#this was just from bringing paint water for when id paint in the park

[baby-prophet]

what a beautiful bouquet

#they look so stupid LOL #just remembered i can use to go containers as a brush cleaner #this was just from bringing paint water for when id paint in the park #cause i could close it #but i didnt think about the to go container #i mean to be fair when i first used it i didnt have plastic to go containers #i used one of the tall plastic drinking cups i bought as my water cup #bc i never drank water out of it #but remembering i have the to go boxes is game changer #i feel silly for not thinking of them sooner LOL #norm.allie #college owns

[lolitaa-17]

Treat you better.

-Geto Suguru x f!reader You and your boyfriend get into a huge fight over his ex, it was a mistake to even bring her up knowing all he would do is defend her, so why not drink out the pain in a club.

"For gods sake y/n look at yourself!" Your boyfriend says throwing a beer bottle on the floor. "You always fucking bring her up every time? Are that fucking obsessed." The glass from the bear bottle spreading everywhere.

You scoff as the tears run down your face causing your mascara to smudge. "Obsessed? Noah I'm not fucking obsessed! I just know you still fuck her on the low!" You yell; swinging his phone around with your hand. "I've seen the ass pics on your goddamn phone!" You finally chuck it to the floor.

"What the fuck are you doing throwing my shit? Yes, I fuck her! Is that what you wanted to hear?" He throws your car keys as it hits your arm. "Fuck you. Fuck your hoe of an ex and fuck your ugly ass family." You grit as the tears kept falling non stop. Grabbing your car keys and pushing past him. "Don't you even fucking dare call me obsessed with that bitch when you're the one constantly going back to her." And with that you slam the door shut to his house.

All you could hear was the sobs and heels clanking against the concrete floor as you walk to your car. You two were supposed to go to some nightclub that had just opened up, but things obviously took a turn. That didn't stop you though, slamming your car door shut. You started the car and followed to put the windows down.

You were probably the least best of looking right now, mascara smudged all over your eyes. Bruises on your neck. Puffy eyes. But it's not like you were going to the club to find a one nightstand. You were going to drink all the pain away. The music blasting out the windows as the air hits your skin. Your tears still falling uncontrollably.

You stood at the entrance waiting for the security guard to finish checking your ID. "Enjoy." He says giving you a concerned look at your current appearance. You snatch your ID from his hand and push through. The music entering your ears which was much louder than it was outside.

You walk straight to the bar, pushing everyone and anyone who got in your way. You sigh and look at the bartender, he was cute. Hair was in a messy low bun. His eyes were dark as the night sky, or maybe it was just hella dark in the club. "I don't want to sound cliche, but give me the strongest you have." He smirks and nods, "You got it." You look around the nightclub, seeing people all up on each other. Not a worry in mind. You look back at the bartender to see him passing you the drink. "Drink up pretty one." You smile and grab the drink.

And hell was it strong, after another one you were already throwing it back on random men and women. Not caring about what was going around you. You walk back to the bar to see the handsome bartender. "Another one?" you ask and smile. He smiled back and leaned in "My love you look awful right now, i'll give you a water." You hold your arm up and wave your finger in a 'no' motion. "I danced it out already, I'm all good." You slurred while keeping your sweet smile.

"I'll give you another drink, but not as strong. Okay?" He turned around and started getting to work. This time you admired his every move. He had a tattoo on his forearm, it was a dragon. It was hot. You were a sucker for tattoos. He noticed you watching him, he smirked. You were obviously checking him out. "Want a picture beautiful?" He asked as he passed you the bright pink mojito. "Fuck..." you say remembering that you forgot your phone at Noah's house.

You chug the Mojito and grab your car keys completely ignoring wha the bartender said. You hated thinking about the slob of your now ex boyfriend. But you really needed your phone.

You stumble to the parking lot to see your car completely vandalized. Words like "Cunt." "Obsessed" "Bitch" written all over it with spray paint. This bitch was fucking crazy and so was your ex boyfriend. Your tires slashed. This night couldn't possibly get any worse.

"Hey don't run out like- what the hell." The bartender followed you out. Stopping his sentence after seeing how fucked up your was. You start bawling. He was still stunned, wondering what you possibly could've done for this to happen. "Hey...c'mere." He pulls you into his chest, trying to comfort you as much as he can. "He say's i'm obsessed but this is the type of shit he pulls with that bitch." You sob wrapping your arms around tighter around the bartender. "Do you need a ride anywhere? I know you just me me but I can always help." He offered.

You pull away from his grasp and wipe your already smudged eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm y/n by the way." You hold your hand out. He smiles "I'm Geto." He grabs your hand gently and shakes it. You were hesitant about getting a ride from him, but he has been very careful these past hours. Making sure you didn't consume a crazy amount of alcohol or drive while you were intoxicated.

"You don't mind?" You asked a little embarrassed. "Not one bit." He leads you to his car as his hand was on the small of your back. His car was nice. All black Camaro zl1 with custom red interior. "Just give me the address." So you give him the address to your apartment. You wanted nothing to do with your ex right now. But that police report will be turned in by tomorrow.

"So who fucked your car up like that?" Geto asked keeping his eyes on the road while drake was softly playing in the back. "My ex boyfriend. We had a huge argument, which led to the breakup." You turn to look at Geto. His face was more visible. His jaw was sharp, he looked bigger. Muscular. You could hear a scoff coming out of his lips "He's that petty?" You loved the way he immediately degraded your ex. "Yep." you emphasize on the P.

Geto pulled in the parking lot and turns to look at you. His eyes shift down to your neck. Seeing all the bruises of your exes hand. He moves hands towards your neck softly caressing the bruises. "Who the hell is this man?" He whispers. You grab his hand and slowly push it away. "I'll report him tomorrow, thank you for everything." You open the door and get out of his car. You hear him shutting his door as well. "I'm not letting you walk up there alone."

When Geto first saw you he knew you were going through a breakup, the makeup, the drink request, the way you moved your body carelessly while dancing. Seeing you so vulnerable now. He wanted to know more about you.

He was certain that the breakup had nothing to do with you. It was definitely your psychotic ex. He watched the way you limped to the elevator with no shoes, the way you were swaying while you waited for the elevator doors to open. The puffy eyes he made contact with when you smiled at him.

The elevator doors opened and you walked to your apartment while Geto carefully walked behind you. Finally arriving to the door you turn around to look at him. Softly smiling at him, you didn't know why but you engulfed him in a hug and started breaking down again. "Thank you." you whispered as he hugged you back softly. "Of course angel, here call me if you need anything." He tried giving you his phone to put your number in but you look at him, "Do you just want to um, stay?"

You didn't want this to happen, but when you have a sexy man not leaving your side. You couldn't help it.

The shower was running as he left sloppy kisses on your boobs. Making his way up to your neck. He was more gentle here. You move his head to look at you, the pads of your thumb hovering his lips as he was just staring into your soul. No words were exchanged but his eyes said so much. How much he wanted you, how he wanted to take care of you, make sure your safe for the rest of your life.

He turns you around, your breast hitting the glass of the shower. All that was heard was the running water and your soft little gasp here and there. "You deserve the world you know that?" He whispers. You felt his big hangs grab your ass and massage it. "You don't understand how much I want to kill that pathetic little ex of yours." You moan as you feel his fingers entering your wet cunt. Constantly thrusting in deeper and deeper. "Geto.." You whimper as you feel his cock teasing your asshole. One hand inside of you and the other one is trying to guide his dick inside your ass.

"T'much" You moan as feel his dick sliding in and out of your ass. While his other hand was softly hitting that perfect spot inside your cunt. "Is it?" He grunts going a bit slower. "MmYeah." You moan as you reach for his head. He leans in giving sloppy kisses. "Wan me to stop?" he huffs.

It was too much but god you loved it. The gentleness. The euphoric feeling in your body as you feel his speed slowly speeding up you clench your ass, "you don't want me to stop princess do you?" He says in between every kiss he left on your back. "Mffno Geto keep goin." He suddenly stops leaving your asshole and pussy empty. You move your hand down to you clit rubbing it softly to feel something "Mm" You whine.

You can feel his hand wrap around your waist as he's slowly adjusting himself inside that pretty little cunt. "Don't be so needy princess calm down, you'll be begging fa me to stop." He chuckled breathily. You stop him though. "Wait I wan to look at you." He smiles at your request. He felt his cock twitch at just your voice.

Your eyes filled with lust as he lifts you up. You help him adjust his cock into your cunt. "Fuck, you're so big." you squeeze in slight pain but pleasure. This was definitely a new feeling. He was bigger, hotter, genuine and overall fucking great at sex.

"Shhh I know." grabs face and smashes his lips onto yours as he speeds up his pace. The kissing get sloppier and sloppier the fast he thrust into you. The slapping sounds loudly taking over. "f..faster" you pull his long hair as you tried to hold on to him as tightly as possible.

You kept clenching your cunt causing Geto to moan, "Fuck your so tight my love." He felt himself getting close to cumming. "Fuck m'gna cum baby." You were a moaning mess as his tip kept hitting that sweet g spot. "Cum, I..fuck birth control." You slur struggling to even form a sentence.

He watches you take small breathes in your sleep. How you looked so angelic even when you were sleeping. How could such a man do things to you like that. Geto knew he could fix you. That he could Treat you better.

#geto x you #geto x reader #getou suguru #jjk smut #jjk geto #geto smut #geto suguru #smut #drabble #jjk

[whatsnewalycat]

Passenger / Chapter 5

Pairing: Trucker!Din Djarin AU x OFC Charlie Wanderlust

Chapter Five: Wyoming (Part Two)

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Chapter Summary: Charlie and Din test the waters.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.8k+

Content / Warnings: yearning, horny thoughts, anger problems, crying, food mention, handcuffs, hi yes the only one bed trope is alive and well, unlike the Titanic (it's relevant I promise), small town, lying, fictional town, sorry to Wyoming-ites if I got WY all wrong, (Bernie Sanders voice) I am once again talking about The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Notes: Howdy, howdy. We are balls deep in the yearning with this one, folks. Thank you @frannyzooey for proofreading and being the literal best, I appreciate you endlessly.

Just like Paul promised, The Jackalope Motel is conveniently located straight across the county road from Giddyup Auto. 

The single-story, L-shaped motel, whose faded roadside sign advertises low weekly rates and color TV, shares a gravel parking lot with a two-pump gas station. Its brick exterior is painted a pallid shade of yellow, all ten room doors varnished with this glossy teal finish. 

Nestled into the elbow of the building sits a white screen door with the words MOTEL OFFICE printed on the front. 

Din departs from your side to hold the door open, an action you assure yourself is rooted less in chivalry than it is him not wanting to turn his back to you. A loud creak sounds from the battered door and announces your arrival. The dog charges through the threshold, pulling his leash taut in your grip as you step inside the cramped, wood-paneled office. 

An elderly woman perks up on her barstool behind the front desk. She stubs out her lit cigarette in a nearby ashtray and calls in a husky voice, “Howdy, howdy.”

“Hi there,” you smile, glancing back at Din to determine who will take the lead in this interaction.

He does, taking three wide strides past you to the counter. As he moves through the room, a thick sea of smoke parts for him, churning and dancing in his wake.

“We need a room. Two nights for now.” 

The gray-haired woman pulls the glasses hanging on a chain around her neck onto the bridge of her nose, “Let me see here…”

At your feet, the dog sniffs his surroundings. He follows an invisible trail to a tattered plaid couch. You follow, listening to Din and the motel manager discuss lodging arrangements. 

“I got a couple two three rooms open, I can stick you in one away from the rabble rousers. Somethin’ more private,” she winks at him. 

His back straightens and he holds up a hand, “Do you have anything with two beds?”

The mischievous look on her face flattens and she raises her eyebrows, looking down at her books with a frown, “‘Fraid I don’t.” 

Din looks over at you, his face blank, eyes inscrutable behind his aviators, then turns back to the woman and gives her a nod, “Anything you have is fine, then.”

He takes out his wallet as she starts getting paperwork together. You gravitate towards a wall of faded, dusty brochures that advertise Western Wyoming’s finest tourist traps, including, but not limited to: a cowboy-themed amusement park, guided tours of mountain ranges and caves, horseback riding expeditions, and hot springs. 

“What brings y’all to town?” 

When you turn to Din, he gives you a mild, one-shouldered shrug, so you tell her, “His rig broke down about an hour from here. Paul—do you know Paul?”

She chuckles and nods, “I’ve known Paul since he was in diapers. Used to watch him for his momma while she was at work.” 

“No kidding?” you approach the tall front desk, propping your elbows up on the counter, “He’s fixing the truck. Really nice guy, referred us to this place ‘cuz we don’t know how long it’ll take.” 

“Can I get your ID, hun?” she asks Din, who complies without comment, then she glances up at you while jotting down your companion’s information, “He’ll get y’all fixed up good. We got a few things to do ‘round here if you get tireda bein’ holed up here. A few parks, some trails. There’s a fella that has a ranch just on the outskirts of town, he does horseback riding, if that squeezes your lemon. Downtown, we got some bars, coupla places to eat ‘n’ all that,” she hands the ID back to Din, sighing, “Nothin’ fancy, but better ‘n nothin’ at all.” 

“We don’t need fancy,” you grin at Din, who does not return the sentiment, then ask the motel manager, “What’s your name?” 

“Annie.”

“I love that name,” you smile, “Annie Get Your Gun.”

She smiles, too, toothy and wide, revealing her too-perfect teeth–obviously dentures–and says, “You know, I was actually named after her. Annie Oakley.” 

“That’s awesome. A fantastic namesake, she was a true badass.” 

“She sure was,” Annie nods and takes the glasses off her face, letting them drop around her neck from the glasses chain, “Well, the room comes to $59 per night, plus taxes and fees, ends up runnin’ closerta $75. Do you wanna settle the tab for two nights now, or see if you needta tack on more and take care of it at checkout?” 

You look over at Din, who answers, “We can settle at checkout.” 

“Fine with me,” she swivels on her little stool and stands to grab a key off the wall behind her, “We got an ice maker and vending machine outside the door here, don’t be too loud, and pick up after yer dog. Any questions?” 

She slides a key across the counter, whose big turquoise keychain reads 10 in metallic gold, and glances between you and Din. He grabs it, and you respond, “No ma’am.”

“Alright, well, let me know if y’all need anything.” 

“Will do, thank you, Annie,” you give her a polite wave before following Din outside, pulling the dog along behind you. 

The room smells of bleach and water damage. 

Much like the office, its walls are all wood-paneled with a dull oak finish. A framed painting of a bunny with deer antlers hangs above the queen sized bed. As you try to untangle the leash from your guitar and backpack, you nod at the painting and chuckle, “A jackalope.” 

Din grunts in response. He tosses his backpack on the bed, then turns to the dog, crouching down to unclip his leash from the collar. The dog reacts like he’s hit with a cattle-prod and goes zooming around the motel room in a lop-sided oval. 

You start giggling as he tears over the bed, to the bathroom door where he makes a U-turn and speeds past the dresser, then your feet, then Din’s, then does it again, around and around until he runs out of steam. He comes to rest on the fireproof, floral bedspread, circa 1984, and leans back on his haunches, panting and out of breath, tongue hanging out of his jowls, glancing between you and his person. 

“Feel better?” Din asks him, and he sneezes. 

You go to the window, pulling the top pane down to let crisp October air spill into the room, carrying with it the earthy scent of organic decay. When you close your eyes and inhale, you see piles of raked-up maple leaves, those big mosaics of orange and red and yellow and brown, hiding rot underneath. It reminds you of home. 

You turn to your captor, who seems to be inspecting the bathroom. He flicks the bathroom light on and peeks inside while you release an exaggerated sigh, “So, Din.”

He brings his attention to you and leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms, raising his eyebrows in question.  

“That is your name, right?”

“It is.” 

A smile spreads across your face. 

The fact that you’re able to put a name to this man, brings you a surprising amount of joy. He seems less like a force now, and more like a person. Which, you suppose, is probably why he didn’t formally introduce himself before shoving your face into a trailer door and abducting you. 

“Great, well—Din, it’s nice to actually meet you,” you cross the room and extend your hand to him. All he does for a moment is stare at it, until you tease, “Aw, come on. I don’t bite.” 

“Maybe I do.” 

Your lips part and you blink at him. When the corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk, your face transforms into a heater. This whole situation would be a lot easier if he wasn’t so handsome. 

RULE #3: Keep your wits about you. 

“Funny guy,” you snort, rolling your eyes in feigned annoyance, but continue to hold your hand out to him. 

He takes it and gives it a firm shake. His palm is warm and calloused and his grip seems to swallow yours. Even though he’s wearing those stupid sunglasses, you can tell when his eyes meet yours because a jolt shoots through the middle of you. Your throat tightens and your cheeks get even hotter. 

Before he can tell how flustered you are, you take your hand back and retreat to the bed, plopping down to scratch the dog as you ask, “What now? Do you wanna go explore this podunk town?” 

“No. We’re staying here. The less we’re seen, the better.” 

You groan and throw yourself back onto the bed. There’s a yellow-tinged water stain on the ceiling that almost looks like a face if you squint and tilt your head a little. It brings to mind this short story of a woman slowly losing her sanity while on “rest cure” to treat her depression. She’s forced to do absolutely nothing, and starts to see figures in the yellow wallpaper of her bedroom. 

Granted, your situation is much different than the one Charlotte Perkins Gilman penned, but you still feel a sense of solidarity with her protagonist’s captivity. You feel antsy. Cooped up. The thick layer of grime on your skin becomes hard to ignore, and you remember it’s been a week since you last bathed. 

“Can I at least shower?” 

When he hesitates to respond, you can’t stop yourself from sitting up and scowling at him, “Seriously?” 

“There’s a window in the bathroom.” 

You stare at him blankly, “So, what, you think I’m going to—”

“Yes.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you get to your feet and stomp past him into the very retro, very pink bathroom, yanking the shower curtain open to inspect the window. 

In all fairness, you could climb out of it if you really wanted to, but you still roll your eyes and tell him, “Probably can’t even fit through there.” 

He just stares at you, unmoved. 

Frustration simmers in your stomach. All that’s standing between you and the sweet relief of a shower is his lack of trust. There has to be a middle ground. 

“What if—” your mouth clamps shut. You shift your weight from one leg, to the other, then shrug, “Would it make you feel better if you were in here while I showered?” 

Din’s lips part, stunned for a moment before he carefully says, “Better isn’t the right word—”

“Ok, well, feel free to substitute ‘better’ with ‘more secure,’ or ‘reassured,’ or whatever. You know what I mean.” 

He studies the window for a moment, the muscles in his jaw wiggling as he considers the compromise, then looks back at you and nods, “Sure.”

“How long will this take?” 

From behind him, Din hears you wrestle clothing off your body into a pile on the floor as you say, “Five minutes, tops.” 

The faucet squeaks, then the water comes to life with a stuttering hiss. Twin metallic swooshes signal the shower curtain being pulled open, then shut, then you moan, “Fuuuuck that’s so good.” 

His imagination bucks out of his control, and for a moment the only image in his mind can conjure is his body pressed up against yours, skin on skin. How soft and warm you must be. How those words would taste on your lips. All the ways he could make you utter them again and again. 

He thinks of your stubbornness, your defiance, and wonders what it would be like to break you. Would you like it? 

I am not a good man. 

Din squeezes his eyes shut and tries to flush out the deviant thoughts, reminding himself of the handsome bounty he’ll collect when he turns you over. The peace that financial security will bring him. He won’t have to live job-to-job with a white-knuckle grip on existence. He’ll have room to breathe. Maybe he’ll even be able to live a little. 

Your honeyed voice pulls him out of his tail-spin. 

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn to fly…”

Din opens his eyes and stares at the bathroom door, shaking his head in amusement, thinking, Of course you sing in the shower.

It’s sort of nice, though. He doesn’t mind it. In fact, he kind of likes it. 

Grogu, obviously feeling left out, scratches at the other side of the door, then lets out a disgruntled whine.  

You stop singing and ask, “Is that the pup?” 

“Yeah.” 

The shower curtain rings squeak, then your voice is right next to him, “Let him in.” 

Without thinking, he turns to you and scoffs, “No.” 

Water drips off the ends of your sudsy white-blonde hair onto his boot. Your features pinch into a scowl, dark eyes searching his face, “What, why not?” 

His gaze flicks to the blur of skin barely concealed behind the shower curtain, then to the pink tiled floor as heat rises to his face, “He’s just gonna jump in there and get wet.” 

“So?” 

“He’ll stink up the room.”

You snort, “You’re already doing that.“

Din goes to glare at you, but corrects himself and glares at the ceiling instead, “Sure that’s not you?” 

You let out an exaggerated gasp that quickly dissolves into laughter, “You asshole.”

He looks down at the doorknob and shakes his head, stifling a chuckle. 

“So rude,” you tease as you slide the curtain closed and step back into the steaming shower stream, “Come on, big guy, let the pup come in. He can’t possibly stink more than I did.” 

Grogu scratches at the door again, this time letting out a sharp bark instead of a whine. 

“Awww, listen to him,” you say, the pout evident in your voice, “So lonely, he just wants to be with us.” 

Din rolls his eyes and twists the doorknob to let him in. The dog barrels into the room, skittering across the shiny, bubblegum pink ceramic into the empty garbage can. It goes toppling over, and he uses it like a bumper to correct his course towards the tub. He stands on his hind legs and peaks behind the shower curtain, then woofs for your attention. 

“Hello handsome boy!” 

Grogu starts panting with excitement, his nails clacking on the floor and the porcelain tub. 

“Oh my goodness, do you want to come in here with me?” 

He barks. 

Din protests, “Don’t—”

“Ok, ready, here we go.” 

Both you and the dog groan a little when you lift him, then Din hears clattering and splashing as he lands in the tub and starts flailing around in the water. A sharp giggle pierces his eardrums, making him wince, but there’s such an abundance of joy in your laughter and the dog’s playful growls, Din catches it secondhand and ends up smiling like an idiot. 

“Look at you, happy pup! You love the water, don’t you?!” 

Grogu lets out a low bow-wow and sneezes, which you respond to with a squeal of delight. Something tender and warm blooms in Din’s chest. Just as soon as he realizes its fragility, he stomps it out, snipping over his shoulder, “Are you almost done?” 

The water shuts off with a loud clunk from the faucet and you respond, “Yep.” 

Din ends up trying to dry off the wet, rowdy dog while you dig through your backpack. 

“Do you think there’s a laundromat here?” 

He glances up at you, eyes briefly trailing along the outline of your body beneath the fluffy white towel before he clears his throat, then says, “I don’t know.” 

You sniff one of the sweatshirts from your backpack, shrug, and toss it onto the dresser. 

“We should check. Everything in here is fucking rank,” you mutter while inspecting a pair of dark pants.

The dog zooms past, drawing Din’s attention, and he manages to scoop him up into a towel, “Gotcha!” 

Whining and throwing his weight around like a fish out of water, Grogu tries to escape as Din dries him off. You turn and snort at the dog, “Good luck, I’ve been trying to do that for days,” then pad across the faded, low-rise carpet to the bathroom. 

Din glances up at the oval-shaped mirror mounted to the wall, catching a glimpse of your reflection as you drop your towel. Stunned, he fumbles the task at hand and the dog flies from his grip like a bat out of hell. 

“Shit,” he mutters, propping his hands on his hips, watching the little white dog torpedo from one end of the room to the other. 

“This probably feels like wide open spaces to him after being cooped up in the truck, huh?” you chuckle from the bathroom. 

His eyes betray him, flicking to your reflection again. At least you have pants on this time, the waistband of tight black leggings nestled into the dip of your waist. He studies the curve of your spine up to a compass tattooed between your shoulder blades. You pull a baggy maroon sweater over your head and spin around before he can look away. Shame creeps hot up his neck and makes him drop his gaze. 

If you caught him staring, it doesn’t show. You just trot past him and throw yourself onto the old, squeaky mattress, stacking one foot atop the other as you stretch out. 

Grogu breaks out of his orbit to hop up onto the bed and climb in your lap, tongue hanging from one side of his mouth. A giggle chirps up your throat, and you scratch between his ears, “Do you two have a home base, or just the truck?” 

“Just the truck,” Din answers, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. 

“Oooh a coupla rubber tramps,” you grin, “It’s fun, right? Nomad life?”

He tilts his head at you. 

Is that why you do this? Because you think living on the road is fun?

His lack of response tugs at the arch of your brow. You look around the room, releasing a sigh through slack lips, making a pfpfpfpf sound, then ask, “Well, whaddya wanna do?” 

Din pushes off the wall and starts towards an armoire that looks heirloom or at least second-hand, swinging open its solid oak doors to reveal an old tube TV. A shelf at the top of the cabinet stores a VCR and a few tapes. 

“Finding anything fun?” 

He reads movie titles off the faded VHS sleeves, “The Wedding Singer, Titanic, Pocahontas, Men in Black.”

“Anything you like?” 

“I’m not much of a movie person,” he admits in a murmur, and casts a glance over his shoulder, “Do you have a preference?”

“Not really,” you shrug, “I’m not much of a movie person, either. You pick.” 

Din swings his gaze back to the armoire, wrinkling his nose at the options, then pulls out the double-barreled VHS of Titanic and pops in the first tape. 

After feeding the movie into the VCR, your captor goes to the little two-person dining room table in the corner of the room and grabs one of the chairs, carrying it over to the opposite side of the bed. You watch him the whole way, eyebrows raised, blinking with annoyance when he sits in the chair and kicks his feet up onto the bed. 

“You’re really gonna watch a movie like that?”

He glances over at you, crossing his arms over his chest, “Like what?” 

“With your whole,” you circle your wrist around your ear, “Incognito thing. Plus, boots? You can like… be comfortable, did you know that?” 

His mouth flattens into a line. A few awkward seconds go by before it clicks and you nod in understanding, “But you can’t be comfortable around me, can you?” 

He doesn’t answer. Not that you expect him to. 

You grab the remote control off the nightstand and turn up the volume. With previews still running on the TV, you sigh and pull a pillow out from the cheap bedspread, plumping it up and adjusting yourself into a more relaxing position. 

“I get it,” you mumble at the screen, “You think that in order for you to maintain this power dynamic, you can’t show belly.”

“Is that what I think?” 

When you look over at him, he seems to be studying you through the tint of his aviators. You ask, “Isn’t it?” 

He doesn’t answer. Probably because he doesn’t want to admit you’re right. Better than him giving you some bullshit contrarian retort, you suppose, but his silence still burrows gritty between the layers of your skin. 

“Whatever, man,” you scoff and roll your eyes, “If you wanna sit way over there in your stupid getup, that’s your decision, but it seems pretty fucking miserable for no good reason.” 

His jaw gnashes back and forth a bit before he sits up and takes off his hat, tossing it onto the nightstand, then his sunglasses. His dark eyes meet yours, “Better?” 

You look at his black leather boots. 

He sighs and drops his feet to the ground, bending over to remove the boots one at a time. When he returns to his previous position, arms crossed over his broad chest, socked feet propped up on the bed, you suppress a grin and turn back to the movie.

"I believe you may get your headlines, Mr. Ismay." 

Beneath the thick, curved glass of the TV, the first VHS runs out of tape. Out of the corner of his eye, Din sees you sit up and throw your legs off the bed. Grogu croaks out a sleepy sound from beside you, rolling onto his back. You rise to your feet, asking, “Can we get something to eat before starting the second tape?”

Din glances down at his watch. 4:30. His stomach rumbles. Given the unpredictable twist this day has taken, food has largely remained at the back of his mind until now. 

“We could walk further into town and see what we find. I bet the pup has to go potty, anyway. We could take him with us. Maybe Annie can give us a recommendation—”

He looks over at you to respond, but finds himself momentarily tongue-tied. You stretch your clasped hands skyward, pulling the hem of your sweater up to expose a generous slice of your midriff. You’re still distracted as rambling he stares, unable to stop his thoughts from returning to how soft and warm you must be. 

His hungry skin aches, deep and throbbing, down to the marrow.  An infection festering for years. Or longer. Decades, really. 

He tries to recall how long it’s been since he felt the heat of another person. It was snowing, he remembers that much. She was one of those women that made her way around truck stops selling pleasure to lonely guys like him. Lot lizards, some of the truckers called them. 

Was he in Colorado? Or was it Ohio? 

He remembers the excruciating quiet as she stripped off her snow-clotted outer layers, revealing a petite brunette with wary eyes and a businesslike attitude. Not that he holds those things against her. It’s understandable. Advisable, even, given her line of work and clientele. 

Her company didn’t do much to quell his hollow yearning for intimacy, but it was a release nonetheless. 

“—So, what do you think?”

Din snaps out of the trance and meets your eyes, all warm and hopeful. 

Goddamnit. 

“You stay right next to me the whole time.” 

“Do I get a treat if I’m good?” you smirk, one eyebrow raising in challenge. 

The question bubbles hot at the base of his spine. He tries to keep his countenance neutral when he says, “We’ll see how you do.” 

Grogu waddles over to the side of the bed closest to him and yowls for attention. Thankful for the diversion, Din reaches over and scratches the dog between his big ears, “Both of you.” 

The dog sniffs the sidewalk a few feet ahead of you and Din, tethered to his owner by a leash. He zig-zags back and forth, completely engulfed in the sights and smells of this brand new world. 

You find yourself in a similar state of awe and appreciation. Tilting your face up to the big cotton candy sky, you inhale two lungfuls of the most refreshingly crisp air you may have ever been blessed to receive. Yellow Seed was built in a valley, and it seems like everywhere you look there are mountains in the distance, dark and evergreen and ominous. A stark contrast to whatever magic is happening in the atmosphere. 

The world feels so infinite and beautiful that if you let yourself, you could cry about it. 

Too caught up in the moment to pay attention to your gait, you knock hands with Din. The impact makes your heart jump. You hear yourself stammer out an overreaction, “Oh shit—sorry, I um, didn’t mean to—”

“Might help if you stop daydreaming.” 

“What’re you, my mother?” you scoff under your breath, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“What’s that?” 

You glance over at him. 

His smug smirk draws your attention briefly before you shake your head and change the subject, “Have you seen Titanic before?” 

“Can’t say I have.” 

“What made you pick it?”

He shrugs, “Long run time.” 

“Shut up, that’s not the only reason, is it?” you laugh, “It’s not because you get to see Kate Winslet’s tits or anything, right?” 

His head jerks back a little and his ears turn all red, “What? No—”

“I’m just giving you shit,” you snort. 

He exhales an airy chuckle, and a few seconds go by before he asks, “What about you? Have you watched it before?” 

His cadence is halting and rusty. Out of practice. You can tell he doesn’t make conversation often, but he’s trying and that’s… sort of sweet, actually. 

“I have, but it’s been years. I think I was a kid, maybe six or seven, when I watched it with my grandma at her house,” you smile fondly at the memory, kicking a rock along the sidewalk, “She made me cover my eyes during the nudity and sex and stuff, but I totally peeked.” 

“So you’ve always been a troublemaker.”

“I guess so, huh?” you chuckle. 

The conversation dies a natural death, and for a while, the two of you just walk alongside each other, following the sidewalk further into Yellow Seed. 

The houses you pass, like motel, auto shop, and gas station, all seem to have been built in the 1950’s with few updates since the 1990’s. Mid-century ramblers outfitted in white trim and chipped pastel paint—so much canary yellow. Neat lawns and landscaping and tattered American flags flapping in the wind. As the sidewalk brings you closer to the heart of the town, structures get older, more homes with front porches and earth-toned exteriors.

Downtown Yellow Seed barely occupies two city blocks. The businesses stand shoulder-to-shoulder, all of them constructed of brick or lumber, none of them within the last century. When you turn down the main drag, you squint and blur your vision so that the pickup trucks look like buggies, and you can picture exactly what it looked like when the roads were dirt paths carved out by wagon wheels and horse hooves. 

“Outlaw Saloon,” you nod to the sign on an upcoming building and grin at Din, “Sounds like the place for us.” 

“Speak for yourself,” he mutters, stepping up onto the sagging floorboards of the porch and starting towards the door. 

The dog follows his suggestion, suddenly very interested in this change of direction, his ears perking up into high-alert. Din plucks him off the ground, then pulls the squeaky door open for you to enter, releasing a cacophony of noise: country music and clinking glass and the low murmur of conversation. 

As you walk past him into the establishment, you tell Din, “That’s your problem, big guy, you know that? You think you’re so much better than me, but you’re not.” 

All you hear in response is a grumble, then the jarring crack of the spring-loaded door slamming shut behind him. When he saddles up to your side, you feel his hand press into the small of your back. 

It surprises you a little. Both the action itself, and the way your pulse jumps in response. 

You don’t move, but look over at him and find you’re close enough to see his eyes behind his aviators. They flick around the bar as if searching for potential danger in the two dozen locals occupying the saloon. He holds the dog firm and close to his chest and he doesn’t move his hand and you realize that he is protecting you both. Subconsciously, probably, but he’s doing it nonetheless. 

Something happens inside you. 

A brief but sudden free-fall that flips your stomach and gelatinizes the cartilage in your joints. Your throat struggles to swallow around your thudding heart. 

RULE #9: Do not get attached. 

Ignoring the warning, you bring yourself closer to him. Just an inch or so, intending to be subtle, so that maybe he won’t notice. You don’t want him to think you like or need his protection, because you don’t. 

Need it, that is. 

Liking it, however…

If you can glean anything from the steady thrum of heat between your thighs, it’s that you do like it. That is, unfortunately, too blunt a force for you to ignore. 

An unamused looking waitress approaches your little trio, grinding a wad of gum between her molars, “No dogs.”

“Oh—he’s an emotional support dog,” you tell her, softening your features into a non-threatening, winsome expression. You put your hand on Din’s arm and explain, “My friend has horrible agoraphobia. The only way I can get him to go out is if we have the dog with us.” 

Her eyebrow raises and she blinks at Din, “That true?”

He nods once, “It is.” 

She glances between the two of you for a moment, eyes flicking in time with the smack smack smack of her chewing gum, then shrugs, “Alright, come with me.” 

As you follow the waitress, he stays by your side, with his warm, wide palm held flush to your spine. 

He’s just making sure you don’t bolt. It doesn’t mean anything. 

This little voice inside your head makes you feel so foolish, your cheeks start to flush. She’s right, though. You’re making something out of nothing. 

But then his thumb moves. Only slightly, and just once, this gentle wiper blade motion—a fucking caress if you’ve ever felt it. 

Your face heats even more. 

The waitress stops at a wooden, high-back booth and pulls two menus from her apron, placing one on each side of the table. Only when you slide into the booth does his hand depart your body. He sits across from you, placing the dog down beside him. 

“Can I get y’all somethin’ to drink?” 

“Could I get a water, please?” you ask, flashing her a polite smile. 

She nods, then looks at Din. 

“I’ll have the same.” 

“Two waters, anything else?”

You glance up at Din, trying hard not to drop your gaze when you feel his eyes meet yours. He shakes his head slightly, and you tell her, “No, I think that’s good for now, thank you.” 

“Be right back.”

Once she’s out of earshot, Din asks, “Agoraphobia?” 

“Pretty slick, huh?” you grin. 

He smirks and shakes his head, looking down at the menu. The dog wriggles his way under his owner’s arm. Din allows it, absentmindedly petting him while evaluating food options. 

Letting out a sigh, you turn your attention to the menu, too. Burgers, chicken, basic sandwiches, fried food. Standard bar fare. It doesn’t take you long to decide on a grilled cheese, leaving you to study the innards of the Outlaw Saloon. 

The place is cavernous. Tin ceiling tiles two stories above the ground stretch much further back than you expected. Everything else, from the walls to the furniture to the floors, all appears to be made from the same dark, lacquered wood. 

Predictably, the décor is an homage to cowboy lore. Taxidermized livestock, paintings of horses, and antique farm equipment have been mounted on the walls. Among them hang wanted posters of infamous Wild West gunslingers, such as Wyatt Earp and Billy the Kid. Sort of camp, but in an endearing way. 

The bar bustles with activity, much busier than you thought it would be. In a small town like this, you weren’t expecting to see more than a handful of regulars out on a Wednesday evening, but there are at least 20, maybe 30, other patrons scattered about the venue. 

As you look around at the strangers, you think to yourself, “Not one of these people would look out of place at a rodeo,” which is to say that the crowd looks to be a mix of ranchers and other working class folks. At least half are strapped with a handgun, which isn’t particularly alarming, especially in a rural Western town like this, but always good to note. Occasionally, people mutter to each other while shooting dirty looks at your table. Probably because you’re out-of-towners who had the audacity to bring a dog into their beloved saloon. 

“Damn, if we were carrying, I bet we’d fit in a little better,” you comment mildly. 

“Who says I’m not?” 

You look over at him and tilt your head, “Are you?” 

“I am.” 

This interests you. You fold your legs up into a pretzel and lean your elbows onto the table, “Whaddya have?”

With his expressive eyes concealed, it’s hard to read what his silence means, but you guess trying to determine your question’s intent. 

Before either of you can say anything else, the waitress approaches your table carrying two glasses of water. As she slides one in front of you, then the other in front of Din, you ask her, “Do you guys ever have live music here?” 

“Sure,” she shrugs and plants one hand on her hip, “Nothing this weekend, though.” 

You glance over at Din, who’s shaking his head slowly, as if to say, “Don’t you fucking dare,” but ignore it and ask, “Do you want live music this weekend?” 

“I take it I do not get a treat?” 

Din clenches his jaw, glaring up at you from his crouched position as he unhooks Grogu’s leash. He hasn’t said anything to you since you coaxed your way into a gig at the Outlaw Saloon, blatantly disregarding his wishes to lay low in this town.

If he wasn’t so goddamn hungry, and if it wouldn’t have roused the attention of the already suspicious locals, he would have hauled you out of the restaurant the second you inquired with the waitress about live music. 

You must have felt the anger radiating off him in waves, because your attempts at conversation since have been few and far in between. 

For that, he’s grateful. 

The red glowering beneath his skin feels unpredictable. That familiar loathsome beast. Something he believed extinct inside him, eradicated through years of training, now awake and growling. 

He rises to a standing position and starts pacing, trying to keep calm. 

Meanwhile, you take your doodle-ridden acoustic guitar, plop down on the bed, and start strumming a tune. 

Heat wells up in his chest. 

“It’ll be fun, you’ll see. Gives us something to do,” you tell him, watching your own fingertips move skillfully along the neck of the instrument, “Plus, I could rake in a decent amount of money, which could help us—”

“Stop it.”

The music cuts immediately. 

He takes off his hat and sunglasses, tossing them onto the chest of drawers, then turns to face you, meeting your doe-eyed gaze with too much vitriol. 

“There is not an us. This is not a team. I do not want or need your help.” 

Your shoulders sag. You furrow your brow, searching his face, and your lips part to protest, but he cuts you off hard. 

“You are nothing to me but a payload. An annoying, entitled payload. Do you understand?” 

You react as if he slapped you across the face. Your head jerks back and you drop your gaze to the floor, face getting all red.

He stares at you, awaiting your counterattack, but all you do is let out a choked sob. 

The sharp tip of this noise pierces the over-inflated balloon of his anger, bursting it instantly. In its sudden absence, an ache starts in his chest. He looks back at the situation from this calmer state of mind, cleared of red haze, and feels ashamed of himself.

Grogu jumps onto the bed to sit at your side, and whines up at you. Inhaling a wobbly breath, you reach out and scratch his head, then mumble a damp, “It’s ok, pup.” 

Some time goes by with only your quiet sniffles to break the silence, then you ask, “Where am I sleeping?” 

As soon as the mention of sleep hits him, his bones turn to lead, heavy with exhaustion. How long has it been since he’s slept? It feels like days. Nothing last night, barely a few hours the night before that. 

“You have options,” he responds. At this, you let out a sad, soft chuckle that he ignores, continuing, “There’s the bathroom, your sleeping bag, or the bed.” 

“I assume I would be restrained in each of these scenarios?” 

He folds his arms over his chest and nods, “In the bathroom, I would cuff you to the toilet. The other two, I…” he grimaces, “It would be to me.” 

“Wow, ok,” you take the guitar out of your lap and prop it up on the nightstand, “A toilet or the man who thinks I’m a piece of shit.” 

“I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t have to.” 

He meets your gaze, holding it steady for a few seconds before saying, “Charlie, I…”

The apology gets all tangled in his throat. You wait a while for him to finish the thought. When he doesn’t, you move past it, your voice void of emotion. 

“Do you have a preference?”

“No.” 

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to sleep in the bed.” 

Din nods in acknowledgment. He glances down at his watch, finds it’s barely past 6, and asks, “Are you tired now?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

As if to confirm, you suck in a shaky breath and yawn, stretching your hands above your head. It spreads to him. 

“Give me a few minutes,” he tells you.

In response, you tug at the bedspread and wriggle your way between the sheets. Grogu grumbles for a moment at the adjustment, then turns in a few circles and plops down beside you with a hmph.

You’re probably exhausted, too, given the ups and downs of this week. Being taken captive. Sleeping in the same room as Din when you cannot trust him. Spending all your time with someone whose explicit intent is to turn you in for a pretty penny.

It must take an emotional toll, even if you don’t let it show most of the time. Even if you have that rule to… how did you put it? 

Live in the now. 

To your credit, you have been trying your damnedest to follow that rule. By getting to know people whose paths cross yours, bonding with Grogu, writing and drawing in your notebook, playing music, suggesting ways to squeeze as much experience as possible out of what little time you have left. 

Din likes that about you. Your relentless optimism. It’s admirable. 

He likes a lot of things about you, he realizes. Your cunning, and your curiosity, and your ferocity. Your gap-toothed smile. The skillful way you play the guitar. How you curled into him ever-so-slightly when he placed his hand on your back earlier. 

It occurs to him then that you may feel it, too. That gooey electric current when he touches you, or when his eyes meet yours for longer than a second. 

His own words echo back to him: “You are nothing to me but a payload.” 

He wants to take it back. 

It’s not even true, he just wishes it was. He wishes he looked at you and saw a bad person who’s going to get what she deserves. The truth couldn’t be more contrary. 

While your captor goes about his nighttime routine, you sulk. 

It’s all you can do, really, since he’s made it abundantly clear your presence is a nuisance. Worse than that, even. You are nothing but an asset to him. 

Ironically, it makes you feel worthless. 

You think about how pathetic your burgeoning crush on him is. Were you imagining the chemistry between you? 

Of course you were. 

You were making things up—“Living in LaLa Land,” as your mother used to say. 

Din pulls back the covers on the opposite side of the bed. The mattress shifts under his weight, and he groans as he stretches out. Every nerve ending in your body lights up when you feel the heat of him. The distance between you is exactly the width of a French Bulldog. 

“Hey, kid,” he murmurs. 

His voice is low and syrupy. Warm. 

Your throat works in a slow bob before you roll on your back to look at him. Your eyes meet his, and your stomach flips. When whoever said that thing about the eyes being the window to the soul, they must have been talking about him. You can see it all right there, written in bold print: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. 

Or maybe that’s just what you want to see. Fuck, but why? Why do you even care? 

You should fucking know better.

This is only temporary. Din. His dog. The truck. This room. Tonight. Life, really, if you wanted to get existential about it. 

“Do you want to watch the rest of that movie?” 

You frown as you consider this for a moment, then nod. 

He gets out of bed and walks over to the big armoire. As he pops in the second Titanic VHS tape, you study the broad span of his shoulders and biceps stretching his t-shirt taut. 

God, he looks solid and strong and just so fucking good.  

This guy robbed you of your dignity and all you can think about right now is what his lips would feel like on yours. If he would be a greedy lover, or a generous one, or both. Would he be intuitive or clumsy with your body? Would he be rough? 

He would be with me.

Heat blossoms on your cheeks and deep in your center. You don’t know how you know, but you do. He just seems… pressurized. Combustible. Especially towards you. 

On his way back to bed, while the tape rewinds, Din rummages through his backpack and piles some of its contents into one arm. He sits down at the edge of the mattress and hands you a bottle of water, then holds out two candy bars and says, “Pick one.” 

“Is this an apology?” 

“No, it’s chocolate.” 

You blink at him and cross your arms. 

His features soften. He shakes his head, “What I said was not kind. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I didn’t,” you agree, keeping your gaze stern, “You can’t talk to me like that.”

“I understand. I’m sorry.” 

You search his face. There’s such earnestness there, you believe him. 

A mechanical click sounds from the VCR, then the TV lights up as Titanic starts where it left off. 

Your gaze drops to the candy bars, and you pluck one from his hand. The one that advertises a peanut-buttery crunch. Peeling off its yellow wrapper, you smirk, “Apology accepted.” 

Din climbs all the way into bed, stuffing the flat hotel pillows behind his back, then opens the shiny silver wrapper of his candy bar. For a while, it’s quiet except for the warbled audio from the TV and the crunch of your chewing. 

You get that feeling again like sunshine on your skin or God or whatever, and you laugh out loud. 

“What?” Din asks.

“It’s probably really weird that I’m happy right now, right?” 

“Are you?” 

You peek over at him and chuckle, “Yeah, I mean… I’m eating my favorite candy and watching a good movie. Laying in a bed with a cute dog and…yeah,” you shrug, turning back to the TV, “I don’t know. I like it.”

He hums in acknowledgment, then asks, “Do you have your knife?” 

“Why, you gonna take it from me so I don’t kill you in your sleep?” You let the question hang in the air for one whole second before continuing, “I’ll be real up close and personal, wouldn’t even have to sneak, just,” you drag your thumb across your throat, “Blech, dead.” 

“I’m not taking it from you,” he tells you, pulling out his handcuffs, “But if you want to get it or use the bathroom, now’s your chance.” 

You take the opportunity to relieve your bladder and change into your comfiest (and least offensive smelling) clothes. 

Before tucking your pocket knife into your sleeve, you stare at it for a minute and consider actually using it to get the fuck out of here. Something you’ve considered dozens of times, if you’re being honest, but this time the idea weighs a million pounds. 

When you open the bathroom door and step into the motel room, Din looks up at you from the bed. His gaze wanders briefly down your body as you climb into bed, then correct its course back to your eyes, “All set?”

You nod and hold your right arm out to him. 

His touch is gentle when he closes the cuff around your wrist. Clicks sound from the apparatus until it’s clear your hand won’t be capable of wiggling free. 

He secures the other cuff around his left wrist, settles his arm next to yours, and asks, “How is that?”

“It’s fine,” you nod, your voice too high, then swallow hard and chuckle, “Well, I guess as fine as being handcuffed in a bed can be. Probably not the best it could be, but not the worst, um, either.”  

You wince at yourself and look at the TV, where Rose is wading through thigh-high water, carrying an ax. Thankfully, he doesn’t respond, but turns off the light on his nightstand. You do the same with yours. Aside from the TV, only a faint glow comes in through the window. Daylight’s last gasping breath. 

You close your eyes and fondle the cool metal of your pocket knife in your left hand. 

RULE #8: Take care of yourself.

Din shifts a little, and the back of his hand butts up against yours. Neither of you go to move. Warmth branches out from the spot, expanding and taking root deep in your belly. 

RULE #2: Listen to your gut. 

With this, you tuck the pocket knife under your pillow and roll onto your side facing him. You think about how nice it would be to rest your head on him, but resist the urge. The edges of consciousness start to fold in on themselves, and you murmur, “Sweet dreams, big guy.”

“Goodnight.” 

#din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x ofc #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #passenger

[badeehbom]

Gone with Edna

The single white rose I held in my hand glistened with droplets of water and I stared at it for a while. Cool moisture developed on the flower from a slight drizzle of rain from gloomy clouds that decided to visit while the sun remained shining. An irony of a weather but accepted nonetheless because Edna would have liked this. The combination of warmth and slight cold would have made her stand out in that pink summer dress she always insisted on wearing every time we saw each other by the park for a picnic. I still remember that the little colorful frogs she painted herself just by the edge of the dress were messy, but she loved it anyway. "It's a plain dress and I'm making it my own. A chaotic touch of personality." She would say. I would joke around with her and she'd play offense while I sarcastically apologize.

We were good together like that, but I wanted us to be better—better together, maybe even best; however, Edna is my twin brother's girlfriend. Edna will remain forever his girlfriend because I am only but a living reflection of the man she is best with. I wanted to be him so badly sometimes, but I didn't want to resent him either for fairly acquiring a love that was consented to him in the same manner. I love them both (although not in equal measures) but respect for my brother outweighs the despair that creeps inside my heart.

Despite this boiling pot of jealousy, brotherly affection, and love for Edna, I still managed to find a way to secretly spend time with her. Does my brother know? Well that's a secret. One, I know, that Edna will bring with her, safely stored in her knowing heart.

There was one time when she came over, the only time I knew of, because our parents were taking a week vacation to a tropical country. Sandy beaches and fresh coconuts were the highlight of the trip along with local foods from restaurants. They sent pictures of everything to us and suddenly, the thought of bringing Edna to the beach crossed my mind. Next thing I know, she was ringing the doorbell and I quickly ran to my feet and answered it. I knew she came for my brother, not me, but I wanted to receive her myself. She smiled a strange smile and I greeted her before letting her know that my brother will come down shortly. "Take a seat on the sofa. I'll call him for you." She thanked me and I felt her stare piercing my back. Why is she looking at me?

Later that night, they both laid down on the bed. When my brother was finally asleep, she went to the balcony and sat on one of the chairs. I got the feeling that she was waiting for someone and after five minutes, I decided to follow suit. She smiled that same strange smile again, but directed to the stars and the full moon that shone brightly above us. Never would I ever expect the next two words that would come out of her lips and the sense of weird relief and embarrassment that proceeded it.

I know.

She said to me and continued to look on the stars. I stared at her for some more, taking in her beauty as the light of the moon pictured it; and I too managed to smile towards her and the celestial bodies above us. And so we continued our relationship whatever this can be called, and my brother knew none of it.

———

Six months later, at 5pm on a Sunday, the devastating news of Edna's death arrived at our doorstep and my brother wept loudly. Edna was on her way to our house when a drunk driver crashed into the mini-bus she was riding on her commute to our place. She died on the spot and we only got contacted because somehow, our address was written on a piece of paper stuck behind her phone case. They thought, perhaps, that we were family since her phone would have taken a while to open and her IDs with her home address were somewhere in the wreckage. Only a work ID, those that only had your photo, name, and position on it, were found next to her phone.

A freak accident.

My brother didn't take that lightly and screamed while crying at some point. He even acted like he almost wanted to murder the police officer that stood before him—the man who delivered the news of Edna's passing. It's true that it's much easier to project one's grief in the form of sadness towards the messenger, but I knew it in myself that he didn't want to be angry at the officer either. I wept and screamed in my own way without my brother knowing while he nursed his grief the best way he could.

———

Somehow I knew that I could never love anyone else like Edna. My heart and soul were captured by her, sealed by fate on that night by my brother's balcony. The moment she confessed her knowledge to me with the blessing of the moonlight and the veil of the night, there was no turning back. No one could ever replace Edna in this heart I share with my brother, but he deserves another chance at love too.

We watched her casket's slow descent and felt our drenched coat as the slight drizzle slowly became a shower while the sun remained shining. The single white rose on our hand accepted the offering of rain too; and when we finally decided to let it go, so did I from my brother's hold. His heart will remember Edna, but mine while live forever on the memory of that evening—that evening where Edna knew she loved two different people in a body of one. Before I left, I wondered what her last thoughts were. Did she thought of us? Of me perhaps, if I so boldly think? Well, it's alright. Similar to those last thoughts, I too, am gone with Edna.

21-June-2023 Finished: 3:20am

#love #one shot romance #two personalities in one body #complicated unrequited love #romance #angst #mc died because angst #late night post #hidden personality

[qlala]

Is it cheating to submit a fic request for the pride post you just made? I neeeed the whole thing (I'm on my laptop, but insert the big gay eyes emoji)

fjskdgjslg "big gay eyes emoji" you know what? just for you. just for you i have written this. i'll clean it up and upload to ao3 later but for now: have 2.7k of len dragging a sunburnt, tipsy, and glitter-covered barry back to his apartment, and happy pride!

Len wasn’t the type to begrudge anyone a good time, especially when the good time involved loud music, leather harnesses, and throwing water bottles at cops. Central City’s annual pride parade came as close as it got to challenging that attitude; families, fellow queers, and queens descended on the city waving more flags than the United Nations after a hurricane, all decked out in color combinations that Len hadn’t been able to keep straight since the ‘80s. 

The end result was the kind of crowds that could make a grown man feel claustrophobic in the middle of a city block, and that was without the visible haze of alcohol wafting off the whole event. 

But what the parade lacked in personal space, it made up for with one very important commodity: unattended wallets. 

The flock of sunburnt twinks in denim cut-offs made Len’s job almost too easy—a hand on a sweat-slicked lower back, a flash of blue eyes, and most of them wouldn’t have noticed their wallets going missing if Len had dangled their IDs in front of their faces afterwards. (While there were plenty of women dressed in just as little clothing whom Len certainly wouldn’t have minded getting within robbing distance of, he’d found queer women as a group to be less enthusiastic about uninvited touching and more enthusiastic about wallet chains, even when three sheets to the wind off of canned rosé.)   

He’d taught a dozen visiting suburbanites the importance of not keeping valuables in their back pockets by the time he spotted a familiar profile in the crowd. 

His usual red getup wasn’t much more modest than some of the outfits Len had already seen, but even knowing the shape of that body didn’t prepare Len for seeing Barry Allen stripped to the waist, bright-eyed and flushed and shimmering all over with a fine dusting of glitter. Len noted, on auto-pilot, that it didn’t seem like he’d put any of the glitter there himself; he was standing dangerously close to a drag queen throwing handfuls of the stuff on anyone who got within arm’s reach of her. It set the sun refracting off every dip and plane of muscle across Barry’s chest and stomach. Barry’s hair, already wild and dark at the roots with sweat, was full of it.   

Len’s feet were carrying him closer before he gave himself permission to move. Barry managed to drag Len into his orbit at the best of times; visibly tipsy and dripping sweat, Len would’ve had better luck resisting the turning of the earth. 

Up close, Len could take that Barry had lost his shirt somewhat recently; the slight touch of pink spanning his shoulders and chest had nothing on the serious flush across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. He had a spray of new freckles as well. They were barely distinguishable under the haze of glitter stuck to his skin, but Len noticed them at once, the change unmistakable on an otherwise unchanging face (not a scar to be seen, even after three years of running into burning buildings and jumping in front of bullets; Len was equal parts frustrated and relieved).   

It looked like someone had painted a few strokes of color across one of his cheeks at some point, but it was smudged to hell and back. The back of one of Barry’s hands was stained a tell-tale matching purple, and Len could only guess at what it had been at the start of the day. 

He stepped into Barry’s space as easily as he had the rest, taking care to keep Barry between him and the source of the glitter, and hesitated for the briefest moment with his hand above Barry’s spine. He’d never touched Barry like this, skin to skin; the gloves had never come off between them, metaphorically or literally. Kept things neat. 

Nothing about Barry was neat right now. He turned even before Len touched him, and the movement brought Len’s hand into contact with his side instead. It took everything in Len not to pull it back in a flinch, and he met Barry’s curious glance with a tightly-controlled smirk. 

He’d expected Barry to step back, maybe add a bit of blush to those already-pink cheeks. Instead, Barry’s eyes took a belated second to focus, and then he gave Len a face-splitting grin. 

“Snart!” 

That time, Len did have to pull backwards to avoid Barry dragging him in for a hug. To think he’d been concerned about a hand. 

Barry didn’t seem the least bit put out, smiling loose and easy like Len hadn’t iced him to the door of a bank vault the last time they’d seen each other. He hadn’t taken Barry for such a cheerful drunk—he seemed inclined toward melodrama on a good day—but Len would take it over any of the alternatives. 

“Barry. Fancy seeing you here. And so much of you, at that.” He let his gaze slide down his bare chest and stomach, pulse ticking up at the warm brown of his nipples and the sharp vee of his hipbones that invited his gaze further down. 

“You’re overdressed,” Barry disagreed. He wasn’t quite slurring, but there was a careful deliberation in his tone that told Len it was a near thing. He took a step closer and peered at Len, suspicion evident in those pale green eyes.   “And… sober.”

“I’m not here to score. Perks include keeping my shirt on.” 

For the briefest second, Barry looked almost disappointed. But it was gone in a blink, confusion taking over. He glanced down at himself, puzzled. Then his expression cleared, and he looked up with another easy-going smile.  “I got hot.” His gaze dropped again, to Len this time, and he licked his lips. “Aren’t you… you gotta be hot in all that.” 

Len was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and thin jacket, and it hadn’t hit eighty degrees all week. But he wasn’t in the mood to argue with drunk logic. And besides, another scan of the nearby revelers had made something unpleasant begin to scratch insistently at the inside of Len’s chest, and he tapped Barry under the chin with one knuckle to bring his attention back up. 

The contact startled both of them—Len’s control had slipped, something he could not afford to happen around Barry Allen—but Len recovered first. “Where’s the rest of your team of do-gooders?” 

“Lost ‘em.” Judging by the return of Barry’s crooked grin, it was an accomplishment, not a concern. “Cisco said the shot was too strong, but I didn’t wanna go. He’s the d…” He faltered, brows pulling together as he frowned. “S’the designed. Designinated, superhero, anyway. Shh!” 

He shot a pointer finger toward Len in a movement that Len clocked, alarmingly, as intending to be pressed to his lips, as if he were the one who’d been chatting about Vibe’s secret identity. Len had three years of dealing with the Flash to thank for being able to catch Barry’s wrist in time to stop him, and he glared at him for the attempt. 

But Barry only gave him a crinkle-eyed smile and twisted his hand in Len’s grip to clasp his wrist back. “S’so good to see you here. I didn’t think…” 

“Don’t tell me you had me pegged for straight.” 

Barry made a frankly insulting noise halfway between a scoff and a hiccup and tilted Len a condescending look. 

“Speedster, remember?” he asked, far too loudly, even for a crowd currently screaming along to a pop song that’d been bad enough the first time Len’d heard it in 2000. “I see it when you...” He let go of Len’s wrist to make a gesture with two fingers, parting them in a V and sweeping them up and down Len’s body, the muscles in his forearm shifting distractingly under Len’s hand. God, the kid had to be a hundred degrees. “When you check me out. In the suit.” 

Len smirked. “It’s cute you thought I was being subtle.” 

“You’re cute,” Barry muttered, childish and sulky, and Len took it for the compliment it wasn’t. 

“You had a point, Barry.” 

Barry still looked displeased with him, but his brow was furrowed again when he met his gaze. This close, it was impossible to ignore that Barry had an inch or so on him. “About what?” 

“You didn’t think…?” Len prompted him. 

Barry stared at him blankly, and Len rolled his eyes and let go of his wrist. 

“Get out of the sun, Barry,” he said. “Find a park bench. Wait for your little friends to come find you. Shouldn’t be hard—you’re as red as your suit.” 

Barry either ignored his last comment or didn’t hear it. “Iris is here somewhere,” he said, possibly to himself. “She’s…” He twirled his finger absently beside his head. “Curly, today. And… bikini.” 

Len strongly considered abandoning Barry to his sunburn to go find out for himself. But Barry was beginning to sway a bit, and a man closer to Len’s age than Barry’s was giving Barry’s toned back a speculative look from a few feet away, and Len gave in to the unsettled feeling gnawing at his ribcage. He refused to call it worry. It was annoyance—or, at the very least, the feeling was annoying him, which was close enough.   

“As much a sight for sore eyes as that would be,” he said, allowing a magnanimousness he didn’t feel to color his tone, “I doubt Miss West ran away from her group and got heatstroke. Unlike some people” 

Barry didn’t look the least bit chastened, lips curving up mischievously in a way that drew another couple interested looks. Len needed to get them both out of the crowd before he started breaking noses.

“Tell you what. Give Cisco a call, tell him you went home. My bike’s on Kingsbridge, away from the parade route.” 

Barry’s smirk sharpened. “Trying to get me out of here, Snart? I thought you weren’t here to score.” 

Len gave him a flat look, ignoring the decidedly interested way his body was reacting to Barry’s tone. 

“You can barely stand.” 

Barry’s eyes glittered at the challenge, and Len realized his mistake. 

“Barry—” 

He hadn’t even finished biting out the second syllable when the world spun out from under him, the noise and the heat and the press of the crowd swallowed up in a hair-raising charge of yellow lightning. Exactly two and a half seconds passed in a blur of movement, just long enough for Len to realize Barry was supporting the back of his head with one too-warm hand. Then the world came skidding to a stop around them. Barry’s momentum carried them both forward several feet even after their new surroundings materialized, and they very nearly went straight through a window again before Barry seemed to remember how to stop. 

Len considered pushing him out the window anyway for the stunt. True, he’d been itching to get another taste of that feeling, the ozone snap-drag of Barry’s power like a live wire under his hands, but he’d rather have waited until Barry could pass a breathalizer. 

He realized Barry still had an arm around him and shoved him off. It did nothing to dim Barry’s self-satisfied grin, and Len had to look away or risk giving into the interested once-over Barry was skimming over his body again. 

“Pretty sure the point of a designated driver is not doing that.” 

Barry followed him when he took a step back. Len made a calculated decision, decided the risk of touching Barry again was worth it, and pressed his fingers to the middle of Barry’s chest—right where the Flash insignia would be on his suit, his brain offered unhelpfully—and pushed him backwards, hard. 

Barry unbalanced and wheeled back a step. Then the backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch, and he toppled, satisfyingly, back onto the dark leather cushions. 

It was a nice couch. The whole apartment was nice, actually. Len could’ve drawn a perimeter of possible locations based on Barry’s speed and how long it had taken them to reach it if he hadn’t already known the address. 

“Sit,” he said. And then, with a smirk: “Stay.” 

Barry rolled his eyes. “Gonna have to ask nicer than that if you wanna boss me around in bed.”

The way he threw it out there, easy as anything, almost made Len miss a step as he turned away. He wasn’t going to lay a hand on Barry, not when he was drunk on sunlight and skin and whatever concoction Cisco had apparently cooked up for him. But hearing him say it, like they’d already gotten all of the messy parts out of the way—it set off warning bells in Len’s head, flashing past all the possible off-ramps he would’ve taken if Barry had ever tried to have the conversation in a more linear fashion. 

“You’re drunk,” Len said, which was a coward’s answer, and behind him, Barry made a vague noise of agreement. 

“Probably,” he acknowledged. “You could stick around ‘til I’m not.” 

Christ. Len didn’t trust himself to look at Barry again, not when he knew he’d find him sprawled out and shedding glitter all over what had looked like a very expensive couch. “Stay,” he repeated, and went off to find the kitchen. 

By the time he got back with two glasses of water, the problem had solved itself; Barry was out cold on the couch, his painting cheek pressed to the throw pillow he’d curled himself half-around. He was shivering faintly in the air conditioning, all cooled sweat and goosebumps, and Len resigned himself to the now-familiar impulse to help him that stirred in his chest. He put one of the glasses down on the table and, not trusting his hands, knocked his knee into one of Barry’s where it was bent close to the edge of the couch. 

Barry buried his face into the pillow with a noise of displeasure, and Len said his name again. 

“Last warning,” Len said. “Ten seconds, you find out if I put on steel-toed boots today.” 

Barry groaned, and if the sound hadn’t made Len’s pulse skip, the easy shift of muscles in Barry’s arm as he pushed himself up to sitting again would’ve done the trick. 

“Water,” Len said, unnecessarily, as he passed him the glass. 

Barry took it with the tips of his fingers, as if it were something personally offensive to him, and took a single, polite sip before putting it down beside the other with no small amount of distaste. Then he glanced between the glasses, and up at Len, a dirty spark already lighting behind his eyes again. 

“Don’t get your hopes up. They’re both for you.” 

Barry let out a breath with audible annoyance and dropped back against the couch cushions to glare at him. 

Len felt a modicum of sanity return to him. This, at least, was familiar ground: Barry, frustrated, asking for too much, too soon. True, it had always been about the hero business until now, but Len knew a pattern when he saw one. Give Barry an inch, and he always took a mile. 

Len gave Barry one last, appraising look. He looked ridiculous, all self-righteousness and bare skin. There was only one break in the otherwise even coat of glitter, there on Barry’s side: faint, but unmistakable, the outline of Len’s hand on his waist. The feeling in Len’s chest coalesced into something pleased and possessive. He met Barry’s glare with a slow curl of his lips, then gave him an inch.  

“Call me when you’re sober, Barry,” he said, letting his voice slip into the Cold drawl just to watch Barry’s eyes go dark. “And you can show me how well you sit up and beg.” 

He could see the impatience radiating off of Barry’s frame, the effort it was taking him to stay on the couch instead of closing the space between them. 

“Call your friends,” he reminded him. “Enough people got a look at your face today without the CCPD splashing it on every milk carton, too.”

In the elevator, Len reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the thin black wallet he’d liberated from Barry during their sprint across the city. Two and a half seconds: child’s play. A little extra incentive for Barry to track him down in the morning, not that Len thought he needed it. He flipped it open, noted the deer-in-the-headlights picture of Barry on his driver’s license with amusement, and then thumbed open the bill compartment. 

Len smirked. Barry wouldn’t miss a few dollars; he owed him for the dry-cleaning it was gonna take to get the glitter out of his jacket, anyway. 

#coldflash #leonard snart #barry allen #the flash #my fics #is 10 pm on a tuesday peak posting time? no! is it when i finished this? yes! #also this is blatantly nyc pride sorry #write what you know etc

[exosmutfactory]

Six Phases 006 Pt 6

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

A/N: I couldn't find a picture to match Baekhyun's appearance—so I chose one that fits his mood instead  2.0 😅 ♡

[ contains: angst ] Two’s a couple, Three’s a crowd 💔

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  P(1) P(2) | Part 4 P(1) P(2) | Part 5 P(1)  P(2) | Part 6 P(1)  P(2) —– P(3)  P(4) —– P(5)  P(6) ✓ ||| ♬♩♪♩ FINALE P(1)  P(2)

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

My heels click rhythmically on the sidewalk, in perfect sync with the song I’m humming. I’ve taken a liking to listening to new music lately instead of sticking to the same old artists that I’ve heard a thousand times. Trying to expand my horizons and replace sob-inducing ballads with uplifting trap beats.

It’s going okay so far: moving on. Learning how to navigate the world while riding solo. It’s not like I haven’t done it before—sleepless nights aren’t new. Lack of appetite isn’t either. A breakup will never be the end of the world, no matter how excruciating it is. So why should I let it hold me back and define me?

Birds chirp merrily in the trees, bringing a smile to my face, especially when I catch sight of a little hummingbird enjoying nectar from a patch of flowers. If there’s one thing I can say that has helped me during this time, it’s nature. Simply looking out at the world from my apartment window and taking long walks around the more remote parts of this city have calmed my soul more than I can express with words.

I’m watching the squirrels scurry around on the other side of the street while waiting for the crosswalk light to turn green when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I sigh, so much for a moment of tranquility.

I pull my phone out of my tiny jean pocket, furrowing my brows at the caller ID. Jongin…? That’s strange, has he ever called me before? I rack my brain for answers. Nope, this is the first time he is calling me. Flashbacks of our distant friendship since that one summer fight I had with a certain someone flashes through my mind... I press my phone to my ear before I can overthink it any longer. "Hello?"

"Riley." Jongin’s smooth voice filters over the line.

"Hi," I mumble, continuing down the street, noticing a beautiful blue and green butterfly flying by with a smile. The pitter patter of a water fountain in the distance has me falling back into my 'Zen’ mode. "What’s up? How are you?"

"I need a favor." He drops; straight to the point. Sending me right into a panic.

My phone nearly falls to the ground. "...You didn’t break a leg or something-"

"No, no," He immediately responds, recognizing the high pitch of hysteria in my voice. "It’s nothing bad."

Thank fuck, the last thing I need right now is bad news. It may be the end of March, but I’m not really feeling this 'Spring’ season. My mood shifts faster than the strong wind. The only stress I try to have nowadays are always work related because if I stop and think about my personal life for a moment I am fucked.

I take a deep breath, leaning my back against a light pole before replying to him. "Okay."

"There’s a dance competition in June," He slowly explains, "and I need a partner."

"Oh..." I blink a few times, straightening back up. "Huh… I’m sorry, I’m not really good at choosing candidates. I’m not a professional-"

"I mean you." He interjects, background music drifting over the line. "I want you to be my partner."

I pull the phone away from my ear for a moment, looking at it in disbelief, "I'm sorry—What?"

"I have a routine already," His voice takes on a warmer tone, pure persuasion dripping from his honeyed words. "With your name all over it."

"...Eh??" I look off to the side, trying in vain to find something—anything to distract me from the tingles zapping down my spine at the sound of his voice. God… what the fuck? "Don’t you have like a million other people who specialize in-"

"I made the choreography for you."

My heart hammers in my chest. "And why the heck would you do that?" I demand, tightening my grip on the phone. Something out of the corner of my eye suddenly captures my attention, dragging my eyes over to it instantly. The sight that greets me has my throat going dry, gulping as my hands shake.

It’s Baekhyun—and he isn’t alone.

He’s accompanied by a tall, beautiful woman, the same height as him in her flat sandals. Her black hair reaches the middle of her back, contrasting against her light blue overalls and swaying softly in the cool wind. They lean against a brick wall next to a cute coffee shop with matching coffee cups in their hands.

Jongin’s words fade into background noise while I watch them. My vision blurs when she laughs, resting her hand on his arm. The way she easily initiates physical contact with him speaks volumes; this isn’t their first meeting. It’s been 2 months since January, and yet...

My heart constricts painfully in my chest, I suck in a deep breath. Lightheadedness hits me full force, I quickly cling onto the pole when my body sways off balance. Shit… I must have been holding my breath. 

"Riley?" Jongin’s muffled voice drifts from my distant phone. Thankfully it fell onto the parking meteor next to me and not on the ground. "Riley!"

Burning a hole into the back of Baekhyun’s silver-haired head, I bring the phone back to my ear. "I’ll do it," I mumble lowly.

"I’m sorry?"

Staring at Baekhyun and his new friend, I make my decision. "I’ll be your partner."

•••

Okay… Maybe I was too hasty in agreeing to this whole dance competition thing. I should have waited to make a decision when I was in a better state of mind.

It’s been a good four weeks since I agreed to be Jongin’s partner—four weeks of pure hell.

If I had known what kind of dance moves were incorporated in this routine I never ever would have agreed. The choreography appears simple and subtle enough on the surface, especially thanks to Jongin’s gifted skills, but that’s the problem. It’s not simple; it’s a fucking ankle breaker. It’s pure well-organized insanity and I don’t know how much more of it that I can take.

"From the top," Jongin’s voice echoes in the dance studio. He presses a remote to start the song over again. I try to stay focused, ignoring the looming figures of the other hostile dancers in the room. Why they all gathered here to watch us practice today, I have no idea, but it isn’t helping me at all.

The bass booming from the stereo speakers vibrates the wood under my feet. Sweat permeates the air. Their predator-like stares break me down from the inside out. The memory of Baekhyun with that woman pops into my mind...

"5, 6, 7-"

Shit!

Gasps echo around the room when it happens: I collapse onto the floor, clutching onto my throbbing ankle.

"Riley?!" Something about the alarm in Jongin’s voice makes me wince, curling in on myself as everyone’s whispers float into the air.

"Oh my god, is she serious...?"

"See what I mean! She has two left feet. Why is he wasting his time on her?"

"Dumbass can’t even do a single number, let alone a simple choreography. The way he chose that over me…"

I try my best to reel in my emotions, to keep the hurt from being seen on my face, but there’s only so much I can bear—there’s only so much I can take.

Tears pelt down my face while their loud gasps and delighted giggles fill the air. I make a move to climb to my feet, ready to bolt out of here and never step foot in this place again when a gentle hand on my shoulder stops me.

"Riley." It’s Jongin, crouching down to meet my eye. "Are you okay?"

I can only shake my head, losing my breath as their taunting voices swirl around my head like a whirlpool, consuming me whole.

"Riley, stay with me." Jongin rests both his hands on my shoulders, directing my eyes to his whenever I look away. "Talk to me. What’s wrong?"

"I-I," I choke, covering my face in my hands before I sob pathetically on the hardwood floor. The throbbing of my backside and ankle only makes it worse.

"Ri-"

"Look at her! Pathetic at it’s finest."

Jongin stiffens, I don’t even need to see him to know that he’s gone rigid. His hand slips off my shoulder as I watch his silhouette rise from the spaces between my fingers, standing to his full height.

"Mind sharing with the class what you just said, Kim Nora?" He looks at the woman in the middle of the 5 dancers leaning against the far wall, his jaw clenching.

"I-"

"If you have something to say, say it."

"I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for years. Years, Jongin!" She snaps, her shrill voice bouncing off of the walls. "I’m on time for every rehearsal. I practice until I bleed. Why does this no-name slut get to come in here and take it from me when she can’t even stand on her own two feet?!"

"Kim Nora." The way he says her name has everyone on edge. My back prickles in fear and secondhand embarrassment. He’s not even directing that stone cold tone at me and I’m hella uncomfortable sitting here.

"Who’s dance studio is this, Nora?"

"Yours-" She looks away, not brave enough to meet his eyes anymore. "-M-Mr. Kim..."

Jongin hums, holding his hands behind his back while pacing up and down the floor. "Who’s name is on the sign out front, everyone?"

"Yours, Mr. Kim." They chime in sync with meek voices. A look of regret painted on every single one of their faces.

"Mine." He concludes, satisfied before turning his dark eyes back onto Nora. "Let me explain something to you, Nora."

Her eyes stay focused on the floor.

"This is my practice, my building." He stops pacing, stretching his arms out to showcase the room. "You are under my roof." He looks dead at her, eyes colder than ice. "You are here because I let you. Do you understand that?"

"Y-yes, sir, but I-"

"Next time," He cuts her off, "You decide to be immature. Next time, you decide that your knowledge is anything close to my expertise." He steps closer, and I’ve never seen a person standing 3 feet away have such an impact on an individual. "Next time, you decide to mock one of my friends." He lowers his voice, and I can feel the heavy promise coming off him in waves. "You are gone. Do you understand me?"

Nora babbles something unintelligible, tears brimming her eyeliner caked eyes.

"Do you understand me?"

"Y-yes!" She sucks in a breath, snot clogging her nose as she directs her eyes back to the floor. "Yes, sir."

"Good." He steps away, turning on his heel before rushing back over to me. "Riley," His voice is softer now, much like the Jongin who helped rescue me from my birthday party 2 years ago.

"Hey..." I hush, lowering my hands to my lap.

"Are you okay?" He hands me a clean towel, his brows furrowed in worry. "How’s your ankle?"

"I-It’s fine."

He raises a brow, reaching out a hand to me. "May I?"

"Yeah." I sigh, noticing the familiar look of concern on his face.

Jongin takes my ankle into his hands, handling it carefully and pressing a few places. "Does it hurt?" His frown deepens when I wince. "And here?"

"Yeah," I nod, my face pinched up in pain.

"From 1 to 10," He continues, looking me dead in the eyes, "How much pain are you in?"

My lips part to answer, but I pause, biting the bullet and wiggling my ankle around to see how bad it actually is. "F-four out of ten." I grit out, still so sensitive that tears sting my eyes again.

"It’s sprained." He concludes, gently lowering it back to the floor.

"W-what does that mean?" I ask fearfully. Whatever it means, it doesn’t sound good with the contest 6 weeks away. Shit, why am I such a fuck up? What if I can’t perform let alone learn the choreography in time? I’m such a failure, I-

"It’s not bad," He reassures, resting a comforting hand on my arm. "A few days off of it and you should be good as new."

"R-really?" 

Jongin nods, smiling softly. "Nothing a few days off can’t fix."

"Oh, thank you," I whisper in relief, wrapping my arms around his neck to mask the tears that escape my eyes. "Thank you, thank you."

"No," Jongin shakes his head, hugging me warmly, whispering just as quietly in my ear. "Thank you."

•••

After that day, none of the dancers have bothered me, let alone showed up to any more dance practices. Jongin made sure of that. No one fucked around with him either after the way he resolved the issue. An angry Jongin is a scary Jongin; that much I know now.

Sighing softly, I look up at the fluffy clouds overhead, trying to salvage the calm that washes over me in wake of April’s flourishing weather. The flowers are more alive than ever. Small animals and other critters run around for food on the ground. The world around me is the picture-perfect example of nature at its finest—so why is there an uneasy feeling weighing on my chest?

Work is going well and the book we had spent months and months preparing was released last week. I’m on my way to the nearest bookstore to grab a copy for myself. To check that no grammar related errors got past my keen eyes or because I genuinely enjoy the novel, who knows. I want to see the final product for myself and check out other releases. It’s about time I pick up another book besides the one I stayed up countless nights making sure everything was finalized.

A cute bell chimes when I step through the door, hit with the aroma of fresh coffee. Every time I go to a bookstore or library, it’s like I am stepping into another world. The shelves filled to the brim with hundreds, maybe thousands of literature, all at the touch of your fingertips.

From ebooks to the dusty classics, I love them all. I may not read everything; I might be one of the pickiest readers out there, but I appreciate the blood, sweat, and tears that go into every completed book. Good or bad, the author has big balls for trying and putting their name out there. I have mad respect for that.

Venturing further into the shop, my eyes catch the Fantasy section with ease. I make my way over, already seeing a colorful display set out for the newest releases. The sight of the book I’m looking for brings a smile to my face. It feels different to see it in a store instead of reading the rough drafts in the comfort of my bed. Damn the graphic designers put their foot in the cover; it captures the personalities of the main characters perfectly. I couldn’t be more proud.

My smile widens the closer I get to the display, realizing that there is only one copy left of the book. Deserved; everyone from the author to the marketing team have done their best to make this book a big seller. Thankfully the universe left one just for me.

Just as my fingertips touch the edge of the paperback cover, someone else’s hand brushes against mine.

"Oh! Sorry-"

"Ah, I’m so sor-"

My heart plummets and my head snaps up to look at them at once. Puppy brown eyes that I could identify out of countless others and a million stars stare wide-eyed right back into mine.

Fuck.

"Riley?" He breathes, his handsome face painted in disbelief.

I can only wheeze, my chest throbbing as if my heart will explode.

Fuck fuck fuck shit fuck—

Before he can say another word, before I can crumble in front of his questioning orbs, I turn on my heel and sprint out of there like a bat out of hell.

I’ve been doing better, I’m slowly healing from it all, but the moment I see his face—his sweet, tired, kicked-puppy face, I fold quicker than an umbrella in an incoming hurricane. It hurts worse than the force of an 18-wheeler. My whole world full of its fragile edges and duct tape unravels under the weight.

Normally, I wouldn’t do this.

…

Okay scratch that—I used to do this. All the damn time, but with the way our lives have changed and that one conversation we had back in March 2 years ago I… I haven’t been able to bring myself to talk to him. I’ve made it my mission to avoid Sehun.

I know what he will say the minute I tell him what’s up: I told you so—the bane of my existence. That one phrase alone is enough to keep me from confessing so many things. I rather suffer in silence than hear that sentence, but… This is different.

No matter how much it pains me and paints me in shame, I need to tell my best friend what's been going on. After everything he has done for me since our childhood... I owe him that much. So here I am now.

I chew on my bottom lip and knock firmly on his apartment door, waiting for someone to answer with bated breath.

It opens a few minutes later, revealing his unmistakable tall form as he dries his hair. Sehun does a double take. "Shorty?" He breathes in disbelief, pausing in ruffling his messy black locks.

I laugh a little, warmth sparking in my aching heart from the nickname. "Yeah," I breathe, managing a wobbly smile, already feeling tears prickle my eyes. "That's me."

We stare at each other for a long moment, nothing but the distant swish of driving cars and the muffled conversations happening beyond the open balcony on his floor fills the silence. Ah… My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. I shouldn’t have come here. He’s probably busy enough as it is-

As if reading my mind, Sehun’s gaze softens. He throws the towel around his neck before opening his arms. "Come here."

I bury myself in his chest without hesitation, soaking the fabric of his black t-shirt with my tears. "I’m sorry," I croak, holding back sobs.

"Hey, hey," a low, soothing voice chimes in, resting a hand on my arm. "What happened?" 

"I don’t know," Sehun mumbles, rubbing my back as I shake in his arms. "But whoever did it will be missing an arm."

"N-No need, Hun," I sniffle with a shaky sigh, pulling away from his embrace. A chill covers my skin with goosebumps the moment I step away. It’s been like this all week; feeling hot to the touch, yet shaking like a leaf at the same time. I have no idea what is going on, and at this point… I don’t want to know. I can say that for a lot of things.

Wiping my face with the back of my hand, I turn around, smiling apologetically at the brown-haired man standing in the doorway. "I’m sorry for popping up out of the blue, Lu."

"Nonsense," Luhan shakes his head, his curly hair partially covering his worry-filled eyes. He takes my hand between his, "Come in, I’ll make us some tea."

"Okay," I whisper, shuffling into their apartment. I take the tissue box he offers me, following him into the spacious living room. He goes into the kitchen while I sit down on their couch, my breath hitching from the emotions budding in my chest.

Sehun closes the door, noisily walking on the wooden floor in his flip flops. He sits down next to me, questioning me with his unwavering stare, but I can’t bring myself to meet his eye. I… I don’t know where to begin; I can’t even find the words. The squeal of the teapot in the other room fills the tense silence between us.

"Alright," He sighs, propping his foot up on the coffee table and resting his arm on his knee before giving me a hard look. "What did Byun do?"

I choke, snapping my eyes to his, "How do you know?"

"You never visit," He points out in the driest of tones. "And when you do, you always call first."

I can only lower my head, pulling my knees to my chest.

"You don’t usually cry after seeing my face either. I mean," He continues, nudging me with his elbow. "Am I ugly or something?"

I snort. "Shut up." Shaking my head, I sigh deeply. "I just… A lot has happened." Risking a peek at him, my shoulders relax at the worried furrow of his brows and the care in his sharp brown eyes.

He nods, smiling the softest that I’ve seen in a long time. "I got time." 

I smile a little, my chest bursting in gratefulness for having a friend like him in my life. No matter what happens or what I get into, I can always count on Sehun to be there.

…

If only I didn’t have so much baggage to bring to his door.

"I…" Come on; I ball my hands into the fabric of my shirt. Say it.

Sehun keeps his eyes on me and I struggle more to get the words out, my chest starting to heave. Should I be here? Should I be doing this? What will he say? What if this just makes everything worse—

No.

Sehun is my best friend. We have shared so many memories together, the good and the bad. I was the first person he came out to. He was there when my father walked out of my life. I cheered him on as he climbed the ranks of his weight training team. He helped me catch fireflies in my backyard when all I could rely on was my poor eyesight.

It’s always been him and I against this cruel world. One man—one boy, won’t change that overnight.

"I broke up with Baekhyun." 

"What?!" Sehun leaps off of the couch. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah..." I drag out, looking him up and down in confusion. Panic hits me in the gut. "W-Why? What’s wrong-"

"Dude!" He exclaims, tangling his hands in his hair, the most comically distressed expression on his normally 'bitch’ face. "I thought he broke up with you."

The thought of what would have happened if Baekhyun had been the one to dump me makes my heart hurt so much I feel the color drain from my face.

"H-Hey," Sehun immediately takes notice, waving his hands around. "Not on the couch, anywhere but the couch-"

Luhan suddenly appears behind him with a tray of drinks, lovingly smacking the back of his head. "Here," He soothes, ignoring Sehun’s pelulant whines while setting down the tray on the coffee table and offering a mug to me.

"Thank you, Lu." I breathe, smiling when the scent of lemon and ginger hits my nose.

Luhan takes the seat on the other side of me, resting a comforting hand on my knee. "We’re here." He nods, sharing a look with Sehun before focusing back on me with the gentlest of eyes. "Whenever you are ready."

Gulping, I curl my fingers around my mug, the warmth of the tea and their soft eyes giving me the strength to open up.

I am finally able to put everything into words… I just hope we all make it out unscathed. 

Closing my eyes, I start from the very beginning, updating them on what has happened since the year we started dating. The summer fight I never told Sehun about, Baekhyun’s ex Haneul following me around. The French lady at the photoshoot, the model behind the scenes. Our fight that reached the public. What went down at the Byun’s house… And finally… how I ran, and never looked back.

Sehun’s facial expressions shift from one extreme to the next throughout my confession. At one point I have to look away from him, stuttering the more I see the disappointment in his eyes. By the end of it, I’m mumbling to the lukewarm mug between my palms rather than them.

My words trail off into silence, nothing but the ticking of Luhan’s treasured grandfather clock making a sound. I’ve grown to hate this the most: the empty space that leaves room for my thoughts to sneak up on me again.

"You were hiding all of this..." Sehun speaks up, betrayal joining the disappointment in his eyes. "All this time."

A lump forms in my throat, "I-"

"You kept this to yourself for years." He grits out, his voice growing sadder by the minute. "Years, Riley."

"I’m sorry," I sob, curling up into a ball, choking on my tears. "I’m s-so sorry."

"Why?" He runs a hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. 

"I-I didn’t wanna bother you," I babble, gasping so much for air I choke even more. "You’re busy with work and your own love life, who am I to bother you with my problems?" Tears blur my vision and stain my glasses, rolling uncomfortably down the bridge of my nose. "Isn’t that what growing up is about?" I whisper, staring lifelessly down at my untouched tea. "Learning how to depend on yourself?"

"Riley, I don’t care if you’re fucking 80." Sehun barks, scaring me until he opens his arms, forgiveness swirling in his softened brown eyes. "You can come to me for anything."

"O-Okay," I mumble, hiding in his chest.

"Do you hear me?"

"Yes."

"I don’t care if you shave your relaxed hair, adopt a cat, or the world is on fire." He proclaims sternly. "No matter what, you can always come to me."

The comforting smell of fresh laundry on his clothes has my shoulders relaxing, my sobs quieting down to small hiccups. "Okay." 

"Good. Now take these sweaters back."

His words take a few moments to register in my sluggish mind. "Huh?" I blink, lifting my head off of him, sitting up fully and immediately recognizing the bundle of clothes in Luhan’s hands. "No," I shake my head, ignoring how dizzy I suddenly feel. "Sehun, those are yours-"

"And I want you to have them."

"I-" My heart constricts in conflict, "But-"

"But nothing. You act like I don’t know that your ass gets cold." He mutters grumpily, crossing his arms. "Keep them, alright?" Being the observant guy that he is, he picks up on my weary glance at Luhan. "Lu chipped in some of his too."

"Mine are comfier," His boyfriend jokes, smiling cheekily.

"Yah."

"You know it’s the truth."

"Only because you—yah! Why are you crying now?!"

"I just…" I sniffle, laughing softly. "I love you guys."

Luhan’s smile brightens while I whine over Sehun messing up my hair. "We love you more."

•••

May passes by in the blink of an eye, mature plants welcoming the upcoming summer heat. I love and hate this for two reasons. One, it’s a certain someone-who-shall-not-be-named birth month. Two, the dance competition is two weeks away. Two weeks. It is literally May 20th and I am sweating my hair out over it.

Why did I agree to this forsaken competition again? Oh right—I decided that a two-step routine is the equivalent of a love triangle. Nice going, Riley.

I sigh, wiping my forehead with the back of my arm. Two weeks until the competition means that my schedule is more packed. Yeah Park’s Publishing may be on an "easy going" break from publishing books right now, but I’m not getting a breather. 

Nope, the moment I jokingly told Jongin how I didn’t know what to do with all my free time, he brought up daily dance practice—no, he down right demanded it. And when I started to complain:

"What? It’s not like you have anything else better to do."

I’ve been seething over that for a week.

Huffing at the memory, I plop my bag not-so-subtly on a chair before looking at Jongin on the other side of the room.

"Glaring at me won’t help you perfect the choreo faster-"

"Suck my dick."

"Oh, baby," He grins, raising a brow. "I would if I could." He saunters his way over to me, his beautiful bronze skin already glowing in a thin sheen of sweat when he leans down to face me, "but I don’t mind either way."

I push him away with a hard roll of my eyes, "Let’s get this over with."

"Feisty," He humors. "Someone is feeling better today."

"Better enough to kick your ass," I mutter, tying up my hair in a messy bun.

"Let’s rehearse the second verse," He takes a swing of his water bottle, a serious expression on his features. "Then we’ll talk." 

"Bring it on," I lift my chin, playing tough despite the nervousness washing over me.

He nods, grabbing the stereo remote and getting into position. "Show me what you got."

We go over the steps one last time before we begin. The first half of the choreo goes smoothly… and then I stumble the moment the second chorus hits.

"Let’s take a break."

"No," I shake my head, resting my hands on my knees.

"Riley."

"One more time." I pant, trying to catch my breath. "I swear I got it, just-"

"We’ve been at it for 30 minutes."

"But-"

"Break. Now."

I flop to the floor in a tired heap, groaning loudly to annoy him. I’m grateful he called for a break though, my flat feet are crying for mercy like no one’s business. Maybe I should—"Ah," I sigh in relief.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking off my shoes," I mumble, throwing him a look over my shoulder, not liking his attitude. "My feet are dying over here."

Jongin raises a brow, leaning against the mirror on the other side of the room. "Your parents didn’t see a pediatrician about that?"

"Nope."

"Why?"

"Born and raised in America," I chirp. "The land of the free, Mother fucka."

Both his brows shoot up. "Are you feverous?"

"No," I mumble, fiddling with a loose string on my shirt. "It’s really hot out."

"Have you been sleeping?" His eyes narrow at my lack of response. "Riley?"

"Oh would you look at that, the ceiling tiles have a noticeable gap between them-"

"Sit down."

"I’m fine." I sigh, reluctantly dragging myself over to the only chair in the room.

"You won’t be if you keep this up." He points out, more than a little peeved. "Have you been drinking enough?"

"I-"

He thrusts his water bottle in front of me. "Drink this."

"But you drank from it!"

"I’ll give you mouth to mouth too if you don’t sit your ass down."

I blink, giving him a long, wide-eyed stare. "Why so serious?" The fed up expression on his face is enough of an answer. "Okay—okay! Fine." Inspecting the bottle for anything floating around on the bottom, I tilt my head back to pour some water in my mouth, mumbling with stuffed cheeks, "There, happy?"

Jongin just sighs, turning on a rotating fan. "Stay here. I don’t want you moving until you finish that bottle."

"Sir yes sir," I mutter, giving a little salute. Grinning when he glares sternly at me. He sighs before going back to the other side of the room.

Watching him practice his solo parts in the mirror, I leisurely sip from the bottle, noticing how his shirt sticks to his fit body. Jongin is tall, a bit broad, and lean. He has a dancer’s body and muscle in all the right places—I can’t imagine his diet. I shiver at the thought of it, checking my forehead. I’m not picky about fitness; I’m a bit on the curvy side myself. I rather have something to sink my fingers into. Speaking of which...

"Hey, Jongin?" I call him tentatively, continuing when he hums. "Why… Why did you make a choreo with me in mind?"

He doesn’t respond for a minute, and I wonder if he will until he goes over to retrieve something from his bag. "I always wanted to dance with you," He admits, throwing a towel around his neck. "To know what it was like to view your beauty up close." He bends his knee, bracing his foot against the wall as my eyes widen. "The way you move, twirl around, and glide across the floor. The blissed out expression on your face… You are at home on the dancefloor, and it shows." He looks up at me then. "You shine brighter than a million stars."

I forget how to breathe for a moment, staring at him with wide eyes and a racing heart.

"I’ve never been envious of Baekhyun but..." His sultry eyes meet mine again. "When it comes to you, it’s hard to fight my jealousy."

My lips part a few times, endless questions dying on the tip of my tongue. Realizing I’m gaping like a fish out of water, I settle for looking down with a hot blush.

Jongin chuckles, tossing his towel onto his bag. "Come on," He pushes off of the wall, walking over to me and taking me by the hand. "Let’s finish up for today."

"I can stand up on my own, you know?" I grumble. "...Thank you."

He just smiles before we take our positions in the middle of the room.

We take it from the top again, soaring through the routine without a hiccup. I put all my energy into not missing a step, dancing beside and around him with ease—

"Stop."

"What?" I blink, turning around to him. "What’s wrong now?"

"That."

"What?" I repeat, my eyes narrowing.

"That." He emphasises, gesturing to me. "You’re too tense. You need to relax."

"How do you expect me to relax, Jongin?" I mumble heatedly, hurt swelling inside of my chest. "I broke up with the love of my life. I had a shitty week. I can barely do the second verse of the choreo without breaking my ankles-"

"You can’t relax," He speaks up, suddenly standing in front of me. Staring into my eyes with his determined ones. "Because you don’t want to."

"I-"

"You fear what will happen if you do." He continues, holding me captive with his piercing gaze. "You fear the unknown."

"D-Don’t I have the right to...?" I hush, feeling my heart race the longer I look into his observant brown eyes. A part of me hates it; being read like an open book. My vulnerabilities and weak points on display without me wanting them to be. But this is Jongin.

He stares deep into my eyes, his minty breath washing over my cheeks. "Not on my watch."

There’s nothing to fear.

He selects a song for the stereo to play, and the moment a certain afrobeat instrumental plays through its speakers, I feel the urge to move my body deep in my soul.

"Let go," He encourages, turning around to meet my eyes in the reflection of the mirror.

Woman

Let me be your woman

Woman, woman, woman

I can be your woman

Woman, woman, woman

I’m intimidated by my reflection in the mirror. The sight of me with messy hair, dewy skin, baggy clothes, and my bare feet makes me feel like the wildest looking woman in the world… until I see the sadness and fear visible in my own eyes.

Let me be your woman

Woman, woman, woman

I can be your woman

Woman, woman, woman

Slowly, I move my hips to the beat, getting a feel for it while watching myself in the mirror. My awkward posture makes me tsk, shifting into a more flattering and stable position. 

What you need?

She give tenfold, come here, papa, plant your seed

She can grow it from her womb, a family

Provide lovin' overlooked and unappreciated, you see (Yeah)

The lyrics… A sense of empowerment washes over me in waves, motivating the swirl of my hips and the smile forming on my lips. The melody of the song begins to seep into my very bones, warming me up from the inside out.

You can reciprocate

I got delicious taste, you need a woman's touch in your place

Just protect her and keep her safe

Baby, worship my hips and waist

So feminine with grace

I touch your soul when you hear me say, "Boy"

Let me be your woman

Winding my waist feels like the most natural thing in the world, circling my wrists while bringing my hands back down to my sides. I can see Jongin’s proud smile from the corner of my eye.

My movements get more energetic as the chorus plays again, the repetitive lyrics flowing like the blood in my veins, felt deep in my very being. Hitting me on a level that very few things ever could.

I glide across the floor when the second verse begins, letting my hair loose and throwing my weight around. The soreness of my waist only makes me shimmer harder, fighting against the aches trying to hold me back—against the chains locked in my mind.

Princess or queen, tomboy or king (Yeah)

You've heard a lot, you've never seen (Nah)

Mother Earth, Mother Mary rise to the top

Divine feminine, I'm feminine (Why?)

Throwing my hands up, I smile as Jongin starts complimenting my movements, playing a smooth rhythmic cat and mouse game with him all over the dance studio. My bare feet on the wooden floor propels me forward, making me feel more connected with the Earth around me, with the woman I want to be.

I’ve caught up to him by the time the song ends, breathing heavily with giddiness pumping in my veins. For the first time in months, maybe even years, I feel like me again—I’ve found myself again.

A hand tucking hair behind my ear has my eyes snapping up to Jongin’s, the adoring expression in his chestnut brown eyes making me feel small and appreciated at the same time. He cradles my face in the palm of his hand, rubbing his thumb over the apple of my cheek. Tingles erupt on my skin; my heart swells with something I haven’t felt in a long time when he starts to lean in.

"You were out fucking Jongin."

I flinch away, pressing my back to the wall, my heart in my throat. "I-I," I look away, hot embarrassment painting my face red. "I don’t want to make you a rebound." A thought occurs to me at that moment: how much taller and stronger Jongin is than me. The consequence of my actions. The vacant practice room. Fearing the worst, I hold my breath, squeezing my eyes shut.

Nothing happens for a while, the silence dragging on for so long that I start to grow lightheaded, cursing myself for agreeing to all of this in the first place.

Are you happy?

I pause, thinking hard for a moment. Despite the rain cloud constantly hanging over my head, I am doing something that I love. Regardless of me looking like pure shit, Jongin sees a light in me. And against all the fucking odds, I… I feel liberated. I feel free.

With that, I open my eyes, staring fearlessly at the man in front of me.

To my surprise, Jongin smiles. "I don’t want to overstep my boundaries," He mumbles, resting his forehead on mine.

A smile breaks out on my face, putting my secret dimples on full display.

It’s finally D Day—the dance competition is just about to begin, and I can’t for the life of me find my bracelet.

"Do you really need that?" Jongin carefully ruffles his styled hair, squinting with one eye over at me.

"It’s for luck," I justify, searching both our bags.

"You depend on a silly little bracelet to give you luck?"

"My grandma made it for me," I snap, my blood pressure skyrocketing.

"Okay, okay—you," He gently takes me by the shoulders, directing me to his chair. "Sit. I’ll find it."

Finding that all-too-familiar 'no nonsense’ expression on his face, I sigh, carefully covering my eyes with my hand. Both of us got our makeup done for today. He’s got on a golden glimmer of eyeshadow to bring out the sultry brown of his eyes, and I’m rocking a burgundy shade that makes my eyes have their own sensual glare in the mirror.

Tucking my hair-sprayed hair behind my ear, I wince at the thought of washing it out later, but the end result is worth it. My brown hair is bone-straight, complementing Jongin’s lavender-gray, middle-parted hair. Not gonna lie, he’s a total eye-candy right now in that red jacket and mesh shirt, and his stage presence is to die for. His oozing confidence just pumps me up even more.

Watching him pull out my bracelet from some hidden department that I have never seen before in my life and come over to strap it onto my wrist with the gentlest touch has newfound hope blossoming in my heart. We came to perform and we came to perform well.

As if hearing my thoughts, Jongin looks up at me at that moment, nodding firmly.

I nod right back, smiling softly. Win or lose, we are going to give it our all.

We make our way out of the dressing room, listening for our cue from the staff member next to the gap leading out onto the stage. They give directions to someone in their headset before giving us the signal.

I can hear the crowd as we step onto the stage, vibrating the floor under us and my whole being with their excited cheers. Nerves aren't pumping furiously through my veins. No, pure adrenaline guides me forward, and the reassuring smile Jongin sends my way makes me at ease all the more.

When the lights dim and the music starts, my hands are already in my hair, my hips popping to the beat.

Just let it flow as it is for me.

As it moves, show me.

I slide down into a crouch, spreading my knees before rolling my neck to the beat. Quickly standing back up, I slowly run my hands through my hair, swaying my hips side to side. I stop moving to let the crowd focus on Jongin, watching him with a smile.

The party has been getting boring.

Jongin starts doing his own thing while I beckon him closer with a body roll, strutting to him on the other side of the stage. I strike a different pose along to the beat, rubbing my hands over my body and rolling my hips. 

Don’t hide it anymore for me

Sliding my hand down my chest, we lock eyes before the chorus hits.

The reason that hides your heart

Do you feel it triggering me a bit?

Here comes the fun part; we sync up our dance moves. Shooting each other little smiles while staying on beat. My long hair sways in the wind; the feeling of being free—free to be me striking me with a sense of comfort in this moment. Jongin catches my eye as if he feels it as well, his killer smirk morphing into a heartwarming smile.

Baby don’t play with me

I slow down to sway my hips to the beat while Jongin slides behind me, pressing his firm chest to my back. The ripples of his abs brush against me through the fabric of his mesh-shirt, warming my sun-kissed skin under the light heat of the partially cloudy sky. His hand tucks under my chin when I face him for the next lyric, "You’re my VIP."

(She talkin’ about)

We sync up again for the next part of the choreography, making me giggle in delight, beaming over the fact that I might have cried a hundred times practicing this choreo but I can finally say that I can dance it without breaking my ankles. And the proud smile on Jongin’s face adds onto that fact.

He points out to the crowd and we change positions as the pre chorus starts again. Jongin acts like the cool, smooth man that he is while I roll my way back to him, matching his moves before blowing a kiss to the crowd when the chorus kicks back in again.

Top down ya

It could be you and me, it could be you and me

I place my hand on Jongin’s shoulder, strutting around him while he shrugs off his jacket. Preparing for the bridge that we changed last minute. Now it’s his time to shine.

Now let me give you what you want tonight

You told me

I take a step back, focusing on complimenting his movements while he has his moment to woo the crowd. Those charming smirks and attractive smiles can steal the heart of anyone, especially the cheering people standing in the front row. There’s a lot of things I’ve learned recently about Jongin, and his unmistakable stage presence is one of them.

The chorus comes back one final time and we go all out. Dancing until our feet ache and the wind picks up around us. The sweet smell of tteokbokki and summer breeze in the air brings another smile to my face. Jongin gets down on the floor while I kneel on one knee to straddle his lap, looking into his eyes with his finger tucked under my chin as the last lyrics of the song fades away.

There’s a long moment of silence, and then the crowd erupts into cheers. Applauding so loud it overwhelms my sensitive ears. Jongin and I step forward to take one last bow, smiling at each other before making our way off stage… but a certain, persistent stare has my eyes flickering back to the crowd. The glimmer of silver hair in the front row is all I allow myself to see before hurrying to leave.

"That was," I start, gasping for breath by the time we reach the dressing room. "Fucking amazing!"

Jongin smiles, glancing over at me, "You liked it, huh?"

"Dude—I fucking lived for it!"

He laughs and it’s super cute, especially with his wide smile.

"That was so cool," I sigh, flopping down onto the couch.

Jongin raises a brow, a smile still on his plump lips. "Would you do it again?-"

"Hell no!" I squeak. "Well… Not unless it’s with you." His eyes dance under the painfully bright lights. "Stop smirking, I take it back."

"Don’t worry." He chuckles, crossing his arms as he leans back against the vanity table. "You’ll be the first one I call next time too."

We’re called back up onto the stage before I can reply, but the smile I beam his way speaks volumes. However, nerves are plaguing my mind this time around. There’s no mistaking the silver hair that I saw in the crowd.

Just as I thought, when we are standing next to the other contestants, there he is. Front and center. I close my eyes with a deep sigh. What the fuck, man? Why are you everywhere?! Can I catch a break from him please? Please?!

Tension builds in my body, but then something cracks.

You know what—

I clench my fists. Fuck him. It doesn’t matter if he’s here or not; he’s no longer a part of my life. Why should I care?

My eyes don’t stray far from the judge and Jongin, even with the constant itch of Baekhyun’s stare. Take a picture, it’ll last longer, asshole. 

The minutes seem to drag on as the judge gives his big speech, listing the criterias and rubric for calculating the winner. A whole lot of gibberish that I have no interest in listening to; I hope Jongin is paying attention. The knowing look he gives me when we briefly make eye contact confirms it. Yep, I smile sheepishly. Sorry.

That damn ticklish sensation on my skin still hasn’t moved while the couple in 3rd place steps forward to receive their reward. I swear to the heavens, Byun Baekhyun—

Snapping my neck around, I glare right at him despite my heart dropping at the sight.

He stands in the front row, sticking out like a sore thumb from the rest of the crowd in his black hoodie and dark jeans. The only thing that makes him pop is his ever-silver hair… and the bouquet of flowers in his hand.

My heart races. Are those—

"And the winner is: Jongin and Riley!"

The crowd roars in excitement, everyone standing up to applaud us as the judge hands Jongin the trophy and a helper places a ribbon around my shoulders. I can’t help but beam at Jongin, both of us smiling wide enough for our mouths to hurt later, but I don’t worry about that now. This is our moment. I throw my arms around him, laughing loudly when he sets down the trophy to spin me around in the air. 

"We did it!" I wrap my arm carefully around his neck, pumping my fist in the air.

Jongin sets me back down, keeping his arms loosely around my waist. "You," He plants a kiss on the top of my head, "did it."

I can’t erase the smile on my face or the glee in my heart even if I tried. My eyes glance back out at the crowd while he goes around congratulating the other contestants, immediately locking onto those soul-sucking, puppy brown eyes. Half a year later and his eyes never fail to make me feel nothing and everything all at once. But I won’t let that define me: I’m not Baekhyun’s woman anymore.

Spectators in the crowd around him are buzzing with energy, dancing to the outro music they are playing overhead while he continues to stand stock-still, his brown eyes focused on me. 

My mind drifts for a second, imagining what it would have been like to be standing up on this stage with him, winning the competition with him by my side. I acknowledge it, let my mind have its little reminiscing moment—and then nip it right in the bud.

I don’t want to live a life of 'What ifs?’ anymore—I want to experience those 'Why nots?’ instead.

I sense Jongin before he steps closer, his chest brushing against the back of my arm. "Are you ready to go?" He asks, his lips grazing my ear.

I continue to lock eyes with Baekhyun, laughing inwardly at the unreadable expression on his face and the lack of a sparkle in his eyes. And when that tall raven from months ago runs to pull him into a hug, my gaze doesn’t waver from his in the slightest. "Yes." I turn my back on him and rest my hand on Jongin’s bicep with a swirl of my hips, peeking at him from under my eyelashes.

He smiles down at me, understanding dawning in his eyes. We link our arms together while walking backstage and out of the stadium.

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  P(1) P(2) | Part 4 P(1) P(2) | Part 5 P(1)  P(2) | Part 6 P(1)  P(2) —– P(3)  P(4) —– P(5)  P(6) ✓ ||| ♬♩♪♩ FINALE P(1)  P(2)

A/N: Team Jongin or Team Baekhyun? After that dance practice scene, my heart is stuck somewhere in between 💔

Hiya! Long time no see (^-^)

I don't have much to say ahh (>.<) my brain is fried. The emotions in this chapter came from a week of sleepless nights and a marathon of Doja Cat's Planet Her <3 I still got 10 scenes to finish up before Six Phases will be completed. This isn't the end! Just the best cliffhanger I could do with a 100+ page doc (thanks to my nearsightedness. font-size 16 is a lifesaver)

I might suddenly drop the Finale out of nowhere :'D everything depends on Riley~

Thank you so much for reading and supporting this story!! 🥺🥰🌸💗 Writing this baby (haha) is my favorite thing to do and to share it with all of you means the world to me <333 Alright, I'll stop being mushy. Have a great weekend, lovelies! See you as soon as the Finale is done~

Happy two years of Un Village & city lights!!

Thank you endless Baekhyunee for inspiring me. I wouldn't be here without you ❤️

#baekhyun angst #baekhyun romance #baekhyun fanfiction #bbh-net #baekhyun #Team J or Team B? #Six Phases

[cuquitalocita]

kids and car rides- feysand

AN: hi yes hello there- again, it’s been a hot minute since i’ve written anything so here’s something i’ve been pushing myself through for these past couple of days. this is my first time writing feysand so i’m sorry if this sucks- i have to wake up for school in... five hours... so... yeah. if there’s any typos or the plot is kinda... ?? just... cut me some slack :) anyway, hope you enjoy!

part two

~~

Feyre was going to murder her boyfriend.

No- mutilate was more like it. How and where were truly her only thoughts as she glanced around her at the full bleachers of screaming students covered in black and blue face paint. 

Dating Tamlin Hybern had been nice at first- surreal if anything. When the star lacrosse player had taken an interest in the quiet girl at the back of the class who spent her free time in an art studio, Feyre had been flattered. He had asked her out in between classes a few months ago and Feyre had managed to stutter out a blushing, yes, still reeling that the handsome blonde had even noticed her. 

But her relationship was dull and boring, lacking in color, and gods, Feyre needed to end it. 

Tamlin had dragged her to the football game, practically begging on his knees for her to come with him. Feyre had relented, not even having enough time to shower after her art class before Tamlin was picking her up. But the second they had pulled up to the school and gotten out of his truck, Tamlin had disappeared with Lucien and left her in the bleachers with nothing more than a kiss on the cheek and a promise to find her later. 

It left Feyre seeing red. The crowd raged around her as the Bats scored a touchdown, and Feyre glanced at her phone. Shit. It was seven-thirty, meaning Nesta had already left on her date with Tomas, leaving Feyre without a ride home. Elain was out with her friends, actually enjoying her Friday night as a teenage girl should, and Feyre was left alone and ready to leave. 

She had been at the game for thirty minutes, in which the sun had gone down, blanketing the sky in a twilight full of stars. Feyre would stay if only to watch them a little longer- her favorite thing to paint. But as the crowd raged again, Feyre stood up from her spot on the bleachers and began pushing her way through the crowd and back to the parking lot, ready to walk home. It was only a few miles, really, and she had her sneakers on. She could manage. 

“Feyre!” A kind voice broke through her thoughts before she was halfway through the crowd, and she turned to see the familiar face of Morrigan from French class. 

Feyre’s lips turned up into a smile at the sight of the girl and her racing heart calmed a little as Mor came closer, stopping in front of her. 

“Hey, Mor.”

“What are you doing here? I thought you hated football.” Mor’s question was innocent, lacking the judgemental tone that most people would have added on. 

“I do,” she snorted. “But Tamlin wanted me to come, so here I am.” 

Mor’s smile turned down at the mention of her boyfriend. The girl had never tried to hide her dislike for Feyre’s boyfriend, even if the two of them weren’t very close and although she should have been offended, Feyre relished in her honesty. “Either way, I’m ready to go. See you Monday, Mor.”

“Wait, do you need a ride?” Feyre smiled, shaking her head at her easy kindness. She knew she liked Mor. 

“Thanks, but it’s really fine. I only live a few miles down the road- I’ll be fine to walk. Besides, we’re not even halfway through the game. Stay.” Mor bit her lip, clearly deciding whether or not to pick a fight, but Feyre fixed her with a look that eventually had her sighing. 

“Ugh, fine. But text me when you get home. Who knows what kind of creeps are wandering around here.” Feyre nodded, squeezing Mor’s hands in thanks, and left the bleachers, stopping only when she was back in the student parking lot.  

She pulled out her phone, remembering that she came here with her boyfriend. 

>> Hey wasn’t feeling well. Getting a ride home from Nes. 

It was five minutes before he responded. 

<< sure thing- see you later babe

Feyre scoffed, shoving her phone into her back pocket. Unlike Mor, he had not asked her if she was okay and to text him when she was home safe. She had told him that Nesta had a date too- which he obviously hadn’t been paying attention to. 

Ready to start walking, Feyre patted her pockets, looking for her ID, just in case anything happened, only to find them empty. 

“Godsdamn it,” Feyre muttered under her breath, realizing she must have forgotten her wallet back on the bleachers. Turning back to the field, Feyre almost tripped on her own feet when she heard a little voice behind her say,

“That’s a bad word. And my mommy says you shouldn’t say bad words.”

 Spinning back around, she was surprised to see a little girl- no older than six staring up at her and twisting her little fingers together. Her jet black hair was pulled back into two short ponytails and Feyre swore she was one of the cutest things she had ever seen. Bewildered, Feyre stared for a moment before shaking her head. 

“Uh- yes. You’re right- I… I shouldn’t have said that. And neither should you.” The little girl just continued to look at her in silence, causing Feyre to raise her brows. Who was this girl? And why was she by herself? What kind of parent left a little girl alone at a high school at almost eight o’clock?

“What’s your name? Are you lost?” 

“My mommy says I shouldn’t talk to strangers.” At that, Feyre smiled a little bit. She bent down, putting her weight on her knees so she was eye level with the girl, and mustered up her friendliest smile. 

“That’s very smart of her. Well, how about this?” Feyre stuck her hand out to the girl who eyed it warily but didn’t back away. “My name is Feyre. I go to school here. There, now we aren’t strangers anymore.” 

The girl’s eyes widened and it was then that Feyre noticed their unique color, unlike any she had ever seen before. Her eyes were a beautiful violet, and in the reflection of the moon, she swore she could see stars in her eyes. 

The little girl took her hand, practically dwarfed from the size of Feyre’s, and she gave Feyre a small smile that had her melting just a bit. 

“My name is Thebe,” she finally said, her voice small. 

“Well Thebe, are you lost?” She nodded, looking at the ground. Feyre gently took her small hand, forcing the girl to look at her, and smiled again. She could see small tears beginning to form in the little girl’s eyes. 

“Hey, hey, don’t cry. I’ll help you get back. Who are you here with?” 

“My brother,” she responded, and Feyre clenched her teeth. What kind of brother left his little sister alone? With all the fighting she did with Nesta, Feyre knew her sister would never have left her alone in a public place, let alone at night. Once again, Feyre was seeing red. 

“Okay then. Is he at the football game?” Thebe nodded, and Feyre deduced that she must have snuck off into the crowd, bored with the game. She couldn’t say she blamed her.

Taking the girl’s hand in her own and trying not to sigh when little fingers wrapped and her own, Feyre led the little girl back to the raging football game. 

“Do you think you can show me where you were?” Thebe nodded and gripped her fingers tighter, pulling Feyre through the bleachers, using her as a shield from the crazy teenagers. 

Feyre saw Tamlin through the crowd and quickly averted her gaze, focusing back on the girl in front of her until they came to a stop on one of the bottom bleachers. It was surprisingly empty, other than being filled up with athletic bags and water bottles. 

Feyre frowned, following Thebe as she sat down next to one of the bags and pulled out a small jacket that was clearly her own. 

“Thebe, where is your brother?” It was then that the little girl pointed out to the field. “Your brother is playing?” Thebe nodded, leaning her small head on Feyre’s shoulder, her hair tickling her neck, and Feyre admitted that maybe she could stay at the game a little longer, even if she would eventually have to deal with one of the loathsome jocks. But her blood still boiled at the fact that her brother had left her alone. Gods know what could have happened to her if someone else had found her.

“Why did you let me walk you back?” Feyre wondered aloud. Thebe shrugged. 

“You’re pretty. My brother says you can always trust a girl with pretty brown hair.” Feyre blushed, the compliment warming her to her toes. 

“I think you’re pretty too Thebe,” she whispered. 

It was only then that Feyre realized how cold it had gotten. She shivered, running the free hand that wasn’t around Thebe up her arm, which was barely covered with a paint-stained t-shirt. Thebe only reached into the bag in front of her and pulled out a much larger jacket, one with the familiar school colors. She handed it to Feyre, who quickly realized it was a varsity jacket. 

“This is your brother’s jacket Thebe. I can’t-”

“He would share.” Feyre fixed her with a look which Thebe returned with a more convincing one. “Trust me- he would.” Another shiver ran through her and Feyre, sighed, relenting, and shoved her arms into the jacket, immediately warmed. 

They stayed there for a while, watching the game in silence as Thebe began to doze off on her shoulder. Feyre hid her smile as the bleachers creaked, announcing that another person was coming to sit. She looked up to see Cassian Guerra lifting himself onto the bleachers, a carefree grin on his all-too handsome face. The football player’s hair was pulled up in a bun and Feyre vaguely remembered Nesta saying something about him. She doubted it had been positive. 

Feyre remembered Tamlin mentioning how Cassian had gotten injured and was out for the season. It was cool of him to come and support his team. 

His hazel eyes glanced over the little girl next to him and he grinned. 

“Hey, Thee, I thought you were with Az. New babysitter?” Feyre scowled and the little girl seemed to brighten as she looked at Cassian- then at Feyre. 

“New friend,” was all she said, bringing a smile to both her and Cassian’s faces. It was then that he truly looked at her, and a spark of recognition flashed through his eyes. 

“Hey, you’re-”

Cassian broke off as a buzzer sounded through the stadium and the crowd erupted into cheers. He was grinning at her, and Feyre managed back a small smile as Thebe shoved her head into her shoulder. The crowd began emptying out, and Feyre turned to Cassian, meaning to ask what she should do with the little girl. Not that Feyre was too eager to part from her. But he had vanished, finding somewhere else to be, and Feyre huffed, waking the little girl. 

“Alright, I think it’s time we found your brother.” Feyre got up from the bleachers, taking the little girl down to the field where most of the players were still talking to each other and clanking helmets. “Okay, tell me when you see-”

“Rhysie!” 

Feyre’s heart dropped into her stomach as she realized who the little girl was pointing at. Because not ten feet from her, looking impossibly attractive in a way that shouldn’t be possible after sweating for two hours straight, was the bane of her existence. With his jet black hair and twin eyes to Thebe’s, he looked like a god made man. 

“Your brother is Rhysand Knight?” Feyre practically screeched at the little girl holding her hand. 

Thebe nodded excitedly as Rhysand jogged over to his little sister who had quickly abandoned Feyre’s hand and met him halfway. He scooped her up into his arms easily, the grin on his face much too gorgeous for a high school boy, and Feyre grit her teeth. 

Maybe it was just her, Feyre realized, that had to have some sort of connection with the most popular boys in school while managing to remain in the background herself. Rhysand was the captain of the football team and unsurprisingly, loved by most of the people in the school. If he wasn’t so infuriating, Feyre may have even liked him.

But from debating her points in English class to attempting to speak to her afterward, Rhysand Knight was nothing more than a massive pain in Feyre’s ass. A handsome pain, coincidentally, but Feyre refused to acknowledge that at the moment.

“Hey Thee,” he smiled, placing the girl down. “Enjoy the game?” 

It was only then that he noticed Feyre standing behind his sister. It seemed that widening eyes ran in the family, as Rhysand did the same thing his sister had as he gazed at her. 

“H-hey,” he stuttered, the sound strange coming from his usually smooth lips. “Feyre, right?” 

She awaited the inevitable words that always came after the sentence. Tamlin’s girlfriend, right? 

“From English. With Suriel?” Feyre started in place. So he had remembered her. 

But as Thebe ran up to her and tugged at her hand, Feyre ignored the flipping of her heart in her chest at his nervous smile. Instead, she nodded, her movements jerky and final as she arched an angry brow at him. 

“Did you enjoy the game?” he asked, smiling casually again. Feyre huffed. 

“I would have enjoyed it a lot more if I didn’t have to worry about something happening to your sister. I found her wandering around alone in the parking lot,” she snapped. 

Rhysand frowned, glancing at Thebe quickly before looking back at her, pinning Feyre in place with his gaze. 

“What are you talking about? I left her with Cassian and Azriel. They’re like brothers to her and they were watching her the whole time.” Feyre fixed him with a look that said they clearly weren’t and Rhysand’s gaze turned frustrated as he seemed to realize what had happened. 

He sighed, kneeling down until he was eye level with his sister who seemed to be looking everywhere but at him. The sight brought a small smile to Feyre’s face. 

“What did I say about running off Thee? And what did Mom say about talking to strangers?”

“But she said her name is Feyre, like the one you and Cass and Az talk about all the-” Rhysand cut off his sister’s rambling with a playful hand over her mouth and Feyre could have sworn she saw bits of red dotting his cheeks. She pushed away from the thought of how cute she found it. 

“Alright, I think it’s past your bedtime you little menace.” Thebe narrowed her eyes and bit at her brother’s hand, causing him to leap back with a curse, earning an instinctual laugh from Feyre. 

His gaze snapped to hers, softening at her laughing face, and his own turned into a small grin that sent her heart fluttering. 

Shit Fey, you have a boyfriend. 

Her cheeks colored as she noticed Rhysand’s gaze conspicuously running up and down her body and she realized she still had his jacket on. Feyre cursed under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear as she fumbled for the zipper on his jacket. 

“Sorry, I was freezing. Here-” 

“No!” Rhysand cut her off and the blush returned to his cheeks. “I mean- it- you look- uh, you’re just gonna be cold again. Keep it- for now.” Feyre shook her head, unzipping the jacket and handing it to him.

“I should head home anyway. Good game.” She tried for a friendly smile. She had never given him one. Feyre leaned down until she was eye level with Thebe. 

“Thanks for being my game buddy,” she whispered. Thebe beamed, throwing her arms around Feyre’s neck. She hugged the little girl back and tried not to look at Rhysand, whose gaze she could feel on the two of them. 

“Feyre, do you need a ride? I saw Tamlin leave and didn’t know...” His voice rolled over the words like midnight and Feyre shook her head. 

“Thanks but I really don’t live far-”

“It’s going to start raining soon, and I’m not letting you walk home in the dark. Just take the gesture Feyre.” He sounded exasperated, running a hand through his hair. Her eyes narrowed.

“And what, Rhysand, makes you think I want anything from you?”

“Rhys.”

“What?”

“People call me Rhys. Especially people who let me drive them home from football games.” Feyre shook her head in disbelief. 

“Gods, you’re relentless, aren’t you?”

“It’s one of my best qualities darling,” he smirked. 

And there it was, that insufferable charm that had every girl at school drooling over him. Feyre couldn’t say she blamed them, even if it did slightly annoy her. She finally smiled, reaching over to cover Thebe’s ears with her hands. 

“Only second to being a prick?” 

“If I say yes will you let me take you home?” Feyre rolled her eyes and Rhys’ grin widened, both of them knowing she had long since relented. Rhys handed Feyre his jacket and she grumbled, shoving her arms through.  

“Give me a second to find my wallet, then I’ll meet you at your car.” Rhys practically beamed in triumph, scooping his sister back up in his arms and heading back to the parking lot. Feyre loathed admitting that she watched them until they were out of her line of sight. 

She sighed. It was those damn eyes. It had to be.

And it was because of those eyes that ten minutes later, Feyre sat in the passenger seat of Rhysand Knight’s jet black ford fusion. Thebe was in the back, kicking her feet to the beat of whatever song was playing on the radio- one that Feyre couldn’t hear over the pounding of her own heart, and Feyre eyed the little girl through her side mirror so not as to look at the boy beside her. She was keenly aware of the small amount of space between them.

Rhys drove safely, unsurprisingly through their small town, and Feyre gazed out the window until Rhys cleared his throat. She turned to him. 

“So… how are you liking Bronte so far?” Feyre frowned before realizing that he was talking about the book they were reading in English. The book he had argued with her about to no end. 

“I think you know the answer to that Rhys, considering you make it your business to disagree with me.” Surprisingly, the words held no bite to them, and Rhys smiled without taking his eyes away from the road. 

“Well, darling, if you didn’t make it so easy to disagree with you, maybe I wouldn’t have to.” Feyre gaped at him and it was purely instinctual as she reached over the center console and shoved his shoulder as if they were best friends that did it all the time. Gods, what was she doing? She hated him. Maybe.

But if Rhys was surprised by her actions, he didn’t show it as he let out a laugh. Damn, that sound would be staying with her. 

“Look, I’ll give it to Catherine-”

“If this ends with any Heathcliff support I will jump out of this car Rhysand,” she cut him off, tone deadly serious. 

“No!” Thebe called from the back, causing both of the teens to laugh, catching each other's gazes before Feyre quickly looked away. She couldn’t be more grateful for how dark it was in the car so Rhys couldn’t see the blush attacking her cheeks. 

“So, what brought you to the game tonight? Not that you don’t seem like that type of girl but you… don’t seem like that type of girl.” His chuckle sent goosebumps up her arm even though she was still wearing his jacket. Feyre fidgeted her fingers and gazed down at her lap as she shrugged. 

“Uh, Tamlin asked me to come so… here I am.”

“Here you are… in my car.” Feyre sucked in a breath, glaring at Rhys from the side of her eye. The rivalry between the two athletes was no secret, and Feyre had yet to figure out where it had originated.  

“It’s not like that, Rhys. He thought I left. I had… until I ran into a certain black-haired beauty.” Feyre smiled at the side mirror where she could still see Thebe singing along to the radio. Rhys finally smiled too. 

“That’s fair. I know I can be a lot to look at once.” Feyre shoved him again, both of them laughing, and Feyre questioned when her life had turned so off-kilter. 

“Shut up, prick.” She didn’t joke with Rhysand Knight. She didn’t even talk to Rhysand Knight outside of class. So what in the gods was happening?

“Turn here,” she directed, shoving herself out of her thoughts. Rhys obeyed, moments later pulling up in front of her dark house where clearly none of her sisters were home. They sat there in silence for what seemed like eons. Just… sitting there. 

“Well-”

“I-” 

The two laughed as they cut each other off and Feyre shrugged off Rhys’ jacket, shoving it into the open athletic bag next to Thebe, who grabbed her hand before she could pull back. 

“Are you leaving?” she pouted. Feyre gave her a kind, tired smile, and nodded. 

“Sorry Thebe, it’s past my bedtime. But I’m sure I’ll see you around, yeah?” The girl nodded excitedly and Feyre almost startled back when she turned to see Rhys looking at her with a strange expression on his face. 

“What?” Rhys shook his head as if erasing the thoughts.

“Nothing… you just… surprise me.” Feyre snorted, ignoring the blush that had risen to her cheeks. 

“Yes, well, my kid whispering does tend to floor men at times.” But Rhys didn’t smile, or say anything in return, leaving Feyre to raise her brows and clear her throat. “So, I guess it’s my turn to head out.” Feyre placed her hand on the door handle before turning back to the boy next to her. “Thank you. For the ride.” 

Finally, Rhys smiled, his eyes betraying something that looked almost like… anxiety. 

“Hey, Feyre?” The car door had just shut behind her when she heard his voice again.

“Hmm?” 

“Would you want to…” Rhys scratched at the back of his neck and Feyre arched a brow. 

“Would I want to…?”

“Uh,” he cleared his throat. “Go over art notes sometime?” Feyre frowned, fully turning back around and crossing her arms in front of her body to shield herself from the night chill.

“I didn’t know you were in art.”

“Yeah uh- new class.” Feyre nodded, tapping her foot on the ground as she stared him down. Rhys stared right back, clearly unsure of what her answer could be. And she couldn’t help it as a small smile graced her face. 

“I’ll think about it,” was all she said. “Goodnight, Rhysie.” 

Feyre laughed at the sound of Rhys banging his head on the steering wheel and approached her house once more, using her phone flashlight to find the spare key Nesta had hidden somewhere. It was for that reason that she was still outside when Thebe’s little voice spoke to her brother. 

“I like her hair. With the colors. She looks like a princess.” A frown graced Feyre’s lips once more as she subtly inspected a strand of her hair, wondering what the child was talking about. Sure enough, the strands crunched under her fingertips and Feyre had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming in embarrassment.

Of course, Feyre had forgone taking a shower before going to the game. And of course, she had been using her last period of the day as a free period in the art studio. And of course, she had mistakenly dyed her hair with acrylic paint that she had now kept while being in a car relatively alone, with one of the most attractive boys in school. Not that she cared about that, of course. 

Cheeks burning, Feyre finally found the key and rushed into her empty home, wishing for nothing more than a black hole to swallow her whole in her embarrassment. 

But if only Feyre had waited; had paused for more than a moment or tried to hear over the raging sea of emotions inside of her head, she would have heard Rhys’ dazed voice speaking words she wouldn’t even conjure up in a dream. 

“Yeah. Yeah, she does.”

~~

hope you liked it :)

#feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #acotar #morrigan #a court of thorns and roses #sjm #feysand fic

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 3-1: 海水与火焰 Seawater & Flames Translation

“The flames of the sunset flicker within your orbs; and the leaves flutter, falling upon the water surface that is your soul.”

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *CG Image used with permission from 蓝咕咕 ☆ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

Brother Mao: It's soooo god-damned hot out today! A new coffee shop opened down the east street with huge grand opening sales. Come on, come on, everyone grab your share!

Brother Mao had just returned to the office after completing his out of office assignment. He didn't even have a minute to spare to put the bag of goodies down, only wiping his sweat before giving said goodies out to everyone.

MC: Thank you, Brother Mao!

Brother Mao waved his hand in dismissal and threw the neatly folded plastic bag into the bin, only for his eyes to suddenly stop on the handle of the door. He incredulously widened his eyes.

Brother Mao: Since when did our door handle get all fixed up?

Li Man'man: No idea. It was already fixed when I came in in the morning.

Hao Shuai: Sister Zheng Lin, did you nag at the administrative department for this?

Zheng Lin: She fixed it. I saw her fiddling around with it when I clocked in this morning.

Zheng Lin retrieved her documents from the photocopier and jerked her chin at me.

Brother Mao: So this is our beloved heroine of the day! Do humbly pardon me!

MC: I'm the one who broke it after all. Plus, it didn't take that long to fix anyway.

Brother Mao poked his head in front of me, curiously twirling the sleeve of the formal dress I was currently fixing up and doing corrections on.

Brother Mao: You're changing it up that much again? You don't have to reply to me, but you're adding these butterflies? That's real creative! ...And they're all made of twisted metal wire?

MC: Yeah. I started out using soft tulle mesh, but it was all droopy and didn't seem very nice for wings that are supposed to look powerful and lively.

Brother Mao: Now not only does this give it a dynamic feel, but also brings about a romantic yet cruel one!

Brother Mao: Not bad, not bad! Keep at it, and you'll definitely be able to finish fixing it up before next week!

MC: But the Deadline got brought forward… She's going to be doing the fitting tomorrow morning, so I have to finish it by today...

Brother Mao: No way! Don't tell me it's that agent again...

He glanced around, checking that no one had their attention turned to us, before leaning down to my ear.

Brother Mao: I asked around about it earlier, and I heard that the agent has a pretty foul temper.

Brother Mao: Not just to the staff, but her daughter as well. She'll start scolding people at the drop of a hat, even if they did nothing!

It felt as if I could hear the piercing and horrid lashing from that day resounding in my ears again. Her words had been ingrained into my very brain like a needle stuck into a pincushion.

Brother Mao: Geez, Lin Yao's such a brilliant kid. What's there for her to be so unhappy about?

Brother Mao: My mom always told me not to blame myself, and that health always comes first, whenever I fail the promotion. She even said that if I couldn't make it big, then I could just go back home and she'd raise me.

MC: I don't know either. Maybe all these feelings we take for granted come on a conditional basis for her, I guess.

He'd stared at the table and spaced out for a long while. It was almost as if he'd retreated into his memory palace as his expression turned a little sad.

Brother Mao: I'll help you twist them into shape too. Just treat it as my way of thanking her for helping us get out of the pickle we found ourselves in that day.

MC: Okay.

Time passed silently, and it wasn't till nightfall that we finished our work. The office had already cleared out a long time ago, and sporadic stars glimmered in the ink-blue sky up above.

Brother Mao: Done!

I nodded at him in gratitude and kept the now completed dress away. That was when a message notification popped up onto my phone screen.

Housing Agent: Miss (Y/n), don't forget that we're supposed to sign the agreement today at 8 PM. Be there or be square!

Brother Mao: What's wrong?

MC: I'm supposed to go check out the new apartment I'm getting with my agent at 8 PM today, and sign the agreement if all goes well.

And the time displayed on my phone right now was… 7:28 PM.

MC: I should run! Thanks for today, Brother Mao! I'll treat you to food next time!

Grabbing my bag and my work ID, I made a mad dash downstairs.

❖☆———————————★❖

I thought that I'd make it there right on the dot if I'd left now, but who knew that the taxi-hailing app had 80+ people waiting in line! Seeing as how the app wasn't an option anymore, all I could do was to run to the nearest taxi stand.

MC: Why's it not here yet…?

I paced back and forth at the stand, but no taxi ever made an appearance. Just as my anxiousness was about to reach a tipping point, a black sports car drew to a stop before me. The car's windscreen slowly rolled down.

MC: ...Evan?

Evan: Waiting for a ride? Headed somewhere?

MC: Yeah. I'm going to take a look at an apartment. The place I'm renting right now is too far from here, so it isn't terribly convenient.

Evan: Location?

MC: Guangqi-Century City.

He slightly inclined his head, glancing at his watch before getting out of his car and opening the door to the passenger seat for me.

Evan: Get on. I'll send you there.

★Night Choice: Turn him down

MC: No need. I'd be causing you too much trouble.

Evan leaned his arm atop the door of the car, beaming as he looked at me.

Evan: Not at all.

Evan: Besides, I don't have anything on tonight. On the other hand, you seem like you're in quite the rush.

Evan: It'll be bad if you end up late for it because you dawdled here.

His eyes were filled with such sincerity that it made me feel like I'd be doing him a disservice if I refused.

I eventually nodded, seeing as there was no way I could shimmy myself out of this without feeling bad about it.

MC: Thanks.

☆Light Choice: Accept his offer

I glanced back at the taxi stand. It didn't seem like a taxi was coming anytime soon. And I'd really be late if I didn't get a suitable ride soon…

MC: Thanks. Don't mind if I do then.

8 PM, right on the dot. We reached the entrance of the housing estate where the agent was already waiting.

MC: Here it is. Thank you for this! I'll treat you to a meal someday!

Evan: Sure.

❖☆———————————★❖

I hurriedly got out of the car as the two agents quickly rushed up to me upon seeing me.

Agent A: You have a good eye, Miss! This apartment's a hot favourite! 10 over people booked slots to come check it out the moment the listing went up!

Agent B: We've kept this apartment for you till now since you seemed especially keen on it!

Agent A: Let's get the contract agreement signed tonight if there are no problems lest it keeps you up at night!

MC: Sorry, but I'll still have to confirm with you again later. Let's go check the house out first.

Both agents sidled up side by side, enthusiastically explaining and introducing things to me on either side as they urged me forwards.

Thud.

The sound of a door closing behind me made me turn, only to see that Evan hadn't left, and had gotten out of his car.

MC: ?

Evan: I'll go with you.

The agents continued their endless stream of marketing chatter as they pointed out every selling point of the apartment.

Agent A: —And that's all from us. If you sign the agreement contract today, then we can persuade the landlord to give us a little discount...

MC: Okay, then I'll-

Evan: Sorry, but we'll think it through a little more. Could you recommend us some other apartments as well? Sorry about that.

I looked at him in surprise, but he gently shook his head. Hence, I calmed my initial excitement down and turned down their request to have the contract immediately signed.

❖☆———————————★❖

The night was already deep into the throes of darkness by the time we returned to the car park.

The riverbank was coloured with streams of yellow light from the streetlamps above in picturesque disorder. I could smell the refreshing scent of blooming greenery that hung in the air.

MC: Was something wrong with the apartment earlier?

Evan: I don't think you'd like to stay in an apartment filled with construction noises, yes?

MC: But I didn't hear anyone renovating anything?

It was only after the words left my mouth that I realized something.

MC: Oh, right. It's nighttime right now, so all the construction workers should be off work by now… Still, how did you know?

Evan: I noticed that there were paint stains at the edge of the neighbouring apartment's door frame upon entering, and it looked rather fresh too.

Evan: Plus, that housing estate was built 10 years ago, yet the elevator has its interiors boarded up with temporary protective boards.

Evan: So, I'd garner that the neighbouring apartment's most likely, not the only one undergoing renovation recently.

MC: I'd never have realized if you didn't point it out…

Evan: And adding on to that, I observed the surroundings a bit when we entered the housing estate and the security personnel stationed nearby seemed rather sparsely spread.

Evan: So it wouldn't be too safe for you to be staying here alone.

MC: Yeah…

Evan continued talking about the pros and cons of the apartment as the enchanting lights from above reflected in his eyes, melding into the smile that wavered within.

MC: You're so knowledgeable when it comes to this. Did you rent an apartment before?

Although, for someone with his family background, he shouldn’t ever need to rent an apartment on his own.

However, Evan nodded, affirming my suspicions.

Evan: I’ve rented a couple of places for my company back when I was in university.

MC: You mean, the company you founded back when you were studying in Lordton?

Evan: You know of it?

MC: I’ve heard of it before! It’s truly a legendary tale!

Evan: Looks like I’ll have to personally clear up the rumours for you then. It wasn’t exactly a smooth experience.

Evan: I, too, encountered a great many difficulties that I hadn’t thought of before during my first time renting an office.

Evan: For example, unreliable agents. The relevant renting procedures never came to pass for a long time due to that.

Evan: Hence, the office wasn’t ready even if all the employees were already in place.

Evan: And another example would be poor property management, with robberies aplenty as a result.

Evan: Also, I had no choice but to take drastic action and relocate the entire office to a new location since I hadn’t initially considered office expansion.

MC: Wow, I never knew that starting a business would be so hard. You’re amazing to have done it!

❖☆———————————★❖

Suddenly, my phone vibrated.

[Guangqi Rental] Whole apartment for lease. Felin Avenue, 199 Street. 1 bedroom and 1 living room. [Guangqi Rental] Whole apartment for lease. Changle Heights. 1 bedroom and 1 living room.

It was the agent, recommending me a couple more apartments.

[Guangqi Rental] How about any of these?

MC: Now that's way too many…

Evan: You can forward them to me if you don't mind. I can check them out with you.

Evan: I might not be very experienced in this, but nothing will go wrong with having another person to think it through with.

MC: Thank you, Evan.

The night breeze blew past, gently ruffling the loose hairs that had fallen out of place in front of Evan’s forehead.

Evan: We've been talking for so long that I forgot that it's already 9 PM. Are you hungry? Do you want to eat anything?

MC: I said I'd treat you! How about we do it now?

MC: Is there anything you'd like to eat?

Evan: Just pick anything you want to eat. I'm fine with anything.

MC: Don't say that! I'm going to need a proper answer from you today.

Evan: Alright then. I'd prefer for it to be something cooling, if possible.

MC: Hmm… Something cooling?

I glanced around, my eyes sweeping past the signboards of teahouses, food stalls, fast food outlets… until it finally stopped on an old and aged sign that stood not too far away.

MC: I know! Wait for me for a while!

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: Auntie! Can I get two servings of red bean ice and two servings of fruit soup?

Many customers surrounded the small shop. The owner stirred the pot of soft red beans, filling the air with a delectably rich scent of sweetness.

Due to the auntie being the only one manning the store, the demand for the red bean ice far exceeded the available supply. Hence, I had to wait for quite a while before my order finally got done.

Just as I happily took the icy delights from her, the pitter-patter of rain sounded from behind.

The rain came down hard and vicious.

The raindrops that pelted against the roof were akin to silver metal wires, trapping me within the confines of the narrow eaves.

With no other option in sight, I held the two cups of icy treats to my chest using my wrist and freed a hand to shoot Evan a message to inform him of my predicament.

However, before I could fish out my phone… a silhouette had come to a stop before me. He put the umbrella away.

MC: I was just about to ping you. What are you doing here?

Evan didn’t say anything, only smiling gently as he took the icy treats from my arms, quietly standing by my side.

Evan: The rain should cease soon. Let's wait together.

MC: ...Okay.

The curtain of rain secluded us in our own little world, and the puddles, reflecting the neon lights of the signboard above, rippled from the night breeze of summer.

And like a domino effect, this soft and gentle ambience made our moods calmer and much more relaxed in turn.

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 2-24 Light) / (Chapter 2-24 Night) | Next Part: (Chapter 3-3)

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #萧逸 #Osborn #齐司礼 #Sariel #陆沉 #Evan #查理苏 #Charlie #夏鸣星 #Jesse #For Light and Night

[crybabyjam]

ship: todochako 

rating: g

length: 3k

summary: Todoroki picks up hitch-hiker!Uraraka.

c/w parental death (past), joking about murder

deleted from twitter, written for a former friend

---

The sun beats down heavy as Ochako tightens the straps of her backpack. In it was three changes of clothes, some stale bread, her dead phone.

It was only mid-morning but already she was sweating her absolute ass off.

She runs her fingers through her choppy hair, uneven on one edge because she hadn't had a mirror when she'd taken a rusty pair of scissors to them. Now she wishes she'd just shaved it all off, if only to save herself from a sweaty, overheated neck now.

Her parents had loved it when she'd had long hair.

Ochako remembers how her mom would wash the long strands for her every weekend, even when Ochako huffed and puffed and said she could do it herself.

Her mom always took the time to wash it gently, and condition with something sweet smelling— "Because a sweet girl like you deserves sweet hair, too."

And how her dad would braid it every time she visited, even when Ochako would have to undo it the next day. He would take his strong, worker's hands and lift each length of hair carefully so that he didn't tug on her tender scalp.

Now that they were gone, Ochako didn't see the point in keeping her hair long. It just slowed her down. It just made her /sad/.

She sighs, and steps out of the way when a car plows through a puddle right beside her.

Her legs get soaked, but it isn't anything worse than the day prior, when a truck had soaked her from head to toe.

Ochako just sighs and brushes the muddy water droplets from her already dirty legs.

It's a good thing she was out of socks, or else she'd have to start worrying about her shoes molding at this point.

She's just begun kicking her shoe off, to finish the rest of the trek up to the next city barefoot, when a car pulls up to a stop beside her.

"Are you alright?" A low voice asks, to her left. Ochako startles and twists on her heel.

She almost ignores it, because cars like that didn't stop for hitch-hikers like her.

But the car follows her a few more feet as she slows to a stop.

When she looks over her shoulder, confused, the man in the car tilts his head at her and nods.

"Are you alright?" He repeats. "I saw you get wet."

"Ah!" Ochako yells, and then lowers her voice. Geez, where are your manners, Uraraka? "I'm fine! Sorry."

The man blinks, and Ochako belatedly notices that he has the most stunning, grey eyes. Like darkened silver.

"Why should you be sorry?" He asks with a frown.

And then, he shakes his head.

"Do you need a ride? It's dangerous to get in a stranger's car, but you shouldn't walk around barefoot. Glass would hurt." He pauses, and then adds. "Probably less than murder, but I promise not to murder you."

Ochako is speechless.

But not speechless enough not to /laugh/ at the absurdity of the stranger.

She feels it bubble up in her chest like boiling water, and it floats out of her ugly, like when a pot spills the water and burns on the stove burner.

The man just watches, silent, as she wipes tears from her eye and keeps on laughing. He just leans against the steering wheel and waits patiently, face completely deadpan.

He's /serious/, and that just makes it funnier.

She gasps for breath as she leans against his car, one shoe falling to the pavement and skipping beneath the undercarriage, shit.

Ochako's laugh starts up again as she drops to her knees to retrieve it.

When she comes back up, knees blackened by sidewalk dust, and hands darkened by asphalt, the man is smiling. Just barely.

"I guess murder /would/ hurt more than stepping on glass." She agrees. "Depending on the type of murder."

He murmurs the words underneath his breath, eyebrows furrowing.

"You're right," he says, troubled.

She leans into the rolled down window, arms crossing to hide the ripped hem of t-shirt.

"You sure you /promise/ not to murder me? I kind of need my life."

Well. All things considering, it was pretty much all she had left. She couldn't exactly afford the house after her parents died. They hadn't been able to finish the down payments, and none of them (including Ochako) had enough savings to keep her afloat.

So, hitch-hiking. Walking to nowhere and hoping for more.

A few miles in an air-conditioned car was more than what she had, so she'll take it.

The man turns serious, though. The smile wipes off of his face— not replaced with a frown, but replaced with another deadpan look. He nods his head, making eye-contact the entire time, and says,

"I promise not to murder you."

Well.

He promised, at least. Ochako still had a little bit of mace in her pocket, if she needed it.

So she gets in the car.

---

His name is Todoroki Shouto and he has an open duffle bag of yen, two pillows with embroidered pillowcases, a shattered phone, and a half-full photo album in his backseat.

Ochako stares at the photo album instead of the other three things, because she definitely does not want to get murdered, thank you very much.

He was a cute baby. Two-toned hair from birth, and big eyes that only had one expression: wide. Ochako traces her ragged thumb nail across one of the pictures, where he's covered in cake frosting at his second birthday, and accidentally creases the polaroid image.

She hurriedly flips the page.

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm fine," Ochako mumbles, ignoring her tummy which immediately begins to grumble in argument. She flips another page to muffle the noise, and comes across more empty pockets than full ones.

From the way there's the edge of one polaroid still caught in one of the slots, Ochako assumes that they used to be just as full as the rest.

She flips to the back, and a roll of film flops into her lap.

"Do you even still have a camera for this?" Ochako asks, holding the strange, almost novel-looking thing up to the waxing light of the returning sun. Then she brings it back down to the shadows in case that might ruin the film inside, oops.

"At home," Todoroki says, low. Her shoes are in his lap, because he wanted her to have more room to look at the photo album. Ochako had tried to just place them on the floor of the car, but he looked so earnest in his offer that she hadn't been able to say no without feeling bad.

Besides, she had a feeling he was pretty harmless. Weird, but who wasn't?

"Oh, are you moving or something?" Ochako asks, and then immediately grimaces at the invasion of privacy. "I mean… 'cause of the stuff in your backseat."

"Moving…" Todoroki repeats, focusing on the road. They're driving slow enough that almost everyone passes by them, but Ochako got pretty motion-sick so she appreciated it.

Todoroki leans back in his seat, both hands at the very apex of the steering wheel. It's outlined in a leather cover and is so shiny that it almost looks metallic. Expensive as fuck, probably.

Everything about him looked pretty expensive, actually. The car was brand new, from this year. Still had the new smell and everything.

Ochako was actually pretty glad he insisted on the shoe-thing, if only to prevent mud stains.

Although his pants /did/ look pretty designer. Ah, fuck.

"Yes," Todoroki says, after the long moments of silence. "I'm moving."

"Oh! That's… fun. That's fun!" Ochako nods.

Todoroki turns them off of the road, and pulls into a parking spot. Ochako blinks past the raindrops on her side of the window, and squints out at the illuminated signs.

A restaurant. Ah, /fuck/. Ochako pats her shorts for her wallet, as if she could even /pretend/ it had money in it. All it had was her ID (almost expired) and a coupon for leg waxing.

"Do you want to come in with me?" Todoroki asks, turning to her completely. The seatbelt gets caught, and it does that thingy it does where it locks and gets tighter until you take it all the way off. He doesn't seem to mind.

Ochako smiles, though even she can feel how strained it is. "Ah, I'm fine. I should probably go actually, but thank you for the ride. The rain should stop soon, so…"

"Oh."

Todoroki frowns, glancing at the arm rest between them. He's engaged the parking brake even though they aren't on an incline, and Ochako's smile relaxes to something more real.

"It was really nice to meet you," she says. "I'd give you my phone number but I kinda didn't pay the bill." (Since, uh, last year, but he didn't need to know that.)

"It was nice to meet you too," Todoroki says. "I can buy you food."

"Oh," Ochako parrots, dumbly. Her eyes dart to the yen-bag and she hurries to shake her head. "I couldn't—"

"I don't mind. It's my dad's money— and he hates me. And I hate him, so." Todoroki finally takes off his too-tight seatbelt and it rattles noisily as it smacks against the car door.

"I…"

Ochako isn't sure how to approach /that/ particular landmine. Nor is she sure how she's supposed to resist free food. When had she last eaten. Two days ago, or something? She'd kinda been ignoring it, but the walking helped.

Now that she's technically resting, she can feel her tummy about to throw a conniption.

Todoroki blinks his wide eyes at her as he waits, not making a move. His blinks are slow, like a cat, and his eyes flicker back and forth between her own.

She sighs heavily, but a grin is already parting her lips. "You're a strange one, Todoroki."

"Am I?"

"I don't have any money, so you have to pay for all of it," she warns.

"I will."

"And I eat a lot! I haven't eaten in a while."

"Okay."

"And… and I want my shoes back."

Todoroki hands her the shoes. There's mud residue on his pants and the bottom of his shirt.

But he has a small smile on his face as he watches her struggle to put her shoes on in the closed space, so maybe it was alright.

---

Shouto watches as Uraraka stuffs two donut holes in her mouth, licking away the powdered sugar that paints across her lips. It looks like snow when it dusts down to her shorts, and smears chalky residue on her thighs.

He hands her a napkin, and she blushes pretty like a sunset paints ocean water pink when it sets at night.

"Sorry for the mess," she says quietly.

"It's okay. Is it good?"

"It's good!" She wiggles in her seat, and it reminds Shouto of a really happy hamster. "Do you want some?"

She's very beautiful. Her hair is cut in a way he's never really seen before, but it frames her face nicely. He likes it more than his almost-bowl cut. Some of her hair tickles across her shoulder, but she ignores it as she holds a donut hole out to him with a toothpick.

She keeps holding it as he bites down on the warm, cooked dough. He'd never really been fed by someone before. Well, as a baby— sure. But he had a feeling this was different. Was it different?

Shouto chews thoughtfully, and Uraraka smiles at him. She doesn't seem to mind feeding him. She stabs another one with the same toothpick and holds it out for him again, one hand underneath to catch the crumbs.

"Yummy, right? Thanks for buying them! I'll…" She flinches, interrupting herself. Her smile dims a little, like she'd lost power. "I'd offer to pay you back but, uh… ahaha, you know?"

Shouto /doesn't/ know, but he nods anyway. "I can buy you more," he says, soft. "You can take them with you. When you leave."

She uses the toothpick to prod and poke at the remaining few donut holes. They roll in the leftover powdered sugar at the bottom of the box.

"I'll be alright. But thank you." Her eyes get watery at the bottom lashes, and Shouto frowns. "You've been really kind."

When she laughs next, it's thick like she's close to sobbing. Her voice is shaky. Shouto doesn't like it- liked it much better when she was laughing /happily/ instead.

"Thanks for not murdering me," she adds. "This is probably the most fun I've had in a while."

"You can stay. I can drive you anywhere you want."

"Oh!" Uraraka jumps in her seat, as if he'd yelled it. He hadn't really spoken any louder than before, but he clears his throat and speaks even softer anyway.

"We just met, but I can take you anywhere you need to go. And I have enough money for the both of us. I really enjoy your company."

They're pulled off at an empty lot near a supermarket. Somewhere off in the distance is a park. The children there are loud, voices echoing in the evening ambiance.

Uraraka looks out towards the noise, but he can see her swallow heavily.

"That's kind of dangerous, isn't it? We just met."

She says it like how she says other things that are meant to be teasing. He nods anyway.

"It is. You can drive, if that makes you feel better. Or you can sit in the backseat. I would have bought a bigger car if I knew I would meet you today."

She laughs again, starting with a snort and ending with a giggle. It makes his heart beat faster in his chest, and he isn't sure if he's nervous or happy to hear it.

"What if /I'm/ the murderer?" Uraraka stabs one of the donut holes and brings it up to her mouth. She smiles at him when he frowns, and then smiles wider when he shrugs.

"If it happens, it happens."

"/Todoroki/." She slaps her palm against her forehead and sinks down in her seat. "That's the most dangerous mindset I've ever heard."

"I'm sorry?" He glances down at her the further she sinks, but she doesn't seem particularly angry. It looks like she's fighting, but on the inside. "It's not that dangerous."

"It's pretty dangerous."

She brushes her legs clean. Sits up straight and looks out the window again. Her breath fans out across the glass, fogging it.

He rolls the window down for her, and she does that snorting laugh again.

"You're a funny guy, Todoroki."

"Am I?"

"You are." Uraraka shifts in her seat, to pull her legs cross-crossed. There's one donut hole left in the box, and she rolls it around a few more times before she pokes it with that same toothpick and shoves it in her mouth.

As she chews, she glares at him. Almost like she can't see him and needs glasses. He leans in closer so that she can find what she's looking for.

"You're funny in both ways. Weird… but you make me laugh."

She closes up the box, fitting the toothpick between her teeth so that she can absently chew on it.

"So you're… 'moving'," she says, finally. "- and I don't have a home anymore. Where would we even go?"

Shouto glances past the parking lot, at the semi-distant street that is starting to pile with traffic after a brief lull. But his eyes inevitably drag back over to her.

Uraraka stares back, cheeks pink. A small smile grows on her face. She runs her fingernail across the edge of the empty donut box. He'd have to figure out a place to recycle it if he could.

There are so many places they could go. Somewhere warm, towards a beach. Or somewhere quiet, with wide hills and short buildings. To a festival. To a shoe store.

"Everywhere?"

"/Everywhere/?" Uraraka shakes her head, exasperated. "What about when we run out of money?"

Shouto shrugs. Uraraka laughs again. Her hand drifts to the middle console, palm up, and Shouto watches it for a while.

Then she leans over to grab his hand. Her fingers are warm, rough at the tips but soft everywhere else. She would look pretty in nail polish. /Prettier/, rather- if it were possible.

He maybe had a crush on her. Was this what love felt like? Soft hands and warm smiles? He liked it.

"I-"

She interrupts by leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. It's soft, like a feather landing on snow. "Take me everywhere, then. And then I'll give you my answer."

Shouto, dazed, touches his fingers to his cheek. He forgets to stop holding her hand, so hers come along with it. She doesn't seem to mind. "Your answer?"

"On whether or not I'll stay," she says, cheeky. "So you'd better make it a fun ride."

Shouto squeezes his other hand down on the steering wheel, if only to keep his heartbeat in his veins so that the organ doesn't leap out of his chest and act a fool. He accidentally steps on the gas, and the car revs in protest.

Uraraka laughs again. She tightens her hold on his hand and pulls it back down between them. He squeezes it back.

And when they get back on the road again, fifteen minutes later, Uraraka has gone from laughing to singing loud to the radio and dancing in her seat. She's pure joy.

---

It stops raining, and the world feels brighter.

#todocha #todochako #bnha #boku no hero academia #long post #writing tag #fanfic

[hale-13]

Trapezius

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 27 Prompt 27 - Injured

Peter gazed out over the harbor forlornly, twisting his mask into knots in his lap. Normally he would really enjoy the view – the sun was setting in a clear sky turning the normally disgusting water a soft orange and painting the area with a soft warmth. The peaceful view was marred by the emergency vehicles, Coastguard boats and police and news helicopters which made Peter’s gut clench with anxiety. He just… he tried so hard.

Words: 2123, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker, Helen Cho

TW: Injury, Poor Emotional intelligence

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

Peter gazed out over the harbor forlornly, twisting his mask into knots in his lap. Normally he would really enjoy the view – the sun was setting in a clear sky turning the normally disgusting water a soft orange and painting the area with a soft warmth. The peaceful view was marred by the emergency vehicles, Coastguard boats and police and news helicopters which made Peter’s gut clench with anxiety. He just… he tried so hard.

The sound of repulsers approaching made Peter tense and he mentally put his walls back up. He couldn’t afford to let Mr. Stark see him as a kid right now. They were colleges when he was Spider-Man, peers. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it puff out through his clenched teeth.

“Previously on Peter screws the pooch I tell you to stay away from this instead you hack a multi-million dollar suit so you can sneak around behind my back doing the one thing I told you not to do,” Mr. Stark’s sarcastic voice said and Peter held back a flinch, keeping his expression blank as he cautiously looked back over his shoulder. His back was killing him and felt hot and swollen from his Hercules hold of the ferry earlier – he had definitely felt something tear – but he couldn’t afford the weakness right now.

“Is everyone okay?” He asked instead, keeping his voice monotone and trying not to tense his back.

“No thanks to you,” the Iron Man voice made Mr. Stark’s snide tone sound slightly metallic but, more than that, it made his blood boil and he whipped around to face the man.

“No thanks to me?” He took no precautions as he lifted his lefts over they side of the concrete tower and jumped down on the other side making his shoulders throb. “Those weapons were out there and I tried to tell you about it and you didn’t listen. None of this would have happened if you had just listened to me!” His voice broke and he could feel blood rushing to his face but he did his best to push down the embarrassment. “If you even cared you’d actually be here.” He threw in boldly.

It took him by surprise, therefore, when the armor opened in from of him and Tony Stark stepped out, a grim look of disappointment on his face that made Peter stumble back a could steps, unable to hide his wince of pain but playing it off as shock instead. “I did listen kid. Who do you think called the FBI huh?”

Peter dropped his gaze, unable to make further eye contact, only interrupting to correct his age and flinching again at Mr. Stark’s yelling. “I’m sorry,” he stammered, but he could tell the platitudes were only making his idol angrier so he said instead, with the most sincerity he could push into his tone “I just… I just wanted to be like you.”

“And I wanted you to be better,” Mr. Stark said back in a weary voice before asking for the suit back. Peter heart sank further but he got it. Mr. Stark was right – he didn’t deserve to be Spider-Man if all he did was hurt other people.

The car ride back to his apartment in Queens was silent and awkward, broken only by Mr. Stark and Happy leaving the car and throwing his a pair of hideous Hello Kitty pajama pants and an oversized New York tourist shirt. It took more effort than he would care to admit to slip the suit off of his painful muscles and lift his arms up high enough to pull the shirt on but he managed it.

Happy slipped back into the driver’s seat a moment later and raised the partition but Mr. Stark didn’t return as they pulled away from the curb and Peter’s heart sank further when he realized the man had probably taken the armor back to the Tower because he couldn’t bear to be in the car with Peter another minute. His eyes were burning but he refused to cry here – he’d already proven to be a problem and he wasn’t going to cry about his well deserved punishment.

The car stopped in front of his apartment and the locks on the doors popped but Happy didn’t roll down to partition to talk to him or offer any direction so, without a backward glance as his poorly folded suit, Peter slunk out of the car and upstairs.

May was not happy with him for skipping school and not answering his phone and, with the pain of his torn muscles ratcheting up and the emotional trauma of the day weighing down on him he collapsed onto the couch and tearfully confessed to his aunt that he had lost his internship, wanting to bring his arms up to return her tender hug but physically unable to do so. His only relief was that she directed him to take a shower pretty immediately because he smelled like garbage,.

And, yeah, he probably did.

The piss poor water pressure of their dingy shower was actually a blessing today but Peter could still barely stand with his back facing the hottest water possible hoping that the heat would relieve some of his pain but he was still just as painful when he forwent his sleep shirt a few minutes later.

He healed fast. This was fine – it would all be resolved in a few days.

———————————————

“Fuck,” Peter muttered, keeping his right arm tucked close to his stomach as he wrestled with the leukotape he had bought at the pharmacy. It kept sticking to itself and the wall and his hair and basically everywhere but where he was trying to stick it and Peter groaned, balling the piece up and throwing it away.

It had been a few months since dealing with the Vulture. A few months since turning down Mr. Stark’s offer to be an Avenger but accepting his offer to become his personal intern and Peter couldn’t be happier.

Well. Except for his shoulder that is.

His left arm had healed fully after straining his muscles holding the ferry together but his right had just gotten worse and worse and it was interfering with his ability to not only be Spider-Man but also to just perform everyday tasks. He hadn’t been able to lift much with that side or even put on a shirt normally in weeks and it was starting to grate on his nerves. After spending hours watching videos on YouTube Peter decided to try some strengthening exercises and taping.

Neither was working very well.

“Fuck,” he said again, with feeling, as he bent forward at the waist to rest his head on the cool counter top of his bathroom. He was supposed to get picked up by Happy in a few minutes to go and spend the weekend at the Tower with Tony to work on his suit and there was no way he could hide this anymore. He couldn’t even lift his arm up to chest level. His phone vibrated on the counter top and he moaned, answering it without looking at the caller ID. “Hey Happy.”

“Nope, guess again,” his mentor’s voice said and Peter jerked up, letting out a strangled grunt as he jostled his shoulder. “You okay kid?”

“Why are you calling me?” Peter said instead, deflecting.

“I’m picking you up,” Tony said. “Now are you okay?”

Peter waffled for a minute but one look at his duffle bag made him ache and he let out a sigh. “Not… really I guess.”

“What’s wrong?” His mentor’s voice was sharp and he could hear the sound of his seatbelt smacking the window of his car and the door opening and closing as Tony got out of the car.

“It’s not a big deal,” Peter said, going to the front door and unlocking and opening it just as Tony left the elevator, they made eye contact and hung up their phones.

“Well you look to be in one piece and there’s no blood everywhere,” Tony said as he joined Peter in the living room of his apartment and looked him over. “So what’s going on kiddo?”

Peter nibbled on his bottom lip and gripped his right hand into his shirt tightly for just a second before releasing it. “Remember the ferry?”

Mr. Stark was silent and attentive as he listened to Peter ramble and sighed deeply at the end of his story, reaching one hand up to massage his eyes. “You really don’t half-ass anything do you?”

“Do you actually want me to answer that?” Peter asked confused and his mentor rolled his eyes, grabbing Peter’s bag from where it was resting in the hallway.

“Come on then, you have a date with Dr. Cho and the MedBay.” Peter whined but didn’t overly protest when he was directed out of the apartment and down to where Mr. Stark had illegally parked in the fire lane in front of his building.

It was just some muscle straining right? A week or two of meds and resting it and everything would be okay.

“Well its not a strain,” Dr. Cho told him just over an hour later looking at the images of his radiographs and MRI on a holotable. “You’ve torn your rotator cuff and continually re-injured it to the point that its basically just a mass of scar tissue.”

“Oh…” Peter said, a little dazed from the small dose of painkillers he had been given so that they would be able to manipulate his arm for the images. “What does that mean?”

Helen gave him the same disapproving look she had been giving him since she had taken his history and had learned that he had been putting massive amounts of pressure and g-force on an injury that he had never allowed to fully heal. “It means Peter,” she said firmly shutting down the table, “that you’ll need surgery to repair the tear and clean out all the scar tissue. And you’ll need to give it time to heal and go to physical therapy if you plan to ever use your arm to its fullest extent ever again.”

Peter’s mind went a little blank at that. “Surgery?” He asked, a note of panic creeping into his voice. “But Spider-Man–,”

“Will be taking a break,” Tony told him. “Your health always comes first Peter.” He turned his attention back to Dr. Cho. “Can you tell his aunt all of this later? Also when can we do the surgery.”

“I’ve already got him scheduled for tomorrow morning with a specialist I’m bringing in from NYU,” she said. “And of course! Just let me know when she gets here.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Peter groused from his spot on the exam bed but both adults ignored him and he rolled his eyes. “What if I don’t want surgery?”

“Then you’ll be dealing with chronic pain, pion and needles, weakness and continuous tearing for the rest of your life and you’ll need a shoulder replacement in less than fifteen years at the rate your going,” Dr. Cho said, typing notes into his chart. “So I’ll see you in the morning for the surgery.”

Peter glared at her but, at the twinge in his arm when he adjusted in his seat, he grumbled “fine”.

“It won’t be that bad Underoos,” Tony said later as they sat on the ridiculously large couch in the penthouse living room watching Brooklyn 99 while May spoke with Peter’s medical team. “You get to skip school for the next week while you recover and I bribed Bob Igor to give me the next season of the Mandolorian early for us to binge.”

“But…” Peter gnawed at his lip, hating the taste of blood that filled his mouth as he broke open the tender skin again. “What if this doesn’t fix it?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Tony said with a smile. “Cho is the forefront in development in regeneration. If anyone can fix you it’ll be her. And May and I will be there the whole time. You have nothing to worry about okay?”

“You’ll be there?” Peter said, fiddling with a loose thread on his shirt and refusing to look up at his mentor.

“Of course I’ll be there!” Tony said warmly with a squeeze to his good shoulder. “You’re my favorite intern.” He teased.

“Thanks Mr. Stark,” Peter said sincerely, reading the unsaid bit and relaxing a little back in the couch. Between his pain meds and his full stomach he could feel his eyelids drooping and he decided to relax more fully into Tony’s side – there was no where he felt safer.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump27 #Prompt: Injured #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

[seagreen-meets-grey]

The Last Slide: Ch. 2

@feeisamarshmallow here is the second chapter ♥

Read on ao3

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Chapters: 1 2 3 4

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The smell of chlorine hit Jake’s nose as soon as he stepped through the front door of the Tropic Thunder Aqua Park. Following Amy to the information desk, he envied the little groups of people striding past him to the ticket window, bags slung over their shoulders, inflatable crocodiles and donuts and flamingos under their arms. Once this case was closed, he needed to find a free day for Amy, Mac and him to come back here. Or maybe to a different water park, one with less murder history.

Amy greeted the teenager behind the desk, flashing her badge and ID. The boy’s brows scrunched in momentary confusion, then he paled a few subtle shades. But when Amy mentioned his boss calling because of the case, his shoulders relaxed. Jake wondered if the boy had done something to assume they were here because of him, or if he was just nervous. The name tag on his orange t-shirt read Julius.

He picked up a desk phone and pressed a few buttons, relaying the information of their arrival. Then he fumbled with his hands and bounced on his heels. “Can I get you anything? A water? Dolphin-shaped cookies?”

Jake opened his mouth to ask for those, but Amy spoke before he could.

“No, thank you, Julius.” She offered him a sympathetic smile. “It must feel awful to be working right now.” The boy nodded, relaxing further and dropping down into his chair.

“It’s weird,” he admitted. “When I came to start my shift, there were crime techs everywhere. And they wheeled out a gurney with a black body bag. I thought this only happened on TV.” He shuddered, glancing off into his memories.

“Did you notice anything unusual lately, Julius?” While still smiling motherly, her tone was ever-professional. The kid was easy to trust her. A wave of pride welled up inside Jake. This was his wife.

Julius shook his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, Francesca said she saw the dead guy argue with Darius last week, but she also believes in yetis, so.”

“Who’s Francesca and Darius?” Jake asked.

“Francesca Roberts and Darius are lifeguards; they work here as pool attendants. I don’t know Darius’ last name, I’m sorry.”

“Did Francesca hear what the argument was about?”

Julius shook his head as behind him, a door opened and a tall middle-aged man with sandy hair and the body of a swimmer stepped through. He wore the same white shorts as Julius but his shirt was baby-blue, without a name tag.

With a polite smile, he reached out his hand over the desk. “Sam Kirkwell, I’m the head of Tropic Thunder. I spoke to your colleague on the phone this morning.”

Amy shook his hand. “Lieutenant Santiago of the 99th precinct, this is Detective Peralta. Is there anywhere we can talk more privately?”

“Of course.” Kirkwell waved them behind the desk and through the door he had just entered through. They walked through a small break room, then down a narrow, cream-painted hallway and into an office. Kirkwell sat behind the desk and gestured at the chairs on the other side, waiting for them to sit before leaning forward and folding his hands on the desk.

“Now how can I help you?”

They went over the details of the case, Amy taking notes rigorously while Jake painted a picture in his imagination, forming the scene, adding everything he’d already read in the file and everything Kirkwell told them. So far, the details added up.

The water park had opened at 9 in the morning. At 9:53, a man – Lars Pearson, 43 years old, Caucasian, warehouse worker – came out of the Disco, a popular water slide, with a poisoned dart in his neck. The first cops on the scene assumed he was hit before going down the slide, but security footage showed him happy, healthy, alive at the top. In the middle of the ride, he came through the funnel, but with the disco lights dancing around and no extra light source, the camera in there didn’t show enough to see the dart. No one followed him down in immediate succession, the next person started the ride once the victim had already been at the end.

Everyone leaving the water park since then had left their contact information. Witnesses could only describe that nothing had been out of the ordinary when Pearson had waited in line for the slide. Nobody had seen anyone with a blowpipe or dart gun. Pool attendants as well as camera footage didn’t deliver them any more information, either.

The victim had no family except for a bedridden father and a brother. Had come to the water park with two co-workers who could also not report anything unusual. No fingerprints had been found on the dart.

“I reopened the park, including the slide, about an hour ago,” Kirkwell continued. “Your people were already gone and the officers said there was no more evidence that had to be saved.”

Jake and Amy both huffed in annoyance. It was one thing to move the body if it otherwise floated around the pool. Any possible evidence left in the water slide, however, they could forget. Kirkwell didn’t seem to have thought that far ahead and whoever had given him clearance to reopen hadn’t either. But they would go and see what they could make of it.

“One more thing,” Jake said when Kirkwell was about to show them the slide, “Julius mentioned two pool attendants we’d like to talk to. Francesca Roberts and another one named Darius.”

“Darius Erickson, yes.” Kirkwell looked at his watch. “Francesca should still be around here somewhere and Darius is about to end his shift in a few minutes. I’ll have them wait in here.”

“Actually,” Amy held up a hand, “we’d like to see them before we inspect the slide.”

That didn’t seem to fit into Kirkwell’s plans, but he schooled his expression into a polite smile and nodded. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, Amy groaned. “How careless can you be?!” she grumbled. “Now we’ll have to investigate in-between a horde of civilians!”

Jake smirked. “You mean we’ll have to ride the slide to search for clues?”

“Seems like it.” She sighed in defeat but Jake was having none of it.

“Admit it, you want to. Otherwise, you’d just order Kirkwell to close the place until we’re done with the investigation.”

“We don’t even have our swimming gear and– You packed it, didn’t you.” He didn’t have to say anything, the grin on his face confirmed her assumption.

The door opened again a few minutes later and Kirkwell pushed a man and a woman inside. Before he could close the door behind himself, Amy turned to him. “We’d like to speak to them alone, please. Mr. Erickson, if you could also please wait outside while we talk to Ms. Roberts.”

“This is stupid, I already talked to the cops this morning, my shift is over! I want to leave, right now,” Erickson ranted but Jake just sternly gestured at the door. It was something he’d practiced a lot on Mac whenever he’d come out of his room before his tantrum-induced time-out had ended. Erickson reacted similarly while leaving the room, slamming the door behind him.

“Ms. Roberts, please sit,” Amy told the woman. She looked in her mid-fifties, had bleached hair with a gray hairline and her orange t-shirt looked a size too small. “We’ve been told you witnessed an argument between Mr. Erickson and Mr. Pearson last week. Can you tell us more about that?”

Roberts shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. When I left the building last Thursday after my shift, I saw Darius in a heated conversation with someone. I didn’t care because he’s been moody ever since his wife left him a few months ago. I only remembered about it when I saw the body…” She gulped. “It was the guy Darius argued with, I’m sure.”

Darius Erickson confirmed that not much later. “Fine, yes. I knew Lars. That son of a bitch is the reason my wife left me.” He was sitting on the edge of his seat, arms crossed in front of him. The light from the ceiling was shining on his balding head and the crease between his brows was thicker than Terry’s biceps. (So to speak. Jake wouldn’t want anyone to actually hold him to that.)

“I know what you’re thinking,” Erickson continued, “but I already told your colleagues this morning, I didn’t do it! I was late to work, my car’s in the shop, my brother drove me. When I arrived, cops were already here.”

Amy neatly wrote everything down on her notepad. “We’ll need your brother’s contact information, Mr. Erickson.” The man threw his arms up in the air with a huff. “We need to check your alibi in order to drop you as a suspect. We ask you to not leave the city and to be ready for more questions.”

For now, they couldn’t actually bring him in for anything yet. Jake hoped they didn’t need to. Not just because that would solve and end the case way too soon, but also because Erickson would be out and about as long as they didn’t have actual evidence to link him to anything.

After the pool attendant had left, Jake relayed the information to Charles, and by the time they were following Kirkwell through the water park, barefoot and pant legs rolled up, Erickson’s alibi had checked out.

The air inside was warm and humid, tropical, with no breeze to provide a little cooling. Kirkwell showed them where the body was found. The Disco slide ended into a small pool area which in turn was connected to a large non-swimmer’s pool. If the body had been left in here, it really would have been floating around the park by now.

People were coming out of the tube and splashing into the tiny pool every thirty seconds or so. The chlorine in the water should have tainted every bit of evidence so far. And since the murder must have happened somewhere between Pearson’s start and end of the slide ride, Jake absolutely saw no other way than to don swim trunks and bikini and start the investigation. For the sake of work.

Amy grumbled a bit about feeling unprofessional in her own bikini while at a crime scene, but Jake could tell she was looking forward to this. She’d been way too overworked lately. And even though they were basically going to enjoy themselves at the water park, they were still going to do their jobs. It was a win-win situation.

The first three rides, though, brought no new revelations.

(That’s probably because Jake didn’t exactly go to great effort. Amy said she wanted to first get a feel for the slide so she could concentrate on the important things. So same thing, basically.)

(She couldn’t fool him.)

The slide wasn’t bustling with people anymore, so a race up the stairs to the top – so they wouldn’t lose precious investigating time, of course – made absolute sense.

“Ha!” Amy exclaimed as she hit the wall first. Jake made sure not to slip on the tiles as he came around the corner not a second later, out of breath and beaming. “I get to ride first this time.”

She got ready in front of the slide, the water gurgling down the dark tube. The light was green, so she put her hands on the pole over the entrance, leaned back for momentum, and flung herself down the tube. She disappeared behind the first turn, her adorable cry of “wheee” echoing back up to Jake.

He positioned himself, head turned to the side to get a good look at the light. As soon as the red would turn green, he’d use all his strength to propel himself down the slide. But the light didn’t change.

A handful of people gathered behind him during the next minutes, waiting in line and growing increasingly impatient. Was the signal broken? Was Amy stuck somewhere down the slide? Did she somehow manage to hit her head in the funnel and now she was lying there, unconscious, and whatever motion sensor was waiting for her at the end of the slide was going to leave the light red for all eternity?

Okay, maybe he was being a tad bit dramatic. But when it came to his wife, he wouldn’t take any chances. (Plus, he was so eager to go again, and he would be careful not to crash into her and everything, right?) She was probably waiting for him downstairs and he was still up here, contemplating ignoring a red light.

He had to admit, it felt slightly weird to do just that, but then he was already gone. Gravity took him down the black tube, around several corners, water splashing in his face constantly. He wasn’t able to see much until he took a sharp turn and found himself in the funnel. Strobe lights and LED cones in plenty of different colors were dancing across the walls, highlighting the path to where the slide continued.

As Jake let the centrifugal force carry him through the funnel, he almost bumped into a pair of legs.

“Ames!” he called out in surprise, his voice carrying around the funnel. “There you are!” With his feet, he decelerated, coming to a stop. It was harder than he’d imagined to climb to Amy at the side of the funnel, the stream of water constantly tugging at his feet. Not to mention the slippery ground in general. “I thought you broke the slide when the light didn’t turn green.”

“I just don’t understand,” she mumbled, narrowed eyes inspecting every inch of the funnel. “How could Pearson get hit with a dart in here? The whole slide is a closed space.”

Jake had an idea. “Maybe the killer waited for him in here. And when Pearson thought he’d waited for the green light long enough, he went in, and when he came here, all the killer had to do was shoot the dart, wait a bit and follow him out at a safe distance.”

Amy shook her head. “That’s what I thought as well, but remember what Kirkwell said? The cameras didn’t show any unusual patterns right before and after Pearson came out. The intervals in which people went on the slide and came out on the other side were all on par with the usual 30 seconds, give or take. And anyone waiting in here would have been filmed, anyway.”

“When did you even have time to look at the camera feed?”

“While you took forever to change into your trunks.”

“There was a long line by the changing rooms!” he exclaimed and gesticulated, which was a mistake. He almost lost his balance, teetering on the spot, one hand against the wall, the other hovering near Amy to use her as a support pillar if necessary.

“Careful, babe.” She took a step, one foot slipping, but she caught herself.

“Let’s try this,” he said, grabbing her hand and bracing himself against the wall with the other. She did the same and, using the wall and each other for balance, they walked through the funnel to wherever Amy wanted to go.

When she reached her destination, she pointed upwards, to one of the light machines. “This one’s not visible from any angle the camera can take. Do you see a dart pistol attached or is the light playing tricks on my eyes?”

Jake carefully stood on his tiptoes, narrowing his eyes at the small black device above. It wasn’t easy seeing clearly with the multi-colored strobes darting around. “Nah, there’s nothing. And I squinted pretty hard.”

Amy let her arms fall against her sides. “Then I don’t get it.”

“He could have brought the dart himself. Maybe he rode the slide one too many times and went crazy from the strobe lights.”

“Then he went home to prepare a poisoned dart arrow, returned, rode the slide, and impaled himself while the lights were watching.”

“Exactly– no, wait, you’re mocking me.”

She nodded with a glint in her eyes. “I am. I am mocking you.”

“Well, I feel very insulted, now I have to go to the wave pool to treat myself. Maybe some fries after?”

And there was the eye-roll he’d been waiting for. “Jake, we’re still working – okay, now you’re mocking me.”

He grinned and leaned over to kiss her, staggering a little but catching himself in time.

“Very professional, Peralta.”

“Hmm, I don’t hear you complaining when–”

Suddenly, a torrent of water flushed into the funnel, followed by a pair of feet, then legs, then the rest of a young teenage girl with dark pigtails and a red-and-black swimsuit. She eyed the pair confused while the pair stared at her, until she disappeared in the tube again, one single eyebrow raised at them.

Jake realized they made quite the sight, poising on the high side of the funnel in the middle of a dark water slide, one arm each around the other’s back while standing half a foot apart for balance, faces close, eyes wide, and Jake was sure his swim trunks were hanging a little low on his butt. He reached down to pull them up.

“Maybe we should–” Amy started, but that was when he lost his footing, and the fall was inevitable. They went down together, the water carrying them out of the funnel, Jake with his head first. The tube was too narrow, the ride too fast for him to change his position as he and Amy were flushed down the drain. All he could do was splutter and turn his face so that less water got into his nose and mouth and eyes, the tunnel’s change of lighting all but a blur of colors, like a disco lightning storm.

What could only have been about ten seconds until they landed in the pool felt more like a small eternity spent preparing for the end. Shaking his head like a dog, he wiped his hands over his face and accepted Amy’s hand helping him up.

“That was an unexpected ride,” she commented.

“Title of your sex tape.”

“Again, very professional.” But she was grinning, half the hair from her bun hanging into her face, tousled from the sudden wild journey.

He was about to retort with another “Title of your sex tape!” when he spotted something. “What if he wasn’t dead yet when he came out here?”

Amy followed his eyes, latching onto the same thing. “Oh my god!”

Simultaneously, they turned to each other and exclaimed, “The vents!”

They went to find Kirkwell who confirmed that, indeed, the vents were big enough for a person to fit into. Someone could have fired the deadly poisoned dart from up there as soon as Pearson exited the slide. Kirkwell promised to have every employee who had access to the vents at the precinct by the next day.

Jake tried to convince Amy to stay at Tropic Thunder a little longer, but she threw one look at him and he knew he didn’t stand a chance against the Amy Santiago Stern Mommy Look. It always worked on Mac, and it never failed to make Jake at least a little bit horny.

That night, Amy left a little late to Rosa’s as Jake hurried to meet the landlord.

He can’t remember if he ever arrived.

#b99fandomevents #b99 summer 2021 fic exchange #b99 #the last ride #b99 fic #peraltiago #jake x amy #sleuth sisters #jake peralta #amy santiago #rosa diaz #maja writes

[darkmindsotome]

Wrapped For Dinner

Fandom: Love 365 Irresistible Mistakes

Pairing: Shunichiro Tachibana x MC

Word count: 3,796

Warning: NSFW Smut

Written by: darkmindsotome

Tagging @voltage-vixen as requested. Prompt #13: Sex under the sun dress

Darkmindsotome Masterlist

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Wrapped For Dinner

My latest big project at Addison & Rhodes had me working as lead creative. It was long hours and a lot of hard work but in the end, we were able to pull off a pretty fantastic ad campaign that was currently trending and going viral. 

To say I was relieved at the response was putting it modestly. Toma had already teased me about the stupid grin on my face creeping him out at work and Natsume had commented on it as well when he dropped off the updated sales figures. I managed to laugh them both off, nothing was going to put a dampener on my good mood. Well, almost nothing…

The phone rang at my desk the caller ID clearly displaying it was from the creative director’s office. I picked up the receiver as I pressed the button to answer. I had palpitations in my chest knowing my boyfriend was calling me during work hours. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to this?

“Creative department, MC speaking.”

“Always so professional.” I could hear Shinichiro’s deep voice as he chuckled. It managed to send tingles rippling through me. “Good work on that last project I just saw the updates. The projections look set to knock the client’s preferred targets out of the park.”

“Thank you, Sir. It means a lot hearing you say that.” My mood and happiness seemed to increase ten-fold being praised by him.

“… Listen about later, I’m going to have to take a rain check. One of the larger clients for the company had a scheduling issue and I was asked by the higher-ups to cover for someone who is still off-site.” Shunichiro’s words were like a bucket of ice water bringing me firmly back to Earth.

“Oh, that’s fine.” I didn’t know what else to say in response, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of me and I rolled my chair a little closer to my desk hoping the computer monitor would hide me from the rest of the department.

“I knew you’d say that. I’ll make arrangements for something soon and make it up to you.” He sounded genuinely sorry but what worried me more than the cancelled date was how tired he sounded.

“You don’t have to worry, work is work. I’ve bailed on you a few times recently too.” I tried to mask my disappointment with a little enthusiasm. I really didn’t want to add to his problems by making him worry about me.

“Well alright if that’s how you really feel. You seriously did a great job this time I’m going to have to work harder to stay ahead.” It was reassuring to hear him accept my response and hear the motivation return to him. I could feel the smile returning to my face just listening to him.

“I’m still nowhere near –”

“I’m going to have to go another call is coming in.” Shunichiro cut me off after an electronic beeping on the line.

“Alright.” I nodded. He was busy and while I had really wanted to see him it couldn’t be helped.

“Mc? I can’t wait to see you.”

The line went dead as I held the receiver to my ear for a few seconds letting his parting words linger.

“Oh, Shun… you really don’t play fair.”

*

With no new projects that required my immediate attention, I was actually able to leave the office on time for the first time in ages. It was the weekend and the original plan had been to go to Shunichiro’s last night and spend the weekend together.

I looked over at the weekend bag I dragged back from a locker at the train station last night. Takuro had given me a quizzical look when I came back with it, but he was now curled up on top of the bag fast asleep.

Reaching for my phone I shot a quick message to Shunichiro wishing him good luck at work then hopped into the shower. With my hair dry but a towel still wrapped around me, I rifled through my wardrobe looking for clothes. I picked up the summer dress Yuiko had helped me find on our last shopping trip together.

The delicate gradient of pastel shades made the dress look like a dawn sky and the petals spread out around the baseline hem looked like I had kicked up waves of Sakura flowers. It made me feel happy and a change in mood was certainly what I wanted right now.

I hadn’t been very sure about it, after all, it was a wrap-around dress that caused a deep plunge to my neckline. My reaction had made Yuiko laugh as she kept encouraging me to try it on insisting that if it was to go on a date that it was perfect. In the end, I bought it, I wanted to see his reaction but that was not happening today.

Tying the fabric around my waist I checked myself in the mirror and slipped on a pair of kitten heels. Today may not be the day I get to see him but it was still a day off. Plus, I had been working so hard at the office recently I had no groceries in the apartment to make breakfast. Grabbing my purse, I exited my place in search of sustenance.

*

My parents had always warned me about food shopping on an empty stomach. I really didn’t want to end up carrying a ton of things back with me just because I was thinking with my belly and not my brain. After cutting through the park I came out onto the main road and spotted a familiar sign for McDonald's and went in.

Quickly grabbing a McMuffin and a coffee to go I was just on my way out again when I walked smack into someone. A familiar scent of a particular brand of cigarette, cologne and citrus shampoo filled my senses.

“Whoops! Careful, are you alright?” My eyes followed the arms supporting me. Navy blue suit with grey pinstriped vest and a custom shirt. Finally reaching his face and those deep brown eyes. My mind went blank as I stood there, face to face with Shunichiro. “Wait… MC?”

Clearly, I was not the only one surprised to see my partner. Shunichiro’s eyes looked me over from head to toe as if to check it was really me. I was suddenly very aware of his arms around me and felt a little self-conscious with how he was looking at me. I haven’t done anything different with my usual makeup, maybe its the dress. Does he not like it?

“Morning, late night?” I took half a step back putting a little space between us and the awkward situation.

“Yeah, fast food always tastes better after a late night. If you’re free right now we could eat together.” He shrugged, composed as always. This kind of situation really doesn’t rattle him, I guess that’s something that comes from age and experience.

“Really?”

“Well, it’s up to you. What do you want?” He was clearly holding back laughter I probably sounded or looked childish right now. His playful tone was not lost on me if anything it triggered more of my childish side.

“You have to ask?” I gave him a small glare that made him smile wider.

“Ok, I’ll be right back.”

I found a booth and sat down feeling completely unsure as to what I was now supposed to do. I wasn’t supposed to see him today at all and the fact I now was had thrown me. The look on his face when he recognised me also bugged me a little. While I was lost in thought a second bag was placed next to mine and the cushioned seating at my side pressed lower as Shunichiro sat down.

“I was going to phone you later.” He began talking as he cracked open his bag and began pulling out two McMuffins and a pastry.

“You were?” I looked at his face in profile, he was always handsome but something about this slightly tired look had me thinking back to our time spent together in bed. I reached out for my own bag of food to distract myself from my own lude imagination.

“Mhm,” He filled his mouth with a bite of his breakfast and then sucked hard of the straw for his iced fruit juice. I could have laughed at myself for how I suddenly felt very jealous of a straw, watching his moist lips wrap around it. “After pulling an all-nighter, preparing copies and things for the meeting. The client phoned saying they would have to reschedule again.”

He sighed and leaned back against the booth seating. He was frustrated and tired, you didn’t have to be his girlfriend to see something so plain.

“After you put in all that work!? That’s just too much…” I raised my voice a little allowing the annoyance I felt to at least show even if he wouldn’t.

“It’s a big account and the board members all want to keep it, but when I left the office earlier they were all apologising to me for the extra work.” He gave a wry smile and sucked a bit more on his drink. This was one of the many things I actually loved about this man. His dedication to his craft made him glow in a way that always had me dazzled, it motivated me to keep pushing forward.

“Must be nice to be in demand like that.” I smiled feeling some of my anger subside. He was so talented and respected by everyone in the company. Remembering that a warmth spread through my chest as a wave of affection hit me for the man at my side.

“You are as well you know? I am always getting requests for you to handle accounts personally.” There is a look on his face that even in profile seems to reflect everything I was just feeling about him back at me.

“You’re joking!” I nearly choked on my coffee as my embarrassment caught in my throat. Great work there MC remember to breathe air, not coffee.

“I’m really not.” Shunichiro chuckled at my little outburst making me feel even more childish sitting next to such a well put together man. He had already devoured his pastry and moved on to the rest of his food without me even noticing. “It actually makes me feel very...” He turned his head to look at me the expression painted on his face was not one I saw when working. It was softer but there was an intensity swimming in his eyes that automatically had my core tightening under that gaze. He smiled and then gave my food a nudge closer to me. “Your food is getting cold.”

“Oh!” The spell holding me seemed to break at his prompting. I really wanted to know what he didn’t finish saying, but the timing was now all wrong.

I don’t know if he knew what I was thinking or how he was affecting me. Knowing him he probably had already laid the groundwork for the perfect game plan. He always found a way to get me dancing in the palm of his hand.

“So what do you want to do now?” His question had me confused. It also came right after I had stuffed a big mouthful of McMuffin into my mouth.

“I thought you’d just pulled an all-nighter. Shouldn’t you be heading home to rest?” My words were muffled as I tried to swallow my food and talk at the same time. I probably looked like a hamster, my lack of manners and decorum didn’t faze him at all he simply listened to my garbled gibberish with a soft smile on his face. Ok, that look should be illegal.

“I was but seeing you made me feel much more energised. I’m not so old that one late night is going to stop me from seeing the woman I love. It’s up to you though, I know what I’d prefer.” He was so calm and easy-going. It reminded me that this mature sexy guy was like the smooth jazz music at our favourite bar.

He always did this. No matter what he always said something that was intrinsically tempting in a way you couldn’t possibly refuse then asks what you want to do. It still catches me off guard at times but I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Then will you come shopping with me?” I hadn’t planned on seeing him today so the fact I was right now made me unbelievably happy. It didn’t, however, change the reason behind my leaving my apartment.

“Shopping?” My rather boring request had him look at me in slight wonder. I don’t know if he thought I had offered up something mundane because I was concerned for his exhaustion or what.

“Sorry is that weird?” I cast my eyes down looking at the last bite of my breakfast in my hands shyly.

“No, not at all. What are we shopping for?”

“I…” I fidgeted in my seat. At work, I was organised and usually even at home I was as well. However, being as busy as I had recently meant I had let so many things slide in my personal life that I was getting embarrassed thinking about it all. “I haven’t been home much so I didn’t have any groceries.”

“Well, we can’t have that. If we’re buying food can I make some requests?” Shunichiro didn’t laugh at me or look like he was harshly judging me. I finally look up at him, his face looking a little boyish. I loved that look of innocence on him too.

“Of course!”

*

After finishing our food, we headed over to one of the larger stores because it had a slightly bigger variety of items.

“So, what do you want to request?” I ask as I pick up a shopping basket from the stack.

“Well lately I’ve been really craving your cooking I would say anything you make is fine but…” Shunichiro trails off looking at the displays. It made me smile thinking this is the first time in a while either of us had been food shopping.

“You want me to make chicken nuggets don’t you?” I end up giggling which earns me a raised eyebrow from him.

“You know me so well.”

“Naturally I am your girlfriend after all.” The words came naturally but with an instant hit of embarrassment. To hide my fluster, I looked away from him as I marched towards the shelves. “I’ll just go find the seasonings you go get the chicken.”

“Anything else?” He was hot on my heels making me little thankful for being able to stay ahead of him.

“Whatever you see you might want to eat.” I stopped in front of the seasoning looking over the array of choices and as I raised my hand to pick one up, I found myself covered from behind. “Shun?”

“In that case do I really have to go over there? I can’t think of anything but how great you would taste right now.” Shunichiro’s low voice and hot breath brushed against my ear as he pressed himself against my back. His hand was on top of my outstretched one, nimble fingers tracing my own while he used his thumb to rub the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist.

“Shun… we’re in the middle of a store.” I closed my eyes wanting so badly for time to stop or for our location to just magically change. He placed his other hand on my hip sliding towards the wrapped fabric of my waist. His fingers delved into the gap they found and traced over the naked flesh beneath.

“Mmm, pity.” He hummed before removing himself and gracefully swiped the basket from my hand as if nothing had happened at all. “I’ll go get the chicken then.”

“You’re a damn tease, Shunichiro.” I muttered as I finished finding the seasonings and made a move for some frozen items next. With any luck, the freezers might help me cool down.

*

It was almost a mad dash to get home. I wanted to say it was because of the risk of food spoiling but to be honest that was the last thing on either of our minds.

Our little flirtations had persisted around the entire store, and when I say our flirtations, I mean Shunichiro’s. By the time we were at the checkout, I was trembling so much from his persistent teases that I couldn’t locate my card in my purse easily.

Not wishing to waste valuable time, Shunichiro produced his card and paid for the whole lot. He even picked up all the bags and began walking before I could protest. As we left, I caught one person saying “…such a gentleman.” Oh if only you knew.

Once inside he walked right into my small kitchen and opened the door to the fridge, not caring one bit about unpacking. I watched in shock as the entire bags, including their contents, were unceremoniously wedged inside.

“You know that isn’t good for the food right?”

“And you know right now I couldn’t care less.” His voice was lower than I expected. It was ruff and gravelly instantly reigniting all the tingling hot spots he had kindled during our impromptu shopping date.

He closed the gap between us in the blink of an eye. The strength with which he took me in his arms knocked the air from my lungs and my ability to think right out of my body. He dipped low plying my lips open with his tongue and pushing it deep into my mouth as if he were trying to steal my ability to speak as well.

Experienced hands roamed over the top of my dress pulling on the fabric in all the right places to provide some friction of fabric on flesh, raising the temperature between us.

“Mhm!.... Ah… Shun.” I was panting as he pulled back finally allowing me a few seconds to gain some air.

“I’ve never been so bothered by work. It’s so frustrating our schedules just never match up at the minute.” Even as he spoke he was removing his own clothes. Tossing his jacket and vest behind himself in a flurry of action that had me rubbing my legs together seeing him so desperate.

“I know I felt the same.” I brought my hand up to the buttons on his shirt, slowly tracing them before popping them one by one between my fingers like I was snapping them. My eyes never left his as he unbuckled his leather belt and trousers. “Every time I felt a break in the workload You vanished under a pile of assignments.”

“Seeing you every day at work. So close…” He shuddered at my touch the fire in his eyes lit scorching hot paths through my body.

He gave an almost silent groan as he lunged at me. My back hit the kitchen table as he pinned me down on either side with his strong arms. Hovering over me I could feel the pulsating heat from his body and the weight of his raw animal magnetism that always had me coming back for more.

My legs were forced wide as he brought his leg and hip between them. Alternating rhythms resounded in my body as my heart hammered hard enough to burst and his fingers danced up my inner thigh under my dress before slipping past the fabric barrier covering me.

“Mmm, A-ah—” The pressure filling me was exquisite. I watched his arm and shoulder pump in action with his fingers buried deep inside me as he worked away at my sanity.

“I was so glad to see you today I thought the torture was over but then you had to go and do this to me.”

“Do what? I didn’t do anything?” I was seriously confused. I was focusing on him but I felt like there was something I was missing. He didn’t answer me with words instead he brought his face to my chest burying it between my breasts and pulled on the fabric of my dress with his teeth.

“Are you being coy on purpose? Where did you learn to charm a man like that?” He pulled his fingers free with a smirk watching as I writhed missing his touch while he licked them clean. The next feeling my increasingly befuddled mind registered was the complete fulfilment as we became one.

“Oh, God!” My back arched against the unforgiving table and he placed one hand on my chest pushing me back down while he moved his hips against me.

“Ngh… dammit, you are just so perfect.”

“Shu…ni…chiro…” The pop and grind that was a familiar dance to us had me seeing stars.

“I know baby, I know.” He picked up the pace our bodies becoming slick with sweat as we relentlessly hammered home our mutual desires for each other.

*

“You awake?”

I slowly opened my eyes finding that I was not exactly where I thought I was. Shunichiro had been sitting on my sofa having a drink. Noticing how I was now conscious he returned to my side in my small little bed.

“Mmm, yeah. Did you carry me to bed?” Clutching the covers over my chest I wriggled closer to him. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders placing my head on his chest in the process.

“Well I did consider leaving you on the kitchen table but I thought you might get cold.” He laughed as he teased me. I was too happily exhausted to care and gave him a pathetically weak slap on his arm. My eyes started to adjust more to being fully awake, finding my alarm clock next to the bed.

“Jeez is that the time I should start making the food.” I freed myself from his hold and had placed one foot outside of the covers only to be pulled back in. “Ah!”

“You could or we could enjoy ourselves a little more. There’s no rush, after all, we have the rest of the weekend together.” He was whispering in my ear and trailing fingers over my now naked form. The tip of his tongue drew a line down my neck to my nape where he suckled on it. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re a sneaky scoundrel.” I smiled knowing this was him. He was sneaky, tricky, devilish, conniving and god help me if I didn’t find every aspect of the man appealing.

“Correction.” He chuckled and I found myself flipped under him. “I’m your sneaky scoundrel, and you’re mine.”

---

#summer of smut #summer of smut writing challenge

[presleepthoughts]

Purpose - Part 2

A/N: Next chapter. 

/

Beca dragged her feet along the corridors, heading towards her office the next day. Her mind had been working overtime since yesterday, thinking about ways to get rid of the journalist that had been assigned to follow her around like a puppy. Watching her every step. And Beca didn’t like that.

Don’t get her wrong, she didn’t have a problem with Chloe – if Beca actually took the time to get to know her she’d probably turn out to be a good person – but the feeling that she was being judged, criticized in any way didn’t sit well with her. Chloe was a journalist. She was trained to make stories interesting, make them dramatic and truthful. What if she made a mistake and it would be plastered all over on the newspaper, looming over her head for the rest of her carrier? She would be forever labeled wherever she went.

She sneered at the thought and pushed it to the back of her mind. She knew she was being paranoid; a trait she always had a hard time controlling.

It was earlier than usual, Beca kind of hoped she would get to spend the morning alone, getting herself ready for the day but those hopes were squished when she pushed open her doors, finding Chloe already sitting on the couch, snipping a beverage. Beca slightly haltered in her steps but regained her composer and greeted her politely. An extra coffee cup was waiting for her on her desk.

“I didn’t know if you drink coffee or not but I thought maybe you’d like it?” Chloe explained softly when Beca remained silent. The detective exhaled through her nose and grudgingly accepted the offering.

“Thanks.” She added shortly and sat down at the desk, grabbing some files on the surface ready to start working.

Their day seemed to drag along slowly with nothing much happening. Beca finished her paperwork while Chloe asked questions back and forth. The detective didn’t mind it as much as she thought she would, until the questions turned personal.

“Why did you want to become a detective?” The question was innocent enough to Chloe, who didn’t bother to glance up from her notes, patiently waiting for an answer. When Beca wasn’t forgoing with one, she lifted her gaze with curiosity as she saw Beca’s expression glaze over in thoughts.

The reason behind her decision to join the department was the one she was most protective over. Not many people knew her past and she’d like to keep it that way. Not have somebody print it out on paper for anybody to see.

“For personal reasons.” She answered sharply, her tone indicating she wouldn’t be answering that question at the moment.

Chloe titled her head slightly in wonder, eyes piercing into Beca’s while the brunette avoided the connections. The journalist could sense the uneasiness ooze from the detective so she pivoted the conversation.

“Do you mind if I film you for this portion of the interview?”

Beca sighed and nodded. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Chloe hit the camera icon on her phone and raised it to her eye line, making sure Beca was in focus.

“You graduated from The Connecticut Police Academy, right? Why did you decide to come back to your hometown?”

Beca narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “How do you know so much about me?”

“I did my homework, Detective Mitchell.” Chloe smiled friendly. “You have a very impressive resume. After college you spent three years in NYPD then went to Michigan then transferred to right here, Jackson, Georgia and spent three years at the local police station before certifying as a detective to the FBI. Why did you come back to such a small town?”

Beca sat tongue-tied, leaning back against the back of her chair as Chloe listed her whole life. She didn’t realize the journalist would dig up anything she could find out about her. Chloe zoomed in on the detective’s face.

Beca took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I was born here but left when I was sixteen. I never looked back once but after spending so much time in different places I wanted something familiar. This is the town I grew up in. It also didn’t hurt that I know it like the back of my hand.”

“Why did you leave at sixteen?” Chloe asked.

Beca clenched her jaw and hardened her gaze at the memory. “I had to. The system found me a foster family in South Carolina.”

Chloe’s eyes rounded in surprise at the admission and she unconsciously lowered the camera slightly while Beca chuckled humorlessly at the reaction.

“What? You didn’t know that, huh? It looks like you weren’t thorough enough with your research, Ms. Beale.”

Chloe inhaled sharply at the jab. She sensed the topic of foster care was a nerve so she didn’t push for the time being. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that. And please call me Chloe. We’ll be spending too much time together for you to keep calling me Ms. Beale.” She said softly and discreetly wrote down foster care on her notepad before looking back up. “Let’s continue.”

 /

After two hours of conversation and a light lunch, the phone finally rang loudly in the office calling Beca to the west side of the village for a crime scene. They popped into a vehicle and sped down the streets. As the car rounded the corner, Chloe straightened up in her seat as several police cars, paramedics and the FBI were seen parking on the street in front of a typically standard two-stories home. Yellow police tape barricaded the scene from onlookers, probably neighbors who were curious about what was happening.

Beca parked the car at the curb and they exited the car, the detective walking slightly in front of Chloe and showed her badge to the local police to let her through.

As they stepped inside the building, Beca spotted Jesse walking towards them.

“Hey, what you got?” She asked and Jesse pointed to the staircase.

“Suicide. At least that’s what the police say but I thought I gave you a call and let you take a look.” They walked up to the master bedroom. Beca noted that the room was spotless, nothing out of place or out of ordinary. However, upon arriving at the en-suite bathroom Beca winced at the sight that greeted her.

A pale, Caucasian woman spread out naked in the bathtub, arms resting on the edge and blood still slipping from both of her wrist from two deep cuts. The water around her painted red and the shower curtains laying at their feet on the floor. Beca noticed the mirror above the sink were shattered.

Chloe inched her way closer and looked over the detectives’ shoulders. She felt her stomach launch slightly at the disturbing sight but she swallowed it down and pulled out her phone to record.

Beca talked to Jesse while she stepped inside the small space and examined the body further. “Do you have an ID?” The woman’s upper body were visible from the water and Beca didn’t see any bruising, only on her forehead.

“Helena Jones. 41. Her ex-husband found her an hour ago and notified the police.” Jesse listed as he and Chloe watched Beca look around.

“You said the police think it’s suicide.” Beca said while pulling a glove out from her jean pocket and putting it on, opening the medicine cabinet. She found anti-depressant and pills for anxiety inside but it didn’t alter her thoughts.

“Yes.”

“I don’t think it was self-harm.” She stated and turned back to Jesse, closing the cabinet and pointing to the broken mirror. “If she wanted to die, why would she break the window with her head before she slit her wrists? Why not just sit down in the tub and do it?”

Jesse shook his head. “Maybe she was angry with herself for having these thoughts and wanted to stop it. Clearly she was unstable.”

Beca bit the inside of her cheek and lingered on the woman lifeless body. Something didn’t seem right. “We have to bring in the ex-husband for questioning. Tell the team to swipe the entire house from top to bottom and let’s see if they found something. I have a hunch this was way too obvious. The pills for mental health, the slit wrists, the position.” Beca shook her head. “For some reason it feels too staged for me.”

“Got it.” Jesse replied and left the two women to give the police instructions.

Chloe stepped inside cautiously.

“Do you think it was murder?” She whispered quietly.

“I don’t know but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There’s no evidence of another person being involved but we can’t rule out anything until the autopsy results. That’ll tell us what happened.” Beca said, looking at the redhead.

 /

When they arrived back at the station, Jesse already had the ex-husband set up in an interrogation room, ready to be questioned. The trio stood behind the two-way glass, observing the man sitting behind the table.

“He’s oddly calm.” Jesse commented, seeing the man with his hands intertwined on top of the table, gazing before him, zoned out. “He just found his ex-wife dead inside the bathtub. I would be a freaking out.”

“Let’s leave the analysis to the shrinks, Swanson. We have no reason to believe he was the one who did it as of yet so let’s just go in there and learn something new.” Beca demanded sternly as she turned to the redhead behind her. “You stay here and observe him. Maybe you’ll see something we’d miss.”

Chloe swallowed down her protest and tensely nodded her head. She knew it was hopeless to argue with the seemingly stubborn detective and simply closed her mouth and pulled out her phone to capture anything.

Jesse opened the door, letting Beca step in before him as they both took their seat silently before Thomas Pierce. The man sat with his intertwined hands on the table, eyes bouncing back and forth between the detectives with a tense grimace.

“Look, I know my rights. You can’t investigate me as a suspect without proper evidence and you can’t hold me here.”

“Mr. Pierce, you are not accused of anything. We just want to know what happened to your ex-wife. That’s all.” Jesse started out, explaining their motives in a calm tone as saw the man visibly relax and leaned forward.

“Now according to the police report, you were the one who notified the police, correct?” Beca opened up the file in front of her, pretending to read it out meanwhile she already memorized every last detail about the case. She needed to give the man a false sense of certainty to unconsciously pull the truth out from him.

“Yes.” Mr. Pierce answered quickly not elaborating.

“What were you doing in your ex-wife’s apartment that day?”

Mr. Pierce glanced between the pair. “I went there to pick up the rest of my stuff that I left from the move. We separated not long ago. When she didn’t answer my calls, I went upstairs to the bedroom and found her in the bathtub. And I called the police.”

Beca squinted her eyes at the explanation. “I understand your divorce was a long drawn out process. You were in and out of the courtroom for four years, battling over the custody of your three children.”

Mr. Pierce grinded his teeth as he stiffened at the mention of his kids. “I gained full custody for all three but Lena didn’t make it easy. She pulled out all her cards against me and poured out my dirty laundry in front of the judge. But in the end, it didn’t matter because the judge declared her unreliable to take care of them because of her… mental problems. She had the audacity to call me a deadbeat father.” Mr. Pierce growled out. “I wasn’t the one who tried to kill myself three times while my children were in the house.”

Jesse leaned forward. “You sound angry.”

“I was! She had the nerve to try and fight me for my children while she was the one who cheated.” Mr. Pierced exploded but taking in the unchanged reactions in front of him, he regained his posture. “That was the main reason we got separated.”

Beca glanced at Jesse, silently communicating with her partner before focusing on the man before her.

“I have one last question, Mr. Pierce. Did your wife had any enemies? Anybody that wanted to – I don’t know, take revenge on her?” Beca asked, eyes piercing into his as she tried to catch any sight of indication he was lying.

“Not that I know of…outside of the house, she was a very nice woman.” Mr. Pierce said, shaking his head. “Inside the house was where she had problems.”

/

“Okay, what are we thinking?” Jesse spoke out as he closed the door behind him. Chloe pocketed her phone as the three of them watched the man through the one-way mirror as he leaned back into his chair and constantly checked his watch on his wrist.

Beca wracked her brain for anything to give them a lead but came up empty. She crossed her arms over her chest and addressed the redhead beside her.

“Chloe, what do you think?”

Chloe stared the woman in surprise, not thinking she was going to ask for her opinion. She noticed Beca liked to work inside her head, planning out her every move before she informed her partner. Chloe glanced back at the suspect and bit her bottom lip.

“He didn’t show any sign that he was lying. He didn’t cross his arms or leaned away from you which would be a sure indicator but he maintained eye-contact and his tone didn’t falter at any point. He showed anger instead of fright which suggest he wasn’t intimidated and that he didn’t have nothing to hide. He answered honestly and didn’t try to dodge any of the questions.” Chloe listed off her observation without waver. “I don’t think he did it.”

The detective pair slowly turned their heads toward the woman, eyes rounded from shock. Chloe self-consciously shifted on her feet.

“What? I have a master in Phycology.”

Beca bobbed her head, impressed. “You keep surprising me.”

“I have a lot of talent you don’t know about, Detective Mitchell.” Chloe replied back, her tone dangerously dancing on the edge of flirtatious as Beca eyes bore into hers.

Jesse flickered his gaze back and forth between them like a tennis match, red flags appearing in front of his sight warning him of danger. But before he could break up the moment, Beca’s cellphone beeped loudly from her pocket.

“Jenna is finished with the autopsy. It’s time we finally got some answers.” Beca summarized the text message and pocketed her phone, strolling determinedly toward the department, the other two hot on her heels.

/

“What did you find?” Beca called out as soon as they stepped over the threshold of the sterilized room, Jenna Watson the FBI’s pathologist were hovering over the deceased woman’s naked body. No matter how many times she saw a corpse, Beca couldn’t help but feel her stomach whirl in disgust at the sight. Something about it looking like a sleeping person didn’t sit well with her.

Chloe tried to conceal her reaction to seeing the body opting to staying far away from the table it was place upon.

“Detective Mitchell, Swanson. Great to see you both. Although, not under the right circumstances.” Jenna commented as the three gathered around the table, eyes roaming over the surface. Jenna cleaned the outer regions of blood on her wrists and covered the victim from the waist down.

“Enlighten me.” Beca spoke out sarcastically, not having her usual sense of humor to make jokes of the situation.

Jenna quickly turned serious and pointed to the cut on her forehead. “You said the mirror was broken in the bathroom. Well, I wouldn’t say it was self-inflected. Some strands of hair were missing from the back of her scalp and I predict the suspect must’ve grabbed her from behind and smashed her into the mirror. However, there’s no further signs of evidence of self-defense, no bruising, no marks, nothing which is strange.”

“The husband said she wanted to kill herself. Maybe that’s why she didn’t fight.” Jesse suggested but Chloe shook her head.

“Self-conflicted harm and harm by somebody else is different. When she wanted to die, she was in control of her actions; she knew what to do and when to do it. With somebody else doing it for her, the strongest form of human nature flair to life which wants to live. Even without knowing it, she would’ve fought back.”

Jenna glanced at the newcomer raising her eyebrows. “Exactly. Now I did find some anti-depressant in her blood but the amount wasn’t anything alarming to numb her body.”

Beca nodded slowly, working the knots in her mind. “Okay, so you say she was attacked.”

“Definitely.” Jenna conformed before a quick smile escaped from her expression as she pulled out a manila envelope from her desk and handed it to Beca. “She definitely didn’t do that to herself.”

Beca cautiously opened the package and pulled out two photographs. Her eyes widen in surprise before they hardened into determination as the story became a little bit clearer.

“Perfect job as always, Watson.” Beca complimented the pathologist as she handed the envelope to Jesse for keepsake. Chloe watched as Jesse had similar reaction to whatever that file contained and her curiosity grew tenfold. She couldn’t wait long enough for Jesse to hand it over to her. As her eyes took in the sight, her mouth gaped open.

The pictures contained the bare back of the victim with the letter ‘A’ carved along her spine.

TBC

#Beca x Chloe #bechloe #beca mitchell #Beca Mitchell x Chloe Beale #beca mitchel x chloe beale #chloe beale #pitchperfect #Pitch Perfect #PitchPerfect2 #pitch perfect 2 #pitch perfect 3 #Anna Kendrick #brittany snow #beca & chloe #bechloe fanfiction #bechloe au #fbi au

[myluciferiscody]

Dancing With a Stranger P.1

@iits-mikha asked: n a recent interview they asked Cody if he could have the opportunity to play another character he would had chosen to be the Countess, So my request is this: an AU where old!Michael where he’s not the antichrist but is the owner of the Hotel Cortez, please!! 

I’m really nervous about this since it’s my first time writing for our boi Michael. I hope I delivered! I decided to make Michael 34 as, I am not too familiar with the Older!tag, but this seemed like a popular range.

pairing: Older!Michael x Reader

word count: 1,973

warnings: au!, language, seductive-boi, there will be a 2nd part!

part 2

October 29th, 2019

You stood next to your best friend, Winter Anderson, as you both stared up at the Hotel Cortez. You two were going to spend the next few days at Halloween Horror Nights, and this was the only hotel you two could afford. Universal was expensive, plus you knew you'd only be here to sleep, that's it.

"Are you ready, you seem kind of nervous," Winter asked, raising a manicured eyebrow at you. You smiled, nodding while tightening your grip on your suitcase.

"I'm fine, we can go inside," you said. You followed Winter into the hotel, gaping at the wonderous exterior. You had never seen so much red in your life. The lobby was huge, and you were slightly taken aback at how empty it was. 

You stopped at the front desk, peering around it. An older, slightly plump woman sat in the chair, a worn-out romance novel in her hands. She was so entranced in the book that she didn't notice your arrival. 

"Excuse me?" Winter piped up.

"OH!" she gasped, a hand flying to her chest. It startled you, but you managed to contain the laugh that bubbled in your throat. "I apologize, I didn't- yeah," she laughed, standing up. "I'm Iris, can I have the name for your reservation?" 

"Anderson. Winter Anderson," 

Iris flipped open a folder, running a finger down the names before stopping. "There you are," she whispered. You frowned, wondering why they didn't just use computers like other hotels did. Iris reached behind her, grabbing a key from the shelf behind her. She handed it to you.

"Let me show you to your room," she said, smiling. You liked to see the good in people, but there was something off about the look in her eyes. Winter seemed to have gotten the same vibe because she kept pace with you instead. 

The elevator ride to the fifth floor was claustrophobic. You tugged at the neck of your shirt, praying for the moment you and Winter were alone. Maybe you'd spend the night out instead of catching up on sleep, you had to be up early for your flight here from Michigan. 

The doors slowly opened, before Iris led you down just a few doors. "Room 537," she said, before unlocking the door. She gestured for you guys to go first, and you smiled and thanked her.

The room was nothing too special, but you get what you paid for. Since you and Winter wanted to stretch your money as much as possible, you settled on sharing a bed. Winter set her stuff down, as Iris mentioned some of the things the hotel offered, including a bar downstairs.

"What brings you two lovely ladies to Los Angeles?" Iris asked kindly, and you felt your nerves from earlier slowly disapparate. 

"We're going to Universal Studios, we're ready to get our asses scared, right, y/n?" Winter looked at you eagerly. 

"Of course! Have you been there, by chance?" you asked Iris. 

"Oh, years ago, I took my son Donovan," Iris exclaimed, seeming to be truly happy for the short length of time you knew her. "I'm sure lots have changed since then..." 

Awkward silence.

"Well, I must get back to the front desk. If there's anything you two need, give us a call," Iris said, already turning towards the door. She set your room keys on the table, then she was gone. 

You and Winter spent the next hour organizing your stuff. You usually left your things in your suitcase while staying in a hotel, but since you'd be here until November 2nd, you didn't want your clothes to be wrinkled. 

"I think we should go down and get a drink, those seats on the plane were not comfortable," Winter complained as you organized your toiletries. 

You glanced at your phone, seeing it wasn't too late. You and Winter planned on getting to the park first thing in the morning. "Who is buying? NOSE-"

"-GOES!" Winter said, whirling at you with a finger to her nose. You squinted at her before you spent the next few minutes trying to touch your nose before Winter. 

Finally, you humored her and said you'd pay for drinks the first night. 

Since you both had dressed comfortably for the flight, you changed into more acceptable clothes. Your favorite jeans and an off-shoulder top. Winter tied her blonde hair up into a half-down, half-up bun, and you set on your way. 

There was only one other patron at the bar, and he didn't seem to pay you much attention. At least at first. 

A tall woman with a shaved head and makeup talked to him, her eyes lightening up at everything he said. You and Winter took the seats farthest away, not wanting to seem like you were eavesdropping. 

"Hilarious, Tristan," she gently scolded. "Hang on, my services are needed elsewhere," she laughed another time before approaching the two of you. "And who do we have here?"

"My name is Winter, and this is y/n," Winter said proudly. 

"Welcome to the Cortez, I'm Liz. Liz Taylor," she offered her hand to the both of you, and you shook it with a smile. "Now, you seem to be old enough to drink, but I need to see your ID's. I am a woman of responsibility-"

The guy named Tristan laughed aloud at the end of the table.

"Ignore him, he drinks," Liz smiled as you and Winter laid your ID's out. "Perfect, what can I get for you?" 

The last thing you wanted was to wake up with a hangover, so you kept it simple. Winter didn't have the same concern since she ordered a Screwdriver. 

Liz was very enjoyable to talk too, and eventually, Tristan felt left out. He sat at the stool next to him, and you found out they had been dating a few months now. They were totally in love, and it showed whenever they looked at each other.

"I wish somebody loved me like that," Winter sighed.

"You will find someone, love. The both of you will." Liz smiled. 

The energy in the room suddenly changed. 

Everyone else kept talking and laughing, but you could feel it. You knew it wasn't the alcohol, this drink was more juice than anything. The sound of the elevator beeping, and the doors sliding open finally piqued their interest.

"Oh boy," Liz said flatly. Tristan chugged the rest of his whiskey before looking at you. You smiled briefly, wondering why they both seemed so on edge. 

You and Winter seemed to be in a trance as a man slowly stepped out, his lean figure in perfect posture. He kept his hands behind his back, and you wondered if it was really comfortable walking like that. His hair was close to being strawberry blonde, and it reached his shoulders. This mysterious man kept his focus ahead, his gait elegant and intimidating. 

"Who is that?" Winter asked.

"That's Michael- uh, the Count?" Tristan said, stuttering when Liz shot him a warning glance. 

"What is this, Seasame Street?" Winter snorted. You couldn't help but laugh a little too loudly, but immediately stopped when Michael- the Count, turned his head in your direction. 

From the side, you could see his excellent bone structure, but it didn't prepare you for getting a good look at him. His cheekbones, his jawline, his eyes immediately drew you in. Michael stared at you for what seemed like an eternity before he broke your gaze. He continued on his way, a smirk now prominent on his lips. 

"Ooooooooh, he was looking at you," Winter teased, bringing her glass to her painted lips.

"Hush," you whispered. Tristan and Liz were still staring at each other, almost like they were having a conversation entirely in their heads. 

"Who is he again?" you questioned.

"He owns the hotel," Liz sighed. "He can be nice when he wants to be, but for the most part, he is a pain in my ass," she continued. "I can't talk shit for long, he saved my life, and Tristan's here."

"For sure, babe," Tristan hiccuped, patting the hand Liz had on the countertop. "I used to be a model, but that environment was so fucking toxic, Michael- shit! COUNT got me out of it, got me help, and here I am," he giggled, before leaning his head on your arm.

"I think that's enough for you, mister," Liz said, taking the empty glass and replacing it with water. Tristan pouted, taking a dainty sip. You and Winter watched with amusement, and you could smell his cologne. It was quite nice. 

"Do you think he'd talk to y/n?" Winter continued with her teasing, and you couldn't hide the blush on your cheeks. "I'd totally tap that if his hair was a bit shorter-"

Liz laughed, "Oh honey, he hasn't had short hair since ninety-nine, and he was a kid back then," 

You looked at her with a confused look, "Wait, how old is he?" 

"I'm thirty-four," you froze at the sound of a velvety voice. "Don't you know it's not polite to ask a man his age?" 

You and Winter shared a quick look, before slowly turning in your stools to face him. Tristan cleared his throat, taking a deep sip of water this time. 

Michael smirked at you, a glint of mischief in his eyes. You tried to laugh with him but found you couldn't make a sound. Winter was still gazing at you with a sense of excitement and an "oh shit, you're in for it now," look. 

"I uh, I'm sorry, Mr...?" 

"Langdon," he finished for you. A smirk still plastered on his face, "However, I do find it rather endearing that two complete strangers seem to fret so much about my life," he said, his eyes now sliding towards Winter, who looked away in embarrassment.

Liz had made you another drink while Michael occupied your time, making this one stronger than the first. You'd need it after this. 

"You have such great eyeshadow," Winter said randomly, "It's perfect, really compliments your face,"

Michael's lips curled at this, but he found his eyes still trained on you. You were uncomfortable under his gaze. Like most of the human population, you hated being stared at. 

"How long are you two ladies staying?" he asked. 

"We leave Saturday morning," you answered without hesitation. Michael raised his eyebrow at your confidence. He assumed you were a bit of a hermit. 

"Interesting... I'm going to extend an invitation to you, y/n," he said. You didn't bother to ask how he knew your name. "Halloween night, You're going to join me for dinner. I don't do this often, as you know," he said, directing this part to Liz.

Liz didn't say anything until he widened his eyes at her, and that's when it clicked. "Oh, yes, never does this, never," she shook her head. Michael rolled his eyes before bringing a hand to his head. You noticed the large rings adorning his fingers, wondering if you could pay off your bills with those things. 

"I dislike when people talk about me, especially strangers," he smirked at you, "I find it rather rude, wouldn't you agree?" Michael pressed, waiting for a chorus of agreements.

And of course, he got them.

"Good. I'll have Iris keep you updated, y/n," Michael's eyes ran over you before he nodded towards the others. "And don't break anything, the other ones learned the hard way."

Michael walked off, still poised as if he were meeting royalty. You remained quiet as you swirled back in your seat, taking your new drink and chugging it. Winter grinned at you. 

"Is he always like that?" you asked the couple beside you, who continued to stare at you.

"Weirdly arousing and complex? Always." Liz replied before taking a shot of Vodka. 

*if you want to be added to this taglist, you know the drill.*

#michael langdon x reader #cody fern #ahs hotel #au!michael #older!michael #jim mason x reader #duncan shepherd x reader #xavier plympton x reader #michael langdon imagine #asks #michael langdon #winter anderson #liz taylor #tristan duffy

[venactricisfics]

Malibu Desert

Road Trip

Mayans based Story 

Angst, fluff, language, and more

Master List

Chapter Three

The days drug on. I hadn't missed seeing someone in a long time. I actually missed the loud as fuck sound of his Harley echoing down the street.  

It had been three days since he left for Vegas. It gave me time to wonder if he had found comfort in someone else's bed. I couldn't exactly be mad if he had. We weren't anything really. 

The ringing of my cell brought me out of my thoughts. 

"Hello?" I didn't recognize the number on the caller ID. 

"Hey, it's EZ. Bish told me to call you."

"Why didn't he call himself?" I stare at the screen confused and a little irritated. 

"Prez tells me to do something, " he responds, "I don't ask questions." 

"It's ok, " I adjust my tone slightly. "What's up?" 

"Creeper is coming up in the van with some additional cargo, " he says.

"That's great for Creeper, what's that gotta do with me?" My patience is running thin. 

"Bish wants you to join us here. Says the club stuff is taking longer than he thought." 

"Join you in Vegas?" I quirk my brow. "When?"

"Creeper is leaving in an hour, " EZ swallowed. 

"An hour? I've got to be ready to go on a 300-mile trip in an hour?" I carry the phone with me to my walk-in closet and stare at the clothes. "How many days?"

"He didn't say."

"You are a fountain of information." I snap back. "Is Creeper picking me up or am I meeting him at the yard?" 

"He'll pick you up, " EZ replied. 

"Alright."

"So you're coming?" 

I let out an exasperated sigh. My irritation overshadowed my desire to see Bishop, "Yeah, I'm coming." It wasn't as though I had plans. But Bishop didn't know that. 

An hour later I hand my train case and overnight bag to Creeper to load in the van. "Do you have any details?" I ask as I climb in the passenger's seat. 

"Sorry, mamá, I was just told to get you from here to there." 

"I guess if I need anything else I can pick it up on the strip, " I smile, I missed shopping since I moved to Santro Padre. Not that I needed anything. I owned enough clothes that the spare room in my house doubled as an additional closet. 

I glance back wondering what was in the crates but knowing it wasn't my place to ask. " How much longer till we're there?"

He glances at the GPS, "Little over an hour." 

"Can we stop somewhere for a bit?" I ask.  He gives me a look. “What I have to pee and freshen up.”

“Women,” he mutters with a chuckle. He exits the interstate and pulls into a truck stop parking lot. 

“Thank you,” I grab my train case and head into the bathroom. A few minutes later I step out bladder empty and a little more put together. I meet Creeper at the van who’s filling the tank with gas.  

“Does Bishop bring many women out on the road like this?” I hand the man a bottle of water.

“No,” he holsters the nozzle and takes the bottle from me, “never seen him do that before.”

“Interesting,” I respond then climb back in the passenger’s seat.  I feel the color leave my face when I look in the side mirror. 

“You ok, mamá?” Creeper glances over at me. 

“Just get us the fuck outta here,” I breathe as the truck stop fades into the distance.  When the van pulls to a stop behind a row of Harleys I turn to Creeper, “Will you keep my little freak out moment to yourself?” 

“No problem,” he said with a crooked smile. I take a final look at myself in the visor mirror then pull the pen from my hair and let my copper curls fall down my back. Then reach down and fasten the strappy heels.  I swing open the door and EZ catches my hand and helps me down. I find my footing. 

“Sorry I yelled at you on the phone,” I said. 

He gives me a half-grin, “No worries.”  I glance around my smile fades slightly, “Where is Bishop?” 

“Inside finishing up with the kings,” he responds. I breathe through my feelings.  He wanted me here. He wouldn’t have broken all kinds of the protocol to drive me over 300 miles just to fuck with my head“Alright,” I simply said. I leave EZ to help Creeper unload the van heading into the private cassino. This was a lesson I had to learn. Patch before pussy. And I hadn’t even provided that.

I’m welcomed by warm lights and the chimes of the slot machines. I scan the room looking for a familiar face. 

"Well if it isn't Malibu Barbie, " Angel's voice echoes behind me, a smug grin on his face. 

I give him a matching smile. "What have I done to see your face again, cabrón?"

"Look at you, güera learning Spanish, " he chuckles. 

"The vale between love and hate is extremely thin, " I cock my head to the side, "I guess you don't know why I'm here either?" 

"Just that your shit needs to be taken to Bish's room when you got here, " he said. "Surprised you only brought one bag. Don't you white girls overpack?" 

"Sorry to disappoint. I don't have a purse dog and I hate Uggs. But I will drink you under the table on Pumpkin Spice Lattes, " I give him a wink. I walk with him to the bar, "I'm not hanging with Bishop because I'm looking for a little Mexican flavor or whatever you're thinking. I like him." The thought of him brings a genuine smile to my lips, "I like him a lot." 

“I’m disappointed. Thought for sure you’d have a little rat dog,” he smiles, his gaze fixes past my shoulder.

“I’d rather have a dog that can eat a guy’s face off than nip at his ankles,” I take in his face seeing that he is not paying attention to what I’m saying, “Am I not dazzling you with my company?” 

“Yeah,” he looks back down at me, “what?”

“Go,” I follow his eyes, seeing a girl in at a tight barely-there dress, “I’ll be fine.” 

“You sure?” he asks. “Bish should be here soon.” 

“Give me ten bucks,” I climb up on a barstool. 

“Qué?” he quirked a brow. 

“Open your wallet and give me a ten,” I respond, “I need a drink and have no cash.”

He opens his wallet and thumbs through the bill, “I only got a twenty.” I hold out my hand, “She’s getting away, Angel.” 

He slaps the bill in my palm and rushes off. I order a White Russian from the bartender and sip it slowly.  Glancing around the room and on my phone, Bishop wasn’t here yet.  I road all this way to sit at a bar waiting. I could be waiting at home in my yoga pants and slippers. I slurp the last of my drink from my glass. I feel the warmth of a hand on my lower back.  I lift my eyes finding someone, not Bishop leaning moving dangerously close to my comfort bubble.  

His breath stank of cheap beer and cigarettes when he spoke, “Get you another drink, sweetheart?”

“No thanks, I’m waiting for someone,” I try to shrug him off but his grip on my waist grew tighter. 

“Just one drink,” he moves in closer even as I push against him.  I glance up the bartender was helping a couple who just sat at the other end of the bar. 

“I said no,” my voice firm and louder, “please get your hands off me.” He moves his hand to grip my thigh. So tight I knew there would be marks later. I push against him, not making much headway. In an instant, a fist collides with his face. Knocking him on his ass. 

“She said no,” Bishop’s voice unmistakable, the fury in his eyes burned differently than I’d seen before. He relaxes his clenched fist and holds his hand out to help me down from the stool, “Where’s Angel?”

“He went to take a piss I guess,” I didn’t want to rat him out and lose any of the ground I’d gained with him. 

“You don’t have to cover for him, sweetheart,” his voice still stern.  I lace my fingers with his. “I don’t need a babysitter.” He motions to the guy that was pulling himself off the floor, “You don’t?” 

“Not counting him. He’s an anomaly. And I was handling it. Sort of,” I tuck myself into his side, “I just need you.” The words felt cheesy coming out of my mouth. But they were true.  I hadn’t felt as safe in my whole life as I had in the last few weeks I’d spent with Bishop.  

 "I didn't like seeing that puta's hands on you, " he leads me further in the casino. "Sorry I wasn't here when you got here." He scans me over, taking in my appearance. My top hinted just enough cleavage and my jeans cling to my hips like a second skin. "Real sorry, " his eyes return to mine. 

"Next time you want to see me you can call me yourself. I know club shit is a priority. But I don't like making sketch plans via your prospect." 

"That wasn't the way I wanted it to happen, " he responds, "meetings with the kings took longer than I wanted." Bishop's hand rested on my neck pulling me closer. His lips were on mine. The noise and smells of the casino fade completely all I can sense is the feel of his lips on mine, the way his hand feels on my neck. The thickness of the leather beneath my palms as I rest them on his chest. "Come on I need to entertain them a little longer but I wanted you with me."

"Uh-huh, " the oxygen hadn't returned to my brain yet. I lace my fingers through his and walk with him to a round booth.  Hank stands, pecks my cheek then motions for me to slide in the booth.  I give Taza a wave across the table. Two other men, both wearing ‘El Presidente’ patches filled out the rest of the table. 

The Mayan Kings.

I slide in the booth painting on a smile, “Evening.” I was strangely comfortable with this group of men that likely had several kills under their belt. The princess girls I went to school with would cast their nose down at them. But after everything, I’d rather be with these ‘dangerous’ men than the dudes and bros that turned into the man I was supposed to like. I was safer with Bishop and his Mayans than I’d ever been. 

I sipped my cocktail, careful not to overindulge, listening to they catch up. Bishop’s hand rested possessively on my thigh. I stifle a yawn and leaned over my lips dancing over his ear, speaking soft, “I can’t wait to be alone with you.”  

“Tired, Hermosa?” he asked.

“It was a long trip and I’d just come off a long shift,” I answer with another yawn, playing the game. “But it was worth it.” 

“Come on,” he slides out of the booth and takes my hand, addressing the table. “Good night.”

I’d always known I was pretty. Copper curls hang loosely around my face-framing my delicate features. Full lips, blue eyes accented with fluttery lashes.  Pretty. But when Bishop looked at me I felt beautiful, sexy, a goddess. 

“You know I’m not exactly tired,” I tuck my hand in the crook of his arm as he leads me from the elevator and we stop in front of the hotel door. The light on the key slot turned from red to green and he pushes the door open. 

“Good,” he holds the door open as I step over the threshold. The room was massive. The floor to ceiling windows gives a view of the bright lights of the Vegas strip. He slips his arm around my waist pulling me close, I lean back into his chest, his warmth wraps around me like a fur.  My eyes close when his stubble tickles the sensitive skin on my neck. 

“I missed you,” I let out a soft moan as his tongue and lips move over my skin. I turn toward him, my lips finding his. The kiss fueled a fire throughout my body. I step back catching my breath.

“I missed you too,” he runs his thumb over my lip, “you hungry?” I shake my head, “No. But I do need a minute. OK?”

“Take your time,” he pecks my lips again. I grab the train case that EZ left by the door and take it with me to the bathroom. I smile hearing him mutter, “Damn.” 

I check my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t have time to apply a new layer of makeup. So I pinch my cheeks and apply some gloss.  

“You ok in there?” Bishop calls from the other side of the door. 

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I call back. I pull my clothes off quickly and take a look at myself, glad I chose to wear good underwear today. Hot pink lace boyshorts with a matching bra. I lotion my legs satisfied they were smooth then adjust my boobs. I draw in another breath. I’m ready, I want this more than anything. 

I swing open the bathroom door, I lean against the frame, feeling my confidence falter until I see his eyes over me like a starving man and I was his next meal. “I promise I won’t pass out this time,” I take a few steps closer to him. I hadn’t been nervous about sex with someone in a long time. But I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I wait for him to speak. To move, to do something. 

He closes the gap between us in two strides, his hands cup my face and his lips crash on mine. I hold onto his sides as he walks me through the room to the bed. He shrugs out of his kutte and drapes it over the chair as I sit on the bed looking up at him. My fingers tremble as I tug at his belt and unbutton his pants. His eyes are dark with lust as he watches me slip my hands inside. I bite my lip, he’s thick. And getting thicker as I stroke him. His calloused hand slips under the lace of my bra. His fingers working my nipple to a hardened peak as I free him from his jeans. 

“Not yet, baby,” he leans down pressing his lips to mine. We work our way backward on the bed until he’s over me. Consuming me with the heat of his body.  His lips move over my jaw and down my neck, kissing my chest then the tops of my breasts. I moan when his lips circle my nipple through the lace while his other hand toys with the other. Slowly he moves his lips lower and hooks his fingers in my panties. I lift my hips and let him pull them down. 

The man I’d known in the past, the one I’d run away from, he never did this before. The sensation was new. Exciting. Bishop’s tongue swirled slowly around my clit and I cried out as the sparks start to shoot through my body. He licked and sucked my pussy slowly as though he were savoring the taste of me. My fingers coil into the sheets as he slipped a finger inside me and then a second. He pumped in choreographed rhythm with flicks of his tongue on my clit. The pressure inside me built, my thighs tremble, as I feel the dam about to break. “Bishop...I…” my words barely coherent as I felt the crash, I couldn’t stop it. He slowed his movements not stopping, dragging out my orgasm as I shuddered under his touch. I feel my cheeks flush as he looks up at me. Smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he moves back up my body. 

“I knew you’d taste good,” his lips glisten with my juices. I hide my face behind my hands. He moves them, “Too late to be embarrassed, querida.”

“Sorry,” I bite my lip, “I’ve never come like that before.”  

Bishop’s hand cups my face and turns me to meet his gaze, “That is a fucking shame. I plan on tasting you as often as you’ll let me.” He presses his lips to mine as I nodded my agreement to his plan. I move my hands to his chest fingers tug on the buttons and I push the fabric down his arms.  His free hand moves to my back to unhook my bra then moves to cup my breast.  

My hands move over the topography of his now bare chest down his abs and slide in his pants, “Take your pants off.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he smiles into the kiss and raises up to push his pants the rest of the way off after pulling a condom from his wallet. I bring his face back to mine, joining my lips to his again. I let my hand move lower again, finding him thick and hard pressing against my thigh. He groans against my mouth when my fingers curl around him. Fingers trace long and slow up and down his cock. He pushes me to my back and raises up again to roll the condom down his length. 

I moan softly as he traces the tip of his member along my slit. “Ready?” I nod. I was ready as I’d ever been.  And I wanted him. At this moment I wanted to feel him more than my next breath. His hand grips my thigh as he slides inside me. Inch by satisfying inch stretching me to accommodate him. “Fuck,” he mutters and pops his hips again. My leg hooks high on his hips letting him sink deeper. He moves slow and deep. I feel a surge building inside me again. I grip tight to him, my walls flutter around his cock. “That’s it, querida,” his grip tightens on my thigh, “let go.” At his words, I stop holding back and an uncontrollable tingling sensation radiates through my body.  

Bishop’s movements become more erratic as he chases his own release.  I move to meet his thrusts as I ride out my orgasm. With a few more thrusts I feel his cock twitch and he groans into my neck at his release. His lips find mine as he comes down from his high. He rolls off of me and pulls me to his chest. I rest my head on his chest, listening as his heart thumps. He combs his fingers lightly through my hair and we lay in each other’s arms.

"I'm glad we waited," I look up at him, "Hot dirty drunk sex would have been fun. But this was better than I thought it could be." 

"Yeah, it was," he pecks my forehead and slides from the bed, "wait here." I frown losing the warmth of his closeness. I wanted to ask questions. But I didn't want to be that girl. The one that doesn't know her place and reads things that just aren't there. 

Though the sounds from the other room did catch my attention, "Bishop?" 

I could hear voices but couldn't tell exactly who the other voice was. Probably one of his guys. I grab Bishop's discarded shirt and slip it on, it still smelled of his favorite cigar and cologne, "If you have to go out again with club stuff you seriously have to make it up to me again when you get back." I roll the sleeves up slightly

While walking.

"Stay back there," Bishop calls. It was too late. I feared this would happen since the day I left Malibu. His eyes were cold as he pressed the barrel of his pistol into the back of Bishop's head. 

"Why are you here?" 

#Mayans #Mayans MC #Bishop Losa #Bishop losa x OC #bishop losa x reader #bishop losa smut #sons of anarchy #soa #smut

[minsugapie]

The Eve: part 4 (1930 words) - Kim & Do Development

• • • • • •

Lumi is down on her luck. After graduating university with a business degree, she has yet to secure a career in that path, reluctantly working and living at an old motel instead.

Kim Jongin is on the run. He’s been framed for embezzlement, and someone faked his death while he was out of town. With only a handful of bills and a false identity, he had been only able to survive for so long until breaking down in front of an old motel, hoping that whoever found him wouldn’t report him to the authorities.

• • • • • •

prev // current // next

masterlist

• • • • • •

oop and here it is...ok but like damn kyungsoo is fine af

• • • • • •

“…Mr. Do,” Kyungsoo finally heard what was coming out of the phone he held to his ear, Sehun on the other end. He’d been distracted lately, and he didn’t like it. 

Kyungsoo was walking around his office, thinking about nothing important. He should have been trying to figure out what his next plans were. But there was only one thing that he was able to focus on as of lately—the love of his life.

His longterm girlfriend broke up with him when she found out that Jongin had “died”. Apparently, that bitch had previously hooked up with Jongin and was trying constantly to get with him. That’s why she dated Kyungsoo in the first place. 

She was only using him for sex and companionship as she waited for her Jongin to see her again. Now everything that he’d done to Jongin felt like it was worth it after the love of his life left him and said she never loved him.

He should have been feeling a little better because he’d finally managed to do what he’d wanted for a while —practically an ex-communication of his business partner. But something felt off.

Jongin didn’t know it, but Kyungsoo knew exactly where he was. It worked out in his favour, however, because seeing him suffer like that was better than anything. He hadn’t actually wanted to kill him, because that would have been too easy. No, he wanted him to know what it felt like to have to live in the shadows and not have it easy. 

When Kyungsoo met Jongin in university, they’d hit it off, but Kyungsoo quickly thought there was something about Jongin that was just too perfect. He was just too nice. Even to this day, he couldn’t even put his finger on it. 

So he guessed that the fact that he started a business with Jongin was on him. It was his bad. But, what better way to bring it all to light than frame him for something? Kyungsoo needed the money for his family’s old medical bills. In fact, that was the reason for wanting to start business with Jongin anyways…there was absolutely no way that he wasn’t going to be famous. He was famous before they’d graduated. He’d come from a family of business people. He was successful before he was even successful.

And Kyungsoo needed money. More than he made. So he took some from the business, and when people started getting suspicious, he pinned it on the partner.

“Repeat,” Kyungsoo replied into the phone. Sehun had been tailing Jongin for the last week, even taking the last of his money and beating him up a bit. Jongin had been eating less and training less, so of course Sehun would be able to beat him up.

“Jongin’s being taken care of,” Sehun repeated. Kyungsoo noticed that his voice sounded a little timid, probably worried what he was going to say.

Kyungsoo’s attention was fully on Sehun now. 

“You mean he’s found someone who doesn’t know who he is?”

“I mean, maybe, but either way she’s been going in and out of the room with supplies and food.”

“It’s a woman? Interesting. Well follow her. Figure out who she is and if she’s a threat to us. We can’t have anyone giving away any information,” Kyungsoo sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Jongin finding someone to take care of him had never been in the plan. Heck, he was surprised that he’d even let himself be vulnerable in front of someone when he was in this situation. Actually, he’d never let himself be vulnerable in any situation, ever. 

“10-4. I’ll call you in a few days.”

“You better have some good information for me,” Kyungsoo threatened. Sehun was only with him because he had debts to pay off. He just happening to be in the wrong place at the right time. Kyungsoo made sure to remind him of his place every once in a while. 

• • • • • •

Sehun hung up after Kyungsoo’s last words. He decided that the best way to get to know this girl was to book a room at the motel. Jongin wouldn’t know who he was because of two important things: he started working for Kyungsoo after Jongin was framed, and he wore a mask when he beat him up the last time. Regardless, it would be stupid for him to leave the room. 

Parking his car out front, he made his way into the front office, but not before lingering beside the room Jongin was in first. The curtains were closed and it looked like the lights were off. It seemed like nobody was there. It really was the prefect place to hide. 

The girl was sitting behind the front desk, almost falling asleep in her book when he walked in. Sehun really couldn’t blame her. The motel seemed run-down and old, yet still clean. Paint was cracking, furniture was dated, but there wasn’t a spec of dust in sight. There were two cars parked outside, excluding his own, so it was dead, but not completely out of business. 

The girl’s head lifted at the sound of the bell on the door, posture perking up at the sight of a customer. 

“What can I do for you?” She asked, putting aside the book that she was reading. 

“I’d like a room, please,” Sehun replied, never taking his eyes off the lady. He had to admit that she was beautiful. Her long blonde hair framed her face as she looked at him with a warm smile. He wondered how Jongin was able to get her to help him after the found out who he was. Maybe she just didn’t know who he was?

“How many nights do you plan on staying?” She followed up, taking a key off the wall behind her, getting ready to jot his name down in the book. 

“We’ll start with two. Would it be possible to add more if needed?” He smiled at her, putting all his charm into his words to see if she was swayed at all by handsomeness. It was something that had always helped him out. He had a cool, calm personality and he knew exactly how to control the emotions of those around him when he wanted to.

“Perfect. We can definitely add more if you need. I just need your name and credit card number for the records, so if you could get those out for me, that would be great!” Her answer was diplomatic and polite, not phased at all by his flattery. 

Sehun shook his head, smiling as he took out his card and ID for her to take down the information. She seemed so nice. It made sense that she wanted to take care of someone in need.  But it made him sad that she’d gotten herself into this situation. While she was writing it down, he asked, “So is there some place good to eat in town?”

She looked up at him with a smile. “Of course! I just came back from there actually! It’s the diner on main street. Tell them Lumi sent you, and they’ll give you the best treatment!”

So her name was Lumi? Sehun thought that Lumi’s smile was contagious. 

If Sehun found out anything about Jongin from Kyungsoo, it was the fact that Jongin couldn’t resist a beautiful woman. So, he was sure to try something with her. “Will do,” he smiled, taking the key from her hand as she held it out to him. He wasn’t even going to go to his room right then. Clearly if she knew the people at the diner, they were sure to know something about her. 

“I hope you have a good supper and a good night, Sehun,” she called as he opened the door to head back to his car. 

The one thought on Sehun’s mind as he drove to the diner was that he was sad that she had to be nice. He wasn’t sure what Kyungsoo planned to do with her once he got the information, but it couldn’t have been too good. He could be a very cruel person. 

• • • • • •

The diner was pretty crowded when he walked inside, realizing that it was prime supper time. He took at seat at the bar by himself and waited for a waitress to take his order. Beside him was an old man who was doing the crossword in the back of the newspaper. He looked up at Sehun almost immediately. “What’s your business in town?” He asked, pushing his glasses back up his nose. 

“I just came from the hotel. Lumi recommended this place,” Sehun dropped her name, wanting to see the reaction it sparked in the people around him. 

“Oh! Lumi sent you! What a beautiful woman, inside and out!” The waitress spoke before Tom could. Sehun nodded his head at her as she placed a tall glass of water in front of him. 

“She seems to be,” Sehun said. “Why is someone like her working in a place like that?”

Tom sighed beside him, taking a sip of his coffee. “She went through a tough divorce after university and is stuck.”

“Oh? She had bigger plans?” 

“She doesn’t like to talk about it…but she wanted to go to the big city. She got a degree in business and had such optimistic plans!” Tom spewed, probably not knowing that he was telling Sehun everything that he would ever need to know. Poor Tom didn’t know what he was doing. “She always told us about this dream of hers to work for Kim & Do Development, but we’re all glad that that didn’t work out…especially considering…”

Sehun’s ears perked at the mention of the very familiar company. So she did know who he was!

• • • • • •

The two days passed before Sehun decided to call Kyungsoo to tell him what he had seen. He’d watched Lumi for a while, seeing how much of a smile she had on her face when she left the room with Jongin or how she brought food back from the diner for him to eat. 

Sehun had spoken to her that morning when she asked if he needed anything for his room. He couldn’t help how pretty and kind he found her. While chatting with her that morning, he’d noticed that she had some slight bruising on her neck that he hadn’t noticed when he checked in. Briefly, he wondered what had happened. 

“Ok, so I’ve found some things,” Sehun told Kyungsoo as he was lying down on the bed at the motel. He couldn’t believe that only a few rooms away, Jongin was probably lying on a bed with Lumi by his side. Who knows what they were getting up to. It was Kim Jongin after all. 

“What are you waiting for, kid, tell me,” Kyungsoo sounded less than amused.

“She’s a business graduate that actually wanted to work for your company. I got Chen to do a background check for me, and apparently she’s not from around here. She was married to a guy named Kim Junmyeon, who went by Suho, but they divorced. Parents are travelling the world in their retirement, but she hasn’t been in contact with them since she ran away to get married. No siblings.”

“Hmmmmm, I didn’t want to have to do anything, but…” Kyungsoo thought aloud on the other end of the phone.

“What are you going to do?”

“Take her, Sehun. Take her when an opportunity presents itself and bring her to the storage lockers.”

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