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imnotobsessedwfictionalchracters · 1 year

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Chapter 6 Happy New Year

I do not own Harry Potter or the characters created by Rowling

So...when I first wrote this...I don’t even know how long ago, it was low *cough* highkey crappily written and the chapters were much shorter. This was originally 1,922 words. Now it is 3,134 words. That means I wrote an extra 1,212 words.

Anyways, this is also posted onto my Fanfiction.net account SomeKind0fMagic and my Wattpad somekindofmagic1 so you can check it out on there too!

But anywho, hope you enjoy!

Love Z <3

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A few days had passed since Christmas and Albus was sitting on the couch, waiting for Scorpius and Annie to arrive. He sighed as he flipped through the pages of the comic his aunt Hermione had gotten him. She tried to talk to him about Rose when she gave it to him, but he got out of the talk by claiming he was needed somewhere else.

His mum was in her office upstairs while his dad was out with Lily and James was out with his friends. He dreaded when they would come back. He only hoped it would be after Scor and Annie would leave. But he knew that would be a long shot as the two were staying until after dinner.

His eyes flicked over to the fireplace as he heard the roar of the Floo being used. He smiled as he saw the dirty blonde hair of his friend appear. Sitting the book down, he stood up, “Hey Scorp!”

Scorpius smiled and stepped out of the fire, “Hey Al, how’re you doing?”

They hugged, “Good, you?”

Scorpius pulled away and placed his hands in his pockets, “Same, so are we just waiting for Anne?”

The fire roared again and soon the voice of their reddish-brunette friend spoke out. “No, no you are not.”

“Oh my god.” Albus gaped at Annie.. “Your hair!” It was shorter, shaved on one half, and pitch black.

Her hand instinctively raised up to her hair. “Oh, yeah, I asked my aunt to cut and dye it.” THe hand fell slowly, smile following quickly after, “You don’t like it do you?”

“No, I like it, it’s cute. It’s...you!” She smiled again, “Honestly, not many people can rock half shaved hair, but you look good with it.”

Scorpius nodded, “He’s right, it suits you. And I honestly thought that you were joking at the dinner.”

Annie shrugged, “I was, but then I decided to go through with it.” She looked around, “So this is your house?”

Albus shrugged, “The living room of it.” He waved at them to follow him, “C’mon, let me show you my room.” They followed Albus out of the room and up the stairs. He stopped when he reached the door. “So, my sister, Lily, will be home later with my dad.” He pointed to Lily’s closed door. “That’s her room. And next to it is James’s. I have no idea when he and his friends will be back.” He opened his bedroom door and let them in, “It’s not much, but it’s comfortable.”

“I like it, but it’s just so…” Scorpius started, but he couldn’t seem to find the right word.

“Gryffindor.” Annie stated simply and placed a hand on Albus’s shoulder. “Which is so not you.”

Albus shrugged, “It’s been like this my whole life, I never really noticed or cared.” Not until he came back. “Maybe I'll ask mum and dad if I can repaint it over the summer.”

Annie shrugged, “It's up to you, and I'm not surprised that you never noticed, you hardly ever notice anything.” She walked over to his desk and picked up the radio, “I have one of these.” She turned back to him, “Funny thing, my mum has always been interested in Muggle things. Radios, movies, clothing. But truly, anything that can play music she has fallen in love with.” She sat it back on the desk, “I have a radio in my room.”

Albus nodded, “My dad was raised by Muggles, my Aunt’s parents are, and my granddad works in the Muggle Artifacts section of the Ministry. So I was raised around all types of Muggle appliances.”

Scorpius laughed softly, “I wish man. My mum was the biggest with Muggles, but even she could not do too much convincing on bringing Muggle technology into the Malfoy home.”

“Doesn’t your father own a few Muggle restaurants around the world, though?”

Albus looked at Scorpius curiously when Annie said that. Scorpius just shrugged, “Yeah. But my father kind of lets them do their own things. He’s lost in the Muggle world for the most part. There’s this one restaurant, however, in France that my father owns that he and my mum frequent regularly. I’ve been there once or twice.”

Albus nodded, “Any good?”

“Not sure. Expensive though.”

“Not surprising considering your family.” Scorpius nodded and Albus sighed, “Well, there’s more muggle technology downstairs if you’d like to see.” Scorpius nodded enthusiastically and the three made their way back downstairs.

--------

“I still don’t understand!”

Annie and Albus laughed at Scorpius. “Honestly, muggle sports make very little sense to me as well. So it’s quite alright.”

“I wonder if this is how muggleborns feel about Quidditch.”

“Probably.”

As they heard the front door close shut, he prayed that it was Lily and their dad and not James and his friends. And thankfully, his sister came skipping into the sitting room. A smile on her face. “Daddy wanted me to come see if your friends were here!” She threw Annie and Scorpius a smile and smiled, “Hi!”

Albus watched them both smile and wave back to her. “Is that it?”

“Well, he also wanted to meet them. So I guess you could always walk to the kitchen and introduce them to dad. Have you even introduced them to mum?”

Albus went silent and he could hear the smugness in his mums voice. “Yeah Albus? Have you?” He muttered a tiny ‘no’ and heard her continue. “That’s what I thought.” He looked up and saw his mum walking over to them. She held her hand out for them to shake. “Good to finally meet the two people who seem to have kept my son's head on straight these past few months.”

Annie shook her hand first, “Somebody has to.” She smiled at his mum, “I’m Anneliese by the way. But just Anne is fine.”

Scorpius followed suit with, “Anne actually keeps both me and Al in line.” He gave Albus’s mum a dashing smile. “And I’m Scorpius.”

His mum nodded, “Well, you two can call me Ginny.”

Annie bit her lip, “Is Ms. Ginny alright? My mother always told me to say ‘Mr.’ and ‘Ms.’ when talking to or about adults.”

Albus’s mum nodded, “If it makes you more comfortable, then yes, it’s alright.”

Annie nodded, “Okay. Cool.”

“Well, I’m going to start making dinner. James will be home shortly.” Albus held back a groan when his mum said that. He was hoping that James would just stay at someone’s house. That he wouldn’t come back home today.

And from the looks on his friends' faces, he realized that they were hoping for that to happen too.

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To say the dinner was tense was putting it lightly. James had brought Oliver Creevy, Frank Longbottom, Jason Bell-Wood, and their cousin Fred back home with him. Albus didn’t have the biggest thing against Fred. He surprisingly had been nice to Albus. But Frank, Oliver, and Jason? Albus didn’t trust them. Especially as they all, well mostly James and Oliver, were glaring daggers at Annie and Scorpius.

But the two of them couldn’t have cared less. They just carried on talking to his parents and sister. As if James and his friends didn’t exist. He wasn’t gonna lie, he admired them for it. Their ability to just ignore them and focus on something else.

The three kids played a few games, but it didn’t take them too much time before they decided to just head to bed. Well, that It was around 3 in the morning. Scorpius was snoring on the floor next to him. Something that he was already used to, however. But something that he hadn’t come accustomed to was the staring at his ceiling. It had happened once or twice, usually after arguments with his family. And then Christmas. And like Christmas, tonight he just couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t sure what it was about it, but something was just keeping him from sleeping. He turned to his side, staring out of his barely open curtains.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what he overheard his Uncle saying. Was that the biggest problem? Him being friends with Scor and Annie? Would things have been different--no. He stopped his thought. Things wouldn’t have been. They would always find a reason to hate him. Just because he didn’t fight the hat to not be placed into Slytherin. Because, deep down, he knew that was where he belonged. Not in Gryffindor. Not where he would only ever be known as James Potter’s little brother and son of Harry Potter. At least in Slytherin he could make a name for himself.

--------

It was the next morning. Albus was laying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Again. But instead of being unable to sleep, he was reflecting on his last year. From getting accepted into Hogwarts, to meeting two friends, no, best friends, being put in Slytherin, his family hating him just because of his house. And while the last one still stung, the rest was happy.

There was a knock at his door and then it opened, “Albus? Are you and Scorpius up?” He sat up as his mum asked the question. She gave him a small smile when she saw him, “Okay, well, I see that Scorpius isn’t up, can you maybe wake him up in about 30 minutes. I’m starting breakfast.” And just as she was about to shut the door, she stopped to say, “Lily and Anne are downstairs playing Wizards Chess. I really like that girl, Anne. I can tell she really cares about you and she gets along with Lily well.” She sighed, “And James left about an hour ago. I believe he’s over at Jason’s.”

Albus nodded, “What time is it?”

“It’s nearly 10 am sweetheart.” Albus nodded again as she shut the door once again. He crawled over his bed and shook Scorpius’ sleeping shoulder.

“Dude, wake up, my mums making breakfast.”

Scorpius shot up, “Food?”

Albus snorted at his friend. His dirty blonde hair was sticking out everywhere. “Yes, food.”

Scorpius yawned, “What time is it anyways?”

“It’s nearly 10. My mum just came in to tell me. Apparently James left a few ago and Lils and Annie are downstairs.”

Scorpius scratched the back of his head, “We probably should get down there then, should we?”

Albus shrugged, “It’s up to you man.”

Scorpius stood up, “I want food. So let’s go.”

Albus laughed and followed after his friend.

--------

Annie’s older brother, Aidan, had come to pick her up around an hour ago and Scorpius had flooed home a few minutes ago. And Albus was back up in his room. Annie was right. This room wasn’t him. Or, at least not who he was now. It reflected him before he started Hogwarts. When he still had this idealized version of what Hogwarts would be like in his head.

That version where he would get into trouble with James. Or he and Oxford Wilde would roll their eyes at Rose and Elisia Finnigan for wanting to study. The version where he wouldn’t stay up late at night because he had a fight with James. Where he wouldn't question what his family thought of him.

He laid down onto his bed. Why did he have to be so different? Why couldn’t he have just asked to be placed in Gryffindor like his dad?

--------

James had come back later that day, around the time for dinner. It had been silent since everyone sat down. A stark contrast to the previous night. And most other nights. So maybe that was why his mum began to speak.

“Y’know, I really liked your friends Albus. They were both very sweet. Especially Anne.” She glanced at Albus, “I can tell why you keep her around.”

He nodded silently, “Yeah, she’s who keeps Scor in and I in check. She makes sure we get our work done and not get into trouble.”

Albus heard the snort that came from James. And if their parents had heard it, they both chose to ignore it as his dad continues.

“Sounds like Hermione with Ron and I.” He laughed, “I swear I don’t think Ron would have finished school without her. So it’s always good to have a friend like that.”

Albus gave a small smile, “Yeah. And her family helps me with remembering how chaotic our family can be.” He glanced at James when he said ‘our’. Hoping he would stay out of it.

“Right, you said she has...how many siblings?”

“14. 7 older, who are all in Hogwarts, and 7 younger. Two will be coming to Hogwarts next year.”

His mum nodded, “Doubt that there’s ever a dull moment at her home.”

Albus laughed, “Yeah, from what she’s said, there isn’t. Especially when you take into consideration the 16 year age gap between the oldest and youngest.”

He watched as his dad nearly choked on his drink. “I’m sorry, 16 years?”

Albus nodded as he took a bite of his food. “Yeah. Her oldest brother, Aidan, was in his 5th year when her youngest brother, Nicholas, was born.”

His mum shook her head in disbelief, “Wow, I can’t even believe that. Bill and I are only...10 or 11 years apart. All I know is he was going into his first year when I was born.”

“Yeah, that’s the difference between Annie and Nicholas basically. She was born at the end of October of ‘05 and he was at the beginning of October of 2015.”

“I can’t imagine 15 pregnancies. 3 was more than enough for me.”

“Well, it was a little less because there are twins.”

“Either way.”

His dad spoke up again, “How many twins?”

Albus thought about it for a moment. “I’m not sure. You have Aidan, who graduates this year. Then the twins Antonio and Derek, who graduate next year. And then Dominick who is the 5th year prefect this year. Then the next twins are Liam and Randolph, they’re two-ish years older than Annie. Then her sister Genevieve, she’s only a year...well 11 months older. Then Annie. Then the twins Liana and Alexa, who start next year. And then you have Clara, Odette, Elina, Eden, and then Nicholas. So that would be 3 sets of twins.”

“I can’t even imagine.”

“According to Annie, she’s pretty sure that none of them were supposed to happen. Cause her parents weren’t even married when Aidan was born. Plus put in the age difference between most of them. Seems like no one was meant to happen.”

“Well, hopefully their parents love them all.”

Albus nodded, “Oh yeah, their mum loves them a bunch according to them all. She doesn’t always put one away for the other. She tries to give everyone an equal look after.”

His mum nodded, “That’s good...better than some parents that I know of.”

“Can you invite Anne over again? I really liked her. She was fun.”

Albus smiled at Lily, “I’ll talk to her about it.”

Lily nodded, “Good.”

“Are there any other friends we should be aware of?”

He glanced at his dad, “Well...there’s the twins, Rohyn and Robyn Goyle. Holly Avery and Jordan Boles. And then Charlotte Montague. That’s really all who I talk to in my year. Actually, Rohyn is considering trying out for Quidditch next year. He’s trying to convince Scor and I to join him.”

And before anyone could say something, James spoke up, “Can I go to my room please?”

“But you’ve hardly touched your food.”

He was already getting out of his chair when their mum spoke. He just rolled his eyes, “I’m not hungry.”

“James--” Their dad started, “What?” James snapped.

But instead of getting mad at him, like Albus thought that they would, his parents looked at one another before his mum said. “Sure, I’ll just leave some out for you in case you’re hungry later.”

James muttered a ‘whatever’ as he exited the room. Albus watched as his parents sighed before his dad spoke again. “So, Quidditch? Are you considering it?”

Albus shrugged, “Haven’t given it much thought. I’m only really good at Seeker and they already have a Seeker.” He snorted, “Not that he’s any good.”

“Who is it?”

“Annie’s brother, Dominick. He just...I don’t even know if the guy knows how to play. Nothing he does helps the team. I don’t get how he’s stayed on the team for two years now.”

His dad shrugged, “Well, see if next year's Captain will try for all spots. If they do, maybe you can make it.”

“Well what about Scorpius and um...what was his name again?”

“Rohyn?” His mum nodded, “Scor wants Chaser and Rohyn wants Keeper. Both of which will be needed as Aidan is Keeper and William Montague, a 7th year, is a Chaser.”

“Who knows Al, maybe you’ll get lucky and get on the team.”

Albus laughed, “I would feel sorry for Annie and her siblings if I did. Dominick would be complaining for months if he doesn’t make it.” He chuckled softly, “Actually, the way he is reminds me of how you explained Uncle Percy was during school. Prioritizes school and being Prefect and Headboy. Annie said that he wouldn’t even shut up about it when it happened.”

“Oh dear, yeah, that sounds like Percy.” His mum sighed, “Goodluck to all of them for the next 2 years.”

Albus laughed, “I’m sure Annie will appreciate it.” He sighed and stood, “May I go to my room? I’m finished.”

“Oh, sure. Just put your plate in the sink.”

Albus nodded and did what his mum asked and silently walked up to his room. “Y’know, I’ve heard from Rose, and apparently you’re causing Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione to fight. All because you couldn’t help but get into a fight with Rose.”

Albus stopped, his hand frozen above his doorknob. “What?”

“Yeah. They’re fighting and he’s sleeping on the couch. Mum and dad were talking about it too. How does that feel? Knowing that you are the reason our family can’t get along. Because you didn’t honor--”

“Shut up.” He mumbled.

“What?” James questioned, condescendingly.

“I said, shut up.”

“Why? I haven’t said anything that isn’t true.”

But instead of arguing, like he so deeply wanted to, Albus just sighed and opened his door. But to make it known to James that he was mad at him, he slammed his door. Completely ignoring his mum yelling at him to not do it.

Albus didn’t even bother with changing out of his clothes, he just fell face first on his bed, passing out not long after. Because slowly he was realizing that James would never change. That he would never be who Albus used to think he was.

But he didn’t want to admit it, not just yet. Not at 11.

#harry #potter #harry potter #next #gen #next gen #harry potter next gen #harry potter next gen fic #harry potter oc #harry potter next gen oc #oc #albus potter #scorpius malfoy #easy to hate #easy to hate chapter 6

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motherfucker-unlimited · 3 years

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Haters will imprison you inside a magic crystal and be like "If this seal ever comes undone the World will be plunged into Eternal Darkness and reality itself could shatter."

#this happened to my dad ExDeath ffv #Bring Me To Life started playing on the radio as I was typing this post so it's enchanted with +3 Edge #evil

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the-witty-pen-name · 3 years

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The Nanny Pt. 3

Lee Bodecker x Nanny!F!Reader

18+

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: alcohol/drinking, food, corrupt cop, mentions of prostitution/smut, implied age gap (reader is in her 20s), cursing, mentions of serial killers/murder, mutual pining,

Summary:

Based on this Request: The reader moves to Meade/Knockemstiff while answering an advertisement for a nanny in the paper. We learn that the ad was posted by Sandy, who has the reader watch her child whenever she and Carl leave to do their secret thing. After one of these trips, Sandy and her husband never return, so the reader is left caring for their baby. With the new investigation into these events, she meets Sandy’s brother Lee, the older, out of shape, alcoholic bachelor, and they are suddenly thrown into each others lives as he begins looking into his sister’s disappearance. Through it all, Lee starts to fall for her, and they slowly become a family.

A/N: I got inspired re-watching one of my favorite shows and I want to know if anyone else gets the reference I’m using! If I missed anything I should include as a warning that I missed please let me know! This is also unedited!

Taglist Form is in my bio!

Series Masterlist

Your shoulders tensed listening to the radio in the morning. Sitting on your ottoman, you were painting your nails, using the coffee table as your nail station. It was a really bright morning, and you had the curtains pulled open to draw in light. Julie frantically rushed between her room and the bathroom getting ready for her shift at the diner. The newest single from The Beach Boys was playing through the little counter top radio, but at the top of the hour, the melodies playing through the speaker changed to the news. The top story of the morning was chilling.

“Jules,” you said, calling her over hesitantly, putting the cap back on the bottle of polish. “Come listen to this.”

She scurried out of her room while working to tie her apron in the back, and then she stood next to where you sat to listen to the story on the news. The color drained from her face as you both listened to the reporter describe the horrific scene that was under investigation early this morning.

Roy Laferty was an evangelical preacher whose body washed up by the lake very early that same morning. The news report talked about the police investigation, and also disclosed his wife Helen, is also reported missing. They are looking into the disappearance of Helen, as well as opening a full investigation on Laferty’s murder. They also urge individuals with any information regarding the two to call the Sheriff’s department and to provide a statement.

“That’s horrifying,” you mumble, shocked as you try to process the news. Julie nods in agreement but strangely doesn’t seem nearly as affected by the news as you.

“It’s happening again,” she mutters, obviously concerned but her lack of surprise worries you.

“What do you mean again?” you ask.

“There was a string of unexplained murders, all men, like this newest one,” Julie explained, “This was all over the news like two years ago- can’t believe you hadn’t heard about it.” All you could do was shrug; this was all new to you. “Obviously, there was nothing linking their deaths, but there were these five killings a couple of years ago that are still unsolved. There’s no evidence, but the town rumors it was like a serial killer or something. Nothing is confirmed, of course, just a story.”

“What makes people think it was all the same person?” you ask, hesitantly.

“All the people were always the same type,” she shrugs, “Men all in their 20s and 30s. Again, there’s nothing linking them all together. It’s just talk.”

You clicked off the radio, and didn’t know what to do with yourself. Julie patted your shoulder, comfortingly but she had to go on with her day. So did you, and you almost her ability to move about the apartment almost unfazed by the news. You suppose it makes sense, her growing up here she’s probably used to it. You didn’t have the experience or the thick skin she had.

You had decided to go to the library, still preoccupied by the news segment as well as the things Julie had told you about the Sheriff. You spent the better half of the morning looking at the library’s archives of old newspapers. You wanted to read more about the unsolved cases Julie had told you about, so there you sat for several hours looking through the microfilm reader. You even stumbled upon articles that featured the Sheriff.

There he was plain as day on the front page when it was announced he had won the election the first time he ran several years back. You couldn’t help but notice the changes in his appearance and demeanor compared to the man you keep running into. He was a little slimmer, and he looked a lot happier, a little fuller of life, you decided was a good way to explain it. His smile was wider, and you could see the difference in his eyes as well. It was seeing how he was before the stress of the job began to take its heavy toll. He had on the same leather jacket as well, you were fairly certain, even though the one in the photograph hung a little looser.

You continued to skim through articles, piecing your way through the history of Knockemstiff. Little articles in black and white that persevered the history of this dark little town. You were beginning to realize this backwater town was a lot more tangled and complex than you originally believed. It was a tangled history, riddled with crime and unclosed cases, that people seem to have either forgotten or choose to ignore for their own sake. Your mind wandered back to the things Julie had told you about the Sheriff and him being corrupt. You wonder how much of what you read about linked back to him. Though you imagine if he has any sort of political connection, which a man like him must have, the things he was involved in probably didn’t even make it into the paper. The thought made you physically shiver.

You put the large leather portfolios of archives you took and put them back into their proper place on the self chronologically. You grabbed your sweater from the back of your chair, and pushed the chair back into place. Looking up at the clock on the wall, it was only just one in the afternoon. You decided to head down to the diner and grab a bite, and also visit Julie during her second shift. It was a short walk from the library to the diner. Everywhere felt like a short walk here, probably because everything in downtown was not much bigger than a few blocks. The majority of people lived far from the center of town, on their own land and farms.

The little bell on the door rang when you stepped in and Julie waved at you from behind the counter and pointed for you to grab an empty table in her section. You put your bag on the table and took a seat. It was a fairly busy time, most people who worked at the surrounding businesses coming in for their lunch break. Julie brought you over a coffee and then said she’d be back to chat when she got to take her five.

Lee hadn’t been able to go home since the phone call. The symptoms of his hangover were worsening and he was growing more irritable. His five o’clock shadow was still evident on his tired face and his head was pounding. He tried his best to just power through it but the sound of anyone trying to talk to him just made his ears ring.

After leaving the scene, he had to stop by his office and then he was on the phone for the better part of an hour fielding calls from frantic citizens not only of Knockemstiff but also Meade, where Laferty was from. Despite how horribly he felt, he tried his best to keep his temper level and just reassure people he had things under control. He was losing his patience.

He opened up his desk drawer and grabbed his bottle of asprin. Empty. He threw it into the small waste bin and got up abruptly grabbing his jacket off the hook and storming out. He didn’t tell anyone he was leaving and he didn’t care. It was a short walk to the drugstore from the station and he wouldn’t be five minutes. He just needed to do something to stop his head from hurting.

“Afternoon, Sheriff,” the pharmacist greeted when he walked in. He nodded his head upwards briefly to reply without having to talk. He just needed to get in and out. She went back to whatever she was working on when he came in, and he browsed the aisles for what he needed. After paying and walking out, he glanced in the direction of the diner when he was crossing the street. There you were, again. Sitting alone and chatting with the waitress that was refilling your coffee.

He let out a heavy sigh, and then continued walking. He didn’t want you to see him like this, hungover, unshaved, wrinkled uniform and heavy undereye bags from his lack of sleep. You looked- well, Lee thought you were the prettiest thing he’s seen in a while, maybe ever. There was something about you he couldn’t pinpoint. Maybe it was just because you weren’t from here. You were a fresh face, and not ruined by this town. There was a sweetness and an innocence in how you talked to him, because you didn’t know him like the rest of people here did. He liked that.

Even when he left the station for the day, he couldn’t even go home yet. He had a meeting at the bar with one of Brown’s lackeys. He was just supposed to collect his cut so he couldn’t imagine it would take long, but he was still annoyed. Stepping into the bar he looked around as he took off his hat. It was a little more crowded tonight then when he was here last. The red curtain was closed and his eyes lingered there for a moment before directing his attention to the man he recognized who was waving him over.

“Sheriff,” the man greets and Lee slides into the booth across from him.

“Hayward,” he replies. Without even needing to order, the bartender comes over bringing them a bottle of scotch and two glasses.

“You ever go back there?” Hayward asks, watching as a girl came out and brought a man behind the curtain who had been waiting at the bar.

“No,” Lee scoffs.

“They are amazing,” Hayward says, almost giddy. Lee feels sympathy towards the poor woman who had to take care of him. Lee doesn’t acknowledge the statement and just empties his glass and begins to pour himself a second.

“So, my cut?” Lee asks. Hayward frowns and goes into the breast pocket of his sports coat and pulls out an envelope of cash.

“You aren’t getting full,” the man says when Lee cocks a brow at the thinness of the envelope.

“Still?” Lee asks, pissed. Hayward nods. Lee’s jaw clenches.

“You didn’t keep things tidy on your end,” Hayward reminds him, “You got one job. Keep the cops out of our territory. We had two cruisers drive through last week. The only reason you’re getting anything at all is cause you managed to keep your people off us when we did the exchange with Deckard’s crew.”

The man finishes his drink, and then slaps the empty glass on the table. He pulls out his own envelope, which is much thicker than Lee’s and drops down more than enough for the drinks. He chuckles condescendingly and tells the Sheriff to get a dance. Fuck that. Lee takes the extra money and plans to just put it right in his pocket and go home. He finishes his third scotch and suddenly his headache was back. He felt worse than he did earlier today.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” a feminine voice asks, making him break his line of thought. He looks to his side and he recognizes her as one of the girls he sees bringing men to the back room, behind the velvet curtain. He shakes his head, and instead of leaving him alone, she slides into the booth next to him. Her hand grazes over his thigh. “You seem awful tense, Sheriff,” she says and then bites her lip.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted. He knows she doesn’t actually want him, and it’s just an attempt to get him to spend money in the backroom. If he doesn’t focus his already hazing vision, maybe she could vaguely remind him of you. He can’t do it, but he wants to. Her hand moves up his leg and he pulls away. He adjusts his pants and she shrugs.

“Maybe next time then,” she winks before walking away. He rests his head back on the vinyl seat and sighs. He grabs his hat and jacket, leaving before he changes his mind. “Ask for Cherry when you come in, yeah?” she calls when he walks out.

You are just everywhere. You’re in his head and he doesn’t even know you. He needs to sleep, desperately, and part of him in the back of his mind hopes you’ll be there. When he wakes up, he doesn’t remember.

“Have you heard about the Church fundraiser coming up?” Julie asks. You shake your head. “It’s a pretty big deal here. Everyone participates.”

“What is it?” you ask, kicking off your slippers so you can sit crisscross on the couch.

“Bid-On-A-Basket,” she says casually, like it’s the most obvious thing.

“Never heard of it,” you reply, “It sounds fun. What is it?”

“All us single gals put together a picnic basket with everything for a lunch,” she explains, “and then all the eligible bachelors bid on the basket and a date with the girl who made it. Last year, the dreamiest guy, Bill Whittier, bought mine- it’s so fun. Me and Bill didn’t work out but it was a good time.”

“I don’t know anyone here,” you say hesitantly.

“Perfect way to get a date then,” she teases. You bite your lip. You aren’t sure about this.

“And what if some creep is the highest bidder?” you counter.

“You get a bad date story for your next date?” she poses. “Please,” she begs, “It’s for a good cause, all the money this year is going to help the Sunday school.”

“What if no one bids on it?” You rebut.

“Look at yourself,” she scoffs, “you’ll get bids. Trust me.” You roll your eyes.

“I’ll think about it,” you say finally. She smirks, completely planning to wear you down.

“Remember it’s for the kids,” she reasons, “It wouldn’t hurt to go and participate.”

“I said I’ll think about it,” you laugh.

Time passes and soon enough you get another call from Sandy, and you are suddenly back to taking care of Valerie. You had missed her, a lot actually. You definitely have gotten attached to her, and you think you’ve grown on her too. Sandy was vague this time for how long they’d be gone, but since the previous time went so smoothly, you didn’t worry about it.

About a week after Sandy and Carl left this time, there was another disturbing news report. You were sitting on the floor, changing Valerie and you had the television playing softly in the background. The news told the story of another body, this time found in the woods off of the highway. You finish changing the baby and hold her close, her little chin resting on your shoulder as you watch the news story. It was just like Julie had talked about. Another man, thirty years old. He was shot and his body abandoned. You jump at the knock at the front door.

You peep through the curtains, and you see the Sheriff waiting on the front porch. You wonder if he knows you’re there. Part of you almost wishes he knows it you here and he wanted to see you. It’s incredibly stupid on your part and you know better, but nonetheless, part of you hoped he came here for you. Very stupid. With Valerie on your hip, you open the door.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he says walking into the house. He stops in front of you and presses a kiss to Valerie’s forehead and she squeals happily seeing Lee. You close the door with your foot. “May I?” he asks, and opens his arms. You agree, based on Valerie’s reactions to him whenever she sees him. He takes her in his arms, and she starts playing with his tie. He loosens it so she can play with it and not choke him.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” you ask. He reacts in a way in a way you can’t really read, but you don’t press.

His mind just goes back to the woman a couple weeks back in the brothel who asked him the same thing, and that his mind immediately had gone to you. He just clears his throat and snaps himself out of that thought process.

“Um, I just came by to see Sandy,” he says, “But I can fathom a guess that she’s not here?”

“Excellent deduction,” you joke, and he smirks. Valerie has his tie in her mouth and is covering it in drool. He doesn’t even seem to care.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you nod. “You looked a little scared when you answered.”

“Just watching the news before you showed up is all,” you explain, “They were talking about how there was another man found dead.”

“Ain’t got nothing to worry about,” he says, “We’re on top of it. I’m on my way over there now.”

“Can I ask you something?” you ask hesitantly.

“Of course, darling.”

“My friend, you probably know her- Julie Grady.”

“Yeah, nice kid,” he says, listening but gently pulling his tie from Valerie’s grasp. She starts playing with the flap of the pocket of his jacket.

Kid. You almost grimace. That’s right. Of course, Lee would view someone your age that way. You weren’t. You chastise yourself for even caring, but you decide to continue. You shouldn’t care how he sees you.

“Yeah- well, she told me there have been others,” you continue, “I also read up about it, just the newspapers at the library- but she said people thought it was some kind of serial killer… I just, I want to know what you think.”

“I don’t think know,” he answers honestly, a little taken aback, not expecting you to approach him with something this serious. “I doubt it,” he explains, “Serial killers stay close to home. Now those cases you read about, and these two we are looking at- they sound close together but logistically, they aren’t really. Two of those unsolved were in completely different states- just like this new one.”

“So, no traveling serial killer?” you chuckle, trying to sound lighthearted. He chuckles and shakes his head.

“Most people like that stay in one area,” Lee explains, “They work jobs, they have a home, you know? They tend to stay near where they live.”

“That makes me feel much better,” you answer honestly.

“You got nothing to worry about, and that’s a promise,” he grins, although he supposes coming from him that probably doesn’t mean much. Regardless, it makes you smile.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” you offer again. He bites his lip, taking a moment to think.

“Sandy keeps a bag of candy in her cabinet,” he says, walking into the kitchen with you following close behind. He passes Valerie off to you and he chuckles under his breath at the state of his tie. He reaches up in the cabinet and pulls down a brown paper bag, filled with taffies and chocolates.

Something about this man who has a whole time scared of him playing with his niece and then stealing sweets from the cupboard is something you find so strangely endearing. He unwraps one of the brightly colored taffies and then puts the bag in his pocket.

“I gotta go,” he announces, “let me know if you hear from Sandy, yeah?”

“Of course,” you reply.

“Gonna head out to that scene, and do my report,” he discloses, not really sure why he’s telling you. “Then I have a meeting at the rectory about that fundraiser thing. Figure out security.”

“They need security at Bid-On-A-Basket?” you ask, with an eyebrow raised. He smiles.

“You going?” he asks, flirtatiously.

“Just seems weird to have police at a Church thing.”

“There’s been stupid fights,” he shrugs, “some guy will get outbid and cause a fuss. Nothing serious. Probably just gonna be me and a deputy in case. You going?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” you say sheepishly. “Why?”

He walks towards the front door, and you follow seeing him out.

“Cause I gotta know if I’ll be bidding on a basket,” he winks.

“You gonna start a fight if you don’t win it?” you joke.

“If it’s yours? Absolutely, darling.”

Taglist:

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thera-daydreams · 3 years

Text

PLUS ONE

》 A TRESE TWOSHOT 《

[Maliksi x Reader]

📝 Summary: In which your beloved best friend snatches you from your apartment at dawn asking you to be his plus one for his cousin's wedding. Unbeknownst to the clueless you, everything is just going according to Maliksi's ultimate masterplan. With the help of friends and family, the Prince of the Tikbalang finally gets the girl he's been longing for. And oh, Señor Armanaz gets his dream daughter-in-law and the promise of grandchildren within the year.

📌 Warning: May contain some slight NSFW for spicy suggestiveness and cussing. No smut or anything super SPG—this girl can't write that for her life—but just be prepared. It's Maliksi we're talking about. We've got friends-to-lovers, obliviousness, pining, fluff, and a tikbalang simp. Figure it out. 😃

(word count: 7,454) ♥︎ Part Two: ?

》 AUTHOR'S NOTE 《

Not an Inday spinoff, but a lengthy oneshot in celebration of this blog getting 90 followers. Just ten more to 100, yay! Thank you so much for the love and support, everyone. I also promised that I'll be making this brainrot that @binibiningbabaylan and I have fangirled over a few days ago (find the original post here) when I finished the latest chapter of Inday. Here it is! 🥰

Before I forget, I was also inspired by the cute fic made by @crispybasil titled "Sunshowers" and the "Trese Boys As Things My Guy Friends Do" made by the amazing @smolla-than-a-bug (I bow down to your wonderful works in the Trese fandom). I definitely see Maliksi to be the type to go on spontaneous roadtrips and be the boyfriend to drive you around eveeeerywhere (while also driving you crazy). 🚘

There are also some songs mentioned throughout this work. You should probably listen to them while reading for the full experience. Ending was somewhat rushed but eh, I'm too exhausted and I've rewritten it too many times. Also, if someone makes some actual tikbalang smut, tag me please. Anyways, enjoy! 💕

The way it all started was hilarious. Absolutely fucking hilarious. It happened like a blur. Literally. One second, you were snoozing in your bed. The next? You had a seatbelt on in the shotgun seat of a sophisticated-looking car. Your brain didn't even get to process it yet.

"... So let me get this straight," you grumbled, still half-asleep from your sleep marathon. You just finished a hugely successful project at work yesterday, got promoted, and wanted to make up for the restless nights you spent overtime in the office. Of course you were irritated from being disturbed. You were on vacation leave for two entire weeks, originally planning to go into temporary isolation by deactivating your social media accounts and reserving a beach cabana for yourself in Batangas.

Well, turns out, you weren't going to Batangas anytime soon. All because your unreasonably spontaneous bestfriend of ten hectic years stole you from your apartment at 2AM. Was this considered kidnapping? Was this him just being more in touch with his tikbalang side, taking unsuspecting women in their sleep and leading them to their inevitable death? (He was going over the speed limit, so it was a valid thought.) Will wearing your shirt inside-out save you today? Lord, masyado ka pang pagod para mag-isip ngayon.

"Go on."

"You abducted picked me up in the middle of the night because you want me to be your plus one at your cousin's wedding in Tagaytay?"

"Yup. And technically, the venue is right on the outskirts of Cavite going to Tagaytay," he corrected you as a matter-of-factly.

"Same thing, whatever," you huffed tiredly. "Your cousin's wedding is at 6AM today. In a few hours. In four hours."

"Uh-huh."

You groaned exasperatedly, "Mal naman, eh! You didn't even let me bring anything. Could've at least given me a heads-up a few hours ago. I'm practically emptyhanded right now save for my phone! Sinungaling ka, you said this was just a normal midnight drive—not a freaking wedding!"

The Prinsipe ng Mga Tikbalang, son of the Great Stallion, heir to the Armanaz herd, and the Top Drag Racer of C-5 Expressway—if that was even one of his Game of Thrones-like titles—grinned as he continued driving beside you. He let you continue ranting in the passenger seat while he mulled over his ultimate masterplan that would change his entire life later on. He was a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy, so all this wasn't his thing. But for you? He'll make plans, alright.

"Wala man lang akong dinalang masusuot o kahit konting makeup para maging presentable sa harapan ng buong pamilya mo," you exclaimed, in absolute despair. "Do you know how out of my league you are? Your rich-ass family might judge me—hell, your dad might see me as a hampaslupa if I show up there in my pambahay and tsinelas!"

"Psh, I'm not out of your league," Maliksi waved it off, smoothly turning a corner. "And calm down. We've known each other for a decade! My dad practically loves you as his own daughter. Heck, the entire family knows you and keeps telling me they want you adopted in already. Lolo Andres and Lola Perlita said they'd have the paperwork settled. You just need to sign them."

It would be even better (and easier) if you married into the family. To him, specifically (as if he'd let anyone else have you). God, he was already being so obvious in his advances, but you were just so damn oblivious whenever it came to romance. None of this needed to happen if you just got it through your thick skull that he was madly in love with you.

"That's not the point, idiot!" you slumped back into your seat, hopeless. "Do you think the bride and the groom will get offended? Shit, baka masumpaan ako kung magagalit sila, Mal. Mukha akong patay galing sa South Cemetery."

The long-haired tikbalang rolled his eyes, "Huwag kang mag-alala. Nothing's going to go wrong. Chill ka lang diyan. I've got everything under control, babe."

Babe. Yes, he even called you babe but you thought it was him being a himbo and a massive flirt. Now, it was his common term of endearment for you, but you still assumed it was him just being irksome to you and that you couldn't stop the man from saying it anymore. Thus, you let it be (the most obvious hint of his attraction to you, bestie).

"... Ugh, why didn't you ask Hannah or Amie to go with you?"

He just smiled knowingly, shrugging and making up an excuse, "Nagmamadali ako, eh. Hannah and Amie are also coming, but they already have the other tikbalang as dates."

"'Luh, ako pala ang backup choice mo?"

"Heh. Whatever you want to think."

Little did you know that you were always his first choice. Always. Even when he pursued Alexandra Trese many years ago, trying to convince himself you were just his best friend, it was always you. How did he come to that realization? Well, an international band he was a fan of released a song a couple years ago and he heard it being played in a club in BGC. The song title?

It Was Always You by Maroon 5.

Needless to say, after hearing the song and being unable to get it—get you—out of his mind at night, he stopped courting Alexandra. Unfortunately for him, that time, you'd started dating other men. Therefore, he was left on the sidelines... until your latest and most painful breakup, at least. That was five years ago. You still hadn't dated anyone since then, kind of traumatized from getting into another failed relationship like that.

In the present day, as if the fates were playing on you two, one of your favorite artists played on the radio. A very ironic song given the situation you two were in.

Best Friend by Rex Orange County.

Maliksi knew it was a favorite of yours. He knew it by the way your eyes lit up like a star brightening the twinkling night sky. Like the sun first rising in the morning at Apolaki's command. Like the moon extending its gentle rays from the magic of Mayari herself. If there was anything he wanted to ask of the old gods, it was you—everything else be damned.

"I wanna be the one that makes your day, the one you think about as you lie awake," you half-sang and half-screamed happily, somewhat out-of-tune. "I can't wait to be your number oooooone! I'll be your biggest fan and you'll be mine—"

Maliksi glanced at you, not minding that his eardrums were probably getting microscopic ruptures from your aggressive singing. As much as he wanted to stare at you all day, he had to keep his eyes on the road. But the lyrics you were singing were wrong; the Prince of the Tikbalang was already yours from day one.

"Babe, McDo drive-through tayo for breakfast. Let me make it up to you. Gusto mo ng caramel sundae for your promotion gift? Sige. Ako bahala. Chicken nuggets din? Mabubusog ka ba niyan? I don't think they serve those this early..."

》》》

"Sandali lang!" you shouted out from inside an empty room. You'd just arrived at the venue—the Alta Veranda de Tibig in Silang, Cavite (practically the gateway to Tagaytay)—an hour or so ago. The hired makeup artist just left so that you could privately change into the outfit that had been bought specifically for you. Curse Mal and his ability to buy anything (perhaps anyone) he wanted. "Bwiset, Mal, you didn't tell me we'd be part of the damn entourage. We have to be walking the aisle in thirty minutes, simbako! You just love rushing me, don't you!?"

If only you were the one walking down the aisle today towards him.

When you exited the room, Maliksi couldn't help but let his jaw drop as he skimmed your figure, clad in the luxurious, silky satin blush midi dress he bought in one of those fancy stores in Makati yesterday. He imagined that it would look great on you, but now, seeing it on you in person... you looked divine (and frankly, he wanted to see it off your body to see what was underneath—but don't get too ahead of yourself, Mal). It was a whole 'nother level from his imagination. The deep cowl neckline and thin spaghetti straps showed your lovely collarbones... as well as a peek of your cleavage. His favorite and the best part of it all? It was backless, allowing him to gaze at the tempting curve of your spine.

He hadn't realized he had grown silent until you smiled and closed his mouth, tapping his chin.

"Lalangawin ang bibig mo, Mal," you laughed softly. Never had you seen him so speechless. You then flicked your hair back, ridiculously posing for him like you were on the cover of Vogue magazine (haba ng hair mo, gurl!). "Do I look that good? Char lang."

"... You look absolutely ravishing—I mean, uh, stunning. Hot. Yeah." That was all he could say. He mentally punched himself for not showering you with more suave compliments.

Still, your face brightened up, not knowing that the man in front of you just fell for you a thousand times harder, "Wow! Really? Damn. Ang galing talaga ng MUA na kinuha mo, ginawa akong artista. Give me their contact number later! May work event pa naman ako in two months. I'm shocked, it's like they made me rise from the dead! Even my eyebags are gone, Mal! How'd they do that?" Heck yeah, your confidence was boosted. He offered his arm to you like a gentleman, making you half-heartedly roll your eyes (you took it anyway). From holding it alone, you could tell that your best friend was a sinewy man (well, you knew that already after seeing his tikbalang form before—the little shit didn't even wear a loincloth like all his clanmates; your poor eyes were eternally scarred).

You looked him up and down. You wouldn't lie—Maliksi is and always has been an attractive man. Now? With his hair in a ponytail (pun not intended), definitely one of the hunkiest men you've ever known. "You're not looking too bad yourself, horsey."

"Ako pa!" He puffed his chest out in pride. You chuckled at his reaction.

"By the way, how do you even know my dress size and my shoe size?"

"Babe, I've known you too long. You know almost everything about me, I know everything about you."

You snorted at his confident tone, "'Di nga? You don't know every single thing about me, Mal. Assuming ka masyado."

"Alam ko nga anong cup size mo. Wala lang 'yang shoe and dress size."

You slapped his shoulder, cheeks quickly flushing red, "Huy, umayos ka! Walang hiyang tikbalang na 'to." With this guy as your best friend? You heard dirty jokes at least once a day. "Don't be inappropriate here!"

"What? It's only fair I know!" He looked down on you suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. "You already know I always go commando, so of course I know that your bra is a size—"

"Shhh! Baka marinig ka, 'nyeta."

"So? Let them hear. My best friend has a nice set of melons!" he shouted. You were grateful there was no one around. Hopefully.

"Oh my God..."

Your best friend chortled at how flustered you'd become. He led you to where some of his family was waiting, with a couple of his relatives already greeting you. You instantly and quite easily mingled with them, your worries of them not accepting you far from even true (they all knew how much their prince loved the innocent you).

"Kayo na talaga, pare?" one of his older tikbalang clanmates asked while you went away to be fawned over by his aunts.

Maliksi chuckled, crossing his arms as he watched you from afar, "Heh. Hindi pa."

Another one of his clanmates—a younger one—laughed, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, "Talaga? That's cap, bro. You two are like a married couple already and you guys still aren't a thing?"

"Ilang taon na ba kayong magkakaibigan?" the older one asked him.

"Almost ten years," Maliksi responded, a smile unconsciously pulling his lips up as he remembered your moments together. He watched you converse with his female relatives (who adored you the moment Maliksi brought you to a family event many moons ago).

The two tikbalang snickered as they saw the look on the Great Stallion's heir.

"You're down bad," the younger one said, snapping a photo of his lovestruck kuya. "You've got it so bad for her, dudeparechong!"

"Balak mong ligawan anytime soon?" the older tikbalang inquired.

"Heh. Balak ko na ngang pakasalan. Kung pwede, ngayon."

They looked at Maliksi as if he was crazy. He was very much serious, though, even if there was a huge, lopsided smile on his face. The Prince of the Tikbalang raised a brow at them.

"What? Don't give me that look. Our ten years of being best friends is practically the courting and the dating stage already."

"Eh... you're right. Don't waste anymore time. Go and marry her today, dude. Suporta kami sa'yo, basta groomsmen kami sa kasal niyo, ha!"

"Ge. Without question."

Meanwhile, on your end with the ladies of the family, they started pestering you on your love life (like all typical Filipino aunties). Chismis everywhere.

"O, iha, single ka pa ba?"

"Kailan ka magpapakasal? Malapit ka nang pumasok sa thirties mo."

"Do you want kids? How many?"

"Are you and Maliksi a couple? You look good together! Kayo na, 'di ba?"

"Will you be getting married next? Are you engaged? When's the wedding? Invite niyo kami!"

Before you could get overwhelmed by their questions, Maliksi swept you off your feet to lead you to the entourage that was lining up outside the chapel area. Again, it happened like a blur. He laughed at the partially nauseated look on your face.

"You okay there?" he asked, grinning.

"Your family thinks we're together," you muttered quietly, not meeting his eyes. You weren't sure why you felt... tingly about their statements.

He tilted his head at you curiously, gently setting you down on your feet and helping you stand.

"Do you hate the idea?" It hurt him to ask you the question, but he wanted your thoughts on it. Perhaps doing this was a bad idea. Maliksi was competitive in many things, including wanting you to be his, but if you were so opposed to it, he would never force you into something you didn't want. He let go of your hand; you didn't even notice he'd been holding it until he let go. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Your wide-eyed gaze snapped back to look up at him, "No! No, it's not that! And... it's not bad." Your hand felt strangely empty now that his was gone. Biting your lip, you disclosed, "You're not making me uncomfortable, Mal. Don't ever think that."

With that, you shyly interlocked your arm with his, tearing your eyes from his to mask the growing warmth you felt spreading in your veins. You two didn't say anything else when the ushers let you walk down the beautiful, petal-covered aisle together.

The man beside you was starstruck. Hopeful. Maybe both of you did have a chance. Maybe somewhere in the depths of your soul, his feelings for you were being reciprocated. For the rest of the sacred ceremony in the gorgeous main pavilion, both of you relished in short, comfortable, and low conversations. He even cracked jokes every once in a while—really funny ones that made it challenging for you to you stifle your laughter.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride."

Maliksi fervently prayed to Bathala that he'd experience the same opportunity he was seeing with you someday. One day.

Even while the sun was brightly out, the sky began showering down light rain onto the land. You were in awe as you looked out the window.

"Hala, totoo nga pala! Tignan mo!" you laughed, tugging Maliksi's suit sleeve, pointing at the window.

"Na ano?" he curiously inquired, not understanding what you were referring to.

"Na kapag may tikbalang na kinakasal, umuulan habang may araw pa," you replied, eyes filled with childlike mirth and wonder. A rainbow had even begun to form by the clouds. "Look, it's magical! Ang ganda pala ng view dito kasama ang old Spanish architecture. Timeless na timeless. It's so pretty, 'no? Picture tayo 'maya, Mal."

Unlike you, it wasn't the sky outside that the prince was looking at. Amidst the loud cheers for the newlywed couple and the bubbles the guests were blowing, his vision could only focus on how magnificent you looked while being amazed. You were his best view. (Ed from 90-Day Fiancé, kabahan ka na, may katapat ka sa pickup line mo.)

》》》

"Smile for the picture!"

You giggled as Maliksi was dragged into a photo-op with the bridesmaids and the important older wedding sponsors a few feet away (funnily, he looked a little constipated around them). All of a sudden, when he was heading back to your direction, you were roughly pushed into the said man's arms. When you turned around, there was nothing (except maybe a gust of wind that came out of nowhere).

"Ooh, gotcha. Careful," the tikbalang steadied you, strong hands holding your biceps. "Natapilok ka?"

"... Huh, hindi naman," you wondered suspiciously, looking around. "I think someone pushed me? Parang tinulak ako... but wala namang tao."

"Weird. Maybe it was just the wind."

It actually was. Really. Maliksi knew for a fact that it was those two taong hangin who were spying on you from the corner, trying to pair you up. He gave them a thumbs-up while your back was turned in the opposite direction. Hannah and Amie returned the thumbs-up before vanishing. Suddenly, the two wedding photographers had moved on from the bridesmaids and were right beside you.

"What a lovely couple you two are!" she praised. Before you could correct her, she held up the black contraption she held towards you two. "Pose for the camera, lovelies!"

And so you did, the photographer guiding you two on what to do. Maliksi wrapped his arm around your waist and you leaned on his side, looking sidewards to the camera with one leg cocked in front of the other. Her assistant, who was holding a polaroid camera, printed out two photos for you.

"Thank you," you told him, taking the photos from his hands then flicking them rapidly to make the images develop. You and Mal were about to walk to the reception area when the photographer stopped you, handing the male beside you a business card.

"If you two need a photographer or a videographer for your wedding, call me," she signaled to both of you before running to another guest, bringing her assistant with her.

You gawked, "Mal, did you just hear what she said?"

"Loud and clear." A grin was on his face. He seemed very pleased at what he heard.

"... How can she even tell if someone is married or not?"

Maliksi's free hand took your left hand, tapping the ring finger, "Nothing here."

"Ooooooh. I get it now." Your brows creased. "Huh. This is like the fifth time today the people here have mistaken us for a couple."

Maliksi shrugged, teasing you, "Who knows? Baka may potential tayo, babe."

Before you could ask him what he meant, he was hurriedly towing you to the reception venue. While he was doing that, you stared at the now-developed polaroid photos you were holding. Huh. Maybe you two did look like a couple.

"Come on, they're serving some snacks at the welcome reception area. Peach pie and mango float-flavored. Paborito mo, babe."

》》》

The rest of the night went by without a hitch. You were actually enjoying the event—the host was great, the food was great, the music was great. Everything was great... that was, until the games.

"Alright! Now that the bride's garter has been removed, let's have the bouquet and garter toss... starting with the females!" the host announced. "Dear bride, please stay here in front. And all single ladies—and by single I mean ready to mingle and are not married—please rise and stand here on the dance floor. Let's play matchmaker tonight, everyone!"

"Uy, single ladies daw," Maliksi nudged your side. "Sign mo na 'yan." You snorted like a pig.

"Nope, ayokong madamay sa bouquet toss," you whisper-yelled at your best friend. "Do you know how embarrassing that is?! Besides, they won't notice if I don't join! Special tactic ko 'yan sa weddings: pretending I'm not single. Katabi naman kita."

More women came to the front, making you feel assured that you didn't need to participate. The host was about to say something, when the bride interrupted to whisper something into his ear.

"Hala, halaaa! Sabi ko all single ladies, pero may isang single lady na nagtatago pa!" he announced, making you freeze. Please don't let it be you. "What's her name, beloved bride?"

"Y/N L/N." You nearly spat out your champagne. You? Did they just call out your name? How did they know?

"Oh fuck," you cursed quietly.

"'Di ka makakatakas dito, babe," Maliksi jabbed, making you stand up. "Tinatawag ka na."

"Baka may ibang Y/N L/N dito," you resisted, attempting to sit back down. "I can't do this, Mal."

"'Sus, ikaw pa. And it's just a symbolic ceremony!" he encouraged, as if he didn't have any underlying intentions. "I doubt the bouquet will go to you anyway."

Sheesh, what a big fat liar you are, tikbalang prince.

You expressed your dissatisfaction with the situation, "Bwiset, fine. I'll just... dodge it. Or evade it. God, I swear..." You calmed down, confident. "I'm not going to worry. I've never caught the bouquet at my own friends' weddings anyway."

When you were at the dance floor, Maliksi snickered, seeing the bride—his cousin—wink at him. After all, he had thoroughly bribed her earlier.

《《《

"It's about time you settled down with someone, Mal," the bride commented while he slipped her the newest Hermés designer bag filled with a bunch of jewelry (plus some bills) two hours ago, right before the reception began and while you were in the restroom freshening up. "Hehehe, this is why you're my favorite cousin."

"Do we have a deal?"

"Of course. I'll make sure she participates. I'll also try to throw it in her direction."

"Good. Thanks."

"You better invite me to your beach wedding. I can tell how much you love her."

"Not a problem. I'll even make you a sponsor."

The bride stared at her bouquet, already practicing how she was going to throw it, "Tito's going to thank me so much for ensuring that he's going to get grandkids soon, hihi."

》》》

Back to the present, on the other end of the room, Maliksi saw a familiar duo give him a sign that they were ready. Bingo. Time to execute the most important part of his plan.

《《《

"I don't care how you do it," he told the two wind elementals after he bribed the bride. "I've already instructed the bride on what she should do, pero siguraduhin niyo lang talagang lumipad sa kanya ang bouquet."

"Mmhmm," Amie flipped her hair, a hand on her cocked hip. "And what do we get in return, oh great Señorito Armanaz?"

"Sagot ko bar-hopping niyo for one month."

The two girls pretended to think about it, making Maliksi roll his eyes. He had to pull out the big guns, huh?

"Fine. Magbibigay ako ng cash deposit plus pwede niyong gamitin ang black card ko for a one-week shopping spree in Ortigas." There. Bullseye. That's what they liked.

"Deal!" they exclaimed excitedly.

Hannah let a cool gust of wind enter one of the nearby windows, testing out how they're going to do this. "Ano pa bang pinaplano mo for Y/N mamaya?"

Maliksi hummed, "Basta."

》》》

You tried your best to hide within the densest part of the group of women. The bride seemed to have her eyes on you, weirdly enough, and she looked almost feral wanting to throw her flowers into someone's face.

That someone being you. Most likely.

"Target locked on," you saw her mouth move. She positioned herself like she was about to throw a football at someone (ahem, you). Holy shit, was she talking to you? Miss ma'am, it was a bouquet toss not a bouquet throw. The bride seemed to notice this, and once more regained her elegant composure.

"3, 2, 1," the host counted down. "Go!"

Surprisingly, the bouquet flew very high into the air (it was a wonder it didn't get tangled in the ceiling decor), but quite a distance away from you. You grinned, knowing it was too far to even touch you. Squeezing through the crowd of women eagerly awaiting the bouquet, you went to return to your assigned table.

Ah, what a wonderful evening.

Sike!

Something painfully landed right into your face, leaves and flowers getting into your hair and mouth.

... Wait, leaves and flowers?

Before you could comprehend it, the bouquet dropped right into your arms. What kind of ungodly, inhuman force allowed this to even happen?

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have our lucky girl for the night!" Everyone clapped, with some—those guests you knew—even cheering your name unbelievably loud. The host approached you, a glint in his eye which you couldn't understand. "Miss Y/N, kindly sit here while we await the lucky guy who catches the garter from the groom."

What just happened?

"All single gentlemen, please proceed to the dance floor. Remember, the man who gets the garter gets to slip it onto the lucky lady's leg later!"

Oh, God. You pinched the bridge of your nose. What you'd give to be back at home or to be in that resort in Batangas you'd planned on going to for a solo vacation.

"To make this even more exciting," the host stated, handing you a black blindfold. "Our lucky lady has to keep her eyes closed until her lucky man for the night captures the bride's garter! When the music plays, only then can she uncover her eyes."

See? Humiliating, just as you expected. Still, you wrapped the blindfold around your head (albeit hesitantly). You attempted to guess who it might be, thinking of all the tikbalang friends Maliksi had introduced to you back then whenever he invited you to his clan reunions.

"Groom, are you ready?" the host asked, microphone loud and clear.

"Ready na ready!"

"Single gentlemen, are you ready?!"

"Ready na ready! Awoo, awoo!" they loudly chorused, exactly mimicking Spartans about to engage in battle. You sweatdropped in the seat you were in. This was actually kind of scary. Maybe you felt a bit objectified.

"3, 2, 1, go!"

There was a brief moment of silence, which made you concerned. Ba't ang tahimik? Then, everyone erupted into roars and bravoes much louder than when you caught the bouquet—perhaps even louder by tenfold. What the heck was happening?!

The music played. Very raunchy, spicy, babymaking music. You expected it to be the typical Careless Whisper by George Michael or Pony by Ginuwine (corny songs which you could probably laugh at, at least), but no. Nuh-uh, this was probably worse. The DJ must be pretty young, the song of their choosing being a slowed, bass-boosted, sexier remix of Earned It by the Weeknd.

Ano 'to, bold? Fifty Shades of Grey? The hell was this?

Alright. This was embarrassing. Thank the heavens there were no children at this party. From the music alone and its implications, this was strictly for adults.

You removed your blindfold (that was okay now, right?) as the guests whistled playfully. You peeked one eye open reluctantly, then inwardly groaned. Oh, no. You should've expected it to be him of all people from how loud the reactions were. And all those yells from the crowd were from his family.

Son of a—

"Well, this has proven to be a very interesting arrangement!" the host proclaimed. "Our lucky man for tonight is none other than our great clan leader's heir, Maliksi Armanaz! Congratulations, sir! You get to slip the lacey little garter on Miss Y/N!"

The said very smug tikbalang stood a few feet away from the chair you were sitting on, smirking at you. His hair was no longer in that mesmerizing ponytail—instead, he'd tied it into a more sinfully attractive man-bun, loose strands framing his face and accentuating that sharp, angled jaw of his (say yes and thank you to Manny Jacinto's jawline, besties).

"Let's cheer him on in his new mission, everybody!" the host pushed. Was this that glint in his eye earlier? And was that a one thousand peso bill sticking out of his pocket?

The groomsmen, Mal's cousins and uncles whom you've met before, hollered words of encouragement to the tall man (who was, oddly enough, not one bit fazed). In fact, Maliksi seemed like he was famished as he stared you down.

You swallowed, feeling like you were going to get eaten (heh, say that again). Maliksi had shrugged off his dark suit blazer to the beat of the song (holy fuck, he also unclasped the suspenders attached to his pants right before your eyes—asdfghjkl). Were you prepared for this? No. Will you ever be prepared? No!

"Mr. Armanaz, before you begin," the host interrupted. "We have an additional challenge for you in this mission. Kaya mo ba? It was a request of the newlywed couple."

"What is it?"

"Use your teeth!" the bride and the groom cheerfully shouted, clapping with the other guests. Whatdidtheysaaaaay???

The cocky bastard didn't even hesitate, his smirk at you growing wider; those pearly whites of his on full display. Was it just you or were his canines a little sharper than usual?

"Anything for the newlyweds. Challenge accepted," he dashingly replied, winking at you. You sputtered indignantly. Pisteng yawa. Putangina. Putek. Pakshet. You swore you thought of every swear word in the book at that moment. What did that YouTube parody song about Filipino mythological creatures say again? About the tikbalang? Ah, yes. Half-macho dancer and half-stallion. Maybe the joke was true, especially when you saw what Maliksi did next.

He bit the shred of lace, loosening his necktie (bestie, you good there?), unbuttoning some top buttons, and rolling up the sleeves of his collared white undershirt up to his elbows (consequently showing off his toned, veiny forearms—those lucky bridesmaids behind him nearly fainted). Honestly, you felt like you were about to lose your mind from embarrassment. With how tantalizing your guy best friend was being? Let our response be: San Pedro, kunin mo na ako. Was he doing all this to tease you? To rile you up?

Because damn it all, it was working. In your ten years of knowing Maliksi Armanaz, withstanding all his daily dirty jokes and flirtatious attempts, never had you seen him like this. So... wolfish. Ravenous. Like he was a man that hadn't been fed in years.

He stalked closer towards you, falling to his knees in front of your legs. Your gown had a long slit that extended up to an inch or two below where your left leg began—your best friend was eyeing his target already, knowing where to place the garter. Normally, you would never even wear something as revealing as this gown. It just wasn't your type, but Maliksi was the one who bought this for you for this specific occasion, so you had no choice. It was this or your pantulog he stole you in just hours ago. At first, you were confident in the gown. Now? You felt too... naked.

Somehow, in the heat of it all, you'd muted out the noise of the venue. Maliksi teasingly lifted your foot up, fingertips slyly grazing the thin shoe straps around your left foot—his calculated touch leaving fire in its trail. Once the garter had been successfuly inserted past your high-heeled stilettos, the man kneeling in front of you kept his hands to himself. Despite the fact that now there was absolutely zero skin-to-skin contact between you and this man, your body felt hotter than it ever was before as he expertly slid the lacy bit of cloth up your ankle at an agonizingly slow pace.

Maliksi's warm eyes had turned dark, his pupils blown, a tinge of red in them—of his true beast—while he maintained striking eye contact with you, pulling the garter up your calf with his teeth. Smoothly tugging... tugging... tugging. Tangina, it was like he was undressing you with his eyes alone; like he was telepathically telling you to keep your eyes open.

To keep your eyes on him, where he was knelt inbetween your legs, his hands intentionally locked on his back. Did you ever imagine this? Him between your legs? Maybe. Once or twice. But you never thought about it seriously; Maliksi dated girls left and right in the past.

His lips... his lips were so close... so close to your leg that you could feel the heat of his breath along with the lace. Were you about to die? Perhaps you already did. Maybe you were in heaven. Up... up... up... snap!

Suddenly, he stopped, grinning up at you mischievously and letting the elastic bounce back to the skin of your left knee.

"I'm not going any further, don't worry, babe," he whispered, noting that your eyes had become misty and glazed over. Internally, he grew worried. "That's enough." Did he think it was from discomfort? From you being uncomfortable? Bitch, no. It was the exact opposite. You had never been this turned on in your entire life.

You felt like your soul had left your body at that moment. Did you just have a heart attack? Was your blood pressure okay? Before you or Maliksi could stand, however, someone bellowed from the wedding sponsor tables.

"Higher! That's an order!"

Fucking hell, it was Maliksi's father who shouted. He wasn't in the huge tikbalang form you'd normally meet him in, but he was still very intimidating in his humanoid form, commanding attention and subservience wherever he went. You could tell where Maliksi got it from.

Instantly, the other guests—already half-drunk and wanting the spirit of partying to continue on—joined in.

"Higher! Higher!"

The host cheered, "You heard Señor Armanaz! Higher!"

Maliksi gave you a questioning look. Even if it was his father who spoke up, he still wouldn't do anything you didn't want. Well, you two made it this far; there was no point in getting embarrassed now. You bit the inside of your cheek, nodding. You probably couldn't erase the redness on your skin with how much you'd blushed from this night. It was as if the heat was tattooed onto your skin.

"Go on, Mal," you whispered to him, bending your torso down closer to his face, eyes half-lidded from want. "Finish what you started, babe."

With those sultry bedroom eyes he'd never once seen you show him before—plus you turning the tables with that familiar term of endearment, how could he refuse? Like a switch had been flipped inside him, he immediately complied, taking the frilly scrap of stretchy lace between his teeth once more, moving it further up to your thighs until where your high slit ended—centimeters below the warming juncture between your legs.

Your legs felt wobbly... boneless, as you stood up from the chair, the fabric of your gown cascading over where the lace sat securely on your upper left thigh. The party was still going strong even after you two finished the garter wearing tradition.

"'Atta boy! That's my son!" Señor Armanaz blazoned, standing up and raising his glass for a toast. "Cheers to the newlywed couple! May they last forever!"

You guys weren't the newlyweds, but it did sure feel like it. If the clan leader was hyped up, everyone was hyped up. Heck, the groom and the bride didn't mind one bit what had just transpired on their dance floor. In all the chaos, Maliksi took you out of the reception area and somewhere quieter. More private.

You would need to have a serious, urgent talk with your boy best friend.

》》》

You two silently sat on a stone bench in a gazebo somewhere in the reserved venue for the wedding, trying to cool down and get yourselves back together (at this point, you needed ice from that steamy, half-scandalous event you just went through). Here, there was no one else except for the chirping of crickets, the lush trees surrounding the area, and the golden fairy lights strewn all over the roof. Awkwardness was something you'd expected after what just happened, but somehow, you still felt comfort in this man's presence. For the past thirty minutes, both of you just stayed still, lost in your thoughts and reflecting.

"Mal?" you finally spoke up.

"... Hmm?"

"Ano tayo?"

"Whatever you want us to be."

Your fingers instinctively reached out for his, just like they always did when you were anxious. Sensing this, he grasped your hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Soothingly. He massaged the skin of your fingers, distracting you from your nervousness. It seemed like both nothing and everything changed between both of you. The gesture was the same, but so different at the same time.

"Mahal mo ako." It was not a question. It was a statement. A truth—one that you'd been too blind to see before. One that you only discovered while you stared into each other's eyes in that party not as best friends. You realized with a jolt in your heart what he really felt for you, and now, what you really felt for him. In those thirty minutes of silence, you knew. You just knew.

"Yes. I do."

"... Just as a best friend?" you probed.

"..."

Finally, you gazed into his eyes, previously so dark and full of hunger. Now? Just reluctant. Vulnerable. Open. Unsure of what to do next.

Seems like you had to be the one to take initiative tonight. Taking out your phone, you opened your music app and pressed play on a certain song. Ikaw at Ako by Johnoy Danao. You removed your heels (which were starting to blister your ankles and toes), then pulled him up to stand.

"Dance with me," you murmured, grabbing his arms to wrap them around your waist. He was stiff. Tense. What was he to do when the woman he's been pining after for so long let him hold her? All his gallantry and ability to romance disappeared out the window the moment you let him touch you so intimately.

You two weren't even waltzing. Just swaying. Slowly, you leaned your head on his broad chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

"... I love you," Maliksi admitted in the middle of it all, feeling like he was dreaming. Your head on his chest kept him grounded to reality, however. "More than anything in the universe. I fell for you ever since you patched me up when you were nineteen and I was a reckless drag racer who didn't have a purpose in life. 'Nung dinala mo ako pabalik sa Armanaz Tower on the verge of death. Simula noon, ikaw lang."

"I realized that," you smiled, reminiscing the old memory. You were just a broke college student that time, coming back to your dorm from making your group thesis at a classmate's house. Imagine your panic when you found a half-man, half-horse bleeding out by some bushes on the way home at night. Despite your fear and your little money (only enough to feed you for the week), you went out of your way to buy a first-aid kit at the nearest 7/11. It was scary, but you managed to mend the creature's wounds by the side of the road. When he was finally able to speak, turning fully human (which you admit, freaked you out initially), you arduously carried him back to his address—to his father and his clan, even if you had classes the very next morning. Because of your heroic deed of saving their precious heir, the tikbalang clan had become indebted to you: a teenage girl on the verge of a mental academic breakdown, just making her way through the cruel adult world. How old of a memory that was, you thought, yet you still recalled it in perfect detail. "Just a while ago."

"Ah." He swayed you gently.

"Lahat ng ito, plano mo?"

"... Yes," Maliksi fessed up. "Except for this part where we're here dancing in this belvedere. Wala sa plano ko. Gusto ko sanang magconfess doon sa may fountain para sweet, pero..."

You lifted your head off his chest, smiling at him with one brow raised, "You know, between both of us, you're supposed to be the spontaneous one. Planning isn't usually your thing."

"I know. It's a failure, huh?" Maliksi sighed.

"Nah." You shook your head, then suddenly locked lips with him. It was so fast and surprising he didn't even get the chance to return your first kiss. For once, you caught him off guard. You pecked him on the lips again. "It's not a failure."

"Wha—"

"I'm sorry for making you wait, Maliksi. Ten years. We're twenty-nine now, and only tonight do I realize how blind I've been. We've been going around in circles, wasting so much time. Ayoko nang mag-aksaya ng oras," you whispered guiltily against his lips. How could you have been so blind? Andaming nasayang na taon. Making up your mind, you told him, "Yes. Sige, I accept. I'll be your plus one."

The tikbalang was flustered and baffled from the kiss, as well as your revelation, "... But, you already are?"

"No, silly. I meant that I'll be your plus one for life. For as long as you'll have me," you laughed, now processing that you were currently dancing barefoot with your boy best friend and had just kissed him in a wedding you didn't even plan on going to. The universe had a mysterious way of doing things. "Guess I'm the spontaneous one now, huh?"

Maliksi was tongue-tied. "Seryoso ka ba? Is... Is this a marriage proposal?"

"Whatever you want it to be," you echoed his words back to him. "Best friend, plus one, girlfriend, wife—mmpf!"

He kissed you so hard your lips bruised. After an impromptu makeout session which was definitely more in character for Maliksi, you both pulled away, panting heavily in search for air, still desperate for passion. He cupped your cheeks, giving you a sweet, featherlight Eskimo kiss.

"You're missing one more title."

"Hm? What do you mean, Mal?"

"Love of my life." He kissed you again, this time lifting you off your feet and spinning you around (his sneaky right hand was resting on your bum, too, giving it a tight squeeze). You know in the Princess Diaries where the main character's foot just... pops whenever the prince charming kissed her? Yeah, that happened to you on that humid summer night. This was right. You two were meant to be together. Everything was falling into place.

The bungalow you reserved for your Batangas vacation leave ended up being the site of your very eventful honeymoon with the Prince of the Tikbalang (with his libido, it wasn't that difficult to continue where you'd left off in the garter toss; that scrap of lace came off your leg the same way it went on). Actually, nauna pa ang honeymoon sa actual wedding (it was definitely spontaneous). Right after your confession in that alcove, you two went to Maliksi's father to ask for his blessing (which he gladly gave, cackling and saying that it took you long enough) before you guys went driving off to Batangas that night. You and Mal indeed had lots and lots of fun in that resort (I'll let you imagine the rest). More beautiful memories were made from that point on—this time, not just as best friends.

All that and your small, intimate wedding occurred in early April. Just when you thought that it'd be impossible to fulfill Maliksi's life goal of having a baby within the year (nine months of pregnancy meant that the earliest you'd give birth would be January next year), the impossible happened.

Exactly thirty-two weeks later, on New Year's Eve, the Armanaz herd welcomed one prince and two new princesses into the world. Triplets who were instantly adored by everyone in the clan.

Señor Armanaz had never been happier, and so were you and your husband. Your best friend. The love of your life. Your forever plus one.

Maybe being spontaneous wasn't so bad after all.

Taglist: @belladaises @binibiningbabaylan @4kodzuk3n @sparklingmallow @severuslovebot @holyshxtangel @marinac15 @space-flamingo @pippethealien @kashasenpai @disappointmentpastry @hornehlittleweeblet2 @seijohoe @monimiin @ibelievein2dmensupremacy @tinybonksharkcop @methehipster @banisuoh @genshin-idiot @lemonnie-kimmie

#trese #trese 2021 #trese netflix #maliksi #maliksi x reader #tikbalang #trese fic #x reader #trese x reader #thera.writes

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exosmutfactory · 3 years

Text

Six Phases FINALE Pt 2

Originally posted by tipannies

Who knew it nearly took 6 months to win your heart, and 6 phases for Baekhyun to lose his mind.

A/N: Let’s give Riley the ending she deserves 💗

[ contains: smut & fluff~]

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

Tonight is a special occasion, one that requires the most lethal of dresses that I own. A dress I always had my eye on yet never dared to take out from the back of my closet. I could never find the right time to wear it—until now. Because tonight, oh tonight… I have a date with Baekhyun.

I pull up the spaghetti straps of my wine colored dress, making sure that the criss-cross stripes of fabric in the front are straight. This dress is definitely too cold for the first week of December, but that's what winter coats are for. For now, I will turn side to side to admire how the bodycon shape fits well with the cutout section exposing my stomach. Party in the front and business in the back.

Straightening the last strand of my hair, I smile when my phone lights up with a notification, knowing full well who it is. His cute usage of emojis visible on the screen tells me all that I need to know. Chuckling to myself, I set down my flatiron and reply to him.

Baekhyun planned a date at his apartment tonight, subtly dropping a hint about what I should wear. Mmhm, this isn't a t-shirt and sweatpants event. Based on the new black blazer in the back of his adorable selfie that he sent me the other day when he asked me out, I got a good idea of what I'm getting myself into.

Humming to myself, I check my reflection one last time and grab my keys before heading out. Let's see which shade of Baekhyun is awaiting me today.

Strutting my way to the elevator in my rose gold heels, I smile at my neighbor when she steps out onto our floor, whistling at my choice of attire. She winks at me as the doors close. Chuckling, I check my phone one last time, typing a quick reply to Sehun with my French tip nails letting him know that I'm okay. We've made a point to catch up with each other at the end of every week, whether face to face or over the phone. Unfortunately, I have plans tonight… and maybe tomorrow too. And the day after that.

Smirking, I repocket my phone and wrap my fluffy coat tighter around me, waving to the security guard while making my way out of the building. The bite of the December air is refreshing for my skin, the heat packed into my coat leaves me slightly too warm otherwise. I look both ways before crossing the parking lot, staying aware of my surroundings. The last thing I need is any drama from a careless driver or lurking thief in the streets. These heels are too expensive to break off into someone's ass for making me late.

My car unlocks with a familiar chirp, its headlights coming on while I walk around to the driver's side. Taking one last glance at the world around me and my back seat, I climb inside and set my purse down on the passenger's side. My phone vibrates just as I start the engine, buzzing faintly against the soft R&B CD playing on my radio. With a small smile, I check my rearview mirror and pull out onto the road.

I hum along to the first track, wondering if a UN Village actually exists while navigating to Baekhyun's apartment. The Christmas lights set up on the light poles in advance bring another smile to my face. Something about this time of year always sits right with me.

Before I know it, I'm pulling into a parking space at his apartment complex, waiting for the powerful vocals of the 6th song on the album to fade away. Sighing a little, I lean back in my seat, sweeping my eyes over the parking lot as the windows start to fog up. Who would have thought that I'd be back here nearly a year later? With warmth in my heart and a certain silver haired, idiotic yet adorable man on my mind.

"I love you," I mumble shyly, holding eye contact despite my heated cheeks and racing heart.

His whole face lights up with his smile, sparkly brown eyes outshining all the stars in the sky as he cups my cheeks in his warm palms. "I love you more."

Stepping out of my car, I pick up my purse and head inside, sharing a knowing look with the familiar security guard on my way to the elevators. It feels so good to be back, the year-long bad memories vanishing with every step I take. To my home—to my heart. The man my heart calls out for like a rescued fish returning to sea.

Butterflies flutter in my stomach when I arrive on his floor, taking my time to walk down the brightly lit hallway. I wonder what is in store for me tonight. After all, when it comes to Baekhyun, anything can be awaiting me on the other side of that door. Possibilities are endless.

Taking a deep breath, I knock on the door, smiling softly when it opens seconds later only for my jaw to drop to the floor.

Baekhyun... with his silver hair parted to the side, wearing fucking brown eyeshadow. That new black blazer of his has buttons on the ends of the sleeves, sitting perfectly on his broad shoulders. But the real sight to behold is lower down on his body, starting from his half-buttoned black shirt showing his honey-toned chest. That view alone could send a woman into a coma, but then he had to tuck his shirt into a pair of snug leather pants. The belt around his hips shows off the curves of his waist and those damn black heeled boots are back again.

I don't even care that he can see me practically drooling—I already know what's on my menu for tonight.

"Hey," He smiles charmingly, taking my breath away.

I take a moment to compose myself, peeking at him from under my eyelashes with a smile of my own. "Hi, B."

His eyes and smile soften. "Come in, it's cold out." He steps aside to let me in, closing the door behind me.

Humming softly, I relish in his alluring cinnamon scent. "Not really," I mumble distractedly, thinking of how much warmer I feel at the sight of him while he helps me take off my coat. The way his breath hitches has a smirk quirking at my red painted lips. "What are we having tonight?" I inquire, glancing over my shoulder at him.

Baekhyun's eyes immediately shoot up to mine. "D-Dinner," He coughs, trying to cover up his flushed face behind his hand.

"Oooo," I walk further into the apartment, following the spicy aroma of food and making my way to the kitchen. "Okay. What did you order in?"

"Actually," Baekhyun's citrus shampoo floats in the air when I reach the doorway, staring at the set table with wide eyes. "I made it myself," He mumbles shyly, the cool plastic of the flower pinned to his blazer brushing against my back.

"Holy shit…" It's a fucking feast. Fresh salad, crunchy garlic bread, and the most appetizing platter of spaghetti that I've ever seen in my life. Not only that, the single-lit candle in the middle of the table has my heart and below squeezing in earnest. This cheeky little hopeless romantic.

"The meat is turkey-based," Baekhyun perks up after a few moments, walking around to place used pots and pans in the sink. Busying his fidgety hands with moving everything off of the counter. "I bought hot sauce but didn't put much because I didn't know if you'd like it spicy or not."

Walking further into the room, I rest my hand on the back of a chair, watching him with a lick of my lips.

Baekhyun continues occupying himself with everything in the kitchen, not even noticing when I slowly approach him. "The toast is on the softer side and I have some sweet tomatoes in the fridge-"

Fuck it.

I grab him by his jacket when he turns around, tugging on him so hard that a few buttons pop off and scatter around on the floor.

Baekhyun gasps, stumbling a little before bracing his hands on the surface behind me, the dishes on the dining table rattling under our joined weight. "Riley-"

I smash my lips to his, kissing him with fervor, backing him up until his back presses against the counter. I'm relentless with tugging and biting down on his bottom lip, capturing it between my teeth. He moans right into my mouth when I part his lips, sucking hard on his tongue.

The audible smack of our messy kiss echoes around the walls of his apartment, steadily building up tension in my stomach and the ache between my legs. Baekhyun softly huffs and puffs for air after a few minutes, pulling back to catch his breath with rosy, lipstick-smeared lips. "D-Dinner-"

"I'd rather eat something else," I utter lowly, rubbing my hand down his chest. My eyes flicker back up to his wide orbs just in time to catch him gulping, his warm brown eyes darkening significantly.

He looks at me for a long moment, hesitation vivid in his body language. I step closer, cupping his cheek before pressing my lips to his, gently coaxing his soft lips to dance with mine. Baekhyun takes a deep breath before wrapping his arms around me, the caress of his hands over my exposed skin leaving goosebumps in their wake.

This, I muse, shivering in delight when my body is fully pressed against his, is what has been missing.

He grows more daring the longer our lips lock, his warm hands sliding up the back of my thighs and venturing under my dress, bunching up the fabric. His fingertips teasingly slipping between my thighs has my pussy quivering, my own palms tugging on his tucked in shirt to feel more of his skin. Baekhyun grips my ass before spinning us around, hoisting me up onto the counter while I tangle my hand in his hair, my lips still glued to his. I moan when his fingers land on my clothed core, welcoming him between my parted legs.

"You're so wet," He breathes, a look of awe on his face. Sweat is already dripping down from the edges of his hairline, casting his skin in a dewy glow under the dancing candle lights.

"I'm not the only one," I murmur, tapping the back of my fingers on the bulge in his snug pants.

Baekhyun groans, pulling me into another kiss, making me gasp when he tugs me closer to the edge of the counter, his hardon right against my heated core. I shiver, wanting to widen my legs and close them at the same time when he rolls his hips, the thin fabric of my lace thong doing nothing to conceal his erection from my throbbing clit.

Our loud moans and sloppy kisses fill the air, the temperature rising in the room with every roll of his talented hips. I tighten my grip on his hair, gritting my teeth to hold back the tension building between my legs. 11 months has been way too long for me to not be intimate with someone like this, but looking up at Baekhyun's already fucked out face, I wouldn't have it any other way.

With shaky hands and quivering legs, I reach down to undo Baekhyun's belt, flinging it out of my way before pulling his zipper down. My hand slips a few times when he moves my thong to the side, sliding his middle finger into my greedy core.

"Ah…" I pant, tilting my head back as he trails searing kisses down my neck. "Fuck." The feeling of him inside of me after so long has me squeezing my thighs around his waist, fighting the wave threatening to fall over me when he finds my sweet spot immediately.

"So good for me," He murmurs, sucking my earlobe between his teeth. He slips in another finger when I finally pull his cock out of his boxers, swirling my fingers around his tip and stroking him in my firm grip. We speed up as we pant into each other's mouths, too turned on and drowned in pleasure to keep up with our kiss.

"Fuck, baby." He pulls back, cheeks flushed a pretty red hue, "C-condom-"

"No time for that." I shake my head, digging my heels into his lower back only to pause, narrowing my eyes at him. "Unless-"

He shut me up with a kiss this time. "No." He murmurs, meeting my eyes, his firm grip tightening on my hips. "No one else but you."

I am surprised by his answer, but I just nod, letting him continue. I might not be able to read Baekhyun like a book as he says I do, but I know he doesn't fuck around when it comes to his health. Let alone when it concerns the pretty, thick dick he has. Brushing his hair away to look into his eyes, I part my lips only for my breath to hitch, blushing at the feeling of him aligning his cock with my entrance.

"May I?" He murmurs, resting his forehead on mine.

The annoying throb between my legs has me clenching my teeth. "If you don't-" I gasp, clutching onto his shoulders as he slides in to the hilt. The burn of him inside me after so long is more than I expected.

Baekhyun pauses to let me adjust, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips that just makes me spasm around him. A gasp escapes him in turn, his slender fingers digging into the soft swell of my hips. "Easy, baby." He strains, voice deepened in lust.

"Easy for you to say," I grumble through gritted teeth, my back arching when he circles his hips. He presses flush against my goosebump-covered skin, giving me warmth as he starts up a comfortable rhythm, spreading my legs as far as the counter will allow. I can't help but gulp, leaning back against my braced palms. Just the view of his stunning body fully dressed beside his unzipped leather pants is messing with my head, let alone his cock pressing every spot within my walls that drives me insane.

Baekhyun pulls out, and before I can say anything, I hear his knees hitting the floor. Silver locks of hairbrush against my inner thighs moments before warm, wet sensation brushes against my clit.

"Mmm," He moans, tightening his grip on my thighs when I jolt. He pulls me even closer to the edge of the counter, placing my legs over his shoulders, "Come here."

All I can manage to do is tangle my fingers in his luscious locks. Hopefully they are strong enough to sustain my knee-jerking tugs when he drags his lips over my core, sticking his tongue into my hole and taking my folds between his lips. Baekhyun is just… gentle, slurping and smacking his lips against my throbbing core without a care. He's taking his time down there as if he has all the time in the world. I feel bad for my arousal dripping onto the counter and all over his chin—it's embarrassing, but it's never been this… this good.

"So sweet," He murmurs, sliding his warm palms up my waist.

Trying my best not to succumb to the coil in my stomach, I risk a glance down at him. The sight of his tongue poking out from between his coated lips to caress my swollen nub in the gentlest of ways has me tensing up—even more so when his brown eyes flicker up to meet mine.

"Baekhyun." I pant, tugging harder on his hair.

"Come on," He breathes, gripping my hips when I start to tremble.

"B-Baekhyun." It takes everything in me to hold on, bracing myself against the counter. "I want you inside…" I throw my head back when he slips a finger inside, quickly followed by another.

"Give it to me." He demands, so softly in an airy tone, his breath hitching at a particularly hard tug on his roots. He's damn near pleading for it and it's driving me crazy. "Come all over my face, baby."

Yeah, there's no winning this fight. With his lewd words and soft lips wrapping tight around my clit, rolling it around inside of his mouth with his tongue, that's it. Game over. How I managed this long without falling over the edge by the works of his mouth is a mystery within itself.

Baekhyun doesn't stop humming and massaging my clit with his lips until I softly push his head away, closing my shaking legs. He stands back up, sliding his hands up my thighs and leaning in for a kiss. It's different from the others we've shared tonight, filled with a certain hint of gentleness and love that matches the yearning and adoration in his sparkly brown eyes.

"Fuck, Riley." Baekhyun pulls back, cock twitching in my hand when I rotate my wrist. He cards a hand through his hair, chuckling in disbelief. "You are driving me crazy."

"Yeah?" I drawl, wrapping my thighs around his waist. "Come show me crazy."

"I'm not gonna last…" He admits, looking worried.

"How long do you plan on loving me, Byun Baekhyun?" I demand, tucking my index finger under his chin for him to face me.

Baekhyun's eyes dance like shimmering orbs of light. "Until my last dying breath."

"Well," I breathe, butterflies fluttering my stomach when his words settle in. "I'm sure we can fit in plenty of rounds until then."

The sweetest smile forms on his handsome face before his brows knit together, biting his bottom lip when I pull him back inside, digging my heels into his back.

"Don't hold back," I whisper into his ear, brushing my lips over his neck. Baekhyun takes a shaky breath, pulling away until only his tip is in my sensitive core. The bruising grip he has on my hips is the only warning I get before he plunges back inside.

Baekhyun doesn't hold back in the slightest. He sets a fast, near brutal pace, lifting my hips to slam inside of me at an angle that has me screaming his name, clinging onto his clothed shoulders for dear life.

"Fuck, baby." He groans, his steady rhythm taking on sloppy, shallow thrusts. The squelch of our joined bodies stirs up an unexpected heat in me. "I'm gonna-"

"Yeah," I breathe, locking my legs around the back of his trembling thighs. My heart and pussy clench in earnest at the expression on his face.

Baekhyun pants, sweat dripping down his forehead and falling off of his jaw. The flap of his jacket exposing his chest with his shaky movements. "Can I-"

I lick the salty sweat from his heated skin, sucking harshly where his collarbone meets his gorgeous neck. "Inside me, B."

He groans the loudest one of the night, hiding his face in my neck as he pounds into me. His cum spills deep inside, hot and messy. The warmth of it triggers my own release. I have to bite down on his shoulder to contain the uncontrollably loud moan that's ripped from my throat with his final gentle thrusts.

Baekhyun slows down to a stop, his chest flushed to mine while we try to regain our breath. The smell of sweat and sex permeating the air has me giggling breathlessly, running my fingers through his damp hair.

"Fuck—baby," He mutters, hurrying to pull out. "Your dress."

"It's-" I moan, biting my lip when he slides his fingers back in.

"Where's a towel," He frantically looks around, the most comically concerned expression on his handsome, dewy face. "There it is! Ah, it's too far away... I'm sorry, baby-" He stops when I wrap my hand around his wrist, slipping his cum covered fingers between my lips.

"Take it off of me," I whisper, staring right into his dilated eyes.

"You'll be cold," He murmurs, looking between my eyes and my mouth sucking on his fingertips.

"Then warm me up," I purr, wrapping my thighs back around his waist.

Baekhyun's jaw drops, his cock already stirring against me. I reach down to take him into my hand, rubbing my fingers around his tip. "You'll be the death of me." He groans, tangling his hand in my hair and pulling me into a searing kiss.

Hours later, we're curled up in bed. My head on his pillow with his hands in my hair.

"W-Will you stay the night?" Baekhyun whispers, brown eyes no longer showing signs of tiredness.

I smile, completely in love with this new side of him. Baekhyun, in all that he is, is the most beautiful man in the world. "Of course, baby," I murmur, tracing random shapes on his honey skin.

He perks up with the most beautiful smile growing on his face, gently pulling me closer until my head rests on his chest, his fast-beating heart a dead giveaway to how happy he is. I kiss over his heart, looking up into his shimmering brown pools of love. Is he...? Gently swiping my finger under his eye has a tear falling down his cheek. And another. And another…

"You mean everything to me," He breathes, arms and legs tangled so much with mine I don't know where he ends and I begin.

I smile, falling asleep to the beat of his steady heart and the security of his warm arms. "You mean the world to me."

•••

Time goes by so fast when you're happy and in love, turning even your hardest days into nights that you want to remember. Just having that person you love the most by your side, through thick and thin, for better or for worse, makes all the difference in the world.

—The only downside is how agonizing time passes when you are apart.

I pop my bubble gum with my chin resting in my palm, humming and tapping my pen on my desk. After catching up on a day's worth of paperwork, (blame my procrastination… and spending the weekend at Baekhyun's,) I'm bored, impatiently waiting for noon. There's only one way to fix this mood before I'm in a slump for the rest of the day, and looking at the home screen of my phone, I plan to arrange that very soon.

As soon as 12:00 pops up on the clock, I tap the first number on my speed dial, pressing my ringing phone to my ear.

"Hello?" His honey-smooth voice flutters over the line.

"Baekhyun." I apply a fresh layer of lip gloss to my lips, tucking away my hair to make sure my diamond earrings don't get tangled. "Are you free for lunch?"

"Yeah." He mumbles distractedly, shuffling papers filter through the call before a door shuts.

"Come over." I demand, hanging up. Pushing back from my desk, I walk over to my vanity table, straightening out my black lace, sleeveless bra from under my robe. It's mid-Spring again, already hot enough to wake me up in the middle of the night when I don't sleep with my fan on. The perfect excuse for what I have planned for my "week off" of work. I don't care how many business meetings I have to host from the comfort of my own home.

The doorbell rings just as I'm smoothing down my hair, checking my reflection one last time in the mirror. I make my way out of my bedroom and into the living room, pulling the door open with haste.

Baekhyun stands on the other side with wide, frantic eyes, dressed impeccably in a black suit with his slicked back silver hair the slightest bit ruffled. "Riley, what-"

I yank him inside, crashing my lips to his, pressing his body to the door before it slams shut. His scent surrounds me in seconds, vanilla-scented clothes with traces of smoke. The rich citrus of his soft hair and the hint of musk on his skin from a long day of work. My hands are undoing his tucked in shirt before he can get a word in.

"Riley." He grunts, holding me close as I trail messy kisses down his gorgeous neck. I walk backwards to the couch, toppling onto it with him following me.

"How long before your next meeting?" I murmur, pulling him closer by his tie.

Baekhyun visibly gulps, brown eyes darkening significantly before they flicker back up to mine. "They'll survive." He chuckles, licking his lips, leaning in for another frenzied kiss.

Yeah, Baekhyun wasn't kidding about him being a workaholic—which I already knew, but damn if it isn't annoying sometimes. He's more busy stressing over the new designs for his clothing line than helping me plan his 27th birthday party. All my subtle questions to find out what he would want have been futile. It's just been him typing on that damn computer of his for hours.

I go around spraying the plants in his office, talking sweetly to each of them to make sure they get enough Co2. Their droopy leaves need some perking up with the sheer amount of gloom coming off of Baekhyun's furiously typing form.

He abruptly stops, sighing loudly for the 100th time today. "I should give up."

"Nooo," I pout, walking behind his chair to wrap my arms around his neck, taking a small peek at the rough sketches on his computer. " Keep going, don't give up now."

Baekhyun smiles tiredly, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand. "What do you know about that, hmm?"

"A bit." I smile softly, lightly resting my head on his. "Things may seem shaky now. Just out of reach. No longer within your control." Twirling his hair around my finger, I smile to myself. "But that's okay, it means you are being challenged. And a challenge conquered to the best of your abilities will do you a lot of good." I close my eyes, basking in his presence and comforting scent. "So keep going, you'll never know what you are capable of until you reach the end."

My eyes snap open when Baekhyun suddenly spins around, staring up at me with wide, teary brown eyes. "B-" I wheeze, not expecting him to pull me into his arms, hugging me like a lifeline. "Baekhyun…?" I try again, growing alarmed when his tears wet the front of my shirt.

He only holds me tighter in response, his chest silently heaving against mine. I slowly wrap my arms around him and gently tangle my fingers in his hair, pressing a kiss to his ear.

He's adorable, in every way, shape, and form. Ugh, I'm going to end up in a love-induced coma one day with the way my heartbeat always skips when I'm around him. No matter if I'm meeting him for lunch or if he comes to work across from me at my desk when I'm chasing deadlines, I wouldn't change a thing for the world.

—Except maybe his sense of timing things.

I startle awake, clutching my racing heart with unsteady breathing. The details of my nightmare slowly fade away, but it does little to calm me down. Feeling a sense of urgency, I clumsily search around for my phone. I'll text Baekhyun; I need to make sure he is okay.

My eyes squint at the bright screen of my phone, not expecting to check it in the middle of the night, let alone the notification I find there.

Baekhyunee💘💕🥺💓😘

Thursday, 2:34 am

Riley

Hlep

I nee d u

I fly out of bed like a bat out of hell, rushing over to his apartment, nearly hitting three pedestrians on the way. Parking hazardly in the first empty parking spot I find before jumping out and all but running to the fourth floor. I pound on his door loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood until he opens up, revealing bloodshot eyes and a can of beer in his hand.

"Baekhyun, what's wrong?" I pant, resting my hands on my knees and frantically looking him over. He mumbles something unintelligible under his breath. "What?" I demand, trying to catch my breath.

"I-I just..." He mumbles sluggishly, slouching his shoulders with sadness in his puppy eyes. "I just miss you."

My frantic heart softens. "Get inside and sit down." I demand, pressing a kiss to his cheek before closing the door.

I love this man so fucking much. Even if he annoyingly wakes me up sometimes at 2 to 3 am, I'd run over to his place with my baggy pants and sleeping cap in a heartbeat.

•••

June rolls back around before I know it. This time, however, I plan to decline Jongin's offer to participate in the dance competition again. But to my uttermost surprise, he'll be taking Kyungsoo instead. For tap dancing.

???

Just how multi-talented is Baekhyun's group of friends? Spare me some of that energy, please?

Speaking of friends, Chanyeol's tall figure invited us over to his house today, the mansion that he used to share with Baekhyun and Jongdae.

—I have a grudge against him right now though because he literally called Baekhyun in the middle of the night to challenge him to some video game duel. The comical way his face changed when he saw me glaring at him from the corner of their video call though. By the end of their conversation, an invite was extended to me and Sehun too. It's "best friends" night, and boy do I have a lesson for Park Chanyeol. Lesson one: never underestimate a woman on a mission. In work, life, or on the playing field.

"Damn, man," I mumble, looking wide eyed at the huge flat screen TV and various game consoles around the room. "Leave you alone with the mansion for 2 years and you stocked up your mancave to the finest degree."

Chanyeol flicks a few buttons on the wall next to the door that dims the lights, letting the bright TV and a few arcade games illuminate the room. Baekhyun's eyes twinkle brighter than anything else in the spacious room. He goes over to chat with Chanyeol while I stand in the doorway with Sehun.

"Hey," I whisper, nudging him. "Remember when you used to stream your games back in the day? And the pink hair?"

"Oh yeah." Sehun chuckles while I notice Chanyeol perk up out of the corner of my eye. "I had a setup similar to this back at home." He stuffs his hands in his pockets, taking another look around. "Less impressive though," He mutters, crinkling his nose.

Chanyeol quickly walks over. "Number one victory royale?" He asks, eyes wide. "King of the south-bound?"

"Moisty mire extraordinaire...?" Sehun inquires, eyes widening as well.

Chanyeol stares him down for a long, hard minute, and then raises his hand. "Truce?"

Sehun smirks, gripping Chanyeol's hand firmly in his. "Truce."

I blink, more than confused. Baekhyun catches my eye and just winks.

Originally posted by exo-stentialism

I'm having a huge dilemma—no, a midlife crisis. All hell is about to break loose and I'll be in the center of it.

Baekhyun asked me out on a date—I know, I know, listen!

He asked me out on a date… with barely any hints on what to wear.

He didn't say, "wear whatever you want," when I called him earlier. He told me to, "wear something nice."

Nice?! Nice. That's all I got while he remained tight-lipped about his own outfit. At least give me a color, man!!!

So, here I am, swiping clothes left and right in my closet like a madwoman until my eyes land on the perfect dress. One of sheer beauty and elegance.

A white, off the shoulder, hollowed out strapless mini dress with floral patterns from start to finish. The sleeves are made completely out of lace, the ends resting beautifully on the back of my hand. I smile at my reflection in the mirror, keeping my makeup light, only focused on enhancing my features. My phone buzzes just as I recap my eyeliner.

Your chariot awaits.

Giggling, I quickly type up a reply, tucking my phone into my clutch while wondering what this 'chariot' could be. Baekhyun sure does fancy using these cheesy words lately it seems.

Strutting down to the parking lot as gracefully as this dress will allow, I feel thankful for the warm summer night air. Bugs and I, when I'm wearing a dress like this, I need all the warmth I can get.

A blue jeep pulls up and honks at me, confusing me for a second because it isn't Baekhyun's Audi until they roll the passenger window down, revealing Jongdae's ever-bored face.

I blink a few times. "...What kind of low budget uber is this?"

"Yah!" Chanyeol loudly protests, barely overpowering Jongdae's rambunctious laughter. He glares at the brunet clutching his stomach.

"Hop in, Cinderella." Jongdae chuckles as the car doors unlock.

I carefully climb into the back seat, readjusting the hem of my dress.

"Someone got all dolled up tonight." Jongdae grins, shooting a teasing look back at me.

"Ubers don't talk much, Dae." I point out, watching the city lights fly by while Chanyeol pulls off and navigates us down barely familiar roadways. "Where are we going?"

Chanyeol meets my eye in the rearview mirror. "Where do you think?"

"If I didn't have your mother's number on my speed dial I'd call the police, Park," I grumble, resting my elbow on the car door and my chin in my palm. Jongdae's laughter quirks a smile on my lips while Chanyeol continues driving with furrowed brows and a grumpy frown on his face.

After a while of speeding cars and the radio quietly playing, a certain blue building catches my eye. "Where are we?" I perk up, my eyes widening at a sign in the distance. "Is this...?"

"UN Village," Jongdae supplies.

"Step on the gas, Yeol."

"I-I'm not sure you want to do that, Riley." Jongdae tries to diffuse the situation, his weary features flickering over to the competitive expression forming on Chanyeol's face. "You could get motion sickness and-"

"I thought you were the fastest on the road, Yeol," I fake pout, subtly making sure my seatbelt is secure. "I guess I was wrong."

"Oh yeah?" The tall oaf counters, bursting for a challenge at this point.

"Riley," Jongdae tries again when Chanyeol sits up straighter, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "Don't-"

I curl my lips up into a shameless, cheshire cat grin. "Betcha."

My back thuds against the seat when he accelerates. Chanyeol weaves in and out between other vehicles on the road like no one's business. Thankfully the traffic is light tonight and we are taking a lot of unpopular backroads. Heaven knows what would happen if he did this in the heart of Seoul.

Jongdae holds onto the passenger car door and the back of Chanyeol's seat for dear life, the reflection of him in the mirror looking a little green against the bright city lights. By the time Chanyeol slows to a stop, he's leaning his arm across the dashboard, tucking his head between his knees.

"Never," He croaks out, gasping for air. "Again."

Chanyeol's triumphant smirk has me holding back a giggle. I direct my eyes out the window to avoid Jongdae's disgruntled glare.

"Ha! You call that fast?" I grin, hopping out of the car on wobbly legs. "My Grandma can drive better than that."

"Riley," Jongdae pipes up weakly, holding his stomach while Chanyeol's nostrils flare, big brown eyes ablazed. "Don't encourage him, he isn't your ride home."

I begin to rebuke, but pause, noticing an odd building in the distance. "What the…" It's a giant white structure with a curved entrance, another one of those intricate places that the Hannam-dong architects must have loved to build here. "What kind of building is that?"

"Keep walking," Chanyeol nods, gesturing to the long walkway between the tall walls. "You'll see."

Butterflies erupt in my stomach, making me nervous for a moment, but the good gut feeling I get from looking between both their expressive eyes encourages me to move forward. "Thanks for the ride, Yeol," I say softly, patting his jeep before taking a few steps back. Smirking mischievously over at Jongdae. "Sorry for making you lose your lunch, Dae."

He waves me off with a fake annoyed expression, not able to hide the curl of his little smile.

I spin around on my heels, walking through the entrance between the two curved walls. The clicks of my heels on the pavement is the only sound I hear. Following the uneven path, I crinkle my nose, wondering what the hell Baekhyun is up to this time. Got me out here walking down curved pathways in the dark.

Well, apparently the building curls all the way around to a see-through door in the middle, but that isn't what makes me stop in my tracks. It's that flash of familiar silver hair.

Baekhyun leans against the wall with his silver hair parted in the middle, twinkling under the bright lights. Wearing a white blazer, a white t-shirt and silver leather pants. The metal of his belt catches the light along with the rings on his fingers and accessory necklaces adorning his neck.

I snap my jaw shut, making my way over to him. "Baekhyun…"

He smiles warmly, little strands of hair dangling in his eyes in the most handsome way. "Hey."

"Hi," I whisper. "You look…" Eyeing him from head to toe—to those damn sexy heeled boots, I'm at a loss for words. "Wow."

Baekhyun chuckles, moving off of the wall to walk closer to me, taking me by the hand. "You look beautiful as well," He murmurs, kissing every knuckle on the back of my hand.

I feel my face heat up all the way up to my ears. I've only been out here with him for 5 minutes and I'm already about to faint from the softness blooming in my frantic heart. "What are we doing tonight?" I ask softly, not sure if I want to keep gazing into his sparkly brown eyes or look away from the butterfly-inducing adoration written all over his face.

"It's a surprise," Baekhyun supplies, chuckling at the impatient expression on my face. He brings my hand to his cheek, staring deeply into my eyes. "Walk with me?"

My heart goes into overdrive. With that look on your face? I couldn't deny you if I tried.

I nod and let him take the lead, resting my head on his shoulder. There's something about being with him at night like this. Something unexplainable and magical in the air. The soft fabric of his blazer brushing against my cheek and the light July wind blowing through his hair. He's so warm and smells so good I have to bite my tongue not to drag him back to my apartment just to curl up next to him on the couch.

Something tells me that tonight will be a special one, but really, if it's with Baekhyun, anywhere and everywhere, I'll love it either way.

I notice something out of the corner of my eye when we step out onto a sidewalk, briefly lifting my head from Baekhyun's shoulder. "Dokseodang Children's Park?" I mumble curiously.

Baekhyun hums. "This is my favorite place." His eyes sweep over the slightly aged equipment, resting a hand on my back.

Humming myself, I start to reply only for my eyes to dart over at the dirt road ahead.

Baekhyun immediately takes notice, coming to a stop at the edge of the sidewalk. "What is it, hmm?"

I look up at the annoyingly buzzing light pole. "That flickering light-"

Baekhyun snaps his fingers, and the whole world goes black for a moment, then a dozen lights twinkle in the darkness. Fireflies lighting up the night under the shine of the full moon.

"Come on." His honey-smooth voice rings, softly squeezing my hand before leading the way. I rest my other hand on his arm and watch my every step, realizing we are climbing a hill with the deep slope brushing against the front of my heels. Grass crunches under our footsteps, crickets sing their late night songs of cheer, and then I see a peek of something bright as we near the top of the hill. I gasp, nearly tripping in my haste to get a closer look, my heartbeat skyrocketing when we reach the edge of the steep hill.

A stunning table seated for two sits in the middle of the plateau, with a cooler holding an unopened bottle of champagne. Dome-covered plates are set on the white table cloth and a few candles are lit on the table. Vanilla fragrance flutters in the gentle wind as I take in the dozens of lanterns hung up in the tree above. Brightening up the area surrounded by miles upon miles of other rolling hills without outshining the moon. I even spot the UN Village sign at the other side of the park; you can see everything from up here.

"Baekhyun…"

He smiles so brightly when I look at him. "Yes, my love?"

You mesmerizing little hopeless romantic. I can only press a kiss to his soft cheek, hugging him.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes," I mumble into the safety of his shoulder.

He rests his head on mine, hugging me to his chest. "Then why are you hiding, hmm?"

"I love it so much," I mutter, fully content to stay here for a few more minutes. "It's so pretty I have tears in my eyes. I can't believe you."

Baekhyun chuckles, rubbing my back so soothingly it takes all my strength to not melt further against him. The heavenly scent of vanilla once again meets my nose; we have a date waiting for us.

Slowly pulling away, I look into his sparkly brown eyes, smiling shyly before making my way over to the table. He's a step ahead of me in an instant, pulling out a chair for me while I giggle, hiding my adoring smile and red face behind my hand. God, my heart is racing so hard I swear it's threatening to jump out and run to him.

I give him a grateful smile, my skin buzzing under the familiarity of his gentle touch when he pushes me in, his citrus and cinnamon scent perfectly blending with the vanilla while he walks to take his own seat across from me.

Baekhyun sighs softly, tilting his head with a nearly playful smile. "Ready?"

Grinning a little, I tilt my head to the opposite side, relishing in the twinkles of amusement sparkling in his eyes. "Ready as I'll ever be."

He chuckles. "On three?"

I nod, gripping the handle on the top of the dome cover with another smile.

"One," He leans closer to his dome, mischief swirling in his brown eyes. "Two."

More than amused, I play along, butterflies fluttering in my stomach under his beaming smile.

"Three!"

I lift up the dome, setting it aside while taking in the food neatly arranged on the plate. It's a Korean cuisine that I haven't seen before, full of delectable vegetables and tender meat. Watching Baekhyun take his first bite has my mouth watering for two reasons. I carefully cut a slice of beef, closing my eyes when it melts on my tongue. Holy shit, who is the chef behind this? That person needs a raise.

"Kyungsoo made it," Baekhyun smiles, chuckling when I hum at my next bite. "I have to help him out next week though," He frowns, nearly pouting. "He doesn't like doing things last minute."

Recalling the whole ordeal for Jenny's birthday, I can't help but laugh. "I know," I smile, resting my chin in my palm.

Baekhyun smiles, his nose scrunching adorable while cutting another piece of meat.

Conversation flows naturally between us, as always. Baekhyun is just like that, an easy person to talk to, but it's much different than before. He hums a lot, resting his chin on his palm while gazing at me with adoring and attentive eyes, the tiniest of loving smiles on his face. If I wasn't wearing this expensive white dress, I'd lean over the table and kiss the hell out of him.

However, the mood changes slightly when we are nearly done. He keeps tapping his fingers on the table and his foot against the leg of his chair, clearing his throat with a worried expression on his face.

"Bae?" I call softly, tilting my head at his lack of response. Tired of the constant clink of his leather boot against the wooden chair, I nudge my foot against his. "Are you alright?"

He blinks, sitting up straight at once. "Yes, love." He clears his throat again, smiling shyly. "Wanna dance with me?"

"Dance?" I look around at the grassy nature and chirping wildlife, meeting his eyes again. "There isn't any music here, B."

He shakes his head, standing up. "Yes there is."

"I-" I go quiet when he takes my hand, resting it over his beating heart. Looking up into his imploring brown eyes, I start to understand. I nod, slowly standing up as well, following him over to the empty side of the hill.

Baekhyun lifts up our joined hands, interlocking our fingers together and resting his other one on the small of my back. I rest my free hand on his shoulder, gazing deeply into his brown pools of warmth. He makes the first move, slowly stepping forward while I take a step back. The crickets chirp louder with every movement we make, growing more confident by the minute.

Melting at the way his heart beats against mine, I look up at the stars, millions and billions of twinkling lights filling up the night sky. Meeting Baekhyun's gaze again, however, reminds me that not all the stars and planets combined can outshine the sparkling light in his warm brown eyes. He smiles softly as if hearing my thoughts, squeezing my hand before spinning me around, welcoming me right back into his loving arms.

I could spend forever like this, staring into his eyes and listening to his beating heart. Just the two of us while the rest of the world fades away, nothing but background noise to our undying love.

"Look," Baekhyun perks up, looking up at the stars. My eyes flicker up, widening at the shooting star streaking across the night sky. "Make a wish," He murmurs warmly, taking a step back.

Feeling a sense of hope and childlike urgency, I whip around to face the star head on. What should I wish for? The star is reaching the edge of the sky! Sensing Baekhyun's comforting figure behind me, I have all the answers I need.

I wish… Closing my eyes, I clasp my hands together, finding strength in the soft summer breeze. For a love like this, for all of eternity. The last few streaks of the star fade away when I open my eyes, smiling softly until I remember where I am and a certain someone who is with me. Where is Baekhyun? Stiffening up, I quickly spin around in alarm, slapping my hands over my mouth at the sight.

Baekhyun: on one knee, holding up a small jewelry box with shaky hands and vulnerable. "Why do you look so scared?" He breaks the ice, chuckling nervously.

"I thought you left," I blurt, snapping my mouth shut.

He laughs fully this time. "No." He shakes his head, smiling up at me with the sweetest of smiles. "I'm right here."

I take a deep breath, nodding slowly.

"I love you," He declares warmly, keeping his eyes steady on mine. "I love the way my name falls from your lips, the soft swell of your hips, the love in your fingertips." He smiles. "How your doe eyes go wide when you're surprised. The way you curl up next to me in your sleep when I'm working at night." A little grin forms on his face. "The shy expression you get when you ask if I want the rest of your food and that little song you always sing nonstop around the house when you're happy."

I cover my face in embarrassment, peeking at him from between my fingers.

Baekhyun chuckles, continuing, "I love the little notes you leave when you make me lunch. The way you squeak when I kiss right here." He taps the back of his right ear. "Your beautiful mind and all the mischief that comes with it..." He laughs a little. "The way you nag me when I don't dry my hair and yet always end up doing it for me anyway."

"Your sarcasm and loving touch," He murmurs, sparkles dancing bright in his eyes. "The dimples you try to hide when you smile." He cracks another grin. "Your quirky mismatched socks and way of talking." He laughs warmly when I groan, rethinking all my life choices. "How red your face gets when I compliment you." He hums. "Your loud, high pitched, raspy laugh that I know you hate but I simply adore."

"Oh my god," I cover my eyes, knowing how right he is and how hot my face feels right now.

"How sexy your accent is and how sassy you get when you're angry," He murmurs humorously, giving me a knowing look. "That high horse you climb on when you don't want to admit you are wrong that leaves me frustrated and amused at the same time." He chuckles, sighing softly, his voice taking on a gentler tone. "The look on your face when you cry that makes me want to hold you and hide you away from the world."

My heart squeezes as tears spring to my eyes. I sniffle softly, fanning my face while meeting his loving eyes.

"I love everything about you." He takes a shaky breath. "Not a day goes by where I'm not grateful for you coming into my life."

He looks down for a moment, blinking rapidly before flicking his hair out of his eyes. "I know I'm not much," He mumbles. "I-I know I've done so much shit in the past that you have every right to walk out on me for. I know that you deserve way better than me." He swallows thickly, lips trembling before he presses them into a thin line. "Even with all of this, I have some promises I want to make."

Baekhyun raises his head, reaching to take my hand in his. "I promise not to run away. I promise to communicate. I promise to stay by your side through every blessing and hardship you go through." My heart pounds at the determination in his words and sincerity in his shimmering eyes. "I may not be the perfect man for you." A hint of remorse sparks briefly in his brown eyes. "But I promise to love you with all that I have—with all that I am," He pauses, holding my hand securely in his. "Until my last dying breath… If I break any of these promises you have permission to kick me where the sun doesn't shine." He mumbles in a jokingly grumpy tone, smiling when I giggle.

"I promise to love you until the end of time." His voice starts to wobble, hands shaking while looking deep into my eyes. "Please," He opens the box, revealing a sparkly, rose gold ring with matching gems lining the sides. "Marry me, and be mine."

"Yes." I choke out, tears streaming down my face when I bend down to cup his tear-streaked cheeks in my hands. "Yes. Yes! A million times yes."

Baekhyun stands up, slipping the ring onto my ring finger with uttermost care. As soon as he's done, he pulls me close, sealing my lips in a searing kiss that I gladly let take my breath away.

Originally posted by exo-stentialism

"Unzip me?" I ask, peeking up at him from under my eyelashes.

Baekhyun hums and I spin around, chills going down my spine when his hands gently brush my hair out of the way, warm fingertips brushing over my cool skin. The instant relief of being free from the snug material has nothing on his quiet gasp as he slowly drags the zipper down. He steps back while I shrug off the dress, leaving it to pool at my feet before turning to face him.

His hair color looks out worldly under the favor of the moonlight; shining strands of silver and dark grey swaying with the summer breeze. The way the light reflects off his chains casts him in an eternal glow as he looks at me with those warm, brown eyes. The hints of adoration and need in those captivating orbs break me from my trance.

I take more steps until I'm standing in front of him, pushing his blazer off his shoulders and tilting my head to meet his awestruck gaze, my tone soft and warm, "Baekhyun."

He gulps, letting it fall to the floor while I rest my hand on his chest, placing the other on the back of his neck. The fast beating of his heart under my palm makes me smile before my lips press to his, savoring the taste of champagne on his tongue. I tighten my hold on him when he wraps his arms around my waist, backing me up to the bed.

I sit perched on the edge of the mattress, looking up at him when he pulls off his t-shirt, exposing lean muscle and honey-toned skin to my hungry eyes. I can't help rubbing down his chest and gazing at him from head to toe, smiling at the tint of pink to his cheeks. His leather pants join the scattered pile on the floor before he joins me on the bed, his gentle hands pulling off the rest of our clothes.

"You sure are being bashful tonight," I murmur, lightly tangling my fingers in his hair, relishing in how his warm body presses mine to the cool sheets.

Baekhyun smiles, pressing a chaste kiss to my collarbone. "Let's take things slow tonight." He meets my wide eyes with his adoring ones, pulling the covers over our bodies when I give a timid nod.

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

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Cry with me

A/N:

HA! Y'all thought I was going to break these two up forever. I still had the Un Village scene left!!! >:'D A lot has happened in this long asf Finale and you know, on one hand (me being me) I'm never satisfied with it, HOWEVER those last two scenes? Yeah, that's the best for me. :')

Okay I NEED TO RANT for 2 minutes. *inhale*

I have never, ever EVER had such a hard time writing a character. My perfectionism really popped out in Jackson's scenes, I swear. I tried writing about this man and it just didn't feel right because I don't know him as well. I legit spent almost a week watching Youtube videos, GOT7 music videos, JACKSON SOLO VIDEOS and fell down a rabbit hole of smut (typical smfh) just to figure out how to present him properly! I know writing is all about how you present your character and how you can make them different than the person you base them off of but holy f*ck I wanted him accurate and that accuracy kicked me in my nonexistent balls… so that up there was the final result *deep exhale*

After all of this I can safely say that Jackson is one of my favorite soloists and member of GOT7 bye-

-THE ACTUAL END NOTE WITHOUT THE RAMBLING-

We've finally made it, loves. Six Phases is completed. It's been 2 long years of writing this story. 2 years full of laughter, smiles, dance breaks, hardships and tears.

I'm writing this end note before I even finish the story that you've read above. I'm writing this little note while on hiatus. I'm writing this while in the process of working on this story so I can heal - because that is the very reason this story was created. For healing. For growth.

The Baekhyun character you all know, see, hate and love? His expressions of love are heavily influenced by IRL Jenny; my girlfriend; my heart. My coauthor; my other half.

Without her, I wouldn't know genuine happiness, vulnerability, or to know that someone can love you unconditionally. Flaws and all. Without her, I would have stopped at chapter 4 and disappeared from the writing world forever. She taught me that it is okay to be open, my loud annoying rambling self and that I deserve to follow my dreams. She has stopped me from deleting this story a hundred times. She is the reason why I opened my heart time and time again to truly let these characters' voices be heard. Their flaws and all.

Every character is a part of me, but Baekhyun and Jenny are inspired by her. I can't express how grateful I am to her without crying on you; I've cried enough happy tears while finishing this lmao SO just know that she has helped me a lot with completing this story, and for what I will write in the future.

Before I end this note that has gone on for too long already, I want to express my gratitude and love to everyone who has helped me continue and finish this story. Please don't feel bad if I don't mention you directly, I have warmth in my heart for everyone who has read Six Phases. You being here means the world to me.

Loving Mentions

Miss Kay - you seriously don't know how much you have restored my love for this story. I'll never forget the first time you reblogged SP on tumblr and your comment still brings tears to my eyes. I always thought this story was garbage and seeing how much you enjoyed reading it encouraged me to pick up where I left off. Thank you for everything <3 I can't thank you enough.

Miss Jamie - I always love reading your comments and the theories you had with each new chapter of the story. I'll never forget that Minute Man joke, I swear. I'm still laughing over it. Not to be giddy but I always look forward to your comments ^^ Thank you for always sharing your thoughts about the story with me <3

Sherlock Holmes Anon - dear, you and your THEORIES!!! I adore them all. I love all the knowledge you've brought to the table about the meaning of the colors in this story and its universe. You are amazing and everything you are studying is paying off!!! Wishing you all the best in your studies ^^ show those exams who's boss, they got nothing on you and your lovely brain <333333

My aff loves

Beau1996, alexajjang, byundipyun,

queeniexoxo, byunsugar, Taqdees,

juntar, Vish15, baeknhyu,

Baekie_18, Endzii22, ohyeahbb, Shawolgurl, bbhmystar.

- thank you for all of your lovely comments. Your words made me the happiest in the world. Every time I used to get those instant aff notifs on my phone, I'd run across my house to read them, ahhh~~~ I always love hearing from you <33333

My tumblr lovelies - thank you sooo much for all the love and interactions you've given to my story T-T I'm not tearing up, it's the cake batter in my eyes. You guys are amazing.

My beloved anon readers, tumblr and aff commenters - I'm sending you so many freaking hugs and tissues for the angst you've been exposed to XD hearing the hot tea and ideas you had for this story was such a joy. Thank you <3

I've spent hours a day replying back to you all, no joke. Every comment is precious to me and I always want to give back what you all have given me <333 I hope this story's ending was a happy one for you, I've had it planned since fall 2020 and I'm so happy to finally be able to share it with all of you.

Thank you, for interacting, commenting, subscribing, and upvoting. I appreciate all the love you've given this baby (haha) fic of mine more than you can ever imagine. This story is dedicated to all of you <3

-and oh, don't worry. This isn't the end of Baekhyun & Riley's story, this is only the beginning. <3

Thank you, can't wait to see you soon 0:) <3

~Love a million times over, Nisa

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Michael Riedel vs Bernadette Peters – the Broadway Battle of 2003 and beyond

My previous piece gives a fairly comprehensive look at Bernadette and Gypsy through the ages; though there is at least one aspect of the 2003 revival that warrants further discussion:

Namely, Michael Riedel.

Today’s essay question then: “Riedel – gossip columnist extraordinaire, the “Butcher of Broadway”, spited male vindictive over not getting a lunch date with Bernadette Peters, or puppet-like mouthpiece of theatre’s shadowed elite? Discuss.”

It’s matter retrievable in print, or even kept alive in apocryphal memory throughout the theatre community to this day that Riedel was responsible for a campaign of unrelenting and caustic defamation against Bernadette as Rose in Gypsy around the 2003 season.

While “tabloids may [have been] sniping and the Internet chat rooms chirping”, when looking back at the minutiae, none were more vocal, prolific or influential in colouring early judgment than the “chief vulture [of] Mr. Riedel, who had written a string of vitriolic columns in which he said from the start that Ms. Peters was miscast”.

He continued to find other complaints and regularly attack her in print over an extended period of time.

Why? We’ll get there. There are a few theories to suggest. Firstly, how and what.

Primary to establish is that it perhaps would be foolish to expect anything else of Riedel.

Also an author and radio and TV show host, Riedel is best known as the “vituperative and compulsively readable” theatre columnist at The New York Post.

He’s a man who thrives on controversy, decrying: “Gossip is life!”

The man who says, “I’m a wimp when it comes to physical violence, but give me a keyboard and I’ll kill ya.”

“Inflicting pain, for him, is a jokey thing. ‘Michael has this cruel streak and a lack of empathy,’ says Susan Haskins, his close friend and co-host.”

And inflicting pain is what he did with Bernadette, in a saga that has become one of the most talked about and enduring moments of his career.

From the beginning, then.

Riedel started work at The Post in 1998.

His first words on Bernadette? “Oddly miscast in the Ethel Merman role,” in August of that year on Annie Get Your Gun. It was a sentiment he would carry across to his second mention six months later (“a seemingly odd choice to play the robust Annie Oakley”), and also across to the heart of his vitriolic coverage on her next Merman role in Gypsy.

Negative coverage on Bernadette in Gypsy started in August 2002 when Riedel discussed the search for trying to find a new American producer for the show. It had initially been reported in late 2000 that a Gypsy revival with Bernadette was planned for London, before it was to transfer to Broadway. To begin with, Arthur Laurents was “eager to do Gypsy in London because it hadn't been seen in the West End since 1973”, and he “wanted to repeat [the] dreamlike triumph” he said Angela Lansbury’s production had been. But economic matters prevented this original plan, leaving the team looking for new producers in the US. Riedel suggested that Fran and Barry Wiessler step up as, “after all, they managed to sell the hell out of "Annie Get Your Gun," in which Peters…was also woefully miscast.”

He also quipped: “Industry joke: "Bernadette Peters in 'Gypsy'? Isn't she a little old to be playing Baby June?”, calling her “cutesy Peters” and again a “kewpie doll”.

Bernadette here seen side by side with the actual Baby June of the 2003 production – Kate Reinders.

Other publications to this point had discussed her “unusual” casting. Which was fairly self-evident. In contrast to being a surprising revelation that Bernadette Peters was not, in fact, Ethel Merman, this had been the intention from the start. Librettist Arthur “Laurents – whose idea it was to hire her – [said] going against type is exactly the point,” and Sam Mendes, as director, qualified “the tradition of battle axes in that role has been explored”.

It was Riedel who was the first to shift the focus from the obvious point that she was ‘differently cast’, to instead attach the negative prefix and intone that she was actually ‘MIS’ cast. According to him then, she was unsuitable, and would be unable to “carry the show, dramatically or vocally”. All before she had so much as sung a note or donned a stitch of her costume.

So no, it wasn’t then “the perception, widely held within the theater industry,” as he presented it, “that Peters is woefully miscast as Mama Rose”.

It was Riedel’s perception. And he took it, and ran with it, along with whatever else he could throw into the mix to drag both her and the show down for the next two years.

As to another indication of how one single columnist can influence opinion and warp wider perception, just look to Riedel’s assessment of the show’s first preview. It is typically known as Riedel’s forte to “[break] with Broadway convention, [where] he attends the first night of previews, and reports on the problems…before the critics have their say”. This gives him “clout” by way of mining “terrain that goes relatively uncovered elsewhere”, and it means subsequent journals are frequently looking to him from whom to take their lead – and quotes.

At Gypsy’s opening preview then, he reported visions of “Arthur Laurents [charging] up the aisle��on fire”, loudly and vocally expressing his dissatisfaction with the show as he then “read Fox [a producer] the riot act”. Despite the fact that this was “not true, according to Laurents,” the damage was already done, with the sentiment of trouble and tension being subsequently reprinted and distributed out to the public across many a regional paper.

News travels fast, bad news travels faster.

And news can be created at an ample rate, when in possession of one’s own regular periodical column. This recurring domain allowed plentiful opportunity for attack on Bernadette and Gypsy, and Riedel “began devoting nearly every column to the subject,” which amounted to weekly or even more frequent references.

As the show progressed beyond its first preview, Riedel brought in the next aspects of his smear-campaign – assailing Bernadette for missing performances through illness and accusing Ben Brantley, who reviewed the show positively in The New York Times, of unfair favouritism and “hyperbolic spin”.

The issue is not that Bernadette was not in fact ill or missing performances. She was. She had a diagnosis at first of “a cold and vocal strain”, that then progressed more seriously to a “respiratory infection” the following week, and was “told by her doctors that she needs to rest”. So rest she did.

The issue is the way in which Riedel depicted the situation and her absences via hyperbole and “insinuating she was shirking” responsibility. He went further than continual, repeated mentions and cruel article titles like “wilted Rose”, or “sick Rose losing bloom”, or “beloved but - ahem-cough-cough-ahem - vocally challenged and miscast star”. He went as far as the sensationalist and degrading action of putting “Peters' face on the side of a milk carton, the kind of advertisement typically used to recover lost children,” and asking readers to look out for “bee-stung lips, [a] high-pitched voice, [and a] kewpie doll figure”, who “may be clutching a box of tissues and a love letter from Ben Brantley”.

It was quantified in May of 2003 after the show had officially opened, that “out of the 39 performances "Gypsy" has played so far, [Bernadette] has missed six – an absence rate of 15 percent.”

As an interesting comparison, it was reported in The Times in February 2002 that “‘The Producers' stars Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick have performed together only eight times in last 43 performances due to scheduling problems and health concerns,” – an absence rate of 81%.

Did Riedel have anything nearly as ardent to say about the main male stars of the previous season’s hit missing such a rate of performances? Of course not.

Riedel arguably has a disproportionate rate for criticising female divas.

One need only heed his recommendations that certain women check into his illuminatingly named “Rosie's Rest Home for Broadway Divas.” Divos need not apply.

Not that he was unaware of this.

In 2004, Riedel would jovially lay out that “Liz Smith and I have developed a nice tag-team act: I bash fragile Broadway leading ladies who miss performances, and she rides to their rescue.”

Donna Murphy was the recipient of what he that year dubbed his “BERNADETTE PETERS ATTENDANCE AWARD”, when she began missing performances in “Wonderful Town”, due to “severe back and neck injuries and a series of colds and sinus infections”.

This speaks to his remarkably cavalier and joyful attitude with which he tears down shows and performers. “The more Mr. Riedel's work upsets people, the more he enjoys it.”

He knows he yields influence – it was recognised he had “eclipsed Ben Brantley as the single most discussed element in marketing meetings for Broadway shows” – and he delights in his capacity to lead shows to premature demises through his poison-tipped quill yielding.

When it was reported Gypsy would be closing earlier than had been planned, he made mention of “hop[ping] around on [its] grave” and debonairly applauding himself, “I suppose I can take some credit for bringing it down”.

His premonition from the previous year’s Tony’s ceremony was both ominous and prescient, when he predicted the show’s failure to win any awards “could spell trouble at the box office”. He was right. It did. The 8.5 million dollar revival closed months before anticipated and failed to return a profit.

Multiple factors can be attributed to Gypsy’s poor success at the Tony’s, but it’s clear to say Riedel’s continual bashing leading up to the fated night throughout the voting period certainly didn’t help matters.

His suggestions to do with Bernadette’s performances were not helpful either.

After alleging Laurents as the director of the 1991 revival “practically beat a performance out of” Tyne Daly when she was struggling with the role, he proffers that to improve Bernadette’s success, “it may be time for [Laurents] to take up the switch and thrash one out of Peters”.

Great.

It was irresponsible and unrelenting commentary that did not go unnoticed.

His “ruthless heckling of beloved Broadway star Ms. Peters” was deemed in print “his most egregious stunt so far”.

Vividly, in person, Riedel was accosted at a party one night by Floria Lasky, the venerable showbiz lawyer, who “grab[bed] Riedel’s tie and jerk[ed] it, nooselike, scolding, ‘It was unfair, what you did to Bernadette’”.

Moreover, the wide-reaching influential hold Riedel occupied over the environment surrounding Gypsy was tangible in the fact his words spread beyond just average readers, and even unusually “started seeping into the reviews of New York's top critics”. Riedel himself, as the “chief vulture”, was indeed what Ben Brantley was referring to in his own New York Times review by stating how the production was “shadowed by vultures predicting disaster”.

Even more substantially, the “whole Peters-Riedel-Brantley episode” became its own enduring cultural reference – being converted into its very own “satiric cabaret piece, ‘Bernadette and the Butcher of Broadway’”. All three parties were featured, with Riedel characterised as the butcher, and it played Off-Broadway later in 2003 “to positive notices”.

But penitent for his sins and begging for absolution Riedel was not. “Riedel saw nothing but a great story and a great time,” and for many years after, he would continue to hark back to the matter in self-referential (almost reverential) and flippant ways.

In 2008 as Patti LuPone won her Tony for her turn as Rose in the subsequent revival, Riedel couldn’t help but jibe, “Not to rip open an old wound, but I'd love to know if Bernadette Peters was watching”. (He neglects also to mention that “Mendes’s Gypsy was seen by 100,000 more people than saw Laurents’s and grossed $6 million more”.)

More jibes are to be found in 2012 as he reported on the auction after Arthur Laurents’ funeral, or even as recently in 2019, as he asked, “Remember the outcry that greeted Sam Mendes’ Brechtian “Gypsy,” with Bernadette Peters, in 2003?”

As with in 2004 where he points to the “pack of jackals who have been snarling” about Bernadette’s failures, this brings up the canny knack Riedel has of offloading his views to bigger and detached third party sources – thus absolving himself of personal centrality, and thus culpability.

If there was an outcry, HE was its loudest contributor. If there were snarling jackals, HE was their leader.

Maybe Riedel’s third person detached approach to referencing matters was intended to be a humorous stylistic quirk for those in the know. Or maybe it was his way of expressing some inner turmoil over the event.

In some rare display of morality and emotional authenticity, Riedel would at one point admit “I find it kind of sad and pathetic that the high point of my life supposedly has been about beating up on Bernadette Peters”.

Fortunately for him then, a degree of absolution was eventually achieved in 2018, where Riedel visited Bernadette at her opening night in Hello Dolly in 2018, with the intention of ending their “15-year feud”. He “got down on one knee at Sardi’s and extended his hand,” with Bernadette reportedly yelling “Take a picture!” while he held his deferential and obsequious position on the floor.

So if eventually this “feud” has some kind of circular resolution and Riedel was glad it was over, why on earth did it begin in the first place?

One notion is that it was simply another day on the job. Riedel is a man who sees Broadway as “a game for rich people”. Positioned as an “an industry that brought in $720.9 million in the 2002-2003 season”, it is “not a fragile business”, he remarked. As such, he “[could not] fathom the point of donning kid gloves” in covering it, and reasoned the business as a whole was robust enough to weather a few hard knocks. “Thus, Riedel can coolly view Bernadette Peters as fair game, as opposed to, say, a national treasure”.

More to the point, he was a man in search of words. During the season in question, Riedel was “one of just three New York newspaper columnists covering the stage” – a “throwback to a bygone era when…Broadway gossipmeisters…such as Walter Winchell and Dorothy Kilgallen ruled”. Now at the time, as the “last of a great tabloid tradition”, Riedel presided over not just one but two columns a week at The Post. As a result, he was in need of content. “One of the reasons I've become more opinionated is I just have more space to fill,” he admitted. Robert Simonson hypothesises in his book ‘On Broadway Men, Still Wear Hats’ that Riedel may have consequently picked “the thrashing of Bernadette” as his main target simply because “it was a slow news cycle”. Options for ‘titillating’ and durable content were scarce elsewhere that season.

And after all, if Riedel would later cite Bernadette in an article concerning the Top 10 Powerhouses of Broadway in 2004, saying even despite a few knocks or bad shows, “she’ll bounce back” – surely there was no real damage done.

If her career wouldn’t be toppled by his continual public defamation and haranguing, what was the harm?

Feelings? Who cares about feelings or Bernadette’s extremely complex and personal history with the show stretching back to when she was a teenager.

It was just part of the territory, there was nothing personal in it.

Or was there?

Maybe there was something personal in Riedel’s campaign after all.

He makes a curious comment while discussing ‘A Raisin in the Sun’ in 2004. The then incoming star of the show, rapper P. Diddy, had invited Riedel to dinner, and he makes judgement that this was “a smart p.r. move”. Then he ponders, “you do have to wonder: If Bernadette Peters had broken bread with me this time last year, would her chorus boys have to be out there now working the TKTS line to keep "Gypsy" afloat?”

Might he be going as far to suggest that if Bernadette had indulged him in a meal, her show might not have suffered so, by way of him being more inclined to cover it with greater lenience?

It may seem that way, at least in considering how Riedel reviewed P. Diddy’s performance thus after their dinner: “Riedel pronounced himself impressed. ‘He could have forgotten his lines or had to be carried offstage. He didn’t do anything terrible, he didn’t do anything astonishing.’”

Seemingly all the rapper had to do was remember some words and remain physically onstage, and he sails through scot-free. That’s a rather different outcome, one could say, to being absolutely eviscerated for what became a Tony nominated effort at one of the appreciably hardest and most demanding musical theatre roles in existence.

Though perhaps it’s hard to tell if that was really his insinuation from just one isolated comment pertaining to lunch.

This argument might be fine, if it WAS the only isolated comment pertaining to wanting Bernadette to have lunch with him. But it isn’t. Riedel continues to make a further two references over protracted periods of time to the fact Bernadette hasn’t dined with him.

One begins to get the sense of him feeling desiring of or somewhat entitled to such a private lunch with the lady he’s verbally decimated for years, and a sense of bitter rejection that he hasn’t been granted one.

“If Tonya Pinkins doesn't win the Tony Award this year, I'll buy Bernadette Peters lunch,” he simpered, and later, “I invite Bernadette to be my guest for lunch at a restaurant of her choosing. She can reach me at The Post anytime she's hungry”.

The embittered columnist in this light takes on now the marred tinge of a small boy in the playground who doesn’t get to hold the hand of the girl he wants in front of his friends, so spends the next three years pushing her over in the sandpit in revenge.

Moreover, the last statement makes undeniable comment on Bernadette’s troubled relationship with food, body image and public eating.

So now not only so far has he insulted and mocked her physical appearance and played into all the usual trite shots calling her a “kewpie doll”; suggested Arthur Laurents violently hit her in order to elicit a better performance; continually publicly harassed her regarding a show that strikes close to the nerve with deep personal and psychological resonances due to her mother and childhood; but now he’s going for the low-blows of ridiculing her over her eating habits.

Flawless behaviour.

Maybe it’s far-fetched to suggest a man would have such a fragile ego to run a multi-year public defamation campaign after so little as not getting his hypothesised fantasy of a personal lunch date. But then again, this was the man who “left Johns Hopkins University after his first year because of a broken heart.” (“I was in love with her; she wasn't in love with me,” he said.)

And also the man described as “an insomniac who pops the occasional Ambien,” living in a “small one-bedroom” that is “single-guy sloppy”, who has “been living alone since a four-year romance ended in 1996”.

The man whose own best friend called “cruel” and with a “lack of empathy”.

The man whose own sister answered that “well, yes,” he’s always been mean; and after being picked on as a kid for “being the small guy and the intellectual”, he grew dependent on using “his verbal ability to beat someone” and put himself in positions of defensive impenetrability.

See, writing Riedel-esque, vindictive and provocative conjecture is no especially challenging or cerebral task.

Riedel may well see his approach to ‘journalism’ or reporting as “all fun and games”.

But I for one am not laughing.

One final aspect to address when considering Riedel’s reasoning for the depth of his coverage on Bernadette demands attention of how he gets his information. His own personal opinions and motivations aside, crucially he depends on insider providers for insider details. Perhaps somewhat alarmingly then, “leading Broadway producers themselves are among his sources”.

“Half of Broadway hates him. The other half leaks to him”, John Heilpern titled his 2012 Vanity Fair profile on Riedel.

As such, in frequently taking his lead from “theater folk, usually with an ax to grind”, Riedel acts as the mouthpiece to bring secretive backstage reports out front. High-up, influential characters are thus able to funnel their agendas into public view, while keeping their identities hidden.

Notably, it was raised in the above article that Riedel’s “merciless running story” regarding Bernadette in Gypsy “was fed by none other than its renowned librettist, Arthur Laurents—or, more precisely, by Laurents's lover”.

Contrary to the smiley picture below between members of the show’s creative team and it’s beloved star, it was no secret that Laurents did not like Mendes’ 2003 revival. Laurents told Riedel that “Sam did a terrible disservice to Bernadette and the play, and I wanted a Gypsy seen in New York that was good… You have to have musical theater in your bones, and Sam doesn't”. In fact, Laurents admitted the only reason his 2009 book ‘Mainly on Directing’ came into existence was because of how much he had to criticise about the show – it grew out of the extensive set of notes he gave Mendes.

Additionally, it was no secret that Laurents’ lover, Tom Hatcher, demonstrated both a desire and capacity to influence Arthur’s productions. As well as being the driving force for the 2009 Spanish-speaking reworking of West Side Story, Hatcher had intense investment in Gypsy specifically. Patti LuPone writes in her memoir, “From his deathbed, Tom had told Arthur, ‘You have to do Gypsy, and you have to do it with Patti’. It was one of his dying wishes”. Laurents himself, in corroboration of this, explained Tom’s reasoning – “he didn't want the Sam Mendes production to be New York's last memory of Gypsy”.

The allegation in Heilpern’s profile might be hard to prove from an outsider perspective. But given that neither were happy with Mendes’ production and both actively took steps to ensuring it would be superseded in memory, it is not completely implausible.

Overarchingly, as much as Riedel’s writing may benefit FROM insider sources, it is said he does not write in benefit OF them. For instance, although friends with Scott Rudin in 2004, an animated (nay threatening) warning from Mr Rudin asking Riedel to “back off” from “slamming” his show, Caroline or Change, seemingly “had no impact”.

That’s not to cite total impartiality or exemption from personal connections and higher up influences colouring his reports of shows. Theatre publicist John Barlow would describe that sometimes “if you ask Michael to kill [one of his pieces], he will, if it’s someone with whom he does business”.

But it would be remiss not to mention that his influences and sources stretch beyond just the big wigs. Amongst his other informants too are the more lowly, overlooked folk like “the stagehands, the ushers, chorus kids, house managers, and press agents… the guys who build sets in the Bronx”. Basically, for anyone who’ll talk, Riedel will listen.

“Michael Riedel doesn't work for the producers or the publicists; he works for the reader,” one publicist said. “Sometimes we're glad of that, sometimes we're not-but at the end of the day, that's the reality.”

Sometimes he’s nice, sometimes he’s not – but the world goes round.

Through all that’s been explored, it should be stated how painful and injurious it must be for individual performers or shows to fall upon the unmitigated, maiming force of being on the wrong side of Riedel’s favour. The way he approached coverage on Bernadette is deplorable from an emotional and personal standpoint. Some would argue that it was too far and crossed a line and was most definitely unfair. Others would say it was justified. It’s hard not to sound petulant as the former, or heartless as the latter.

While his actions may indeed be abrasively wounding in isolated (often plentiful) cases, it’s unreasonable to say Riedel’s intentions would be to cripple the Broadway industry as a whole. There are those who purport that Riedel in fact “keeps Broadway alive with his controversies”. His words may not always be ‘nice’ but it’s difficult to argue they're not engaging.

Many are quick to criticize or react impassionedly to him and his columns; but few are quick to stop reading them. And Riedel “knows that the most important thing is being well read”.

Hence it is understandable why Riedel is appraised as “the columnist Broadway loves to hate”. Through his enthralling and stimulating bag of linguistic and dramatic tricks, Riedel knows how to keep the readers coming back. “He’s lively, and he makes the theater seem like an interesting place,” one producer did reason.

“There are times when no one's going to care about Broadway if you don't have a gossip angle that focuses on the backstage drama,” opined George Rush, the Daily News gossip columnist who was once Riedel's boss.

Perhaps it is logically and principally then, if somewhat cynically, a matter of believing “it's just business” and knowing how to “play the game”.

As Riedel himself would rationalise, “It’s all an act. You gotta have a gimmick, as they say in Gypsy.”

It may not be pleasant, but in a world increasingly dependent on sensationalistic and clickbait-driven engagement, it’s probably not going to change any time soon.

Well then, if he can live with the toll of the position of moral tumult his column puts him in, so be it.

That he described his mind as being “constantly on the next deadline”, saying “I always think about the column”, and likening writing it to “standing under a windmill”, where “you dodge one blade, but there's always another one coming right behind it”, may be some indication that he can't. At least not wholly easily.

I’ll leave that to him to figure out. Off the record.

39 notes · View notes

bqstqnbruin · 3 years

Text

I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call

OK so here we are with the penultimate part! BIG MASSIVE THANK YOU to the absolute loves of my life @pucksnsticksnhockeyboys and @fratboytj for helping me write this because I am a dumpster fire of a human and this would still be unfinished had it not been for them 💛💛💛

Hope you like it!

Read the whole series: I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair // I hate the way you drive my car // I hate it when you stare // I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind // I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme // I hate the way you’re always right // I hate it when you lie // I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry // I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call // But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all

---------

“This right here is our issue!”

“I don’t care. You need to leave.”

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

You and Evelina were leaving for Los Angeles the next day, the presentation not quite done yet as your boss bombarded both of you with texts asking for updates while you were just trying to relax at home after what had been a stressful week of work. The two of you had turned into gremlins as soon as you came home, hair tied back, sweatshirts on, hoods up, facing each other while sitting cross-legged on your living room floor, typing faster than you probably needed to every time your boss sent a new suggestion.

“Does he really think adding in a transition between these two slides is going to do anything? Like, there are no other animations in the entire presentation, why these two slides?” you huff, pushing the fly-away hair out of your face as you look to Evelina, hunched over her laptop with her computer screen illuminating her face.

Your phones continue buzzing as you try to put the finishing touches on your laptops. “Whatever this man is smoking, I need some to deal with him,” Evelina mutters. You look up from your computer, questioning the statement that just came out of her mouth. “What?” she asks, “Don’t act like you wouldn’t, too.”

“I’m texting him and telling him we’re going to stop for the night and talk with him in person about it tomorrow at the airport and on plane,” you tell her, setting your computer down next to you. You lay down on the floor, stretching your body out with your hands over your head, your toes pointed, groaning so loud you practically scream as your phone lays silently next to you.

“Have you heard from Matthew?” Evelina asks, breaking the silence that was normally broken by texts from him.

You shake your head, sitting up again. “Not a word.”

“Have you tried to talk to him?”

You take in a deep breath, closing your eyes as you pick up your laptop again. “Nope. Nothing posted on our stories on Instagram or Snapchat in a week, no texts, no calls, no Facetimes, our streak gone on Snap. We’re both radio silent,” you start, trying to fight back the tears that you knew were coming. This was for the best, maybe. You didn’t need to be preoccupied with the idea of liking someone that was just going to hurt you. He was only meant to be your friend. Your best friend.

“I’m sorry, babe,” she says, turning her head. A small piece of paper under your couch catches her eye, stretching to see what it was. “What is this? ‘For Ev and Hg’ Who’s Hg?”

“I think that’s me,” you say, reaching for the card, Matthew’s messy writing scrawled across the small paper. It must have fallen off the box that had the jerseys in it, you figure.

“That’s not right,” she says, pulling a laugh from you.

“Matthew calls me that: Hg is the chemical symbol for mercury, coming from hydrargyrum, the Latinized form of the Greek word hydrargyros, which means water-silver. Mercury stops oxygen from reaching the brain and it drives you crazy. He’s saying that I drive him crazy,” you explain, a sad smile on your face as you play with the card, curling the corners of it slightly just so you had something to do.

“That is surprisingly smart and cute for him,” Evelina gushes, a sudden wave of sadness washing over her. “I think this is my fault,” she admits.

“What?”

“Matthew not talking to you. Matthew knowing about the list.” You stare at her, not sure what to say. What was she talking about? “I told him about it the night you started it.”

“What the fuck?” you scream, “That’s the reason we had this whole fight in the first place. That’s why we aren’t talking right now. Ev, you ruined my friendship with Matthew!”

“You’ll get through it,” she tries to reassure you, unable to look at you. “Couples fight all the time.”

“We were not a couple!” you yell, standing up. “And now, because of you, we never will be.”

“Is that what you wanted?” she yells back, getting up with you as if you were about to start physically fighting. “Do you want to be a couple? Or do you just want him to be your friend? I don’t care anymore, but until you figure out what the fuck you want, you can’t fix this.”

You look down at your feet, wiggling your toes in the socks you had on. “You’re right,” you admit to her, trying to stay as calm as you could. “But why did you have to tell him about that list? What do you think it’s like to find out that someone you care about has been keeping something like this from you?” You stand there quietly for a minute, neither of you sure what to say to the other. “I’m going to go to my room,” you say, finally breaking the silence, “Just, don’t bother me for a little bit, ok?” You don’t let her answer, picking up your computer from the floor and retreating to your room to lock yourself in for the time being.

Evelina sits down on the floor, trying to figure out what she can do. This was her fault. Or was it yours? She had suggested the list, but you were the one who went along with it. She made the bet, but you wouldn’t drop it. She wanted you to be with Matthew, but you have been fighting it no matter what everyone else tells you.

She shakes her head, picking up her computer, a reminder from her calendar coming up in the top corner: Flames @ Kings, 7:00 p.m. Friday. Staples Center. With all this bullshit, would you even still want to go to the game? Evelina pulls up her phone, hearing loud music coming from your room, thankful that you wouldn’t be able to hear her conversation.

“I can see on her Spotify that she’s playing the playlist we entitled “depressed bitch” when she broke up with her last boyfriend and I can’t stand to see her like this. Why did you have to bring up the list?” Evelina barks into her phone.

“Why did you have to have Y/N start the list in the first place?” Matthew’s voice comes through on the other end. “With no list, then we wouldn’t be in this fucked up mess in the first place. You’re the reason I’m not talking to her.”

She knew he was taking his anger out on her. And he’s right, as much as she hated to admit it. “I know it’s my fault,” she says, begrudgingly, “which is why I’m trying to fix this. She cried for five hours after you left last week. She did not sleep for two days and I think the only reason she did was because our boss is an exhausting jackass. It’s because of you and me, and she’s made her peace with me as far as I can tell. I need you back in the picture.”

“Why?”

“Matthew,” Evelina groans, hating that she had to explain her reasoning to him, “you’re good for her. You’re good to her. You listen to her. You hear her. From the moment you met her, you were absolutely infatuated with her.”

“Yeah.”

“So why haven’t you talked to her in a week?”

She hears him let out a deep sigh, swearing she could hear him sniffle as if he were crying. “Because I’m in love with her. I love Y/N. And I know that the more I try to pull her back to me, the harder she’s going to push away.”

“Why do you love her?” Evelina asks, grabbing her computer, an idea popping into her head as she balances her phone between her shoulder and her ear, pulling up a blank document.

He scoffs, starting, “Her way of relaxing herself is by ranting about obscure facts that no sane person would actually care enough to read, let alone commit to memory. And she absolutely lights up when she tells you this stuff. She has this, this soft smile that still somehow reaches her eyes when she’s talking. At the end of her rant she makes that face where she scrunches her nose because she thinks it’s embarrassing that she just spewed all those facts to you.”

“Keep going,” Evelina instructs him, her fingers flying over her keyboard as he talks.

“Are you typing?”

“I’m working on...work. Keep going, I’m listening,” she says fast, hoping that he wouldn’t question her.

“I like how she dresses, and I know you think she doesn’t have good style but hear me out: she dresses how she’s comfortable. She doesn’t dress up often because it’s not something she wants to do so it’s not something she does do. But, fuck, when I see her dressed up in the slightest, she looks beautiful. She looks great in anything she wears.”

Evelina couldn’t help but smile as she continued to type, not even needing to egg Matthew on to keep spilling his guts to her, his voice getting more confident with everything he listed. “Have you ever noticed how she doesn’t hold a pen correctly? What was it, her grandmother taught her to write outside of school so when she went to school and already knew her teachers saw that so they didn’t focus on her and catch that she was holding it wrong? So now she’s constantly playing with it to distract herself from that fact, which makes no sense, but whatever. And she has ink all over her hands all the time because she keeps twirling it between her fingers and dropping it.”

“She’ll joke that it’s ‘abstract art.’” Evelina cuts in, both of them laughing.

“Come on, even you love that. She’s so stubborn. Once she gets any idea in her head, she won’t give it up because she knows she’s right. It drives me crazy.”

“Mercury,” Evelina mutters.

“What was that?”

“We found the card that you wrote with the jerseys,” she explains, peeling her shoulder away from her face and holding the phone with her hand for a moment, “You call her Mercury because she drives you crazy.”

Matthew stays silent for a moment, forgetting that you were supposed to see him in Los Angeles against the Kings that Friday. “Are you still coming to that?”

“You mean is she still coming with me?” He doesn’t answer again, leaving Evelina to fill the empty space in the conversation. “I’m going to try to get her there. I want her there. And I know she wants to be there, too.”

“I remember the night we met,” Matthew says, changing subjects, not wanting to think about the possibility of not seeing you at that game, “it was just a normal night out with the guys and then two girls who we hadn’t seen before walked in. And normally we wouldn’t think anything of it, but,” he exhales, “I don’t know. The entire energy of the bar changed. All of us felt it. And then the two of you walked up to us. You were fucking annoying,” he jokes, earning a scoff from Evelina.

“Watch yourself Tkachuk, don’t make me mad right now.”

Rolling his eyes, even though he knew she couldn't see him, he continues, “The guys loved you immediately, it was like you had known them for years the way you fit in. But then there was Y/N. She’s your exact opposite: you were this loud force of nature but she was quiet. There was just something about her that I had to get to know her. I knew she was different around people she’s comfortable with and I just had to be one of those people. Couldn’t even tell you why.”

Matthew keeps talking, Evelina typing as he keeps telling her about his feelings. In a lull in your music, you can hear her laugh from your room, thinking to yourself that you were glad at least one of you was having fun with whatever it was they were doing. You finally sit up, having been sprawled on your back on your bed staring at your ceiling trying to think of something, anything that wasn’t Matthew. You look around your room, trying to ground yourself from the pain you felt from not hearing from him, not wanting to reach out to him to begin with. You see your computer on your dresser, forgetting that you put it there once you got to your room, getting up to put something on from Hulu.

Out of the corner of your eye, in the reflection of your mirror, you see a black sleeve sticking out from the rest of the clothing that was hanging on the back of your door. You put your computer on your desk, flipping through the clothing to see what it was. You pull it off whatever hanger it was on, a wool winter pea coat, definitely not yours.

Because it was Matthew’s. When you first met him, you were so comfortable around each other. You could go over his place with ease, not feeling awkward when you fell asleep on his shoulder while watching a movie, feeling completely normal when you woke up the next morning and used his bathroom as if it were your own, eventually keeping some stuff there for when you did stay over, no matter how little use it served you the night after the charity event.

He was the same at your place. He has stuff around your room everywhere, you never really blinking an eye at the pair of his sweatpants and the tshirt that were somewhere in your drawers for when he slept over. Not even a year ago, he left in the sweatshirt, the coat he wore the night before left on the couch without you realizing it, making its home on the back of your door only to get shuffled right up against the wood as you hung more and more clothing in front of it.

You walk over to your bed, not taking your eyes off the coat. You sit down on your bed, hearing some sort of jingling sound from somewhere in the coat. Digging through the pockets, you can feel something metal in the front right one, a piece of paper poorly folded around it. Should you be going through the pockets of someone else's coat?

Who cared at this point? You take out the contents of the pocket: a key and a receipt. Your heart was racing, having a feeling about what both of these things meant. The receipt was dated the night you went out to the bar when you moved to Calgary, the night you met Matthew and the rest of the boys. Matthew’s name was on the bottom signaling that it was his, a few drinks circled by who you assumed was him.

Those were the drinks he bought for you that night, the drinks he would always ask you if you wanted befor you could get a word in first, ‘vodka sour = lemon,’ and something else you couldn’t quite make out written on the side. The next time you were out with them, a vodka sour was the drink he bought you because you told him you liked lemon but hadn’t found a drink that you liked with it in it. That was the drink he bought you the night of the charity event.

On the back of the receipt, again in Matthew’s handwriting, ‘my home is your home, Y/N.’ In your hand was a key, with a lemon charm hanging off of it.

It was a key to his apartment.

You couldn’t begin to fathom the emotions that washed over you in that moment, knowing that he was going to give you his key, probably before you even thought of giving him one for your place. Fuck, you didn’t even give him one, Evelina did. You didn’t even think about it, and there he was, a key for you, planned out, thoughtful, meaningful. You felt like crying because of sweet it was.

You pick up your phone, pulling up Matthew’s contact to call him. Your finger hovers over the button. All you had to do was press the button, and you would talk to him for the first time in a week. Before you can tell yourself no, you hit the button, a picture of the two of you coming up on your screen, ‘Matthew, calling,’ rolling over your phone in bold white text.

You didn’t even know what you were going to say, holding the phone to your ear. Actually, you knew what you wanted to say, hearing the phone ring, and ring, and ring. It wouldn’t stop ringing.

It was a sign. One that you shouldn’t be calling him, hanging up immediately and blocking his number so that he can’t try to call you back. If you were meant to be with him, then he would have answered when you wanted to talk to him most. He would have called you first.

Every emotion you felt turned into anger. You wanted him to call you. You wanted him to be there for you, because if this were happening with another guy, Matthew would be the one sitting there on the bed with you talking you down when this hypothetical man didn’t answer.

“Mother fucker!” you scream, throwing the key against your door, letting it drop to the ground, wishing it was smashed.

Evelina hears you, hoping that the conversation with Matthew would end soon so that she can go check on you when he says, “What about how she’s always so quick with her chirps? I have never met someone who’s so fast with a comeback. She’s better than any guy in the NHL. Better than anyone,” Matthew says, still on the phone with Evelina, his voice getting quiet. “Better than anyone,” he repeats himself.

“I’ve known Y/N’s last two boyfriends and between her and Thomas recounting the high school boyfriend, I feel like I knew the third,” she says, partially regretting bringing up Thomas’s name, “You really love her?”

“Haven’t I said that already?” he snaps.

“Yes, but I want you to say it again. She is my best friend and has had plenty of people say that they are in love with her. You’re the first one she’s been in love with back, though.”

Matthew’s breath hitches at those words. If Evelina was saying it about you, then it had to be true he figured. “Of course I do.”

“Ok,” is all Evelina can say, leaving the two of them in silence for a few seconds.

“Uh, bye, I guess,” Matthew says, hoping the awkward silence that fell between them would end.

“I’ll text you later about something. Bye,” Evelina hangs up the phone, letting out a long sigh before getting off the floor. Wandering to your room, she knocks on your door, waiting for any sign of life from you to tell her she could come in. “What is this?” she asks after stepping on the key, handing it back to you, plopping herself down on your bed..

“Matthew was going to give me a key to his apartment,” you tell her, waving it around in the air.

“When?” You shrug, honestly not sure how long ago the coat was left there, not sure how long it had been in his pocket in the first place. “I need to ask you something,” she says.

Not really paying attention, that stupid key in your hand, you answer her anyway, “What?”

“Do you like him?”

“Him who?”

Evelina rolls her eyes at you, telling you who even though she really didn’t need to. “Matthew.”

“Of course I do. He’s my best friend besides you.”

“Do you love him?”

“Why hasn’t he called?” you ask, quietly, her instead.

Evelina sighs, “He probably wants to give you space,” she tells you, even though she knows the real answer. “He just wants you to go to him when you’re ready. You know he would never push you to do something you don’t want to.”

The two of you sit there in silence for a moment, neither of you sure what to say. Would Matthew want you to reach out first? If he did, why didn’t he answer the phone just now? “Y/N,” Evelina presses, you knowing that she wanted you to respond to the question you intentionally left unanswered.

You pick up the receipt that was beside you, the key still in your hand, wondering how he could have thought yo give you the key before you even thought about it yourself. And why did he never give it to you? “Ev. I said no. He’s just like Thomas. He loves me and I don’t feel the same way, and I’ve lost him just like I lost Thomas,” you insist.

“You didn’t lose him,” she tries to reassure you. “This is going to work out.”

“How do you know that, Ev? He means everything to me. You and him are the two people outside of my family that I care the most about. What does it say about our friendship that we get into some stupid fight and now we don’t talk for a week?”

“Y/N,” she lets out a small laugh, “He loves you.”

You shake your head, swallowing hard as you turn the key over in your hand for what felt like the thousandth time. “If he did he would be here right now. He would have called, he would have done something to show me that he cared about me.”

“Y/N,” she tries.

“No, Ev. Can we just drop it?” you beg, reaching over to your nightstand and throwing the key and receipt in the drawer. “We have to work on our presentation, we leave tomorrow, and we still need to finish packing.”

The rest of the night was spent by the two of you not saying more than monosyllabic sentences to each other while you worked on the finishing touches of your presentation, packing the last of what you needed for the trip and triing to get your mind off Matthew. You zip your bag up, satisfied that you were finished when you see the jersey Matthew gave you sitting there on your floor, in a pile of other clothing you meant to put away.

You pick it up, like you did the jacket that was now sitting on the couch, a note laying on top of it for Evelina to give it back to Matthew. Sighing, you fold up the jersey, leaving your room to go put it with the coat. You didn’t want it. You had no need for it. All you could do was let it go.

You couldn’t sleep the night, any time you closed your eyes and managed to doze off, Matthew’s image flashed through your mind. Every single memory you had with him seemed to be manifesting themselves in your dreams, unable to shake him no matter what you did.The nights you spent together on the couch watching whatever was on TV, teaching him to make your favorite cookies, even though he burned them to a crisp no matter how many times he would check the oven, the two of you going Christmas shopping for your families, buying each other the dumbest gifts you could find to see who you laugh harder. Not a single bad memory came up, besides the last time you saw him. Was everything with Matthew actually that perfect? Or were you blocking things out?

Your alarm goes off but you were already awake for it, groaning loudly prompting Evelina to come running to your room. “Are you ok?” she asks in a panic. “Babe, did you sleep at all last night?”

You didn’t even want to know how awful you looked, just hoping that you would be able to cover it up with makeup and get some semblance of sleep while on the plane even if it were only a three hour flight. “Maybe an hour?” you guess, even though you were sure that was an over exaggeration. “Whatever. We have to go get ready.” You get out of your bed and storm to the bathroom, closing the door before Evelina could even say anything.

You looked like you had been hit by a truck, hating how you came across as you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes were red, the bags underneath them so rich in color they could probably be designer, your skin discolored like you were sick. You would need makeup and a miracle to fix yourself at this point.

“Y/N?” Evelina says, opening the door without you inviting her in. “I found the coat and jersey.” You make eye contact with her through the mirror, pursing your lips and nodding as you get back to putting on your makeup. “You really don’t want them?” You shake your head, swallowing hard. If you kept them, then they would tempt you to go back to him. Getting rid of them was the only thing you could do. “I put them in my room for now, ok?” You nod again, still not saying a word.

“I’m worried about you,” Evelina says. “Even with those other guys you’ve broken up with, they have never left you this broken.”

“I’m over it. I’m just tired.”

“We both know you’re lying about this. You know how you feel. You know that you’re in love with him, you always have been.”

You put your makeup down on the counter, staring at the powder in it’s container. “I can’t say it.”

Evelina takes a step back. “What?” she asks, surprised by your response.

“Thomas said he loved me, and that was it. The friendship was over and we haven’t seen him in years. If I say it to Matthew, if I admit it at all, then it’s going to be done. It already is done and I never said it.”

Evelina could feel her heart breaking, trying everything she could not to start crying in front of you, worrying that it would set you off as well. “You know that’s not true.”

“I do in my head, but not in my heart,” you say, letting out a laugh, “That sounds like something from a stupid Hallmark movie.” Evelina lets out a small laugh with you as you continue. “Can we just drop it this weekend? We just have to get through this conference. And get through a weekend with our boss.”

“Ok. I’m gonna go finish getting ready, then,” Evelina says, backing out of the bathroom.

By the time both of you are finished getting ready, your boss had texted you that you needed to be outside waiting for him in the next ten minutes when they pulled up with the car that all of you were taking. “Ok, last check. Boarding passes?” you start your list.

“Mine is the front pocket of my bag, yours are in the folder you have with your computer.”

“Passport?”

“Same places as the boarding passes for both of us.”

“Computers?”

“Side pocket of your bag, middle of my bag.”

“Chargers?”

“Somewhere in my bag I have a phone charger and a computer charger for both of us.”

You keep going through the long list, both of you knowing where the other kept everything. You freeze when you get to the last thing on the list, written in Evelina’s hand writing instead of your own. “Jerseys.”

“I have mine. Yours is in my room.”

“Good,” you say, almost completely forgetting about the game. You shake your head as if to physically shake the thought of Matthew from your mind. “Got your keys?” you ask Evelina, her waving them in your face as you grab yours, too. “Let’s go then.”

The two of you lug your stuff towards the door, opening it and ready to leave when you see him there. “Matthew?” you say, surprised to see him standing in your doorway, a bouquet of flowers in hand, a guilty expression on his face as he looked like he hadn’t slept for days. “What are you doing here?” you ask in shock, feeling your heart start to race.

“Can we talk?” he asks quietly, debating on stepping into your apartment or not.

“No. We’re leaving for the airport now, we don’t have time,” you tell him, trying to move past him.

“Come on, we need to talk,” he insists, putting his arm against the frame of your door to stop you from moving past him.

“Why should I listen to you?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Because I love you.”

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #calgary flames #calgary flames imagine #flames #flames imagines #nhl #nhl imagines #hockey #hockey imagines

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ksuew · 3 years

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The Rookie 4x01 Life and Death Recap ****Spoiler city****

I promised a friend a recap, since she can’t watch until tomorrow, so I figured I might as well post it for anyone who wants to see it? I never can figure out a read more break on mobile so fair warning, DON’T LOOK IF YOU DON’T WANT SPOILERS 😁

This is just a rough draft thing, so it’s probably full of typos.

@hamburgerheroes @piratesbooty63fan

Phew… crazy first episode. Unfortunately I was fielding calls and texts about a work issue the whole time so my viewing was very disjointed. So I’m rewatching as I type this recap for you.

The episode is preceded with a recap, of course. Then the opening scene is Chen, Bradford, Nolan, and Harper in tactical gear approaching a warehouse.

While waiting for the go order from Grey, grey has flashbacks of a few hours earlier. They realize Lopez and West are both missing, they find out La Fiera has escaped and assume she took them, then they get security footage of the kidnapping and are watching it at the station, still in their wedding attire. As we suspected. The footage shows Lopez being put in a vehicle and West struggling, then shot in the back, then stuffed into the trunk. Everyone is in shock, Lucy is crying.

Lots of fans are really upset about Jackson, and I get it. But the show runner and writers had no choice. Here’s excerpts from an interview with Alexi

At this point, we’re back to Grey a different officer wants to wait, but Grey says it’s been 3 hours and they need to move fast and orders them in.

They breach the warehouse, find an empty get away car and Angela’s wedding dress on the floor. Lucy moves to pick it up, Nolan stops her, there is a trip wire to explosives under the SUV. They leave the warehouse and realize they had a plane waiting there from the tracks it left.

Next we see La Fiera, Angela, and her female goon in the airplane. Angela assumes they’re going to Guatemala so she can torture and kill her slowly, but La Fiera tells her (as we suspected) that she’ll be kept alive until Angela safely delivers her (La Fiera’s) baby (of course)

Next Grey and Wesley are meeting with a DEA bigwig who essentially says, we ain’t helping. Next they arrive in the compound in Guatemala and talk about how impenetrable it is, etc. She meets the doctor who will be attending her. Angela tries to tell the doctor not to touch her and La Fiera says if she resists she will be sedated for the rest of the pregnancy.

Back at the station Lucy is talking with Nolan, beating herself up about not seeing the trip wire. She’s really just upset about Jackson, she says she can’t believe he’s gone and she and Nolan hold hand for a moment.

Tim and Harper join them and discuss if Lopez is still alive and why. Lucy comes up with the theory that La Fiera wants Angela’s baby as the ultimate revenge. Grey tells them the DEA won’t help. They talk about how Jackson scratched his killer and they’re running DNA. Grey tells them all to go home and get some rest while they work on a plan. ***Chenford alert***

Lucy says she can’t go home and see Jackson’s empty room. Tim says, “you don’t have to, you can stay with me”

Dying!

She says she doesn’t want to impose and this is where he says she shouldn’t be alone right now. She says thanks, he says yeah, then she wonders how Wesley is holding up.

Cut to Wesley meeting with some bad guy and offering to turn dirty lawyer in exchange for finding out where Angela is. I do not like this development and what it can/will do to them in the future.

Cut to a short, weird interaction with Lopez and the female bodyguard then, back to Chenford.

We see Tim in his jammies, setting up his couch to sleep on. The house looks different than I remember it and surely it has at least 2 bedrooms, so why the couch 🤷🏻‍♀️. Anyway. He looks adorable in his jammies. He says, “I’ll take the couch”. Lucy walks out of presumably his bedroom and says she thought he was setting up the couch for her. He says he’s not going to have a guest sleep on the couch and she says she’s not going to kick him out of his bed. He says okay, gets up. Looks a bit awkward, a bit nervous. Asks her if she needs anything. She says “the last 24 hours back”, he says he doesn’t have that power. She says, “a hug” and he says, “yeah. Come here” in a soft voice that nearly made me combust! He hugs her. As they go to part things get all UST, he croaks out “night”, can’t quite meet her eyes. Meanwhile she’s definitely got the “realization” light bulb starting to go off slowly. Still a bit confused. He goes to his room and flops into bed. Obviously affected by what just happened. she is the same out on the couch. Fidgety with nervous energy. He looks toward the door like he’s about to go back out there to her, say something more (do something more?) she looks toward his door from the couch, obviously contemplating same. Back to him purposefully looking away from the door, back to her making her decision. She’s pushing the covers off about to go to his door, when his door suddenly opens. He’s on the phone saying “yeah, okay, we’ll be right there”. She tries to pretend she wasn’t already up and moving toward the door. He says Wesley knows where Angela is and they head into the station.

Oh man, it was sooo gooood!!!

Next it’s the Wesley telling them that he knows where they’re holding Angela. They all say they want to help, but Grey says how’re we gonna do that . They bring up “Max” the covert government guy from the counterfeit money case. Grey says fine, reach out. He tasks Tim, Harper, and John to start tactical plan and says Lucy will stay with him to run the murder case. Then he takes a moment to congratulate Nolan on officially becoming a P2. They get the DNA back, the killer is a 17 year old kid.

Government guy shows up at Nolan’s they coerce him into helping. They go to Guatemala separately from Wesley who is supposed to get a meeting with La Fiera without getting killed. Nyla and Tim look hot playing with military surveillance toys while John steals the plans to La Fiera’s compound from the architect.

Lucy and Grey go after the killer. Grey has a really great scene after cornering the killer and he and Lucy take him in.

Back at the compound Wesley gets to see Angela. John tells Nyla and Tim that he has the plans and there’s a weakness, but the drone shows that the weakness has been fixed so they have to go to plan B. Nyla does not like plan B!

Cut to a very sad scene of Lucy finally going home and looking at Jackson’s room as he left it. Tim calls, says they’re going to plan B. Lucy, as well, does not like plan B. She says to give her a minute to get set up. Tim then radios government guy Max, who also does not like plan B. They decide on a different extraction point and he reminds them if they aren’t there at the agreed upon time they will be left behind.

They alert Wesley with fireworks. Turns out plan B is him injecting Angela with pitocin to start contractions so that they’ll have to transport her out of the compound to the hospital. Nyla will have a drug to counterreact the pitocin at the hospital.

Unfortunately, they separate Angela and Wesley. He’s put in a different car to take him away and kill him so Nolan goes after Wesley while Tim and Nyla get set up at the hospital. Lucy is tapped into a satellite giving them info on the vehicles, etc. Tim says, thanks, we got it from here”. Lucy says, “Tim”, the tension clear in her voice. “Please be careful”. With more significance than just one officer to another. He’s in business mode and replies, “I always am”.

Bradford and Harper ambush LaFiera et al. Angela gets into the hospital with Tim and Nyla and gives Angela the reversal shot. As they make their escape to the helicopter LaFiera follows and fires on them, grazing Angela’s leg, she turns and shoots La Fiera, killing her. They make it to the chopper, tell Max they need to get Wesley and Nolan, he says no, they all point their guns at him and he decides to make the stop.

Wesley and Nolan fight their two bad guys (Nolan simply must save the day in each episode). They make it to the chopper, everyone is safe and they get the hell out of dodge.

Then, the time jump. It’s 3 months later and Angela and Wesley are arriving home from the hospital with their son to a surprise welcome home party with Grey, Nolan, Harper, and Chen. They’ve stocked their freezer and bought them a second freezer and stocked that too. Tim is happy and relaxed. Lucy is a bit overly cheerful, it’s obviously a bit forced. She and Nyla present Angela with a basket full of teas and herbs and cookies tailored to uterine health and breast milk production (as she would). Nyla admits that it was all Lucy when she walks away. That it was good for Lucy to concentrate on something positive. This makes Angela turn a bit sad and reflective. The show ends with Angela holding her baby and standing at Jackson’s grave updating him on her life and how she misses him and hopes by the time her leave is over that she’ll be able to face the station without him in it. She then reveals (again, as we suspected) that her baby’s name is Jackson😢

#the Rookie #the Rookie abc #the Rookie spoilers #the rookie 4x01 #Lucy Chen #tim bradford #john nolan #Jackson west #sergeant grey #Wesley Evers #chenford #chenford spoilers

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acklesterritory · 3 years

Text

Bad Ideas_Ch. 1

Hey guys, I'm back with a new story.

*First*: I want to apologize if I tagged you in case you didn't want to. Unfortunately I mixed up my tag list so please even if you don't read this story let me know if you're on my blog's

1. Dean tags or 2.series tags or 3.oneshot tags.

And reblog so the others see this post too. Thanks

**Second*I'm planning on finishing this story in 2 parts but sometimes it can take longer so no promises.

Dean x Reader

This chapter words~4k

Series Warning: +18, a/b/o relationships, Dom/Sub(No details. You know I hate spoilers), Angst, Smut, Unprotected sex (You're wiser that that), Cheating, Language, Hurt reader

Summary: She was supposed to get married and imprint her beloved wolf but what happens when a dominant hunter shows up to hunt them?

This chapter song: Wild by John legend feat Gary Clark Jr. Listen here

And I stole @jay-and-dean 's divider *sorry*

Happy reading and may you leave me something cause feedbacks are writer's fuel.

Mad, Sad, pretty, savage, seductive, crazy!

An obvious alpha.

I knew it from the first time I laid my eyes on her.

Couple of weeks ago I was at a luxury restaurant in my Fed suit to meet a businessman who could be involved in our new case. Doing that random investigation, I was getting convinced that there ain't any useful information and he was nothing but a waste of the time. So I excused myself and left the table to call Sam in the lobby. He had to know it was a dead end. But just when I was putting my phone back in my pocket, someone grabbed my arm from behind and pushed me against the wall out of blue.

"Say your name."

Wasn't my first time to face a seductive woman but for some unknown reason her whisper sent a shiver down my spine and I couldn't stop my eyes from gazing at her curves in that elegant black outfit.

"Listen. I got myself into this awful situation where I had to face this filthy woman announcing everyone in my birthday party that she was sleeping with my fiance. So before he show up to stop me, I need you to help them realizing something very important about me. And that help will be appreciated. So make your mind. You can just simply say your name and mention your price or I will kill you to make a scene and skip everyone's pitty looks part." She told me, running her right leg up, between my legs. To make me feel the bulge of her thigh holester underneath her dress: *She had a gun*

Wetting my lips, I looked down into her eyes for a second. She had some make up on but I knew enough to be sure that wild look couldn't be fake. She was a werewolf who probably had no idea what she got herself into.

"Name's Dean." I bit on my lip. Why I let her know my real name? I had no idea. I didn't want to think about it either. I just wanted to hold my gaze there, Letting myself to catch on those burning flames in her eyes.

"And sorry sweetheart. I'm off the sale."

I brought my lips closer to her ear so she could hear my whisper. However I hadn't to bend so much. Even without those elegant highheels, she was taller than a normal chick.

"What do you want, then?" She almost hissed on my lips before I pushed her back.

"Maybe I want you to be even more angry. Who knows?" I joked, distracting her for a second by my intentional smirk.

"You are a hunter, aren't you?" This time she surprised.

"What?" I narrowed my eyes and peaked out the tongue to wet my lips when she turned around for a second to catch a glimpse of whoever was approaching us.

"Just save my honor and then I'm yours. Kill, rape, torture. I don't mind anymore." There was no regret, shame or sorrow in her tone. She just stated it like a random proven fact. No hesitation, no hard feelings, no doubts. She was speaking like a smart commander in a war field, negotiating with her enemy to just save the day.

And to be honest I was stunned by that behavior. I know that I could resist her when she right away reached out but the thing is I didn't want to. As soon as she snaked her arms around my neck, her smell surrounded me like a trap. A captivating one. So pleasant! Then her lips were on mine in a shameless open-mouthed kiss. With her tongue dancing with mine.

I closed my eyes and immediately blood started to run wild in my veins. Every fiber, every cell were reacting to her warm body against my cold existence. It felt strange. I never was aroused by a kiss this fast. Not even when I was just a virgin teen.

"Y/n?!" A gruff voice called her. So she had to draw an unintentional groan out of me to break the kiss.

"That's him." She murmured on my lips. And I opened my eyes to look at a tall man in his fancy tuxedo. He was handsome. But not as much as he was wealthy. His watch could cost the whole hotel itself!

"What are you doing?" Eyes burning, he stared at me. Like he was watching the most terrible scene ever in his life.

"Well, ..." She smiled mischievously, getting out of my arms to stand next to me.

"Just enjoying my heat with a man who actually can handle it." She stated, smiling with her head up, radiating power.

"What..." The man's gaze shifted between us in disbelief.

"What do you ... what does ..." He was getting red by anger. And it seemed she couldn't care less.

"This is a break up, Jamie. I'm done with your endless excuses. I'm done with you, sleeping around while you can't even satisfy my needs in the bed. I need a better man."

*well, shit*

"You're … how you … can …" The man stuttered, shaking his head in disbelief. I looked around and found out people were gathering around us slowly. From the corner of my eyes I spotted two hunk in suits in front of the main door. They were definetaly bodyguards.

"That's it. We are done." She announced while everyone held their breath; watching her taking off her ring and throwing it toward her newly "ex".

"Y/N! …" The man took a step forward. His eyes were on fire and rage. Still his tone was soft, unlike his rough voice. "You can't do this. It's just a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?" She laughed, tilting her head. Everyone could see how her fangs looked perfectly white and sharp: Ready, challenging, threatening!

"Is that so, Jamie?" She mocked before bringing out her phone out of her tiny clutch, throwing it to the guy after playing a video on it. By the noises I could hear, it was a sex type that made the man sweating bullets in no time.

"Now get the fuck out of my way and out of my life." She retorted, grabbing my hand. And as I was planning to win over the two bodyguards who mightly would stop us, we just reached to the main front door.

"Miss Y/l/N …" To my surprise, one of the bodyguards approached us politely. looking cool, calm, and all in control.

"You two can go home, Mark. I'm gonna spend the night with …" She hesitated and shut her eyes for a second to remember my name:

"… Dee. We probably need some private time for the next few days. I'll call you when I feel I need to get back home. But til that, I don't want any interruptions." She declared and by her steady and sure tone I could say she used to talk with them.

"But …"

"Just don't let Jamie get close to me ever again." She cut the bodyguard's word carelessly and then turned her face to look at me.

"You got any car?"

"Of course I do." I gave her my most proud smile.

"Ok then. Let's go out of here. I don't want to even take one more breath in here anymore."

I watched enough movies and read enough comics and slept with enough women to know that Y/n was a whole different savage alpha.

She was on the baby's seat in just her one single layer fancy dress that barely covered her body while it was freezing cold outside. To the point I could feel the chill in my FBI suit and coat the moment we walked out of the hotel. And still she protested me when I turned on baby's heater.

"She was pregnant." She said bluntly, a few minutes later, looking out of the window like she could see anything in road at that dark night through baby's steamed up glass.

I looked over her and catch a glimpse of her tears before she could wipe them.

"I can't believe he did this to me. Out of all the people, Jamie was the last one I expected him to betray me." She was hurting but her voice wasn't shaky. She still sounded more angry than sad.

"Maybe he didn't. Maybe the chick misused the hit of a moment to trick him."

*Why I'm defending him? He is a freaking werewolf!*

I had no idea! Maybe I was trying to soothe her pain. But Why?

"Yeah, maybe. But after all he is the one who let the devil in!" Her sound wasn't more than a whisper but it woke the old screams of my guiltyconscience in my head:

*How many times I had let the devil get in me?*

"Screw him." She said through her clenched teeth. Then she threw her head back and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Screw him. Screw dad. And screw the whole royal pack. Screw everything!"

I sighed, knowing she will be angry for a while. So I turned on the radio, changing the stations to find something that might distract her. I just didn't need to watch that lady's upcoming tears.

I … wanna take you so far.

Out past the Saturn rings

And into my heart

The rhythm catched my attention immediately. It sounds like a nice song. A comforting one.

I wanna drive you

Wild, wild, wild

I wanna love you

For miles and miles

I chuckled, patting Baby on the wheels.

We can go slow,

we don't need to rush

I'll take the wheel,

make you feel every touch

I wanna drive you

Wild, wild, wild

"Where is the lie, Baby? I always do." I chuckled, enjoying how the song perfectly suit us.

"Are you talking to me or to your old ass car?"

I was so ready to make Y/n regret that harsh remark, yet when I turned to give her my deadliest frown, she got me almost chocked on my tongue.

"Wha …"

A lace black lingerie hanging around the right knee, she had her legs wide open on my passenger seat‌, playing with her bare core with her delicate fingers while her left foot was using dashboard to support her weight.

Lay on the passenger's side

Tell me how fast you want

We'll get there tonight

Her right strap dropped when she jolted in her sex fever, almost revealing whole of her bare chest. And all of this was happening while she still had her eyes closed, panting in pain. I felt like I lost the ability to even form a God damn sound.

Oh, fire, you set me on fire

I swear you're the only one

I'd take on this ride

"What … are you … doing?!" My voice sounded horrible, scratchy and far. I darted my tongue to wet my lips but my mouth was already dry by watching her. It was no surprise that she didn't noticed my question. She was already lost in her body. Her neck was glistening under road's occasional faint lights and now all I could feel was her warmth in the small room of the car, already surrendered to her astounding smell, in middle of a freaking winter night.

… Oh, oh

Yeah

Wanna love you

Wanna touch you

Wanna drive you

Wild, wild, wild …

I jumped out of my skin when a sudden honk drew my attention out … to the road and I finally noticed the truck that could crash us to hell if I couldn't rotate the wheel just on time.

*Dang* Something beside me hit the windshield the moment I stepped on the break. Then a shattering sound cut the air.

"Y/N!" I screamed, trying to pull over without making any other mess.

"Hey … you hear me?" I asked as I turned to see her face buried in her hairs on the dashboard. A part of the windshield was broken in an oval shape, broken pieces scattered mostly on the passenger side while the rest of it had some cracks on.

"Y/N!" I called her again but when I couldn't get any answer, I get out of the car to circulate baby and open the passenger door.

"Hey … look here, can you hear me?" I pulled her carefully back, to rest her head against the seat, securing her neck between my hands. That was when my eyes catched on the sight of a deep cut on her forehead, right under the hair line. And it was bleeding.

"Y/n?"

She moaned, goosebumps raised on her skin everywhere around my fingers.

"I think I need to lay down on the back seat." She said, before opening her eyes.

"Are you in pain?" I couldn't help myself, not knowing why I suddenly would care that much?

She smiled and I reached to wipe the oozing blood on my thumb.

"I got a first-aid box in my trunk. Just wai…"

Before I could finish my saying and right as I started to withdraw, she grabbed my arm to hold me still.

"No, help me to the back seat." For a second I got lost in her eyes, feeling an odd fultter in the dip of my stomach, pulling me like a meaningless swarf toward the magnet of her wondrous touch.

"Please."

Mostly humans know that drinking sea water or getting hit by a gunshot can cause their death. But could that knowledge stop them from exploring oceans or fighting for their honor in the war fields?

"Dean …"

"Alright."

Well, I was a human too. A human who could be attracted to unknowns, being aware that it could be very dangerous. Or maybe more marvelous.

"You ok?" I asked as soon as I had her on my back seat, gazing at the sweat running down on the side of her face while one of my legs were resting inside of car, the other: still out, planted on the ground.

"I think I've hurt my back." I spotted a tremor in her voice as she avoided my puzzled look and stared down to her lap like she was hiding a secret there. Was that weapon still hidden there in that holster?

I checked my gun to be where it should've been. If she (as a werewolf) was up to kill me (as a hunter), I knew this could be her best shot. And honestly if It was me, I would've used the same trick.

"Are you gonna wait there for the rest of the night?" She raised her eyebrows and instantly hissed as the deep cut on her forehead got wrinkled with this simple move.

Taking a deep breath, I pulling myself completely in and closed the door behind. Well, I was aware that without any way out, she could've killed me much easier. But what kind of human could touch the moon without taking any fetal risk?

However I still didn't want to hurt her. So I hoped she wouldn't do what an enemy should do.

As I was all ready to confront her attack, she slightly turned her back to me. Then she grabbed her long hair and put them aside, giving me the access to her spine.

"Can you check it for me?"

Well, if she wanted to play, I was game too. In the end, I had killed enough werewolves to know how I could manage an alpha one like her. But … it was about something more. Something way stronger: A wild need and an ancient desire to touch her bare skin on my fingertips, tongue and teeth. A perfect example of a hunter and his prey. And yet … I was feeling like the first man who was about to discover the fire too.

"Do you want me to unzip it?" I asked to be sure. Never wanted her to feel like I would hurt her honor just because we were enemies. Even when touching her was all I could think about at the moment.

"Yes, please." She whispered and I noticed the same burning wish in her soft tone. So I couldn't help my fingers run their way on her back and touch the velvety fabric of her outfit.

She inhaled loudly as I unzipped the dress, watching the goosebumps raising on her skin as I was tracking down on her spine.

"I don't think you got any wound here."

"Then why I'm in pain?" She asked, leaning back to me. And I subconsciously pulling her dress down, not knowing why my everything wanted to touch her more?

"Hunter." Her breaths got quickened and as she rested her head back on my right shoulder and nuzzled her nose in my neck, I could tell she was still burning up.

"I'm in heat." She said, panting. And that was the moment I realized she was already lost by just imagining me inside of her.

"Y/n …"

"Dean ..." She whined as her hand found the side on my head.

"Dean, I need you." With that she pushed me down to claim my lips in a lustful kiss.

I could be a caveman or a scientist, or even an astronaut but for sure she was more than a thunderstorm or the electricity or even the mars itself.

"Ah … " She whimpered, her body twisted in my arms, like an angry wounded animal that was seeking for a remedy. From her owner.

"This is such a bad idea." I said as my hands grabbed her waist, trying to control her moves when she started to roll her hips impatiently.

"That's what people always say. To Galileo, To Da Vinci, even to ..." She claimed, taking my fingers with her delicate ones, to guide my hands up on her body.

" … to whoever with … " I stole her breath as my hands reached to her soft breasts.

"With the …"

She took a shaky breath to keep herself together. But I was that man who just had landed on the moon and now wasn't able to stop trying. So I grazed my teeth on the skin of her neck, marking her with a hickey right as I squeezed her breasts, giving her aroused nipples the special attention they deserved with my thumbs. Well, she fought to not fall apart and I had to fill her blank spaces:

"Best ideas?" I asked before biting on her lips, feeling the burning heat that was coming out of her skin. Could moon ever be the sun too?

"Hunter!" She almost cried as my left hand travels down on her belly and hips to find her already swelled bud and part her labia. "HUNTER!"

This time she really screamed as my thumb brushed her bud again while my other two digits sank in her warm core. Her walls sucked on my fingers.

"OH GOD!"

I was still rubbing her nipple with my other hand when she dug her nails in my arms.

"No!" She gasped.

"No? I thought you said it's not a bad idea."

I whispered before taking her earlobe between my teeth and pulled on it as her back fought hard to arch against my body. She got speechless, drown in whatever the black hole we both had fallen into. Now time and place were lost for us so I tightened my arms more around her body.

"Shush, alpha. Take it easy." I said as I removed my fingers from where I was making her weak. And that was out of the bare truth of a human's nature. We love to possess and we love to own. Even if it's the moon and the sun or maybe a lost star in the Infinity of the universe.

She jolted forward in ecstasy and I had to grabbed her wrists firmly before she could end herself: "No."

"Please! … God." She whimpered. Thighs shaking with need and thirst. But I knew better.

"My name is Dean."

But what else could make a negligible creature like me feel like a God more than this wolf of women during her pleasure?

I kissed her shoulder and hugged her from behind, letting her cool down as our warmth were mixing in the small room of the car. She was panting again.

"Come here."

I turned her chin toward my face, tasting her lips in an open mouthed and yet tender kiss, taking my time to draw some deep moans out of her chest.

Til she was nothing more than a pounding heart or a throbbing mess and a mind which had already got blind by lust.

Somehow I wanted this prideful moment to last forever.

"Deeaaaan!" She rubbed her thighs against each other, trying her best to control her wild necessity to come. I could tell it was making her mad cause now she couldn't even sit up in my lap.

"Lay down, sweetheart" I encouraged. And as she did, I got rid of our clothes as soon as I could. When I was done, I noticed her passionate gaze on me.

"You'll be the death of me!" She admitted and I bent to lick her along her jaw.

"No, I need you alive. We still got some dirty work to do."

My whisper made her shiver. And moan. Again and again.

Looking down, I watched how her body were twisting under me, once more rubbing her thights together as I was holding her wrists up beside her head.

"Open up, alpha." I commended, reaching to her core, making her pants in pain as I mercilessly squeezed her bud.

She took another shaky breath, as she parted her legs for me. So I take the advantage to lube myself with her juice as she was already dripping.

"I said don't come yet." I slapped her breast and bent to bite her hard on the other one, sliding myself in her velvety heaven.

"DEAN!" She cried and her eyes rolled. And I tried to freeze this image in my mind. Could a God be more proud of himself?

But It was just the beginning. I decided to start my favorite rhythm to slam into her. And kept watching her bliss and how her soft and round breast were bouncing every time out hips met.

"You're doing good, sweetheart. I know you can." I could not stopped my smile when I realized she'd almost fainted, fighting against her mad orgasm.

"Aa…ha." She tried to answer but it sounded more like a painful moan which I muffled it in a kiss. Sweet and sore. Wet and shameless. We now were a part of one another. The mystery was solved. The cold God was melting in the arms of the sun. The man kind had won the moon.

"Come." I groaned and her walls clenched around me, sucking me inside of her.

Her back arched violently and I had to clutched at the leather seats to keep myself up when an unstoppable rush of pleasure hit both of us.

And just like that, we made the big trouble. The gravity that could swallow our futures all together …

"To be continued".

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