, breathless. They pay you no mind, having the time of their lives.

You feel something on your jacket, then. When you look ahead, Jinsoul has poured a thick, horizontal line of a viscous liquid through all of the massive warehouse. Other guards help, with gallons, but you know most of it is her doing — she loves to get her hands dirty in the business. There’s fire in her eyes, and by the time she lifts the lighter dramatically, you’re already well aware.

Gasoline.

“Goodbye, dearests! It’s always a pleasure doing business with you.” She chants, before throwing the lighter and walking away, without any rush.

You have to use both hands to stand on your fours, then on your knees. Your jacket is long thrown elsewhere as you grab Chaeryeong by back of her neck, much like a kitten. “Let’s go, and quick. Are you badly hurt?” You murmur, looking for any bad bruises on her porcelain skin. The girl shakes her head, running her hand through her bloody nose. She whimpers, and you know she’s trying her best to be strong in front of you. You give her a hug, as well as a kiss on her dirty cheek, in hopes of bringing her a little comfort. “Good. Now come.”

You hated — no, you despised Rosé for always deceiving you. Only this time, she’d pay.

Leaning on each other, the two of you go back to where you’d parked your car, in a hidden area a few minutes away from the warehouse, just as you’ve been taught to do. You take a deep breath, appreciating the humidity and the nature that ruled the place, a forgotten piece of the city. It had rained while you were inside, and you were glad for that. You loved the smell of rain, especially in nature.

On your way to the car, you spot a water tap nearby. You take Chaeryeong’s arms from your shoulders, then, opening the tap and turning to her. “Clean yourself up.”

“You’re so bossy.” She mumbles, but is quick to do as told, grabbing a hold of the water and splashing it on her face, cleaning up the dust that gathered. Chaeryeong nearly drenches her whole head, too — her pitch-black hair all shiny within minutes as the color slowly returns to her face.

While she takes the dirt off her arms and legs, you look around to check on the fire. It is still lively, a bright beacon as the night falls by, but you know it won’t spread. The place was all rotten by rust, with barely any ceiling left, so the rain would most likely put it off.

Still, Jinsoul’s message was clear, and it stung on your pride.

At least she’s always been like that, never presenting herself differently. Much different from your sister, who tells lies for breakfast.

Your mind is still clouded by troubled thoughts when Chaeryeong lets out a tired laugh, smiling once you kneel to clean up yourself. “They beat up our asses hard out there, you know.”

As much as her statement annoys the shit out of you, you’re grateful to have her cracking jokes again. Your best friend’s delicate features suit the red color on her mouth, a sign she’s well and ready for the next one.

You feel the dust gathering under your fingers and all over your skin. It’s all over you, so intensely your honey hair can be misguided as black, with how much of it is covered by dirt.

“I’ve barely noticed.”

Chaeryeong chokes in her saliva to keep herself from laughing, knowing your patience’s running thin. Even if you have the softest spot for her, she decides not to push it.

“Yes, obviously.” She nods. You think she’s finally going to be quiet, but it’s your best friend you’re talking about. Naturally, she continues. “Let’s go to the party, please?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you finish washing up, feeling refreshed and no longer too bothered. “Yes.”

You both arrive where the car is parked before she adds. “And we need fighting lessons once we get back home.”

“Chaeryeong.”

“It’s true, sorry! It is.” She raises her hands as if to keep herself from being attacked by your rage.

You limit yourself to giving her a harsh stare, and she shivers under it. You can be quite intimidating when you wish to be, especially since you’re not exactly a chatterbox.

Turning the car on, you indulge your friend’s wishes as you drive towards the party she’s been nagging you about for the whole week.

The night’s already taken over the sky once you park on the crowded street, after hours of speeding on the free road. As you hop out of the car, your thoughts go to your sister: you know the meeting with Jinsoul had been arranged all along, with her words about Wendy being merely for you to agree on doing as told. How could she fool you like that? As if you were nothing more than another dischargeable person, like many of her toys.

It’s not the first time Rosé has sent you and Chaeryeong to some skimpy situation, but knowing she was well aware of it being a clear trap all along leaves you absolutely outraged.

Even though she knew of the risks, she still sent you. You would’ve never gone, had you known it was a situation like that, and that’s the reason she didn’t warn you beforehand.

You hated Rosé’s guts.

Chaery rushes to your side once again, side-eyeing you with as little discreetness as possible — unlike yourself, she’s never been good at hiding her expressions. You don’t even attempt to smile, still mad about your earlier encounter and all that went wrong.

Not even your bubbly, cheerful best friend can lift your spirits, at the moment.

“Don’t tell me you’re still pissed, Y/n.” She shakes her arms, sighing. Her tone is serious, and you know she means it. “Come on! Live your life, and stop being so strict all the time. You deserve to have fun.” Chaery grabs you by the shoulders, lifting your chin so you’ll stare at her. “So have fun! I know it fucking sucks, but it’s done! Let’s just enjoy the night and deal with the whole problem tomorrow morning.”

You roll your eyes, knowing she’d never comprehend your feelings. As much as you love how carefree she is, you also know your personalities are too different.

You allow her to interlock your hand with hers, though, as the two of you pass the sea of cars in the direction of the crowded mansion.

“You could use a little fire within yourself too, you know.” You murmur, examining the place with harsh eyes.

The front garden alone is already impressive. Its deep green lawn is impeccable — clearly trimmed and well cared for, aligning with the lavish fountain that stands in the center and all the animals sculpted in the bushes. A cupid stands in the middle of the marble fountain, water flowing smoothly from its carved bow. You recognize the modern styling of the mansion, with plenty of massive windows that cover both floors of the house. With its wooden walls, the place has a rustic yet cozy surface. There is no doubt whoever owns such property has a great sense of style.

Even that front area is crowded, too. People nearly having public sex, others throwing up vigorously while being helped by friends, a few others just passed out on the lawn… although you’re surprised to see many groups simply drinking and chilling, leaning on their cars, too — most likely seeking an escape from the vivid music and the heat wave that must be inside. You already feel the energetic music echoing through the whole atmosphere, the rhythm reverberating through the walls and on the ground. You bite your cheek to suppress a smile, not wanting your friend to notice yet. To you, there was something appealing about attending such crowded spaces. Amidst the sea of people, you were no one: known by no one, cared for by no one. It was strangely comforting, as if a weight was going off your shoulders, and you liked it.

Interrupting your thoughts, Chaeryeong shrugs, “I mean, it’s Rosé we’re talking about. Did you seriously not expect the deal to be suspicious, to say the very least?” She sighs hard, adding. “That lying, dreadful hot bitch. I’d go to as many sneaky warehouses as she commands me to, sorry, Y/n.”

Her tone is truthful enough to have you shaking your shoulders in laughter, squeezing her hand to make her stop walking through people so fast. As a matter of fact, Chaery’s fat crush on your sister isn’t by any means new to you — going on for many years already, but it always surprises you to hear her say stuff like that.

You find it hilarious, actually, that Chaeryeong is, to this day, one of your sister’s fangirls.

“I seriously can’t believe you sometimes.” You say, although youthful spirits have been lifted. Your best friend smiles brightly at you, her button nose scrunching adorably.

“You just love me so much.”

You leave her at that, and stand by the door, making your way to the main, open area — the living room. Chaeryeong is smart and attentive, which also helps to access the whole place rather quickly. Soon enough, both of you have some kind of fancy drink in hands, and you stare at the dark-haired girl rather hesitantly.

Her bright humor and the room’s energy, bustling with excitement are enough to have you feeling much better, even a little happy yourself. Still sensing your hesitation, she brings the cup to your mouth with her small hands, both of you downing your drinks within seconds.

“Okay,” She says, looking around for anything interesting. “Now the real fun begins.”

You laugh, knowing she’s going to find some source of entertainment for the night — whether it is a pretty girl to lose herself in or a newly discovered gossip to watch and comment over like a TV series.

Chaeryeong disappears and comes back with another fancy-looking drink, stumbling and nearly falling in the process, and you quickly grab the one she hands to you, taking a small sip this time. She’s already had a handful of hers and stares at your choice of savoring the liquid with playful eyes.

“What? I would rather not pass out. That’s your role.”

“You never forget, do you? It was once, Y/n. Once. And forever ago, too! I’ve never done that again.” She huffs, bringing her free hand to her chest in a fake display of resentment.

You giggle as you hug her sideways, shutting off the older girl’s whines. She quickly steps aside, though — not wanting people to think she’s not seeking some fun, and you take the opportunity to look around, observing the inside of the mansion properly.

It’s a beautiful house — a mansion, indeed — and the first floor is nothing but lavish. The bar, where you and Chaeryeong stand, is nearly the size of the one at the Diner, filled with expensive drinks and crystal cups as the bartender — not at all like the junk places the two of you usually attend— mixes drinks with experience.

It also pleases you to see how such a person is not afraid of spending money to host a good party, even if the people enjoying it are complete strangers. The lively atmosphere of young people having fun, mixed with the grand decor of the place balanced each other well, giving a lived-in aspect to said gorgeous place.

The open area has plenty of windows, allowing you to watch the gardens and the pool, outside — even though it’s massive, there’s barely any space left in between the waters, making you gulp with disgust. It was hard for you to understand how that many people would muster the courage to get in, with so many germs and fluids certainly dirtying the once crystal-clear waters.

Looking back inside, you’re able to observe the planned furniture, which is clearly well thought out, with the wooden ceiling and the thick, marble columns. There are rugs lacking, you notice, but it is surely so they don’t stain or anything.

You wonder what the place is like during a quiet, common day. One where the only noises come from the birds, chipping and singing while flying through the trees, and the running water that drips on the pool fountain.

Besides that, it is absolutely crowded. Nearly every single space is occupied by either a couple kissing like there’s no tomorrow or people screaming and dancing, yet everyone seems to be having a nice time. The atmosphere makes you smile, surprisingly cozy on this chaotic yet lively night. That’s how you feel, specially after the prior encounters: alive.

You have to make that feeling worth it.

Time goes by fast once you’re trying to have fun.

You quickly learn so, as you drink, smoke, and dance with Chaeryeong. Even with the alcohol leaving you happy, you’re still uneasy. You can’t shake the feeling that you’re being observed, no matter how many times you tell yourself that’s absolutely insane — there are people in every possible corner of the place, and no one’s paying attention to you.

However, Chaery also seems to be opposed to the logical part of your brain.

“I think you should go for it,” Your best friend tells you, after long minutes of heavily flirting with a barbie-like girl from afar.

You’re nearly sure you know that girl, actually. She’s from your hometown, most likely; her heart-shaped mouth and cherubic features are impossible to miss.

There’s nothing more like Chaery than going to a party located 2 hours away just to fuck around with the same people you’ve known since elementary school.

Your best friend turns around, filling up both of your drinks, even though yours is only halfway empty.

You frown. “Go for what?”

It’s Chaeryeong’s turn to be annoyed at you. She throws her free arm on your shoulders, gesturing to the middle of the living room area, where four good-looking girls stand with critical looks, acting like they own the place.

Which, judging by their style and the way they carry themselves, they might as well do.

Chaeryeong points in their direction with her head, never in her life subtle. “The one in the middle has not stopped staring at you ever since we’ve arrived. Ryujin, they say it’s her name.” Your friend’s excited tone grabs your attention, and you finally take a look at the small group she’s so enamored by. “I think you should go get her.”

Your friend has always had a good taste in women, and this time’s no different. They are beautiful, crushingly so, all hanging out by the long couch, circled by many people who seem to fight for an ounce of their attention. They stay disinterested, though, not paying them as much as a quick look.

One has sharp eyes, listening attentively to what a jumpy redhead and a blonde girl have to say as she sips on her Marguerita. At last, you observe the raven-haired girl Chaeryeong mentioned: she stands powerful in the middle, her sharp features giving her an intimidating look. To your surprise, she’s already staring— her dark eyes examining you with such hunger your heart starts beating rapidly as if there were no one else in the room. Electric shocks fly through your body upon her piercing gaze, and you look away immediately.

“She’s creepy.” You take a long gulp of your drink, in hopes of washing away the urge of sneaking her a glance once again.

Chaeryeong rolls her eyes, nudging you. “Just how you like them.” She scoffs, then, when she realizes you won’t answer — not in the mood to indulge her little monologues. “Please, Y/n, for once in your life just—“

You interrupt your friend, taking a step back and giving her a fake smile. “I need to use the bathroom, but I’ll catch up with you soon, Chaery.” Getting away from her as fast as you can in such a crowded space, you’re still able to hear her voice as you ascend the grand staircase, screaming while raising her cup in your direction to prove her point.

“YOU CAN’T ESCAPE ME, Y/N! IF YOU TAKE TOO LONG, I’LL COME AND GET YOU.” You can’t help but laugh, fully knowing she means it.

Even though you escape her lecture — hearing that same discourse at least once a day ever since you can remember, you know Chaeryeong means well. It’s a matter of fact: you’ve always been the responsible one, caring and supervising others, to the point people always referred to you as “lame” or “boring”. Whether it was at the Diner, with your reckless family, or dealing with your friend’s spontaneousness, you’re unable to help it: being careful comes naturally to you, always thinking about countless opportunities for every situation possible.

Before opening many doors — the place was indeed massive, leaving you to wonder how many rooms there are — you finally find a bathroom. Without rushing, you take a deep breath, washing your face in hopes of easing your mind, too.

For the first time in many hours, you have time to truly think about the events of the day. Weariness infiltrates your bones as you grip both sides of the sink, not daring to look at yourself in the mirror. Looking at your face, your features, means staring at your sister, too. At your father, the whole dirty business you do for a living and how you’re also to blame, no matter how much you avoid taking part in it. You belong in this world, there’s no denying it.

Only you so wish you weren’t.

Sitting on the toilet, you hug your knees, waiting for the tears to come. They never do; you only feel an emptiness inside your tainted soul. Somehow, you’ve already gotten used to this entire mess. Crying and pitying yourself won’t change anything.

The door opens, and Ryujin is standing in front of you before you can make yourself look presentable. She’s as intimidating as she was from afar, her thick boots making her look taller.

“Sorry for taking so long, I needed a moment. I’ll go now.” You get up quickly, trying to brush past her as you murmur excuses for keeping the bathroom all to yourself, even though she doesn’t seem to mind.

With a hand brushing your waist, she says, tone low and husked. “It’s ok. I can take you to somewhere quieter if you’d like.” Her posture is relaxed and patient, waiting for you to answer. “Listening to loud music for too long can be a bother.”

You don’t exactly know why you agree; perhaps it’s her voice, soothing and sensual — even though you somehow know her invite is not one seeking sex, or her dark eyes, staring at you like she could undress your soul and be aware of your deepest secrets. Regardless of the motives, you feel drawn to her, almost as if she’d cast a spell on you, luring you in. So you nod, allowing yourself to enter the labyrinth of corridors as Ryujin walks by your side, without rushing. Only when the two of you stop by a black, wooden door, she turns back to you. You step inside, as the world behind you suddenly turns quiet.

You’re fully aware of the risks you’re taking. She’s a stranger, and you know nothing about each other. You should be jumpy, wary in the least.

Instead, for the first time in many years, there’s not a train of thoughts running through your head, thinking about millions of possibilities and outcomes of every little thing you’ve ever witnessed.

As you walk into the middle of the spacious room, you feel nothing but calm.

Ryujin has good taste.

You’re not stupid: you know the bedroom you’re currently in belongs to her. The walls are made of wood, carved in light brown, and most of the furniture is black, a true portrait of how she presents herself — all dark and mysterious. Her bed stands appealing in the middle, the covers undone and inviting, while numerous papers rest neatly on her desk, but it’s the content on the wall that catches your attention. A map of the country, covered with red strings and pins linking numerous places. There are names written, too, as well as keywords and small texts.

“I’m a good listener. If you’d like to, naturally.” She takes a blunt out of her pocket, gesturing to you. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” You give her a small smile in acknowledgment. “It’s your room, anyway.”

She laughs. “Smart girl.”

“I’ll pass on your invitation to listen, though.” You continue as you stare at her closely, curious about how she’d react. Her blazer made her shirt ride up, revealing part of her toned abdomen, and you can’t help but ogle, mouth dry at the sight.

God, she’s so hot, sitting casually like that. “As you wish. No problem.” Ryujin doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, which provides you with enough confidence to start looking around again.

A black wooden bookshelf catches your attention, standing on the opposite side of the windows and the balcony, and you’re appalled by how vast it is. It nearly occupies the entire wall, with numerous books. It’s the only part of the room that has any color besides black, brown, or white, and the books all seem pretty worn out. You brush your fingers through the shelves, lost in paradise.

“Do you expect us to fuck?” You don’t turn to face her as you ask, without shame. Strangely, you feel like you could tell her whatever you wanted to.

She shrugs, adjusting her pillows so she’d lie comfortably, looking rather small in the massive bed. The words leave her mouth so casually like nothing was ever complicated. “If you'd like to, maybe.” Her eyes travel to your body, and you shiver, once again feeling exposed. “You’re pretty. You have a beautiful body, too. So, sure.”

“Why did you bring me here, then? If not to fuck.” You murmur, eyeing her as your fingers brush a specific book, waiting for her permission.

You take it from its place once she nods, freeing the smoke from her lungs. The Waves, highlighted and annotated.

“You looked as if you had many thoughts going on in your head.” She runs her hand through her shiny, pitch-black hair, casually. “This is my quiet place. I figured you could use a little peace for a while, too.”

She was so right. From the time you entered her room, you felt nothing but peace, as if your emotional turmoil had cooled down for a few moments.

Maybe it was the calming energy Ryujin emanates or the way she looks at you so curiously. Anyway, you decide she’s worth it.

You were not exactly fond of meeting new people, much less welcoming them into your life. You didn’t feel the need to add anyone — you could barely keep up with the amount of drama you had, with not that many people. You have a best friend, a father, a stepmother, grandparents, a sister, and her friends who were your acquaintances. Not a massive crowd, but just enough for you.

However, you feel the need to let this girl in, too.

Jumping on the bed, you don’t stop until you’re near enough to feel the warmth of the blunt Ryujin holds. You lean on your elbows, facing down whilst she’s facing up, hands behind her head to support herself as she stares at the ceiling.

“I’m Y/n, nice to meet you.” You say, determined not to feel threatened by her piercing gaze and those midnight eyes that carry such mystery.

Ryujin laughs, shaking the hand you offer. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/n. I’m Ryujin.”

She stares back, her eyes undressing you as if she’s the keeper of all your secrets. You look away. She laughs again.

Your mind wanders to Chaeryeong’s words, always eager to talk about how you should take more risks and live freely. Perhaps she’s right; you should stop worrying too much and overthinking every single thing.

You snuggle yourself even closer to Ryujin, still deciding. “But are you good?”

She frowns, turning to you. “Probably. But good at what, exactly?”

“In bed, obviously.” You roll your eyes. “Are you a good fuck?”

Being so close to her allows you to see the switch your words provoke. Her eyes darken, and she fixes her posture, no longer carefree and unbothered. No… the girl whose eyes roam over your body is far from inviting or calming. She’s powerful, just as you watched her present herself downstairs, earlier at night. With strong hands, she grabs one of your thighs, bringing you so close you’re able to play with the collar of her silk shirt.

“Why do you ask, Y/n?” Ryunjin’s hands brush your neck in a careful motion, tucking your hair away so she’s able to run her nose through your skin. One look at her, and you know she enjoys toying with you like that too much.

As she must do with anyone, you suppose.

“Well…” You look down, although still leaning at her touch. “‘Cause I want you to fuck me, of course. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be asking.”

She doesn’t mind your impatient tone but doesn’t touch you either, even after your words. If anything, she just keeps staring at your body, as if imagining all the things she’d do.

“And how would I do that, exactly?” You roll your eyes, ready to give her a defiant answer when she grabs you by the chin, ever so gently. “Make sure to be clear with your words, my angel.”

And it’s that tone once again — so low-pitched and raspy, that makes you gulp, barely breathing under the enchanting, mysterious girl’s touches. Besides being in control at all times: when you’ve decided to accompany Ryujin to her bedroom, when initiating this battle of desire… you finally come to realize how different it is, this once. This time, Ryujin’s question presents itself as a warning, its meaning loud and clear even though it was unsaid. If you agreed to this, she would be the one in control. She’d take as much as she pleased, however, you wished her to do.

Something that is so appealing to you. Not because you feel the need to let go; no, you’ve done much of that throughout all of your life — being your family’s pawn, toy, and little doll to show off to other powerful families, making a profit over the image of perfection.

No, Ryujin’s offer is appealing simply because you’re curious to see what she’d do to you. You feel drawn to her, with a sudden urge to be under her touch, to have her inside of you.

You want her to do the most unspeakable, filthy things to your body, bringing you enough pleasure to fuck you dumb, until all of your worries are washed away and long gone.

Her. You want her.

So you stand on your knees, taking your time with unclasping your bra and throwing your shirt off the ground, long hair flowing gracefully as you move, cascading down your hips. It’s only once you’re done that you speak, long after letting her watch as you make a show out of the small act.

“I want you to pleasure me.” You say, with a voice just as lustrous as hers. “I’m sure you’ve been spoiled enough in sex. Prove it to me, then. And if you’re good enough, maybe I’ll satisfy you, too.”

She smiles, exposing her canine teeth as she watches you crawl to her. Within seconds, you’re between her legs, her mouth hot and wet on your clavicle — then wasting no time to go to your breasts, as she kisses and sucks on your skin. Making sure to bruise, to mark her presence. Territorial.

“Your wish is my command, angel of mine.” She murmurs, breath warm on your skin.

Ryujin’s taste is bitter, much like poison. Still, her lips are addicting, and it’s easy to lose yourself in between the sultry kisses you share. Your skin, your insides — you’re on fire, so turned on it burns.

Her hands, skilled and lithe, wander through your body, squeezing and groping as she pleases. Such a tease, she is. You can easily tell how delighted she is to be able to take her time, caressing the insides of your thighs as you huff, impatient. She’s so close, yet so far from where you need her. Your cunt aches, sticky and needy for something, anything.

Yearning for release after such a stressful day, you feel your body trembling with anticipation. Soon enough, you’re under her, both of your clothes long thrown on the ground. It’s hard not to blush with how she’s looking at your naked body, licking her lips as she spits, a long trail of saliva going from her fingers to your wet cunt.

You need more of her. Desperately.

Tugging her hair, you let out a loud whine. “You’re so mean, Ryujin.”

“I am.” Her answer comes immediately, as she lowers her body until her mouth is close to your pussy. She brushes the hair away from her face, eyes still heavily focused on your dripping cunt. Ryujin cups your ass, one of your legs resting on her shoulder as she brings your sex as close to her face as possible. Her eyes are starstruck, long-lost in your body as she parts your folds before giving your cunt a messy, wet kiss.

Her actions are more than enough to turn you into a withering mess: her mouth is everywhere, working her way inside of your walls with such vigor you feel so full, your troubled thoughts long forgotten. She works wonders, her tongue teasing your entrance and alternating between lapping on your clit, circling your hardened bud as you moan, squirming almost desperately. You’ve never been this sensible, yet Ryujin reverberates all of her actions through your body harder than usual — even the mere brush of her fingers has her holding your thighs firmly, to keep you from moving so much and closing your legs away.

Incoherent words leave your mouth so fast that you’d be ashamed if you were able to think about anything. Your long nails scratch her bare back in random patterns, leaving her skin so red you close your hands in a sudden wave of consciousness, shy as you bring them to your chest.

She stops too, ignoring your whines as she looks up to you with a serious face, her mouth swollen and glistening with your juices. “If you stop, I’ll stop.” She grabs your hands, placing them on her once again. It’s so sweet, somehow delicate how she handles you, much different from the way she acts with anyone else. “Don’t hold yourself back.”

You nod, gulping. She has two of her fingers aligned with your slit, spreading your juices through your pussy with that little smug smile of hers before easing them inside. They slide in easily, the gushing sounds filling the room along with your voice. “Ryujin… oh f-fuck!”

“Touch your nipples.” Ryujin commands, mouth closing against your clit once again. She licks and applies a weak suction, not yet enough to overstimulate you. You’re long gone, though, incapable of forming any thoughts on your pretty head, let alone following any commands. She knows it, which is the reason her hands grope your tits with strength, massaging. “You’re sensitive, angel. Touch them for me, will you?”

It seems to work, this time. You mumble a response to her patient tone, hands going straight to your nipples as you cup your breasts. They weren’t exactly big, but certainly not small either. If you squeezed them tightly — as you were currently, doing, you could fit them in your hands. Biting your lip, you flick your thumbs through the hardened buds, circling your areolas as your fingers twist and pinch your nipples.

The action sends a shock of electricity through your body, and you throw your head back in pleasure.

“Good girl, Y/n. God, your tits are so pretty. You look so pretty like this, doing so good for me.” You barely register her words, although it doesn’t seem necessary; if anything, Ryujin seems to be speaking to herself. She lifts her head, fingers thrusting in even deeper as she judges the bruises on your hips with hard eyes. Her voice is different, too, serious as she adds, “Must’ve been a tough day, hm? You’re all bruised, my love. And I haven’t given you any of these.”

“Something like that, I guess.” You murmur, closing your eyes to focus on how good she is making you feel.

She kisses each one of your bruises with delicacy, looking somehow annoyed. Her brows are furrowed, and her lips are pouty, making it easy to tell she’s lost in thought. Because of her reaction, you lift her chin, cocking your head to the sides as you try to figure her out. It seems to wake her up from her trance, instead. Ryujin takes your fingers and sucks, staring at you while her tongue wets your index and thumb just as she was doing to your pussy, moments prior.

This girl’s going to be the death of you.

Her attention returns to your cunt, swollen and red, as she fastens the thrusts on your slit. It hits deep, each movement bringing you closer to the orgasm you ache for. A third finger is added, then, and you feel yourself close to the edge. Ryujin must’ve felt your muscles clenching, too, since she’s quick to give your clit one last, deep suck.

It feels like there’s no air left in the room. The pleasure that was building up in your lower abdomen explodes, with violent waves of pleasure erupting and giving you the best sensation you’ve ever felt. It’s ecstatic, as if thousands of fireworks live in every little space of your body. You feel spectacular, but more than that, you feel alive. With a high cry, you cum, Ryujin’s fingers still working their way inside, helping you ride out from your orgasm. She’s careful to not touch your clit, just staring at your fucked out face as your chest moves rapidly, trying to even your breathing.

After a few minutes, you squirm, expecting her to distance herself and stop touching your cunt.

It’s not what happens, though — in a blink, she’s all over you, working her way up your body with wet kisses until your lips meet once again in a messy kiss.

“You’re relaxed now, right?” She says, sucking on your lower lip. “And you were so perfect, angel. It’s my turn. Can you give me one more? Do you think you can do it for me?”

Suddenly, you’re all hot again, as her fingers thrust into you deeper and deeper. You’re dizzy, more than happy to drink on her and let her drive you into pleasure as she says so.

“R-ryujin…” You chant her name, clinging to the girl.

It doesn’t take you long to cum, this time. The orgasm that drags through your body is strong but slow, leaving you full in more ways than you’ll ever be able to describe.

“So good.” She says, hands tight on your waist and caressing your abdomen, with no rush at all. “You’re doing so good, Y/n.”

Your cunt feels empty without her fingers inside, pussy swollen and pleased. Even though she’s right by your side, you miss her, reaching out for her touches. She’s more than eager to comply, holding you close as she kisses the top of your head, brushing the long strands of hair away from your face.

The two of you stay like that, wrapped up in a warm bubble that has you completely in peace. Your muscles relax, and you feel the tiredness in your bones, pleading for sleep. It’s easy to get lost in Ryujin’s arms, forgetting your duties and obligations until your mind is filled with her.

Just as quickly, you’re thrown back into reality by the doorknob — it’s forced from the outside, although the door doesn’t move, thankfully locked. It’s most likely someone drunk, searching for a place to have fun with someone, but the action is enough for you to remember the reason you’ve attended such a party: an energetic girl with dark hair and the worst sense of humor you’ve ever seen, who was probably worried sick about you and cursing your entire existence.

With that in mind, you get up, grabbing your dispersed clothes on the floor and putting them on. Ryujin’s stare is attentive, following your every move. She’s still comfortable in her bed, not bothering to cover herself as she reaches out for the blunt on her nightstand.

“You can stay, if you’d like.” Her voice has a special effect on you. It makes your body relax instantly, and you breathe in. “Enjoy the quietude. There’s no need to run away.”

“I’m not running away.” You frown, somehow bothered that she thinks so. Grunting, you clarify, “I’d like to… hum, continue this. But my friend’s been waiting for long now. She must be going crazy, thinking I’ve been kidnapped or something. I have to take care of her.”

“Why so?” There it is. That smirk, the air of superiority that adds to Ryujin’s strong façade. It’s almost as if she’s mocking you, playing with her words. “Is she a child? Or just so stupid she can’t take care of herself…”

Your face reddens, and you finish tying your shoes just as quickly as you turn to her, both hands gripping her bed frame so you’re able to jerk your body forward. “Chaeryeong’s not stupid. Watch your fucking mouth.”

People could say anything they wanted about you. In fact, they already did — ever since you were little and your mother had left, people judged and made assumptions about your life. It was impossible not to be a target, with a family like yours, handling the business that you do. It did hurt, at the beginning, but you’ve eventually figured it out: people talked about everyone, and you weren’t special. They were so miserable and uninteresting that they’d criticize every single little thing, no matter how invisible you tried to be. It’s just how they were.

However, any words directed at your best friend are enough for you to get into messy fights. No one was allowed to talk shit about her. Not cheerful, bright Chaeryeong, who had the biggest, cutest smile and the purest intentions in her heart. You’d never allow it.

Seeing how serious you were, Ryujin’s smile dropped. She tapped her blunt in the ashtray, careful to not let the dust spill. “You’re right, she’s not. I apologize.” Although she doesn’t look sorry at all. It’s as if everything is a big joke to her; which, with such a lavish house, you know it most likely is.

Rich people are always assholes.

Humming, you roll your eyes as you try to fix your hair, failing terribly. It’s still as wild as ever, stubbornly fighting your fingers when you run your hands through its entire length, in attempts of detangling something. The subject’s been brushed off when she speaks again, breaking the silence without any awkwardness. “Yeji is keeping an eye on her, anyway. So you don’t need to fry your neurons and die of preoccupation.”

It’s awkward — you’re awkward, meanwhile, the girl looks completely at ease as she takes another hold of smoke into her lungs, naked in all her glory. God, she’s so hot; her muscles are defined, and she’s simply beautiful, like a fallen angel. It takes all of you to not fall down on your knees immediately, begging to eat her out and make her scream in pleasure like she’s done to you. But you’re also tired, and you really need to let your friend know you’re alive and well. There’s nothing more that you hate than being a bother, so you can’t let her alone, wondering if you’ve forgotten about her presence.

“You really are good.” You stare at your hands, letting out a faint giggle. It’s amazing how suddenly shy you are, given how you were begging just minutes prior. “A good fuck, I mean. You are.” In a blink, you’re by the door, gripping the doorknob with an unnecessary amount of strength. “I hope to return the favor, someday.”

“Someday.” She says, tone enigmatic as ever. You’ve noticed she’s annoyingly good at hiding her expressions, always with a bored look on her face. “See you, Y/n.”

You don’t say anything else as you leave the room, losing yourself in the labyrinth of corridors without looking back.

Turns out Chaeryeong is still at the same place she was when you left, thankfully. She jumps into your arms as soon as she sees you, sighing in relief. “I’m going to kill you! Where have you been? I looked everywhere!”

You hold her firmly by the waist, her voice a few quarters higher than usual. Chaery might not be tall, but in this drunken state, she’s heavy, nearly dragging both of you to the ground. She laughs uncontrollably, happy to have you by her side once again.

“The bathroom line was too long.” You lie, taking the drink from her hands as you take a sip. It’s strong, provoking a nauseous sensation that you ignore as you swallow it down.

The lie comes naturally, not because you feel like you have to hide what happened from your best friend, but simply because you find yourself too tired to explain. She’s going to make you repeat yourself as soon as she sobers up again, anyway.

She knows it, though. “Liar! You were doing something.” The girl narrows her eyes, a confused expression on her face as she brushes the hair away from your neck. “Where’d you get a new necklac— Y/n! You dirty whore!”

You can’t help but laugh as she examines the hickeys Ryujin left on your skin, mouth opened in a big “O” — slightly pushing her off you. Chaeryeong stumbles, hitting the wall with her shoulders as she tries to gather her balance.

“I’ll tell you about it later, okay? M’ too tired right now.” You promise, not giving her drink back once she reaches out for it.

Chaeryeong doesn’t seem to mind, jumping up and down in excitement. She grabs you by the shoulders, shaking your body with a smile that nearly covers her entire face. “My girl’s getting some game, wow! I’m so happy for you, Y/n! You have no idea. Do you know how many times I wished you got someone? I seriously thought you were going to turn into a nun or something.”

“Hey!” You protest, “I’m not a prude! The last time I had kissed someone was like, last month or something.”

Chaery stops jumping, thankfully. She pays no mind to your grumbling, twirling, and moving along with the blasting music’s rhythm. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say.”

You eye her with narrowed eyes, but she stops all of her movements before you can give her a sneaky response. Her face pales, and she gulps deeply.

“Are you okay, Chaery?” No response. Chaeryeong’s eyes are fixated on the wall behind you, the colorful lights and blasting music from the living room surely doing nothing but overwhelming her even more.

“Yeah.” She looks up, sighing. “Just felt this sudden urge to t—“ The way she covers her mouth is enough of a sign, for you. Acting quickly, you pull her to the gardens, as Chaeryeong tries her best to not jerk her body forward. It’s immediate: she throws up as soon as she finds a bush to lean on, the effects of the alcohol, adrenaline, and visual stimulation from the party getting to her organism.

“I guess you kept your drinking game high while I was busy?” You ask, trying to lighten the mood. It works, you can tell Chaery’s laughing by the way her small shoulders move. She gives you a thumbs up, too, her face still shoved in between the leaves. “Okay. Are you good to be by yourself for a few moments? I’ll get you some water, then I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.” Your friend manages to say, lying down on the grass. Her hair is all messy, and her face remains pale. “I’m fine now, though. 100%.” “I’m still getting you the water.” You get up from where you were kneeling, too, rushing towards the kitchen entry with hurried steps.

You’re not too worried, though. This wasn’t exactly an unusual situation — sometimes Chaeryeong would drink too much, too fast… sometimes you would. It was a pain in the ass, naturally, and you’d always wake up deeply hungover the next day, but it wasn’t something to be deeply preoccupied with.

Humming to yourself, you open the fridge, in hopes of finding a bottle of fresh water. It was better than going to the bar set in the lively living room and asking for one, anyway. You barely notice a girl standing next to you, handing exactly what you’re looking for. She’s one of Ryujin’s friends, you reckon — her sunset, pin-straight hair compliments her features effortlessly, as her hypnotizing eyes stare at you attentively.

You know a judgmental look when you see one. This one’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“For your pretty friend.” She says, waiting patiently for you to take the bottle from her hands. You do, still silent, yet your lack of enthusiasm doesn’t scare her away. She keeps babbling, not minding you at all. “I hope she feels better.”

It’s as though she knows something you don’t, and the hidden mockery in the air leaves you uneasy.

“Thanks…” You murmur, playing with the bottle in your hands. Before you brush past her to return to your friend, she adds.

“—Yeji. That’s my name.” Yeji tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, waving you goodbye with feigned innocency. “Bye, Y/n. Make sure Chaeryeong arrives home safely.”

Chaery’s had an eye on her earlier, nearly fucking her from afar while you were in your own world, lost in thoughts. They probably had some fun before you came back to your friend, that’s all.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you lean next to Chaeryeong again, trying to ease the knot in your stomach as you give her the plastic bottle.

“Here, don’t drink it all at once.” You say, chuckling as the girl nearly drowns herself in the water, desperate to get rid of the bitter taste in her mouth. “It’s been a long day, Chaeryeong. Let’s go home.”

She gladly takes the hand you offer, groaning as she shakes the remains of grass from her pants. “I had fun, though. Today was a fun day, Y/n. Did you have fun too?”

There’s mischief all over her face, making it impossible for you to feel down. It’s her gift, being able to lift your spirits with her lame jokes and energetic nature.

“Of course, Chaery. I always have fun when I’m with you.” You nod.

Your words please her, and she leans her head against your shoulder as you make your way to the car, side by side.

It’s late, and you’re tired. You’d handle it all in the morning.

Despite the weariness that penetrates thick in your bones, you’re punctual as always, doodling in your journal by the counter as the sun fights its way up against the messy fog of the morning. It’s a routine you’ve been doing ever since you were a teenager: going out, partying, and going to so many places until dawn, while still showing up to work at the Diner in the following morning.

You’d get some rest, eventually. For now, the four hours of sleep you had were enough to keep you up, somehow Besides, Saturday mornings are always some of the slowest days at the place, with hardly anyone coming for breakfast. People liked to sleep in, trying to gather all the hours they’ve lost from having to wake up early for work, you guess — which is why the place is empty, no customers to be seen.

There’s a hard slam on the corner, and you lift your eyes to follow the sound. You’re greeted by Rosé: her baby-pink hair is even messier than usual, and her leather jacket seems to be the only thing protecting her from the chilly weather. It does little to ease her, though — Your sister’s shorts expose her legs, dirty and scratched. At least her crop top is thick, the black clothing making her seem even more intimidating. And she smells of smoke, instead of her usual cologne.

“You look like shit.” You’re the first to break the silence, as your eyes return to your sketch. It’s not an easy thing to do, but you try your best to act indifferent to your sister’s piercing stare. “I’m taking you haven’t had any sleep at all.”

She’s fuming, you know that. Somehow, Rosé’s cold attitude is much worse than her red fire. Her quietness scares you, as it should. It’s never a good sign.

“Have you ever been anything other than useless, all your life?” She spits, and her words hurt, no matter how long you’ve mentally prepared yourself to have that talk, ever since you left the warehouse. “I asked you to do one thing, Y/n. One fucking thing, and you managed to fuck it all up! God, you’re such a failure.”

Your mouth is dry, all of your courage going down the drain as you stare at the woman in front of you. Suddenly, you’re a little kid again, playing your part as Rosé’s little doll so you’d receive a smile, a praise, anything from her. You’d do anything to get her to acknowledge you, having to fight for her attention like everyone else.

But not anymore.

She hits the counter again, visibly enraged. You shove your finger at her chest, fighting back before she destroys you with her words — like she’s so good at.

“And you’re a fucking liar! Fuck you, Rosé. You fucking lied to me, saying we’d meet Wendy because you knew damn well I’d say no to dealing with Jinsoul. And you know what? I was fucking right!” Saying the words out loud is enough to give you courage. When you speak again, your tone is low, sharp like she’d taught you. “We could’ve gotten seriously hurt out there, Rosé. And you were fully aware of that when you sent us into that fucking trap! You’re in no position to demand anything.”

Rosé runs her hands through her hair, and you can tell she’s exhausted, too. She’s always hidden things from you, so it’s impossible to know what’s going on in her life. Although you can’t bring yourself to care, anymore.

“We need that money, Y/n!” She shouts, exasperated. If her stare could burn, you’d be long dead. “How do you think things work, huh? Who do you think is paying for that fancy college of yours — our house, the food we eat every day? It’s me! I provide for us, with that dirty money you hate so much. So wake up! Fucking idiot. Stop being such a burden and help, for once.”

You know it’s true. Even though your father is supposedly the one in charge, Rosé is the true leader. Needless to say, you’re grateful for all of those things.

Which doesn’t make Rosé any less of an asshole.

“You’re a shit sister.” You lean on the chair, your icy tone placing a blunt contrast to her fiery screams. “And an absolutely horrible person. I despise you.”

A flash of hurt passes through Rosé’s arms, so fast you wonder if you’ve imagined it. But as fast as it happens, it’s over with. Instantly, her defenses are up again, and your sister looks down on you, rolling her eyes as she crosses her arms in the middle of her chest.

“You’re tiring me.” She huffs, her tone making it clear she is done with the conversation. Rosé leans on the counter and shoves your shoulders on a punch before storming away, slamming the entry door loudly. “I’m going out, to clean the mess you’ve made. Like always.”

Tears start to cloud your vision as you watch her hop on her car, the roaming of the engines making her feelings clear enough for anyone to understand. She’s an asshole, you know it; but it’s hard to not be upset by her lack of care towards you. You long for her approval and affection, getting anything other than that is enough to leave you deeply hurt.

It’s frustrating, to feel like that over such a shitty situation. You don’t even know if the tears you shed come from sadness or from anger, as you brush them away from your face.

A lithe figure hits the window to grab your attention, and you’re deeply surprised to see Ryujin barging in, walking towards you in confident steps. She chooses the table closest to you, resting her arms over the chairs next to hers.

“Good morning, Y/n.” She says, completely comfortable.

“Morning.” You can’t help but frown, confused. At least her presence offers enough of a distraction from your actual problems. “What are you doing here, Ryujin?”

Ryujin smiles, her eyes small and dazed, so pretty it should be a crime. The rays of weak sunlight brighten her face, making her seem almost innocent. Much different from the night prior. “I heard this place had great food, so I came to check. I woke up pretty hungry, you know.”

“Sure.” You hum, eyeing her suspiciously.

“I’ll have some waffles, pancakes, and coffee. Black, and with no sugar, please.” She says, after looking at the menu. You nod, making your way to the kitchen as quickly as possible, in hopes of escaping her intense stares.

It’s unsettling, how you’re able to feel her gaze burning holes on your back. The sensation takes you back to the night prior, a tingling sensation looking for a place in your core. You push it away, opening the double doors of the cooking area.

“Yoona unnie?” You look for the woman, watching her put her phone down to pay you attention. Smiling, you hand her a small note. “We have a customer.”

“Oh, so early! No one comes on Saturdays.” She mumbles, peeking out behind you to spot Ryujin, who stares at the road in boredom. “I’ll prepare it quickly. Meanwhile, you can go entertain her.”

You laugh at Yoona’s suggestion, shaking your head. “I’d rather wait here, with you.”

Yoona’s face turns serious, as she points at you. “No one is allowed in the kitchen while I cook. Goodbye, Y/n.” You grumble, having no choice but to go back to Ryujin while the woman pushes you out the doors.

Having coffee without any sugar is a trait reserved for psychopaths, which you think suits Ryujin well. You pour her drink in your favorite mug, before returning to her table.

“I thought you also cooked.” The raven-haired girl stands when you approach, promptly pulling the chair in front of herself.

She gestures for you to sit, and you frown, ready to argue that you are still working. The knowing look she gives you is enough to make you sit down, obedient.

“I can’t cook to save my life.” You explain, giggling to cover the shame of having to admit such a fact. “Yoona does it effortlessly, though. Her pastries are the best.”

Ryujin nods, scrunching her nose as she looks around. “And where’s your friend, may I ask?” Her smirk turns playful, pointy canines exposed at you. “Are you not taking care of her right now?”

“She’s not a child, right? She can take care of herself.” Although you play along in her game — repeating what she’d told you the day prior, you’re also quick to add. “Besides, she’s sleeping right now. Chaery always sleeps until late after a party.”

“Lucky her.” Ryujin whistles, and you agree. You wish you could sleep like your best friend, too. Not only did Chaeryeong often sleep until late at noon, but she’s also the heaviest sleeper you’ve ever met, unlike yourself. You envy her ability to sleep through literally anything possible.

Yoona calls for you to get Ryujin’s order, which you quickly do. The dishes look impeccable once you place them on the table. Yoona never misses.

It wasn’t rare to have customers who came by themselves, with the desire to have a moment of peace and enjoy their meals. With that in mind, you motion to leave, leaving Ryujin alone to do just that. She surprises you by grabbing your hand, ever so gently.

“This one’s for you, actually.” She pushes the pancake plate in your direction, hand still holding on to yours. Her fingers trace gentle circles in your palm. “Would mind joining me? I hate to eat alone.”

Leaving you without words is, apparently, one of Ryujin’s many talents. Once again, you feel drawn to her, incapable of saying no. It’s something in her eyes, you suppose; the way she stares at you, attentive, from the moment you first met each other. She acknowledges every little detail about you, and most importantly, she listens. You didn’t know someone could understand you entirely like that — it’s both thrilling and scary, to know you’re so aligned.

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” You murmur, and she shakes her head, in a clear sign that you don’t.

The two of you eat, soon engaged in lively conversation. It’s a pleasant surprise, to know Ryujin is much more than a pretty, intimidating face: she’s smart, funny, and very attentive. You both enjoy the same books, and she’s respectful and mindful when sharing her perspective about topics you disagree on. Time flies, and you find yourself comfortable in her presence.

Getting you to talk about yourself is difficult — even Chaeryeong has to ask repeatedly to get information from you. You just can’t help it: being raised to be a discreet, private person has created the habit of bottling up your emotions, and hiding things until you couldn’t handle them anymore.

However, the words flow freely with Ryujin. You want to share about your life, your hobbies, the people you love… it’s just somewhat easy when it comes to her.

And she doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Far from that, Ryujin drinks from you: acknowledging every little detail about yourself, enchanted and marveled.

You barely notice how quickly you’ve eaten breakfast, not even a small bite left. Ryujin is surprised, too, to not have noticed either. You’ve distracted her and knocked down her defenses without even meaning to do so.

“Okay, so I might’ve come here with a purpose…” She says, and you shake your head. Of course, she did. “In my defense, I found this on my bedside table, a little after you left, and it looked pretty fancy to just keep to myself.”

In her hands, there’s a cross necklace, shining in bright silver. Your fingers go to your neck unconsciously, in hopes of touching the one you kept with yourself at all times — only to hold on to the air, instead. You grasp, bile bundling up in your stomach at the thought of the hours you’ve spent without your precious necklace.

As soon as you reach out for it, Ryujin holds the jewelry away from your hands.

“May I?” She unclasps the lock, gesturing to where it should be rested.

You nod, eager to have your necklace back. Holding your hair away from your face, you turn around, waiting for her. Her breath is hot on the back of your neck, and for a moment, you think she might kiss you. Instead, she takes a step back, a proud look on her face as she runs her thumb against the bruises on your collarbone. “There. All done, angel.”

“Thank you.” The words that leave your mouth are sincere, and you can’t muster how grateful you truly are. “I… Thank you, really. This is so important to me. How can I repay you?”

No matter how much you might hate Rosé at the current moment, that necklace means everything to you. It reminds you of a time when things were less complicated. When you were too young to understand what was truly going on in your life, lost in the innocence of childhood.

“Don’t worry about it.” Ryujin brushes it off, getting up quickly. She drops some money on the table, definitely much more than what she’s ordered. “We’ll see each other soon. Bye, Y/n. You look beautiful, by the way.”

Just as fast as she appeared, Ryujin’s gone. Leaving you to wonder what’s underneath all that mysterious façade, you go back to your chores, unable to brush the raven-haired girl off from your thoughts.

—

Rosé’s been having one hell of a week. Weeks, or even a month.

As if dealing with her family’s business wasn’t enough, with people constantly waiting for an opportunity to betray her and plan their downfall, this new gang that’s been stealing all her clients and supplies has been pissing her off in ways she didn’t deem possible. And now, she has your stupid feelings to worry about. God, you’re so damn sensitive it drives her crazy.

“Rosie?” Lisa’s voice reminds the woman she’s in the middle of a meeting — one she called herself. “What’s going on? You’ve been distracted ever since you walked through the door.”

“Yeah. This fucking sucks, but don’t fret too much. It’s not like we’ve not dealt with situations like those before. Those bitches will get what they deserve.” Jisoo says, in an attempt to soothe Rosé’s nerves. Her tone is excited — perhaps too much.

She’s always been a little masochist.

They’re right, which only makes Rosé more frustrated. She should be planning her revenge, not pouting over a stupid fight.

“I know, it’s just—“ She sighs. “Never mind. Let’s get this over with.”

They all nod, chatting vividly, but Rosé’s phone lights up before she’s able to join the conversation. There’s a message from an unknown number, which is unusual.

The content of it is what unsettles her the most. Her mouth dries and the air runs from her lungs as she stares at the image sent — A picture of you, boobs covered by someone’s arms and bare waist filled with bruises.

The message under it says Thank you for the guns and the snack. I’ll make sure to come back for more, later.

It doesn’t have a slight indication of who sent it, but Rosé doesn’t need a confirmation. She knows exactly who did.

“Jennie!” She screams, even though the girl is not far away from herself, sitting by the long table in the dining room. “Grab the stuff immediately. We’ll do this in my house, instead.” And so she turns, barging orders as she goes.

No one’s going to use her little sister as bait and live.

This newcomer might’ve had a few strikes of beginner's luck, but Rosé’s patience had run thin. She wouldn’t tolerate any insolences anymore, no.

She’ll have Ryujin’s head.

129 notes · View notes

chocolate-root-beer-float2000 · 1 month

Text

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕒𝕣𝕖 ℕ𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕤

By: @Chocolate-Root-Beer-Float2000

For Health/Fasting Health

You could always take multivitamins & call it a day. Though, here's what to do in the means of being thorough.

Vitamins:

Vitamin C: Vitamin C helps with skin, hair, & most importantly bowel function. Something about it just gets your whole body a jolt to just fuckin function.

Vitamin K: Vitamin K helps with blood circulation & bone health. K2 can also do this though it is more protein & metabolism based.

Vitamin B12: Speaking of metabolism, B12, it can help with metabolism most importantly brain function and energy.

Magnesium: It's great for fasting, because in the state of ketosis your body goes into during a fast, it looks into your body specifically to produce its own natural energy. Because of that, it can go by quickly. I mean, w/your whole body needing it to function & all. So taking the added supplement will help.

Probiotics: This supplement is good for keeping in healthy bacteria & getting rid of the bad bacteria to really help your gut function as properly as it should..instead of storing icky stuff it doesn't need.

Omega-3: Omega-3s are good for keeping your blood clean & liver healthy along with so many other health benefits that you can have fun looking into.

Vitamin D: Helps keep your body strong. Literally, it's like the glue to keep in your bones from deteriorating.

Iron: This is for blood production. Gotta keep that heart going for that body to keep working; & it helps with dizziness as well as natural body temperature.

Iodine: Last but not least. This is your thyroid's biggest cheerleader. It's there to keep it or put it back into proper function; it helps to prevent brain damage as well. Just like B12, at least in that aspect.

Things To Help Avoid Cravings during Fast/Binge:

Gum

Tea/Coffee

Broth

Soup

Veggies

Fruit

Juice

Remember:

Keep your body moving even if it's 15 minutes, a day 30 minutes, a day or an hour work up to it if you have to. Though again, I'm not your parent, so up to you.

Drink up to a gallon of water a day, even if it's tea. Do what you have to do after all.

Try not to stress. I know it's easier said than done, though that's what practice and keeping our own boundaries are for. Stress is the biggest factor to obesity these days because it puts your body into a state of stress to where it holds onto fat! Crazy.

If you're like me and fall asleep on caffeine, drinks with electrolytes, like Gatorade, can help a lot with balancing your blood sugar and the dizziness you may feel when overworked or standing up too fast.

That's it, that's all I got for now.

Remember, I can only recommend healthier alternatives.

Never force anyone to do something they don't wanna do.

Bon chance!

-Chocolate

P.S: If there's any misspellings or any information you believe I have wrong, let me know! I'd be happy to fix it.

#tw disordered eating #disordered eating thoughts #starv1ng #ana buddie #ed disorder #thiinsp0 #tw restrictive ed #ana bllog #tw ana diary #ana tips #@na tips #weight loss tips #@n@ tips #not pro just using tags #pro ans #ana pro #proana #pro a4a

54 notes · View notes

neuroprincess · 3 months

Text

Under The Skin - Rebecca Welton/Reader

Rebecca Welton/Female Reader

Summary: It's secret, away from everyone's eyes and just between them, a simple gesture that symbolically changes Y/N and Rebecca's lives.

Classification: Fluff

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, tattoos

Word count: +1000

Unrevised

Maybe it's the alcohol coursing through the veins or the gentle smile that is directed at her, but it seems so right that Y/N doesn't care about the pain and even less about tomorrow. The needle begins a little uncertainly on the skin until the woman learns to handle it with real dexterity and without trembling, both of them a little nervous. The first scratch is outlined and marked forever, halfway there. With care, Rebecca traces the half circle in the same way she saw the boys do and feels proud to see it taking shape on the forearm, small and simple, but cute and full of meaning.

"I'm almost there, darling." she whispers and hums in anticipation, looking a little petty at how excited and proud she is.

"It's crazy, isn't it?!" the younger stares at her, a moment of sobriety hitting for a second and the weight of the act weighing in the balance "Are we really doing this?"

In response, Rebecca leans in and brings their lips together in a gentle kiss, taking time to leave them, there's nothing so sweet and addictive as her girlfriend. She could stay like this forever, feeling and loving her in every way, from the soft words to the burning touches.

"God, better stop or we're not going to finish this any time soon." she laughs, reluctantly separating, and brings eyes together to analyze the next step, just one to complete "And..." turns the pen back on, drawing the last curve, this time a bit of blood comes out of the line "Done!"

"How did it look?"

"Beautiful, just like you, sugar." a kiss is placed on the girl's forehead and elegant hands stroke her hair "My good girl, you did great."

Y/N sighs and smiles happily, the sparkle in the blonde's eye making the slight burning and eventual post-drinking pain worthwhile. She'd never imagined herself doing anything like that and is sure the other one hadn't either, nevertheless after two years here they are hiding in the dark at Jamie's party with the tattoo equipment borrowed, in fact temporarily stolen, exchanging secret wedding vows, marking their rings eternally under skin and exposed to the world.

"Your turn, sweetheart."

They change the needles and following instructions from the internet the moisturizer is applied to the arm, Y/N's fingers spreading the cream along strong and delineated muscles, memorizing again every part she knows by heart, the sensitive points she caresses in cuddles on the sofa and squeezes when they're almost reaching an apex. The couple stare at each other for a millisecond in a silent request for permission, to be sure that it's really wanted.

"Go ahead." Welton encourages, trying to sound confident "I can handle the pain."

"You will not regret it?" the question is fraught with concern, fear that her partner will regret the folly of a somewhat youthful nature.

"Never, darling! Loving you is the most certain thing I have in my life." they smile complicitly and Y/N nods, continuing with the mission "We need to go to the pharmacy for ointments, which reminds me that we're also out of cotton and saline solution."

"You're really drunk."

"Drunk with love for you..."

It's not exactly pain, maybe discomfort or something, but totally bearable... if it weren't for Rebecca's hidden fear of needles. She tries to disguise it by looking away, convincing herself that it's only to be surprised. Quickly and with calculated movements, a small initial in a fine line forms on the place, she still can't turn around, half paralyzed in disbelief, having her own moment of sobriety caused by shock.

"You don't have to hide, it's okay to be afraid." the younger whispers, trying to confront her in some way, the worst part is over and the woman insists on keeping up her brave mask "Sweetheart..."

"Is it over?"

"Yes, it's over." she smiles and stretches up to place a kiss on the flushed cheeks "My good girl."

"Hey, that's my phrase!"

"That doesn't mean you're not a good girl, and totally mine."

Finally gathering courage, Rebecca looks down and almost chokes as she realizes that something really is there, engraved on her forever. The initial of Y/N's name on her and hers on Y/N. Eternally marked in a symbolic gesture, the union of their souls with homemade tattoos, sounded almost silly when the idea came up on the bar counter, but is the promise of their love for each other.

"So we..."

"We're married. My goodness, we're married!"

"It's symbolic, but..." the blonde rambles, settling on the floor so that they're face to face "Soon I'm going to put a ring on your finger, give you my surname."

"Try to imagine, Mrs. & Mrs. Welton."

"I like the sound of that, I can't wait for this moment."

"Me too, I'm really looking forward to it." Y/N whispers and closes the space between them with a passionate kiss, full of emotions that come through in every touch, barely able to contain the enthusiasm. She has married the person she most admires and as much as it was just between them, it's priceless, kind of magical "I love you! So much that I almost cry just thinking that we're wives now." manages to say when the air is needed.

"I love you more! More than anything, I don't think there are enough words to describe how deeply and passionately. And I stole a champagne to celebrate."

A bottle is taken from the handbag, chilled to the point of sweat. It's impossible not to be touched by the businesswoman's cheeky smile, who has had a lot of fun searching for the necessary items around the mansion, committing innocent little crimes for the sake of love and getting her first tattoo. All this with and for her girlfriend, engaged for half an hour and now wife.

"We've probably got about 15 minutes before someone comes looking for us, what do you think?" Rebecca nods suggestively towards the immaculate king-size bed.

"Oh, you want to go straight to the nuptials? Tempting."

"No more tempting than the things I'm thinking of doing with you when we get back home, lovely wife."

And that's another promise.

taglist: @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @unexpected-character @spenc-is-bi @imaginesmultifandoms @dvrkhcld @lovelyy-moonlight @peggy082023 @willowshadenox @storiesofsvu

Join my taglist here ^^

#rebecca welton x reader #rebecca welton #ted lasso #female reader #imagine #fanfiction

132 notes · View notes

solcorvidae · 5 months

Text

Modern Witcher AU: My Headcanons: (part 3 of ?)

Geralt smells of coffee, caramelized sugar, kerosine, and mineral oil. The sugary scent is from his favourite fragrance (Vanilla Woods—The 7 Virtues) and it mingles well with his natural body chemistry and environmental scents. It’s very subtle but distinct and it works shockingly well for him.

Jaskier is determined to figure out what fragrance Geralt wears but is looking in all the wrong places. He assumes some of the “masculine” notes from the environment that linger on his skin and clothes are a part of the perfume. It takes Geralt explicitly telling Jaskier to look in the feminine and/or the unisex sections (of fragrantica) for him to actually do so and finally get put on the right track.

Jaskier smells of lavender and chamomile. His hair also retains the smell of his shampoo exceedingly well so he always smells clean. He uses solid fragrance that’s reminiscent of “Chamomile and Lavender Milk Tea” by The Dua Brand. It has notes of honey and raw almond milk that gives it a good balancing effect and works well with his body chemistry.

Jaskiers extended family organizes regular family reunions at grossly lavish locations at least once a year. Most of his family besides his parents and a few cousins don’t know about his cross-country road trip… or Geralt. When Jaskier brings Geralt along one year to a reunion at a rented out ski chalet he wants to make sure Geralt makes a good impression. Little did he know, most of his family would adore him and think he is such a doll. Geralt had no less than two people at any given time chatting with him for the vast majority of the weekend. As an introvert, he was exhausted by the end of each day. Jaskier is secretly convinced his family loves Geralt more than him after just a few days; however, Jaskier is more than happy to show him off so it never really bothers him much.

Geralt has a stiff gait. It stems from extremely tense muscles in his hips and lower back as a result of so many hours on the road and not enough proper stretching. Jaskier makes it his personal goal to get Geralt into physiotherapy and at the very least, flexible enough to touch his toes comfortably again.

Geralt’s nausea inducing alcohol of choice is tequila. Eskel’s is flavoured vodka. Lambert loves to get a reaction out of them over it.

Geralt can't have tequila (especially margaritas) anymore because of the near-two day hangover he had after drinking with his brothers on New Years Eve one year. Not even the night he came of age could compare to the sheer amount he knocked back that night.

Eskel's grievance against (lemonade) vodka started after a night out at the bar in his early 20's. He doesn't remember how many times he threw up that night (and he doesn't really want to either).

Lambert can hold his alcohol well but gets hangovers extremely easy, unlike Geralt and Eskel who rarely get more than a headache that's readily manageable with a single ibuprofen capsule. Lambert started keeping a bucket under his bed for this exact reason. He doesn't have a gag-inducing alcohol because if he did, all options would be exhausted with the amount of times he has been ill after a night out.

Geralt’s personal vehicle is a baby blue rust bucket of a pickup truck. It’s a sturdy but rough looking 1990 Ford Ranger.

Eskel drives a grey 2013 VW Jetta that was not taken care of too well by it’s previous owner. It’s a secondhand shitbox but it’s his secondhand shitbox.

Lambert refuses to buy his own car and when he’s not working, he makes Vesemir or his brothers drive him places when he can’t/doesn’t want to catch the bus.

Eskel gets extremely bad caffeine withdrawal symptoms since he has a much lower tolerance and rate of consumption than Geralt, who has a worrying dependency. Geralt says he's fine, but his blood pressure says otherwise.

[Modern AU Headcanon Masterpost]

#hypothermic ao3 #the witcher modern au #the witcher headcanon #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier #eskel #lambert #geralt #eskel witcher #lambert witcher #kaer morons #sol scribbles

58 notes · View notes

letters-to-lgbt-kids · 2 years

Text

My dear lgbt+ kids,

Let's talk about vaginal yeast infections. They are super common and nothing to be ashamed of!

What is a yeast infection and what causes it?

Yeast is a type of fungus that naturally lives in multiple parts of your body, like your mouth and vagina. This is not a problem. It's supposed to be there! But it is a careful balancing act - if it becomes too much, you can get a yeast infection.

One of the most common ways this happens is by taking antibiotic medication. They do not only kill the bacteria that cause the infection you are treating, they also kill the "good" bacteria that usually keep the yeast in your vagina in check.

Other things that can throw you off balance are for example:

pregnancy

hormonal birth control

diabetes/uncontrolled blood sugar levels

the use of scented products (tampons, pads, deodorant, soap etc.)

douching (and excessive vaginal hygiene in general)

An untreated infection can be passed on during sex but it is not considered an STI. You can get a yeast infection even if you never had sex!

What are the symptoms?

Yeast infections typically cause itching in the vagina or vulva. You may also notice a thick, white, odorless discharge (comparable to the consistency of cottage cheese), redness, swelling, or a burning sensation (especially when you urinate).

(Yellow or greenish discharge or "fishy" smelling discharge are not typical symptoms of a yeast infection - if you notice those, you may have a bacterial infection instead.)

How can I treat a yeast infection? Do I need to see a doctor?

First things first: Please do not try any "home remedies" you may hear about (like putting yogurt or ice in your vagina) - these things do not help and can even make it worse!

Over-the-counter (OTC) medication is in most cases highly effective and quickly relieves you of uncomfortable symptoms. It's usually for topical use (a cream you use on your vulva, a pill you insert in the vagina, or a combination of both) but oral medication (a pill you swallow) is available as well.

It's essential to carefully read the instructions and take it for as long as you are supposed to (even if your symptoms have already faded or completely stopped!). If you stop taking it too early, the infection may return.

However, it's best to see a doctor if:

You suspect it may be a bacterial infection (see above). This requires a different treatment; taking antifungal OTC medication would be useless for a bacterial infection!

You are not sure if you really have a yeast infection

You tried OTC medication and the symptoms didn't go away (or even got worse)

You get more than four yeast infections within twelve months

You are pregnant (not all OTC medications are safe during pregnancy)

You don't need to be embarrassed or worry that your doctor will assume it's caused by a lack of hygiene. They know better. Seeing patients with yeast infections is routine for them - it's one of the most common reasons people go to their gynecologist!

Can I prevent yeast infections?

Some risk factors are out of your control but you can:

wash your vulva with plain warm water (instead of using soap, cleanser etc.)

avoid douching or "washing out" your vagina (you don't need to clean your vagina at all! It's self-cleaning)

avoid using deodorant on your vulva

avoid using scented tampons or pads

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

#lgbt #lgbt+

584 notes · View notes

cats-and-confusion · 3 months

Note

I have no idea if I've asked you before but here we go! Your PA headcanons! Please dump them on me!

SO YOU HAVE CHOSEN DEATH

Ok ok ok so. I'll go by order of character. Some of them may or may not be mutually exclusive

Olive

A god (of halloween and the dead) similar to those in 90%s other game, Cool Kid Cody. Essentially they can canonically see the hearts above people's heads and are aware of the time shenanigans - they just say the same things each time so that outcomes are predictable. They don't mind dying, and the player is a power they contacted with magic. Theoretically at the end of each game they make a little pocket space in the clouds where they hang out with their friends in semi-god form, but also it's more fun to think no one knows (except patches but that'll be explored in his section). It's even FUNNER to think that they're not keeping it particularly secret, it's just that no one has asked so they didn't say anything. Olive is the shortest aside from Angel. Their house is in the god realm which means in the normal realm they're technically homeless which is why Coco had trouble contacting them in PA2.

Brownie

A chubby lil' corgi. Goes to parties and has a somewhat rough relationship with her parents because she keeps going off and doing things. Her family's rich. She paid for the milkshakes at the end of PA1. She's only marginally taller than Olive. She's a great negotiator, and has the best danger-meter of the group. She could be a powerful manipulator but really just prefers to be funny and cool. Has lots of connections. Might grow up to be a lawyer-

Sparky

Sports guy!!! Plays hockey but also does track and baseball. Has a sports scholarship. Tall as fuck (taller than Patches, even) and is constantly restless, balanced out by the sports. Known as the humble cool dude in his team. The guy you'd trust to hold your drink. Has good self-restraint and strong morals, but is not immune to temptation. Fairly good self-esteem, usually.

Coco

Such an older sister. Values honesty and reliability - would keep a promise if it killed her. Naturally volatile, but likes being kind and getting compliments. Her love language is gift-giving. She pays the bills by doing magic jobs. Her parents are dead (rip) and Angel is all she has, and the main thing she lives for. Before murdering Hachiko High, after finding out Angel was dead, she cried for six hours straight before wrecking her kitchen and crying for 12 more hours.

Angel

He has an inferior twink body and used to wear his hair in a braid. He has low blood sugar and has trouble eating, but Coco helps him. He likes sweets and books and blueberries. He's bi for men and enbies. He has memory problems from being resurrected, and mourns all of himself that he's forgotten. Prone to cute things.

Patches

His mom is dead and his dad fucking sucks so he likes to stay at Olive's house. The first time he went to their house was right after PA2 when he was in Angel's body and collared, which was also when he found out Olive is a god. Olive made him have fun and take care of himself. He hated it. Still has a craving for blood, and each of his friends have a different way of helping him with it. Sparky likes to spar, Angel urges him to write, Brownie gives him snacks (eat a snickers you're not you when you're hungry), Coco beats the shit out of him, and Olive hugs him until he feels better. On a few occasions when Olive has accidentally gotten hurt, Patches has drank their blood. Olive is okay with this. Patches listens to mother mother.

Let me know if you want me to elaborate on some things or ramble about other characters I'm so fucking excited by this game

#purrfect apawcalypse #purrfect apawcalypse headcanons

11 notes · View notes

thru-the-grapevine · 1 year

Text

Irish Breakfast

Pairing: Kim Geonhak x reader

Summary: The man you have no business pining over makes an unexpected reappearance in your life, albeit in less-than-ideal condition.

Word Count: 4.6k

Tags: mafia au, blood/injuries (<- despite the tags the whole thing is still soft)

Author Notes: another submission for the Oneus Trope Bingo hosted by @oneusficevents ! This is for my “mafia au” square. I’ve never written anything like this before so I’m nervous to post, but I hope it’s enjoyable

Annoying, you think, that an entire beverage is going to remind you of a man you can’t have. Especially a beverage as widely versatile as tea.

You turn off the timer and go back into the kitchen, taking the teabag out of your mug. You’ve been branching out to new teas since the first evening you’d tried it in the safehouse, sampling them little by little. You now own a small village’s worth of tea boxes, after watching in horror as your best friend swiped her arm along the shelf of teas at the store and into your cart, insisting it was her treat. You’ve found you don’t care for straight green tea or matcha (green bean water, more like), but you like jasmine just fine, peppermint too. English Breakfast is okay, just not as malty, and chai is good if you add more cream than usual.

Tonight, though, you’re allowing yourself to Admit and Mope Over having feelings for a made man. Which, naturally, means your tea is his favorite, Irish Breakfast. You set the teabag in your spoon and wrap the string around it, wringing extra tea into the mug. You’ve gotten rather good at it with practice.

You turn to throw out the teabag when you hear a muted thump from somewhere in your apartment.

You stare, unmoving, at the teabag dangling in your hand over the garbage bin. It swings gently back and forth, and you try a deep breath. One, two, three four. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

By the end of the deep breath, no more noises have come. You drop the teabag in the bin and turn back to your mug, only partly aware of reaching for the sugar. Pal, chill out. Someone came home across the hall and dropped their groceries. The box of Christmas decorations finally teetered off the shelf in the closet. Kids down below jumped too high on their bed and whacked into the ceiling.

Your phone vibrates sharply against the counter, and you drop your spoon with a clatter. You crane your head aside to glance at the screen.

LEEDO: u can say no but do u mind if I stop by?

You snatch your phone clumsily and fumble to the app with live feeds of your security camera. A raven-haired man in office slacks and dress shirt is leaning heavily against your front door. As you watch, his knees buckle under him, and you hear another thump as he crumples against your doorframe.

“Shit,” you hiss. You drop your phone on the counter and hurry to the front door.

Geonhak catches himself heavily on the doorjamb as you ease the door open, a final defense against collapsing entirely.

“Hi,” he murmurs, sounding for all the world like he’s fine and not a man who can’t stay upright.

You drop to your knees, trying to figure out where it’s safe to touch him. His entire left side, from head to toe, looks to be spattered in blood.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, guiding his right arm over your shoulders. You brace your hand against his back, heaving upward.

You manage to stay balanced, most of his weight on you, and stumble back inside. You’re careful to keep your hand at the center of his back, away from the side that’s drenched in red.

He sags back against the door as you shut it again, relieving you of crutch duty. Flipping on the front hall light, you try to get a better look at him. His side is littered with bloody hand- and fingerprints—probably from staunching the blood flow, you take a guess. There’s so much blood, it looks like so much. The blood on his face has trickled down from a matted spot in his hair.

“What can I do?” You ask, surprised at how calm you sound. “What do you need?”

A corner of his mouth quirks slightly. “Just towels.”

His voice is cottony, so un-Geonhak-like. A sliver of ice sinks into the pit of your stomach.

“Just….” You take a tentative step back from him to see if he’ll stay upright. He leans more heavily against your front door, and your hands hover there in front of him. “Just….don’t move.”

You fly into the kitchen, feet barely touching the ground, and yank open the drawer of tea towels. You grab the entire stack and flip on the sink, running a few under cool water. Your eyes catch on your mug on the counter, and after a second you grab it and bring it all with you.

Geonhak’s face is tilted towards the ceiling when you return, eyes closed. A thin line of blood is slowly trickling down the side of his neck. In the light of the entryway, positioned as he is, he looks like a hero straight out of a classical painting. Lordy. No man has any business looking this good bleeding out.

You set the mug gently on the hall table next to him and close the distance with the towels.

His head drops back down, eyes opening at your approach, and you offer him a wet towel. He murmurs his thanks, taking it and mopping his neck and face roughly while you unfold a dry one.

You rake your gaze over him carefully, heart pounding. His hair has grown out a bit since you saw him last. You note in the part of your mind that isn’t panicking that it suits him, although everything suits Geonhak. Gingerly, you scrape your fingertips along his hairline, combing his hair off his face and checking for more injuries. His jaw works and his throat bobs once, and you replace his thoroughly bloodied hand towel with another damp one.

“‘Woong’s in Chinatown tonight, won’t be able to get here for a half hour,” Geonhak says as he works, and you realize he’s apologizing. “He’ll take me to the safehouse and out of your h—”

“Like hell he will,” you say, swapping him for another fresh towel. “Finish mopping up and we’ll take my car.”

“Hwanwoong will come get me,” Geonhak mumbles, eyes closing as he prods at the spot on his head.

“And I said like hell,” you reply, your free hand going to the buttons on his shirt. “This needs to…move…so you can get to the spot on—oh, don’t look at me like that, you’re bleeding.”

“Interesting way to ask me to take my shirt off,” he murmurs with a shrug, smile as dangerous to your pulse as ever as his free hand starts unbuttoning.

Once he’s undone the first four, you shove another damp towel inside and grip at the injured place on his side firmly, making him hiss. Serve him right, flirting while bleeding out on my doorstep.

“Hold this there, tightly. Be right back,” you say, taking another bloody towel from him and scooping up the others.

You pause for a second, then gesture at the mug of tea. “For you.”

Within moments, you’ve thrown the bloodied towels in the drum of the washer to deal with later and grabbed several other things on the way back.

Geonhak’s finishing a long sip of Irish Breakfast when you return. Wordlessly, you hand him a few ibuprofen. A smile plays at his lips as he accepts them and downs them with tea.

“Off,” you say as he sets the mug down, waving vaguely at his blood-sodden shirt. “I’ve got something clean.”

“It’ll just get dirty, too,” he says, already undoing the final few buttons and shrugging it away.

Any other time you would admire him shirtless, but your focus now lasers in on the injury. After all the blood he was wearing, it’s surprisingly smaller than you feared. “I don’t care if it gets dirty, too. I have my first aid kit—”

“Just—” he winces when he presses against his side wound too hard, then sighs softly, “just…if you’ll drive me to a safehouse, I’ll get Keonhee to patch me up.”

Ah yes. Keonhee. A trained medical professional. Someone of actual use to him. “Let me get my shoes.”

You watch from the corner of your eye as he takes the oversized hoodie you offer him and finagles it on gingerly. You’ve grown so accustomed to Geonhak in office attire that anything else looks unfamiliar on him. You’re right, though; anything suits him. Your heart doesn’t seem to notice the oddness, twisting at the knowledge that the hoodie is yours.

Your staring doesn’t escape Geonhak’s notice.

“Don’t usually wear this kind of thing,” he says as you exit the apartment together. He leans into you for security as you lock your door.

“And why not?” You ask, heading for the stairs at a stilted pace.

Your face bumps into his neck as he stumbles, and he swears and apologizes under his breath. Despite the clear excitement he’s had tonight, you notice he still smells like the pine and eucalyptus soap you’d seen in the safehouse shower. You immediately try to ignore this.

He shakes his head as you both begin slowly down the stairwell. “Not taken seriously in street clothes. Look too young.”

You can feel him wincing with each descending step, and you slow your pace, keep the hand at his back soothing.

“Well, who wouldn’t take you seriously right now?” You ask as you reach the exit. You pause to heave your free shoulder against the door when it sticks. “Now? When you’re bleeding a concerning amount?”

“I’ve had worse,” Geonhak says mildly, misstepping and staggering against you as you exit into the night. You catch him, free hand landing against the front of his torso, and you mumble an apology as he winces and straightens again.

“Surprised you survived with these reflexes,” you mutter, hobbling with him through the parking lot in the warm summer night air.

You lay a towel along the back of the passenger seat before Geonhak sits; blood sounds horrible to get out of a car. He wordlessly plugs an address into your GPS once you start the car, and then you’re on the road.

The car is quiet as you follow the first few directions, save for the occasional GPS voice. Geonhak extracts his phone from his back pocket, wincing all the while. He taps away at the screen, likely notifying the safehouse and Keonhee, as you follow the directions onto a street that sounds vaguely familiar.

“Should I, um. Worry about being followed?” You ask, glancing at the passing headlights in your rear view mirror.

“Mm-mm,” Geonhak says, shaking his head slightly and pocketing the phone again. “Our guys got him.”

You refuse to consider what “got him” means in this context.

“I’m sure it’s pointless to ask, but what happened?”

Geonhak sighs, leaning back in his seat with a wince. The silence carries for a few minutes, and you begin to assume he won’t answer when he finally speaks.

“He didn’t like what happened at your shop this week.”

You stiffen as you stop for a red light. A blue-eyed smirk you’ve come to hate flickers to mind. The man who was the reason you’d met Geonhak in the first place; the man who was the reason you’d had to hide for a week in a safehouse meant for organized crime members. “Him?”

Geonhak leans his head back against the headrest, eyes shutting as he adjusts the towel against his head. He gives no indication to confirm or deny.

That isn’t allowed to be the end of it. “But nothing really even happened. He just…came in, to intimidate me again. And then he got spooked by your uncle and left.”

A corner of Geonhak’s mouth curls. “Technically, he was humiliated by a crime boss over muffins. To a lot of these guys, that’s something.”

Over muffins. The space in your chest for breathing begins to shrink. It was your fault. That man, the one who’d tried to convince you to let his boss run dirty money through your store, who kept showing up at your new storefront to intimidate you, had hurt Geonhak. He’d been so mortified by Geonhak’s uncle, who was there to defend you, that he’d taken it out on the man’s nephew for good measure. Not on you, who actually owned the store; him. Geonhak was hurt because of you.

“Breathe,” Geonhak says, voice firm.

You gasp in a breath and blow it out shakily, easing on the gas as the light turns green.

“Slower than that. There’s enough air,” Geonhak soothes.

You shake your head, each breath coming heavier and quicker. I did this to him.

He starts counting, and you take a deep breath and hold it like he taught you, blowing it out unsteadily. It does little to settle your jittery pulse, your whirling thoughts.

“Promise it’ll be over soon,” he says, glancing at the GPS. “In six minutes. Just drop me off at the front door and—”

“I—you’re kidding, I’m not just, just—leaving you somewhere,” you protest, grip tightening on the wheel. “You’re covered in…Geonhak, I did this to y—”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

His voice is so suddenly sharp that your mouth snaps shut without another thought. His mouth is set in an even line, blue flame behind his eyes as he stares out at the road.

“You are good, and you are innocent, and you did not do this to me,” he says, voice dangerously even. “I won’t have you taking blame for that shithead. I won’t.”

You swallow, trying another slow breath in, out. You nod.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

He blinks, still watching the road, but the hardness in his eyes dissipates.

“Me too,” he admits. “Shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”

“No, it…I mean, I don’t mi…it’s—” You stammer, trying to figure out how to say you missed him without saying it outright.

Eventually you snap your mouth shut, face burning. You see him glance at you out of the corner of your eye, then lean further back into his seat.

“You, um.” A smile is playing on his lips. “The tea, earlier....I didn’t think you drank tea.”

Your face feels even hotter. You swallow. “…I do now.”

He doesn’t say anything the rest of the drive, but that smile stays in the corners of his mouth.

The address, an old brick bungalow, is different from the last safehouse—probably closer to where you live, you assume. The porch light is on, and you see movement in a window as you park along the curb.

“Stop, just—would you hang on a minute?” You huff as Geonhak opens his door, unbuckling.

You hurry out of your seat and around the front of your car as Geonhak tries to ease out by himself. He grunts in pain and stumbles over into you, and you sway as you attempt to keep balance for two people.

“I got it,” he says, trying to straighten, face twisting in pain.

“You really don’t,” you say firmly, locking your car and helping him up the walkway. “Cut the heroics.”

It’s Keonhee who opens the door as you reach the five little stairs up to the porch. You’re surprised to see him in pajamas and glasses.

“Up you get, come on,” he says, coming to Geonhak’s injured side and gingerly lifting his other arm over his shoulders. Keonhee glances over Geonhak’s shoulder and smiles at you, somewhat of a grimace. “I’d say it’s nice to see you again, but…”

Your smile is also half grimace, remembering the first time you met him, when he treated your black eye. “Agreed.”

Keonhee’s taller than you, so when he straightens, Geonhak’s arm stretches up higher, and he hisses.

“Son of a bitch, Keonhee, ow,” Geonhak grits through his teeth.

“Yeah, yeah, get inside, you big baby,” Keonhee mutters. “I know for a fact you’ve had worse knife wounds before.”

Ice drops into your stomach; a knife. That man had gotten close enough to hurt Geonhak with a knife.

With Keonhee in the lead, the three of you shuffle sideways up the porch stairs and through the front door. To the left of the entryway is a little kitchen. To the right you see a small sitting room, with a couch covered in a few sheets. The coffee table has a spread of little tools that remind you of emergency room procedurals on TV.

“In there, if you don’t mind,” Keonhee says. “I made coffee before I remembered you drink tea, Geonhak, so there’s coffee if you want it.”

“Water for them,” Geonhak manages, panting as you help ease him to lie down across the couch.

You stick your tongue out at him but don’t argue. Your mind and body are starting to catch up with the shock of an injured Geonhak, and you don’t want to make yourself even more jittery.

Keonhee disappears briefly into the kitchen, emerging with a glass and a mug. You take the water gratefully, hiding yourself in the glass as you swallow back half of it.

When you lower it again, Keonhee is seated beside the couch and inspecting Geonhak’s head wound. He swabs at it with alcohol wipes and clucks his tongue.

“Stupid, but not awful,” Keonhee says, fighting a smile as Geonhak swears violently under his breath at a firmer prod. “Probably won’t even need stitches. Just bled a lot.”

“You’ll bleed a lot if you don’t cut that out,” Geonhak grumbles. Keonhee snorts and scoots back, lifting the hoodie to get a better look at his side.

“Need a few stitches here, though,” Keonhee says, pausing when Geonhak jolts from the rubbing alcohol sting. “Ribs hurt at all?”

“Not as much as yours will if y—shit,” Geonhak hisses at another pass of the alcohol wipe.

“Look at you, king of the streets, brought to your knees by antiseptic,” Keonhee says, grinning.

Geonhak glares at him, breathing heavily. “I say king of the streets one time, back in high school, and you won’t let it die.”

“Nope.” Keonhee pops the “p” and reaches for a few things on the coffee table.

You take a deep breath, setting down your glass with shaky hands. “Uhm, if I needed the bathroom, where…?”

Keonhee’s eyes are understanding. “Down that way, on the right. I’ll be quick. He’s seen worse.”

You hear Geonhak’s “fucking hell” from the living room before you close the bathroom door behind you.

You lean heavily on your hands against the sink and rest your forehead against the mirror, allowing yourself a moment in the whirlwind of thoughts. Knife wound. They got him. He’s been hurt worse before.

He came to me. When he got hurt, he came to find me. I got to see him again.

That’s what feels the most shocking, that he’s here, you’re here, back in his world, when you didn’t think you’d ever see him again. You know he’d told you it was for your own good that he keep a distance, and you didn’t think his reasons were bad. It still hurt, though, to make such a connection with him and then watch him disappear from your life like he’d never been there.

Well, now you’ve seen him again—covered in blood, admittedly, but nonetheless. He hadn’t been a figment of your imagination, after all. He’ll be on the mend soon, and then…

You gulp. That’s what’s scariest. How fleeting being here, being back in his circle, feels. You wish for selfish things for a brief moment—for a few more nights of Irish Breakfast, a few more conversations, even one more exchange of banter, for wounds that need time to heal, time you can spend with him. The thought that he’ll slip away again forever after this is…

A soft knock on the door startles you a little too much. “Hm?”

“He’s all patched up now, all fine,” Keonhee says. “Just needs a couple days of low activity and he’ll be back to normal.”

You sniff, leaning back off of your hands. “Good. I…good.”

There’s a pause. “I’d like to take a look at you when you come out. Customary check.”

“Oh, uh, sure, yeah, coming out.”

You reach up to itch a spot on your cheek and blink when your hand comes back wet. You wipe under both eyes, hands coming away damp. When you glance at your reflection, you grimace at how blotchy you look. There’s no way to hide it, so you sigh and brace for the inevitable, opening the door.

Keonhee studies you for a moment, then says, “let’s see if I’ve got tea somewhere after all, hm?”

It feels a bit wrong to dig through his cupboards and pantry like this, but Keonhee encourages it, clapping your shoulder when you find an old box of orange pekoe.

“You’ll be staying tonight, of course,” he says after he cleans out the coffee pot and begins brewing plain hot water. “At least until the shock wears off.”

You purse your lips as you retrieve two mugs. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome…”

Keonhee scoffs, putting a tea bag in each one. “Please. You’re more tolerable than he is, swearing at me over a little scratch.”

“Is it really that minor?” You ask, watching yourself run a thumb over the lip of a mug.

“He’s just fine,” Keonhee says, firm and reassuring. “He’ll be back to intimidating us all at full capacity far too quickly.”

The nobler side of you relaxes at this. Your less noble side wishes for a few more days of bed rest. You try to ignore the less noble side.

“Perhaps I should worry more about you,” Keonhee says, studying you. “You’ve been well?”

You laugh once. “Oh, yes. I’m just fine. I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of a single made man until this week, much less tangled with any of them.”

You wince inwardly at how bitter you sound. Ridiculous.

Keonhee hums, taking the now-filled pot of hot water and pouring it into the mugs. “I see an awful lot of made men, but that doesn’t necessarily add or detract from any tangles. Surprising, how much you can see of them without being involved.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You realize with a pang that you’re almost jealous of him, of his ability to be involved but not involved.

He frowns at one of the mugs as it steeps. “I should go check how he takes it, I can never remember—”

“That’s alright, I’ve got it,” you say, waving that away and preparing both mugs.

Keonhee’s quiet as you labor over the tea. When he speaks, you can hear a slight smile.

“Good. I’ll go make up the air mattress, then, if you’ve got this under control.”

You make your way back into the sitting room slowly, trying not to spill either mug. Geonhak has every pillow propped up behind his back, an arm slung over his eyes. You frown when you see one of his ankles in a brace.

“You didn’t tell me your ankle was hurt.”

A corner of Geonhak’s mouth twitches. “Only twisted a little. It’s why I couldn’t keep better balance.”

He lowers his arm from his eyes and looks up at you. You lift his mug, nodding at it, and he inches his way further upright, grimacing.

“Let’s see how badly Keonhee did on this cup,” Geonhak says as he takes the mug.

“He didn’t make it. I did,” you say, sitting gingerly by his knees and blowing on your mug. “Two sugars, no cream. Strong. Brought the spoon when you want the bag out.”

You set your mug on the coffee table, now cleared of surgical instruments, and lift your teabag into said spoon, twisting the string round and draining the excess. You feel Geonhak’s silent, studying gaze and try not to let it fluster you as you find a wastebasket at the end of the couch to toss the teabag.

You take a sip of the tea, then blink. “You know, I always thought orange pekoe would be…well, orange flavored. But this is just another black tea.” Hmm. Suppose it can’t hurt to have around for guests, so the nicer teas can be for you.

“Damn it,” Geonhak sighs softly.

You glance over at him as you blow on your tea, raising an eyebrow. He’s cradling his tea placidly against his stomach, eyes shut.

“You make it so difficult.”

You blink. “So difficult to what?”

He opens his eyes and meets your gaze. “To stay away from you.”

Your lungs feel suddenly empty. Oh. Some warm and electric feeling zings up your spine.

You look down into your mug, pulse skipping. “…I see. My hopelessness when it comes to tea, back at it again.”

When he speaks, you can hear his smile. “Might play a part, maybe.”

You take another swig of tea, bracing yourself. “I wish…I wish you wouldn’t stay away, but I, you know, I get it. Promise.”

You shrug a shoulder, grimacing.

He purses his lips, then sets the mug down. “Mind getting the bag for me?”

You set your tea down and grab the spoon, finagling with the tea bag in his cup.

His fingers brush against your knee, backs of his knuckles rubbing gently back and forth. You swallow, throat surprisingly dry for how much tea you’ve drank, tossing his teabag and setting the spoon aside again.

“Don’t like when you’re in danger,” he murmurs.

You nod, picking your mug up again with shakier hands than you’d like.

“Don’t want to be the reason you’re in danger,” he says quietly.

You nod again, tilting your head thoughtfully and taking a sip of tea. “Keonhee’s got a lot of your guys in his life and he’s not in danger.”

“He’s under my uncle’s protection,” Geonhak says, not unkindly.

You shrug a shoulder. “Well…think I might be now, too. He intimidated that man into leaving and then left a hundred dollar tip for his muffins.”

Geonhak laughs once, and his hand opens on your knee, resting warm and firm.

“Touché.”

You take another sip of tea, gathering courage, then drop your hand to your knee and curl your fingers around his hand.

His gaze makes you feel shy, but you don’t look away, drinking in the way it feels to be looked at like this.

He shakes his head at himself, smiling wryly. “Knew exactly what I was doing tonight. Might’ve been easier to go to a few different places, but I went out of my way.”

His fingers squeeze yours.

“I just missed you,” he whispers.

It’s a good thing you hear Keonhee clattering back down the hall. You’re not sure you have the power of speech anymore.

Keonhee forces Geonhak to give up two pillows (“you have all the other pillows in my house, fiend, surrender one to me and to the guest”) and pushes aside the coffee table to make up your bed. It’s a good thing you were already in pajamas, you think as you sit at the edge of the air mattress. No need to sleep in clothes, unlike Geonhak, despite your hoodie.

When the lights go out and Keonhee goes back to bed, you spend a while staring up at the ceiling. You realize, too late, that there was caffeine in both of those teas. Late night caffeine intake versus shock exhaustion, fight.

“There’s, um.”

You glance over at Geonhak on the couch. He’s looking up at the ceiling, too. “There’s this place on the other side of town, a bar? But it’s got cats, like a cat cafe. Hwanwoong tells me you’d really like it.”

You purse your lips, fighting the massive grin threatening to take over your whole face. “I’ve heard of it. It’s got some cat pun name, yeah?”

“Yeah, I can’t think of it, either,” he says, laughing softly.

His hand reaches out and finds yours in the darkness. “Wanna try it with me, maybe? Like, in a week or two, obviously, or Keonhee will put my head on a stake.”

You laugh quietly, squeezing his hand. “I’d like that.”

His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, gentle. “Okay.”

When you finally fall asleep, your hand is still in his.

68 notes · View notes