#but none of them can control what tabloids pick up and run with

[shuxiii]

Everyday pt. 8

Hanni Pham x reader pt1, pt2, pt3, pt4, pt5, pt6, pt7, pt8, pt9, pt10, pt11, pt12, pt13

a/n i am dying, credits ''every day'' david levithan

TW: homophobia

a/n me messing i saw hanni in edits today and pictures I had to make chapter 8, still credits all to ''every day'' by David levithan, edit: I'm losing my sanity

Day 6006

The phone rings.

I reach for it, thinking it’s Hanni.

Even though it can’t be.

I look at the name on the screen. Austin.

My boyfriend.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Hugo! This is your nine a.m. wake-up call. I will be there in an hour. Go make yourself purdy.”

“Whatever you say,” I mumble.

There’s a lot I have to do in an hour.

First, there’s the usual getting up, getting showered, and getting dressed. In the kitchen, I can hear my parents talking loudly in a language I don’t know. It sounds like Spanish but isn’t Spanish, so I’m guessing it’s Portuguese. Foreign languages throw me—I have a beginner’s grasp of a few of them, but I can’t really access a person’s memory fast enough to pretend to be fluent in any of them. I access and find that Hugo’s parents are from Brazil. But that’s not going to help me understand them better. So I steer clear of the kitchen.

Austin is picking Hugo up to go to a gay pride parade in Annapolis. Two of their friends, William and Nicolas, will be coming along. It’s marked on Hugo’s calendar as well as his mind.

Luckily, Hugo has a laptop in his room—since it’s the weekend and a school computer isn’t an option, I am going to risk checking in. I quickly open my email and find something that Hanni sent only ten minutes ago.

Yn,

I hope it went well yesterday. I called her house just now and no one was home—do you think they’re getting help? I’m trying to take it as a good sign.

Meanwhile, here’s a link you need to see. It’s out of control.

Where are you today?

H

I click on the link beneath her initial and am taken to the home page of a big Baltimore tabloid website. The headline blares:

THE DEVIL AMONG US!

It’s Haruto’s story, but it’s not only Haruto’s story. This time there are five or six other people from the area claiming to have been possessed by the devil. Much to my relief, none of them besides Haruto are familiar to me. All of them are older than I am. Most claim to have been possessed for a time much longer than a single day.

I would think the reporter would have been more skeptical, but she buys the stories uncritically. She even links to other stories of demonic possession—death-row criminals who claimed they were under the influence of satanic forces, politicians and preachers who were caught in compromising positions and said that something very uncharacteristic had come over them. It all sounds very convenient.

I quickly run Haruto through a search engine and find more coverage. The story, it seems, is going wide.

In article after article, there is one person quoted. Essentially, he says the same thing every time:

“I have no doubt that these are cases of demonic possession,” says Rev. Anderson Poole, who has been counseling Watanabe. “These are textbook examples. The devil is nothing if not predictable.”

“These possessions should come as no surprise,” says Poole. “We as a society have been leaving the door wide open. Why wouldn’t the devil walk right in?”

People are believing this. The articles and posts in the comments sections are legion—all from people who see the devil’s work in everything.

Even though I should know better, I shoot off a quick email to Haruto.

I am not the devil.

I hit send, but I don’t feel any better.

I email Hanni, telling her how it went with Jiwon's father. I also let her know that I’m going to be in Annapolis for the day, and tell her what T-shirt I’m wearing and what I look like.

There’s a honk outside, and I see a car that must be Austin’s. I race through the kitchen and say a hurried goodbye to Hugo’s parents. Then I pile into the car—the boy in the passenger seat (William) moves into the back with the other boy (Nicolas) so I can sit next to my boyfriend. For his part, Austin takes one look at my outfit and tsk-tsks, “You’re wearing that to Pride?” But he’s joking. I think.

There is conversation around me the whole car ride, but I’m not really a part of it. My mind is completely elsewhere.

I shouldn’t have sent Haruto that email.

One simple line, but it admits too much.

From the moment we hit Annapolis, Austin is in his element.

“Isn’t this fun?” he keeps asking.

William, Nicolas, and I nod, agree. In truth, the Annapolis Pride events aren’t that elaborate—in many ways it feels like the navy has turned gay and lesbian for the day, and a ragtag assortment of people have come along to cheer it on. The weather is sunny and cool, and that seems to cheer everyone further. Austin likes to hold my hand and swing it like we’re walking down the yellow brick road. Ordinarily, I’d be charmed. He has every right to be proud, to enjoy this day. It’s not his fault I’m so distracted.

I’m looking for Hanni in the crowd. I can’t help it. Every now and then, Austin catches me.

“See someone you know?” he asks.

“No,” I say truthfully.

She’s not here. She hasn’t made it. And I feel foolish for expecting her to. She can’t just drop her life every time I’m available. Her day is no less important than mine.

We come to a corner where there are a few people protesting the festivities. I don’t understand this at all. It’s like protesting the fact that some people are red-haired.

In my experience, desire is desire, love is love. I have never fallen in love with a gender. I have fallen for individuals. I know this is hard for people to do, but I don’t understand why it’s so hard, when it’s so obvious.

One of the protestor’s signs catches my eye. HOMOSEXUALITY IS THE DEVIL’S WORK, it says. And once again I think about how people use the devil as an alias for the things they fear. The cause and effect is backward. The devil doesn’t make anyone do anything. People just do things and blame the devil after.

Predictably, Austin stops to kiss me in front of the protestors. I try to oblige. Philosophically, I am with him. But I’m not inside the kiss. I cannot manufacture the intensity.

He notices. He doesn’t say anything, but he notices.

I want to check my email on Hugo’s phone, but Austin isn’t letting me out of his sight. When William and Nicolas make a move to get some lunch, Austin says he and I are going to go our own way for a little while.

I assume we’re going to get lunch, too, but instead he pulls me into a hip clothing store and spends the next hour trying things on, with me giving my outside-the-changing-room opinion. At one point, he pulls me into the changing room to steal some kisses, and I oblige. But at the same time, I’m thinking that if we’re inside, there’s no way Hanni is going to find me.

While Austin debates whether the skinny jeans are skinny enough, I find myself wondering what Jiwon is doing at this moment. Is she unburdening herself, going along with it, or is she defiant, denying that she ever wanted help in the first place? I picture Beomgyu and Soobin in their rec room, playing video games, not having any sense that their week was disrupted. I think of Keeho later tonight, preparing his clothes for church tomorrow morning.

“What do you think?” Austin asks.

“They’re great,” I say.

“You didn’t even look.”

I can’t argue this. He’s right. I didn’t.

I look at him now. I need to pay more attention.

“I like them,” I tell him.

“Well, I don’t,” he says. Then he storms back into the changing room.

I haven’t been a good guest in Hugo’s life. I access his memories and discover that he and Austin first became boyfriends at this very celebration, a year ago this weekend. They’d been friends for a little while, but they’d never talked about how they felt. They were each afraid of ruining the friendship, and instead of making it better, their caution made everything awkward. So finally, as a pair of twentysomething men passed by holding hands, Austin said, “Hey, that could be us in ten years.”

And Hugo said, “Or ten months.”

And Austin said, “Or ten days.”

And Hugo said, “Or ten minutes.”

And Austin said, “Or ten seconds.”

Then they each counted to ten, and held hands for the rest of the day.

The start of it.

Hugo would have remembered this.

But I didn’t.

Austin senses something has changed. He comes back from the dressing room without any clothes in his arms, looks at me, and makes a decision.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says. “I don’t want to have this particular conversation in this particular store.”

He leads me down to the water, away from the celebration, away from the crowds. He finds a somewhat secluded bench and I follow him there. Once we sit down, it all comes out.

“You haven’t been with me once this whole day,” he says. “You aren’t listening to a word I say. You keep looking around for someone else. And kissing you is like kissing a block of wood. And today, of all days. I thought you said you were going to give it a chance. I thought you said you were snapping out of whatever it is that’s been afflicting you the past couple of weeks. I am sure I recall you saying there wasn’t anyone else. But maybe I’m mistaken. I was willing to bend over backward, Hugo. But I can’t bend over backward and walk around at the same time. I can’t bend over backward and have a conversation. I guess when it all comes down to it, I’m just not that damn flexible.”

“Austin, I’m sorry,” I say.

“Do you even love me?”

I have no idea if Hugo loves him or not. If I tried, I’m sure I could access moments when he loved him and moments when he didn’t. But I can’t answer the question and be sure I’m being truthful. I’m caught.

“My feelings haven’t changed,” I say. “I’m just a little off today. It has nothing to do with you.”

Austin laughs. “Our anniversary has nothing to do with me?”

“That’s not what I said. I mean my mood.”

Now Austin is shaking his head.

“I can’t do this, Hugo. You know I can’t do this.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” I ask, genuine fear in my voice. I can’t believe I’m doing this to both of them.

Austin hears the fear, looks at me and maybe sees something worth keeping.

“This isn’t the way I want today to go,” he says. “But I have to believe that it isn’t the way you want it to go, either.”

I can’t imagine that Hugo was planning to break up with Austin today. And if he was, he can always do it tomorrow.

“Come here,” I say. Austin moves in to me and I lean into his shoulder. We sit like that for a moment, looking at the ships on the bay. I take his hand. When I turn to look at him, he’s blinking back tears.

This time when I kiss him, I know there’s something in it. When he feels it, it may come across as love. It is my thanks to him for not ending it. It is my thanks to him for giving it at least one day more.

We stay out until late, and I am a good boyfriend the whole time. Eventually I lose myself a little in his life, dancing along with Austin, William, Nicolas, and a few hundred other gays and lesbians when the parade organizers blast the Village People’s “In the Navy.”

&n

bsp; I keep looking for Hanni, but only when Austin is distracted. And, at a certain point, I give up.

When I get home, there’s an email from her:

Yn,

Sorry I couldn’t make it to Annapolis—there were some things I had to do.

Maybe tomorrow?

H

I wonder what the “things I had to do” were. I have to assume they involve Minji, because otherwise, wouldn’t she have told me what they were?

I’m pondering this when Austin texts me to say he ended up having a great day. I text him back and say I had a great day, too. I can only hope that’s the way Hugo remembers it, because now Austin has proof if he denies it.

Hugo’s mother comes in and says something to me in Portuguese. I only get about half of it.

“I’m tired,” I tell her in English. “I think it’s time for bed.”

I don’t think I’ve addressed her questions, but she just shakes her head—I am a typical, unforthcoming teenager—and heads back to her room.

Before I go to sleep, I decide to see if Haruto has written me back.

He has.

Two words.

Prove it.

[tobe-sogolden]

Thoughts on Florence’s interview?

No thoughts ❤

[finelinevogue]

Can you write something about when Harry and Y/N broke up but fans speculate that they got back together and they did get back together. They broke over something stupid, please. You don’t have to do this exactly it can be something like that.

let’s see how this turns out! hope it’s what you wished for?!

The last few months had been rough.

What had started as rumours of a breakup between everyones favourite couple, you and Harry, had turned into an actual breakup.

It had started by Harry spending more time with Olivia, due to press for Don’t Worry Darling. They were always hanging out with each other, even when there was no publicity stunt telling them to. You found it appropriate at first, wanting the movie to gain some form of reputation, but after a while you believed it turned South. It was becoming a definite friendship and not just because they had to. It was the way that Harry would bring Olivia over for dinner without checking with you first, or taking the dog for a walk with her not you, or even staying longer out on stunts than they needed to just because they wanted to.

So you challenged Harry on it. Hell, even the tabloids were challenging you both - claiming Harry had split from you for Olivia. You made him question whether he thought his actions were irresponsible and appropriate or not, to which he thought there was nothing wrong and thought you were being irrational. You didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day, only to find him later on the phone speaking to Olivia about how crazy you’d been acting about it all. So you showed him crazy and walked out.

Until today.

For over a half a year your sister had her wedding planned and Harry was supposed to be your guest. You were nervous about turning up without him, because your family were very judgy. Your sister couldnt help being the smarter and the prettier one, but she also didn’t have to parade it around so everyone knew of it. Your mum and dad thought you a disappointment for the longest time, but once you’d gotten a job and had moved out they were a bit more loving over you. Still didn’t hide the fact they desperately hoped for you to have a relationship. It wasn’t that you were bringing Harry along to prove that someone loved you, but more to prove that they would never fully be satisfied whether you had a boyfriend or not. There would always be a podium stand slightly lower for you to stand on.

However, they didn’t know about the breakup.

“Y/N, nice to see you. Where’s Harry?” Another guest asked you, relatives of your mum. It was the same question over and over again, no one really caring about how you are but instead whether you’re in a positive relationship.

“Oh um I think he’s just running a bit late.” Was your chosen answer to respond to said question. It was repetitive, but it kept people off your back.

The wedding was completely beautiful. It was in a beautiful church and was decorated to perfection. The theme was white and royal blue, something your sister had always dreamed of. Children played amongst the pews and family relatives mumbled to each other about gossip. There was still a heavy sadness to the event. Maybe it was because your sister hadn’t asked you to be a bridesmaid - instead, choosing her best friends instead - or maybe it was because you missed Harry so much.

He’d fucked up. He really had, but it didn’t take away that burning passion for him that spread like a wildfire in your belly. You missed him. You still loved him. Worst of all, you had to pretend everything was all alright in front of your family when actually you were breaking apart inside.

Harry hadn’t messaged saying that he was or wasn’t coming, but after everything that had happened you were confident he was going to be a no show, and you would be the embarrassment of the family once again. Your relationship had been very private and exclusive, but Harry’s fans were so investigative you wouldn’t be surprised if they knew that you’d broken up and were aware that you were at a wedding today without him. Neither of you had made a public statement about your breakup, but neither of your wanted to damage each other even more. Fans suspected though and rumours travel fast.

“Y/N how are you doing? How’s Harry?” Another aunt came and asked you, this time with your mother in tow.

“Oh he’s great, yes.” You smiled forcefully, not actually having a clue how your ex-boyfriend was doing. You didn’t keep up with his social media because you were afraid of what you might find.

“Where is he? Is he here?” Your aunt asked.

“He’s late, apparently.” Your mother answered for you, sneeringly. “You’ll be made a fool of if he’s a no show Y/N.”

“I know.”

“I hope everything goes well for you both.” Your aunt kindly said, before waiting for your mum to say something nice too. That was a mistake though.

“Well it’s unlikely she’ll find someone again!” Your mother laughed and pulled your aunt away from you. You furrowed your eyebrows and let your heart sink low.

What were you thinking, letting Harry go like that? Your mum was right, you were never going to find anyone else again. You were so lucky with Harry. He was so kind and so patient with you, but obviously he’d run out of steam towards the end. It doesn’t surprise you. You’ve always been told you’re a mighty handful and you need a lot of work put into looking after you, so you understand why you were probably too much for Harry. The showbiz life had never really been something you’d completely submerged yourself into, whereas you guess for Olivia it was rooted in her from birth. She understood Harry’s world the same way he did hers. They would match perfectly for each other, if that’s what they wanted.

You watched the room continue as usual, but you couldn’t keep yourself here. There was too much sadness welling deep within you that you wanted to just run and then keep running. So you did, only to get as far as the bench in the front courtyard. The outside felt calmer and more freeing than inside, you sat and absorbed it for a while, not realising that you were crying until your pretty multicoloured dress had grown darker with a pool of your tears.

“Shit.” You tried rubbing the tears out, but only made you cry a little harder. You thought about your makeup running and tried to compose yourself, fanning your face to calm it down from the heat now.

“And here I was thinking weddings were supposed to be happy.”

You stopped fanning your face to look at him. You couldn’t believe he was standing there, dressed in a beautiful white suit and salmon pink shirt underneath to compliment the colours of your dress - the outfit that you’d helped him pick out over a year ago. He’d remembered. He trusted that you’d still be wearing this dress. He was a sight alright. A vision of beauty and love.

“Harry?” You questioned, wiping your under eyes to clear away any running mascara, not quite believing he was standing there.

“So what was it? Bad music playing? No vodka? Or maybe there’s nowhere for you to escape to go read the book I know you have stuffed away in your clutch bag.” He stood at a distance from you, hands in his trouser pockets, to make sure you were comfortable.

“I brought vodka instead of the book.” You chuckled, reaching into your clutch to prove it to him.

“Lucky for you, i’ve come to save the day.” Harry reached to the inside of his blazer pocket and pulled out a Kindle. You’d always been debating whether or not to buy one, because the feeling of having a book to turn its’ physical pages is a feeling second to none. “Take it, it’s yours.”

Harry handed it out to you and you stood up to reach for it hesitantly. Harry assured you that it was okay and that you’d been reading too many books if you thought it was a trap of some sort.

“Thank you, Harry.” You spoke sincerely. You stroked your thumb over the cover and turned the case lid over to start up the screen. The screen lit up and it was set to a picture of your favourite quote, annotated just as you would have in your own book. You chuckled and let a few tears drop from the kindness of all of this.

“And then…” Harry unlocked the Kindle with your birthday as the password, before clicking on the library so you could discover what was waiting for you on your virtual shelves. Harry had downloaded all your most favourite books, whilst also downloading the ones he knew had been on your to-be-read list. He’d even added a few of his favourite books too, just because you liked reading his recommendations.

You smiled, but felt so lost.

“W-why are you here, H?” You asked, closing the lid and bravely looking up into his enchanting eyes. You had to control yourself not to comment on how wondrous they looked.

“To save the day.” He chuckled in repeat, until he knew you weren’t taking that for an answer. “Because I fucked up. Big league time.”

“Yeah.” You whispered, looking down at your shoes to see that they weren’t that far apart at all. He was so close to you, yet he wasn’t yours to catch.

“And i’ll never forgive myself for letting you walk out of that door. The promotion shit with Olivia? Done. I’ve finished. I explained that the movie isn’t as important to me as you. You,” Harry paused to breathe out, and took the risk of guiding your jaw up to meet your gaze with his soft hand, “you are real Y/N. You’re so important and key to my life and it bloody terrified me, still does actually, to think that you make me feel this way. I want everything with you. Marriage, kids, a home. A life. I was so worried I would screw it all up, though, to the point where I did screw it all up. I lost you and so I lost me. It’s selfish of me to ask whether any part of your heart still wants me, but—”

“Yes.” You quickly interjected before he could say something he’d later regret. “There is, yes.”

“R-really?” He stumbled over his response, not expecting you to react so soon but his words had got to you. His feelings were vulnerable and raw and it reminded you of how much you love him and feel safe with him.

“Why? Would you like me to say different.” You teased.

“No,” Harry rushed, stepping closer towards you, “God now. Stay, please. Forever, if you’ll have me?”

“I can deal with forever.” You leaned up to where his lips were, craving the taste of them against yours so badly. “Can I?” You looked between his lips and his eyes, watching his eyes coo in admiration of you. His arms snaked around your neck and cupped the back of your head, resting his ringed fingers against your skin delicately.

“You don’t have to ask, angel.” And with that you didn’t hesitate to reclaim your clips on his. He tasted as sweet and as soft as you could remember. The hint of mint sweets he kept in his car could be tasted all over his mouth, and he could no doubt taste the vodka on yours. He took no time in rushing to have his tongue exploring your mouth once mouth, biting on your lip when he got the chance to. He wanted you to remember this moment and how much love he has for you, and always will. Just as you do for him.

Hesitantly pulling away you smiled at him cheekily, feeling so much lighter and happier to have him here. With you in his arms so expertly.

“What?” He asked, leaving a quick kiss to your nose, inhaling his scent as he did.

“Just can’t believe you’re here.” You stroked his cheek with your thumb, and he leaned into your touch so comfortably. He had missed you so damn much, and it showed.

“Let you down once before and I wasn’t going to do it again.”

“So you’d have shown up even if I hadn’t?”

“Not happily, but yes.” He laughed thinking about it.

“Why?” You laughed with him.

“I’ve got to make my impression on your family somehow. Need to remind some of them how amazing and beautiful their special Y/N L/N is.”

“Some are going to need a lot more persuading than others.” You sighed, side-frowning over your words.

“No offence, but anyone who doesn’t treat you as a fucking diamond doesn’t deserve you and should watch out for kick up their backside from me.” You laughed over his empty threat and buried your head against his chest, listening to the heartbeat and rumble of laughter that came from within. This moment alone felt like home. Safe and warm.

“I love you, H.”

“Bloody love you too.”

Harry ended up returning to the wedding with you, much to your mothers surprise, and you both enjoyed the celebrations together. You shut yourselves out from everybody and just danced, talked and drank the night away.

You were so in love.

Later, photos got leaked of the wedding and it showed you and Harry dancing away in one of the backgrounds of the photos. It was supposed to be a shot of just the bride and groom, but you two have managed to get caught in it. You looked so caught up in each other that you still weren’t even aware the photo had been taken. You and Harry had determinedly avoided the camera all night, exactly for this reason, but a part of you was kind of happy that this one photo got leaked, because it showed the world that Harry was yours and you were his. It showed that you were together, or back-together as addressed by some FBI fans, and that you were stronger for it.

[all-my-love-for-harry]

Not yours.

summary: someone tries to force their way back to y/n's life and harry isn't having any of it.

word count: ----

based on these requests:

“also!! what about something angsty? maybe artemis gets hurt or something and harry is just in full on dad mode”

and 

“What about caleb seeing the trio on tabloids, so he gets slightly jealous and “want’s” back into Artemis’ life unexpectedly.”

and

“ could you write something for my shy little boy about Artemis real father finding out that harry adopted him and showing up at their house claiming that Artemis is his son and basically trying to claim his rights as a father, and harry gets REALLY protective, plsss i would love that concept”

and

“Can you do one in the shy little boy universe where Artemis's dad tries to come back in his life or something. Like he sees them and he's life 'give me a second chance' . I love your writing. Thanks”

you can find more of my shy little boy here

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

November, 2019.

Park days were the best days for the Styles family. They didn’t get to have them as much as they’d like as they were always so busy, but today was an off day and Artemis was responsible for choosing what they were going to do. And of course he chose the park.

Y/N packed some snacks in a picnic basket while Harry took the job of dressing Artemis up. Obviously Artemis ended up way too dress up for just going to the park but it wasn’t a secret Harry was crazy about them wearing the same color or matching outfits to go out.

Harry had picked a pair of white shorts and paired it with a pastel yellow polo shirt he tucked into the shorts. Artemis looked adorable although Harry knew his son most likely get the clothes dirty as soon as they arrive to the park.

“Daddy, my nose itches.” Artemis tried to take off his glasses but Harry stopped him.

Last month they had an appointment with the ophthalmologist and Artemis had to change his glasses at his doctor's request. But Artemis wasn't happy with his new ones, he was always looking for an excuse to take them off or hiding them from his parents.

"Better?" Harry asked, using his fingers to scratch softly where Artemis pointed it itched. The much smaller boy nodded. "You need the glasses, sweetheart. Don't take them off."

"I like my old ones better, why can't i have those?"

"Those doesn't work for you anymore, monkey." He explained. "C'mon, let's put your shoes on." Harry knelt in front of him to watch how Artemis ties his sneakers up, he smiled when his son made it without a problem.

"I just put the things in the car, are you ready?" Y/N said when she saw them coming down the stairs.

"Yes! Let's go, let's go!" Artemis almost jumped from the lasts steps.

Artemis rambled the entire ride about all the fun things they’d do together once they got there, constantly asking if they were at the park already. When they arrived, Harry was surprised it wasn’t so full of people, considering it was the weekend. Y/N unfolded the blanket on the grass, laying the stuff they brought.

“Daddy, let’s play.” Artemis pulled from Harry’s arm, making the latest chuckle.

“Just be careful, please. We don’t want you to fall.” Y/N remained her son, who was too busy running around with his dad.

It was a beautiful day outside, there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, and the weather was perfect despite being in the middle of November. Harry had packed a Frisbee Artemis liked to use in their backyard and that’s what they were using to play.

Harry made sure to throw it softly at his son, not wanting the toy to hit him in the face. Artemis threw his hands in the air every time his daddy caught it.

Everything happened too fast, none of his parents could catch Artemis before he was face down on the grass. He had tried to throw the Frisbee higher but didn’t control his strength and he ended up on the floor.

Harry’s eyes grew wide as he ran towards the small child, his heart breaking as he heard his loud sobs. He picked him up from the grass and scooped him in his arms.

"Are you hurt? Where does it hurt, baby? Is it your arm?" He said, panic visible in his tone.

"He scraped his knees." Y/N said before cooing at Artemis, trying to calm him down. "Got some band aids for your knees, my love. It's okay." She took him in her arms and handed the band aids to Harry so he could put them on his boy's knees after cleaning the little blood that was there.

Caressing his hair softly, Y/N sat back down on the blanket, putting Artemis on her lap to wipe his tears off. "All better?" He nodded with a pout on his face.

Harry copied his son's pout, sitting next to them on the blanket. He didn't like seeing his love being upset, and he'd lie if he said he didn't feel a little guilty for him getting hurt.

"It's okay, accidents happen and sometimes we get hurt." Y/N said as if she could read Harry's thoughts. "What if we eat and then we can go for ice cream."

The smile reappeared on Artemis' face as he stood up from his mum's lap and cheered excitedly. Artemis ate whatever Y/N had packed for them, hurrying his parents so they could go get dessert.

"Are you okay?" Y/N asked Harry at the end of the day when Artemis was falling asleep on his daddy's shoulder as he carried him back to the car. "You've been quiet since he fell."

"Just worried. Should we take him to ER?"

"For scraped knees? Don't think so. Harry, it's fine, really. He doesn't even remember he has them." She assured. "Tomorrow it will be all better."

"But he cried so loud." He furrowed as they reached the car and Y/N opened the door of the backseat so Harry could put him on his carseat. "I was worried he hurt his elbow or something."

"I guess it was more out of surprise. He wasn't expecting to fall facedown on the floor." Once everything and everyone were in the car, Harry started to drive back home. "Please don't beat yourself up for this. It was literally an accident."

"But i was playing with him."

"Yes, but you couldn't have prevented it from happen."

She put a hand on his thigh, not wanting him to feel any worse from something so small. Artemis doesn't have a lot of accidents as he is a calm boy who doesn't play sports or anything that requires running or jumping, but when they happen, he gets scared and that's normal. No kid likes to see blood coming out of them, even if it's only a little.

"As a parent the best you can do is stay calm during these situations. If you don't panic, then he doesn't either." She smiled at him.

Y/N loved how protective Harry was, his skills as a parent never failed to show in any situation. But he was still very new at it, and he couldn't help but want to put his boy in a little bubble so nothing bad would happen to him.

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

A week later, Y/N was cooking dinner while Artemis was upstairs in the movie room watching a cooking show on Netflix. Lately he's been obsessed with those and could watch entire seasons if his parents let him.

Harry was out having a meeting with his team but promised to be back for dinner, so it was just the two of them in the house.

The buzzer sounded, alerting someone was at the other side of the gates. Y/N put down the knife she was holding and walked towards the little screen that allowed her to see who was there.

Her breathe hitched when she saw Caleb standing there. He was looking the other way but Y/N could recognize him anywhere. A frown appeared on her face as he hit the buzzer again. She stayed in her place, starting at the screen and hoping he'd turn around and leave.

But he didn't.

She was ready to go outside and tell him to leave but she heard the gates open before she could do so. The gates opening meant Harry was home.

And home he was. But he furrowed as soon as he saw a body standing there. He didn't recognize the man but he was pretty sure he's seem his face before.

He parked inside but didn't close again the gates as he returned outside. "Can i help you?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Is Y/N home?" The stranger asked, putting his hands inside of his pockets. "I need to speak to her."

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Doesn't matter, i need to see Y/N."

"Uh, it does matter, actually. Why is it so important to speak to my girlfriend?" Harry questioned again in a protective tone.

Before he could answer Harry's question, Y/N came out of the house, closing the door behind her before rushing towards the two man. She stood beside Harry, taking his hand in hers.

"What are you doing here, Caleb?" She asked and Harry's brain finally clicked. He looked so different from the only picture he's seen of him. "What do you want?"

"I need to see him, Y/N." Caleb said, almost in a demanding tone. Y/N looked up at Harry, who already had a deep, angry frown on his face. "I-I saw that video of you three at the park and... Y/N, i'm ready to meet my-"

"He's not your son." Harry barked angrily.

"Harry's right, Caleb. He's not yours in any way." She said sternly. "Besides, i bet it isn't the first video or picture you've seen of us, what could possibly make this one different?"

"I saw him getting hurt." He said defensively. "It.. awoke something in me. I want to be a father, Y/N."

"Then go ahead and get a family of your own because neither Artemis nor I have anything to do with you. Do i have to remind you, you signed the paper giving up your paternal rights?" Y/N started to get angry and Harry squeezed her hand.

"I was twenty-one, Y/N."

"So was I!" She now exclaimed.

"I think it's best if you leave." Harry spoke again, trying to control his anger before he punched that man straight on the face.

"And you are?" Caleb asked "Oh, right. You're the guy she replaced me with. Does my son calls you daddy too?"

"She didn't replace you, she just moved on with someone way better." He smirked. "And yes, my son calls me daddy, must hurt, right? Now get the fuck out of my property before i call the bloody cops."

Harry let go of Y/N's hand just to push Caleb out, not being able to hold his anger anymore. "If i ever see you close to my family, i'll fucking ruin you."

When Caleb was back on his car, Harry finally closed the gates and turned to see Y/N. "I'm sorry you had to see him, my love."

Y/N sighed. "I'm okay. I just... I hadn't seen him since he..." Her lip started trembling but she swallowed the tears. "Seeing his face brought back a lot of emotions."

"Couldn't imagine." Harry took her in his arms and kissed her forehead. "But you won't see him anymore, over my dead body."

"Thank you."

Harry smiled softly at her, supping her face with his hands and pecking her lips. "Thank you for letting me be the one by your side."

"I wouldn't dream of having anyone else."

☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁

taglist!!

@myfavfanficsever @odetostep @la-cey @cock-a-doodely-doo @awkwardbullfrog @mellamolayla @moorgannn @bagtan-serendipity @awesomebooklover17 @finelineribs @sunnybusiness @beanholland @sweetenerstyle @cronias13 @vhsharry @maisley @seasidecrowbar @stylesfics-xx @autumnpauley20 @fineline-hs1 @stephaniemalvie @immajustreadwritereblog @jadert15 @iguessweallcrazyithinktho @abundanceofsoph @harrysthicccthighs

[lifeofkaze]

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 10

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N:

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: None, wow 😂

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell

I make my livin' off the evenin' news

Just give me somethin', somethin' I can use

People love it when you lose

They love dirty laundry

~ Don Henley - Dirty Laundry ~

Ethan’s plan to raise Equinox’s standing within the record company was very clear. While their nights were spent performing on stage, Ethan had made sure their days were filled with a tight schedule of PR appointments.

Where they’d had plenty of time to relax, socialise and explore on their previous tours, every day was now jam-packed with meet & greets, photoshoots and interviews. Even when they were off duty, Ethan was constantly reminding them to take pictures and film stories to publish on social media.

“People aren’t following you because they like your music,” he never got tired of saying. “They want to see who’s behind their favourite rockstars. Give them a look at your private life and you’ll be everybody’s darlings in no time once again.”

Some of them were more reluctant to put themselves out there than the others. While Lizzie and Skye didn’t mind the odd goofy backstage clip, Lizzie noticed Merula and especially Orion were increasingly drawing back into themselves.

Lizzie and Orion made a point to avoid talking about band business when they were spending their nights together; not that they were talking much at all. But the concerned crease that she could see more often than not on Orion’s forehead these days wasn’t lost on her either.

The worst part of Ethan’s strategy, however, were without a doubt the countless press appointments. All in the spirit of keeping the enemy close, Lizzie had lost track of how many interviews they had given since their U.K. tour had started. The publications they were working with ranged from reputable magazines and newspapers to the trashiest of tabloids. At least, most of the stories those were coming up with were just too hilarious to be actually believable; Lizzie shuddered to think what dirt they could uncover if they’d ever decide to dig for real.

Like on so many days before, Equinox were scheduled for another interview before one of their rare days off. It was for a feature story with a magazine well respected in the industry, all with an accompanying photo shoot and the whole conundrum. It wouldn’t have sounded so bad, had it not been for the journalist who had been chosen to conduct the interview.

Lizzie had met a number of reporters over the course of her career, but none who ground her nerves as Rita Skeeter did.

Beloved by her readers and dreaded by the subjects of her stories, Rita Skeeter was one of the most sharp-tongued critics British journalism had to offer. She had a singular gift - although some called it a curse - to wiggle even the slightest of juicy information out of her unheeding interview partner. Many a career had taken a dive after an unfortunate encounter with her.

If you wanted utmost attention, Rita Skeeter was the right woman for the job; but you had better get your guard up.

The blonde woman was currently watching Andre preparing them for the interview and the shoot afterwards; usually the magazines brought their own stylists, but Ethan liked to keep as many things under control as he could. Having Andre in charge of their looks guaranteed they would give off just the impression Ethan wanted.

Andre was in the process of applying Lizzie’s make up, the tip of his tongue showing between his teeth while he concentrated. She winced as her eyes started tearing up from the wand of the mascara.

“I don’t get why this much makeup is necessary,” she complained, drawing away from Andre to blink her tears away. “I get it with Merula, she’s singing and in focus, but I’m behind the drums, no one’s paying attention to me. Give her the spotlight and leave me in peace,” she added glumly as she saw Andre approach with a curling wand.

Andre tutted as he opened her ponytail and loosened her hair with practised hands. “Stop arguing, you know it’s useless. And besides,” he added with a wink that showed off his glittery eyeliner, “loads of people are paying attention to you; you’re just not looking.”

“I have to agree with Mr. Egwu,” Rita suddenly said. She had been leaning against one of the dressing tables on the set and watched them being dolled up. Andre usually held their wardrobe in dark colours, black and white, so Rita’s bilious green dress stood out like a flare in comparison. She pursed her bright red lips as she looked Lizzie up and down over the rim of her half-glasses.

“You’re a favourite with my readers, Miss Jameson… Lizzie, I may call you Lizzie, right?”

Without waiting for Lizzie’s answer, she continued. “You have a bright personality and some decent looks; you are the little sunshine of this group and everyone likes themselves a good ‘girl next door in the big wide world’ trope.”

She raised her hands at Lizzie’s sceptical look and laughed; it sounded incredibly put on. “I’m not a fan of putting people into drawers either, but it’s what the people want to see.” She tapped her finger against her temple. “It’s how my readers think.”

Skye snorted in the background; she was already done with her styling and sat on one of the tables, legs dangling in the air. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

Rita giggled. “Of course the rebel of the group would say that, I expected nothing else; after all, there’s true rockstar blood running through your veins, Skye Parkin.”

Not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to herself, Skye fell silent.

When everyone was ready, they moved over to where two comfortable looking sofas and an armchair were set up for them. Lizzie sighed inwardly as she took her place between Skye and Everett. Rita Skeeter was known to make her interview questions up on the spot; Lizzie just hoped they wouldn’t be too off the rails.

Rita leaned back into her armchair facing them and placed a dictating machine onto the small wooden table next to her. It was no secret that the infamous reporter liked to keep her own notes, kept apart from the material belonging to her magazine; she usually kept the dictating device running long after the cameras had turned off.

“So,” she began speaking to an invisible audience with a sickly sweet voice, “I’m honoured to be talking to England’s hottest export when it comes to rock ‘n’ roll - and I mean that in more ways than one.”

She turned her attention towards them. “It’s so good to have you here today, how are you all?”

They all muttered some noncommittal phrases before Rita started with her first question. Like always in the beginning, it was more of a general palaver as both parties were taking the other’s measure.

If the questions weren’t directed at anyone in particular, it was usually Everett answering them. He loved the attention he got from Rita and contrary to the rest of them, he almost seemed to feel comfortable around her. The pictures Lizzie had seen of him and Rita in Skye’s tabloid came to her mind again, and she wondered if that might be the reason for Everett’s talkativeness.

As the interview continued, Rita’s questions were gradually becoming more detailed, focused on several aspects that she deemed sell-worthy. She watched every one of them closely as they answered, and they picked their words carefully.

“One thing I noticed about this last part of your tour is your very increased availability,” Rita said. “I don’t remember seeing you do so much fan service and public appearances before. What’s the reason behind this?”

It was Orion who answered her question. “The most important thing to us is to make sure our fans are having a good time. Without them, we wouldn’t be where we are now; it’s not a lot, but this is our way of thanking them.”

“Is this the reason for your upcoming special show tomorrow? Reserved for the indigent foster care children?”

Her eyes flicked between Merula and Orion. “It’s no secret you two have a history with the system. One orphaned at such a young age, the other the daughter of convicted criminals, bound to be raised in the shadows of her parents’ deeds. Two unlikely siblings, not bound by blood but by trauma - how does it feel to risk a look into your own past?”

“It’s a show like any other,” Merula replied bluntly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She scowled at the blonde reporter. “No need to make a big deal out of this.”

Orion inclined his head in Merula’s direction. “What Merula wants to say is, we make no difference in what good cause we are supporting, as long as we can put a smile on the faces of those who need it, even if only for a little while. We do have our past in the care system, that is common knowledge, but as Merula pointed out already, this is in the past. If you want to continue on your path, it is no good walking with your gaze turned backwards. We live in the here and now, so it’s what’s in front of us that matters.”

The slight twitch around the corners of Rita’s mouth was almost too quick to catch, but Lizzie had seen it nonetheless. Apparently, Orion had given her the exact bridge to her next question she had hoped for.

“If you want to speak about the here and now, I’ll be too happy to fulfill your wish,” she cooed. “Now that we’re speaking on a more personal level anyway, I just have to ask. You guys are living everyone’s wildest dreams, a life all of us mere mortals can only imagine.” Her eyes sparkled behind her glasses. “It’s only us here, you can trust me; what about the juicy stories? Any tales of sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll you want to share with the world?”

Lizzie subconsciously bit the inside of her cheek, hoping Rita hadn’t noticed before she got herself under control again; this woman was a bloodhound when it came to scandals. If she ever found out what was going on between Orion and her, Lizzie might just as well bury herself alive.

Luckily, Orion wasn’t fazed by her question. “The only passion we share is the love for our music,” he smiled noncommittally. “As professional musicians we try to keep our public and private lives separated.”

Rita’s eyes gleamed as she leaned forward. “You try to keep them separated?”

Before Lizzie couldn’t help it, her eyes flickered to Orion again.

“We have been friends for years, of course our lives intervene in places. The friendship between us we show to the world is genuine and not for show.”

“Friendship, huh?” Rita’s nostrils flared as her eyes swept the round. “Come on, we’re all adults here. So many gorgeous young people spending their time together all day, everyday? Don’t tell me you’re all staying up drinking apple juice and playing board games.”

Her attention shifted so suddenly that Lizzie was taken by surprise. “What about you, Lizzie? Any stories to tell?” She looked her up and down critically. “If you ask me, you and Jason would make quite the pair. The golden girl and the bad boy? People live for stories like that.”

Everett sighed wistfully. “Just call me Ev, Rita, everyone does. But yeah, that’s what I’ve been telling her for years now, but so far to no avail. Perhaps she’ll listen to you.”

Lizzie was relieved when he immediately started laughing his words off. “I’m joking of course; Orion is right. The band is our job and our management wants us to keep things professional. There’s other ways to live the rockstar lifestyle,” he finished with a wink.

Rita pursed her lips in a knowing smile. “That I believe in a heartbeat. Fill me in guys, between us, how is it with the ladies? The bad guy with an angel’s voice and the soulful songwriter and his magic hands… you must be spoiled for choice.”

Everett grinned and leaned back against the sofa. “I can’t complain, is all I’m saying.”

“How about you Orion? Dark eyes, messy hair, all those tattoos - your fans must love this,” she winked with a sly smile, “At least I know where I would try to go after a show if I was a little younger.”

Lizzie tried very much not to roll her eyes.

“Even if they do, I wouldn’t know of it,” Orion answered serenely. “While I love all our fans dearly, my relationship with them ends when our show does.”

“So no stories behind your many tattoos? No tales of long lost love?”

“I didn’t say there are no stories,” Orion replied, “only that they have nothing to do with any fans of ours.”

Trying to steer the conversation to a less dangerous topic, he started explaining the stories behind some of the less meaningful tattoos on his wrists and arms. Lizzie knew each and every one of them by heart, the pictures as familiar to her as Orion’s smile when she ran her fingers over his painted skin.

What he didn’t mention was the biggest of his tattoos and her favourite one; the giant dreamcatcher running along the whole length of his back. Thinking about the intricate lines made a little smile appear on her face.

She didn’t even notice Rita asking her way through the rest of her friends until the reporter’s attention turned to her.

“All of your friends seem to be quite the fans of body art; what about you, Lizzie? Do you have any tattoos as well?”

Lizzie flashed Rita the brilliant but noncommittal smile reserved for the people she just couldn’t stand. “I do have one, yes.”

Rita raised an eyebrow when she didn’t continue. “And where might that be?”

Lizzie chuckled in response. “That will stay my little secret.”

Her gaze was fixed on Rita, but out of the corner of her eye she could see Orion fighting hard to suppress a grin. Of course, he knew exactly where it was.

Rita blinked, clearly irritated by her answer, the same empty smile that was on Lizzie’s face never leaving her red lips.

“Very well, keep your secret - for now. I’ll find out eventually.”

Her smile broadened, a dangerous glint shining in her eyes. “All secrets have their way of ending up with me, one way or another.”

Rita stood up from her armchair to get herself something to drink. When she turned her back on them, Lizzie slowly breathed out, relieved to have the blonde’s prying eyes taken off her.

As the others got up to leave the set as well, Orion and Lizzie’s eyes met for a moment. A smile was playing around his lips as they dropped to where her tattoo was hidden from everybody else’s sight.

She felt her lips curve into a smile of her own and she crossed her arms in front of her chest, her hand resting over the small spot on her ribcage where the words that resonated with her so much were inked into her skin. Seeing what she was doing, Orion couldn’t contain his grin any longer. Judging by the twinkle in his eyes, the memory of when he had first seen them was playing just as vividly in his mind as it did in hers.

[itsmeevie01]

A Moment in Time-Ch 5

I'm back! lots of things to come, and a slightly longer, Tim centered, chapter! and...the build-up to the Timari subplot! 

Yay!

 I know that is what everyone is actually here for lol.

Tim was tired of looking for Jason.

He wasn’t at any of his normal safe houses, and none of his usual contacts had heard from him in the last few weeks. Three weeks after the ridiculous scandal had broken, the press had all but forgotten Tim for the time being. As he ducked through alleyways, the teen couldn’t help but be thankful as he climbed back on his bike and sped back towards Wayne Manor.

He was done waiting for his brother to show up. There was something sketchy going on in their city, and if Jason wasn’t going to show up, then it was no longer his concern.

When he got home, Tim found Bruce waiting for him in the study looking over the side gardens. The older C.E.O.’s face was grim.

When Tim approached the desk, Bruce handed him a stack of papers. As Tim started to page through them, he had a flashback to when Jared Stone had brought the pile of tabloids.

As he flipped through the new stack, Tim realized that it was Jason’s credit card statement. And-was that…? “did he buy a ticket for Paris? Why didn’t we get notified about his passport passing through customs? Why is Jason in France of all places?” when he looks back at his adoptive father, the man’s face was grim.

“I don’t know, Tim. But we sure as hell are going to find out. Go to his apartment. I know you have a key. We need to see if he left anything out from before he left.” Bruce paused before adding, “he’s been gone for two weeks. There has to be a reason.” Tim nodded as he moved to stride from the room before Alfred spoke, shocking both Bruce and Tim.

“Maser Bruce, did you by chance call Master Jason? Last I remember, his cell phone was still working.” The father and son froze, before turning to the family Butler, slack-jawed.

“We really are stupid.”

 Damian didn’t see anything wrong with Todd being gone. It was quieter around the Manor and it meant that the 13-year-old was allowed to patrol through Crime Alley by himself, something none of his predecessors had been able to do at his age.

As the young teen flew over the city, his mind raced. He found this the most relaxing part of his time with his father.

At the manor, there was always something going on and there was always someone looking over his shoulder. Here, as he went rooftop to rooftop, arching over this city, the boy was able to finally find some peace.

A sound over his earpiece broke Robin from his quiet elation. “Robin, how are you doing? Is everything clear?” oracle’s voice filtered through, bringing him to relax. Oracle he could handle.

“it’s a regular night, Oracle. A few of the regulars. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“perfect. Finish up and head back, B wants you back before 2 because you have school tomorrow.”

The annoyed “Tch” that came down the line made the redhead laugh from where she sat at the computer.

 Tim had texted Jason before he had left for patrol. When he got back, there was a response waiting for him.

Jason: in Paris. I’ll be back soonish

Tim: Jay, what’s soonish?

Tim: there’s a situation we need your help with.

Jason: kid, I'll be back when I can.

Jason: if B cares, tell him Gina kidnapped me. I’m staying with her right now.

Jason: otherwise, just wait. It's personal business.

Tim: Jay, we are your family. Doesn’t that make it our business too?

Jason: in this case, no. fuck off, replacement

Tim: See you when you get back Jay

 The teen sighed. It was just like Jason to try and handle everything himself. This time, Tim couldn’t play interference either, he was stuck across an ocean. He just hoped this Gina person wasn’t as impulsive as his older brother. If she was, they would all be in trouble.

 As he made his way to his room, having showered and gotten himself ready for the next day, Tim paused by his desk.

He had taken the time to compile a file on the girl from a few weeks ago but hadn’t read it yet. He knew that if he was to read it, it would be violating her privacy, but he did that every day, so was this any different? To Tim, the only difference was that this girl wasn’t someone to watch or take in. she was just a normal girl with a normal life, who had run into him for a split second.

It wasn’t like he was going to meet her, right?

The teen shook his head and flopped onto his bed. It wasn’t worth it tonight. He could have the moral debate with himself when he was properly rested.

 Maybe he should have called in sick. Tim was definitely finding a way to leave early, as he looked at the list of meetings that he had been scheduled for.

Why had he agreed to this again? He could have sworn that he had told his assistant that Wednesday was his day to go home and work on his college classes. Instead, Tim had a feeling that he was going to be at the office late.

On his off night too.

 Partway through the day, he noticed an email that he didn’t recognize in his personal inbox. The inbox that he probably shouldn’t have been checking on the company computer but…

After a moment of hesitation, the young C.E.O. had clicked on the new email and blinked at what pulled up.

  From: Mari_Beri2001@gmail.com

To: timdrakeeeee99@gmail.com

Mr. Drake,

My name is Marinette Dupain Cheng. I believe that we ran into each other quite literally a month and a half ago, approximately. As I am sure that you have at least seen the fictitious stories floating through the media, I assume that you are aware of the interaction that I am referring to.

Originally, I had no intention of reaching out, but a friend of mine encouraged me to reach out. (had actually was the one to give me your email. Does the name Jason Todd ring a bell?) I do hope that this whole press fiasco hasn’t hindered you too terribly.

Kindest Regards,

Marinette Dupain Cheng

 Tim blinked once before rereading the short email that the girl had sent. No. no way. She knew Jason? And what did she mean, Jason was the one to encourage her to reach out? Opening up a new draft, Tim hesitated before flicking his wrists to rid himself of tension and trying his reply.

 From: timdrakeeeee99@gmail.com

To: Mari_Beri2001@gmail.com

Miss Dupain Cheng,

I was surprised to receive your email, but it seems that it came at a fortunate time. Yes, I do know Jason Todd. I know him quite well, actually. He and I were adopted by the same man, Bruce Wayne. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you meet my brother?

I must apologize, for the whole scandal from last month. I know that neither of us were directly responsible, but I do feel bad for any trouble it may have caused you. If it is not too much of an intrusion, I might also ask, how were you able to respond so quickly? The only reason I knew about the incident was Bruce’s old friend Jared. The man came into my office in a fit about the nerve of the photographer.

(if you ever meet the man, you will understand what I mean when I say that he never does things halfway. He had picked up a copy of every magazine or tabloid that ran a story about it. When he came in, he actually brought his crocodile as well. Fang scared the lobby staff more than anything has for the past bit, I believe.)

I hope this finds you well,

Timothy Drake Wayne

 After reading through his email one more time to make sure it sounded professional enough, Tim hit the send button and let out a deep breath that he didn’t know he had been holding. He didn’t know why, but he had a feeling that this was the start of something important.

Suddenly, Tim was very glad he hadn’t read the girl’s file.

 As he was preparing to head to yet another meeting later that afternoon, Tim glanced at his personal email again. To his surprise, the teen was met with another email from the French girl.

 From: Mari_Beri2001@gmail.com

To: timdrakeeeee99@gmail.com

Mr. Drake (or is it Drake Wayne?)

Jason was sitting next to me when I opened your last email. Imagine my surprise when he panicked. Apparently, he had decided against informing any of his family of his departure. I must say, his reaction was quite entertaining.

Onto your question from your email, Penny Rolling, a good friend of mine, dropped off a box full of the tabloid trash that her husband, Jagged had shipped to her as soon as she got it. After my initial reaction, the two of us got a good laugh out of the whole situation. Especially when we heard that Jagged tried to bring Fang into your office! I guess to you, he would be Jared, but to me, he will always be my Uncle Jagged.

In other news, I thought it would be polite to pass on that Jason will be returning in the next few days. He has been fretting over a family emergency, not that he will tell me what it is but, there is only so much I can do. However, I thought it might be prudent to forewarn you that he will be bringing my grandmother back with him. Nona said it was something to do with one of his ‘side hustles’. Knowing those two, however, makes me think that Jason has gotten himself into something significantly illegal this time.

No need to apologize for something that neither of us could control! You did not ask for the photographer to take that ridiculous photo, nor did you ask for the fiction writers who work for the tabloids to write a piece of the photo. That said, I do feel that it has opened many new avenues. I know that Jason and I reconnected because of the photo, and it has given my lawyers something to focus on while we wait on proceedings for other matters.

Have a good day,

Marinette Dupain Cheng

 Jason was coming home sooner than he planned. It seemed like Tim’s text had actually gotten through to his older brother.

With a sigh, he marked the email as important so that he would remember to respond to it before he started on his homework.

The teen C.E.O. snagged his thermos of coffee on the way out the door, he had a meeting to go to.

And...there it is! this week I'm going to try and work out my posting schedule. what did everyone think of the emails?

  i know that there are a lot more people in the Wayne/bat family, so I'm going to work them in a little bit at a time. as far as Dick Grayson is concerned, btw he knows about the scandal but not about Jason's sister or that he's not in Gotham.

MasterPost

Tag List

@moonlitceleste @redscarlet95 @ultimatetornshipper @mochegato @liquid-luck-00 @maskedpainter 

@trippingovermyfeet @nathleigh @m0chick0furan @susiej1118@t1dwarrior-of-earth

[hopelesshawks]

Physical Fatality Part 8- The Fallout

18+ Hawks x fem, pro hero!reader

Summary: You’re a rising star in All Might’s agency. Hawks is the darling of Endeavor’s. By virtue of your job descriptions, the two of you are supposed to hate each other, or at the very least be cautiously neutral. For a long time that’s exactly what the two of you did. You stayed out of each other’s way and formed little opinion of the other. One fateful night at an HPSC gala changes all that. Based on the album Hopeless Fountain Kingdom by Halsey.

If you don’t want to see Physical Fatality content blacklist #hopelesspf

This story will have multiple NSFW parts so it is 18+ ONLY minors dni

Masterlist

You walk into the lobby of your agency already tired and irritable. You haven’t slept well the past couple days since the break up. That first night you’d drank well into the night alone in your room. Then last night you’d elected to take the graveyard patrol shift to avoid having to face your empty bed once again. As a result, you have zero patience for the stares and whispers you’re getting as you make your way over to the elevators. It’s early and you already are grappling with the fact you’re about to see Hawks for the first time since he ripped your heart out. As you get into the elevator you have to resist the temptation to groan as a few of your coworkers also enter. It is blissfully quiet for awhile until one of them decides to try and pipe up before exiting onto his floor. “I always knew you were a traitor and a slut,” he sneers at you as he steps out of the elevator.

You will be having none of that. Fuck this guy.

You‘ve already been using your quirk a lot because of patrol so you should probably be giving it a rest but instead you use it to grab hold of the guy, drag him back into the elevator, and slam him up against the side. The couple people remaining quickly scurry out, not wanting to be caught in your anger, as you release your quirk and instead press him against the elevator with a hand on his throat. The elevator continues its ascent but you pay very little mind. “What the fuck did you just call me?” you ask him, your tone lethal. “I-I’m sorry,” the man stutters, eyes filled with fear, “it’s just we all saw the photos of you with Hawks.” Your blood runs cold but you refuse to let this coward see his words have any kind of effect on you. “What photos?” you demand. “The ones of you and Hawks in the alleyway. One of the tabloids ran a whole article on it and now a few others are trying to pick up the pictures and run their own story,” the man explains. The door pings indicating you’ve reached your floor and you’ve gotten the only useful information you’ll get out of the guy anyway. “The fear you’re feeling right now? Remember it the next time you think about talking shit,” you hiss at the guy before releasing him and storming out of the elevator.

You do think back over what he said though. The pictures from the alleyway? You pull out your phone and type your own name into Google. Who cares if you’re late to the meeting at this point, you need to know what the fuck is going on. Immediately the search results are flooded with the article the man was referencing. You pull it up and each successive word has you feeling nauseous. The pictures even more so. They’re from the day you and Hawks broke up, when he had pulled you into the alleyway. You knew it. You fucking knew that was too risky and that you two would get caught. Then the bastard had the nerve to shatter your heart into pieces later that same day. The more you think about it the angrier you become. You don’t make the conscious decision to storm into the meeting necessarily but before you know it your feet are taking you that direction. You shove the doors to the conference room open, causing everyone to turn to you bewildered. They must not have seen the headlines yet if they’re shocked by what they see. Now that you think about it, had you even stopped drowning your sorrows long enough to tell Bakugo and Midoriya about the break up? You’re about to say something, you’re not sure what, when your eyes finally land on Hawks and the bastard has the nerve to also look like he’s had a shitty couple days.

You see red.

You lunge forward at the man who’d shattered your heart and probably just ruined your career. You are desperate to do something, anything, to make him feel a fraction of what you’re feeling right now. Deku and Bakugo are quick to catch you and try to hold you back but you struggle admirably against their hold. When that doesn’t work you reach out with your quirk to pin Hawks, wings and all, against the opposite wall. Tokoyami moves to defend his friend but Shoto gives a slight shake of his head to warn him against interfering. Silver veins crawl up your arms and it hurts but you don’t care because it’s nothing compared to the pain in your heart. “You fucking bastard! I told you we’d get caught! You don’t get to leave me and fuck up my career,” you yell and you see something like shock and guilt flash behind Hawks’ eyes but that only enrages you further. Midoriya and Bakugo agree that that’s enough and so both of them use their quirks to force you to the ground, pinning you. “You need to calm down,” Midoriya tells you sternly. “Fuck off,” you spit back. “No. Calm. Down. This isn’t going to help you but if you explain what’s going on maybe we can sort this out,” he insists. You glare him down for awhile but as the red haze finally fades and your anger returns down to a simmer you finally relax and release Hawks from your quirk. “Good, now, Kacchan and I are going to let you up and you’re not going to lunge at Hawks. Right?” Midoriya asks. “Right,” you huff.

Bakugo and Midoriya release you and you stand up off the floor but uphold your end of the bargain and don’t lunge out at Hawks again. He’s giving you a sad look and it pisses you off but you don’t want to be physically restrained again and Midoriya is right that it solves nothing. “Have any of you read today’s gossip headlines?” you ask. You get a chorus of no’s back, those from Shoto and Tokoyami being confused, but the other three know where this is heading. “(Y/n) I-“ Hawks starts but he’s interrupted by a new voice. “I’m sorry am I interrupting something? A lover’s spat perhaps? You’ll have to get used to those Hawks,” Monoma snarks and you grit your teeth. “What the fuck do you want extra?” Bakugo asks. “All Might would like to see my ex-fiancé in his office,” Monoma replies. You’re immediately filled with dread but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of letting it show on your face. Instead you just glare at him as you turn to leave the room.

The walk to All Might’s office feels like a death march and it occurs to you that you wish you didn’t have to do it alone. Your treacherous heart tells you that you wish Keigo was with you but you shake the thought away as quickly as it comes. You enter into All Might’s office and try not to let your nerves show. “You wanted to see me sir?” you ask as you walk into the office. “Yes, sit down,” All Might says as he gestures to the chair in front of his desk. Even after all these years it’s still odd seeing All Might in his scrawny form. After all you had grown up on the image of the symbol of peace, standing tall and broad, towering above villains. Still, even though he looks positively skeletal, he’s intimidating as ever as you sit across from him. Maybe because he holds the future of your career in his hands. “I’m assuming you’ve seen the headlines,” All Might sighs and you nod. There isn’t much you can say to that. “I figured after you left Monoma, which I still don’t understand, that you would go back to sleeping around but I also assumed you would keep things a little more subtle than this. I mean Hawks? Really? I don’t ask for much, (y/n), but we talked about this,” All Might continues. “I know we did, but-“ you start but All Might cuts you off. “No buts, I warned you what would happen if we went through this again. The agency has a reputation to maintain.” “But this time is different!” “How is this any different than the last time you were caught sleeping around, other than how high profile this one is?” “We’re in love!” It hurts to say it. It hurts because Hawks doesn’t love you anymore but you’re desperate to save your career. “Really?” All Might asks with a raise of his brow. “Yes, really. You can ask Izuku and Katsuki, they’ll back me up. I’ve been seeing Hawks in secret. I know I should’ve told you but we were worried because of the feud. We got sloppy and the paparazzi caught us before we could make an official announcement or anything,” you lie and god how you wish it were true even as you say it. Maybe that’s why the lie is so convincing. All Might sighs heavily, you’re probably giving him a migraine, but he seems to believe you. “All right well if that’s the case we’ll have to set up an interview ASAP so you two can officially announce your relationship and dispel any rumors that you’re back to sleeping around. I know you don’t like them but I’ll be expecting the two of you to make appearances at some of the major HPSC events,” he tells you. “Of course, thank you sir,” you sigh out in relief. You have no idea how you’ll convince Hawks to play along but something tells you at worst you can guilt him into it. “That’s not all (y/n), I’m pulling you from the task force,” All Might adds. “You’re what!? But sir!” “No. I won’t budge on this. Monoma will be taking your place.” “But I haven’t done anything wrong!” “Look I can’t control whether Hawks stays on or not but I can control whether you do. It is a bad idea for you to be romantically involved with someone on the task force so you’re off the team effective immediately. You are to collect all of your notes and files on the matter and hand them over to Monoma. Do I make myself clear?” “Yes sir...” “Good.” You rise to leave the office, frustrated tears already threatening to fall as you make your way to the door. “For what it’s worth (y/n),” All Might says and you pause to listen, “I am happy for you.” You nod in acknowledgment of what he’s said but you don’t otherwise respond. You don’t think any words would come out if you tried and you’d hate to cry in front of you boss.

You leave All Might’s office and head to your desk, fishing out all of the files and notes you’d been taking, all of your hard work from over the past couple months. You then head back to the conference room. The atmosphere is tense and judging by the looks everyone is giving you they’ve all read the article by now. “Monoma can you give me a minute with the others?” you ask, although your eyes never leave the stack of papers in your arms. “I don’t know little Artemis, it’s rude to kick out guests you know,” he replies. “Neito please. You already won, can you just-“ you ask, trailing off as you finally make eye contact with him. He hesitates. He doesn’t revel in your pain, not really, and he never quite understood the magnitude of how important your reputation is to you and to your career. In all the time the two of you had been together you’d never explained, so, because, in spite of everything, part of him still loves you, he relents. “Fine. But I’m going to wait outside because I want to, not because you told me to,” Monoma huffs before going to do just that.

“What do you mean he already won?” Midoriya asks and you hate the pity on his face. “I’m being pulled off the case. Monoma will be taking over for me, effective immediately,” you answer. “What? That’s bullshit! All Might can’t just-“ Bakugo fumes but you cut him off. “He can and he did. I’m lucky I talked him out of worse,” you explain. A heavy silence falls over the room. “Speaking of which,” you sigh as you turn to face Hawks. He looks like a deer caught in headlights. It might have been funny under different circumstances. You steel yourself, he doesn’t get to see you weak anymore, and meet his eyes with cold determination. “Look, about what I said the other day,” Hawks starts and he’s tripping over and choking on his words as if he has any right to be nervous or upset right now. “Save it. I have watched you devour me like you mistook me for bread these past few months. Are you fed now?” you start. Hawks opens his mouth to answer but you shut him down immediately. “Don’t. It’s a rhetorical question. You give me the messiest head and I get you don’t give a shit about me but now my career is on the line so you’re going to listen up whether you want to or not,” you continue and Hawks’ face is turning red, shame and frustration and guilt coming off him in waves. Good. You want to give the impression that you got the message he wishes you were dead. You don’t believe it, not fully, but it will give you the edge you need to convince him to agree to your terms. He looks like he’s about to break into a sweat at any minute so you decide now is the time to give your proposal. “We aren’t done. I am undoing your little fucking break up from the other day. I won’t let us finish yet,” you say, your voice filled with a confidence you don’t have. “Is that a threat?” Shoto asks, but you shake your head before going back to addressing Hawks. “Don’t take this as a threat. All I’m saying is if you don’t love me anymore then lie. If you don’t you’ll end my career,” you finish.

It’s like the air’s been sucked out of the room as everyone waits for Hawks’ response. He never thought it would come to this. He’s never felt so selfish in his life now for how he ended things and the assumptions he made after talking to Endeavor. Perhaps he was naive, just not in the way Endeavor had implied. He was naive to think the press would just leave you alone about moving on when they have repeatedly demonstrated you are their favorite punching bag. He was naive to think Endeavor somehow knew you better than he did based off of nothing but your employer and former hero ranking. Maybe, though, this could be his second chance. Maybe he could use this opportunity to explain and show you he does still love you. “Did you hear me?” you ask and it snaps Hawks out of his thoughts. “I heard what you said. I won’t have to lie, I do still love you. We love each other and that’s not something we can change. I’ll explain everything later,” he swears but he can tell you don’t believe it. He forms his own game plan. Treat you right and you won’t complain, then maybe he can get you to listen to his side of the story and undo the damage he wrought. “Whatever Hawks, as long as we’re in agreement,” you sigh. “I’m serious, (y/n) we won’t have to lie,” Hawks insists and it makes you hesitate. Not for long, but just long enough for Hawks to see a glimmer of hope.

You toss the stack of papers you have onto the conference table and turn to leave. “Where are you going?” Midoriya asks. “I said effective immediately didn’t I? I’m going back out on patrol,” you respond. “Don’t be an idiot, you should give your quirk time to rest,” Bakugo protests but you roll your eyes before ultimately ignoring him and walking out the door. Hawks watches the whole exchange, noting that the silver veins on your forearms hadn’t even entirely disappeared yet even as you storm out. Every move of his will be vital now if he wants to win you back, including the ones he makes in front of Bakugo and Midoriya when you’re not around. He’s sure they’d love nothing more than to rip him apart right now. Monoma re-enters the room and that effectively kills any more conversation that could be had on the matter but Hawks knows what he has to do.

He has to win you back.

Author’s Note: We in the second half now bois and it is a whole nother animal. The inspiration really hit yesterday so I’m hoping I can keep up that energy and get quite a few updates in at a faster pace than the last few before 7 and the interlude were in. These last few have been more overtly connected to the associated song from the Halsey album I think so it may be fun to listen as you read and see what lines you can spot, idk

Taglist [open]: @akkaso @cathy8taffy @eeppff @iikillerkitteh @pixelwisp

[random-imagines-blog]

Control the Noise {General One Shot}

Requested by: @lunchawx Wordcount: 1807 Summary: You’re a songwriter with quite a bit of acclaim but you tend to hide behind a pseudonym to keep your private life private. But it doesn’t stay that way for long.

In your rather spacious apartment, you played the piano softly. The Grammies were being premiered tonight on the television, but you weren’t paying attention just yet. The cameras were all focused on the glamorous people that were walking down the red carpet. Beautiful gowns in every color, suits with different color ties. A few of the men chose to wear something that wasn’t just a simple black suit, and people applauded them for it. But you didn’t care for the politics of the music industry. You were in it for the music itself. The lyrics. The chance to have someone with an amazing talent showcase the words that you wrote.

You were feeling inspired tonight. Your fingers glided across the piano, coming up with a melody - and the words were just popping into your head. You stopped playing and reached for the pen that you kept cocked behind your ear, and the notebook that you kept in place of the sheet music. You wrote down a couple of words, then continued on. It was that constant back and forth which took up a large part of your day today.

“Welcome to the Grammies!” The host of the night said, their voice coming from the television. You pressed your last couple of notes, then looked over your shoulder to where bright and smiling faces were looking down upon you. The host was someone that you had written for, actually. One of his major hits only two years before, but you have both since moved on. You had written three of the songs that were up tonight, which was the only reason that you were watching this. You’d be receiving a phone call at the end either way, but you might as well see how people responded to your music.

You were not the type for the famous life. The musicians that you worked with, save for a special few who had become friends, were given an alias. You wanted your personal life separate from your professional. Your neighbors just thought that you played music for fun, and knew nothing about your career. All in all - life was actually perfect this way. You got the money without the cameras.

It all seemed to go off without a hitch. You had a glass of wine, and some food delivered, so you could enjoy it all from the comfort of your couch. Your manager was texting you every once in a while, asking if you were watching, your opinion on some of the other songs, and some gossip on the big music couples that were there that night. You joined in - it was a little fun to gossip.

The night was going swimmingly. One of your songs had just won an award. You were up on your feet and dancing around, excited at the bit of a pay bonus that you were going to be getting from this. And the fact that the song would sell more now, and you’d be getting a little bit more of a percentage. It was nice to have your work recognized, even if only a small handful of people knew that it was someone else who had written the song.

The beautiful singer went up to the stage, among all of the applause. There, she was given the award. You were down on your knees in front of the television, all sparkling eyes and happiness. You had both put a lot of work into this, and she definitely deserved the fame and attention. The song had been written with her voice in mind. With her background in mind. You were especially proud of it.

“It’s an honor to be nominated alongside so many incredible female artists this year,” The beautiful young woman said into the microphone. “I guess this year we really stepped up. I have my mom to thank, my best friends obviously, y/f/n y/l/n for writing this amazing song, and the rest of the team....”

You fell back onto the carpet beneath your feet. Your name was the last thing that you had expected to come out of her lips. It was the last thing that you had wanted too. Your real name had been told to her in confidence. And here she was just spreading it out there.

You could just barely hear your phone ringing from behind you. You reached for it, without removing your eyes from the television. Nobody on the screen seemed to realize that anything had been wrong. People were still cheering, and the singer walked off of the stage after her speech. You raised the phone to your ear to hear your manager in an uproar.

“No - you tell them that this is unacceptable!” He was shouting at someone, that wasn’t you. “Y/N? Hey, just saw what happened - hold on - No, you tell her that we’re never working with her again! They broke the confidentiality agreement! Y/N, you still there?”

“Unfortunately,” You said, holding the phone a foot away from your ear. You could hear him sigh. He sounded as stressed as you felt. “What was she thinking?”

“She wasn’t. That’s the damn problem. All of that fame goes to their heads and they forget about the business side of things! Goddamnit - why do these award shows have to be live when so much can go wrong.”

“So what do we do?” You asked, turning off the television. You didn’t care about who won what anymore - you were just exposed for the world to know. No doubt your neighbors were watching. It was the biggest thing that was happening tonight, and plenty of people were going to see it. Oh God, even your friends who didn’t fully know what you did were going to find out.

“I’m going to call in a publicist, see what we can do. Don’t worry, it won’t be on your dime. The diva can take care of it,” He grumbled. “Just hold on tight and we’ll figure this all out.”

-

It had been three days. You didn’t leave your apartment. There had been a lot of phone calls but you only answered the ones from your manager. It was too late - the world knew that you were behind some of the biggest hits of the last couple of years. Your real identity had been discovered. It was unravelling. This was why you never went public, because of this sense of having no control.

You had to leave the house eventually though. You had to go out and get groceries. You psyched yourself up, picking a rather dull outfit from your closet so you wouldn’t get much attention. Even Lady Gaga sometimes gets her own groceries. Brad Pitt has been seen doing it. Besides, it’s not as if a lot of people would connect your name with your face, unless you had to show some identification. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

You kept a hat low over your eyes nonetheless as you went through the aisles of the supermarket, picking out the things that you would need for the next two weeks. It seemed to be going well, no one was looking twice at you. It was when you went up to the check-out that things started to go awry.

Right on the cover of the tabloid magazines which were always surrounding the check-out counters, was your face. And your name. ‘Star Songwriter’s Identity Revealed!’ The picture wasn’t the most flattering one either. It was taken off of your personal instagram account, which as private. You maybe had fifty followers on there, all people that you know, but somehow, one of those pictures had gotten leaked.

While trying not to bring any attention to yourself, you picked up the magazine like you were inspecting it. Then you set it down, facing the wrong way. Instead of your own face, what you saw now was an advertisement on the back. Then you did so with the rest of them, making sure that each one was turned around. Some poor salesperson would have to fix them but it was horrifying nonetheless.

You got out of there as soon as possible, moving from using the check-out counter with a smiling person behind it, to the self-check out. At least there you didn’t have to talk to people. And you could get out with your head bowed and no one looked at you twice.

Once you were back in the safety of your car, just one of the many in the parking lot, you called your manager again. He had been getting a lot of calls from you lately. Most of the time he wasn’t picking up because he was too busy trying to fix this problem. You caught him at a spare moment though.

“There’s no use,” You sighed into it. “My picture is on the cover of the magazines. Like I’m Madonna or something.”

“Oh honey, Madonna is never on the covers anymore. You’re like Taylor Swift now,” Your manager said. This did make you smile a small bit but it was still unfortunate. “But I hate to say that you’re right. You’re trending all over right now. You made it big - so now it’s up to you what you do with it.”

“I guess I should get a publicist,” You groaned. You liked it when it was just you and your manager, who was the one who worked with the record labels to get your song out there. It wasn’t the size of your entourage, it was the quality. And after so long of it being just the two of you, you were reluctant to bring another person onto the team.

“Leave that to me,” Your manager grunted. “At least then I’m still good for something.”

“None of this is your fault. I shouldn’t get close to the artists, I know, it’s mine,” You let out a long sigh. “I guess I have some thinking to do.”

“Maybe you’ll find some inspiration and come out with some new songs, eh?” Your manager said, flipping the conversation to work, as they always managed to do. “Your last few were absolute hits. And now that your name is going out there, people are going to be looking for it. Lots of offers already. Just think about it.”

“Okay. Thanks - for everything.” You hung up your phone and checked yourself out in the rearview mirror, slapping your cheeks to get rid of that blood-drained look that seeing yourself in the magazines had given you. At least your manager was right about one thing.

Inspiration really was running through you now.

[adarlingwrites]

Dormouse

Summary:

After playing a game with two of The Beach's most dangerous members, the dormouse gets her tail caught by a tiger's paw.

He’ll make a wildcat out of her.

TWs/CWs: Mildly dubious consent, hatefucking, gunplay, Niragi being a bastard. Dead dove, do not eat.

Author’s Notes: I was debating on whether or not I should write the sm*t in detail. I'm normally opposed to writing scenes even with the mildest hints of noncon or dubcon in detail, but Yamane's experience with Niragi will serve as a point of comparison later, so I kept it. Hopefully it’s the right decision.

IV

they say I don't get scared so easily / feel free to show me the roaches / and spiders that creep in your mattress

The pill bottle rattles as Yamane pours one in her palm.

It’s been five days since her arrival. Since then, she met other members of the militant faction, and while some of them aren’t as bloodthirsty as Niragi, Yamane still hasn't come to terms with the reality that she’s considered one of them now.

To Yamane’s surprise and secret relief, Saiko has calmed down, and introduced her to the other female militants. It seems that there are only three of them; four, if you count Yamane in.

One girl was called Hanako, who was a little shy, and she usually wears a gray bikini pair that doesn’t quite expose all of her skin. She was the one who took her to the storage room to get changed after getting treated by Sunohara.

“These bikinis suck,” Yamane complains to herself, sorting through the assortment of garments. “None of them fits my style,” Yamane picks up several bikini tops, and a long black wraparound.

Taking one of her daggers out, Yamane trims the straps off of the tops. The Beach confiscated her bag, so she had no access to her usual tools, but they let her keep the sewing kit she keeps in her skirt pocket. Hanako watches as Yamane sewed in the storage room, deft fingers altering the garment despite one of her arms being immobilized.

“What did you do before you came here?” Hanako asks, watching the needle as Yamane sews, obviously bored and using the seemingly mundane task to entertain herself.

“Made clothes,” Yamane replies, eyes flicking to the other girl as she went on with her task. She holds out the newly finished top: a black bikini top with a pentagram design on the chest.

“Cool,” the other girl comments, sitting a little closer to Yamane, who moves on to the long black skirt, tearing through the sides. She sheds her own skirt, cuts out the rings that decorated it, and uses it to secure the sides. She then trims some excess length from the wraparound.

“Hey, um, could you help me get dressed?” Yamane asks, and Hanako obliges.

When they’re done, Yamane looks at herself in the mirror. The twin buns on her head had gotten messy; she can’t really style them properly due to her injury. She wore her usual cropped hoodie on top of her new Beach garments, and Hanako helped her get her shoulder brace back on. She still couldn’t believe Sunohara had one lying around in her clinic. The Beach really does have a lot of resources to spare.

Yamane then slips on some platform beach sandals, and the two militants emerge from the storage room. Another of them is waiting outside.

“What was taking so long?!” this one asks, crossing her arms. She wore a hoodie with red and black stripes on top of her swimwear, her hair dyed brown and pulled back into a ponytail. “Whatever, Niragi’s looking for you. Come with me.”

“What does he want with me?” Yamane asks, but the girl doesn’t reply. Yamane follows her anyway. The men who brought her here had been lingering in her thoughts for quite some time, and she wanted to ask a few questions.

As they pass through a few rooms, Niragi comes into view with Saiko and they pull her into a room.

“You can go now, Akari,” he tells the woman with the striped hoodie.

They didn’t bother closing the door.

“We can finally pick up where we left off, mousy,” Niragi taunts, pushing Yamane down the bed and toying with the hem of her bikini top. He licks the dip between the two mounds on her chest, and Yamane takes a sharp inhale.

She looks at the man before her, and considers the conflicted feelings he draws out of her. He's loud, he's a bastard, and he takes what he wants without asking. He probably touched other girls without their consent too.

Yamane hated him.

On a normal day, Yamane would be disgusted with someone like him, and herself for enjoying this, but Niragi stirred something dark and primal within her, and the past few days had taken a toll on her judgment, so Yamane kissed him herself, desire and revulsion blending at the pit of her stomach.

Niragi’s eyes widen, but he smirks against Yamane’s lips, darting his tongue in her mouth and claiming her. The piercing on his tongue is an interesting feeling, and Yamane didn’t have any complaints. Yamane’s dark lipstick stains Niragi’s lips. In the background, Saiko gives them a knowing laugh.

“My, my, you want this, little mouse?”

Yamane is no longer in proper society; she didn’t have any reasons to pretend that she didn’t want this. It’s been a long time since she got laid anyway, and it certainly isn’t the first time she fucked someone she hated.

The first time was with a sleazy upperclassman in high school. It felt great, watching the chauvinist pig beg and writhe underneath her, but word got around, and his on-and-off girlfriend wasn’t happy.

“You could’ve just asked instead of grabbing me, bastard. It still doesn’t change the fact that I hate you.”

Niragi grins, and grabs her jaw to kiss her again. Yamane made herself pliable, but she swore not to show any sign of enjoyment. That’s one thing that she wouldn’t give Niragi.

Meanwhile, Niragi had moved on to her neck, trying to draw another reaction from her, but she stayed still. He spreads Yamane’s legs apart, running his tongue against her thigh, pauses, and runs it through her belly, up to her breasts. He pulls her bikini top up, and flicks his tongue against her hardening nipples, alternating between the two, the piercing cold against it. All he could get from her was a small shiver.

“So you’ve come to accept human nature. That was faster than expected, Yamane. I had the feeling that we’ll get along the moment I saw you kill that man. Left to our own devices, we humans will kill, pillage, and rape,” Niragi croons in her ear before sucking on that sensitive spot between her neck and ears. Yamane did her best to stifle a moan, and Saiko laughed at her attempt at staying in control.

“The circumstances forced me to kill, and you know it. You know nothing about me, Niragi.”

The militant withdraws from her, sees that there’s no longer any fear in her eyes, and gives her a questioning look. “Maybe the rumors on the tabloids are true, and she’s so used to doing this kind of thing that this doesn’t bother her anymore,” Niragi muses. Then, he leans back in and kisses Yamane’s neck again, his breath kissing the shell of her ear.

“That’s no fun at all.”

He motions Saiko to fetch his rifle, and Niragi points it at the dormouse’s face.

Now, the fear is back. Saiko got behind her and restrained her. Yamane thrashed and trembled as Niragi glided the barrel against her lips.

“Let’s see if there’s any truth to them. Open your mouth.”

Carefully, Yamane does as she’s told, sweat starting to form at her brow. Niragi slides the barrel in.

“Suck. Let’s see how good you are before I try you myself.”

Running her tongue against the barrel, Yamane maintains eye contact, the corners of her eyes wet. The gun is still warm. Enclosing her lips around the tip, Yamane takes a deep inhale, closes her eyes and starts to bob her head. Her lipstick was barely visible on the black metal.

“Here I thought you’ve already learned your lesson,” Niragi hisses, pushing the little dormouse’s skirt aside and shoving a hand in her underwear. His finger circled her clit, spreading her wetness, and Yamane couldn’t stop the moan that bubbled from her throat.

“The circumstances didn’t force you to kill. It just brought the killer out of you. You’ll kill to survive. That's our nature. That’s your nature,” he sneers, squeezing Yamane’s clit with his thumb and index finger, drawing a sharp cry from her. “Besides, didn’t you leave that little girl to hide alone? You probably did that because you know to yourself that she’s going to be a hindrance to your own survival. Did you?”

Yamane sobs at the bitter truth, the tears falling from her eyes.

“I knew it.”

Niragi withdraws his gun from her mouth, stands on the bed, and unzips his pants. He pulls his cock out of its confines, giving it a few strokes. His member was pierced too; a magic cross at the glans, and a column of pearls runs underneath the skin of his shaft.

“Bite me, I’ll blow your head off,” Niragi threatens, and Yamane nodded.

Niragi is right about one thing: Yamane will do anything to survive. That’s what she did all her life, after all. Her brain being constantly on survival mode did horrible things to her psyche.

Gliding the tip against the dormouse’s tongue, Niragi smirks, then uses his cock to slap her cheek. From behind, Saiko giggles, staining Yamane’s neck with her lipstick and her hand slipping through the waistband of Yamane’s skirt to toy with her. With a strong shove, Niragi pushes his cock down Yamane’s throat, and she chokes, struggling to accommodate him.

Soon, she finds a steady rhythm, and she encloses her lips around his shaft, sucking all the way to the tip and ending with a wet pop. The precum leaking from his tip glosses over her lips, and Niragi smiles before taking her mouth again.

“I think the tabloids were right. Isn’t that right, you little slut? You like sucking dick?”

Yamane opens her eyes, giving Niragi a deadly glare. In the corner of her eye, she sees a hooded figure by the doorway.

Last Boss is standing there, mouth pressed to a tight line, but his hood obscures his eyes. The party lights outside shine through the room, and for a brief moment, Yamane sees the intensity of the tattooed man’s gaze.

He is looking at the three of them with an expression that Yamane could only describe as envy.

Niragi sees that Yamane’s eyes are going somewhere else, and he turns to that direction.

“Last Boss! You want to join in? This little mouse is pretty nasty,” Niragi invites him, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Executive meeting in ten minutes,” he said, and without another saying another word, he leaves.

“Dammit, and I wanted to savor this moment too. Well, you’ve heard him. Let’s get these off. I don’t have all night,” Niragi comments, pulling at her skirt. He flips her over, and gives her ass a hard smack.

“Ass in the air,” he commands, and Yamane obliges, more than happy to do what she can to end this encounter already. “Saiko, help me make the little mouse feel good.”

The tip of his cock glides through her wet folds, and he violently enters her.

Growling to suppress a cry, Yamane braced herself on Saiko’s lap. She hisses at the angle at which Niragi was penetrating her, his piercings rubbing against sensitive spots that she couldn’t reach with her own fingers. She couldn’t hold back anymore; it felt too good. Moans started to escape the dormouse’s lips as the militant continued to pound her from behind.

“You feel so damn good,” Niragi hisses, leaning over to nibble at her ear. He wraps a hand around her neck and pulls her closer to him, kissing her. The new position gave Saiko an opportunity to rub Yamane’s clit with her fingers again, then she kissed her, then Niragi, and she settled on suckling at the other woman’s breasts.

The bombardment of stimulation almost drove Yamane over the edge. Trying to imagine something else so she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of making her cum, Yamane tries to think of other things; Kobayashi and Nakamura’s bodies dissolving in a pool of acid; Sato’s broken neck; Last Boss slicing that delinquent boy’s neck.

Last Boss.

Somehow, thinking of him only made Yamane waver. She imagines him taking her instead, those mad eyes boring through her, piercing her. Instead of fear or disgust, she felt titillation.

Yamane came with a broken cry, white spots dancing behind her eyes.

Saiko pulls her towards her chest as she loses her energy to hold herself up, petting her ruined hair. Behind her, Niragi rubs himself off and finishes on her ass with a grunt, his warm cum shooting to her lower back. He leans forward to lick her good shoulder, then her cheek, and Yamane could feel his weight leave the bed.

“Well, that was fun, mousy. See you later.”

He gets dressed, retrieves his rifle, and leaves the room.

On the bed, Saiko continues petting Yamane’s head.

“Does he really try to take every girl that comes through this place, even if it meant raping them?” Yamane finally asks, face still buried on Saiko’s lap.

“Only the ones he wants to break.”

“Did he fuck you too?”

Saiko pauses. “Yes.”

Rolling over, Yamane looks at the taller woman in the eye. “And this just happens all the time in the Beach?”

Saiko huffs and rolls her eyes, retrieving two sticks of cigarettes and a lighter from her sleeveless olive jacket. “It’s just the way it is here. Everyone is free to do what they want, and that includes crimes. If you don’t want to be a victim of one, you have to be a perpetrator yourself. Hatter tries to keep the order, but he’s falling short. I thought you’d accept it by now.”

Yamane wanted to say, “That’s the most bullshit explanation I’ve ever heard,” but exhausted, defeated, she said, “Well, Niragi can’t break what’s already broken. I’ll continue to pretend not to feel anything, or at least try.”

“Good. That’ll get him to lay off of you. Men like Niragi get off on fear. Show that he doesn’t faze you, he’ll move on to a new target.”

With a bitter laugh, the little mouse opens her mouth, and Saiko places the cigarette between her lips, lighting it.

Yamane didn’t even smoke, but she needed that.

It turns out that Saiko is right. Niragi’s escapades went on for two more nights before he finally dropped her and moved on to a new target. But it still left Yamane sore for days.

Furrowing her brows, Yamane shakes the pill bottle and pours herself another painkiller tablet. She swallows the pills, and downs a glass of water. Stepping out of her room, she descended to the lobby. There’s going to be a game tonight, and she needed to replenish her visa.

The teams are being assigned. Yamane receives her assignment, and gulps as she feels someone’s presence behind her.

“Yamaneko. You’ll come with us,” Last Boss tells her, and Yamane nods.

He shuffles away, towards Aguni and Niragi, and Yamane follows him. Feeling awkward for thinking of him while another man took her, Yamane couldn’t look at him. But of course, he didn’t need to know that.

Sitting next to him in the backseat certainly didn’t help.

Niragi drives like a demon, making her stomach churn, while Aguni sits beside him, eyeing her through the rearview mirror.

“Tonight we’ll see what you’re made of,” the chief says. Niragi grins, while Last Boss gives her a meaningful look. “Let’s see if you’re really the wildcat Last Boss thinks you are.”

“Wow, no pressure at all,” Yamane thinks to herself, exhaling slowly, doing her best to calm her frayed nerves. Still, she felt a twisted sense of pride, looking at Last Boss from the corner of her eyes. The man barely speaks, and he’s a total enigma to Yamane; no one knows his real name, but everyone knows how dangerous he is.

“If he thinks I’m like a wildcat, then he might respect me a little more than Niragi who calls me a mouse.”

He’s staring at her again, and this time, Yamane cranes her neck to stare back.

She opens her mouth to say something, but the car comes to a screeching halt. Yamane lurches forward, while the tall man stays steady in his seat.

“Out the car,” Aguni barks, and everyone steps out. Yamane eyes the venue, and even Niragi seems to stop. It was a high school; Yamane’s alma mater to be exact.

“A high school? Man, this place brings back some bad memories,” Niragi moans, brows furrowing.

“This was my high school. Fuck this place,” Yamane mumbles, putting one hand on her hip.

“No time for nostalgia, we have a game to play,” Aguni scolds them while Last Boss follows him close by. “Are you two coming or not?”

Looking at each other, Niragi and Yamane start following their chief again. The four militants pass through the laser grid, and proceed deeper into the school complex, where the directions are leading them to the field at the back of the school. While passing through the halls, Yamane sees a pile of old desks in an unused room. Among them was her old one, vandalized with words such as “Kill yourself” and “Slut”.

Turning away, Yamane focuses her attention to the game.

Each of them grab a phone from the foldable table at the far end of the field, waiting for registration to close. There are explosive collars and weapons on a separate table, with instructions to wear one collar, and take an optional weapon. There are also instructions that prohibit firearms, which made Niragi groan and put his rifle down. Aguni deposits his pistol as well.

Slipping the explosive collar around her neck, Yamane watches as her fellow militants do the same. Niragi picks up a knife, and so does Aguni, while Last Boss sticks to his katana, and Yamane checks her daggers.

This will either be a Spade game, or another Club. Yamane scans the horizon, the green grass of the field overgrown from the lack of maintenance. She looks at the number of people around, and there are more than fifteen of them in the field. The worst case scenario she can think of is a battle-royale type of game where the last one standing wins. She has no chance against Aguni, Niragi, or Last Boss. But the explosive collar didn’t make sense. The lasers could easily shoot them down if they try to leave the arena, so an explosive collar wouldn’t be necessary.

The synthetic voice chirps from their phones as the last person picks up theirs.

“Registration closed. There are currently twenty players. Difficulty: Four of Spades.”

Yamane’s eyebrows furrow as her suspicions are confirmed.

“Game: Kibasen. Rules: Players must form a group of four, with three acting as the horse, and one as a spear. If the spear is taken out, the entire group is disqualified. Clear condition: Players must eliminate the rival team. Time limit: none.”

“Cavalry battle? I’m surprised that this isn’t classified as a Clubs game.” Yamane comments. “But there are no headbands or caps around. Don’t tell me…”

“The headband is likely the spear’s head,” Aguni grunts. “Wildcat. Be the spear.”

Yamane’s heart starts to race. She can’t do this, not with her injured shoulder. She’ll put the entire team at risk. “You heard Aguni,” Niragi barks, looming over her. “Get on top.”

“Wait a minute. Chief, I think Last Boss should be the spear,” Yamane interrupts, making all three look at her.

“Are you chickening out, little mouse?” Niragi asks her, tilting his head.

“Look at me,” she says, holding her good arm out. “My arm span is short. My daggers are too short. Last Boss is our tallest man. His limbs are longer than mine, and his katana has good range. He can strike farther than I could. Putting him on top would result in a longer, deadlier spear.”

A ponderous look on his face, Niragi turns to Aguni. Yamane’s eyes flick towards Last Boss, who was smiling at her.

“Chief, what do you think?” Niragi asks.

“Last Boss, you’re the spear,” Aguni grunts. “I’ll be the one in front. Niragi, Yamane, take the sides.”

Sighing in relief, Yamane takes her position at her right, which shields her injured left shoulder. “You’re lucky, little mouse,” Niragi whispers, bumping shoulders with her as they ducked, and Last Boss climbs over them.

His cold hand presses against Yamane’s head. “Yamaneko, thank you,” Last Boss tells her, lips curling into a smile. On top of her, he reminded her of a tiger once more, predatory, ready to strike.

She still couldn’t figure him out.

Around them, strangers are forming reluctant alliances, warily eyeing other teams. Soon, all five teams are lined up.

“Wait, are we supposed to fight each other? Where is this rival team?”

As if on cue, a rumble starts from a distance, growing louder, and the synthetic voice booms through the outdoor speakers. “Game Start!”

Through the same entrance they used, teams of masked men ran through, their spears carrying naginatas.

“Well, this should be interesting,” Niragi quips, tongue flicking out of his mouth. The other units of players unaffiliated from the Beach start to run and scream, while Aguni commands them to charge forward.

One unit from the enemy team charges at a friendly team, and lops the spear’s head off. His teammates’ explosive collars go off.

Then, they come face to face with the militants’ unit.

Yamane blows away a stray lock of hair from her face. “Shit. Here we go.”

[harley-sunday]

The Draw [17]

Summary: The whirlwind starts at the 2018 ACE Comic Con in Phoenix but you’re not sure where it will end…

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x reader (unnamed OFC)

Warnings: Language.

Word count: 3.5k

AN: I’m sorry.

Masterlist

You’re still a little hungover when you make it into the office that next morning, not for the first time glad Deb usually works from home on Monday. You’re not sure you could face her right now without having to explain everything that’s going on. Your phone rings just as you’ve turned your laptop on, the sound only adding to the already-there headache, and so you take the call without looking to see who it is first, answering with a rather curt, “Hello?”

“Hey,”

A shiver runs down your spine when you hear his voice, but you don’t say anything.

He sighs, “I take it you’ve seen the pictures?”

“I have.”

“Will you let me explain or have you made up your mind already?”

There’s such an accusation in his voice that you physically recoil, “What?”

“Sorry,” he says almost immediately, “I’m sorry, that came out wrong.”

You let out a staggered breath, not really knowing how to reply.

“There was a birthday party for one of the cast members,” he starts, his voice much more controlled now. “The girl in the pictures is one of the extras and I don’t know, at one point she told me her grandmother’s Romanian and how she used to go there every year during the holidays and so we were just talking about the country and how much it’s changed over the years, but that’s all.” He clears his throat, “Nothing happened.”

You let his words hang in the air for a moment, the silence between you two deafening and uncomfortable, and it scares you. It’s not that you don’t believe him, but you can’t help but wonder if this is how it’s going to be from now on, with him away for work while you both have to deal with something neither of you had any part in but that’s putting a strain on your relationship nonetheless.

“Talk to me,”

You shake your head even though he can’t see you, “I can’t-” you take a deep breath, “I don’t know if we should do this over the phone, Seb.”

“This?”

“Please don’t,” you whisper, hearing the hurt in his voice. “You know that’s not what-.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I don’t know, ok?” You close your eyes and lean back in your chair, “I just think we should talk about this face-to-face. When we’re together. Not with a million miles and a few time zones between us.”

“Ok,” he agrees, but you can tell there’s something he’s holding back.

“Ok,” you echo. “So I’ll see you next week?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be seeing you, Stan,” you say, trying to lighten the mood, but by then you hear the call’s already disconnected.

You try to focus on work the rest of the week but often find your mind wandering and so by Friday afternoon you tell Deb you’re taking half a day and head home around lunch time. Trying to distract yourself you decide to clean the house, starting in the bathroom, before you move onto your bedroom, and Jake’s guest bedroom. You’re pretty sure there’s some psychological reason why you feel this sudden need to organize, probably something to do with trying to control what you can, but so far it isn’t really working.

You order a pizza for dinner and while you wait for it to be delivered you decide to tackle the second guest bedroom. It’s not so much a guest bedroom as it is a storage room, one you haven’t really stepped foot into for at least a year or so, and so you’re a bit hesitant when you open the door. A quiet, “Oh,” escapes you because suddenly you remember when you were here last, the proof of it standing on an easel, almost taunting you.

It’s a painting you made right after you found out Mark cheated on you, all your anger put into this one piece, the colour palette nothing but dark blues and greys, almost like a dark storm rolling in, called ‘The Currents’.

Mark made you give up painting when you were together, deeming the abstract work you preferred to make ugly and something his three-year old niece could do. In a way, painting this was your way of claiming your life back and even now it makes you feel happy. It also makes you realize how much you’ve missed painting and you wonder if maybe you should pick it up again.

The doorbell rings then, interrupting your thoughts and so you quickly make your way downstairs, leaving the door slightly ajar as a sort of promise to come back.

Letting yourself in with the key Lauren gave you shortly after she moved into her apartment, you call out, “It’s me!” You hear her reply from the kitchen and so you make your way over there, finding her stirring in a big pot with a glass of wine on the counter beside her. “So, sorry I’m late,” you tell her while you kiss her cheek, “I lost time while I was cleaning the kitchen and-”

“It’s fine,” she smiles while she pours you a glass of wine. “Matt’s just gone out to pick up some more eggs for the Pavlova.”

“Pavlova?” It’s your favourite and she knows it and so you bump your shoulder against hers with a smile, “I love you.”

“I know,” she says with a wink. “I figured I’d better spoil you a little.” Her look turns more serious then, “How are you?”

You shrug, “Ok, I guess. I mean-” you sigh, “I’m just trying to figure out why I’m so upset about this, you know? He told me nothing happened, and I believe him, so why is it still bothering me so much?”

“Are the pictures bothering you, or,” Lauren turns around so she’s facing you, “is it maybe just that you don’t have any control over it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” she scrunches up her nose, “I’ve been thinking, and please don’t take offense-”

“None taken,”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” she counters with a grin.

“Yeah, but it’s you. I know you and I know you’re not trying to hurt me.”

Her eyebrows knit together then, as she takes in your words. She looks back up at you, “Babe.”

You nod, because you think you know what she’s getting at. “I know you,” you repeat a little slower now, “and I know you’re not trying to hurt me.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” you echo, because fuck, maybe this is it. Or at least part of it. You bite your lip and let your eyes fall to the floor, trying to figure it out. When you look back up you find her staring at you with a sad smile and you know she agrees.

“If it makes you feel any better,” but she knows it probably won’t and so she pulls you in for a hug, “I was going to tell you something along those lines too, but in much more of a go-around kind of a way.”

Before you can say anything else there’s a knock at the door and so she lets go of you, the look on her face letting you know she’s here if you need anything and so you mouth a quiet, “Thank you.”

Matt is exactly how you imagined he would be, a good-looking, down-to-earth guy who is a perfect match for Lauren. You watch them during dinner and can’t help but smile when you see how in love they are.

“So, Matt,” you start when Lauren’s in the kitchen to get dessert. You watch him as he sits up and looks at you expectantly, “You’ve made a pretty good first impression, but as Lauren’s best friend I’m obliged to tell you that first of all,” you hold up a finger for added effect, “I’m not above kicking your ass if you ever do something to hurt her.”

“Noted,” he says with a nod.

“And second, her favourite flowers are Dahlia’s, she hates chocolate but would kill for vanilla Tootsie Rolls, and,” you lean in closer, “if you ever really want to sweep her off her feet, you should take her to go see Hairspray Live.”

He grins, “Thank you.”

“Hey,” you shrug, “anything to make our girl happy, right?”

There’s a knock on your door but before you even have the chance to respond the door opens and you hear a loud, “Hey, loser!” coming from downstairs.

“Hey,” you yell back, while you finish your brushstroke, “I’m upstairs. Guest bedroom.” You smile when you see his head pop into view not much later, “What are you doing here?”

He starts to protest, “Can’t a guy-”

“No, Nate,” you scoff, “not you.”

“Ok, fine,” he admits, “Sarah made me go check up on you after I told her what happened last week.”

“You can tell Sarah I’m fine,” you reply while you dry your paintbrush on the rag that’s hanging over your shoulder.

“You sure about that?” Nathan asks with a nod towards the half-finished canvas.

“I think I’m going to call it ‘Love’,” you say, as though that explains it all. But then again, it kind of does. “I found my old supplies last week and, I don’t know,” you shrug, “figured I might as well give it a go and see if I still got it.”

“And you’re sure this has nothing to with what’s going on between you and Sebastian?”

“No.” But your answer came a little too fast and you both know it. Nathan just looks at you without saying anything and it isn’t long before you cave, “Of course it has.” You put the paintbrush down and motion for him to follow you downstairs so you can wash your hands and make both of you a cup of coffee.

“You sure you’re ok?”

“I honestly don’t know,” you tell him over your shoulder while you grab two mugs from somewhere inside the cabinet. “I’m afraid we both fucked up this time and that there’s no coming back from this.”

“What do you mean,” he asks, shaking his head, “how was this a joint effort? He’s the one who ended up in the tabloids-”

“Yeah, but I think I made too big a deal out of it.” You sigh, “If I’d just told him, ‘Ok, I heard your side of the story, I believe you’, and moved on, none of this would have happened.”

“But it still would have bothered you,” Nathan says.

As always, your brother hits the nail right on the head and so all you can do is agree, “Yeah, it still would have.”

In through the nose, out through the mouth, you keep telling yourself as you keep watching Exit E, waiting for Sebastian to come through the doors any minute now. His plane landed a little over thirty minutes ago, although it feels like you’ve been waiting here for hours already. You’re nervous and scared and way too emotional for this not to end with tears. In through the nose, out through the- “Oh.”

He’s wearing the same baseball cap he wore the first time you picked him up here almost two-and-a-half months ago although it feels like another lifetime. He keeps his head down as he walks towards you and if anything it makes you even more nervous. You haven’t really spoken since that phone call last week, only sent the occasional text to each other, the distance between you even more palpable with each passing day. It isn’t until he’s just a few feet away from you that he looks up and your heart, oh your heart.

You try to smile, try to say something, but the tears that have threatened to spill all day finally make their way down your cheeks and so you just to stand there, for a moment worried about what will happen next but then he holds out his arms and you step forward, holding onto him with all your might, “Oh, Seb.”

He doesn’t say anything, just holds you, his lips pressed against your temple.

You know you can’t stay here like this and so after a while you let go, running your hands over your cheeks to try and wipe some of the tears away.

“Please don’t cry.”

His voice is soft and brings on a new set of tears, “I’m sorry.”

“Come on,” he picks up his suitcase and puts it in the trunk, “‘I’ll drive.”

The drive over to your house is silent, even though you keep thinking of things you want to say but then deciding against it. You steal quick glances in his direction every now and then, a little worried by the way his jaw is set and his hands are gripping the steering wheel.

It’s early in the evening and the roads are relatively quiet, especially for a Friday, and so he pulls up onto your driveway not much later. You wait for him to get his suitcase before you make your way to the front door and inside. “Did you eat?” Your voice is a little rough and so you try again, “I could make something if you want?”

“I’m good,” he replies from somewhere over your shoulder.

You drop your purse on one of the kitchen chairs before you turn around and face him, “I would offer you a coffee but I guess we both could use something a little stronger.”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair, “Listen, is it ok if I take a shower first? I’ve been in the air for the better part of the last eighteen hours and-”

“No, of course,” you nod towards the stairs, “go ahead.” You watch him as he carries his suitcase upstairs, something heavy settling inside of you.

You’re curled up in the corner of the couch when he comes back down again, his hair still a little wet and his cheeks still a little rosy, and he surprises you when he sits down next to you and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. You let out a heavy sigh, “I fucked up.”

He kisses the top of your head, a “Me too,” whispered into your hair.

You stay like that for a moment, letting him hold you, and you wonder if, like you, he’s putting off the inevitable just a little longer, because as long as the words haven’t been spoken out loud, haven’t been put out into the universe, there’s still a glimmer of hope somewhere. Still, you know you can’t stay like this forever and so after a while you reluctantly push yourself off him and hand him the glass of whiskey you poured him earlier. You raise your own glass towards him before you take a sip, the liquid burning its way down your throat. Knowing it’s the hardest thing you’ll ever do you take a deep breath before you ask, “Will you let me try to explain?”

He tries to smile but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Talk to me.”

Cupping the whiskey glass in your hands you let your eyes fall, “Remember when we were in Los Angeles and I asked you how you deal with the paparazzi and you told me it’s just part of the job?” You don’t really wait for his reply, “For me it isn’t, Seb. And I don’t know if I can handle this the way you maybe want me to if it happens again.” You clear your throat, “I don’t know if I can get used to this.”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything.

“You told me nothing happened and I believe you,” you continue, “but- I don’t know. I hate how it made me feel.” You hold up your hand when you see he wants to say something, “That’s totally on me, I mean, that’s something I need to work on, but I don’t want it to be something I’m blaming you for, you know? And I’m afraid maybe that’s what will happen if something like this happens again and I just-” You sigh. “I don’t want you to have to reassure me every time I get insecure about our relationship.” You look up at him, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” he puts his hand on yours, “it’s ok.”

“No, it’s not,” you scoff, a lone tear rolling down your cheek. “I fucked up, Seb, but I think we both know there’s no coming back from it this time.”

“Hey,” he says again, giving your hand a squeeze to make you look at him, “I don’t want you to take the blame for this, and to be honest, I think neither of us should. Put it on bad timing, or bad luck, or whatever else you can think off, but not on us.” His voice catches on the last word and you notice his eyes are a little glossed over as well. He shrugs, “Sometimes things don’t work out. No matter how much we want them to.”

“But don’t you think we should fight for this,” you try to blink away the onset of tears, “for us?” You wipe your cheeks angrily, “It feels like we’re just giving up and I-”

“We’ve been fighting for a long time,” he says then, his voice barely above a whisper.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, to contradict his words, but then you allow them to sink in and you know he's right. Hell, this all started because he felt like he had to make up for what happened at the Infinity War premiere. You look up at him, a sad smile playing on your lips, “But when it was good-”

“-it was great,” he agrees, his hand now cupping your face and his thumb stroking your cheek.

You bite your lip to keep from really crying, scrunching up your nose before you whisper, “So this is it then?”

He nods slowly, “I guess it is.”

Letting out a ragged breath you get up and make your way towards the kitchen because it feels like you just got punched in the stomach and you’re about to get sick. Leaning over the kitchen sink you cry, big fat tears and heavy sobs, and it hurts, God, it hurts.

He comes up behind you not much later, his hand on the small of your back, “Come here.”

You run a hand under your nose before you stand up and when you turn around you can tell he’s been crying too and your heart hurts even more. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

He wraps you in his arms, “I’m so sorry.”

You nod against his chest because you get it, and so you mutter a quiet, “I’m sorry too.”

You offer him the guest bedroom for the night, because you both agree it’s too late for him to go somewhere else, and when you ask him to please ignore the mess you’ve made while painting, while warning him the paint is still wet and to be careful with his clothes, it feels like such a normal thing to do that it’s almost ridiculous.

It takes a long time before you fall asleep, tossing and turning in your bed, and when you finally do it’s restless, full of dreams you can’t remember but make you feel anxious nonetheless.

It’s still early when you wake up, but you can hear the shower’s already running and you guess he couldn’t sleep anymore either. You wait until you hear him go downstairs before you make your way to the bathroom, the lingering scent of his cologne triggering a fresh set of tears.

When you get downstairs after getting dressed you notice that his suitcase is already by the door and you find him leaning against the counter in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee. You try to smile, “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies. He runs his hand through his hair, “I uh- I found a flight to New York.”

“Ok.”

“There’s a cab picking me up in ten minutes,”

“Oh.” You nod, because even though it’s way too soon you know there’s no point in dragging this out either. “Ok, uh- Is there anything you need from me?”

He shakes his head, “No.”

“Can I give you one last hug?” Your voice is small and you hate how insecure you sound, but he nods anyway and so you step into his arms, wrapping yours around his waist. A sob escapes you then and he pulls you closer and you stay like that until you hear a car honk its horn outside.

“That’s me,” he says, his voice rough and barely above a whisper.

You take a step back and look up at him, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“The last four months.” A fresh set of tears cloud your eyes and you try your hardest to blink them away, “I know it’s not fair to say this but,” a sob then, “I’ll miss you.”

He nods and tries to smile, but there are tears in his eyes too. He puts his arm around your shoulder and presses his lips against your forehead before he whispers, “I’ll miss you too.”

And then he is gone.

[werejusttouchingeachother]

SEOUL 2018 [November 2nd, 9:00PM]

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 T/W: smutty, cursing, slight mentions of sub!Baek, noona!kink, slight exhibitionism, bj, dirty talk Words: 3925

Despite dating Baekhyun for almost a year—most of which you’d spent apart—you met the members a lot later than you thought you would. Obviously, it was hard for your existence to remain a secret since most of them tended to interrupt your calls with Baekhyun often by teasing him very loudly or just simply yelling something akin to war cries – Chanyeol.

Nevertheless, you’d gotten a lot closer with them after New York had happened since you stayed a week at the dorms after the both of you had finally reconciled.

Baekhyun whined often about not seeing you and was even more upset that the launching of his second set of designs at Privé had been pushed back since they already had quite a few schedules. After about two months apart, you’d finally taken the big step to fly down to Korea yourself and surprise him.

Of course, Baekhyun had only been too ecstatic about your visit—to the extent that he begged and pleaded with Manager to let you stay with him at the dorms, despite both your and Manager’s various protests. You knew you wouldn’t get to spend as much time with Baekhyun as you liked since he stayed at the company for most of the day, rehearsing and practicing for the comeback—which was more of a reason for him to insist that you stayed at the dorms so he could be with you whenever he could.

What Baekhyun hadn’t been prepared for was for you and Sehun to hit it off. Well aware of the crush you had on Sehun, prior to even meeting Baekhyun, he’d always teased you about it but you could tell he was low-key jealous when he saw you babying Sehun often.

“I’m your only baby,” Baekhyun had pouted as he stole the last spoon of pudding that you’d held out for Sehun.

What made your relationship with Baekhyun interesting was because, like a child, he was unpredictable. He didn’t get angry or grab your wrist and pull you away like the main lead of a drama when he saw you getting too close with Sehun.

Instead, he became weirdly and embarrassingly unfiltered.

It had been movie night and all of you had been seated in the front of the television with the boys arguing as usual about who gets to pick the movie. You’d gotten up from the couch to lean over the coffee table and grab the drinks when Baekhyun had loudly stated, “Hey, bend a little more and we’ll see your underwear.

Junmyeon threw a cushion at Baekhyun’s head right as you turn with wide eyes to see an appalled Sehun sitting next to Baekhyun on the couch who glances at your rear for a fraction of a second before his eyes fly up to yours and he immediately starts blushing when he realises you’d caught his flitting gaze as he scrambles away to sit on the opposite couch with Jongin and Chanyeol.

You shoot Baekhyun a look as you straighten and sit back on the couch, his arm already pulling you closer so that you’re nestled into his side while you mutter, “Thanks for pointing it out aloud and scaring Sehunnie.”

“You’re the one who bent over in front of him,” Baekhyun chortled in response, dark eyes glinting as they gaze down at you. “Also I’m serious, we could have seen it if you’d bent a liiiiiiittle more.”

You drop your voice to a low murmur as you say, “No, you wouldn't.”

“Yes, I would,” he insisted.

You shook your head. “No.”

“Do you wanna bend over again so I can take a picture and prove it to you? Maybe just do it front of me this time, though.”

You bite back a smile at the subtle annoyance in his voice and take his arm that’s wrapped loosely around your waist and lower his hand to your hip where the waistband of your shorts is and his fingers trace the side.

You smile as his entire body tenses suddenly when he realises that he can’t feel your panty-line beneath the shorts.

You turn your face to his, lips teasing his ear as you mumble, “Unless you’re imagining things, I don’t think you can see something that isn’t there.”

“GUYS,” Baekhyun suddenly yells, startling you as he sits up and makes your eyes widen at the unexpected reaction. “Someone get the lights and Jongdae, could you throw me that blanket?”

You frowned as Baek grabbed the blanket, throwing it over the two of you and the lights went off until only the blue light from the widescreen television illuminated the room.

Seeing that they were setting up the movie, you leaned back into the couch and nestled into Baekhyun’s side. He suddenly grabs your body roughly, manhandling you until he had positioned you in front of him so that you were in between his legs, his chest pressed up against your back while he wrapped the blanket around the two of you.

You relax back into him, resting your head on his broad chest and then, it’s almost as if history is repeating itself as your own body stills when you suddenly feel him right behind you.

Baekhyun presses his lips to your ear, similar to how you’d done just two minutes ago. “You shouldn’t have played this game with me, Y/N. Cause I always win.”

You bite down hard on your lower lip, focusing on not making any noise that would give the two of you away as his fingers slip beneath the blanket to tug the shorts down just enough for him to reach you. Your breath hitches as you feel the warm head of his erection rub against your slit and then, he wraps one arm around your waist as he positions inside you with his other hand and slides in easily, settling you down on his lap.

“Stay quiet and watch the movie, baby.”

You squirm right as you hear the words as his fingers come down on your clit almost simultaneously. You rest your head back on his shoulder, fingers clutching the edge of the blanket at your neck like your life depended on it. Baekhyun slyly presses a smooch on your cheek, giving off the impression that you’re just being a cute cuddly couple on the couch, while he fucked you under the blanket.

Or at least, that’s what you expected him to do.

You can’t help but sit as upright as you can, feeling him lean back on the couch with his gaze transfixed on the movie playing like he wasn’t inside you.

You try to focus on the screen, reminding yourself that this is exactly what he wants—to see you lose your shit and beg him to take you. Your body is tensed but you don’t relax it against him because you know that exact motion will cause friction which is exactly what you don’t need, despite your entire body screaming for it.

So you stay motionless, sitting upright awkwardly on his lap in a frozen position while praying that none of the boys would notice or question your odd posture. But then Baekhyun casually wraps an arm around your middle and pulls you back into his chest, allowing you to relax against him while you bite back any noises that could escape from feeling the movement inside your throbbing core.

It’s silent as you try to steady your breathing and calm your heart which seemed to be pounding with desire. Your death grip around the blanket loosens as you finally tamed the coiling tension in your stomach to merely that of a dull ache, considering it as just feeling full.

And then you feel Baekhyun’s hand wrap around your own, pulling it underneath the blanket.

Your eyes widen as you feel him guide your hand under the covers and beneath the old faded red shirt of his that you were wearing. Your lips part with a silent moan as he makes your fingers trace your nipple, both yours and his together tweaking it erect.

A shaky breath escapes, the tightening in your stomach intensifying as his other hand slips underneath to grope and fondle the other breast until you’re practically crushing him back against the couch with the force to restrain yourself from moving.

But then you feel him twitch inside you and you almost damn near scream aloud.

You can’t help it—as if of their own mind, your hips squirm against his and you release a soft gasp at the sweet bliss of movement in your wet walls.

Only for a swift second—Baekhyun's arm immediately comes around your middle to pull you back down against his chest, imprisoning you in his arms to stop you from fidgeting and you feel your last shred of control snap.

Pressing your hands down on his thighs as support, you move off of his lap and bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood at the sudden feeling of emptiness in your needy centre. Pulling up the soft cotton shorts that he’d left tangled around your ankles, you get up from the couch like you’d been sitting on fire.

Throwing Baekhyun a dirty look, you mutter something about not pausing the movie to the rest of the boys before leaving the hall and heading for Baekhyun’s room at the end of the hallway, fingers already reaching for the hem of your shirt to yank it off.

You confirmed his jealousy that night with a sore body at the dorm when he’d pounded you into the mattress until you were screaming his name despite how hard you tried not to because he wanted them to hear, specifically the one you’d had a crush on—someone whose eyes you weren’t sure you’d be able to look into after leaving the room that night. Junmyeon even knocked at the door to yell how he’d kick you both out if you didn't shut up and sleep soon before getting too uncomfortable standing outside as if he was eavesdropping.

It was nothing serious with Baekhyun’s jealousy—no trust issues as such but only much later did he tell you about how his pride took a hit when all the tabloids started rumours of how close the two of you looked at last month’s Louis Vuitton show where both Sehun and you had coincidentally run into each other. You hadn’t known he’d been attending the event and had been so genuinely surprised and delighted to see him, sitting with him at the aisles to watch the entire show. The cameras, unaware of your relationship as you laughed with him, had only had a field day with both of you and you’d waken up to multiple articles highlighting how good the two of you looked together. Which, in hindsight, was probably the trigger to Baekhyun fucking you ruthlessly with no care for his members in the next rooms.

When he had finally collapsed in your arms, your sweaty bodies conjoined as his hair tickled your neck, you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and shifted so that the both of you were on your sides, cradling him to your chest. His soft breaths hit your skin and you run your fingers through his hair, your voice soft as you whisper how much you love him and only him. You feel him close his eyes then, arms tightening around your waist as he snuggles closer to your chest until you don’t know where he ends and where you begin. He had fallen asleep to your heartbeat then, only after you’d reassured that it was only his to hear and only his to have. The two of you never spoke of it again and you thought the conversation had been put to rest until the day when you’d dropped by the company to see him and ran into Sehun too. After Sehun had left, Baekhyun had walked up to you and asked if you had a noona kink.

“A what?” You’d asked with wide eyes, certain that you’d heard him wrong. “Do I have a what?”

“You like it when Sehun calls you Noona,” Baekhyun raises an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. His tone is light and teasing but you can see it in his eyes, that same fire you’d seen that night at the dorm.

You stuttered a baffled response with barely coherent words and then one of the managers had walked in, calling him away. You’d thought it ended there but you should have known better—it was Baekhyun. He would never let it go and he certainly didn't later that night at dinner when out with all of the band, his hand had wandered too far up your thigh to be considered appropriate.

You’d shot him a warning glare and he’d only grinned his cheeky grin at you, lips drawing closer to your ear as he muttered huskily, “Make me come, noona.”

And then he’d watched as he unravelled you slowly; the way your pupils dilated at the word, the way your throat moved as you swallowed heavily. You had decided to ignore him, thinking he’d stop at the lack of response but again, you should’ve known better. Baekhyun continued teasing you with his feather-touches, his tone low enough as he muttered filthy things in your ear to cause a fluttery-feeling in your stomach. You reached your limit when you felt his hand slide up your skirt, the tips of his fingers brushing against the front of your pussy covered only by the thin fabric of your panty, the smallest gesture causing you to jerk up like you’d been electrocuted.

Baekhyun had only smirked as you excused yourself and retreated to the washroom where you straightened your unruly skirt and fanned yourself, trying to bring the colour of your flushed face back to normal.

You’re already glaring at the mirror as the door opens behind you, knowing that it would be him and it is—he walks in with a cheeky smirk and you spin around, slamming him by his chest against the door.

“Byun Baekhyun,” you mutter lowly, trying to ignore the way your stomach was twisting with the proximity, your fingers itching to just rip the clothes off of him.

“What are you doing?” You’d gritted out in in frustration, wanting to kiss the annoying smirk off his face. “You know that I’m leaving tomorrow. So don’t start playing stupid games that you can’t finish, you—”

“Haven’t you learned your lesson yet, Y/N?” He cuts you off, grabbing your shoulders and spinning you around so that he’s holding you to the door now.

“I win all games, remember?” Baekhyun mutters lowly, gaze darkening as they drop to your parted lips and before you could even predict it, he’s kissing you harshly enough that your head bangs against the door, making you groan.

“As much as I love our toilet adventures,” he breathes in between kisses that are rough enough to make you taste blood. “Here’s an idea. No one’s back at the dorm and they’ll be a while so what do you say we skip dinner and get a little headstart on dessert?”

Your eyes are closed and you start to agree, but then you feel his hot breath in your ear as he whispers huskily, “Noona.”

“Fuck,” you breathe out involuntarily, feeling the wetness pool in your centre almost instantly in response to the word as you shove him off of you and grab his arm, quickly exiting the toilet and heading for the door.

Almost three hours later, you laid exhausted on Baekhyun’s chest with your body feeling sore enough for you to question if you’d be able to travel back to Paris tomorrow.

It had made you think of your first time together, back in Milan—he’d been surprised by how into choking and degradation you’d been that he’d told you how you both would explore a lot of your kinks. Together.

Needless to say, you’d explored plenty tonight at the empty dorms—feeling thankful to the entire universe that the boys were out the whole night because there was no way Baekhyun would last a day after you left Seoul if they’d heard the noises he was making in the bedroom as both of you switched roles and you finally unleashed all the frustration that you’d been feeling almost all week because of his endless teasing of your ‘noona kink’.

Even though after tonight, you were convinced that yes, maybe you did have it—although you would never admit it to Baekhyun.

You mindlessly traced your fingers around his bare chest while nestled into his side, drawing circles with your eyes closed as feeling slowly returned to your limbs and felt him suddenly tense beneath you.

Your eyes open and you raise your head to see Baekhyun staring down at your fingers on his chest. You still, wondering if you were hurting him and Baekhyun softly mumbles, “Do you know that red is a really good colour on you?”

You blink at his question and follow his gaze to your fingers which were painted a deep crimson, glossy and slightly glinting as the small yellow light of the bedside lamp reflected off of it.

“Thanks,” you replied softly, pressing a kiss to his chest as you closed your eyes again.

You suddenly felt his hand wrap around yours then, long slender fingers intertwining with yours as he raised your conjoined hands. You glance at him to see him staring at your hands together, a familiar dark look in his eyes.

“Baek,” you start with a slight wariness in your tone. “What are you thinking?”

His gaze drops to you on his chest and he hesitates before asking, “You up for trying another kink?”

You sit up at that, eyebrows raised high as he gives you a sheepish smile, colour flooding his cheeks.

“I thought you were tired of being edged for so many hours and couldn't anymore,” you teased, repeating his words that he’d practically cried to you earlier and Baekhyun glares at you.

“This isn’t as intense,” he rolls his eyes. “Just an old-fashioned simple hand job.”

You leaned back on your legs to look at him properly, cocking your head in confusion as you tried to figure out what Baekhyun was playing it.

You knew him, there had to be something.

His eyes were still transfixed on your hands and your own widen slowly as a realisation dawns upon you.

“You have a hand kink?” You ask in disbelief, unable to contain your grin.  

“No!” Baekhyun immediately protests, shifting his gaze to you and scowling at your elated expression. “I just like the way your hands look with mine. With the red nails and everything.”

“So ...” you trail off lowly, voice dropping to a whisper as you pull your hand free from his and lower it down his body, sliding beneath the sheets that he had haphazardly thrown over both of you.

You lean over his face, lips hovering over his as you ask softly, “What do you want me to do, baby?”

Baekhyun sighs as he twitches under your touch that's as light as a feather, slow and teasing, eyes closing while his lips part open.

“Tell me what you want,” you insist, ghosting your hand over his length that was hardening with every light touch of your fingers. You can’t help but smirk at how easily responsive he is, even after everything you’d just been doing together for hours on end.

You’d admit to your noona kink the second that he stopped pretending and confessed that he was just as much into it as you.

Your breath fans across his cheek and his eyelids flutter open, voice breathy as he says, “I want to take pictures of your hand wrapped around me. Of your red nails against my cock.”

Holy shit.

You stare at him, all your thoughts halting at the unexpected words as you try to ignore the thrill that it just sent through your veins.

“Uh, I.” You lean back, sitting up as you blink at him. Baekhyun sits up too, reaching for you and you have to shush the voices in your head screaming at you to shut up and just do what he wants, instead forcing yourself to ask, “Are you sure that’s okay? That it’s safe?”

“Its fine,” he said, taking your hand that wasn't under the sheets in both of his. “No, it’s more than fine—it’s perfect. Trust me, an idol’s phone is like a diary. No one checks others phones anyway and even if they do, the photos will be in a hidden folder. It’s safe, I swear.”

You hesitate, biting on your lower lip and Baekhyun tugs on your hand, smiling at you reassuringly.

“Come on,” he nudges you. “It’ll help when we’re far away and when I’m missing you all the time.”

You groan, rolling your eyes at his triumphant cheer as you pull your hand away and get off the bed to reach for the bedside table on the right.

“You're lucky I love you,” you mutter, grabbing his phone and handing it to him before walking to the mirror on the door of his wardrobe.

“Where are you going?” Baekhyun asks you in confusion.

“Since you have a thing for red,” you respond, searching your makeup bag for the familiar tube of lipstick. “And since we’re doing this anyway, let’s go all out.”

You can feel his wide eyed gaze on you as he watches you in the mirror while you apply the creamy liquid thickly over your lips, painting them the same red that were on your nails.

You tousle and tease your hair slightly over your shoulders, pressing your lips together to evenly spread the lipstick before turning around to look at Baekhyun who was sitting fully up on the bed now. He grabs your hand as soon as you’re close enough and pulls you down on the bed, leaning forward and you immediately raise your hand to his chest, stopping him with wide eyes.

“Don’t mess it up already, I just did it,” you warned, shaking your head.

Baekhyun sits back down with a sigh, giving you an expression akin to that of awe. “Have I ever told you that you’re really fucking kinky?”

You glare at him, jabbing your finger into his chest. “Hey, Byun Baekhyun. This is your idea.”

“To have your red nails wrapped around my dick, yeah,” he agrees, grabbing your finger on his chest. “To put the lipstick and make me fantasise now about how it’ll look to paint those red lips with my cum and have your fingers dripping with it? Yeah, that’s all you.”

He smirks as he sees the obvious effect his filthy words have on you, watching you fight the urge to squirm as you shake your head at him.

“Shut up and get your phone.” You lower yourself onto your knees in front of him, pulling the sheets away and reaching for your prize with one hand while the other adjusted your hair over your shoulders. You look up at Baekhyun and pause, wishing you could capture the expression he had on his face right now as he watched you through the screen, looking so lust-crazed and so in love with you.

You can’t help but smile at him, kissing the tip slightly before saying, “Don’t get my whole face in all of them, okay?”

“Okay, noona.”

[ljfeed-spn-j2-bigbang]

2020 Master List

Here is the 2020 masterlist. If you see any errors, please let me know.

Extreme thanks to

firesign10 for coding the list again this year! We all owe them a huge debt of gratitude!

Jared/Jensen

Stacks of Green Paper in His Red Right Hand

Link to Art: Here

Author: zara_zee

Artist: bluefire986

Pairing(s): Jared/Jensen

Genre: SPN RPF - Slash, Dark Romance, Action-thriller. Crime.

Word Count: 30K

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: References to child abuse. Organized crime. BDSM. Kink. Violence. Part of the Hellspawn 'verse

Summary: Life has never been better for Jared and Jensen. Business is booming. The challenges for control of the Californian underworld appear to have stopped. They have an awesome new house and an ever growing family of misfits and outlaws. Jensen’s even trying to quit smoking.

And then Jensen’s father drops a bombshell that makes Jared bench Jensen from everything but their ‘honest’ earnings. Jensen hates his new restrictions, but with so much on the line, he can’t argue with them—not until a friend of the Club is in danger and Jensen’s the only one who can help. And then he can’t just sit it out. Right?

Headstrong

Link to Art:Here

Author: fufuraw

Artist: yanyan

Pairing(s): Jared and Jensen

Genre: Gen

Word Count: 21,228

Rating: PG

Warnings: Were transformations

Summary: Jared learns about his family and his background. Jensen and the Bell Creek Pack are there to support him as he learns to navigate a world he never expected to have to live in.

On Your Way

Link to Art: Here

Author: zubeneschamali

Artist: quickreaver

Pairing(s): Jared/Jensen

Genre: SPN RPS

Word Count: 47,391

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: none

Summary: Jared's got a YouTube channel where he chronicles his attempt to run a half marathon in every U.S. state and all of the sights he sees along the way. Jensen's got a YouTube channel where he records his adventures in minimalist backpacking, taking to the most scenic places he can find with the least equipment he can carry. When both of them enter a competition for the best travel video blog—where the winner gets their own Netflix show—they'll have to decide if the growing attraction between them is more important than who wins the competition…

The Prophecy

Link to Art: Here

Author: tammyrenh

Artist: tx_dora

Pairing(s): Jared/Jensen

Genre: SPN RPS

Word Count: 25174

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: none

Summary: There is an old prophecy that involves an omega with magic ability far greater than has ever been seen before. Jared, a royal omega about to be given away to a very not-nice prince, decides to choose one thing for himself - who to give his virginity to. This act results in major consequences for both Jared and Jensen - including a pregnancy that shouldn’t be possible, magic that saves them and places them in danger, a voyage across the sea, sword fights, an evil prince, and, above all, the fierce love that binds Jared, Jensen and their unborn child together.

Freedom

Link to Art: Here

Author: sanshal

Artist: cherie_morte

Pairing(s): Jared/Jensen

Genre: SPN RPS

Word Count: 30,853

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Dystopian AU, Slave!Jared, Master!Jensen, Nudity, Collar, Sexual training- (prostate milking, object insertion, chastity, Punishment/spanking etc.), Brain-washing, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Kids, Divorce, Mentions of depression, Crying, Alcohol abuse. Protective Jensen. The story is not as dark as the warning make it appear, however, please do read them carefully (as there are instances of them in the fic) and if you feel that you may be triggered, please be careful.

Summary: A new law comes into play which calculates an individual’s income and expenditure and if one fails to meet a particular ‘standard’, they are indentured till they can work off the difference by working for ‘sponsors’.

Jared fails to meet the ‘standard’.

Metaphysical Inc

Link to Art: Here

Author: blackrabbit42

Artist: beelikej

Pairing(s): Jared/Jensen

Genre: SPN RPF AU

Word Count: 21K

Rating: R

Warnings:

Summary: Loosely inspired by Monsters, Inc. Jensen works for the Life Department, Jared works for the Death Division. When they accidentally bring a live human baby into the metaphysical world, they need to work against the forces of Time and Fate, as well as that little shit from Chaos, Misha, to return baby Bee to her rightful place in the human world. Doing so might involve sacrifices and changes neither of them ever imagined.

The Rose Hidden Among the Thorns

Link to Art: Here

Author: backrose_17

Artist: 2blueshoes

Pairing(s): Jared/Jensen

Genre: SPN RPF AU

Word Count: 22,110

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: A/B/O, mpreg and cheating

Summary: Mob Boss Jensen Ackles is done with the thorn in his side FBI Agent Stephen Amell and he goes after Stephen's one true weakness, his loyal boyfriend Jared Padalecki. Jared has always known that Stephen's life is a dangerous one but he never expected to be drawn into a web of seduction and danger or learn secrets that Stephen has been keeping from him.

Master, Be My Slave

Link to Art: jdl71 Here

Link to Art: dun Here

Author: wincestwhore (Hunter King)

Artist: jdl71 and dun

Pairing(s): Jared/Jensen

Genre: SPF AU

meus_venator

phoenix1966

paleogymnast

aggiedoll

cherie_morte

bostonleigh (velvet-impala)

tcs1121

bluefire986

dwimpala21

candygramme and

spoonlessone

emmatheslayer

jdl71

dwimpala21

anniespinkhouse

amberdreams

junkerin

emmatheslayer

tsuki_no_bara

beelikej

dugindeep

cassiopeia7

kelleigh

blondebitz

nerdypastrychef

kaelysta

merenwen76

m14mouse

annie46

mangacat201

roxymissrose

phoenix1966

amypond45

siennavie

firesign10

a_dean_girl

smalltrolven

kaelysta

runedgirl

amberdreams

nyxocity

swan_song21

jalu2

paperbackwriter

kelios

tx_devilorangel

ameraleigh

amberdreams

whiskygalore

liliaeth

raving_liberal

m14mouse

[nazariolahela]

Something Domestic: Chapter 15

A/N: Hey y'all! This story is told in first-person narrative, from Riley’s (MC) POV. There will likely be smidges of canon in this, but not too much. Thanks for reading, and please leave feedback, and/or if you would like to be tagged.

Hope everyone had a safe and happy holiday season. It was a busy one for me. Hence why this chapter is a few weeks late. Anywho, here’s Part 2 of Liam’s POV. We’ll get back to Riley’s POV next chapter.

Catch up here

Series Tags: @burnsoslow @aworldoffandoms @dcbbw @ladyangel70 @texaskitten30 @sunandlemons @jlynn12273 @indiacater @jared2612 @rainbowsinthestorm @drakesensworld @badchoicesposts @msjr0119 @katurrade @blackcoffee85 @cynicalworlds-blog @hopefulmoonobject @cmestrella @sugarandspice-milkandhoney @superharrietsuper @custaroonie @lady-calypso @ritachacha @olympianpantsuit @desiree-0816 @the-soot-sprite @kate-mckenzie @narrytheworld @octobereighth @lynne1993 @queen-anastasia-universe @loveellamae​ @sarzkh31

Synopsis: When Riley Brooks takes a new job as a nanny for the affluent Rhys family in New York’s Upper East Side, she assumes she’s just going to care for the children of the couple who hired her. But instead of just school pick-ups and afternoon snacks, she also finds herself spending time with Liam, the handsome divorced dad. Can Riley control her feelings for Liam while still performing the job she was hired for?

All characters are the property of Pixelberry Studios. Thanks for allowing me to borrow them.

Chapter Summary: Liam helps to mend the rift between Hana and Riley.

The first thing on my agenda is to get to Mara. I know she’s been compromised by my ex-wife, so getting her to confess will be tricky. Leo and I go over how he’ll get Madeleine to spill as we ride through Manhattan in my McLaren P1. Bastien, my most loyal employee, tipped me off to where Mara and the new nanny will be with Philip today, so I took a long lunch to try and get some answers from her.

“So, where is Madeleine’s faithful lackey today?” he asks.

“Bastien said she and Belinda took Philip to the playground.”

My brother nods and taps a message on his phone. “I got ahold of your ex this morning. She wants to have dinner tonight. She’s leaving the kids with Rashad so she can meet me.” He chuckles. “Poor sucker. At least she’s not your problem anymore.”

“Except she’s my children’s mother, so she’ll always be my problem.”

“What are you going to do about her if I get her to confess?”

I shrug my shoulders. I guess I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Right now, I just want the goddamn truth so I can get my girl back. Yes, I called Riley my girl. Even though she won’t speak to me and she’s got another man, I’m not giving up.

We pull up to the park and exit the car. The weather is cooler this time of year, so I fasten the buttons of my dress coat and make my way toward the playground. Leo and I scan the area for any sign of Mara and after a few moments, he spots her standing near the slide. Belinda is sitting on the bench, rifling through her tote bag.

When I approach, Philip is the first to see me. “DADDY!” he shouts and leaps off the monkey bars, sprinting across the playground. He latches himself onto my leg. I pick up my son and toss him in the air before planting a kiss on his cheek. I look into his blue eyes and my heart bursts. To be honest, I had doubts that he was my son after I found out Madeleine cheated during our marriage. But one look at him dispelled them. I had a paternity test done to be absolutely sure, but sometimes I think about what I would have done if he wasn’t mine.

Mara sees me and her eyes bug out of her skull. She turns to Belinda and alerts her of my presence. “Sir?” she says as they approach me.

“Belinda, take Philip over to the swingset. I need to speak with Mara privately.”

The nanny nods and ushers my son away from us. I motion for Mara to take a seat on a nearby bench.

“Everything alright, sir?” she says.

“I’m just dropping in to see how things are going with the new nanny. I know there were some issues with the last one, so I want to make sure we don’t have any similar problems going forward.”

She bobs her head. “Things seem to be going well, sir. From what I’ve seen, Ms. Stewart is having no trouble carrying out her duties.”

“That’s good to hear. Any issues with the paparazzi?”

“Nothing we can’t handle, sir. Sometimes they camp out wherever we go, but they’ve left us alone for the most part.”

I nod. “That’s good. The safety of my children is very important, Mara. I want to make sure the people in charge of them are not putting them in harm’s way.”

“I agree, sir. I take my job seriously.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Because I would have a huge issue if I knew those people were deliberately putting my kids at risk.”

She visibly swallows. “Uh...sir. I-I don’t know what you mean.”

I look over at Philip as I speak and clench my fists. “Mara. I know the tabloids called you. Do you know how I know? My friend Olivia. I assume you’ve met her. Well, she knows someone at Trend. Her contact told us everything. They gave us your name. How much did they give you, Mara?”

Her eyes go wide and she fidgets with the hem of her jacket. “Sir. Please. I don’t kn…”

I hold my hand up, stopping her. “Mara. There’s no use denying it. I know my ex-wife is behind this, but I want to know how you are and you’re going to tell me.”

She bows her head and exhales. “I swear to you, sir. I didn’t know what Ms. Karlington was going to do. She told me to gather dirt on Miss Brooks. She said it was for the benefit of the kids. I didn’t know she was planning to sell the story to the tabloids. She had me plant a listening device in Miss Brooks’ phone when she wasn’t looking. That’s how I knew about you two. That you were involved.”

I cock my eyebrow. “How long did you know?”

“Not very long, sir. Ms. Karlington suspected something after the scholarship benefit. That’s when she had me bug Miss Brooks’s phone. We were able to take the recordings and sell them to the tabloids along with the details of your divorce. I’m so sorry, sir. She threatened to have me fired if I didn’t cooperate.”

Of course, she did. “Why though?”

“She said it was because of the divorce. If you would have just agreed to her arrangement, none of this would have happened.”

I drag my hand down my face. Why am I gasping? I already knew that. The so-called “arrangement” Mara is referring to is one Madeleine brought up after I filed. She suggested that we stay married for our “public image,” but that we could both have people on the side. I laughed in her face. “So, how much did they pay you?”

Mara pauses, unable to meet my eyes. “$50,000, sir.”

That’s it? That’s less than what we pay her yearly salary. I shake my head and rise from my seat. Mara stands and addresses me. “Sir? I’m genuinely sorry for any pain I may have caused you and Miss Brooks. I understand if you can no longer retain my services.” She starts to walk away when I call out to her.

“We’ll figure that out later. In the meantime, I trust you won’t tell my ex-wife about our little chat?”

“No, sir,” she says, shaking her head. She makes her way back to Philip and Belinda. I run my fingers through my hair and head back to the car, where my brother leans against the hood.

“Well? How did it go? Did she sing like a canary?”

I smirk and press the unlock button on my keyfob. “She did.”

He grins and brings his hand to his mouth, kissing his fingers. “Delicious. Now, we just need Madeleine to give us an encore.”

***

Later that afternoon, I’m back at the office, finishing up some quarterly reports when my cellphone chimes. I pull it from my suit jacket to see a text from Leo.

Perfect. Now for part two of my “master plan.” I close my laptop down and grab my coat off the back of my chair. I exit my office and head down the hall towards the elevator. As I step in and descend towards the lobby, I call up Drake.

“Hey, man. You on your way over?”

“Yep. Just leaving the office. Is she there?”

“She showed up a few minutes ago. You sure this will work?”

I sigh. “I hope so...”

He chuckles. “If not, I guess it’s back to escorts and porn for you.”

That’s my best friend for you. Always busting my balls. In all the years we’ve been friends, he’s never been one to let me sit around and feel sorry for myself. But he’ll always have my back when I need him. “Fuck you, man. I’ll see you in about half an hour.”

He laughs and I hang up the phone. I get into my car and head to my destination. When I pull up outside the building, my nerves start to get the best of me. Snap out of it, Li. You can do this. I inhale deeply and exit the car and make my way inside. I stride down the hallway and stop in front of the door. I take another deep breath and knock twice. A few moments later, it swings open.

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Meghan. Is Hana home?”

She eyes me incredulously. “Yeah. I’ll get her. Just a second.” She steps back and allows me to enter the apartment. I look around as Meghan retreats down the hallway. Pictures of her and Hana line the walls of the living room. I smile to myself. My eyes catch a photo of her and Riley in graduation caps and gowns. This one must have been from their college graduation.

“Liam? What are you doing here?” Hana asks as she enters the room. She’s surprised to see me, but it passes quickly and the shock is replaced with a smile. She walks up and I wrap her up in a hug.

“Hey. Nice place you got here.”

We separate and she gestures me to sit down. “What’s going on? Is everything okay? No offense, but you’re the last person I expected to show up here.”

I nod. “Yeah, everything is fine. I was hoping I could get your help.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Uh...sure. What for?”

I rub the back of my neck. “I heard what happened between you and Riley and I’m sorry that I had a hand in it.”

“It’s not your fault. Riley’s actions were her own. No matter what happened between you and her, it had nothing to do with me.”

“I understand that, but I feel partly responsible. I just want you to know that.”

She nods. “Don’t be. Now, what can I help you with?”

“I need you to help me get Riley back.”

I hear Meghan guffaw from the kitchen. An understandable reaction. Hana looks towards her and frowns, then looks back to me. “You know she and I haven��t spoken in almost a month, right?”

“I do, but I’m hoping to help you out too. I know you guys were super close and this distance has been hard on both of you. Even if I can’t win her back, I want to help you mend your friendship.”

Hana folds her hands in her lap and stares at the floor. We sit in silence for several minutes; I don’t say anything and allow her to gather her thoughts. She finally clears her throat and looks at me. “Okay. What do you need me to do?”

Ten minutes later, Hana, Meghan and I are in my car on our way to the Double Tappe. Hana sits in the front seat, tapping on her phone. Meghan speaks up from the backseat. “Are you sure you want to do this, Hana? She owes you an apology. You don’t owe her anything,” she states, placing a hand on her girlfriend’s shoulder.

Hana covers Meghan’s hand with her own and turns to me. “She’s my best friend. I’ve been kind of stubborn as well through all of this. She’s called me several times over the last month to apologize. I haven’t answered her calls, but the truth is, I miss her. It’s been hard not speaking to her every day. If she’s willing to make up, I am too.”

I smile back at her. Hana is too pure for this world and Riley is lucky to have a friend like her. We pull up outside the Double Tappe and I see Maxwell standing outside, talking on the phone. He looks up and notices us, and a smile spreads across his face. He holds his finger up then wraps up his call.

“Hey, ladies! What brings you here on this fine evening?” he says, wrapping Hana up in a bone-crushing hug. She giggles and tries to wiggle free from his grip. After swinging her around like a ragdoll, he sets her down and grabs Meghan. She squeals as he picks her up, then releases her. I wrap my arm around Hana’s shoulder and the four of us make our way into the Double Tappe.

Drake is the first to see us. He looks up from mixing a drink and waves in our direction. His actions cause the girl at the bar to turn around. There she is. My breath catches in my throat. She looks at me, then at Hana, and her beautiful blue eyes go wide. I watch her as she takes in her best friend. She and Hana stare at each other for several seconds. Meghan gives Hana’s hand a gentle squeeze in encouragement. I can only imagine how they’re both feeling right now. Hana takes a deep breath and makes her way over to Riley. The two talk for a few moments, before making their way to the back of the bar.

I notice the tool I saw in her apartment last week sitting at the bar and my blood boils. Welp, time to audible this plan. I make my way to where he’s sitting at the bar and shake Drake’s hand.

“What can I get you?” he asks me, looking at the tool out of the corner of his eye.

“Give me the Macallan Lalique Single Malt.”

The tool turns to me, eyes bulging out of his skull. “You serve that here?”

Drake smirks. “Only for special occasions.”

The tool looks at Drake, then back at me. “That stuff is like $520 a shot”

“$525,” I reply, reaching in my wallet and tossing a handful of $100 bills on the bar. Drake takes the money and deposits it into the cash register, then hands me my change. I stuff several bills into the tip jar. The tool looks down at his drink, then looks up at me. His shocked expression amuses me.

“Dare I ask how you can afford that?”

I chuckle as I raise the glass to my lips and take a sip. Drake cocks an eyebrow at him. “You have no idea who he is, do you?”

The tool looks over at me, trying to figure out if he knows me. “You look really familiar. Like, I’ve seen you before, but I can’t place it.”

I reach into my suit jacket and retrieve one of my business cards, tossing it on the bar. He picks it up, studying the print. After a few seconds, his eyes widen and he looks back up at me.

“Wait, you’re Liam Rhys? Holy shit, man! You’re the king of this city! I’m Josh. It’s nice to meet you,” he says, extending his hand. I give it a quick shake and force a tight smile, but I cringe internally. Why am I playing nice with Riley’s new piece? He’s just going to be disappointed when I steal his girl back. He starts telling me about his job. I think he says something about being a financial intern for one of my competitors. Note to self: buy them out and fire his ass. I pretend to have an interest in what he says. Drake gives me a confused look from behind the bar, wondering where I’m going with this.

After several excruciating minutes of listening to Josh drone on about gods knows what, I pat him on the shoulder and excuse myself. I notice Hana sitting in one of the booths, with Meghan hovering over the table. I make my way over to them.

“Where’s Riley?”

Meghan nods her head towards the bathrooms. Perfect. I wink at her and make my way down the dimly lit hall. I stand outside the women’s room and wait for her to come out. After what feels like hours, the door swings open.

“Liam? What the hell?”

I stalk towards her and pin her against the back wall placing both hands on either side of her and caging her in. “You’re still with him?”

She glares at me. “Since last week, yeah. What business is it of yours?”

I lean in and inhale her scent. The mix of rose and jasmine makes me want to devour her right here. I run my nose along the base of her neck and she shudders. “You are my business, Riley. Have you slept with him yet?”

She shakes her head. “We’ve only been seeing each other for a couple of weeks.”

Oh, thank gods. “Then why was he shirtless in your apartment?”

She scoffs. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Have you thought about what I said?”

She looks up at me. “Did you figure out who framed me?”

“I did. Come home with me.”

“Liam…” she whispers as I plant soft kisses along her collarbone. She moans softly and grips the lapels of my jacket. My dick instantly hardens. Part of me is hoping the tool ...I’m sorry… Josh comes looking for her and finds us. I drag my lips up her throat and pull her bottom lip between my teeth. She inhales sharply, then pushes me away. “Tell me. Who was it?”

What were we talking about? Oh, yeah. The tabloid leak. “Who do you think it was?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I can’t think of anyone who would hate me enough to do that.”

“It was Madeleine. She found out about us so she had Mara sell it to the gossip mags.” I fill her in on everything Mara told me and Leo and my plans to get Madeleine to confess. Riley’s eyes glimmer with tears.

“W-Why would she do that?”

“Because she’s a hateful bitch. Why else would she try to make me miserable? This was never about you, babe. You were just collateral damage.”

She sniffles and wipes a lone tear away. “I don’t understand. Does she want you back?”

I laugh humorlessly. “No. She just wants the façade of the perfect marriage. She wants to have her cake and eat it too.”

Riley nods. “So, what are you going to do?”

“Well, as soon as I get everything I need from Leo, I’m taking her ass back to court and fighting for primary custody. I’m not letting her hurt my kids ever again. Or you.” I lean in and kiss her forehead.

She sighs. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, for starters, you could say, ‘I’m leaving Dickbag out there for you.’ Then, you could say, ‘Fuck me in the coat closet right now, Liam.’”

She giggles and slaps my chest. “I can’t do that to him. He deserves better.”

I capture her wrist and place a kiss on her palm. “Well, it’s going to be hard to continue dating him when you’re mine.”

She leans in and plants a chaste kiss on my lips. “Let me talk to him first. I owe him that much.”

I sigh and brush a lock of hair from her face. “Fine. But don’t take too long.” I leave her with one last kiss on the lips and stroll down the hallway back towards the bar. Josh is still there, talking Max and Drake’s ears off about something. I pass Hana’s table, where she and Meghan are snuggled inside the booth. “You guys need a ride home?”

Hana looks around then back to me. “No. I think we’re going to hang out for a little while.” Her eyes dart to the left and she rises from the booth, engulfing Riley in a hug. She looks back at me. “Thank you for everything, Liam.”

I give her a warm smile and wave goodbye to Drake and Maxwell as I make my way outside. I check my phone for an update from Leo. Nothing yet, but at least we’re heading in the right direction.

[xlady-saya]

i’ve had a love of my own [ch 2]

Relationships: andrew/neil

Summary: Despite everything Neil could’ve imagined for his life, he never thought he’d be here, finally giving the world the interview they’ve always wanted.

It’s been decades, but even with his numerous accolades and sports wins, he finds that they’re the least important thing about his life.

Neil can’t help but laugh. Andrew would be so annoyed if he were here.

Of course, Neil only wants to talk about him, and the life they spent together.

Tags: interviews, post canon, major character death but not how u think I swear lol, neil is an old man retelling his memories about andrew, cheesy romance, post retirement, see more tags on ao3

Read on ao3!

"What do you remember most about the night you were inducted into the hall of fame?"

Neil's suit collar feels especially tight as he descends from the podium, his body pulling him in one direction and one direction only. The smile on his face feels too tight, but the hoard of smiling faces and applauding hands around him don’t seem to notice. The rabbit instincts, as Andrew would call them, surge up aggressively. Neil hates public appearances like this, especially when the event is partly focused on him. He can only hope his speech wasn't too terrible.

People shout out their congratulations as he passes, but they all blend together like an oil slick meeting water. Pretty on the outside, but otherwise devastating to the fragile nature of his mind. Bright lights above bounce off full champagne glasses, creating a blurry horizon he has to squint at.

Years of public exposure has done nothing for his dislike of crowds, and he chases the feeling of Andrew's protective bubble. Warm, safe, home.

It feels like that one time Nicky dragged him to a party hosted by the baseball team in college, and left him to go hurl his guts out over the side of the house. At a certain point, Neil had been so overwhelmed he had hastily retreated from the drunk mob into the safe haven of the bathroom.

It's an eerily similar feeling, except this time his safe haven comes in the form of Andrew, suave and bored as he leans against the back wall. Much, much better.

Neil nearly trips over his feet in an effort to reach him, but Andrew is always one step ahead. As if sensing Neil's distress, Andrew extends a hand, and Neil refrains from rolling his eyes at the muffled gasp he hears somewhere in the back.

Catching a glimpse of them acting like a couple is akin to seeing a shooting star in the daytime, according to tabloids. In Neil's mind, they all simply don't look hard enough. Sometimes just the way Andrew looks at him makes Neil feel like they should be behind closed doors, with how it radiates off both of them. He's not sure why people don't see it, because surely Andrew's denials aren't believable. He's incredibly affectionate, if all his gifts and gestures say anything. And more than that...

At the end of any given day, if someone checked, Andrew's fingerprints would be all over Neil. Some on the back of his wrist, trickling down his spine and ghosting over his lower back, dotted along his throat.

Skin deep, with heat that travels even farther.

He takes Andrew's hand gratefully, letting himself be pulled in by the relief of that unparalleled shelter.

"You call that a speech, Josten?" Andrew asks, though Neil catches the spark that sets his eyes aflame. Good—Neil missed it. These events sap the energy out of Andrew like a vacuum, and he knows he only puts up with them for Neil's sake. Neil is happy to be a compact little battery when Andrew needs it.

Neil readjusts their hands but doesn't pull away, giving Andrew a small squeeze to pair with his smirk.

"Like you could do better," he snarks, but moves against the wall anyways, shoulder pressed to Andrew's. They've both bulked up from years with the pros, but where Neil will always be somewhat lithe, Andrew is stocky and built like brick. Neil sighs, breathing in the scent of Andrew's cologne and the subtle mint of nicotine gum.

There are still some eyes on them, but people are mostly looking at the next speaker. Neil can't make out Kevin or Thea in the crowd, but that's probably a good thing given what's about to happen. "You didn't even give a speech," he remarks playfully, a hint for Andrew to chase.

Andrew purses his lips, not taking it until Neil leans further into his space. Neil knows he has the advantage here; he's dressed in a fitted suit, personally picked out by Andrew, with blue accents that match their team (and additionally, his eyes). However, that’s not Neil’s biggest advantage, considering he's wearing the watch Andrew bought him for Christmas—the one with a rabbit stamped cleanly into the back of the metal face. 'Now you can't use your dead phone as an excuse,' Andrew had said, but Neil had seen through it.

Neil nudges him cheekily, gesturing to the room full of people.

"Surprised you're even here," Neil adds, feigning shyness in another effort to break through Andrew's (flimsy) blockade.

It works. Neil's not sure if Andrew's gotten softer over time, or if he's gotten better at this. Though he guesses he's the same. There are not many walls left for Andrew to scale on his end either.

"Don't be stupid," Andrew replies, firm and sharp. It sends comfortable shivers down Neil's spine, Andrew’s sternness causing the joke to evaporate. Even the insinuation that he'd miss Neil's crowning achievement...he won't allow it.

Come to think of it, Andrew's probably thought about it more than Neil. Neil worked so hard for this moment, to make a name for himself in the sport he adores. And he's proud of himself, he is, and he deserves to be in the hall of fame with how much he's fought. Yet now that he's actually here, surrounded by people who want nothing more than to sing his praises, all he needs is...

Neil giggles, whispering in quiet Russian. "You're proud of meeee."

Andrew huffs, but Neil powers on. "Admit it or...you know what will happen, don't you?"

"Neil."

"You look really handsome tonight—"

"Neil, I'm serious," Andrew tries, and while Andrew isn't the type to blush, the way his entire body stills might as well be equivalent to a fire. Neil's hand drifts to Andrew's lower back, because casual touches are second nature to them now. Instead of pushing away from the touch, Andrew's back bends for him, and Neil's gives a subtle press.

Truly, this is Neil's favorite tactic, complimenting Andrew. He'd learned in their last year of college that Andrew can't handle it, and the blond can try to say he hates it all he wants. But Neil never hears a 'no,' does he? "I love seeing the way the suit jacket fits over your shoulders. It reminds me of how strong you are. You're my anchor, you know? You always keep me safe, I feel like I can do anything if you're there. I love knowing this is real, that you're here with me and you'd fight to keep us—"

Neil jumps when Andrew turns on him, but his triumphant grin sits firmly in place.

Andrew leans him in to cut him off with a kiss, like he's accustomed to, but that's not something he's willing to give the paparazzi today. He takes Neil's hand again, glancing around. "We're leaving," he says, because he knows that's what Neil really wanted all along. Duh, Neil already knows Andrew is proud of him. "I've had it with this place."

Neil's body sings at the word choice, at the words unspoken: 'but not with you.'

"Mhm," he agrees happily. When Andrew had been inducted into the hall of fame, they'd ditched the ceremony even earlier than this. So it's about time. "What's the plan?"

Andrew doesn't miss a beat. He tilts his head in the direction of the far doors, and Neil zeroes in on them. He'd clocked all the exits when they first arrived from force of habit, so he follows along with Andrew easily. "Reporters are at the west wing entrance, we'll have to sneak out the service entrance past the kitchens. It's handled."

Neil smirks broadly, and lets Andrew lead the way. One advantage to being so short? It's a hell of a lot more efficient to duck down behind people. "Did you already make a deal with the wait staff?"

Andrew's expressions in public are still quite reserved and closed off, but Neil can feel the smug energy radiating off his back as they push through the kitchen doors. None of the staff even bat an eye. In fact, some of them are trying extremely hard to not look at them.

Neil looks at Andrew, brow raised.

"You'd be surprised what a couple autographs can get you," Andrew says, pulling them around a corner to survey the last stretch between them and the outside world. They should be in the clear, but the last thing they want is to run into a security guard or overactive publicist walking through these back hallways. Neil can't contain his excitement though, his leg thumping uncontrollably against the linoleum. Andrew pauses when he notices, and there's that flash of amusement Neil loves so much. "Control yourself, bunny."

"Stop making me wait," Neil shoots back, because he rarely has the opportunity to be this rebellious. As much as he cusses out reporters and fights people on the actual court, he misses the giddy mischief of sneaking around with Andrew. It's like making out on the roof all over again, or trying to be quiet during movie nights with Andrew's hand caressing his thigh.

It's exhilarating, and he can read Andrew's physical cues so well by now. The shift of his feet, the tension in his shoulders...It's like when he's about to block a shot with his bare hands, except this time he pulls Neil down the hall in a sprint.

He knows he's supposed to be quiet, but the best he can do is muffle his laughter with his free hand as he lets Andrew carry them out of the venue.

If Neil bumps into a cart of metal trays, they're long gone before anyone can react to the sound.

--

The Lotus comes to a stop in the empty parking lot of the old football stadium. It's one of their favorite places to escape to, a project the city keeps claiming it will repurpose but never does. The lampposts lining the giant lot still work, but there's not a car in sight, the old building dark and menacing. To Neil, it's just...theirs.

Neil stumbles out of the small car, missing the backseat of the Maserati. He wishes they were driving their new Maz instead, but it's Andrew's signature car, and they knew they'd need to lay low.

Ha. To think they'd be invisible in a car like this.

Again Neil has to right himself, his pants still sitting halfway down his thighs. He's glad Andrew thought ahead with bringing them a change of clothes, but the cramped space isn't the best for changing into jeans. He has a feeling Andrew did that on purpose, forgoing Neil's sweats.

Doesn't help that Neil's legs are jelly for other reasons.

Andrew slides out of the driver’s side with a lot more finesse, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he comes around. Helpless, Neil drops his arms and lets Andrew pull up his pants.

It's the little things.

Neil smiles when Andrew sighs, loading some of his weight on top of Neil. He won't call it a recharge, Neil just knows. Neil plays with the loose strands of hair at Andrew's nape, at peace in the piercing cold, no real landmark in sight apart from the decaying stadium. It's weird; it reminds him a lot of when he and his mother would camp out in abandoned lots. Vantage points from all sides, but the risk of exposure and openness were high too.

Here though, more than ten years later, Neil basks in the vulnerability, because nowhere feels unsafe with Andrew in his arms like this. He lets Andrew sway them back and forth for a bit, and yeah, this is preferable to the sounds of clinking champagne glasses and excessive applause.

His publicist will give him shit for it later, but he wouldn't exactly be Neil Josten if he didn't cause problems.

Neil smiles into the distance, watching the flickering of a nearby lamppost. "The movie starts in an hour," he says eventually, and Andrew nods into Neil's neck once before pulling away. There's no disappointment in his eyes, and he taps Neil's watch to the beat of a song Neil can't place.

Instead, he just zips up Andrew's open fly, smirking at the unimpressed stare he gets. "You're a nuisance."

"I know," Neil says proudly, and watches as Andrew goes back to the driver's side. He looks a lot cozier and harder to recognize now, dressed in Neil's Palmetto hoodie and jeans.

"C'mon, we need to grab food still," Andrew says, and at the reminder, Neil's stomach growls. If they had stayed an hour more at the event they probably would've been fed fancy catered meals, but that would've messed with their Friday tradition of greasy drive in food.

Neil knows they’re showing a double zombie movie feature today, and he does not want to miss it. He straps in just in time for Andrew to hit the gas, and doesn't even speak up about all the traffic laws they break to make it there on time.

--

"How mad do you think Kevin is?" Neil asks when Andrew is passing him his soda. He fits it snuggly in between his thighs, jumping from the cold. It can't be helped; the lone cupholder is reserved for Andrew's milkshake, in danger of overflowing from whipped cream.

Andrew turns back to the cashier at the drive thru, and their eyes are still on the verge of popping out of their sockets. They must be new. The other coworkers regard Andrew and Neil with warm familiarity, a little too used to the two famous athletes rolling up for food their nutritionist would not approve of. Andrew takes their bag from the worker without much acknowledgement of his shock, peeling off before they can so much as stutter a sound of disbelief.

They'll get used to it.

Greedily, Neil digs through the bag.

"I think he expects it by now," Andrew answers, uncaring. His eyes flick to the side when Neil's rummaging pauses, and Neil sends him a suspicious look.

"Two fries," he states, not quite a question, but a confirmation of what he's seeing at the bottom of the bag. Two orders of fries.

Then, in the privacy of their car, Andrew lets his feelings shine through. He rolls his eyes, but the edge of a smile plays on his lips. "Don't act like you don't eat half of mine. I got you your own for once."

A 'hmph' escapes Neil's mouth, and he holds a fry in front of his face. He can't exactly refute Andrew's claims, he is a notorious fry fiend, but...

He doesn't have to like it.

"Aren't I sweet?" Andrew says, mockingly, and Neil hates that the answer is actually yes.

"Salty," he corrects, surrendering to pop the fry into Andrew's mouth.

That's all he's getting from Neil's stash though.

The Lotus roars as Andrew pulls away from the stand and up the nearby hill. Most people at the drive in come early, eager to get spots closer to the screen, but they have a special spot far away from the throng of people. The hill only houses one or two other cars who have the same idea, spaced out far and free to talk or fool around in the backseats.

Neil never pays them any mind; it's hard to give attention to anything that isn't Andrew once the blond actually starts talking, offering theories about the plot or characters on screen he may or may not actually believe.

Neil has a suspicion Andrew just likes giving him more reasons to talk too.

The first movie is older, remastered but still carrying that grainy quality old horror movies have. The colors are subdued, almost rusty, and Neil's fixated by the way the flashes dance on Andrew's skin. Whether it be splotches of red or the ominous sunset, just before the eerie music begins, the scenes reflect in Andrew's golden eyes to the point where Neil can hardly follow the story.

Not that it matters, it's zombies. What more is there to get?

"Are you satisfied with the effects for once?" Andrew drawls, though surely he knows Neil's been staring at him for the last ten minutes. He doesn't put up a fight anymore when it comes to that, instead playing with Neil's salt ridden fingertips and drinking his milkshake.

Smiling, Neil lets his eyes drift to the screen. A show of gore and fake blood has him nodding, not nearly as affronted as he usually is. The woman on screen is a good actress, though movies will never get true anguished screams exactly right.

"Mm, practical ones are better," Neil says, commenting on the lack of CGI. Another good thing about older movies: they had to build the monsters themselves, had to spend a lot more time on the makeup and fake guts. It's slightly more unsettling, considering what Neil has seen and done, but less annoying than the computer generated stuff.

When Neil zones out too long, he feels a fry poke his cheek, and he opens his mouth automatically. Andrew watches him with a small smile. Neil's not sure when Andrew grew more comfortable smiling, but somewhere along the way they both got used to it. It's a subtle, quiet expression on the blond, but that's how Neil likes it. Andrew's personality will never be loud, never cheery like Nicky's or Matt's. But it feels like a secret, something reserved for those that mean a lot to the blond. Neil can never feel anything but pride when he sees it, when Andrew lets himself express a bone deep contentment for those people in his life.

For Neil.

"What is it?" Andrew asks, and Neil waves at the screen, bored with it all of a sudden.

"I'll never understand the point of people who approach the first zombie," he says, and he says this every time. And alright, he knows that's the only way to truly kick off the plot but it always rubs him the wrong way.

"It's not like they know it's a zombie, Neil," Andrew replies, in reference to the next unfortunate victim to approach the zombified man in the park. The zombie had been stumbling around, and the older lady simply couldn't help but ask if the man was alright. Being a good samaritan will get you killed every time.

Neil throws Andrew a look, aware that Andrew isn't so much inviting Neil's rant as much as he's poking it hard with a stick.

"Excuse me, I'm already wary of normal people walking around," Neil points out. And that's justified in his mind, given what he's been through. People are weird and should be avoided unless absolutely necessary. Neil's therapist, who he's begrudgingly getting used to, might not agree but Neil's not quite ready to fully tackle the issue yet. Instead, he gestures to the way the poor lady's face is now being eaten. "I see someone stumbling around like that? I'm not going near them! At minimum you should consider them drunk and violent."

Or at the very least: real fucking annoying.

"I think you have more survival experience than most people," Andrew says, but Neil knows he's not actually defending the character's stupidity. Andrew agrees, and his smile grows when Neil huffs.

For effect, Neil slumps back into his seat, arms crossed. When Andrew tries to reach for his hand, he playfully swats it away, doing his best to not show cracks in the mask he's wearing. It's a skill he learned from his boyfriend, the complete lack of expression. Problem is he can seldom keep it up for longer than a few minutes.

Neil eventually smirks, right on cue, turning over in the passenger seat so his body is facing Andrew. It's not nearly as seductive as he wants it to be, what with the food wrappers and wrinkly clothes, but he knows it's enough to be infuriating. "You think it's hot," he sing songs, and Andrew sighs.

This time, when he reaches out, Neil doesn't refuse the offered hand. On screen, more unassuming citizens are devoured.

The image of the crowd reminds him of the banquet, of his switched off phone that's probably blowing up with questions about where they are. It's another world at this point—the expensive suits, dinner, the rehearsed words.

Here in their car, sitting in the dark in his hoodie with his boyfriend's hand in his, Neil feels far more spoiled. That doesn't mean he's not appreciative though, and the weight of his accomplishment sits warm in his chest, flowing through him to remind him it's not a dream. He's alive, he's here, he's with—

"Yes," Andrew interrupts Neil's train of thought, voice nearly a whisper. "But your downfall is obvious."

That gets Neil's attention, though he does preen from the compliment. "Hm?"

Andrew shifts in his own seat, and for the first time that night, Neil realizes how tired the blond must be. His muscles slump with exhaustion, his eyes blinking away the strain, but it's a good tired, the kind you feel when you can finally relax and sink into your bed. Home. Neil experiences that a lot, when it's the two of them, and the scope of the feeling is only intensified by Andrew's words.

"You'd go back," he reminds Neil, because that's now something that can't be debated. Neil's breathing stutters, and he hears the unspoken words: for me.

It's no surprise that no matter how things change, Andrew's first instinct will be to chip away at something, to present a flaw to protect himself. Neil's not sure he's even aware he's doing it, the need to value himself as something lowly and not worth fighting for.

Neil will keep proving him wrong, time and time again.

"That's not a downfall, that's strengthening my team," Neil quips, and Andrew huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes.

But Neil won't let him get away with that. He picks the buzzing insecurity swarming around Andrew's head right from the air, and crushes it until there's nothing left. At least for the moment; with them it always comes back, they just get better at dealing with it.

"I mean it," Neil says, and it's not him being a shit like back at the banquet. This isn't a barrage of compliments to make Andrew flustered, and from the way the blond stills, he understands that. Neil's tone holds an almost dangerous quality, ready to slash anyone who would dare refute it. It's hollow, haunting; he would've been a much better actor for horror films than the ones in this movie. "Andrew, if you're with me, I can do anything."

That hasn't stopped being true, and he doesn't think it'll ever be the case. He won't ever be without Andrew.

Andrew doesn't tell him to be quiet or stop, just lets the words settle between them and mix with the suspenseful music from the screen. There's a muffled scream below from an open window as soon as the jump scare happens, but neither of them flinch. Andrew's gaze bores into him as the blond shifts in his seat, mirroring Neil's awkward pose.

They're both still so compact though, they make it work. Neil pulls their hands up onto the center console, rubbing the back of Andrew's palm.

"Hey," he says stupidly, after he's been staring too long. Andrew's gaze turns sleepy, gooey, if Neil will be so bold. Andrew doesn't respond to his earlier claim, and Neil knows parts of Andrew's language well enough to know that the silence speaks more towards his agreement than anything.

Andrew may not accept all of it, but he'll hold it close, he'll remember it and chew on it as much as he needs to. That's all Neil can hope for.

"Hi," Andrew whispers back, during a lull in the on screen violence, and Neil scoots as close to him as he can. He doesn't want to miss a single syllable, a breath.

Without much else to say, Neil lets the giddiness from before rise up, finally speaking on it. His smile is too much to smother, but he tries and fails. "We're in the hall of fame together."

In an instant Andrew's smile falls, but it's an obvious show. And he calls Neil dramatic; it's a shared behavior. Neil laughs uncontrollably from it, from the way Andrew shakes his head up at the roof of the car.

"Junkie," he mumbles, because there's not much more to explain.

Or so Andrew thinks. Really it's less about Exy in that moment for Neil. The part that makes him so overjoyed, that pushes him over the edge into bliss...

"I'm proud of you," Neil manages through the laughter, and repeats himself with a few reallys thrown in for good measure. But still, Andrew doesn't get it. Or he does, and he's being a shit on purpose.

"Tonight was about you, you know," the blond tries, tone suffering, but the itch of a smile threatens his blank facade again, and Neil's main job is to poke and prod it out of hiding. It's a fun game, no longer difficult. Not that he ever minded, not that he could mind anything about what makes Andrew...Andrew.

Neil looks up at the ceiling too, as if he can see through it, like he can see far beyond their universe and beyond the cosmos. They're so insignificant, he knows, but funny how these moments never feel swallowed up by the weight of it all. One day though, he supposes they'll fade into that nothingness, and that's why it's such a comfort to him, to know their names will be next to each other in some way beyond gravestones. "I know, but I just like to remind you. Everyone is going to remember you now."

Andrew is one person he doesn't want to ever be forgotten, for how he makes Neil feel...it would be criminal for that to even be a possibility. Neil huffs a laugh; Andrew's more the type to wax poetic, to say sappy bullshit and then try to act like he hasn't. But here Neil is, heart singing.

There will never be a way to leave that feeling behind as evidence, so everyone who ever doubted Andrew will know, but Neil can wish...Neil can dream. He can do whatever he wants.

Andrew tilts his head, his free hand casting itself forward, gesturing to the world beyond the screen, beyond the ends of the planet. "There’s no point in being remembered like that. When we’re gone, we’ll just be gone."

And in some ways, Neil agrees, or at least understands. Legacies only mean so much, can only withstand so much time. There will be other sports heroes, new rookies and players with their own accomplishments, their own time in the spotlight. But that's not what Neil means, not what he believes in. His fame is meaningless, it will wither and die. So will Andrew's. But...but, he's not afraid now to have that spark of want, the need to preserve as much as possible.

Though if he's being honest, and he won't tell Andrew because he's sure to refute it, there will never be as good a goalie. Neil knows that.

Neil grins gently, squeezing Andrew's hand to call his attention back to where it belongs. Andrew listens, always bends for Neil in some way. Andrew extends his free hand across his lap, and in sync, Neil lifts his leg to drape it across the console. Andrew catches his ankle gently, thumb resting in the dip of bone. Neil shivers; he's been treated with such care for years, but it's never easy to fathom all the way. Andrew's hands are weapons, and yet he cradles Neil like glass, like he's not the tainted mess he is under these clothes.

"Normally I would agree, but you’re kind of my loophole," Neil whispers, shrugging in that infuriating way, the one that communicates clearly that nothing Andrew says can convince him otherwise.

Andrew is familiar with it, and is no longer dead set on fighting Neil every step of the way.

"You're ridiculous," the blond says instead, tracing through Neil's jeans, over the memorized lines and scars of his calves. Neil wonders if he likes to do that especially in these moments, to remember Neil is real. He's not going anywhere. "I don't ever know what to do with you."

"Kiss me? That might help," Neil offers, and in the next moment Andrew is meeting him halfway over the console. Neil wasn't even aware he'd shifted so close, but then he's surrounded by just Andrew. There's a hand in his hair, tangling the curls, and his mouth opens for Andrew's like a switch has been pulled. It's automatic, a craving satisfied. Over the years, Andrew's kisses became predictable, the taste of him no longer surprising or laced with desperation. Despite all that, Neil thinks they're even better now.

It's an exhilarating feeling, to know someone so, so well, down to the press of his tongue and the slot of his lips.

Neil sighs when Andrew pulls away, breath hot and eyes lidded, and alright, maybe they're not completely predictable. Neil is always taken aback by how quick his body is reduced to jello, barely keeping himself upright.

It makes him brainless, makes him ramble, so it slips out again. "I want everyone to remember you," Neil breathes into Andrew's mouth, chasing him as he pulls back. Andrew's hand on his chest stops him, Andrew's stare as intense as ever.

It's quiet; Neil has no idea what's going on around him, either with the movie or the crowd. That's unheard of for him, isn't it? But he's not scared, or nervous. Eventually the instinct will come back, the urge to check the locked doors and look behind the car for things lurking in the shadows. But right them, it's just the two of them, wrapped up.

Andrew tugs on his leg, pulling Neil forward until his thighs hit the console, and looks disappointed they can't be glued at the hip. It's cute, but Neil bites his tongue on the comment. Andrew must sense it, because his eyes flash back up to Neil's face, reaching up to cradle it. Neil can predict that trajectory too, the way Andrew's fingers brush the burn marks.

"Idiot," Andrew says. "Only you get to remember me like this."

Damn you, Andrew.

The edges of Andrew's lips quirk up, triumphant in the face of Neil's stunned silence, but Neil refuses to admit he's won. Only...partially.

Neil will hold these moments for himself, close and free from prying eyes. He'll do that for as long as he can, covet them until he can't keep it in anymore. He supposes that's the best compromise either of them could ask for.

The swell of need in his chest intensifies, and he reaches forward to tug on Andrew's sleeve. It feels so dumb; he's allowed to touch more than this, he's allowed to grab and cradle Andrew's skin. But it's too much in the moment, and he tugs again, like he's right back in college.

"Home?" he whispers, unsure. Andrew looks around them, back at the screen and then at the moon hanging high in the sky. Technically, this is a double feature, and it feels almost wrong to pop this bubble around them. Neil's not sure he wants the moment to end either, not even when the credits for the first movie roll and early birds start to peel out of the lot. Headlights ghost over them, but the only move Andrew makes is to lean down and lower his seat all the way.

Neil, smiles, and knows exactly what to do.

They reach a silent agreement as Neil hops into Andrew's seat, fitting snugly against him as the new movie opens up:

No. Not yet.

~

Neil notes with amusement how the reporters sit, slightly more relaxed, like they're not quite ready to let go of their professional personas in favor of pulling their legs up. Soon enough, they'll get there. Neil's barely begun to scratch the surface, and he hopes their matching looks of disbelief will fade too.

Neil puts down his water, throat already aching, but if that's the price he has to pay so be it. He's been feeling extra lethargic today, underwater and tied at the ankles, but it's not enough to dissuade him. Rubbing his throat, he smiles. "We ended up really sore from sitting like that all night, but we didn't regret it," he says. The purr of the Lotus is so loud in his mind he almost expects for someone to roll up to the building in one.

Andrew had driven them extra careful that night.

Blake jots something down in his notepad, skims it, then crosses out something else. A question he no longer needs answered, perhaps. When he looks up, Neil is waiting. "That's where you went? You got a lot of flack for that disappearance."

Oh he did, lots of speculations; a feud with Kevin Day, a PR war, a statement about the sports climate.

Really, he'd just wanted some snuggles.

"I've caused worse scandals," Neil says, brushing it off. Compared to all the other segments he's had in the tabloids and news media over the years, including the reveal of his bloody family business, the hall of fame incident is far from important.

And honestly, Neil doesn't care about any of that. Rayah seems to sense that the sports talk won't get them anywhere, and she offers him a laugh. "Andrew wasn't very social, was he?"

Ah, good. They're learning.

Neil's demeanor changes, happily steered in the direction of Andrew, and he leans back. An understatement.

"Neither of us were," he replies, examining his nail beds. That's not entirely it though, and he knew it then too. He's not sure why he never called Andrew out on it, maybe because it was so obvious he didn't need to. "But...I think in that case he was just trying to protect me. I was tired from all the preparations all week. Even when I was young, Andrew wasn’t really keen on letting me stretch myself to my limits."

In fact, after his freshman year of college, no threats in sight, Andrew's protectiveness was even more apparent. Neil endangering himself was a thing of the past, and Andrew made sure to keep it that way. After Baltimore, Andrew simply wouldn't tolerate it. He was aware of Neil's exhaustion, his fatigue, and while he never babied Neil, he wouldn't stop himself from intervening when he could sense Neil would not.

The stress of the hall of fame ceremony sapped Neil clean of any energy, that final speech pushed him to the edge. So Andrew took his hand, and pulled him away from it.

The two reporters share a look then, and Neil gets that surge of annoyance. Andrew would tell him to calm down, that it doesn't matter, but well...

Andrew isn't here, and Neil can be as angry as he wants when people misinterpret their relationship.

After a while, Rayah clears her throat, cutting the tension. At least she has the decency to treat him with the same respect he's giving them and not lie. Neil was never one for politeness. "I'll be honest, it’s hard to imagine someone like Andrew Minyard being that way. He sounds so gentle when you talk about him."

Though the insinuation was clear: to everyone else, he was the exact opposite.

"He had a lot of sides to him," Neil responds, because it's better than the petty response of well he was. He supposes that's not fair, not to them and not to Andrew. He plays with the watch on his wrist, now a little dated and not nearly as shiny. He's pretty sure the time is off now, so he's still the rabbit, running late.

"He could be so caring, but he never gave up his firmness, or his no bullshit nature. Believe me, if he didn't agree with me, he would've let me know. He had a way of snapping me out of bad decisions...not always kindly," Neil says, still grinning.

"You sound like you didn't mind," Blake says, though the confusion is still clear.

Neil had been deceived and led astray so much in his life, forced to swallow lies and spit them back out. Being with Andrew was so freeing; he never had to worry about those things ever again.

"No, I...I loved that about him," he says quietly. He's having a bad time with words, nothing new there. It's hard to make it sensical without having experienced the relationship first hand. He wishes Dan were here, she's able to convince people of anything. Still, he pushes, he needs to explain this if nothing else. "No one ever bothered to see Andrew beyond the hard exterior. Like you said...you can't see Andrew as gentle. Well, he was seldom anything but around me as we got older. I trusted him not to lie to me, and to take care of me, and I did the same in return."

He realizes his voice is taking on a desperate quality, but he can't help it. He could fill books with anecdotes, times where Andrew held him close or was just an absolute pillar of comfort. Try as he might today, he knows he'll never say enough.

People will still remember Andrew primarily as an unfeeling ghost, as the person who punched other players or was quick to anger, though that was far from the truth. Unless Neil makes his case here, that'll never go away.

"It's not that either of you ever provided proof," Blake says, and flinches at Neil's glare. It's a fiery thing, he hasn't used it in a while, but he assumes it's still just as acidic from how guilty the reporter looks. He stutters, and backtracks as best he can. "And based on what you said, I totally get why! It's just—"

Rayah, who is far better at making a case for the public's idiocy, is quick to lean forward. "There were only a few moments people ever saw him act like he cared as much as you say," she tells him, and it's followed by a wince. "One of them...wasn't exactly happy."

Oh.

In an instant, Neil knows exactly what they mean. It was all over the place, wasn't it?

He almost forgets that; he was too busy drowning in his own terror. It was over forty years ago and yet the memory is so strong, the same pain shoots up Neil's legs. The nausea is faint, a reminder of how unbearable and sleepless the following few nights were. He remembers a sickening crack and the shout of people, the flash of cameras.

And Andrew.

Always Andrew, running towards him.

Yes, he supposes it's hard to challenge that moment between them, to categorize Andrew's actions as anything other than fierce protectiveness and worry. Yet when Neil thinks of that incident...what the public saw barely scratched the surface.

He can still feel Andrew's hands digging into his shoulders, can hear the slow footsteps walking into their home...

The room is quiet for a beat too long, and Rayah and Blake exchange a look. It's Blake that eventually clears his throat, and Neil regards him slowly, trying to shake off the beast of a memory.

It's over, it passed. But...it was important, so...

"Are we allowed to ask about that day?" Blake asks, voice small and gauging Neil's reaction.

He sighs; he can't exactly avoid it. There's lots more stories to tell after the fact that won't feel the same without the context, but there will be some conditions.

Neil nods once, tightly. He spreads it out in his head, and an old beat of paranoia surges up in him. Stupid. He's not that dangerous anymore, no one is watching him, no one is looking for him. But it has him looking at the door anyways, wondering if the room is bugged or lined with cameras he can't see. Well, he'll just be careful.

He flattens his hands across the blanket, chewing on his words. "I suppose it would be a disservice to what I'm trying to do if I didn't talk about it," Neil answers, gesturing to Rayah. "Go ahead."

Neil braces himself before taking the plunge, and gets lost in his past once again.

"The day you were injured, what was it like?"

[precuredaily]

Precure Day 161

Episode: Yes! Precure 5 13 - “Rin-chan Decides on a Club!” Date watched: 30 November 2019 Original air date: 29 April 2007 Screenshots: https://imgur.com/a/Skj7Avo Project info and master list of posts: http://tinyurl.com/PCDabout

Judo, track, volleyball, tennis, kendo, and basketball are all vying for Rin’s skills...but her heart lies elsewhere

There are three very important things in life to Rin: her family, her friends, and sports. In this episode, we get to see 1 and 3 come into conflict within her, and she struggles between her passion and her responsibilities. It’s a great episode.

The Plot

Rin is playing futsal, a small-team, small field variant of soccer, with four other students from the school. They don’t have enough players to make a proper club, and Rin can only play sometimes because she frequently has to babysit her twin siblings, Yuu and Ai.

Yuu on the left, Ai on the right

In fact, Rin helps out at a lot of sports clubs, but can’t join any of them because of her time constraints. The school’s sports festival is coming up and naturally, everyone wants her on their team. Last year she actually was able to compete in all the events, because they were spread out across a few days, but this year they’re going to be all at once to save time, so Rin has to choose a team to play for, and of course all of them are trying to get her. Complicating the matter, the sports festival is the day that the futsal team has scheduled their first proper match, which they can only do with five people, so they really need Rin’s participation. Even Mika won’t leave her alone, trying to find out what team she’s going to join so she can report it to the paper. However, Rin can’t answer, and instead runs off campus after school to practice with the futsal players, which Mika finds suspicious. As she gets to the field, she overhears the team members talking about how they’re out of luck without her, and she feels bad.

The next day, she talks about her conundrum with her friends. Nozomi says she can take care of the kids so Rin can join a proper team, but she already tries to do that and fails, so Rin isn’t confident in her. All four of the other girls try taking care of Yuu and Ai together, but the twins still manage to capture Coco and Nuts, which the two fairies are none too pleased about. While Nozomi and Urara plead with them to give the mascots back, Rin has a heart-to-heart with Karen and Komachi about what to do. They suggest that now might be the best time to pick one team and stick with it, especially since she seems to really enjoy the futsal team. She’s still worried that nobody but her can handle Yuu and Ai when her mother isn’t around, however.

Before she can make a decision, the soccer ball the kids are playing with gets kicked out of the field, and it bumps into Gamao, who has taken up a job as a janitor at the park instead of working for Nightmare. Public service has done nothing for his attitude, and when the kids ask him to return the ball, he hurls it at them at high speed, nearly knocking them out if Rin hadn’t caught it in the nick of time. Now the girls are all upset and they tell the kids to go play on the other side of the park for a while, while they contend with Gamao. Rin is naturally angry that he tried to hurt her siblings, and she tries to attack him, but he turns a Pinky into a Kowaina. The other four transform and deal with it while Rouge fights Gamao. She is absolutely furious at him for threatening her family and she unloads on him. If he weren’t such an awful person I’d almost feel sorry for him. As before, the girls manage to break the mask off the Kowaina without hurting the Pinky, while Rouge threatens Gamao until he retreats.

As night falls, the girls all sit down and Rin admits that she doesn’t think she’ll be able to help the futsal team. At that moment, Yuu and Ai walk up and promise to behave and be good so she can join the team, because they love her and want her to be able to have fun sometimes. At that exact moment, Mika appears and forcefully asks Rin if that’s her final decision. The twins answer that their sister will DEFINITELY win, and Mika takes that for confirmation, snaps a quick picture of a startled Rin, and runs off to write about how the school’s star sports player has decided to join the futsal team. Rin playfully chides the children but it’s clear that, despite her exasperation, she’s happy with this outcome.

The Analysis

Rin’s struggle between doing what she wants (playing sports) and having to watch over her little siblings probably hits close to home for a lot of people. When you’re the older sibling, oftentimes your job is to watch after the younger members of the family when your parents can’t, and that can interfere with your own personal life. Rin was ready to sacrifice doing what she loved in order to take care of her siblings, and that is beautifully tragic. The show gives this struggle its proper diligence, fully showing both the desperate need for someone to look after Yuu and Ai as well as Rin’s love for soccer, and how much the other sports teams are coming after her. It’s a difficult balance, and the writers deftly showed this with a mix of humor and age-appropriate gravity.

Also, purely from the standpoint of trying to choose a sports team to join, the small futsal team is the obvious choice for Rin. We’re told she helps with all the others, but none of them need her the same way the futsal team does. If she joins them, they have just enough members to play against other teams and form a proper club. If she picks one of the established clubs, they get an ace in the hole, but they aren’t lost without her. This is driven home by the added detail that her flashbacks are the only time we see her actually participating in these sports, while she actively plays futsal at the beginning. It was never really a matter of which sport she’d choose, only if she would commit. The illusion of choice that the writers presented her with is transparent, but intentionally so. They’re only trying to make you feel invested in the underdog.

Now, let’s discuss Rin’s family, and the lengths she goes for them. This is the first time we’ve actually seen her home, her mom, or her siblings (It might even be the first time we learn that she has siblings, I honestly don’t recall). Yuu and Ai are introduced as rambunctious twins whose favorite activity is stirring up trouble. Nozomi can’t control them, Rin has to shout to get them to settle down, they are a handful.

However, they love Rin a lot and they understand, to a degree, that certain things are precious to her. They’re upset when Gamao is being mean to them and to Rin, and they want Rin to be able to play sports without worrying about them. Similarly, Rin loves her little siblings and wants to protect them from danger. When Gamao acts like he’s going to hurl the soccer ball at them, she jumps in and takes an astonishingly hard throw, before getting righteously upset at his threats against her family. Rule 1 of Precure: never piss off the big sister, it will not end well for you.

The flurry of punches she unleashes on Gamao rivals Cure Black’s ruthless attack on Gekidrago way back in FWPC 11, for similar reasons. I love it, we know Rin represents passion, and this is the culmination of a threat against two of her passions combined: her family and her hobbies. You don’t mess with that.

as Gamao learned the hard way

If there’s a downside to this episode, it’s entirely conditional, and that’s that I don’t believe we ever see Rin with the futsal club again, or see how her siblings are taken care of. I am happy to be proven wrong, since I’m sure there’s a lot about these shows I have forgotten over time. We’ll see.

Other high points: Mika is a good source of comic relief, as always, and this time she’s at least reporting on something actually sort of newsworthy, and not Nuts. I hadn’t realized that she recurred quite so frequently, she’s been in every episode bar one since her debut. She’s a good investigator and if she wasn’t so easily distracted, she could probably be a valuable asset.... or a major obstacle to the girls, either way. As it is, she’s a tabloid reporter, and she gets laughs for that.

I appreciate the gradual shifting from day to night on the day of the fight. It’s a minor bit of continuity that really shows that they cared, and demonstrates how long Rin was anguishing over the decision.

Next time, Karen struggles with club budgets, and learns a surprising secret about Otaka-san. Look forward to it!

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 1 Kettei!

[megalony]

Detox

This is a new Roger Taylor series that I will be working on which I hope everyone enjoys.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac

Warning: Mentions of drug use.

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roger took one glance at the paper that the boys were passing around before throwing it back onto Miami's desk where it had been when they had entered their manager's office. Leaning back, the drummer slouched into the sofa as if his limbs had turned to jelly, his arms folding over his chest as he looked unimpressed as opposed to embarrassed.

He tried to ignore the looks he was getting from John and Brian but it wasn't working. He could see the worry in John's eyes out the corner of his vision and he could feel the confusion radiating off of the guitarist like heat waves. Roger didn't want their sympathy, nor did he want their worry or concern because he didn't need it. Freddie seemed to be the only one masking his emotions with a neutral expression that the drummer was thankful for.

"Why are you showing this? You think I don't know what shit they write about me?" Roger barked, his head lifting so he could look at Miami, his eyes hidden by the raven black sunglasses sitting on his nose. He didn't need their manager to show him the tabloids and front covers of every magazine to know that there were quite a few articles out this week about him. There was always one paper somewhere in London or America that was describing how the band was outlandish, stupid, risky or how one of them had done something wrong. It didn't matter what their music sounded like, it mattered about their image that the world was trying to tarnish.

Roger knew he wasn't perfect, far from it. But he wasn't trying to be perfect and he wasn't putting on a show for the media. He was himself and he had flaws, if they decide to pick on those flaws and show them to the world Roger couldn't stop them, he simply found it petty and stupid to try and do that. People liked his music and went to his shows, they didn't need to know his life to enjoy his music and if they didn't like him then no one forced them to listen to the music he produced.

"There problems with this Roger and we can't ignore them. One is that the media have a picture of you high on drugs, they have confirmation that you took drugs. I don't care what you do in your own time but this was after a concert, if you do this then there are repercussions. People aren't likely to go to a show where the act does heroin backstage." Miami responded, his head cocked to the side as Roger looked down to his lap for a moment.

Roger didn't know how the media found out because they had no paparazzi backstage at any of their concerts. If a show was recorded then it was by a Queen production, they listened when someone said to stop recording them and Roger took the drugs in his dressing room on his own. But someone had snapped a picture of him later on and it was quite clear he was higher than a kite. But he didn't know how they knew what drugs he had taken. The band knew he was on drugs, (Y/n) knew he was on drugs, hell even Miami had known before now that Roger was doing something before now.

The boys and (Y/n) had tried to stop him. They tried to tell him that it wasn't what he needed and the amount he was doing wasn't going to be good for his health but Roger shrugged off their worries. It was his life and he had his reasons, they weren't going to change his mind but it didn't stop them from trying. Miami had ignored the problem until now because although the band respected him, he was never going to stop them from doing what they wanted.

"The other problem with this is that you're doing drugs in public and whilst your working. You do them at the studio, you take them at concerts and now the media have proof of that. I know none of you care about your image but the fact is that other people do. The studio in London won't take you if you do drugs Roger and we can't have you high at a concert. You either get clean or you do drugs in your own time."

The managers of the studios that the band used wouldn't let them back in if they knew Roger was high when he was working and that was understandable. But people would be less likely to go to a concert if Roger was high and more to the point he wouldn't be allowed on stage. He had to either get clean or get his drug use under control or else the band was going to have problems very soon. Now that the media had confirmation of this instead of simple rumours they could be more damaging than they had ever been before. People in any industry didn't last much longer if they were found to be doing drugs or being abusive or having any brushes with the law.

In some instances it didn't matter as much, such as parties. Drugs were a normality in high-end parties that Queen often attended so no cares were given if one or even all of them did drugs at a party. But this wasn't about a party, it was about one of their own shows.

"Alright, it was one fucking concert anyway. I'll curb it down, don't worry." Roger held his hands up in defence. They all knew he had never done that at a concert before but last week he had been desperate. He normally did drugs in his own time and certainly not when he was in public. sure, sometimes he would go out when he was rather stoned but he wouldn't take his drugs where people could see or find out. He had his reasons to take them, he wasn't doing this for fun or to intentionally ruin their image.

"Curb it down?" John repeated with a scoff, leaning forward in his chair so he could see the drummer who was sitting on the sofa next to Freddie. John raised his brows as he felt like screaming. Roger wasn't even going to attempt to get clean, he was just going to 'tone down' his intake. "Rog, are you that addicted you can't even try and clean yourself up?"

"No Deaky, I can't. I've been on three different painkillers and the doctor won't give me any higher meds in case 'I get addicted'. Heroin and the other shit I take is the only thing that works because it's just like pain meds anyway. What do you want, me stoned every day or me calming it down because I can't not take something for the pain." Roger pushed himself up so he was sitting straight instead of slouching. Leaning over Freddie to see the bassist who looked the rather bad kind of surprised.

Roger had been in a car accident six months ago and it had damaged his left arm and his back. He had a nerve very close to his spine that had been damaged and was now making everyday hell for the drummer. The doctor had given Roger different prescriptions but they weren't enough, the amounts weren't even close to taking the pain away and being a drummer was demanding. He had to constantly twist and turn and move to clash the cymbals, the snare drums, the bass drum, every drum was scattered around him and he had to twist side to side to reach them all. His left arm was beginning to feel easier and better so that wasn't the problem.

Someone at one of the parties to celebrate one of the shows going well had offered Roger some drugs and he needed something so badly to take away the pain. It wasn't the drug that was addictive, it was the lack of pain. It was how much Roger felt like himself and how he felt able to walk and twist and even run with no pain because the drugs were dulling everything in his system. Heroin was very similar to certain high-class prescription drugs that were addictive, one of the reasons his doctor wouldn't prescribe him them. The drugs worked for Roger, they took away the pain and let him have his life back.

Last week at the concert he had needed a high to stop his back from screaming. The concert was over two hours long and it took a lot of energy and movement, there was no way Roger could have gone through that with his back and nothing to take the edge off.

"You're stoned now, aren't you?"

Before Roger could even respond to that, Brian had reached over and taken the glasses from his eyes. Roger wasn't shifting uncomfortably in pain, he wasn't in tears from his back and he wasn't sitting in one position like he sometimes would when the pain got worse. His eyes were red and his pupils were blown wide.

"You can't carry on like this, let us help you." Brian wouldn't interfere if Roger was taking drugs now and again. If it was recreational it would be different, Roger would be taking them for fun or for the high because he liked it. If he took them every so often when his back pain got worse Brian might be able to understand because it would be a little easier on Roger. But he was taking something nearly every day because he wanted to be without pain and if he even tried to get clean he would be bombarded with pain that he didn't want to face.

They could get him into rehab, they could take him to the doctor and start him detoxing so he could slowly get himself off the drugs and start taking something else as a replacement. They could try and get the doctor to give him stronger meds when he was off the heroin. The band would do anything and everything in their power to help Roger because he was their family and they couldn't let him suffer. But taking the drugs was only going to make him even more dependant on them than he was now and that was never going to have a happy ending.

One day Roger would end up taking too much because either the pain was getting worse or he was relying on it and one small burst of pain from any injury would make him take more heroin. He could overdose and ruin his system or he could overdose and then go take more heroin and kill himself. Either way, Roger wasn't on a path that would lead somewhere good and they needed to get him back on the right track.

"Can you fix this?"

Pushing himself to his feet, Roger tried to keep the tears out of his eyes as he unbuttoned his shirt before throwing it to the floor. Turning at an angle to each band member could look at his back.

All three of them stayed quiet, eyes blown wide as if they had suddenly become as high as Roger was right now. No one even dared to breathe as they looked at the damage. Roger had a scar littering the middle of his back directly over his spine from his operation after the car crash. But there was clear swelling along the middle and lower part of his spine which was beginning to bruise and he was bleeding under the surface of his skin. Not to mention the internal damage they couldn't see like his nerve damage or the shredded muscle he had which had to have part of it removed.

Leaning around, Miami caught a glance of the problem which caused his expression to fall. His head shaking as he got to his feet, clearly going to leave the room either to give them space or talk to someone.

"Take him to hospital, that needs sorting now." Miami pointed to the damage on Roger's back before he left the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Managing to force his eyes open, Roger tilted his head up, locking his eyes onto (Y/n) who was standing at his side. Thousands of tears had flushed his features and were still continuing to well in his eyes that were red raw from the saltwater distorting his vision.

The boys had called (Y/n) before they had driven Roger down to the hospital to get checked over. That had been this morning and now it was seven in the evening. The swelling on Roger's back was close to pressing on his spine and if that happened his damaged nerves would have added pressure and it could cause temporary or even permanent paralysis. But they couldn't find out what was wrong whilst he was high on drugs, they needed his system to be clear so they knew what symptoms he was having and to start tests and scans of his spine.

The drugs were slowly wearing from his system but it wasn't happening fast enough and it would take a few days to detox Roger in the normal way. He was already starting to go through the withdrawal symptoms. His body was spiking a fever, his head was splitting at the seams and the pain was back to his shaking system. He couldn't lie on his back because it applied pressure to the swelling and made everything more unbearable for him.

An idea had come up that they could put Roger into an induced coma and flush his system so all drugs and medications would be swept out of his body in a matter of twelve hours. That was ideal in order to get Roger clean and start the tests to get him better but it came with risks. Roger could deteriorate in that time, his heart could get damaged or stop and it would be worse when he came back around. He wouldn't be able to take heroin again because detoxing made his body less tolerable to the drug so a small amount could cause an overdose.

But Roger needed to do this.

Part of him wanted to do this, he wanted to get clean now and not have to go through the whole detoxing process and the withdrawal symptoms such as throwing up, fever, feeling drowsy and the unbearable pain. It would be so much easier and he could be clean like everyone wanted. But the other part of him knew that if he did this then he was condemning himself to pain. He would have to beg his doctor for a higher prescription and he would have to deal with the agony his back caused him because he couldn't take heroin again without the risk of overdosing from a small amount.

"I can't... i-it's gonna hurt worse." Roger whimpered the words as he felt himself beginning to shake. His hand tightened around (Y/n)'s as she bit down on her lip to stop herself from bursting into tears. This wasn't his fault, he was in agony and he was still going to be in agony once this was over. There was no winning for Roger.

"Sshh, they'll put you on morphine when you come back around after this. And the doctor will give you a prescription, they won't let you leave if you're not okay or are in too much pain, sweetheart." (Y/n) bent down so she was level with Roger, her free hand brushing through his hair as she brought his knuckles to her lips. Trying her best to calm him down but nothing she could say would make this easier for Roger.

A choked sound resembling a morphed scream left Roger's lips as his knees jolted, pushing up towards his stomach as he contorted his body into a C shape to try and take away the pain that was now shooting up his back. It was the raw pain he was first met with after the crash, the pain that the doctors had ignored and refused to treat with the higher meds that Roger clearly needed. Both his hands wrapped around one of (Y/n)'s to the point he was cutting off her circulation as he brought her hand to his chest, trying to distract himself but it wasn't working.

"M-make it stop." Roger spat the words as if they were a vile taste on his tongue that he wanted rid of.

His words were the confirmation that the doctor standing behind him needed to push the medication into the IV drip going into the vein on his right arm at the crease of his elbow. The medication that took only seconds to work and effectively turn Roger's brain off until morning.

The feeling of his brain turning off was one that Roger had never experienced before but it was not one that he would recommend. It was like remembering and feeling the exact moment you went to sleep at night when normally you remembered your head hitting the pillow and thinking for a while, but you never remembered exactly when you drifted to sleep. Roger knew one thing for certain as he started to feel the pain disappearing. He knew that he wasn't giving up the heroin for nothing. He had gone through six months of suffering and taking drugs to make the pain go away. If Roger couldn't have something to take that pain away if it persisted, he would rather die than go another day with the pain they had refused to take away before.