#4th year in a row?? god. fucking sucks. I get so in my head with this bullshit every year. but I want to do it

[peapod20001]

Bro I’m </3 thinking too hard </3

[aenaxes]

OMG ok for the 200 follower celebration (based on your smoking post) PLZZZ write sharing a spice blunt with cross or any batcher of your choosing I would simply die 😩💅🏻❤️

vapor trails

[crosshair & hunter x f!reader] you don't really run with the fett twins' crowd, but you find yourself at one of their parties anyway (in reference to this post lol)

warnings: college!au, recreational drug use, suggestive themes, but consent is sexy & mandatory & sober babes

w/c: 3.8k

a/n: anon, you ask for one batcher, but why not two? thank you for enabling me nonnie & @mallr4ts lol (im so sorry to all the previous requests for the event, this one has just been needling in my brain all day and i had to get it out hsdfs)

event details here! requests are open until july 4th!

You don’t know much about the Fett twins.

They’re something like campus legends even though they’re only a year your senior and at the tail end of their fourth years. But as much as you’ve heard their names slung around in weekend plans and excited chatter, you’ve never once met them, much less seen them yourself. Between idling class whispers and dining hall conversations, all you can piece together from the rumors is that: one, they’re from a big family (you’ve heard anywhere from two to twelve other brothers, yikes); and two, as much as they work hard (because the venture capital and pre-professorial tracks seem rigorous enough), they play even harder.

It helps that they apparently own one of the biggest apartments off campus, one in which you find yourself hopelessly and miserably lost. And overdressed.

Great.

It hadn’t occurred to you that your roommate, who is nowhere to be seen, had been dressing up for her girlfriend, and that most people who had half a mind would wear something comfortable that could withstand a few spilled drinks and ash. So seeing the rest of the room in rumpled tees and sweats has you and your little black dress seeking out the nearest wall as you fiddle with your questionably sweet cup of margarita mixer.

You feel like a first year, and it sucks.

But for once, with everyone too busy mingling amongst themselves over the heavy thrum of some mumble rap beat, you manage to slip by unnoticed.

Every now and then, you dart your eyes around the ever shifting landscape of faces in the dim room, looking for even the vaguest familiarity that might let you feign being tipsy and join a group for the night. But every time you try, there’s no luck.

Fuck, you haven’t even seen anyone here before.

But there might be a god watching out for you yet when the crowd shifts just enough that you catch sight of the couch, and on it, someone you suspect to be one of the twins as he greets a few girls with a disinterested nod.

Emboldened, but mostly nervous that in the crowd of bodies and red solo cups you’re still helplessly alone, you push off the wall and squeeze past huddled cliques of conversation to make for the dark couch.

By the platinum bleached hair and big-name consulting group quarter zip, Crosshair—at least you think it’s him—lounges over the couch. He isn’t the only body on the suede seats, but he keeps to himself, his head dipped low as he works one hand over a small metal canister in his other palm.

If you weren’t having luck with the other nameless faces around you, maybe the Fett twin would keep you company—at least until your roommate came back to find you (if she did). And worst case, you’d just slink back to your dorm and mope until your roommate apologized to you with your favorite overpriced smoothie bowl the day after.

Mustering every ounce of courage you have, you plant your feet by the couch and finally speak.

"Is your name actually Crosshair?" you ask.

The man on the couch pauses, his motions stilling over the small metal cylinder in his palms, and he lifts his chin just enough to flick his eyes up towards the sound of your voice.

You always thought the girls in your droning 9AM gen-ed were wildly exaggerating his hype for their own devices, squealing over his (apparently) brooding charm and sharp looks to nip at his stash for free. But for all the vague haze surrounding your perception of the twins, you never thought that they were telling the truth.

If you had been in broad daylight under the incandescent glow of your creaky lecture hall lights, you might have called him cocky, almost haughty, how he meets you with an unreadable look for having interrupted him. But in the purple LEDs and heavy haze of vape juice and shitty tequila, he’s captivating, all dark eyes and perfectly lit skin, marked only by the needle-thin design tattooed over the right side of his face and a worn wooden toothpick bitten between his teeth.

You swallow down the dry lump in your throat when you catch him flick his eyes from your face, down the short length of your dress, and back up again.

"Smoke with me; maybe you'll find out," he drawls, toothpick bobbing as he speaks. He twists the cylinder once and offers you a wry smirk. And when you stay, speechless but there all the same, Crosshair scoots to the side and pats the narrow space between him and the couch arm, inviting you close.

"I've never smoked before," you admit a bit shyly as you drop down beside him. Your dress hikes up your thigh, and you shiver when your skin presses up against the soft denim of his jeans.

"Not even cigs?"

You shake your head. And you tell yourself that when he leans close and brushes his shoulder up against your arm, that he’s only doing it because someone’s boosted the bass, and you can’t hear him over the reverb.

"Well, good thing I'm here, yeah?"

He gives the metal canister a final twist and sets it down on the coffee table before you. Swapping the canister for a small brown sleeve, you watch in a daze as he pulls a semi-transparent leaflet from the folder and tears a strip of cardstock straight from its flap. He has pianist fingers, you think wistfully, neatly kept nails and slender grace, and you wonder if he’ll entertain you if you ask to compare your hand to his.

“What’s your name?”

You scrabble back to the present at the sound of his voice. “Uh, y/n,” you offer.

“Well, y/n,” he says with a soft laugh, having caught on to your daydreaming. “Step one, you fold your filter.”

You nod along absently as Crosshair artfully crimps the thick paper into a neat roll. As if there isn’t thirty-some odd people crammed into his apartment, he quietly takes you step by step, offering you the filter, the paper, then the contents of the canister (a grinder, he explains) like it’s a game of show and tell. But with every piece he places into your hands, you gravitate closer, closer, until you’re flush against his arm and practically hanging over his side to watch as he gently taps a line of bud over the paper.

“Here, let me give you a better look,” Crosshair says.

You expect him to bring the neat line of bud to you, but when nothing comes, you look up and find him waiting for you, one arm open in invitation as the other pats once on the dark denim of his thigh.

“Uh—”

“Sit,” he says as if you haven’t just met him fifteen minutes ago. “Front row seats if you want ‘em.”

On one hand, you barely know Crosshair outside of the rumors you hear on campus. On the other hand, he’s a genuinely pleasant person, careful to accommodate for your boundaries and offering a snide playfulness that’s banished your nerves from earlier in the night.

He’s also really fucking hot.

“Okay,” you murmur, and you let him wrap his arm around your waist and tug you onto his lap. And he’s right. Perched over his thighs, you see with perfect clarity (and without the strain in your neck) as he gently folds the paper over the mound of bud and carefully twists. It’s the prettiest joint you’ve ever seen—though it might be because it’s the only one you’ve seen.

"Final touch," Crosshair's voice rumbles over your back, shooting straight into your core as he lifts the paper's vellum edge to your lips. “Lick it for me.”

Since you sat down with him, you’ve only been the passenger, nodding along as Crosshair’s long, nimble fingers creased over filter paper and patiently pointed out things like the stray pistils in his baggie and the keef gathered at the bottom of his grinder for if you really want to get fucked up. And even though you aren’t doing much (because licking paper doesn’t really seem too crazy), it’s a step forward from the comfortable rhythm that had settled between you, and you twist around in his lap to shoot him an uncertain glance.

“Just,” Crosshair flicks his tongue over his lower lip, flashing a brief glimpse of a ball piercing towards your wide eyes. And if you weren’t so flustered, you might have recognized the coy playfulness in his gaze. “Give it a lick, right over the edge.”

“I—uh, what if I—” you stammer.

“You’re not gonna mess this up, darling,” Crosshair chuckles. If his hand squeezing brief over your waist wasn’t enough to bring heat searing over the tops of your ears, his next words, crooned low and breathy into your ear, certainly do. “You’re a smart girl. You can do it.”

"My brother giving you trouble?"

Another voice cuts through the din of the party, sparing you your stammering nerves as you whip your head up in its general direction. You’re greeted with the sight of his brother, peering down on you as he takes a sip from his cup.

“You’re such a killjoy,” Crosshair mutters, drawing his arm tighter around your waist as he jabs the half-rolled joint to where Hunter sprawls down onto the couch beside him. “No, I’m not being a creep. I’m teaching our pretty underclassman here how to roll.”

Oh.

Heat rushes over your cheeks, and you can’t decide whether you want to shrink into yourself or bask in it and beg for more.

He called you pretty.

“With her in your lap,” Hunter snorts into his cup.

“It was your idea to invite your entire fucking rugby team. Where else would we do it?”

“I’m so sorry he’s like this,” Hunter laughs, tilting his head and looking up at you through his (unfairly) long lashes. Where you thought Crosshair’s tattoo was bold, Hunter’s practically blows him out of the water, a well-worn swath of ink on the left half of his face, curving into neatly stylized teeth right at the edge of his lips. “I’m Hunter.”

Huh, maybe you do have a thing for tattoos.

“Y/n,” you squeak. “It’s, um—it’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart,” he says as he offers you an easy smile. “Has my baby brother been treating you right?”

“God, two fucking minutes,” Crosshair snaps. You hear the embarrassment seeping from the vitriol, and it strikes you like a shot to the head that he’s trying to play cool in front of you. “I come out two minutes after you and—”

“We’re fraternal, and I got all the oxygen in the womb. Explains why he has awful people skills,” Hunter fake-whispers loud enough for Crosshair to hear, and you giggle as the other man groans from behind you.

“No, he’s been really nice,” you say softly once you realize that you’ve been laughing a little too loud. “He’s teaching me about weed.” It sounds juvenile when you say it, awkward and clumsy on your tongue. It’s a dead giveaway that has Hunter’s smile mellowing into something soft.

“Your first time?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, Cross here’s high as shit at least four hours every day. Says it helps him do the math. I hate to say it, but you’re in good hands.”

“You try running a nonlinear regression sober,” Crosshair snorts. “Anyways, we were just finishing up this joint before you decided to kill the vibe.”

Crosshair lifts the half-rolled joint back up to your chin, and this time, he leans forward and presses his chest close against your back as the playful snark leaves his tone, in its wake, something patient and calm as his voice rumbles by your ear.

“You gonna help me finish the job, sweet girl?”

You surprise yourself when the initial trepidation vanishes as you tip your chin down and stick out your tongue. Maybe you’re showboating now that you have an audience, feeling Hunter’s dark eyes on your lips when you touch the tip of your tongue out over the edge.

Whether it’s your lip gloss or the fine crumbs of bud stuck to the roll paper that fills your mouth with something earthy and sweet, you can’t say. All you know is they’re both following you with that intense intent, the bass and blend of voices faded out around you; just you in Crosshair’s lap and Hunter pretending to care about the drink in his hand as you lift your tongue off the far corner of the paper and close your lips.

“Good job,” Hunter muses, and you’re pretty certain he’s not talking about the joint when you feel his gaze boring into you alone.

The smell of smoke pulls you out of Hunter’s gravity, and you look back in front of you to see Crosshair snap a scuffed metal lighter shut and toss it onto the coffee table. He brings the joint back down in front of you, blowing a neat stream of whitish gray smoke past your ear.

“You know how to pull?” Crosshair asks, and his chin brushes over your bare shoulder as he speaks. He’s so close. You can smell the burn, acrid and sour, but it doesn’t matter that it doesn’t smell like some bubblegum vape when you feel his breaths curling over your skin. You just want more.

Mutely, you shake your head.

“Mm, you know how to shotgun?” Hunter offers, and you hear Crosshair huff laugher from behind you. “Might be easier for your first try.”

You shake your head again.

“It’s,” Hunter pauses, and his brows knit close as he thinks for a moment. “It’s kind of like a kiss. But not really. I take a hit and you catch my smoke. That sound okay?”

You don’t think it matters that someone’s hit shuffle on the playlist, filling the room with a hard electronic beat that might have otherwise drowned out all sound. All you hear is your heart pounding in your ears as you nod and watch Hunter lift the filter to his lips and inhale deep, then pass the joint back to Crosshair.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, white trails of smoke curling over his upper lip as he lifts one hand to cup over the base of your neck.

“Open,” Crosshair whispers.

Wordlessly, you obey. Your lips part just as Hunter pulls close, so close you feel the heat of his skin spreading warm over your cheeks, and blows a soft stream of bitter smoke into your mouth. It can’t be more than a few seconds, but all the while, you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his.

“Breathe in, deep,” you hear Crosshair instruct as he begins to rub one thumb over the curve of your hip.

The smoke is thick, sluicing down your throat and filling your lungs like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s not bad, just new, and pressed between the twins over the couch, you think it just might have been worth being ditched by your roommate earlier in the night. But your lungs ache, and you slowly exhale, watching as your vision fogs with a loose cloud of smoke until your chest feels clear again.

“And you didn’t even cough,” Hunter smiles. His calloused fingertips follow the slope of your neck, lingering one moment more before he pulls away. And you aren’t sure if the low buzzing in your fingertips is the weed or their combined warmth as Hunter rubs over your knee and Crosshair leans his head against your neck. “Good girl.”

“Wanna do it again,” you whisper as the buzz begins to crawl up your neck, fizzling around your temples as you lean your cheek over where Crosshair nuzzles into your shoulder.

“With him or me?” Crosshair murmurs, his lips brushing over your skin.

“You,” you say dreamily, and Hunter laughs, a sound that suddenly seems so far away as you tip your head and press close against Crosshair’s silver hair.

Crosshair leans into your touch, pressing his cheek up against your neck one last time before he’s lifting his head and bringing the joint to his lips. You hear the hiss of his inhale, smoke curling up through the narrow body of the joint as the charred end glows warm beside you.

And instead of Hunter’s approach, level with you, Crosshair looms above you, meeting your wide eyes with something of a fond smile. Dragging his hand up your chest, he follows the line of your neck and holds snug over your chin. He squeezes softly, and your jaw falls slack, lips parted in a soft ‘o’ as he dips low. He's closer than Hunter as you feel his mouth just brush over yours and breathe smoke over your tongue.

This time, it’s easier.

You swallow down the smoke and hold, just a beat longer than before. But both Crosshair and Hunter notice as your lips stay parted, and they share a soft laugh that has you exhaling smoke and pride all at once when you finally relax your diaphragm and breathe out.

“Fast learner,” Crosshair muses, nosing up under your jaw as you sink back against his chest.

You mumble incoherently, chasing his touch as the high creeps heavy and warm from your chest to your collar and settles at the back of your throat. It anchors you, molding you up against Crosshair who feels nothing short of perfect as he circles his arms loose over your waist.

You turn your head to thank Hunter when you distantly register him pressing a cool cup into your hand (water, you think you hear him say), but the words slip back down into your throat, your eyelids suddenly unbearably heavy and coarse over your blurry vision.

“You wanna lay down?” Hunter offers, and his voice comes to you like you’re underwater, warped and bubbling past the din of the party around you.

You're pretty sure you nod.

For a few moments, you catch traces of an unintelligible exchange between the twins, only aware of the rumble of Crosshair’s voice at your back, and then you’re being lifted up off the couch, the music and raucous laughter fading behind you.

A door opens, squeaking half-shut, and you wince as a light clicks on beside you. Whoever was carrying you sets you down on something soft and cool, and you sway as the light dims and you settle into your seat.

You’re on a bed, you think.

Crosshair’s, judging by the shock of light hair that you can make out through your lashes. He helps you into a worn tee that reaches past the short hem of your dress, and you wiggle into it with a soft whine, holding it tight.

But where you expect a familiar weight to dip down next to you and pull you close, your eyes fly open when you see his figure turn away from you and towards the neon lights of the party outside.

“You aren’t staying?” It's the most coherent you've been through your first high.

“Not tonight,” Crosshair says softly. He turns back towards you and reaches up to fix the strap of your dress as you sit on his bed. “Baby’s first tokes got you all dopey. Right now, what you need is this,” and he presses a plastic bottle of vitamin water he’s seemingly produced out of nowhere into your palm. “This,” he adds, pressing your phone into your other hand. “And a good night’s sleep.”

“And what if I say I need you, too?” you pout.

Some part of you—the conscious part locked away in the back of your skull—bangs up against the hazy high at the crown of your head because when you’re good and sober and when Crosshair inevitably turns you down, you won’t be able to look at yourself in the mirror for the next semester.

But he breaks into a smile that crinkles at the corners of his eyes before he leans down to press his lips to your forehead. It’s just a split-second of warm, chapstick-soft lips on your skin, but it floods you with an indescribable good from the top of your head all the way down to your toes.

And as high as you are right now, you have a hell of a hunch that the flutter in your chest is going to stay, even when the room stops wobbling around you.

“When you’re all sobered up in the morning, we’ll make you breakfast, and we’ll figure it out from there,” Crosshair says after he’s pulled back, reaching up to smooth his palm over your hair. “Sound like a plan?”

You nod, probably with a little too much enthusiasm, but you’re rewarded with another low chuckle that’s practically music to your ears. His hand gentle and firm over your shoulder, Crosshair guides you down onto the bed and pulls the covers up to your chin.

“Now text your roomie so she doesn’t call the cops on us, get some sleep, and drink all of that, okay?”

“Okay,” you respond.

“Good girl.”

And when the lights click out, you curl into Crosshair’s pillow, breathing in cold, fresh notes of his cologne, and then you’re asleep.

You climb out of bed the next morning, your minidress rumpled under a long shirt. It's not like a hangover, no, you just find yourself a bit lightheaded and throat parched, and the disorientation makes your head spin as you’re greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and something savory—

Your roommate doesn’t wake up earlier than you, and she can’t cook for shit. And why were your sheets grey? Whose shirt were you—

Oh.

Fuck.

You practically burst out of Crosshair’s bedroom, and you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow you hadn’t expected to see Hunter sipping mildly on a mug of coffee while Crosshair pushes something around in a pan over their kitchen range.

“Mornin,’” Hunter offers you a small wave, and reaches for a third mug on the countertop. “Wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee so we just made it black.”

“What happened last night?” you gasp. If you weren’t so panicked, you’re certain the sight of them sporting nothing but grey sweats would have been your only concern, but you’ve just woken up with foggy memories and the slimy dread of anxiety that follows a blackout night.

“Easy, easy,” Crosshair assures you as he steps away from the stovetop. “Nothing happened after we smoked. You took, like, two hits, and you were so hazy you couldn’t remember your dorm number, so we put you to bed, and I slept out in the living room. Fetts are wild but we’re not scumbags, promise.”

And judging from the throw blanket sliding off the edge of the couch cushions, you’re fairly certain you can believe him. Relief floods your chest.

“Oh thank God,” you sigh, and your shoulders sag as the weight of panic sloughs off your back.

They both laugh softly, the sudden tension lifting from the bright morning light, and you can’t help but join in. And when that rosy relief gives way to silence again, it’s Crosshair who speaks next.

“So, you staying for breakfast?”

“Can I borrow some actual clothes first?”

“Done deal.”

[imaginewarehouse]

Marcus White x Jonah’sSister!Reader || Oneshot

Plot: 

You find out that you are pregnant... with Marcus' miracle baby.

Warnings: Pregnancy, panic attack

🔆  🔆  🔆

Carefully, I pick out one of the pregnancy tests from the shelf. Then grab another... 2 more... and another. Just to be sure.

As I go up to the pharmacy desk, I thank god that Tate isn't working here anymore; I never would've gotten away with this. He would've snitched to Jonah or something, for his own sociopathic enjoyment. Instead, the new guy thankfully rings up and bags my items casually, not really caring what he flings into the white plastic bag- then hands it to me with a soulless customer service smile. If I had to describe it, I'd say its if the man had been working here for years before finally letting the job kill him on the inside- just in time for the wind to change and stick his face like that. Honestly, I never see the guy without this smile. Not even in the breakroom. Its unnerving.

Still, I take the bag and smile back even though I know he for sure doesn't really mean it and turn around so I can walk (The long way around the store, so I don't pass the doors to the warehouse) towards the employee bathrooms... but stop short, jolting into panic mode immediately. Freeze, freeze, freeze!

There's Isaac, standing as tall as a bear in my path behind the aisles, with a scanner in his hand and a surprised look on his face. Or at least as surprised as he would ever convey.

Clearly, though, he saw the tests. And I'm screwed. He is absolutely the well, second last person I wanted to catch me doing this; Buying these.

A nervous smile flickers onto my face and I walk the short ways over to him, hugging the bag to my front. He's still just staring; Mouth half open and eyes a little less dead, then usual. "Oh, hey Isaac! How's is going? You got sent to pharmacy today? That s-sucks... " Honestly I didn't think he was allowed to be assigned pharmacy...

Completely by-passing the option to forget what he just saw and exchange polite chit-chat with me, he instead closes his mouth and his eyes, shakes his head and then opens his eyes again. Then inhales. "Are those what I think those are?"

"Wh-what?"

"Pregnancy tes-"

Shit- Giving him a desperate expression, revealing my true feelings today - being complete and utter panic, - I cut him off. "SHHH! Isaac! No- uh. Yes. Um... Would you believe these aren't for me?"

"Mmm... " His face twists slightly into one of thought, tightening his lips together and sizing me up. "No, I don't think so."

"Well!- " I'm totally ready to make up an excuse... but peter out as soon I try. I could do it. I could string together some kind of half-believable bullshit like 'They're for Amy', but he would still go and tell Marcus and he would find me and... I would still have to have the conversation earlier then I want to. So instead I drop the façade, and my shoulders, and show just how tired I am. "I want to find out myself before breaking the news to Marcus. Okay? He might be unhappy about the idea and then we do the test and it turns out I'm not pregnant and then I just stressed us both out, for no reason! And, on the other hand, what if he wants it and it turns out I'm wrong about this? Please, Isaac, just don't tell him yet. Please, please." I feel like no matter how many pleases I use they may still not change anything. But I'm desperate.

He stands still for a few minutes... so long in fact I think he may be in shock himself, or having some kind of drug induced anxiety attack, and am about to wave my hand up in his face or say his name again, when he finally breathes a little more obviously and I relax back down to earth. "... Well, lets go find out then, right?"

"What- You- you want to come?" Something in me relaxes at the thought- I don't really want to do this alone. I want someone there, like in the movies, to hold the box and just read me the instructions. But I imagined it would be someone I'm actually close friends with, who can hold my hand and wouldn't care that it recently touched a pee-stick. I did not expect that person to be Isaac - Isaac, who likes to watch homeless people kill each other with shopping trollies and sticks and trash can shields like in a horrible, pitiful, modern-day coliseum, - in a million years.

But he nods.

"Yeah, sure." He puts his scanner on the shelf, and we set off the way I was going. He seems to silently understand why we have to go the long way around- to avoid passing the doors to the warehouse. Or he just doesn't care. Either way, I'm thankful he doesn't try to re-rout my course. Or even mention it. "Good excuse to slack off work... besides I should probably get out of this section, anyway. Hey, it is Marcus- right?"

I sigh- I suppose the companionable silence was too much to ask for. "Yes Isaac. If its a thing, in the first place."

"Yeah, right."

___TIME SKIP___

"You're having a miracle baby, you know? He's not supposed to be able to do that- isn't that kinda... good?"

I only whimper in response from |my new home| the cubicle I've been taking the tests in, holding my head. How am I going to do this? I have college, I have this job, I have my studio apartment to continue paying rent for! Marcus and I don't even... there isn't even... we haven't labelled it yet, and... Oh god, I'm shaking.

Isaac heaves a sigh outside, his chair creaking as he shifts. "Well, that's... three positives, so far." Isaac's memorable, slow drawl seeps through the cracks in my cubicle and takes away my thoughts for a moment. And my breath.

3 positives.

3 positives.

Not one, not two... three.

... Then he goes on, a whiny tone in his voice. "Do we really need to do another one?"

I breathe in deep. I don't know what else to do. The next logical step would be telling Marcus or Jonah, but I'm ready for neither of those. So procrastination through pregnancy test, it has to be. "Uh, yes. We do. Um... can you, please?- "

"Ughhh. Yeah, yeah. I'll get you more water. Stay here." Then Isaac, who has surprisingly been very helpful, even getting me tape so I can stick the finished tests up to the door in front of me so that I can compare them easier, disappears out of the women's bathroom, leaving me with my thoughts.

I peak back up at the tests, feeling panic fill up my chest cavity like its anxiety gas and my rib cage is the gas chamber- and my heart's the poor organ at deaths row. I'm... pregnant.

Oh my god. I'm pregnant. There is a human being growing inside me, right now. A human being who will require time that I definitely don't have, money that its parents certainly could not scavenge if we scavenged for used soda cans like Myrtle and sold them in our spare time, effort that I'm terrified might not even be in me at this point... A baby that needs some semblance of a comfortable, stable home, which I do not have for it.

I'm just burrowing my face into my arms and knees atop the toilet seat when the bathroom door opens again. Looking up, I immediately ask for Isaac- because that was really freaken quick, for him.

And get a familiar, confused sounding voice call back "... No, its Amy... Sorry, I just need to pee. Are you going to be long?".

"Oh!" Oops. Immediately, head going empty with panic, I unlock the door and and jump out to let her in. "No! I just finished. Um- go ahead. I'll just wash- wash my hands."

Now seeing each other, I see Amy's forehead crease and her eyebrows furrow in confusion and concern at my pink cheeked/pale faced appearance and the panicky way I'm talking. She reaches out toward me. "... Y/N, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine!" I laugh, the most nervous sounding laugh ever. "Don't worry."

Amy's nose screws up. "... why were you waiting for Isaac?"

"We-we're just having an affair."

... what??

Her eyebrows furrow even deeper. "Okay... I'm just gonna go... pee... now... " She says slowly, gradually disappearing into the cubicle; Not quite sure what to say back to that.

I sigh in relief when her eyes aren't on me anymore and the door locks, thinking flushing some water onto my face might calm me down, when a loud GASP comes from Amy and I i m m e d i a t e l y remember the tests stuck to the wall. Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!!

Amy comes right out of there, looking at me with completely new eyes now- understanding truly why I'm pale, I'm sure, and definitely why I was acting the way I was. "Y/N! You're... pregnant??!" I open my mouth to respond. Maybe say 'yes' seeing as that's the truth and the only proper answer, but I choke on my words and instead say, "Isaacs getting more water so I can take another test."

"I think 3 is a pretty conclusive number!"

"I-" She is not wrong, but I don't want to do anything else but take another easy test, and get defensive instead. "I bought four, I'm doing four!"

"Wh- Is Isaac the father!?"

"God, no." Isaac and I both spit back in offense.

I whip my head around when i realise he wasn't supposed to be there yet at all, and- there he is in the doorway.

... Jonah right behind him looking sicker then me. My jaw drops. "You brought Jonah??!"

"Uh, no, I was just waiting outside for, um," He gestures to Amy and my stomach drops. So he heard the whole thing. Could this get any worse??! Well I mean of course it could, Marcus could be here. Stupid question. Don't ask questions like that; It always summons the worst, in movies. "You're pregnant!? Who- you know what, unimportant right now. Do you wanna sit down??"

I shake my head, taking a deep breath and holding my hand out to Isaac. "No, I'm fine. I have a test to do. Water, Isaac?"

"Here." He hands me the bottle, and I go to disappear back into the cubicle before jumping back away again, remembering that Amy still needs to go and gesturing for her to go, ridiculously enough. She shakes her head and gestures back, like I'm crazy, to take it instead.

I do so and lock myself in, starting to chug the whole bottle.

A blessed silent moment passes... before Jonah speaks. "Is the 4th test really necessary?- "

"For the love of god- Let me take the fourth goddamn test for fucks sake!"

___TIME SKIP___

"... so what is it?" Amy asks 10 minutes later, breaking the deafening silence, as I sit back down on the toilet seat and hold my face in my hands again.

"... Positive... "

Isaac sighs. "Who would have guessed, really?"

No one tells him to shut up. He's right. But also no one agrees, because I'm a fucking 23 year old pregnant girl and I will kill them.

"So... what now?" Amy asks, speaking to the room, but expecting me to answer.

"Well, I'd like less people to be here, honestly." I pipe up, removing my hands from my mouth to speak clearer.

"Done. Isaac, Jonah, get out."

"What? I was here before you... lady." Isaac exclaims, offended, but a moment later I hear the door close, anyway. I assume it had something to do with Amy's signature resting bitch face- cranked up to eleven. "We'll just wait out here, then! Yell if you need us."

"Yep... " Amy responds to him, sounding exhausted and I can totally imagine her rolling her eyes right now. She takes a deep breath, and sighs it out. I hear her rest carefully down into the chair Isaac vacated. For a moment she thankfully says nothing, and I do wonder whether I should... but I don't know what to so say. So I just stay hidden in the cubicle, silent until Amy takes another deep breath and asks the question. "Who is it?"

I take a deep breath, knowing that once I say it I cant take it back, while on the other hand... its done, anyway. He's already the father and I cant change that (Would I if I could, though?) but telling Amy may either make or break my confidence in having him as the dad of my kid. Not that I have a choice... I just know that Amy's going to be worried about it and I don't know if I can handle the criticism right this moment.

Finally I spit it out though. Marcus.

...

"Oh- wow."

Uncomfortable, I shift on the closed toilet seat. "Yeah."

Her voice gets higher, clearly fake and trying to sound like this is better then she really feels it is. My heart plummets into my stomach like a terrible roller coaster. "Well, that's... " She pauses, searching for a safe word to use, assumedly. "Great!"

"... 'great?" For some reason that word, and Amy's tone... hits something wrong, in me. Panic flickers deep in my chest and my stare on the wall gets colder, harder. "... you think this is 'great'? Really? You? No, you don't. Do you hear yourself? 'Great'. Puh! This is Marcus. 'Been to jail' Marcus. 'Ex Con' Marcus. 'Creator and CEO of BOOB CHEESE', Marcus. Marcus who shits in the shower and thinks breastfeeding is akin to whipping your dick out in public, Marcus who has a tattoo of his mother on his back for Valentines day- "

Okay so maybe I'm just picking on him because I'm inadequate, because I don't have the time for a baby, because if I'm trusted with this perfect thing then I will ruin it... I'll pick work, instead of love, and they'll grow up with less of it then they should have and I'll be to blame...

But I don't want to address that yet. I cant.

"Y/N."

"Neither of us even have the money for this." I'm panicking again. "He lives with his mother! And- what if he gets mad... " I suddenly get worried, my eyes go round and I cover my mouth. "I really like him Amy. I cant have him mad at me. Not for this. Not him. Please don't let him hate m- "

"Y/N! Calm the fuck down, okay, right now. Don't speak. Just... take some deep breathes okay? First of all, Marcus is not going to be 'mad' at you. He's sure as hell is not going to hate you. You're spiralling, just take some long breaths." Amy makes it sound like a ridiculous idea with her tone, that he might be mad or he might hate me. I do as she says as she talks; take deeeeeep breaths. Slowly, I start to clam down. "He might be shocked, yeah, but he's- he's not like that. He's an idiot, not a total asshole. Take it from me, I know what I'm talking about here. I promise you. Whether he'll be good at being a parent, is... debatable." Everything she says makes sense. And she would know- you've met Adam. "But he'll be there, at the very least.

And... and you'll be a great mum, anyway."

I feel my heartbeat start to slow down again as I breath. I close my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest and rest back against the wall, carefully.

I really hope she's right on that second part.

"... thank you."

___OUTSIDE THE BATHROOM___

Jonah rubs his neck in nervousness at his sister in the bathroom dealing with something like this, pacing around the small hallway area before turning to Isaac. He raises his dark eyebrows. "So, do you know... wh-who?? I mean... the guy, that- I mean, does he work here, or... ???"

"Its Marcus." Isaac pulls out a bag of trail mix from his vest pocket and starts picking through, standing by the bathroom calmly. The brother to whom he just broke such detrimental news - that his sister, has Marcus White of BOOB CHEESEs baby inside her, - widens his eyes until they're more like dinner plates. "Yeah, they've been talking for a while, man. You didn't know?"

"I- I just thought she wasn't interested in... guys... " All her time must be busy with balancing both school and work, plus her friends... how can she possible have had time to... But on the other hand, he realises that its a bit naïve to think that his younger sister still isn't interested in 'boys'. Part of it might have been wishful thinking.

Isaac barks out a laugh. Its a stale, dry sound that makes Jonah really uncomfortable. "She also went out with Tate. Had a bit of a thing for Sayid for a while, too... "

"What!?- "

"Jonah!" At Amy's exit from the bathroom, he calms down immediately and straightens up. She raises her brows at him. She nods into the bathroom. "She wants you."

Yep- it takes him about 2 seconds to fly into the bathroom... to find his sister still hidden in the cubicle. He sighs, pressing his hand against the door. "Y/N? Amy said you wanted me. Do you want me to get you something to eat? Its just, I'm the only one who knows your snack preferences... and maybe we shouldn't eat in here, cuz its kinda gross... but if you want to, that's cool too!"

She doesn't respond for a minute, silent apart from the careful peeling of tape from the cubicle door.

Then the peeling sounds stop. A moment later her voice, sounding small and tentative as if just saying this would open Pandora's box, slips out. "... how're mum and dad gonna react?"

Its a rhetorical question. They both know it'll be bad - and they'll like Marcus even less, - , but its said so he knows what she's worried about. He sighs and leans back on the door. "Well very, very badly. But that doesn't matter right now. I'll take care of them."

"How valiant." Her voice is still small, quiet. But she sounds less scared; She always believes her big brother. Even when she knows logically that he cant protect her from them. Not their parents.

"Well, I try."

"... hm."

___TIME SKIP, BACK OUTSIDE OF THE BATHROOM___

"She is not leaving that bathroom," Isaac shakes his head. Its been an hour, and they've all been in there with her a couple times but she has not left the cubicle. Not even peaked her head out. She hasn't even e a t e n anything while she's been in there. Its starting to worry them. "Maybe we should go get Marcus."

Immediately Jonah looks up from his phone - having been reading up on pregnancy. What is going to start happening to his sister, now?? - and shakes his head, firmly. "No, she'll tell him when she feels comfortable with it. We aren't doing that."

"Yeah, it isn't up to us." Amy agrees, while still looking like on a deep, unsympathetic level that is tired of standing here... she definitely wants to drag Marcus here. But she also knows that Jonah is, unfortunately, a n n o y i n g l y, right.

Isaac heaves a deep, frustrated huff and gets comfortable on the floor.

___TIME SKIP: 3 HOURS LATER___

Finally, Jonah breathes in a deep, exhausted breath and puts his phone away. That's enough of that. He's sufficiently disgusted. He looks down the hallway, out to the store. Then to Amy playing solitaire on her phone and Isaac drawing slowly on the ground. "... Well, I mean, it's Marcus's baby too, right? He should know... right?"

"Mhm,"

"Yep, that's right."

"And... besides, Y/N might need him, right? Maybe he could get her out."

"You make some good points."

"I just wish they weren't points we already mentioned." Amy looks up from her phone and turns it off, flashing an sarcastic, displeased kind of smile. "Earlier."

"Yeah well... " He rolls his shoulders, looking away from Amy's piercing gaze- god, her face is like a loaded gun with no safety. And he's totally into it. He coughs, then whispers. "So, who wants to go get him??"

"Not it."

"I would, but ah... nah. I'm down for the count, down here."

"So... me."

Amy nods, making a 'shoo'-ing gesture with her hand. "Yep, you, Jiminy Cricket. You made us stay here for hours- you go get Marcus."

Looking to Isaac for help, Jonah is just met with the deadest eye's he has ever come upon, so he eventually sighs deeply, wiping sweaty hands on his jeans. "Fff-fine. Wait here."

___IN THE WAREHOUSE___

"Uh, hello? Hi- have you seen Marcus anywhere? Wh- No? Well if you see him can you tell him I'm looking for him? Its about Y/N."

The warehouse worker with the nametag reading 'Nigel' that Jonah's never spoken to before in his life and who prior to his words, had the new deadest eyes that Jonah has ever seen, suddenly beams- a twinkle of evil mischief in his eyes. "Oooooh, cats outta the bag, huh?"

Jonah blinks. "What?"

"You found out about Marcus and your sister, and now you're gonna beat him up? I was waiting for this moment." Nigel clarifies, actively looking around the room for Marcus now as Jonah rushes to explain that no, that is not what he's here for. Please don't say that so loudly- "HEY RICO! You seen Marcus around?? Y/N's brother's here to deliver an ass beating." Half a second passes while Jonah's ears ring from Nigel's screeching before something new apparently occurs to the warehouse worker as his eyes widen and he turns again to who must be Rico. "And you owe me 20 bucks!! Told ya he'd come!"

How often is Y/N in this place? Just seems weird, these guy's saying her name so casually... Jonah's forehead crinkles in thought as Rico rolls his eyes and groans, walking off to assumedly find Marcus. I'm learning a lot about my sister, today... Not sure how I feel about it...

Jesus Christ, has she eaten the cheese, too??!

Jonah doesn't get a moment to panic about that particular bit of nightmare material before he realises Nigel is still standing, awkwardly now, arms straight at his sides and eyebrows raised expectantly, right by him. Watching him, instead of returning to his job. Jonah raises his own eyebrows back; Shrugging. Like, what?? What do you want?

Nigel just just shrugs and shakes his head back passive aggressively, crossing his arms. Like, he doesn't know. Fine, we'll just stand in silence, then...

"Jonah! What's up, buddy? Visiting me in the warehouse- this is so nice! Want me to take my break now, cuz we totally can. Just let me wrap one last thing up and then we'll be back in my car, together. Listening to tunes; Ya know. Guy buddy stuff." T h a n k f u l l y, Marcus seems to rush from wherever he was in the depths of shelf-land when Rico apparently found him and cuts off the awkward stand off between the two men, dropping a hand on Jonah's shoulder and beaming. "What up, man?"

Quick to turn away from Nigel and get to what his mission really is at the moment, Jonah graciously ignores the touchy greeting... despite the awkwardness on his end and the fact that Nigel is still there, watching.  "Actually, I wanted to talk about, uh, Y/N."

Marcus' eyes immediately widen and his eyebrows raise, taking his hand off Jonah in favour of ringing his hands and stepping back nervously himself. "Oh, man... you found out, didn't you? Did she tell you? Cuz like, I know the bro code says its not cool to bone your friend's sister but- "

"Ah, ah, ah!" No, no, no, Jonah does not want to hear those words. No. "No, um. That's fine, whatever. Y/N's sexuality is her own. But- "

"Its a ruse, Marcus. He's here to kick your ass." Nigel insists, still very much there despite everything about this situation having nothing to do with him and instead just freaks Marcus out more as the warehouse head's eyes go even wider and he takes another step back- raising his hands in surrender.

"No, no! Nigel!- That's... no. I'm not here to kick anyone's ass! The asses here are all perfectly safe, I promise. Okay?" When Nigel's expression doesn't change a lick, Jonah gives up and just gestures off in a random direction. "Nigel, could you give us a minute, here?"

"What, so you can jump my boy here alone?"

"Alone?? Who's alone?" Jonah is getting increasingly irritated. "We're literally surrounded by other warehouse workers!! Ones who are actually doing their jobs, by the way. Maybe you should- "

Marcus finally intercepts and pats Nigel's shoulder, getting his attention from looking confrontationally at Jonah and smiles relatively softly at him. "Its okay, Nigel. If Jonah wants to kick me in my junk once- he's kinda entitled to it. Bro code and everything. Why don't you get back to work? I got this. Thanks, though." Nigel leaves, with that, but certainly not without giving Jonah one last greasy look over his shoulder and an 'Okay, Marcus. But call me, if... you know... '. Along with an extra evil squinty look at Jonah. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks bud. I know I can count on you." When Nigel is finally out of the picture, Jonah feels fatigued and just wants to get back to Y/N. At least its just him and Marcus now, though, so they should be doing that very soon. "So! What'd you want? If you really do wanna hurt me, then, can we go outside? By my car ideally, so I can drive the emergency room right after? Or you, cuz I mean... you're small, man. And I'll have to defend myself. Even if its fair. Its instinct, you know? You get it."

"I'm not gonna hurt you?? Why does everyone think- " What is wrong with people here? Do I give off a confrontational aura right now, or something??? "Ugh, whatever. Y/N needs you- she's been in the bathroom for 4 hours. We did try to get her out ourselves, but our attempts have been... l-lacklustre." Lacklustre? Okay, even he is surprised to hear that one come out of him.

"She needs... me? Like, she said that?" All of a sudden Marcus' expression changes. Worry wells in his eyes and his forehead creases, and he glances at the door out to the floor before returning to Jonah, looking restless now as his body fights with him to go, immediately. "Oh, what's wrong with her? Is she sick??"

"Uhh... in a manner of speaking... Look, I just think she needs to see you right now."

That makes the taller man move towards the door, clipboard dropped on a box on his way. "Of course; Right away man. Come on, lets go see her. So you really don't know what's wrong?? Should we pick up some root beer on the way?" Jonah follows behind, hand on his chin as he answers Marcus' questions. Wow... He did not expect such a response from him... He... kinda respects it, in a way. Its a pleasant surprise, at least.

___BACK TO YOU AND YOUR POV. God I hate third person. Its so hard, I want to cry___

"Y/N? You in here??" As soon as that voice registers in my mind, my heart beat skips in the worst way and I almost start to full on panic all over again, but thankfully instead just freeze and only widen my eyes. What the hell? The door to the employee bathroom closes as Marcus shuts himself in and you watch his boots appear under the door to your stall. "What's going on? Jonah couldn't tell me what's wrong with you," Jonah. I glare at the stall door. I'm going to kill him. "But I brought you some root beer for you- a total cure all. I promise. And some (Enter your favourite snack) cuz I know you like them. Here," He stretches up and holds the items over the stall door, and, feeling genuinely touched that Marcus was sweet enough to bring these, I get up off the toilet seat and accept them from him.

"Thank you, that's really nice. I'm... not sure, that the root beer will fix this, though." I speak carefully, sitting down and holding the items in my lap close to my stomach.  

"Course it will! I poured some in Mateo's ear once when he had an infection... I think it worked?"

Probably not. "This is a lot bigger then an ear infection... Kinda permanent, too?"

"Oh god, is it cancer?" He pauses for a moment but before I can put that particular worry at rest... or remind him that cancer is not always permanent... he makes it worse, and I fight not to facepalm. "The plague??! Its still a thing, you know. Jesus, its not that is it? Please tell me its not that! That would be the worst!" I mean... yeah, it would.

"Oh- no no! No, nothing like that!! I'm just pregnant!"

... wait.

Immediately I want to take back my words and say them differently- because is that really the way I just broke it to him?? Oh my god. My hand slaps over my mouth- then pulls back an inch to speak again, but is definitely on guard to slap again and prohibit anymore stupid to come out. "I mean! ... N-no big deal?" My voice gets tiny. "At least its not the plague, right?" I'm just making this worse, so I cover my mouth again.

Marcus does not respond, and I can imagine his face crystal clear, without having to look. He would have his mouth hanging open like a cartoon character, his shoulders have dropped, eyes are blank, and he's pale as hell. Oh god... oh god oh go oh god... I cover my whole face now and just try to breath evenly, and not talk anymore. I was right! He's not going to even like me anymore, this is going to ruin how he looks at me- I cant have Marcus look at me coldly. I really cant.

Finally, a few minutes later the door to the bathroom creaks open again and I know it's not Marcus escaping because I can still see his boots under the door and they haven't shifted in a while. Amy's voice rings out, too loudly in the stock silent bathroom. "... everything okay in here? We haven't heard anything in a while- Marcus?"

He doesn't respond.

I hear Amy walk in now, her heels click-click-clicking on the tiled floor. "Marcus? Marcus, are you okay?" She snaps her fingers, assumedly near his unresponsive face. I slip my fingers down to just cover my mouth, straining my ears to hear any movement from him. "Wake up!" Another snap. "Marcus wake up."

All of a sudden I hear shifting and his boots shift slightly and I squeeze my eyes slowly shut- now he speaks. Now's the part where he speaks. Now's the worst part! He either leaves, or stays. "Uhh... I'm awake, okay?"

...

Amy and I are both startled by the seriousness in Marcus' voice- Amy evidently in the way she responds, backing out of the room. "... Okay! Um, well talk. To Y/N. I'm... just gonna... wait outside... "

Marcus just grunts in response, turning back to my stall door. Then he wraps his knuckles against the surface and I flinch- unsure whether to unlock it and be a grown up or stay hidden away like I really, really want to. Its not like I'm afraid he'll hurt me or anything, not at all! Its just... I don't like to disappoint people and I'm terrified at seeing his face. "Y/N? Can you come out, now?"

"Ummm... no... " I wince, keeping my eyes closed to the world. As if that'll hide me from it.

"No???" He asks, bewildered.

"No... "

Marcus' voice isn't at all as cold-serious as it was when he spoke to Amy, but still. There is still definitely an unfamiliar focused quality about it, and its making me nervous. "What? Come on. What do you think's gonna happen? I'll yell at you? Come on, that's not gonna happen; Come out. "

"I'd really rather stay in here... " I fire back.

"Don't be scared of me." He really does sound trustworthy... but that fear, man; She's one unrelenting bitch.

My voice goes high pitched when I answer, too vehement to be the truth. "I-I'm not! Silly! Why would I be scared of you??" My eyes open up again and I just wince. Such a liar.

"Aghh... " I just listen to him shifting around out there looking for something for a bit, or thinking of what to say next, while I myself sit and think comfortable that there is nothing that will make this worse, seeing as I'm safe and sound in this toilet stall... before his boots disappear from my vision under the door and I hear him disappear out of the bathroom then return again almost immediately, going into the stall beside me and putting something down on the toilet seat in there.

Oh my god- he wouldn't dare! He would not-

Then all of a sudden he's climbing over the wall and I have to jump off the toilet seat and press closely to the stall door, root beer and snack still hugged in my arms like teddy bears. Marcus eases himself over the wall and onto the toilet seat before my eyes, then jumps off it to the tiles again in front of me, while I gape wide at him. "I- what- Marcus!"

"Well you weren't coming out! It was my only option!" He exclaims, and now that I see him I do relax a bit. There's no coldness in his face now, and there is certainly no unfamiliar, unfriendly seriousness, either, seeing as the man just climbed into a toilet stall to get to me. Very Marcus-y. I slowly let out a relieved breath, which is still also a 'calm down' breath as the pressure is certainly still on. I can see him, but he can also see me.

Eager to avoid the issue at hand, I snap. "You might've kicked me!"

"No, I wouldn't have." He makes a defensive 'pshhh' sound immaturely, waving me off with a hand before resting them both on his hips and looking right at me. I give him my own dubious look right back- What makes him so sure??? He rolls his eyes. "Whatever, anyway." Suddenly, a beautiful big smile spreads across his face; the kind that still makes me a little bit weak and almost forces me to smile back. Even now, in this situation. "This is great."

And then I'm speechless, mouth closed and eyebrows furrowed together. ... Great? What? Quickly he moves to clarify, before grinning that goofy grin of his. "The pregnancy! Man, I've seen enough girlfriends get pregnant over the years... its nice to see one having my baby." A moment passes and my system is just registering this reaction - not even relieved, yet. Just in shock and a little less anxiety, - before he drops his smile, raises an eyebrow, and adds: "It is mine, right?"

Still shocked, I answer as if the question was more on the lines of 'That was my cupcake that I just ate, right?'. Meaning, probably too casually. "Oh- oh, yeah! Abs- absolutely." He doesn't seem to mind.

He beams again. "Great! We'll be awesome parents- that is assuming you wanna keep the baby, right?"

"Uh... " All I want to say is yes, right now. Even as the complications of raising a baby right now linger in the forefront of my mind. But at the same time I'm looking at Marcus and I just want to. I want to have the baby, and I want to do it with him... in the moment, he's the absolute perfect person to do it with. I choke out, "Yeah."

He fist pumps the air at that response, and finally the relief starts to settle in my stomach and my heart... a smile grows on my own face. My eyes even get a little watery with the powerful relief. "YES! That's right, I'm gonna be a Dad. Whoo! We gotta tell everyone. But how, do you think? Should we get a cake or something that says it in icing?? Or should we just go out there and announce it over the speakers? Or should we just not tell anyone? Cuz on the one hand, I wanna tell everyone- but on the other... I don't really want Carol to know you're pregnant. That could be bad."

"Um... " I don't even know what to say. I just want to hug him, so I do. I step forward and wrap my arms around his middle, burying my face in his coveralls and the body I've become so familiar with over the past months that smells so uniquely - and not always so pleasantly, but definitely comforting,  - like Marcus and squeeze tight, closing my eyes. He smells like that 'new furniture' smell that's really just 'warehouse', and an unfamiliar home, and a little bit of B.O.

Thank god.

Amy was right. Of course she was. Even when I was stressing, I knew the image I had of Marcus getting mad about this didn't feel quite right, but... you have to prepare yourself for the worst, you know? I'm just so glad he's the way he is though, as he wraps his arms around my shoulders in return and bends his neck to press his cheek to my head. "I'm really happy about this. And I know we haven't figure anything out. With us, with money, with anything actually, but... we will, okay? I'll do my best, I promise."

"... Thank fuck." I chuckle, although its muffled and get a similar sound from him in return. "I'm really happy, too." He rubs my back in that rough, comforting way that guys do and I might as well melt; He's too wonderful. I bite my bottom lip, thinking my next move through before taking a deep breath and deciding to take the plunge and ask. "... hey... um... b-boyfriend?"

Marcus immediately pulls me back and holds me at arms length, a crazy-big grin splitting his face. "Oh, yes! This day just keeps getting better and better; Come on, we definitely have to tell everyone this, lets go." Excitedly, he slips past me and unlocks the stall door finally, but pauses and turns back to me before its pushed open at all. I tilt my head in curiosity- what's up? "Unless... congrats sex?"

...

Oh my god- a snort, transforming into a laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. I pull him closer by the front of his coveralls, grinning at both the idea and how silly he is and gently tug him down closer to my level. I close my lips and knit my eyebrows together understandingly. "... How about you come over after work? First we should probably deal with the others? You know, the ones hanging outside right now?"

"Oh, yeah, probably. Oh man- I'll be basically related to Jonah now!" Oh- well- not exactly but... okay fine. If it makes the guy happy. "Ha ha, look forward to seeing this face every Christmas, bro." Oh boy.

I just grin at that - Goodluck Jonah, - before leaning up the rest of the way and pressing a careful kiss to Marcus' lips which he immediately returns with enthusiasm, hands abandoning the stall lock and collecting my waist instead.

This is going to be okay.

It will work out. I hope.

BONUS:

Later in the breakroom while Marcus is busy with talking to some of the other Cloud 9 employees about the news, Jonah takes the seat next to me and I raise my eyebrows at him- he's obviously dying to say something. I know my brother at least that much. He sighs.

"So... you... haven't eaten the cheese, right? I mean, I have but I'm hoping you haven't been put through such, uh, cruel and unusual torture... "

"Oh, no. Absolutely not. I managed to convince him it was cannibalism for women." I grin, returning immediately to my Cloud 9 Caesar salad as Jonah sighs long and hard in relief, relaxing back into his chair.

[dokidokey]

KAMI: 21 questions

summary: kaminari denki does not understand the significance of explaining the song he wrote about his ex-girlfriend, but little did he know, a certain fan needed just his words to lift herself up from her one-week misery.

pairings: kaminari denki x reader

bingo slot: musician x fan au

genre: fluff, slight angst if you squint real hard

warning/s: swearing, mentions of todomomo, mentions of cheating, a very adorable denki (!!!)

word count: 3,042

notes: I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS I AM LITERALLY BURSTING DON’T MIND ME IGNORING MY 289384 WIPS BUT I GOTTA DO THIS ONE. anyways, 4th bingo piece for @bnhabookclub’s hero camp bingo! my series masterlist, along with my event masterlist, can be found HERE. what series? this is discontinued (even though it didn’t start in the first place.)

Kaminari is one to always decline media companies’ interviews, most especially, Verified. Verified is a media company that asks artists in to shred their songs lyric by lyric and give its meaning. Kaminari never understood the concept of that. Like, what is the point? Aren’t things more interesting if you leave it be and leave your fans to decipher it how they want?

But here he is, with a yellow backdrop that matches his hair and his manager, who dropped this bomb on him yesterday, on the other end of the room. He never agreed to this. What is the point of prying his song line by line? Wasn’t it obvious enough that it is about his ex-girlfriend who cheated on him?

“But it’s good for you! Plus, the exposure!” Mina, his manager, reasoned out yesterday, the paper in her hands dancing in the air. “Your song is gaining views, Denki. It’s good to take the spotlight while it’s there.”

Denki groaned, throwing his head back. “I know. But explaining the lyrics? Really? Is there any other way?”

Mina rested her hands on her hips, a stern look on her face. “No. Besides, Verified is a big and popular company. You better not be sulking tomorrow.”

He just grumbled as she left his studio. It’s not like she left him a choice.

“You ready?” The man behind the camera asks him, angling to the lens to get a better view of him.

Denki smiles, nodding. Here he is anyway, might as well get it done as soon as possible. When the man in front of him nods, Denki raises his hands in a wave.

“Hi there! It’s KAMI, and here is the official lyrics and meaning of 21 Questions,” he grins and pauses, waiting for the question the Verified employee will ask which will be cut off during editing.

“What is the song about?” The brunette beside the camera man asks.

Denki clasps his hands together. “You know, that feeling in a. . . relationship, when it starts falling apart and there are these－ these questions running around in your head, like why did she do that, how did she do that.” His hands were moving all over the place as he talks, going up in circles beside his head and down to his lap again. “This song. . . It’s－ It’s my inner turmoil.”

He nods to signify the end of his explanation, then goes on to talk about the first verse. “So first we have, I wish there was a situation to be mad at or a person I could blame, which is. . .” Denki trails off, pursing his lips together. “Thinking about, you know, wondering if it’s alright to blame her, or blame me, or blame the other guy. Because, thinking about it, there must be something－ something wrong with me, or there’s something I don’t have that the other guy does, for her to do that.”

Denki hates this. He hates every moment of it. He is literally just opening his sleeve up for the world to see. Some people won’t even care about it. This whole idea of splitting himself open, his heartbreak in all its glory, for people to just shrug off is so pointless.

He continues, nevertheless, because does he even have a choice?

“I’ve got a loud mouth, I’m pale with a ghost obsession but behind the scenes with her I’m playing twenty-one questions,” he sings, slurring the words. “Everyone knows that I talk a lot, okay?” He laughs, the tinkling sound bouncing inside the four walls. “That, and, this one. . . It’s kind of－ It’s saying－ The me I show the world isn’t the same me I face her with. Meaning, like, during the time this was going on, no one would ever guess our relationship was falling apart.”

Reliving the same hurt is hell. He doesn’t understand how Mina can just stand there when she had a front row seat of his pain. There’s an inkling of annoyance and betrayal dancing in Kaminari’s chest, along with a the guilt he’s feeling for feeling that way.

The singer wrings his hands together as he forces himself to spew out what needed to be heard. If they ask him who the song is about, he might just lose his mind. The song cover art’s background is literally Kyouka Jirou’s jacket. Yes, he made it that obvious who the song is about.

“So. . . There’s gotta be a reason you keep your guy in hiding, I’m becoming what I’ve hated but your talk is so inviting. The first line is pretty self-explanatory,” he smiles at the camera, a little wobbly and a little unsure. “I’m becoming what I’ve hated. . . That’s, uh, see, I never liked the fact that she cheated on another man with me and I didn’t know because you know, she told me she was single. I wasn’t aware she was in a relationship and cheating,” he rubs the back of his neck with an uneasy smile. “And now I’m becoming the other man, I’m the one being cheated on, but I can’t do anything about it because she－ well, she’s intoxicating.”

He continues, thrumming his fingers on his jean-clad thigh. “But then what, you drop your guy and take me on, it’s everything I wanted but then what, would you get tired of my time. Hmm,” Denki tilts his head to the side a little, eyes upward. “He left him for me and now would you get tired of my time, of me, of the tours and work and everything. Would you get tired and do the same thing you did to the other man.”

The chorus of the song is next, and a disbelieving chuckle bubbles up his throat. God, he was so fucking whipped for that woman, it kind of throws him off a little now.

“My mood’s dictated by our conversation and if you don’t text, I get too frustrated, I want you all to myself this time. Conflicted looks good on me, I’m trying desperately, I want you all to myself this time,” he sings offhandedly, bobbing his head along the tune of his failed love. “This－ This is an interesting one because I always have my phone on DND,” he shares to the camera like it’s a secret to be well-kept by everyone. “And when she came along I started leaving my phone on ring so I won’t miss any of her texts or calls. It was so unlike me that it kind of scared me a little bit, to be honest.”

Kyouka Jirou was an amazing girl, Kaminari won’t deny that. They got along so well. They wrote songs together over champagne and the dim lights of his studio. They shared kisses behind cameras. They even whispered sweet promises to each other in the void of Denki’s room. Those things happened and she had another man all along.

In the back of his mind, Denki is disgusted. With who, however, he doesn’t know. He’d been kissing his girlfriend who kissed another man. Who is he to know if that was the only thing they ever did.

It was sad, to say the least. Loving someone right under your nose who is loving another man behind your back. It was like Jirou took his heart and ripped it right in front of him, and she made sure to break it so good it would be hard for Kaminari to love again.

“I never have to carefully shape sentences when I have some words to say. They’re falling from my mouth from the time that they hit my brain. I don’t have a brake in my mouth, okay?” He pauses to stare at the camera. “I say whatever I think even before I realize what the fuck I’m saying.”

When Denki sees Mina’s eyes immediately growing wide like saucers at the expletive, he slaps a hand over his mouth. Verified always bleeps out curses and his mind decided to throw that information out the window. “Sorry!” He giggles behind his palm. “See!” He points at the camera. “That is the exact meaning of those lyrics!”

Small giggles are still erupting from the man as he tries to suppress it and get on the next parts. “Will that be cut out? Can we cut that out?” He wheezes as he rubs sweaty palms on denim. “Anyway,” he breathes, puffing his chest up and sitting himself right on the stool. “’Cause we built a picture made for frames, we live in chemistry away from all the wasted time and taste.”

Denki’s mind paddles back to a late night writing session with his former girlfriend, the other half of his sandwich long forgotten as he stared at the girl, who seems like the whole world to him as she scribbles word after word on the ripped piece of paper she snatched up somewhere on his messy table. He swears there are stars twinkling in the background whenever he catches sight of her, and it makes his little heart swell with pride as he softly tells her promises of their future together.

“We were too perfect,” Denki says, clicking his tongue after as if in disappointment. “We were. . . wrapped up in our own world. Or maybe I was the only one wrapped up in something that was. . .” He falters, heart aching at the thought of the promises that are nothing now.

He covers it up with a smile, eyes crinkling at the sides as he let his hands rest on the back of the stool. “And it sucks to sleep ’cause you aren’t talking to me. I wanna give you space but the amount between us is wrecking me.” Kaminari squints as he hums, tilting his head back and groaning softly. “So, this one. . . This is where we were nearing the end and the communication was so bad even though that was the only thing I wanted to somehow still fix what was left of our relationship, but she didn’t want that. We were already light-years away from each other, what was I supposed to do?” He lifts one hand up in a “what?” motion and crumples his eyebrows together.

He slurs out the next lyrics. “’Cause then what, you dropped your guy and took me on it’s everything I wanted but then what, am I in his position now?” He claps his hands like he just discovered something big. “This! Am I in the position of the other guy before me? Like, am I now in his place? Will you leave me for the guy you. . . cheated on me with.”

Kaminari then goofily positions his arms as if holding a guitar, and starts strumming the air while bobbing his head side to side. “I’ll forget you if you need me to, like nothing ever happened. My sun still sets without you, like nothing ever happened.” His smile is glowing as he stretches his arms wide. “I can forget, and I will,” he looks determinedly at the camera. “And I will get on with my life and do the things I love and every day would be a happier day for me,” he grins. “Even without you.”

Denki doesn’t realize that little slip up of acknowledging her as he waves goodbye, a sliver of something heavy lifting off his shoulders.

It’s another boring Sunday for you as you snuggle your blanket on the couch, the show on the TV serving to be just white noise as you go over your last texts with your ex-boyfriend.

It has been a week since your break up with Shouto and you’re still moping. He calmly explained to you how your relationship wasn’t working out anymore and that he started having feelings for a friend. In spite, you replied with “I wasn’t aware our relationship had gym schedules.” And that was the end of it.

You groan at your stupidity. If you weren’t so caught up in your jealousy, you could have talked to him a little nicer, a little calmer. But you knew who that friend he was pertaining to. Yaoyorozu Momo, the girl who always seems to be around your boyfriend. She’s a meek girl, and even before you and Shouto got together, she had been around. So, Yaoyorozu was there before you.

There are times when you and Shouto are out and she would happen to be at the same place. At first, you didn’t pay any mind, but when it got more frequent, you had your suspicions. What’s worse is that whenever she’s around, she’ll just smile at you and that’s that. She’ll pretend like you’re not standing right next to your boyfriend and like you didn’t exist. It made you feel small.

You’re loud and, at times, obnoxious. You are aware of how much attention you catch because of your brazen attitude. It really was a mystery how Todoroki liked you. You two were so different. He was more on the likes of Yaoyorozu, and thinking about it, they were so much more alike that it’s ridiculous. Yaoyorozu’s a rich girl, and so is Shouto. Their auras are the same and they give off the same vibes. Those are what really pulled at your insecurity.

And see, it didn’t take long for Todoroki to realize he didn’t belong with you. You loved him, yes, and you thought maybe you’d last forever. But now, seeing how it all ended, you want to laugh at the face of your past self for thinking such absurd things. Of course it wouldn’t last. Maybe you were too much for Todoroki.

The bubbling insecurities inside you is just starting up when there’s a ping from your phone and you groan, thinking it’s Hitoshi again because he’s been pestering you for the past week to actually get up and be productive. But no, it isn’t your friend. It’s a notification for the latest tweet of your favorite artist, KAMI, and you almost fall off the couch when you read it.

10 minutes til @Verified drops my official lyrics and meaning vid for 21 questions! Stay tuned!

Fuck, what the fuck? Official lyrics and meaning? The four walls of your room are the witnesses to how much you cried to that song after your break up. Some lyrics were so relatable but you’re relieved you didn’t experience the cheating part. It must suck for Kaminari to have his girlfriend of over a year cheat on him.

After several, consecutive refreshes, the new video pops up and you let out a little scream because on the thumbnail is Kaminari Denki himself, clad in a white shirt and leather jacket. You click play and a giggling Kaminari is on your screen, saying, “Will that be cut out? Can we cut that out?” Then it’s the usual intro of Verified.

Kaminari is waving and introducing himself with a huge smile on his face. You admire your favorite artist through the screen and wonder when he will hold a meet and greet. I’m manifesting, you think, as you position yourself more comfortably in your couch.

“This song. . . It’s－ It’s my inner turmoil.” Huh. You’re not surprised. Songs written and sang with so much emotion strikes the listeners way harder than any other song. And the fact that Kaminari wrote it with his heart up his sleeves, the song meant a lot more to you.

As he goes on explaining every line, every lyric, you can’t help the same hurt blooming on your chest again. Everything he’s saying stabs right at your heart. Every word, though different in context when it comes to you, is like a kick to your chest. 21 Questions never felt so much like home right this moment.

“I never have to carefully shape sentences when I have some words to say. They’re falling from my mouth from the time that they hit my brain. I don’t have a brake in my mouth, okay?” There’s a pause and an intense stare at the camera. “I say whatever I think even before I realize what the － I’m saying.”

There’s a bleep and your heart almost bursts at the absolute cuteness when he instantly covered his mouth and his giggles sift through your phone’s speakers. So this is where the first clip on the video is from, when he asked if they can cut it out. But no matter how adorable his giggles were, Kaminari’s words are banging its way into your head.

“We were too perfect. We were. . . too wrapped up in our own world. Or maybe I was the only one wrapped up in something that was. . .” His sentence is left unfinished, but you felt it in your bones. It’s like a slap to the face. Yeah. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you were the only one wrapped up, maybe you were the only one attached. It seemed too good to be true, and you were so high up you didn’t realize Todoroki had gone down and Yaoyorozu was there to catch him.

You aren’t prepared for the next part though, because the man decided it was okay － totally fine! － to lean back and bare his whole neck while groaning － groaning! Any other human being will not survive this. What is he doing. You’re seconds away from hyperventilating as you double tap to replay that certain part. He wants you all dead. Yes. That must be it.

The video is close to ending, and as Kaminari says his last words, it tickles something awake in your heartbroken state.

“I can forget. And I will! And I will get on with my life and do the things I love and every day would be a happier day for me. Even without you.”

Even without Shouto, you’ll get by. Your world doesn’t revolve around him. There’s a lot of things you can do without invalidating your heartbreak, and maybe you’ll hold on to Kaminari’s words. Every day would be a happier day for me. It’s another thing you’re manifesting on, along with that meet and greet of Kaminari.

more notes: yes this is based off waterparks’s 21 questions pLEASE I FEEL LIKE AWSTEN’S CHAOTIC ENERGY IS A DIRECT COPY OF THE ONE KAMINARI EXUDES SO THIS IS PERFECT. anyways this series’ titles are going to be a bunch of waterparks songs.

[tepre]

I want an 8th year fic where Harry is a really bad kisser. like. REALLY bad. Like, no coordination, spit all over the place, no-idea-where-he’s-going-with-this bad. And it makes sense because he’s never quite had the emotional education that makes him super attuned to other people’s needs? anYWAY when he and ginny break up they have a bit of a row and she wants to throw something at him just to THROW SOMETHING AT HIM because it’s hard to accuse the actual puppy dog who saved the goddamn world of anything -- ESPECIALLY WHEN HE’S SO WEEPY -- and so she just says it. She just says it, You are a bad kisser, Harry. You are a very, very, very, very bad kisser. 

AND at first of course Harry is like how dARE YOU, and no YOU are, but then it gets stuck in his head and he starts asking around. First of all, do people even like kissing? It is a thing people like? It’s always felt kind of off and gross to him and cut to Hermione talking a million miles an hour, confiscating an empty classroom to draw out a full chart on a blackboard about the benefits/social history/beauty of make outs -- IF you want them. Harry nods furiously and is taking notes. 

From there the research expands into a full-scale survey amongst the 7th and 8th years about the best snogger on Hogwarts grounds [on a scale from 0 to 10, 0 being ‘like being slapped about by the giant squid’ and 10 being ‘like a veela caressing the inside of your mouth but also you’re in fire’]. Entirely unexpectedly, WHAT A SURPRISE TO EVERYONE INVOLVED, Draco Ambrosius Giselda Anne Paulus Fucking Malfoy (named after all of his auntie’s favourite corgies) ends up the UNANIMOUS nr 1. Harry and Hermione, main conductors of said research, are appalled. Especially when subject #18 (Hannah Abbott) goes all glassy-eyed staring at the survey parchment and whispers “that mouth tho”, seemingly to herself. 

Cut to Harry and Hermione holed up in the classroom with pictures of everyone from 7th & 8th year hanging on the walls with bits of red thread connecting them. Malfoy’s is in the middle, circled several times and surrounded by question marks. Harry looks frazzled, tie undone, and he’s reading through the case again. “It can’t be!” he says, incredulous, while Hermione laughs a little crazed and disbelieving. “It has to be,” she says, shaking her head. “By Jobe, it has to be.” 

CUT TO HARRY inviting Draco A. G. A. P. F. Malfoy to an official interview where he shakily reads a pre-prepared statement off a paper while Hermione stands behind him and mouths with cuz she wrote it. And Draco’s like, “Ok let me get this straight. You want me to kiss you. To teach you how to kiss.”

“For science!” say Harry and Hermione at once. 

Draco complies on a curriculum of 10 weeks ON the condition of the final result being conducted in the middle of the great hall -- DURING DINNER! -- in full view of the whole school. “I’m rehabilitating my image,” he says, picking a piece of lint off his robes. “It would be beneficial.” 

Harry says “DEAL” and Hermione says “Uh” and they shake on it and so it happens that Draco and Harry set off on a vigorous 10 week curriculum starting off with lesson nr 1, peppermint spells. This is quickly followed by lesson the second, which is basically Draco pushing Harry up against a wall and hovering close without actually touching him. Almost brushing their lips, then not. Breathing against his neck, his jaw, the corner of his mouth -- then leaning away again, all until Harry is a frustrated shaking mess, trying to chase after Draco’s mouth if only to JUST GET IT OVER WITH. But it’s a no-go, it’s just Draco’s hand to his chest to hold him back saying, “Not yet.” 

Lesson nr 3 is Draco’s fingers tracing the shape of his lips and hovering close and Harry opening his mouth and Draco putting the pad of a long finger to the flat of Harry’s tongue and watching, quiet, when Harry sucks at it. Lesson 4 is cancelled ‘cuz Draco is “BETTER THINGS TO GO GOODBYE” (announced by way of a howler), lesson 5 is the two of them in a broom closet and Draco’s hands like fists in his robs, brushing his lips to Harry’s, just brushing them, a total of five exCRUCIATING minutes and then leaning down to bite at his neck, which Harry needs a full hour after Draco leaves to recover from (”calm down calm down what is wrong with you Harry Potter CALM YOURSELF DOWN”). Lesson 6 Draco has him on his back in the grass behind the lake and licks the corner of his mouth, nips at his bottom lip, ignores it when Harry’s fingers slip between the buttons of his shirt to touch the skin of his stomach. Lesson 7 begins with Harry already wrecked and they haven’t even STARTED -- on the stairs to the owlery, Harry one step higher than Draco, Draco’s teeth hard the fading hickey from last time, Harry’s hands in Draco’s hair -- babbling, saying, “You’re never gonna kiss me, are you, God, you’re never gonna--” 

And then Draco leans up, aligns, sucks Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth. Licks up, sucks the top lip, and has to catch what is BASICALLY a swooning Harry James Fucking Potter and they stand like that for a second, swaying, breathing hot and wet against each other’s mouths. 

Lesson 8 Harry has had ENOUGH, goddamn it, and there are only two to go and they’re not nearly advanced enough and also SCIENCE, and so Saturday afternoon in the alleyway behind Puddifoots -- between a trashcan full of half-eaten cupcakes and a soggy cardboard box -- Harry has Draco up against a wall, opening his hot maddening (horrible, good-for-nothing) mouth with a shudder and a moan. It’s all tongue, at first, and Draco has to tell him to slow down, has to put his fingers to Harry’s lips, cradle his face, tilt it, show him how to pace it, how to breathe through it, how to suck on his tongue. How to start slow and end hot and heavy and shivering and being unable to pull away to cast a simple charm against the drizzle or even move the godDAMN inch it would take to take cover under the awning. Idiots. Now you’re wet. Now you’re soaking wet and still making out and it’s been a literal two hours. Great. Wonderful. Don’t come crying to me when you catch your death of cold, I swear. 

Lesson 9 in the changing rooms after Quidditch practice, this time Harry’s back against the tiled shower wall, mouth swollen and skin tender from Draco’s stubble and his hands in Draco’s hair -- Draco’s gloved hands under his shirt, fingers shaky, palming his ribs. Harry whispering “God,” and “Fuck,” and “Come here,” even though Draco’s already there, as close as he can get. 

Lesson 10 Draco spends sucking at Harry’s pulse point. Pulling at the skin, soothing it with his tongue, breathing over it -- first hot, then cold. They’re in the empty classroom, door locked, Harry up on one of the desks and Draco’s legs slotted between his. Harry rides his thigh, doesn’t mean to, can’t quite help himself, is embarrassed and bothered and hot and comes like that, with Draco’s lips wet to the shell of his ear. 

The next day Harry’s showered for the occasion. He’s showered and shaved and conducts himself a little bit like a robot on his first day out saying things like, “Hermione, could you be so kind to pass the butter” in a flat and shaky voice. Hermione is, in fact, so kind as to pass the butter, which Harry immediately drops when Draco enters the great hall. Robot Harry stands and walks to face him, and says Hello and Okay and Okay (again) and Now? Shall we do it now? And Draco clears his throat like 30 times before he can say yes okay fine now. 

And then they kiss. And Harry has come to know those lips better than he knows his own, and has come to like holding on by the small gap between the two buttons of Draco’s shirt -- right over his stomach -- and has come to anticipate the small gust of air that leaves Draco after that first press of lips. After they move to settle into place, cock their heads, slides their tongues together. Draco is the one who rushes into it now, and Harry is the one who gets to smile into it, gets to tell him to slow it down, gets to relax them into it. 

Somewhere in the distance some silverware clatters. Three Hufflepuffs walk into each other. A 4th-year Ravenclaw drops the two glasses of juice she’d had in her hands, one of which was for her friend. It’s okay, because her friend was about bring a potato to her mouth, but that’s fallen off the fork anyway. Nearly Headless Nick gasps a quiet good lord and McGonnagal puts a hand over Mme Hooch’s eyes. Hermione is furiously taking notes. 

Draco murmurs something into the kiss, something about having given them enough of a show, and Harry laughs, nips at his lips, at his chin, his jaw. “Hold on tight,” he says, and slips a hand around Draco’s waist. Dips him, dramatically, holds him in the cradle of his arm -- bends to kiss him again. Draco laughs against his mouth, only a little outraged, and Hermione adds some arrows to her chart. 

Somewhere nearby Ginny mumbles a quiet damn, and, that’s one steep learning curve. 

“It’s a steep something, alright,” is what Hannah Abbott has to say about that, glassy-eyed again. 

Hermione’s now fanning herself with her notebook. “Good science,” she says, nodding quickly. “Very good science.” 

[boogiewrites]

A Girl Walks Into A Bar 13

Characters: Declan Harp x Bella Fiore (OFC)

Summary: Modern Declan harp AU. Declan plans a date and hopes it goes well. It goes so well neither of them wants it to end.

Warnings/Tags: Mild. Language. Date Night. Bella softening up and stepping up! Maybe they finally kiss? 

Click on my screen name then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. Please leave a like, reblog or comment if you enjoyed this! It makes me want to write more of what you want if you let me know!

Thanks to Bella’s stellar work ethic, she was able to concentrate despite the buzzing in the back of her skull. With her still highly suspicious coworkers she managed to avoid questions with glares, but the bravest and admittedly closest to her, CeeCee,  wasn’t convinced.

She stands in Bella’s doorway after hours, door open for the 4th day in a row. She’d been playing old Motown all day, they’d even caught her dancing and singing to herself in the studio, chewing on a pen and swinging her hips as she read over papers.

“Alright. Who is he? Or her, what the hell do I know?” CeeCee shrugs.

Bella's eyes shoot up from her clipboard, looking wide at her ballsy business partner. “What?” she asks with no inflection.

“I’m not stupid. I know you. I have eyes. You’re happy about something.” she says with a jutted forward chin, giving Bella tight lips that show her obviousness.

Bella only stares, her eyes under a deep set brow.

“The Motown all day? Singing and dancing to yourself? I even saw you smile at your phone today. You tell me nothing is going on I’m gonna tell you you’re full of shit.” Her bold statement delivered with a back and forth of her head.

“Then save us bother the time and tell me that then.” Bella snaps back quickly.

“UGH.” she throws her head back dramatically. “Fuckin’ Scorpios I swear to GOD!” she groans and turns to leave. Bella smirks as she returns back to her checklist.

----

All Declan had told her was to dress comfortably and for movement. To say she was curious was an understatement. She’d suggested something fun that would help her forget the hard week she’d had. While it had been tough,  there was something different, something that kept her mood from crashing despite the workload and meetings. She’d not told him about that part though.

With his advice in mind, she’d dressed comfortably. She struggled to find the balance between form and function, fussing over if she looked “cute” enough. Which was something she hadn’t weighed in many years. But he made her want to consider things like that again. He brought out something in her that made her want to be feminine. After years of leather and denim, of hard brows and severe hair, she’d found herself shifting. This was also something CeeCee noticed. She’d even worn a dress to work more than once in the past week, and on a non-meeting day. Wearing her hair down and loose, softer make up in lighter colors and less black, she felt a part of her opening up that hadn’t since she was young. Her armor of leather not feeling as needed when she had him around, she didn’t feel the need to protect herself so much. She knew she was in good company.

Declan makes it to her house, the roar of a motorcycle surprising her as she fussed over Robbie before having to be out the evening.

“You’re fucking kidding me?” she scoffs out a playful laugh. She watches him pull up on an old bike, something like her dad would’ve ridden when she was small. A surprising shade of turquoise, but what was more surprising was how he looked.

He was no stranger to showing more skin in the warmer months, just like her, but riding a bike requires a bare minimum of coverage to still be responsible. Plus maybe he’d gone to the gym every day this past week, gone up to the woods and started clearing out his stomping grounds of the winter build up. Maybe he’d wanted to look good for her. She was making him consider his appearance just the same as he was her. He hoped he succeeded, as he knew she’d look good to him no matter what.

She wracked her brain for the long since buried information on motorcycles she had from her childhood. Her dad having his and treating it like a member of the family before his wreck. After it he’d dabbled a bit here and there, helping friends work on theirs. But he’d kept being a fan of them, trading road trips for magazines as he got older. She gets washed over with an odd, warm nostalgia. She thinks of the old pictures of her parents, him in his leather jacket and her in her bell bottoms and flowing dresses. She wonders if this was what her mom had felt like when big Sandro had rolled up to take her out all those years ago. A deep pull in her gut that she didn’t want to acknowledge told her yes.

She jumps and shakes out the nerves. “Be cool. Be cool.” She whispers, stretching her arms and neck as he makes his way to the door. “Be cool. You can do this. It’s just a date.” It was a date right? Shit, had he said date? She knew he liked her, no room for wondering there, the almost kiss was still burned into her mind. So it was a date. Or was he going slow? Was he going slow because of her or because he wanted to? Her brow furrows and she scratches her big wavy hair, falling past her collar bones now as she’d opted out of the usual spring cut. The doorbell makes her jump and she rolls her eyes at herself in harsh judgment. She counts to ten slowly and breathes, then goes for the door.

Declan stood with gleaming shoulders in the late afternoon sun. His tank top long and loose, faded over dark jeans and his usual shit-kicking boots and chain. The leather vest was something she’d not seen him in before and to say she was a fan was an understatement. She wonders if there’s more leather where it came from and if he had a collection to rival hers. She doubted it but filed the curiosity to his kinks away for later.

“Hey, Babe.” She greets first and boldly, pulling the door back to welcome him in.

“Hey Bells.” A broad closed mouth smile that makes his eyes nearly disappear comes across his face at the sight of her. A dress cut in at the waist with a little ditzy floral print of white and yellow against a black background reminds him of some cool girl from a 90s sitcom. It brushed at her knees and he saw her same little boots loose around her ankles. With effortless hair and makeup, he wanted to hold her against him and feel that softness. The cotton of her dress under his hands as he leaned in to hug her, the warm berry vanilla scent of her as he kissed her cheek and made her blush as she side-eyes him before moving away.

“Gonna grab my purse. Say hi to Robbie if you want. He missed you.” She tells over her shoulder with a tone that suggested he wasn’t the only one.

“I’ve missed him.” He responds in a deep and even voice, Robbie already loudly announcing his presence and rubbing between Declan’s legs. “Hey, baby dude.” He mrmurs with a scratch to his fluffy butt. Robbie purrs in approval.

“Alright.” she announces with a black leather crossbody bag to match the jacket. Warm for the weather but she wouldn’t get on a bike without it.

“I know I said comfy but, I don’t know if a dress will work for what I’ve got in mind.” He responds with a hesitant face.

“Oh, I’m prepared.” She responds proudly, hand reaching down to lift the hem of her dress to show shorts underneath. “Got bike shorts underneath.” She grins.

“Always prepared huh?” He nods in approval.

“I try.” She smiles sweetly, bending to pet Robbie one last time. “We’ll be back, kay? I put your catnip toy on the bed for you.” She coos at him, taking out her keys.oo

“Hope you don’t mind.” He says, shrugging to the bike.

“I should’ve known you had a bike really. Black Wolf and all.” She answers, putting her keys and zipping shut her purse. “But you’d never mentioned it.”

“I don’t ride her in the winter. Well, not this one anyway.”

“She special?” Bella asks as he moves to grab a helmet out of studded leather saddle bag

“The most.”

“So this is the woman I’m competing with huh?” She chuckles.

He feels his face flush slightly, thankful for the color he’s gotten in the woods the past week to hide it, skin now a warm-toned tan that caught the sun like a dream. Bella wanted to run her fingertips down those muscled arms and feel every curve of muscle he’d earned. “Yeah. My first love.” He explains after clearing his throat. “First bike.” He clarifies, handing her a black matte helmet, same as his. “My mom hated it, so I painted it her favorite color as a way to suck up to her.” He grins at the memory.

“Did it work?”

“Eh. Not really.” He fully laughs and mounts the bike, holding his hand out to her. “You got it?”

“Oh yeah, don’t worry about me. Dad had bikes growing up.”

“Seriously?”

“Mm hmm.”

“Ugh. Lucky.” He remarks, getting out his keys and readying his foot to kick off. “You gotta tell me about that later.”

“Can do.” She nods with her helmet on, now fearlessly wrapping her arms around him, the warmth of his stomach and chest against her palms and fingertips as the unbelievably soft shirt shifted in between her fingers with the flutter of the wind. He wasn’t reckless or fast and she appreciated it greatly. It’d been decades since she’d been on a bike.

They pull up and Bella peels herself from the hot skin of his leather vest, looking forward to seeing all of in motion as she’d gotten her fair share of his arms during the ride. Although driving out of town had been an unexpected but lovely detour, the site of his arms, which up close rivaled the tree trunks on the sides of the two-lane road they rode on. They pull up to a long line of fencing. His bike not the only one there, but by far the coolest in her opinion.

“Forest Fortress?” She states out loud with a wrinkle of her nose in question as she shakes out her hair from her helmet.

“So you haven’t been here before. Good.” He proudly declares and takes her helmet.

“You gonna tell me what it is or do I have to keep waiting?” She smiles.

“Have you ever played paintball, Bella?” He asks, half bent and securing the helmet in the saddle bag.

“No, but I’ve played laser tag.” She offers.

“Think of it as laser tag that hurts.” He laughs.

“So this is a paintball place?” Her brows go up and she shakes out her dress.

“Hope that’s okay.”

“Hell yeah it’s okay.” She answers with a big grin, bouncing on the balls of her feet slightly. “My legs are gonna get totally fucked though.” She lets out an amused noise.

“Nah, they have protective gear you can use. Wouldn’t have let you leave in that if I thought I’d be bringing you back all bruised. Robbie would never let me live it down.” He kids with a straight face and she manages to suppress a girlish giggle at him beaming a killer smile her way.

With his charisma and gentle guidance, he found that smile that he was worried might only exist at the festival still fully engaged as they went through the steps of putting on gear and teaching her how to use the guns. People knew him there, half bro hugs and slaps to the back in greeting all the way until they were both equipped and ready to head out into the obstacle course.

“So you do want to be on the same team or different ones?” The guy at the last stop before the entrance asks, knowing she was a newbie.  

Before Declan can even turn to look at her she answers definitely “Different.” With a big and challenging smile.

“Look at the balls on this one.” the guy laughs and slaps a blue stripe on her gear. “And red for you D.” He remarks with a firm slap to his back. “Clean fight guys. You heard the rules.” He commands and opens the gate to reveal a scattered and varied series of wooden and rope courses in a fenced-in area of the forest. A rainbow of paint colors splatted all over everything. Tarps, haybales, stacks of giant tires, it was essentially a playground for adults. Which was a perfect choice in Bella’s eyes as she scurried away as soon as they crossed the threshold much to Declan's surprise. He was more than thrilled with her enthusiasm for his choice and the feisty competitive behavior it was bringing out in her.

The alarm blares and the shots start. She decides to keep an eye out for Declan, but take out anyone else if they popped up. She took out one person, her smaller size and workout routine she’d amped up for the warmer months helping her out. Declan was at a disadvantage with his height, she would see his back arched and bobbing around but could never get him head-on. So she uses the pole dancing classes to her advantage and shimmies up behind a terrace, thighs burning as she aims and misses. He whips around fast and sees nothing and she decides to just have some fun and jumps on his back, the unexpected attack knocking him to the ground as he hears her distinct laugh from on top of him as he moves to face her.

“Got ya bitch.” She snorts and laughs.

“Jesus Christ Bella!” He mutters out as he scrambles. “Where you even fuckin' come from?”

“Always look high.” She answers rolling off him as she keeps laughing quietly to not draw more attention to them.

“You didn’t shoot me though.” He grins wickedly and holds his gun up to her.

“I missed.” she shrugs. “Worth it though.” She leans back and sighs and smiles at him.

Well dammit, now he didn’t want to shoot her, laid back looking all soft and smiling at him.

“But you haven’t shot me either.” she raises a brow and grins, gun pointing at his chest now.

“Seems we’re at an impasse partner.” he says with a cowboy twang that makes her snort.

“If we eliminate each other, we can start over, or go back to town and eat. If we don’t, we have to walk 10 paces and try our luck with everyone else.” she replies with a playful wrinkle of her nose.

“I am hungry.” he answers with a pout of his lips.

“You know I am.” she smirks.

“A truce? A duel?”

“A...betrayl?” she tilts her head, finger on the trigger as another alarmingly charming smile comes across his face.

He flinches like he’s going to shoot her, only wanted to get her to wince  and give her shit for it, but instead he knocks her gun and sets it off when he startles her, shooting him in the thigh. “Oh shit!” She squeaks, covering her mouth and sitting up as he balls up and groans. “Please tell me I didn’t just shoot you in the dick.” she begs with a serious face that makes him contorted up in discomfort, snort and laugh loudly.

“Glad to say you did not.” he groans.

“Oh, thank God.” she exhales sharply, rubbing his arm and frowning. “I didn’t mean-”

“Nah, nah I know. My fault.” he shakes his head. “Guns involved. Shouldn’t have fucked around.” he grunts out, sitting up. “It fuckin’ hurt but I’ll live. Be a nasty bruise. That was so fuckin’ close.” he lets out a pained chuckle.

“Yeah that had to hurt, dude, I'm so sorry.” she gives him an entirely genuine apologetic face, leaned in close to his that was still grimacing as he rubbed his leg.

“I’ll live.” he gives her an exhale and a nod, giving a good show of his words. “Well you know what might help?” he says, leaning and looking at the splat of paint.

“What?” she asks so earnestly he feels guilty already.

“You could kiss it and make it better.” he responds with a straight face and she shoves his shoulder so hard he hits the ground, forcing out a laugh from his chest.

“Maybe later.” she rolls her eyes and stands, dusting off her legs. “You fuckin’ goof.” she shakes her head and reaches her hand down to him. “Timer’s about to go off.” she nods towards the large LED board above the box where the scorekeeper watched.

They walk with his arm around her shoulders back towards the front, her arm around him as if she were helping him along.

“The 'ol seduce and betray. I like it.” the guy at the front holds his hand up for a high five as she passes.

“Oh fuck you Kyle.” Declan bellows out.

“Thanks.” Bella grins wide and answers the guy's gesture enthusiastically.

Since she’s mildly maimed him, they decide to go eat instead of going for another round. The energy sourced of nearly an hour hunting other humans had taken its toll on them both. The same closeness, the same warmth, and smiles they’d grown so fond of from each other over more junk food in a shitty little diner he liked. They talked bike’s, his and the ones she’d ridden, the ones her dad worked on, how he’d wrecked and her mother wouldn’t let him ride now out of worry. He learned about her family a bit and was glad to see she’d had a good upbringing, parents still alive and together, something he’d always wanted in a family and for himself. At that small table in the crowded room that felt like no one else was around, they sat and talked for nearly two hours without even checking the time or their phones, it felt to oddly effortless. They both felt heard and like they were interesting to someone else. They talked about nature, about music, sharing their favorite things that everyone else told them they talked too much about.

So when the time came for Bella to go home, her gut was telling her no. In fact, it was screaming it at her. He’d left with another cheek kiss and a tight hug, proving to her he was more than decent. She watches his broad shoulders slumped, jacket now on to guard against the night chill as he rode, his hands shoved into his jean pockets and biting his lip, wondering if he should’ve kissed her.

'You can’t let him leave', her conscience tells her. 'Don’t let him leave. This day was damn near perfect. You KNOW he wants it and you’re brave enough to admit you do too. Just… get his attention. Do something.' Her brain scurries and her throat turns to stone, her mouth open and trying but her nerves wanting to keep her quiet. It would be real if she made a sound. It would turn into more if she called out for him. Knowing you’re living a defining moment is funny. You can let fear freeze you, taking the easy way out, or you call push your cards all in on the table and win big. Or lose everything. But isn’t a life lived with failures better than a life lived with what if’s?

“Declan.” she forces out, the keys in her hand shaking from her nerves, not even moved to be put in the door.

He shuts his eyes for just a second, hiding the relief on his face. God, he had wanted to say something. “Yeah?” he asks over his shoulder, his hair soft around his shoulders, skin still warm and seemingly glowing in the sconces by the door and the solar pikes in the ground along her walkway despite the sun being long gone.

“I-” she starts and doesn’t know where she’s going. But she started. That was like half of the job, wasn’t it? “I don’t... uh...” she licks her lips and puts her keys back in her purse. “I don’t really wanna go home yet.” she manages, looking down before meeting his eyes.

“Oh.” he says, hiding his delight with pursed lips and a nod. “Well that’s, y’know, fine with me.” he shrugs and turns fully towards her, taking slow steps as her feet also carried her towards him.

“You wanna... I dunno... go somewhere else? Like... somewhere you like to go on a nice night like this?” she offers, eyes hopeful as they looked up at the man nearly a foot taller than her as he ran his fingers through his hair. The night was almost as lovely as he was. Almost.

“Yeah. I’ve got a place. Can’t tell anyone though. It’s a secret.” he leans in and gives her a wink that she doesn’t act exasperated by, just a lazy smile on her face.

“I won’t.” she replies softly.

“Let’s go then.” he whispers, taking her hand and walking her back to the bike.

---

The ride is serene and gorgeous. The moon out, bright light dropping through the tree canopy, the long dull roar of the bike as she held herself against him both rumbling together with the motor. She doesn’t know how many times she sighed, but she couldn’t stop. This day had been so nice and it really was a perfect night to be outside.

To a small clearing they drove through a barely broken in path to a large tree on its side. A marked stopping point, a few others having been removed offered a little meadow to see up into sky. Out in the forest, there was no noise or light pollution to take away from the view. They check that their phones were on silent subtly, they weren't taking any chances of being interrupted.

“This looks like someplace in a movie where teens come to get in trouble.” she remarks with a grin, fluffing her hair and shaking her jacket, standing as he turned to sit sideways on the supported bike.

“Or some 30-somethings looking to get away from everyone else.” he offers with a voice that was deeper and more even when he was among the trees. His face fell softer as if he felt at home there.

“You make this?” she asks, looking around, the moon giving enough light to see around up to the tree line.

“Somewhat. Cleared it out a little. Beat out the path over time. I like to get away up here. Sometimes I camp out.” he shrugs his explanation.

“It’s really nice. It’s so quiet.” she whispers.

“Don’t have to whisper.” he gives her the same warm smile that made her give him a chance in the first place.

“Feels like I should.” she remains quiet, standing closer to him, almost between his legs.

They both occupy the silence, looking up at the stars, feeling a slight breeze, taking in the sounds of nature. She wasn’t used to it. But she certainly felt like she could learn to like it. “I can see why you like this so much.” her voice still soft. “Only missing one thing for me.”

“Wassat?” he mumbles, looking at her with her eyes shut and face to the sky.

“Music.”

“Yeah...no wifi out here.” he chuckles.

“I’ve got music saved actually.” she announces, pulling out her phone and ignoring all the usual alerts.

“‘Course you do.” he gives her a smile, watching her nose twitch in thought as she was lit up from the phone screen.

“What? Should I not play it?” she asks with more genuine concern that makes him even more certain there’s a real soft kitten under that hard exterior.

“No, go for it.” he answers with a casual shake of his head.

“‘Kay.” she bites her lips. “There’s only one playlist I have saved, but it’s a great one. My parents wifi up at their cabin is shit so I saved this one so they could listen to it once I hooked up their stereo in the house for them.”

“Please tell me your parents aren’t country fans.” he snarks.

“No, no. They’re cool. Well I mean, I think they have good taste in music anyway.” she smirks. “It’s all Motown and 60’s stuff.” she explains as the Supremes comes over the phone, she sits it on the back of the bike. “One of moms favs.” she reminisces with a happy expression, moving her hand and hips in rhythm. “We’d watch old recordings and do the dances. I still remember most of them.” she admits with a shy smile. “Guess it’s the dance training. Or we just did it way too much.” she chuckles.

“Dance training?” he asks with a nod of his chin.

“Yeah, I danced as a kid. Mom with her pop culture dances and wanting me to learn the Celtic stuff. She thought I was good at it, so she put me in classes. Dance team in school, that whole thing.”

“Should’ve known.” he huffs out.

She turns her face to him, feet still playing out the easy steps.

“You’re good.” he offers with another charming smile.

“Oh.” she looks back down and smiles at the ground with her eyes crinkling at the edges. “Thanks.”

“You don’t think so?”

“It’s not that it’s just...I’m not really the best at taking real compliments.” she admits with a nervous laugh.

“I caught on.” he offers softly and leans forward.

She continues to sway and he contently watches her, wondering if he should make a move or just let her be. “You have a favorite out of these?” he suggests, thumbing through the long list.

“A few of course.” she snickers at herself.

“I wanna know what you're into... pick one out for me.” he urges, his voice slipping deeper and her body notices as it tightens and reacts.

She nods and leans in, getting close and bending over his long legs. His eyes turn a deep shade of brown, growing more lidded as he moved in close enough to smell the sweet scent of her perfume in her hair. Goosebumps bloomed over her skin at the feel of his breath, she gulps and plays it cool, making another little list of her favorites. She thought maybe she could set a soundtrack. Set a mood that couldn’t be ignored, interject with her encyclopedia of knowledge on the music of the time. She decides to loosen herself up first and get a laugh out of it, always a good place to start.

“Alright. Hit play.” she orders with a cheerful smile, Jackson 5 coming through and it wasn’t what he expected. She starts with the dance steps he knows to be associated with them, little turns and hand gestures and he sits back with crossed arms and nods his head to the beat. He applauds with an impressed face even though she didn’t do much and she bows. A cute smile with flushed cheeks as she leaned over to check the playlist.

“Don’t worry about it. Just relax. That’s what this place is for.” he whispers and stands, pulling her away from the bike. He’d seen the songs on the list, he knew he didn’t have anything to worry about with any mood being killed. With the night ripe and the air tense between them, he wanted to facilitate what he thought she wanted and knew he wanted. Maybe she was more timid with things like this than he realized. Her confident front falters as he takes her into his arms, a hand sliding under her jacket to her back pulling her in, another taking her hand, elbows bent with fingers laced together. The moon was bright enough to see her face, surrounded in a soft frame of thick wavy, naturally almost black locks. Her green eyes caught the light as they sat wide and almost innocent as she spanned over his chest and to their clasped hands. He leans his face down closer to her, his voice sweet and calm, trying to ease any nerves she had about getting close to him.

Her first thought when being taken into his arms was boy, is he bigger up close. But the quick second was realizing how close they’d been already. They’d slept skin to skin, nestled like little bunnies together and she hadn’t had a problem with it. So why was standing close and holding his hand erupting a fire in her stomach that threatened to bubble up and out of her throat with words that took away from the moment? It was like when bypassing her mind, her words changed from yes, I want this, to, did you know that when this song was recorded- putting up her wall to keep her from getting too close. But there was nothing to be afraid of at this point. He’d proven himself on all fronts. He was one of her best friends so quickly it threw her off her game, she didn’t bond quickly with people, she didn’t attract good men who helped their friends and cared about other people. Why was all this happening now?

With AlGreen lending him the mood, he keeps her close, looking down curiously as she looked thoughtful but almost frightened. “Thought you might want a dance.” he speaks, making her look up at him. “It’s all you bothered me about down there, thought you might want to show me a thing or two when it isn’t pouring rain outside.” he offers with a soft smile.

“Or getting electrocuted.” she adds and he feels her take a deep breath, her posture straightening and watching her come back to herself slowly. “Need to slow dance properly.” she almost mumbles, but he’s close enough and observant enough to catch the words. His choice of song isn’t lost on her. “Good one to do though.” she offers with big eyes that catch the moon and shine, making him sigh and only nod in response. He moves his hips to the beat and hers follow suit naturally. “You’re better this time.” she praises.

“Good teacher.” he says with a kind smile.

“Oh. Go on.” she looks down and chuckles nervously.

“Maybe I will.” he speaks low and pulls her closer.

She has to respond so she closes her mouth and blushes. The moments build, the last push in Tired of Being Alone, the vocals screech and he moves them fast in a circle, causing the tension to break as she squeaks much to his delight and he moves his hips and shoulders faster. “Keep up Bells.” he laughs, she does she as she throws her head back for a moment, the song fades fast, her head falling to his chest and she chuckles at how nervous she is. But it wasn’t any match for the next song. One of her mom’s favorites she’d sing to her father when they were being sickly sweet with each other. Natural Woman by Aretha, a song that could move even the most stubborn heart. And Bella was no exception. From the get she knows she’s doomed. Or would it be blessed at this point? Maybe it was a sign. One of those moments her mom told her about. When the universe just tapped you on the head and said, pay attention girl. So that’s what she did. She danced with the one man to make her feel anything since she was young to the song her parents slow danced to when she was young, thinking she wasn’t awake, peeping down the hall to see them swaying in the living room. The string section builds her confidence and takes a deep breath and does what she really wants for the first time in a long, long time.

She looks up at him and gives a little smile, finding him already watching her intently, his face as dark and calm as the sky behind it. She bows back and puts her back to his chest, swaying with both hands interlocked in his for a moment, placing them across her stomach, and she felt no resistance from him. He even bent his knees like she told him, feeling his nose in her hair as it brushed close to her ear. This was how this should've gone at the festival, this was the way they were dancing before and now without a cloud in the sky, there wouldn't be any interruptions.

From his vantage point he watches her shut her eyes, her chin up and head rested on him, one hand rubbing over his, a slow and smooth ascent up her own body, fingertips grazing her neck, pushing her hair out of the way before it snakes up and touches his face. With eyes still closed she turns her head towards his, he can feel her heartbeat racing under his palms. Her fingers are soft and light up his jaw and into his hair. He shivers at the touch, an almost grunt coming from him, putting his head even closer to hers. He wasn’t going to pass up another invitation when she was so boldly presenting it. The words ring too true, and she knows she has to face what she’s doing. She has to be the one to do it, because he’s too good too.

When she opens her eyes he’s already there, looking down at her with his deep, dark brown eyes. A heavy brow almost hiding them if the moon hadn’t been so full. With a brief flutter of lashes at how handsome he really could be so close up, she looks to his lips. His parted just as hers were, trying to calmly get more air as their heart demanded more of them as their pulses raised. As the song rolls into Percy Sledge smoothly, they both know there’s no turning back this time. Nothing to break them apart except themselves, and neither wanted to. A melodic organ he feels in his chest, this’ll be it.

He watches the lump in her throat bob and he smiles, grazing his nose against hers and feels her body give a little shudder when he got close. The air is thick and tense, the night air hot only around them, the moon and stars the only witnesses to what felt like such a monumental moment for both of them. With her head twisted, chin lifted to meet him as close to the middle as she could, they share one more glance between them, a final chance to bail and neither take it. Back down to their lips their eyes move, sharing a breath, his hand moving up to her face, as hers still rested in his hair. They break on the blare of a horn, both their breathing halted with the warmth that washes over them all the way down to their toes.

What starts as one press of lips, almost chaste with his rough fingers against her smooth jaw grows deeper, turn after turn of their mouths, until Bella can’t stand it any longer. With a tiny whimper, the sweetest sound he’s ever heard, she turns in his arms, only parting for a moment and in a flash he runs cold, afraid the moments gone before she crashes her lips back into his, hands on his chest and the other in his hair, he gives over to her, leaning back against the bike, arms moving tightly around her to hold her close between his legs, splayed fingers working lower than they ever had before to her hips and between her shoulder blades, not wanting to even catch his breath as her arms slide around his neck.

They could’ve stayed like that forever. They both wanted to. This perfect moment, him surrounded by nature and her picking the soundtrack to her life was something they both wanted to hold on to for as long as possible. Her chest felt like it was full of fire, the butterflies in her stomach only fanning it with the rapid assault of their wings. Her fingertips tingled, only feeling warmth where he touched her, feeling the press of his impressive hands against her body under her jacket. His lips were softer than they seemed for a man that looked like him. The strong cupids bow and pinked color they natural held were always hidden at least in part by his facial hair, but she was getting to experience the full breadth of them tonight.

The kisses turn softer, more lips, more breathing, and her hands move to his rising and falling chest. With closed eyes still living in the blissful moment, their foreheads rest together as they take a few breaths. Wow, they both almost said. Few kisses felt like that one had. Some might never experience it. A painfully strong mutual attraction based on more than aesthetics. Built on friendship and trust and months of earning a place in each other's lives. It was real and raw and those things felt so rare for both of them.

“I can’t believe I waited so long to do that.” she eventually whispers, eyes still shut as her breaking the silence between them makes his eyes open to see her eyes flutter, half-lidded and pupils blown, fingertips light and shakey on the thin material of his shirt.

“You did it at the perfect time.” he coos back.

“Ugh.” a hand moving up to push back his hair as she beams up at him. “You’re so nice. Sweet, I mean.” she shakes her head, still trying to get the blood to flow to it and not the other brain that was shouting orders at her she was ignoring. “And… patient.” she adds with a huff of a laugh.

“Worth it.” he grins, kissing her cheek, the warmth flooding her all over again.

“Can we just... do more of that?” she lets out a girlish giggle he’s never heard, her head falling into his chest as her shoulders shake. She brings her head back up, shaking the hair out of her face and tracing her thumb over his cheek. “I’m so rusty at this.” she admits and he sees no shame or hesitation in her eyes now, only brightness.

“We can do as much of that as you want.” he kisses her softly. “And you don’t feel rusty to me.” he purrs back against her lips, eyes dark under a relaxed brow as she hummed happily.

“Not bad yourself, Harp.” she nudges her nose to his and smiles into a kiss, a content sigh shared as a kiss grows again. It felt so good, so right, just like she hoped it would. Just liked it should she thinks. He was so hot and pliant to the touch, a small lick of her tongue to his bottom lip makes his nostrils flare, a slow and teasing exchange between them. He bites on her full bottom lip and her eyes roll back in her head, a heavy sigh escaping her. She sucks on his after he releases it with a pop, her tongue moving to explore his own as they shared a more messy kiss, one that was clearly doing something for him as his hands ventured lower. He finally got his hands on that ass of hers, her letting out a little moan as he gave it a slight squeeze.

“Too far?” he asks, still learning the origin of her noises.

She answers by moving up into his lap, thighs on either side of him and shaking her head, putting his hands back where they had been. “No.” she answers before another wrestling kiss forms. Even with the advantage of being on him, he was still not taller than her. This was new for her as well, she’d never been a man this tall this... big. All over big. Or at least she hoped the hard place resting between her thighs was growing proof of that. Her hands slip under his jacket at the shoulders, far past her own in width and she moans as how hard he is under her hands. She greedily explores the planes of him, and he does the same. Hands down his chest to a stomach that was almost hard, fingertips pressed into shoulder blades that shifted as he easily picked her up to resituate her. Which she really didn’t mind at all. In fact she thought she might’ve found a new kink. No man she’d been with had even been strong enough to pick her up and throw her around so to speak, and literally. Her mind was full of racing ideas for him.

They kiss like teens at a make-out point as she’d teased upon arrival. Moans and pants exchanged against now swollen and wet lips, tongue in and outside of mouths as they explored what worked and didn’t, and so far there wasn’t a thing that didn’t feel good. It all felt too good and that was another problem entirely. One of those good problems she’d always heard about but never had herself.

She felt like taking her tits out of her dress, him getting those shapely lips on them and grinding on him until they both came. But she didn’t. She’d like to say she knew better, but she didn’t. She only knew not to go too fast, which is where she’d been burned before. “I know we have to stop at some point. But I don’t want to.” she half moans into a lippy and loud kiss.

He smiles against her. “I know babe. I know.” he groans and moves his hand back up to her waist. Hers on his jaw, thumbs swiping over the short sides of his beard as she kissed the corners of his mouth, the tip of his nose, wanting to feel every part of him against her lips.

“Mmph. That’s nice.” he hums with closed eyes and continues to his cheeks, that masculine brow, over the scar that lies there and one to his forehead.

“You’re very, very kissable.” she giggles, nuzzling his face with her nose. Touching him felt like a drug.

“So you are. Among...other things.” his nostrils flare as she bites her lip at him.

“Will there be time for that later?” she whispers, an almost naughty turn to her words.

“All the time you want.” he raises his brow, his voice deep with grit and hunger.

“How about we make time for it?” she asks, fingers into his beard and scratching, wanting to take in as much of him as she could.

“Mmm?” he asks, grunting as a response to her question and to the affection.

“We should make time. We’re both busy, I don’t want to go another week without seeing you... without... this.” she coos and kisses him softly.

“Then let’s do it. Let me take you out. A real date.”

“Oh, a real one huh?” she teases, kissing his cheek.

“Yeah. We’ll go downtown, meat, and wine the whole thing. Wine and dine.” he says playfully.

“Wine dine and...sixty nine?” she asks before her nose wrinkles and her face falls into a giggle.

“Like I said, whatever you want babe.” he grins.

Please leave a like, reblog or comment if you enjoyed this! It makes me want to write more of what you want if you let me know!

@vale0413 @littledeadgirlwalking @jaegeeeeer @phillipkopusimagines-and-stuff @mjolnir96 @xmother-mortemx @this-isnt-madness  @thors-hair-extensions @divadinag

[retschina]

Sleep

Arthur Shelby/OC

Arthur finds some much needed sleep in the arms of a mute whore. A little bit of romance happens. One-shot, pre-series.

June 1916, behind the front-line

 „Gemma? I need you in your tent. There’s a punter for you.” The madam said and Gemma looked up from the dress she mended.

Normally, there were no men asking for her, but after a big battle the soldiers were greedy for a woman’s company. These were the days she actually worked as a whore, serving three or four men who were so greedy that they couldn’t wait until Rose or Mary or Janie were free for them. The rest of the time she mended their clothes, did the laundry and helped at the kitchen tent. She was the general dogsbody in this travelling brothel with about 35 whores, the madam and a cook.

Gemma nodded, stood up and followed the madam outside.

“Arthur, dear,” the madam said with so much false friendliness in her voice that Gemma shuddered, “this is Gemma. She’s mute, but she’ll do whatever you want.”

The soldier nodded, agreeing in the deal he made and handed the madam the money. Payment in advance. Gemma knew it was less than the madam requested for the same time with all the others, but she was damaged goods: She couldn’t talk. And the soldiers loved talking, being comforted, being praised for their big cocks, being cheered while fucking themselves into oblivion. Sex with Gemma was something that happened in complete silence and there were not many soldiers who liked that. She gave the soldier, a man of medium size, thin, with a haggard face, a smile and gestured to the tent at the end of the row. He nodded and followed her in, waited until she closed the entrance.

“I’m Arthur,” he then said. “Nice to meet you. So, uhm, do you understand me?”

Gemma nodded, folded her hands over her chest and suggested a bow. Then she opened her dress (time is money, she heard the mistress say in her head) and watched him watching her unpretentious strip, seeing his tongue darting out under his mustache, licking over his lips. Once naked she came closer, opening his shirt, his pants, placing a kiss on his neck in the process.

“No,” he said and shook his head, gripping her wrist before she could feel for his cock. “Lay down. Please.”

She watched his face closely, the hard lines around his mouth, the hints of laugh lines around his eyes. He smelled good, his clothes were clean, a sign that he didn’t came right from the front-line, that he’d prepared himself before coming here. He looked exhausted, his age somehow indeterminable, but he surely was younger than he looked. The war made them all old.

Gemma nodded and lay down, giving him an inviting smile. He got rid of shirt, shoes, trousers and socks and joined her on the camp bed, that, like every camp bed was way too small for two persons, but in a whore’s bed you only need space for one, as the second person is always on top of the other. Enough space to lie on your back, to kneel or to ride. Foreplay was mostly done standing, in front of the bed.

Arthur squeezed his body beside hers, taking her in his arms, placing her head on his chest, covering their bodies with the thin blanket. Gemma heard his heart beating, slow and steady, no hint of arousal. They laid skin on skin, not a piece of paper could fit between them. It felt strange, unusual, but the customer is always right.

“I ... I suffer from nightmares,” Arthur said lowly and cleared his throat. “I can barely sleep.”

Gemma nodded at his chest and tried to get in his underpants. This was what he’d paid for, right? But once again he grabbed her wrist: “No. I don’t wanna fuck you. I’m here to ... to rest. Maybe I’m able to sleep when ... when I have a woman near me, just like back at home, when there was peace.”

Gemma bit on her lip and nodded once more. This was something new for sure. A soldier who paid a small fortune to get some sleep? He must be really, really desperate.

She pressed her body even closer to his, and her eyes shut as she thought about the time before the war, when she hadn’t been a whore, when she laid like this in the hayloft with Michael – may god rest his soul –, dreaming of marrying him, glad she’d met a man who doesn’t care about her being mute.

Arthur’s breathing was even and steady, he didn’t seem to take notice of Lina’s overacted screams of lust and the grunting of the soldier she served in the tent next to them.

“That feels so good,” Arthur whispered and shortly after he snored a little bit.

Gemma smiled, breathing his scent, thought of Michael’s embrace and fell asleep only a few minutes after Arthur.

Two hours later the madam woke them, because the time was up. Arthur thanked her politely, dressed and disappeared in the early evening. Gemma was distributed right after to another soldier, who fucked her relentlessly from behind while she thought of the best nap she had in years.

 From this day on, Arthur was her one and only regular. He came once a week, paying a little fortune for two hours of peaceful sleep. The other whores made fun of her when they took notice of this very special costumer, but they stopped when Janie said that Gemma was the most successful whore she’d ever met, earning money while simply napping.

Gemma herself would’ve napped with Arthur for free, but that was of course nothing the madam allowed. He didn’t talk much, he watched her strip, got rid of his clothes and fell asleep after a few minutes of cuddling.

After three months he missed his weekly visit and Gemma was soon in deep sorrow. In the next two weeks he didn’t visit too and so she went to the board where the fallen and wounded were announced. She didn’t know his last name, and felt a sting in her chest every time she found an “Arthur” on the lists. Every evening she thought of him, this taciturn, handsome, gentle man, thought of his embrace and how good and safe it felt to sleep in his arms. She prayed for him every day and was unbelievably relieved to see him another week down the road at the latrines. She smiled at him and he came over, hands in the pockets of his trousers.

“Hello, Gemma,” he greeted and she bowed her head. “I ... I was at home. Holidays, two weeks. The notification was a surprise, I would’ve told you if I had known it.”

She nodded and gave him a sigh of relief, her hands placed over her heart.

“Did you miss me?” He sounded confused and insecure, a grown-up man who couldn’t believe that a whore could miss his miserable visits.

She nodded enthusiastically and Arthur squinted, just as he thought about the possibility of getting played for a sucker. But then his facial expression became soft again and he nodded in the direction of the brothel tents: “I’d ... I’d love to visit you, but ... I gave most of my money to my family, so ... I’m kinda broke. I need to wait for the next pay packet before I’m able to visit you again.” He shrugged and gave her a half smile. “But I slept a lot at home, so ... it’s alright.”

Gemma shook her head and fumbled something out of the pocket of her skirt, pulled him in a tight embrace and kissed him on the cheek, while placing a little bit of money in his pocket.

“What the fuck?” Arthur whispered, pulling the coins she gave him out and counted them.  

Gemma pointed with her finger to the brothel.

“You want me to come? And pay for you with your own money?” Arthur asked and pulled her a bit on the side, away from prying ears.

She nodded and gave him a big smile.

“You like my visits?”

Once more a nod and he sighed: “Alright. I ... I feared you’d think I’m an idiot or something.”

Gemma shook her head, blew him a kiss and waved goodbye. She really looked forward to a nap in his arms. It was the best thing that happened to her since August 4th, 1914.

Their silent agreement started in December and contained a weekly meeting at the latrines where she gave him back her part of the money he’d paid for her, so that he’d only have to pay the commission for madam. It still felt wrong to take money for a nap, and she didn’t care about the money she lost to him. Madam was pleased and she was happy to have the best regular a whore could wish for.

It was the first week of February 1917 when she woke up from her nap because she felt his hands wandering over her body. He cupped her breast, petting with his thumb over her nipple. His breath was hot at her ear, he moaned lowly.

“Wanna fuck you, Gemma. Turn around.” He whispered and she did as he wished, pressing her back against his chest.

He lifted her leg, placing it over his own thigh, making room for his fingers. She turned her head to look at him, noticed the burning desire in his eyes. She stuck her middle finger in her mouth and sucked at it, swirling with the tongue over the finger tip and gave him a questioning look.

“No,” he whispered. “Want your pussy.”

She sighed and closed her eyes a few seconds after he started to pet over her slit, from her clitoris to her entrance, back and forth, back and forth. He worked her fast and determined, he was an experienced man, she could tell from the way he touched her. He knew how to make a woman hot and bothered and dripping wet. She was panting when he let go of her, turned around and grabbed one of the condoms on the bedside table. Gemma didn’t move, she listened to his low cursing, the sound of the condom wrapping and the rustling of the sheets when he came closer again, repositioning her to fuck her comfortably. Maybe it was the fact that he spooned her that it felt so intimate, so close. Gemma blinked the tears away, thankful that he was behind her, that he didn’t look at her.

Without any other word he entered her slowly, one arm around her upper body, his hand cupped her breast, the other hand over her vulva, slowly rubbing circles around her nub.

“Time’s up in 10 minutes, Gem!” Madam called from outside the tent, but Arthur wasn’t in any hurry.

He kept his thrusts slowly and steady, and Gemma turned her upper body as far as the cod would allow, just for a look at him. Their gazes locked and Arthur sped up a little, eliciting a moan from her.

“Like it?” He whispered and she nodded.

Her hand slid downwards, over his, and she guided him, showing him what she needed to find release. He was fast on the uptake and very soon she panted heavily, her pussy quivered and his thrusts got harder, more forceful, faster. Her little scream was nothing compared to Lina’s big “Oh-honey-you-fuck-me-so-good-yes-yes-yes-I’m-coming”-show, but it was a real one. Arthur had made her cum and she couldn’t remember one single soldier who had managed this before. Six or seven hard and fast thrusts later he grunted, a rumble deep out of his chest, and he stilled, pressing himself balls-deep in her. His eyes closed and he remained in her for another minute, waiting for his breathing going back to normal. Then he slid out, removing the condom without breaking eye contact to her and threw it on the floor. He closed the fly of his underpants and turned her around.

“Kiss?” He asked and she nodded.

She wanted to be kissed by him so badly and smiled, as he lowered his head, as his lips met hers.

“Time’s up, Gemma!” Madam’s voice came from outside, but Arthur didn’t stop kissing her for another 30 seconds.

“We’ve got marching orders. We’re going to Belgium on Saturday. I’m ... I’m gonna miss you, Gemma. I’m sorry I have to go. Thank you, for everything.” He whispered and left the cod, dressing in record speed.

He was fully clothed in the moment Madam opened the entrance, indicating that the guest had to leave right now or to pay for another hour.

“Gemma, Mr. Lamarr needs you in the kitchen tent,” she said and left it instantly again, after Gemma nodded and sat up.

Arthur fumbled in his jacket and placed two coins on the bedside table: “Is ... is this enough? For the fuck?”

Gemma looked back and forth between the money and his face, blinked the tears away and nodded, a forced smile on her lips.

“Bye, Gemma,” he said lowly and left the tent.

She sat there for another minute, crying silently, stupid tears, bathing in miserable self-pity.

‘You’re a whore, Gemma. What did you expect?’ She thought and got up to get dressed.

She flinched as she felt warm liquid running down on her inner thighs, seconds after standing up. Gemma held her breath and bit on her lip, looking to the condom lying on the floor to her feet. She could see the tear in the material with the naked eye.

  Birmingham, November 1920

 The madam had sent her home, to Lancashire, once the pregnancy was visibly. But she didn’t make it back, she got stuck in Birmingham, and gave birth to a little boy, Angus, on October 15, 1917. She found work at a factory and fought hard every day to make everything best for him. Right now, in November 1920, with Angus 3 years old, she needed a second job. She had to buy some shoes for him and she was in desperate need of a coat for him. He’d grown so fast in the last months.

Gemma tried to keep contact to many other mothers and the neighbours, so Angus could learn how to speak from the people surrounding him. He did very well and for a few weeks now he chattered and sang the whole day. He was a child of a very sunny disposition, sometimes hard to believe, considering the shy and reluctant temper of his mother and the earnestness and sadness of his father. Every time Gemma looked at her son she was able to see Arthur in him. He looked so similar to his father that it sometimes nearly broke her heart.

She strolled around the streets with Angus at her hand, searching for a “Help needed” sign somewhere. After an hour she reached the imaginary border she’d set for herself: Every job behind Watery Lane was too far away to be paying. So, Watery Lane was the last street to look for a job in this direction. Tomorrow she’d go for a walk southwards from her home. And then she saw it: “Help needed.”

She smiled, pointing to the door, gesturing Angus that they would go in there. She had no idea what kind of help they needed or what kind of business it was, but asking never hurt. Inside the office she found a woman all alone at a desk and she gave her a smile, fumbling for the piece of paper in her pocket. She handed it over the table, while Angus sang “Three blind mice”, which made her smile every time he sang it.

The woman watched him closely, squinted, shook her head and looked to the piece of paper Gemma gave her.

“My name is Gemma Barker. I’m mute, but I’m able to work very hard.”

In her back, a door opened and heavy footsteps came nearer.

“Pol?” A male voice asked and the woman at the desk looked up. “Where’s the paperwork Tommy gave you yesterday? Regarding Epsom?”

Gemma froze. She knew this voice. As little as he’d used to talk, she would recognize his voice under thousands. She still dreamt of him, of the peace she’d found in his arms. Slowly, Gemma turned around and looked at him. Arthur. Beyond all doubt. He hadn’t change very much. Her hand searched for hold at the desk and she made a strangled noise that made him look at her. He stopped in the movement, looking at her with disbelief. Then he noticed the still singing Angus and his eyes got wide.

“Who’s that?” He asked, his voice strained.

“Her name is Gemma. She’s applying for the job. And the boy ... if I wouldn’t know better I’d say he’s a fruit of your loins, Arthur,” the woman named Polly answered. “He looks just like you when you were about three years old.”

“Gemma ...,” Arthur whispered. “Oh, bloody hell!”

He came closer, looking back and forth between her and Angus. After a few seconds he hunkered down and held out his hand for Angus. Her – their – little boy shook Arthur’s hand politely and said: “I’m Angus Barker. Nice to meet you.”

“He talks ...,” Arthur said, looking up to Gemma.

She nodded and gave him a smile.

“Who’s that, mom?” Angus asked, looking up to Gemma.

“I’m Arthur,” he introduced himself.

“You two know each other, huh? And little Angus is ...?”

Arthur nodded to Polly and focused on Angus again: “How old are you, son?”

He held three fingers in the air and Gemma noticed the smile on Arthur’s face, watched his laugh lines crinkle for the first time in her presence.

“February 17, right? So he was born in ... what? October?” Arthur said and Gemma nodded. “Do you still work for ...?”

She shook her head and handed him the paper Polly had given her back.

“Gemma Barker,” Arthur mumbled and looked up: “I’m Arthur Shelby. Welcome to the family, Gem and Angus.”

He stood up and opened his arms, pulled Gemma in a tight embrace.

“I need sleep,” he whispered. “I’m so fucking tired.”

Gemma nodded at his chest and smiled. So was she. But from this day on, she would sleep like a stone, she felt it.

[bad-beats]

A Bowl of Bad Beets - Bad Beets Ch. 5 (12/16-1/5)

Ladies. Gentleman. Boy. Girls. Cats. Dogs. Degenerate Gamblers. Bookies. Welcome back to the Bad Beets Blog! I hope you had a fantastic holiday season and that your Sunday Scaries weren’t as bad as mine after my two-week absence from the office. This past month was full of NCAA bowl games, and bowl game szn and bad beet szn are basically synonymous. I already broke my New Year’s Resolution of having zero Bad Beets in 2020. Nonetheless, I am here to provide entertainment for all of you (albeit that it is in the form of my gambling misfortune). Let’s get after it.

12/17/19

League: NBA

Bet: Magic vs Jazz Under 209 (-110)

Units: 1.1 to win 1

Welcome back to another thrilling episode of “Life is too short to bet the under.” Thanks for being a recurring viewer. This is a classic NBA scenario: Magic down 1 with a minute left. Jazz score two buckets in a row. Magic play the fouling game to try to decrease the deficit. Jazz don’t miss free throws. 10 points scored in the final minute.

Bad Beet #1 just dips its feet in the water compared to the beets that are to come in the rest of this article.

12/18/19

League: NBA

Bet: Cavaliers -3 (-110)

Units: 2.2 to win 2

I will definitely take part of the blame for this beet. Why the hell I thought it was feasible that the Cavs could cover a 3-point spread at home is beyond me. The Cavaliers should never be favorites. Unfortunately, I didn’t listen to logic and took them -3 anyway. For most of the game, I was pretty proud of myself for this bet - I thought I had outsmarted Vegas. The Cavs were up double digits almost wire to wire. They took a 12-point lead into the fourth quarter. They were up 10 with 3:08 left in the game.

Enter “Scary Terry” Rozier. The guy couldn’t miss a three during the final 60 seconds. He channeled his inner Jimmer Fredette, pulling threes from 28+ feet.

Larry Nance Jr. missed a free throw with 31 seconds left with the Cavs up 5, and of course, Scary Terry drained a 28-footer just seconds later to cut the deficit to 2. Not to fear though, the Cavs got the ball back and were about to get fouled and head back to the line to try to cover again, right? WRONG! Colin Sexton dribbled the ball of his foot, turning the ball right back over to the Hornets. Scary Terry had a chance to win the game, but it rimmed in and out and the Cavs secured the rebound. With only a few seconds left, the Hornets didn’t foul, the Cavs didn’t get to shoot free throws, and they somehow didn’t cover the -3, and I couldn’t even escape with a push.

I forgot to mention that the Cavs had a 96% chance to cover with just three minutes left in the game according to The Action Network (@ActionNetworkHQ on Twitter). Bad Beet #2 of the week can be attributed to Scary Terry and the Lebron-less Cleveland Cavaliers.

12/19/19

League: NHL

Bet: Blackhawks vs Jets 1P over 1.5 (-150)

Units: 2.75 to win 1.85

As I have mentioned in previous blogs, there is little that is more exhilarating than betting first-period hockey totals. These bets can be instant wins if you take the over and the score is 1-1 after 2:33 seconds, or you can lose an under on a last-second goal 19:54 into the period. I love betting on the Blackhawks first-period overs this season because their defense ranks in the bottom third in goals allowed and they give up the most shots in the entire league at a whopping 35.95 per game. On the flip side of the puck, Patrick Kane can find the net faster than a fat kid can find a sleeve of Oreos.

The Hawks scored on the first shot of the game, 0:59 into the period. Alex Nylander beautifully put it home, and my bet was already halfway there with 95% of the time in the period remaining.

Someone please explain to me how the fuck one goal is scored on this first shot, and zero goals are scored on the following 28 shots. FUCK. Bad Beet #3 of the week. No words for this one.

12/21/19

League: NHL

Bet: Jets vs Wild 1P under 1.5 (Even)

Units: 0.8 to win 0.8

Remember how in the previous beet the Winnipeg Jets scored 0 goals off of 17 shots in the first period and screwed me out 1.85 units? These mother fuckers are the worst. In an uneventful first period against the Wild, they committed a penalty in a 0-0 game with just 6:30 remaining, proceeded to score a SHORTHANDED GOAL with 5 minutes left in the period, and for good measure scored with 6 seconds left to take a 2-0 lead into the break.

Fuck me. The Jets are on my shitlist. Bad Beet #4 of the week would have been non-existent if the Wild keeper could have not sucked for just 6 seconds longer (P.S. The Jets would go on to win this game 6-0).

3/26/2003

This is the day that the “Catch me outside, how bout dat,” girl was born. Also known as Danielle Bregoli, or by her rap name “Bhad Bhabie,” she is the queen of producing some absolutely horrific music during her short rap career.

I think it would be more appropriate to call her “Bhad Bheets.” Sheesh.

12/23/19

League: NCAAF - Bad Boy Mowers Gasparilla Bowl

Bet: Live Bet - UCF vs Marshall over 73.5 (+155)

Units: 2.5 to win 3.85

I LOVE COLLEGE BOWL SEASON. I am a big proponent of these games: coaches are more inclined to go for it on 4th down, there are generally some crazy trick plays, and both teams have a similar chance to win the game. You all know how much I love betting the over, and for college bowl season, I bet the over 85% of the time (which doesn’t end up working out for me). However, on this game, I had such a good read on the over that I obviously took over 59.5 before the game started. UCF plays such with a rapid tempo, and I had a feeling this could turn into a shootout-esque game. Feeling greedy, I took the live bet over 73.5 (+155) sometime in the 2nd quarter. The score at halftime was 24-7. After a 39-point third quarter, I only needed 4 points in the last quarter of the game to hit my live bet. UCF kicked a field goal with 9:04 remaining in the game. I needed one singular point over the last 9 minutes of the game. Here are the final two drives...

Marshall went on a 12 play, 48-yard drive that stalled with a turnover on downs and ate up 4 minutes of clock. With UCF up 23, they weren’t using their usual fast-paced tempo to run their offense, which was unfortunate. However, they broke a 38-yard run with just over a minute left but got tackled at the Marshall 2-yard line. I was hoping they could just punch it in with a quick HB dive, which they attempted, and utterly failed, getting stuffed at the half-yard line. And that is how the game ended. 3 total points in the 4th, 73 overall and just a half-yard away from cashing this bet. Bad Beet #5 of the week gave me kidney stones.

1/1/2020

League: NCAAF - Sugar Bowl

Bet: Georgia vs Baylor over 42 (-120)

Units: 12 to win 10

I am not even going to go into how much this one hurt. I was having a rough New Year’s Day of gambling, so I decided I wanted to chase my losses (never a good idea, 10/10 would not recommend). I needed a bailout special just one day into the new year. I won’t go into a description of what happened in this bet because it will trigger me. I’ll just leave this here...

96% chance to cover the over 44 with 4:10 remaining in the 3rd quarter. 20 minutes of the game left, and I had the over 42, not even 44. I surmise that the cover % for the over 42 was closer to 98% at that point in the game. This beet motherfucked me. One of my worst of all time. #6 of the week and the first one of 2020. Definitely not a good omen for what is to come this gambling year.

1/3/2020

League: NCAAB

Bet: Illinois 1H +5.5 (-110)

Units: 2.2 to win 2

The Fighting Illini (my alma mater) basketball team has had a tail of two seasons. They have played like a top 25 team in the country at times, beating Michigan and annihilating Purdue at home, and also have choked away games at home to Miami and away at Maryland. This beet is unexplainable. Illinois hit a bucket with 0:34 left to decrease the deficit to just 5. MSU missed a layup with 27 seconds left and the Illini grabbed the board. There was no reason for MSU to even get another possession. With the shot clock turned off, Illinois could have held for the last shot of the half, and more importantly guaranteed a cover of the 5.5 point spread.

Just by reading the play-by-play, it looks like Trent Frazier committed the dumbest foul in the game with just one second left in the half, fouling a 3-point shooter as time expired. However, it was actually just the single worst call in basketball history (maybe an exaggeration, but my god was it a horrendous call). Take a look for yourself...

I hate how referees aren’t held accountable for their mistakes. The only job in the world where you can repeatedly mess up and have no repercussions. Going to be sending this ref a Venmo request for my 2.2 units back. Bad Beet #7 of the week was just plain assault.

1/2/2020

League: NBA

Bet: Heat 1H -3 (-110)

Units: 2.75 to win 2.5

The Miami Heat are 12-5-1 against the 1H spread at home this season. However, they could be 13-5 against the spread in the first half at home this season, if not for this horrible push. Miami was up 8 with the ball with 45 seconds left in the half. That’s all you need to know. They had no business not covering the 1H spread in this game.

The Raptors very eloquently executed the 2-for-1 situation at the end of the half, made a layup to shrink the deficit to 5, got a defensive board, and then OG Anunoby hit a buzzer-beater 3 to send the game to halftime with a 39-42 score. The Heat went scoreless over the last 2:14 of the half. Miserable push.

1/3/2020

League: NCAAF - Famous Idaho Potato Bowl

Bet: Live Bet - Ohio vs Nevada over 53.5 (-115)

Units: 3.5 to win 3

With a crazy name like the Famous Idaho Potato Bowl, obviously, something out of the ordinary was going to happen to my bet. Nevada was getting trounced by Ohio most of the game, but finally found some life in the 4th quarter, attempting to mount a furious comeback. They scored an early TD in the quarter, but botched the snap on the XP and could only come away with 6. They scored another TD soon after, which made the score 30-21.

*Insert inexplicably bad coaching decision #1*

The Nevada coach decided that he wanted to go for two points, down 9, to get that 2-point conversion out of the way. Literally every statistic screams to go for 1 in that scenario, make it an 8-point game to keep the deficit to only one score, and move on with the game. Obviously, Nevada didn’t successfully convert the 2-point try, so the score remained 30-21 with 8:49 remaining in the game. At this point in time, I only needed a FG to win my live bet of the over 53.5. Nevada stopped Ohio on their next drive, and got the ball down to 1st and goal with 4 minutes left, down by 2 scores.

*Insert inexplicably bad coaching decision #2*

Here is the play call on 1st and goal that the Nevada coach came up with...

WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU RUNNING A DOUBLE REVERSE ON 1ST AND GOAL WITH YOUR TEAM DOWN TWO SCORES?!?! OF COURSE YOU ARE GOING TO TURN IT OVER. FUCK. YOU FUCKED MY BET.

Turns out this wasn’t the play that sent my bet to the grave, although I wish it was because how I actually ended up losing was far worse. After the fumble, Nevada used all 3 of their timeouts and stopped Ohio again. They got the ball back with 2:45. On the first play of their drive, a Nevada receiver broke free down the middle of the field for what would have surely been a touchdown. The only problem was that Carson Strong overthrew him by about 6 inches. Two plays later, Strong aired one out to their best receiver, Elijah Cooks, who hauled the ball in at the Ohio 8-yard line. Down 2 scores, Nevada needed both a TD and a field goal to win the game. After 3 straight incomplete passes, the field goal kicker trotted out to make it a one-score game with 1:54 remaining.

Wait...where was the field goal kicker?

*Insert inexplicably bad coaching decision #3*

YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS - THE ONLY EXPLANATION FOR WHY THE COACH WENT FOR IT ON 4TH AND GOAL FROM THE 8 WITH NO TIMEOUTS AND DOWN TWO SCORES WITH 1:54 LEFT IN THE GAME IS THAT HE BET ON OHIO! NO OTHER EXPLANATION. I NEED AN INVESTIGATION YESTERDAY! FUCK! BAD BEET #8 WAS ONE OF THE WORST BEETS OF MY LIFE!

1/4/2020

League: NCAAF - Lockheed Martin Armed Forces Bowl

Bet: Live Bet - Tulane vs Southern Miss over 49.5 (-115)

Units: 5.75 to win 5

Frankly, I am out of breath after describing that last beet. I placed this live bet early in the 3rd quarter. Tulane scored 24 unanswered in that quarter, leading 30-13 heading into the last 15 minutes of the game.

After a scoreless first 13 minutes of the 4th quarter, Southern Miss threw a pick in the endzone on 1st and goal. Icing on the shit cake. Bad Beet #9 committed necrophilia with the corpse that was left after Bad Beet #8.

Well, folks, I hope reading this blog was far less miserable than my gambling experiences have already been in 2020. Let’s recap:

Bad Beet Count: 9

Unit Swing: 36 to win 31.5 (67.5 unit swing)

Well, that’s all for this week folks. Please Like and Share on https://www.facebook.com/badbeetsblog/ to offset some of my gambling misery. See you next week!

[watermonkey0]

"Overdose”

4th Point of Contact -- “Overdose” -- Do Kyungsoo x Harper Hasagawa

Kyungsoo stood at the back of the group, not at all wanting to be there. Between the fatality he’d witnessed this morning, and his lack of sleep last night, dealing with Monsta X was the last thing he wanted to do this morning. As a band, they weren’t that much younger than EXO, only three years, but somehow they still acted like they were trainees. Shownu, Wonhu, Minhyuk, Kihyun, Hyungwon, Jooheon, and IM; even their names were annoying as they filed on stage, snickering and late.

“They couldn’t be bothered to show up on time? Even for this?” Sehun muttered under his breath. It was that time of year again: The Dream Concert. And for some reason, the Kpop world had decided that it would be a great idea to pit EXO against MONSTA X. Honestly, it was cruel. Monsta X was nowhere near as popular or as successful. And if you asked Kyungsoo, he might even admit they were nowhere near as talented. But he kept that to himself as the groups lined up across from each other and bowed stiffly, like they were happy to be there.

“We are very excited to be competing with you this year.” Junmyeon said cordially. Shownu stepped forward from their side with a smirk that Kyungsoo hated. He had a long, pale face that everyone knew the fangirls loved. They also couldn’t get enough of his muscular arms, which Kyungsoo figured he spent way too much time on.

“So are we.” Shownu said it as if there were a hundred other things he wanted to say, but those were the only words he was allowed. “Please take care of us.” He added formally, and the groups bowed to each other again.

The process was simple enough: EXO’s hit ‘Monster’ would be mashed with Monsta X’s song ‘Hero’, and the two groups would practice combining and outperforming each other through vocals and dance. Chanyeol was the only one excited about it, but only because he helped write the two together. He played it for the rest of the members last night, and despite Kyungsoo’s general regard for most things, he had to admit that it was cool. Channie said he still had to tweak the bridge, but other than that, the songs were easy to combine.

Together, the sixteen men lined up behind the choreographer and blocker who was going to stage them. Monsta X was late for their combine blocking time, meaning they had to quickly learn their spots before it was someone else’s turn to familiarize themselves with the stage.

Standing between Wonhu and Yixing, Kyungsoo looked out over the stadium. The arena around them was empty, which made their voices echo that much more. The seats were black, the stage was black, the turf was black, Kyungsoo was wearing black…it was a wash of colorlessness and he liked it.

“About as black as D.O.’s heart, huh?” Chanyeol quipped, and Kyungsoo punched him lightly in the back.

They had just started in on the first chorus choreo when the screaming started. Everyone paused as the sound bounced off the tiers of each level, creating a bowl of horror.

“What the—” Xiumin started, but was interrupted by the sight of Harper sprinting onto the field across from the stae, screaming at the top of her lungs. Kyungsoo was momentarily taken back to this morning when he walked in on her barfing her guts out, but this somehow seemed worse. She was in her typical skinny jeans, converse, white sleeveless shirt that was against some rule somewhere, and flannel tied around her waist. It looked like a cape that sailed behind her as she tore down the middle aisle of chairs. For a moment, it was only her, and all of EXO collectively wondered if maybe she had really lost her mind this time. Her arms pumped, and everyone could see her mouth move as she screamed.

And then the giant appeared.

It burst out from under the overhang like some sort of demon escaping from its cage in hell. It may have been a human at one point, but god only knows when that was. Even from the stage where everything looked tiny, that thing looked colossal. Harper was only five foot whatever, but this thing—

This thing had to be well over seven.

It sprinted down the aisle after her like Harper was the character from Temple Run, and someone should whip out their iPad to keep her alive. With a white shirt, and black slacks, it definitely seemed like it was a person once, but when he reached for her and she danced out of his grip, the beast let out a howl akin to something Channie had spliced into ‘Wolf’s remix.

The collection of people on the stage stood stunned at the sight coming at them, like it was running off the pages of a fairy tale. Was this Jack and the Beanstalk? Were there really giants stalking around Seoul? Jesus, where was an axe when he needed on?

Then, Harper’s screams started to form words: “Get out! Out! Move! Run! Why the hell aren’t you moving?!”

Air was sucking into my lungs with ragged breaths as my feet pounded down the aisle of chairs. Surely I was dreaming! The thing behind me had to be some sort of creature from my drug induced nightmare. I felt it lunge for me again and I threw myself to the left into a row. It barreled past me, but quickly backtracked to find me again.

Well at least I knew I was its target and not one of the boys. I risked a glance at the stage where the gaggle of men stood staring at this like it was a god damned spectacle. Seriously? Did they not notice the danger?

Danger!

Idiots!

I vaulted over the rows, moving forward again, hoping the long legs on the monster would get caught on the short seats. Maybe if I threw something at Junmyeon, he’d come back to life and get them the fuck out of there! The man-beast howled again, and I ducked as it took another swipe for me, way too close for comfort.

“Harper!” Someone screamed my name, and it caught me just enough off guard that I glanced up when I shouldn’t have. My eyes found Kyungsoo’s and I watched his face spread in horror for about a half second before there were hands on my shoulder and leg. The thing snatched me up like I was as light as a feather, and then tossed me just the same.

I smashed into the rigging of the stage nearly upside down, but had no time to recover as the creature closed the distance between us again. Using the stage as leverage, I pushed out of its way at the last second, and as it leaned into the stage from momentum, I grabbed its shoulder and vaulted onto its back, using the monster as a ramp to get to higher ground.

I stumbled onto the black stage, hoping that it would take more than a second for it to catch me. I needed to breathe, to think. What the hell was even happening? There I was, minding my own business, walking the internal perimeter of the arena, when the men’s restroom exploded, and that thing crawled out. I wasn’t even asking for a fight! The drugs I’d taken earlier were only just starting to work, and my migraine had barely lessened to a dull roar. I was not expecting it to be replaced with the real thing!

“Harper!” I heard Baekhyun shout my name, and figured my second was up. The creature hoisted itself onto the stage and started stalking towards me again. At least it wasn’t sprinting, although it might have known that I didn’t have anywhere to go. I couldn’t very well run past the boys and leave them exposed should the thing change its mind. Instead, I rolled forward and around, placing myself between the idols and the monster.

“Get back!” I yelled over my shoulder and reached for a baton at my belt. Usually, the brush of metal in my hands would make me feel infinitely more confident, but when I looked down at my little stick and back up to the hulking thing coming for me, no sureness came.

“Mo Myong?!” Hyungwon of Monsta X was off to my left, huddled with the rest of the frozen celebrities. But he shouted and the beast paused.

“You know this thing?” I cried and jumped out of the way when the creature was done being distracted. Although, I guess it really was a man?

“Mo Myong!” Hyungwon shouted, and when the monster stopped to look again, I lunged to the side, bashing the baton into his knee joint. Mo howled in pain, throwing his head back and curling his fingers like a werewolf. Hoping the break would last long enough, I grabbed his wrist, trying to gain control of his body and maybe take him down in a hold. There would be no way I could keep him down, but maybe if I could incapacitate him for long enough, the others would finally find the sense to run.

But, of course, instead of me gaining any upper hand, Mo Myong twisted his arm so that the grip I had on him became a grip he had on me. I leaned in, trying to close the distance, knowing that the further I was from him, the more likely he could destroy me. As I tucked in under his arm, somewhere in the back of my mind, it registered that he smelled terrible. His heavy breathing smelled like rotten onions, and his whole body reeked of dog food, or something greasy you’d get from a fast food joint in the middle of the night. But Mo shoved me off, slamming his other fist into my hip and sending me flying. I tumbled for a few feet, before I managed to catch hold of something on the stage and reel myself into another fighting stance. I lost the baton and all that fake confidence it hadn’t given me.

This was not going well. Think, Harper, think. EXO to my right, Monsta X to my left, backstage behind me, and the audience in front of me. I’d lost my only weapon, and I was pretty sure I was injured, I just couldn’t feel it yet because of the adrenaline. Mo Myong paused for a moment, and then surprisingly swayed on his feet.

Monsta X knew who this guy was, enough to call out to him in this state. But the only people allowed in the stadium were agency staff. That meant that this guy was a part of Starship Entertainment. So why was he like this?! I took a good hard look at him finally, knowing I hadn’t actually seen his face through the sudden battle or panic. His white shirt was tailored into his hips and almost see-through with sweat. His neck was bulging under his collar, and his face was yellow, like a crayon. His eyes were bloodshot and jumping around, like he couldn’t focus on me or anything else. It was why he was flailing, I realized, and also why he’d only managed to hurt me when he got in close.

Mo Myong was overdosing. Sudden violence, paranoia, hallucinations, they were all symptoms of steroid abuse. Couple those with excessive sweating, jaundice, and bad breath, and I knew exactly why he’d detonated from the bathroom. He’d gone to shoot up before his shift, but injected too much too quickly. Much to my chagrin, I was suddenly thankful for all those health seminars the corps had forced me to sit through. But I would have to thank my DS later.

“Junmyeon.” I yelled over my shoulder. Suho’s eyes snapped to mine, but before I could say anything else, Mo charged me again. “My bag!” I shrieked as I dodged his arm, making sure to stay out of his reach this time.

Junmyeon only took a moment to understand my meaning, and then he was running off stage towards the dressing rooms. The rest of EXO trailed behind him confused, not sure if they were supposed to follow, but also not wanting to leave me to die alone. It ignited the fire in Monsta X though, and all the members but Hyungwon fled the platform. The pointy faced boy stood his ground as I danced out of Mo’s reach again and again, waiting for my backup plan.

Only a second later, Suho came galloping back on stage holding my green backpack in his hands. At the same time, Hyungwon grabbed hold of my arm, halting my step and trying to put himself in front of me.

“What the—” I managed before Hyungwon’s ill-conceived attempt to be the hero ended with Mo Myong sending us both flying. I crashed into Junmyeon, who in his defense, tried to catch me, but we ended in a pile of limbs on the floor. Hyungwon landed somewhere off to the side behind a speaker, and Mo Myong let out another howl, although this one sounded more human than the last.

“But, Hasa—” Junmyeon stuttered as I grabbed my bag and turned it up, emptying the contents. A solid black 5x7 case clattered to the ground and I snatched it. I slid my thumb over the seam, allowing the small screen to register my fingerprint. Mo Myong stomped forward a step but faltered, grabbing his head with both hands.

“Yeah, I bet your head hurts.” Now really wasn’t the time to be snarky, but I’d never managed my attitude very well anyway. The case clicked open and exposed a beautiful little .357 Kimber revolver. Mo Myong screamed again and then started sprinting towards us.

“Hasa, Hasa, Hasa!” Suho scrambled backwards, out of the way of the charging bull. Franticly, I grabbed the spiral, unhinged the wheel, jammed the bullets in their slots, and flicked the cylinder back into place. And, without missing a beat, I stood to face the hurricane of testosterone sprinting towards us. “Hasa!” Junmyeon screamed again and I saw him squeeze his eyes shut. He hadn’t gotten completely out of the way, probably feeling somewhat responsible. But I looked at him, and then to all the other boys who were gaping at us from further away. I took in each gaze until I landed on D.O.’s. I wondered if he would tell them the truth about me after I died, or if he would keep it to himself. A part of me wanted him to tell them, let them see how small I actually was, but the other part wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, exactly how they saw me now.

I probably looked like something straight out of the Avengers: armed, sexy, and the underdog. They could make such a good movie out of my life.

Mo Myong reared his fist back as he ran, and I cocked my hammer.

He screamed. I shot.

Kyungsoo tried his hardest not to look at her, but his eyes kept finding their way back to where she was forced to sit and allow the paramedic to examine her. Harper was rolling her eyes so hard, Kyungsoo was worried they’d roll right out of her head. He heard ‘broken ribs’ and ‘sprained wrist’ muttered by the woman who poked and prodded her, but he couldn’t really see those injuries on the girl whose legs were bouncing up and down.

“Tell your guard, it’s a job well done.” Detective Dong Daegu said to Chief Soo. He held up Harper’s gun by a pencil through the trigger guard, gesturing to it.  Guns were just so out of their realm that when Harper had dropped it, everybody just stared at it. It wasn’t until Detective Dong picked it up that anyone remembered it had been abandoned.

“But how is he…” Jongin asked. He wanted to know how the man, Mo Myong, wasn’t dead. For someone Kyungsoo thought was huge in the beginning, Mo Myong looked remarkably small strapped to the EMT gurney. Bright orange straps were secured over his arms, waist, and legs, to keep him on or to keep him down, D.O. didn’t want to know. All he cared to see was the steady rise and fall of his chest that was proof he wasn’t dead. For as long as he lived, Kyungsoo was never going to be able to forget the image of Harper pulling the trigger of her gun over and over again. Or seeing Mo Myong’s body jerk with each shot. He was terrified of her in that moment, more so than he was of the lunatic storming their dance session. How easily she shot him, like she’d done it a million times. Because she had.

She was a soldier, how could he keep forgetting? But still, it seemed too easy, too second nature. How did she manage to justify it? How was she okay with taking someone else’s life with the squeeze of a finger?

“Your American had the foresight to use rubber bullets.” Detective Dong answered Jongin’s unasked question. He toed the evidence box on the ground at his feet, indicating the bag filled with little black balls. Chief Soo was rigid as the Detective explained Harper hadn’t been issued a weapon’s permit, and if she had used real bullets and killed this guy, everyone would be in serious trouble. “And then there’s this thing,” He gestured to the automated syringe next to the bullets, “what was it, anyway?” He directed his question to Harper who, when Kyungsoo turned back to her, found that she was looking at him.

“Ketamine.” She said in English. How she knew what they were talking about, D.O. didn’t know. But regardless, Detective Dong made a face as if to say ‘not-bad’, before packing up the rest of his evidence. Chief Soo thanked them excessively as they wheeled Mo Myong out of the arena, representatives from Starship hot on their heels. He’d only arrived shortly after the whole incident had ended, making him walk in on a literal disaster.

“What happened?!” He screamed when he saw Harper straddling a man on the stage, needle shoved into his neck. Needless to say it fell to the still flustered Suho to explain Harper’s back up plan. Apparently it was something she’d worked out with him in the beginning.

“It’s because you’re the leader.” Harper said matter-of-factly. She’d cornered him in an empty dressing room weeks ago. “You have to know about this. I can’t be single handedly in charge of your security. You have to be able to protect yourselves too.” So she’d showed him the case she always carried with her, and how to open it. According to Junmyeon, he and Harper’s prints were the only ones the box would open for. He admitted that his hands shook when she showed him how to load the bullets and secure the cylinder. She didn’t let him shoot it, of course, and he hadn’t asked too. But she also neglected to mention that they weren’t real bullets.

Then she showed him the spring loaded syringe, telling him it was a tranquilizer. “If I ever can’t protect you, if I’m ever taken out of the picture, you use this to pause,” she held up the gun, “and you use this to stop.” She held up the needle. She made him repeat the phrase like a mantra, over and over, until the sight of the gun didn’t make his skin crawl, and he promised he could protect his members without hesitation should he need to.

Hearing that she had something like this waiting in the wings stirred up confusion in Kyungsoo’s stomach. Was he supposed to feel more secure that she had all these ‘backup plans’? If so, why then did he feel a little let down that she had none with him? He quickly shoved the thought away, wondering where the hell it’d come from. So what? Just because he knew Harper before didn’t mean that she was required to run anything past him now. He was technically the reason she had this job, but if she hadn’t been qualified for it, Chief Soo would have thrown her out weeks ago. She knew how to protect them, plain and simple…backup plans just so happened to be one way.

“Ugh, can you not?” Harper griped in English at the EMT who was lifting the hem of her shirt.

“You have three broken ribs. I have to see.” The woman tried to tell her, but Harper didn’t understand. She squirmed again and the EMT let out an exasperated sigh. Kyungsoo could relate. Harper made him feel that way most days. So he felt compelled to go over and plant his hands on her shoulders, causing her to freeze.

“What are you doing?” She asked as she gazed up at him. Around one of her big green eyes, a bruise was forming, and she’d busted her lip somewhere in the epic battle earlier. Funny, just a few moments ago it had been terrifying to him, but now it was epic. Curious…

“Let her see.” He ordered, and then nodded to the EMT who seemed happy for the help. In one long swipe, she cut up the side of Harper’s shirt. He definitely had not been expecting that, and Kyungsoo’s face quickly flushed as he saw the flat lines of Harper’s stomach and the folds of her sports bra. But Harper was never one to be shy, she seemed like she hardly cared that he saw. She was more concerned with the fact that her shirt was now ruined.

His hands on her shoulders were suddenly on fire, and he snatched them away. Harper threw him an annoyed look, probably blaming him for the shirt and not noticing how he hid his arms behind him. The EMT quickly went about assessing the damage, drawing Kyungsoo’s attention to the swollen red rash on Harper’s upper side.

“Looks like R 5-7.” The paramedic muttered to herself and went fishing in her bag for something.

“How bad is it?” Harper’s voice was small, and Kyungsoo glanced up at her face curiously. She wouldn’t meet his eye, but her expression was one of embarrassment, although he could have imagined it.

“You have three broken ribs.” He answered.

“Meh…I’ve had worse.” She shrugged but immediately regretted it as she winced and held her side. Any shame she felt was gone when the EMT popped back up out of her bag with a beige wrap.

“Tell her the bra has to come off too.” The woman instructed Kyungsoo. He was about to comply, since it seemed like such a normal medical request, but after a moment of translating, he realized what she was asking him to say and blanched.

“We’re in the middle of an arena!” He hissed, trying his best to sound calm so Harper wouldn’t know that he was panicking over her bra, but she raised an eyebrow at him anyway. He hated how even when she couldn’t speak Korean, she still somehow knew what was being said.

“I’d move her, but she’s being belligerent. The quicker I treat her, the better.” The woman shot back, obviously annoyed that she’d picked the short stick in terms of patients. The overdosing maniac would have been easier, honestly, and belligerent was the absolute right word to describe his bodyguard. Kyungsoo had a feeling he was about to see just how belligerent she could be, too. Resolutely, he pulled off his black hoodie and held it out to Harper, as if it were a precursor. She eyed it for a moment before the realization spread over her face.

“Oh hell no—” She tried to jump from the chair, but Kyungsoo clamped his hands down on her shoulders again, and the paramedic didn’t waste the opportunity. With a snip here and a snip there, Harper was cursing under her breath and D.O. tried his best to shield her from anyone else. Although he had no idea how effective he was since his own eyes were screwed shut tight. Her shoulders were tense under his fingers, and he felt her rock back and forth as the paramedic wrapped the binding around her again and again until it was secure.

“There, all done.” The woman sighed, relieved that she wouldn’t have to deal with the stubborn American anymore. Not a moment later, Harper swatted his hands away and he opened his eyes to see her pulling his hoodie over her head. He stared at it for a moment, wondering why it looked so different on her. It wasn’t even his favorite, so why did he suddenly like it so much more?

“I can’t believe you let her cut my shirt off.” Harper hissed as she jumped from the chair, like she couldn’t sit still for a second longer.

Aaaaaaaand the spell was broken.

“I can’t believe you shot someone.” He snapped in return, instantly wanting his hoodie back.

“I’ve shot plenty of people. You’re welcome by the way—Ow.” She sneered at him but flinched and grabbed her side.

“Well you—” Kyungsoo was about to start in on a lengthy lecture, one he was sure would come to him on the spot when,

“Um…Excuse me.” Hyungwon stepped forward, staring hard at the baton he held in both hands. Harper and D.O. both stopped their bickering long enough to glance at each other, before falling in line.

“Yes?” Harper asked in Korean.

“This is yours?” Hyungwon said it more as a question than a statement, like he forgot she’d whipped it out of nowhere and beat someone with it.

“Oh, yes.” Harper took it from him politely, collapsing it in one fluid motion and attaching it back to the magnet on her belt. As far as social interactions went, that technically should have been the end of it, but Hyungwon didn’t move. He stayed rooted like a tree in front of them, staring at the ground now that his hands were empty and shuffling from foot to foot. Kyungsoo recognized it as a technique taught to trainees who were nervous about performing on stage. It was meant to get the blood flowing, the performance going, and also to keep them from passing out by bending their knees.

“What is it?” Harper asked quietly, stretching out a hand to the boy. She’d switched. This Harper had only come out a few times, never when she knew Kyungsoo was around. This Harper was calm and kind, her movements were small and non-threatening. It was the kind of demeanor used when speaking to a child or a frightened pet. But before she could start cooing to him too, Hyungwon recoiled from her reach. It was a huge reaction, and Harper’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. And then, in the same motion, Hyungwon dropped to his knees in front of her, his eyes welling up with tears.

“What is he doing?” Harper freaked, looking to Kyungsoo, “Tell him to get up.” D.O. looked down at the man in the most submissive posture imaginable and was surprised to feel pity. He understood what Hyungwon was going to say before it flew from his mouth:

“Please forgive him!”

D.O. took in Harper’s shocked form, and allowed himself to realize something; that if she had done anything like this, gone on a wild rampage or overdosed, he would be the one on his knees too. Everyone else be damned.

“He’s been under and incredible amount of stress recently. His brother is in the hospital and they haven’t been able to keep up with the expenses. He’s been working extra shifts, back to back. I don’t know the last time he slept. Please, please, I beg you…don’t press charges. I’ll take full responsibility. He’s my best friend from elementary. I was supposed to take care of him. Please…please…”

Kyungsoo softly translated the words, but it wasn’t necessary. Harper understood without any context.

“Tell him that I won’t.” She said and sank to her haunches to be on the same level as the groveling man.

“That’s not really your call.” Kyungsoo reminded her and lowered as well.

“Tell him I won’t.” She shot D.O. and incredulous look, and he caved. He’d learned that there were some things you didn’t fight her on, and this seemed to be one of them.

“Geunyeoneunhaji anh-eul geos-ida.” Kyungsoo translated and Hyungwon’s head shot up. Relief streamed down his cheeks as he grabbed Harper’s hands and thanked her. She seemed uncomfortable with his affection, but didn’t pull away.

That discomfort seemed to stay with her even as they left the arena and made it back to SM. She wrung her hands in her lap and crossed and uncrossed her legs. Kyungsoo wanted to ask, but at the same time, had a feeling that he already knew, he just wasn’t sure how to tell her that: yes, he would go to bat for her. He’d done it once already. And it wasn’t because of their history or what happened before, it was because, despite their history and what happened before, she never failed to be there for him.

Not counting today when she’d kept him from being squashed like a bug, she was constantly in his shadow, commenting on this, jabbing him with that. It was a presence that he found comforting after a while, despite his attempt to ignore it all together. He found himself drawn to her for the same reason the others were: she looked at EXO and saw a bunch of gangly boys. To her, they weren’t idols and they weren’t fragile.