#finally got the latest signed print today

[keyyu]

I’m warm, I’m friendly, I think about Beetlejuice the musical only a normal amount

[firstsprinces]

Thank you @anincompletelist for the tag this week! I can't wait for more of the dom!Henry/Alex you've got us begging for! I've been purposely saving the rest of bridesmaids so I can read it all in one go, and partially because I'm not ready to say goodbye to them yet!

We’re so close to this WIP finally being posted! This may be the last preview you'll get from this chapter. Below the cut, you'll also get a bonus share of this fic's title.

The radio announcer’s voice comes back in, breaking up in between his words as the signal Henry’s found seems to weaken, “if you are planning any kind of travel for this weekend, the Deputy Sheriff advises everyone to be cautious as the ‘Boxcar Bandit’ moves his way closer to our city. Policemen have begun to post these signs in businesses as well as passing around a sketch of what this twisted man may look like from an eyewitness who described him after spotting a suspicious-looking person rummaging through his pigs' feeding troughs late at night.” At the mention of the wanted poster, Henry twists around to reach into the pocket of his coat where he’d placed the paper the policeman had given him at the train station. He quickly unfolds it in excitement because he’ll finally have an idea about what the notorious outlaw may look like. When he opens the paper’s final fold, his eyes are met with the large bold letters spelling out ‘WANTED’ with a picture of a man wearing a black cowboy hat and a kerchief that covers everything but his eyes. Dark brows are furrowed on top of filled-in eyes, making him look deranged. Henry studies the way the man’s expression has been drawn because how could a witness describe the angry look in his eyes if he never approached him, especially if his face is covered and it had been dark outside? Henry wonders if this sketch will also be printed in the Western Observer, or if it already has been included in today’s edition. Surely, they must have because this is the biggest news story to hit the city since the railroad workers’ strike during the last war. Nobody’s going to bother with reading Henry’s column about the church’s fundraiser and bake sale when they can read the exhilarating update about the outlaw from the Southwest. He doesn’t blame anyone for wanting to skip his piece because it doesn’t compare to the increased fear about this criminal that could be heading their way. Henry doesn’t want to be a columnist anyway, but at the time it had been the only job available for the paper once he’d been granted entry into American territory. One day he hopes that he’ll be able to impress his boss enough so he can become a featured journalist and write and report on more newsworthy material that giving his short personal thoughts on things happening in the city or the surrounding farmlands. He doesn’t necessarily wish to be a reporter on politics and international affairs – partly because he has come to America from a different country and he will not tarnish his homeland just to please other people. He wants to travel and write about all the places he’s been, or maybe become an investigative journalist – just something with a sense of adventure.

Here’s the bonus share of the inspiration board with the fic’s title! I’m aiming for this week, or Monday at the latest to start!! If you'd like to be tagged when I publish his to AO3, let me know!

I know you've been tagged alreadt @priincebutt but you're also someone who always tags me and I also always appreciate when you do! This tag is always open and I will be checking in with everyone's posts shortly!

[spaciousreasoning]

Solo Walk & Hot Tubbing

My blood sugar was down two points this morning, to 163. After our coffee and brain games, I printed out the residual distribution letter about the funds we received from the parents’ estate. My brother Thaddeus needed a copy and neither he nor sister Deborah had a working printer. A notarized version of the document had been requested by the Virginia Commerce Department. I sent it to Thaddeus to be signed and notarized and included a stamped envelope so he could send it on to Deborah.

Then I went for a walk while Nancy stayed home to rest her back. I walked from the Mills Race Path’s Jasper Road Trailhead to the Middle Fork Path and west to the Quarry Creek Picnic Area and back, a total of about 3.5 miles. The last quarter mile or so to the picnic area was the only bit of the Middle Fork Path we had not yet covered.

I stopped on the way home to get spinach and onion for the spinach lentil curry we’re making today for tomorrow’s lunch with Nancy’s siblings, Robin and Joan.

Once I got home, we fixed breakfast sandwiches for lunch, then napped and then showered. After the nap, Nancy started preparing the spinach lentil curry by soaking the lentils. She had already done some dusting and straightening while I was out walking, so then I vacuumed the living room rugs and other rugs.

After getting all that done, we sat down at the computer to submit Nancy’s medical records request via the old healthcare agency’s web form. It took a while to figure it out, since it had been several weeks since I did it for myself, but we finally got through it. Our appointments with the new PCP are a week from Friday.

Due to the pain Nancy has experienced during some of our walks, she ordered new walking shoes and a back support from Amazon. They both arrived today, and while she did not try them out with a walk, she does like how they both feel.

On Monday, during our walk through the area of Eugene where the river path merges with city streets, we passed a place that provided hot tub rentals. After checking out their website, I called on Tuesday and made an appointment for this evening at 7:45 p.m. It was a nice facility and we left feeling relaxed and refreshed. On the way out we took a frequent user card, which gives us one free session after ten paid sessions. We will definitely be returning.

One we got home, we watched Colbert interviewing Supreme Court Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson and followed that up with the latest episode of “Bad Monkey.” I wish more of Carl Hiaasen’s novels had been adapted for streaming series.

[kinetic-elaboration]

January 9: Storms

Another brutal day today. I have yet again barely gotten any of my backlog of work done. This doesn’t really worry me personally but I’m a little paranoid about it because my supervisor noticed the number of carts I’m hoarding today… I wasn’t sure if there was an implied ‘don’t’ in there but in my defense one major distraction from work has been listening to her emotional rants about old admin issues that have come up in the wake of our co-worker’s passing, and another has been moving my office, something I did not ask to do right now but nevertheless completed in half the time I was given. That move is officially done, except for the ‘unpacking’ portion. I finished up this morning with the moving of my last essential supplies and all my various printers and electronics. I think it’s going to be a bit of an adjustment: the views are different, the desk sections are a little different, subtly so, but I’m not quite in the same part of the desk that I’m used to… but I also haven’t had much time there.

I’m trying, with mixed success, to keep things in perspective this year. S was yet again impatient to move the fucking filing cabinet. I had planned to move my shit at 10:00 or 10:30 and at 9:45 he comes in and suddenly he just NEEDS to move the cabinet RIGHT NOW. So of course it HAD to be moved in 2 sessions, because he had nowhere to put it but if he had just waited literally an hour he could have moved it in 1. I realize this is a him problem but I just hate this sense of being squeezed, being pressured. Especially, especially, especially, for literally no reason. I just hate when we insist on doing things the hard way when we could do them the easy way.

Anyway, I tried to do some processing, and I also did a lot of just running around, answering questions, keeping up with the latest news about the memorial and remembrance plans… My supervisor is going to be a pallbearer at the service and she mentioned that she had been wondering if she should give my name instead… I do not feel emotionally resilient enough to be in front of people while grieving but I actually did appreciate that she had thought of me as a library representative. There were multiple discussions, in person and on Teams, about all of this, which is understandable, but just a little overwhelming. I also spent about an hour looking through old library photos for pictures of her that could be used as part of the service or memorial. That was fun and also… felt right, but it was tough to think, like, I can’t ask her about this, I didn’t know about that. I felt like I knew her well but there was so much I didn’t know. It’s also sad to see all these old print photos and to think… we don’t document things as well anymore. We don’t do as many events but we also just don’t take photos, especially not communal photos and especially not physical photos. Truly a sign of a world going downhill.

Finally, I settled in to listen to some loud music on my headphones and process books, when my supervisor asked if I was going home early. I asked if she meant for weather or emotional reasons. She said there had been an email about the university “granting liberal leave policies” because of the storm (which had already closed all the local k-12s and daycares)—which is another way of saying the university wants us off their property but we have to use our own leave to do it because they’re pussies who won’t just close the school. I decided to leave early, but I hadn’t eaten lunch yet, so it was maybe a bad idea. Maybe I should have stayed an hour later and left an hour earlier. I would have gotten home before dark still and otherwise been better off. It was very rainy on my way to the bus, windy but without rain on my way to my apartment. But the rain picked up again later and we had a tornado warning. I got home and ate a late lunch, then sat around waiting for my timesheet to be opened back up again. When it wasn’t by six, I gave up and took a nap.

The nap was good in a I-am-in-a-cocoon-where-I-belong way. It was hard to pull myself out. Then I had to warm up again slowly. I eventually scrounged up some stuff for dinner. I still haven’t taken a shower. I still need to do that, pack up a couple things in my bag for tomorrow, and work on my drawer fic, which I’ve worked on every day since the 2nd, which means it’s a streak I rather care about keeping up. I also actively look forward to it. It’s a good way to finish my day.

I really need tomorrow to be easier. I need the work day to be quieter. I need to feel productive. I need to come home and have a normal evening and follow the new routine I’m trying to establish, or re-establish really, for 2024. I need to get some proper rest. I understand it’s okay to be miserable now; it’s appropriate to be sad. But I just worry that I can’t sustain too many days in a row like the last couple—that’s how brutal they’ve been. I’m afraid I’ll start crying at work or be unable to get out of bed in the morning or trip on the sidewalk and break my ankle, or some other kind of ‘it’s quite all of a sudden too MUCH’ moment. I’m just trying to stave that off from happening.

[roseverdict]

GF x Venom (Movie) AU (beta edition)

so the gf server has come up with a venom au, and while i was writing in between calls at work, the au went in a different direction from what i was thinking. it's still EXCELLENT and i'll prolly write some of that at some point but HERE'S THE SNIPPET I WROTE TODAY >:D

disclaimer: my venom knowledge consists of

what i've picked up from tumblr

what i've learned since we all collectively went feral over symbiote gravity falls

what's stuck with me after watching the movie for the first time last night at 12 AM

so any inconsistencies in venom lore can be blamed on that sodhaodnskdjskd

have fun figuring out who the symbiotes are!!!

〜

(setting: stan still came when he got the postcard, but bill made his move between "ford sending the postcard" and "stan arriving in gravity falls." instead of ford's cabin in the woods, ford has an Entire Laboratory at this point out in the woods (separate from his house- no ABW here!!!) and THAT'S where things go south. stan showed up at ford's house and, when nobody was home for days at a time, he decided to try and explore the town. however, doing that takes Money, and Money is something he does not have, hence signing up for symbiosis.)

(this scene: stan's volunteered for symbiosis. maybe he's unaware that the whole symbiosis thing is ford's idea (and by ford's i mean bord's)? and bord isn't there to oversee his attempt at symbiosis so this means stan doesn't see ford('s body) standing there and go HEY WHAT THE F U C K)

〜

Stan swallowed as the door locked behind him. "Hey, uh…This is safe, right?"

The speakers crackled.

"That's what we're here to find out." One of the scientists replied.

That…was not encouraging.

Stan didn't say so out loud, however. Part of the reason was because if he started chickening out, he was worried they'd tell him to just leave.

The other part was because he was too busy staring at the roiling, bubbling mass in the center of the room.

Navy blue and a magenta so deep it was purple tumbled over each other as the whatever-it-was approached him.

Stan's blood froze.

He couldn't move.

He couldn't look away.

He couldn't run.

He couldn't do anything.

The mass of blue and purple rolled up against his ratty boots, then began climbing up and up his pant leg until finally reaching his chest.

Stan managed a high-pitched, hysterical chuckle, staring at the thing with wide eyes. "Uh, hello."

And then-

-his nerves lit on fire.

Stan couldn't hold back a scream as he stumbled back against the glass, but the pain was already subsiding.

The thing had vanished.

Somehow, Stan knew it wasn't gone.

STAN.

Stan screamed again and stumbled back. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

〜

The next thing Stan knew, he tumbled to the ground as if he'd just been tossed in a prison cell. He cracked a bleary eye open and glanced behind him, but the probably-not-actually-glass door had already sealed itself.

Just perfect.

Stan groaned and rolled onto his back. This was what he got for not reading the fine print.

There was an overwhelming urge to get to his feet, so that's what he did.

He blinked. What the-?

His feet led him in pacing circles around the tiny room.

Normally, he would've done rounds through his latest prison cell anyway, looking for any weaknesses he could exploit to escape. It was what he'd done every other time he'd been jailed, and he'd had no intention of stopping just because it was a science prison.

The fact that his feet had started moving without any input from him, however, snapped him back to full awareness in a blink.

His stomach rumbled.

He had to get out of here.

Heavy footsteps came down the hall outside, and Stan threw himself into the far corner, hiding his face from the window…though he wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe he was still half-asleep and figured he could pretend to be a basket case until he escaped?

Stan didn't know, but he just rolled with it anyway, even as his heartbeat sped up against his will.

"…reckon this can't be sustainable." Someone said. "Even you've gotta agree-!"

"Are you questioning me?" A guttural voice growled.

The first person squeaked. "O'-o' course not! I just figured, maybe having the…the volunteers…dropping like flies might not be effic-EEP!"

"Unless you want to be a volunteer, I suggest you keep your mouth shut," the other hissed. "You know what happened last time one of you 'raised concerns' over this."

"Mm-hmm! Mm-hmm!" The first speaker managed, clearly terrified out of his mind.

"Good. I'm off to check the other subjects. You just make sure Forrester is settling in." The deeper voice said, seemingly cheerfully.

The heavy footsteps stomped away, and Stan chanced a look at the door.

One of the scientists stood there, pale as a ghost. He lifted his glasses and pinched the bridge of his incredibly-long nose before turning to look into Stan's cell.

And then he froze.

He glanced off to the side, most likely looking at the man he'd just been speaking with.

He looked back at Stan, a horrified recognition in his eyes.

Before Stan could wonder what it meant, however, the scientist hurriedly tapped something into the side of the wall next to the door, then scurried off.

A screen on Stan's side of the wall flickered on, and he cautiously crept up to it to read.

'Wait for half an hour. The lights will dim and the door will open. Get out. Get help. We're all in grave danger. -F'

Stan's eyes widened, and a split second later, a second rush of understanding shot through him.

The scientist was…going to try to bust him out?

None of it made any sense- how had seeing Stan's face brought this on? What sort of danger were they all in? What had happened 'last time'?- but Stan still settled in to wait.

If worst came to worst, he could always just try breaking out on his own. He could handle one more escape.

He shouldn't have to.

But he could if he needed to.

Time crawled by more and more slowly the longer Stan waited. He counted the number of tiles in the floor, he traced imaginary pictures in the frosted glass of the door, and he reread F's message over and over again. It was almost like being a kid again, wanting to ask "Are we there yet?" every five minutes.

And then the humming of the lights went quiet, and the tiny room grew dim, and the door rose up into the ceiling.

F came through.

He decided he liked F.

Stan slunk up beside the door and listened carefully.

There were panicked sounds down the halls, but none of them seemed to be coming closer.

...he'd take it!

Stan darted out into the hall and sprinted as fast as his out-of-shape, probably-feverish body could take him, passing the rest of the cells at lightning speed.

That was his first (well, second, really, if he counted whatever had happened before he passed out) clue that something was off.

He ignored it for the time being.

He raced past the labs, distantly noticing the opened containment unit that'd held the whatever-it-was that they'd made melt into him.

NOT WHAT. WHO.

Stan flinched at the childish voices, whipping around to try and locate them, only to find himself alone in the hall.

NOT ALONE.

"...I'm losing my mind." Stan decided, turning to run even faster.

EXCUSE YOU?

"Ignoring that!"

Stan burst from the main labs at top speed, mere moments before an alarm began blaring. "SPECIMEN HDMP2 HAS ESCAPED! SPECIMEN HDMP2 HAS ESCAPED!"

"Shit." Stan hissed, leaping down a staircase and barrelling around to the next. "If this lab has a lockdown procedure, I'm screwed!"

DON'T BE SO SURE.

"Wait, what-?!"

But Stan's hand shot off to the side of its own accord, grabbing onto the handrail and yanking him over the edge as he screamed.

He plummeted down the stairwell, dropping all the way to the bottom of the building in just a few moments and landing without injuring himself at all.

That...should not have been possible.

From above, the deep voice from before roared, "THERE HE IS!"

Stan decided to focus on escaping first, then he would try to figure out the how and why his escape was even possible.

GOOD PLAN.

He sprinted for the doors and went to push them open, but they flew off their hinges instead, crash-landing a few feet away.

He gulped. "Don't like that!"

"GET BACK HERE!" shrieked the voice, heavy footsteps charging closer.

Stan glanced over his shoulder, only intending to see whether he had time to run or if he needed to dive out of the way-

-and.

He.

Froze.

Ford was chasing him down, but his hair was in disarray and his bared teeth were too sharp and his eyes had no pupils and his voice was two octaves too deep, because never ONCE had Ma told him about his twin's voice changing so drastically.

The voices Stan was convinced were hallucinations went deathly-quiet, then...

wait, you're like us?

Right. Hallucinating. Escaping. That was a thing.

Stan swallowed, then ran out the door, his heartbeat pounding louder in his ears than his feet on the pavement.

He needed to get away from this place.

He needed to get to his car.

He needed to get out of town.

He needed to run, run, run away as fast as he could.

Ford, or whatever Ford had become, skidded to a halt at the entryway, unable or unwilling to leave the premises, and he howled in rage.

Stan bit back a curse.

He needed to figure out what the hell had happened to his brother.

But first, he needed to eat something.

[alloftheimaginesblog]

Stupid, Crazy Love (Indiana Jones x Plus Size History Professor Reader)

Plot: You mention Indy in the foreword dedication of your latest book. Your students keep asking not just you to sign it, but him as well. He keeps drawing little hearts with your initials in.

Character: Indiana Jones x Plus Size History Professor Reader

Requested by @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Part of my Plus Size History Professor x Indiana Jones series and part of my Plus Size Reader x Character series!

You were excited, no, you were more excited than plain old excited as you walked into your classroom and saw two boxes sitting on top of your desk, “They’re here!” You squealed. Unable to remain calm, you tore the boxes open and gave a loud yell of happiness.

Indiana, who’d been on his way to come see you anyway, heard your commotion from inside your classroom and poked his head in, “You alright?”

“It’s here!” You yelled, clutching one of the books to your chest as you jumped up and down, “It’s here, Indy!”

“Your book?” He asked with a smile as he stepped fully into your class.

You pulled it from your chest to look at it. It was your book. After months and months of writing it, researching every single detail over and over making sure that it was perfect and then months and months of editing and waiting for it to be printed, it was finally here. It was perfect. You stared at the front cover, loving how the colours turned out, before turning it open and flicking through some pages. You handed it to Indiana, open on the dedication page. You hadn’t told him that you’d dedicated it to him, you wanted to surprise him with it.

Indiana had been there every single step of the way. He was there to push you and motivate you to finish it, he was there to help you research, he was there to supply you with coffee and tea and water when you needed them; he was there to hug you and help you relax when you got too stressed. He had gone above and beyond for you to help you achieve your dreams. He knew how much it meant to you so he would do anything he could to help you... He even took you on a few adventures so you could see the cultures and the places where the events you were researching took place.

For the one who has supported me throughout this whole journey and kept me motivated with endless cups of tea.

 I love you, Indy.

It was the first time you were saying you loved him. You had known you loved him for ages, you had never found the right time to say it. You wanted it to be perfect, you wanted it to really mean something. He read it once, twice and over again; reading the words, relishing in the words.

It was when he finally looked up at you that you could feel tears nipping at your eyes. It was overwhelming - the joy, the pride and the love. Indiana was smiling widely at you, “You love me?” He asked quietly. It wasn’t teasing or joking, he was seriously asking.

You nodded, stepping closer to him, “I do... I love you, Indiana Jones. I’ve never felt like this before and it sounds to cliché and cheesy but I can’t help but feel like you’re meant for me. You’re charming, funny, so incredibly handsome - like my god - you’re supportive and so respectful. I love you.”

Indy moved closer so that he could graze his hand over your cheek, “I love you too, sweetheart,” he told you gently, “I’ve never felt this way either.”

You looked up at him, butterflies flying in your stomach, “You do?”

“I do. I love you.” He kissed you then, hot and passionate, and you melted into his embrace. His kisses always had the unique ability to make you feel like you two were the only people in the world; that you were the only ones who truly mattered.

He pulled away all too soon, breathing heavy, foreheads pressed against each others, “I’m never going to get tired of you saying that,” you whispered to him.

“You better get used to it,” Indy grinned, grabbing you and tickling your sides, “I love you, I love you, I love you!” You squealed with laughter as he tickled you but the moment was interrupted when you glanced at the clock and realised that students would be filtering in soon.

“Quick!” You grinned, pulling out of Indy’s grasp to shove your books in his arms, “Set one on every desk! I think I ordered enough for everyone in my class.”

“I don’t know what you’re more excited over,” Indy said, “Your book or us finally saying ‘I love you’.”

You exaggerated thinking, “Hmm... I don’t know... That’s so hard, Indy...” You burst out laughing, “Both. I’m excited over both.”

You and Indy had lain all of your books onto the desks when your students started coming in. They began to ask you questions about the book as you got ready for today’s lesson. They flicked to the dedication page and a few of them smiled at each other.

“I wonder who you’re talking about here, Professor,” one of them teased, “I wonder who ‘Indy’ is...”

Indiana laughed, “No idea, kid.”

“Hey, Professor?” One of your students asked, “Would you sign the book for me?”

“And me!”

“Me too!”

You smiled, “It would be an honour.” You began to go round signing books. It seemed silly but it was a sweet gesture that they had wanted you to sign it.

“Dr Jones,” another piped up, “Can you sign it too since you’re also mentioned?”

Indy looked at you and you nodded excitedly. Honestly at this point, you were too excited to say no to anything. So Indy followed you around the class signing their dedication pages under your signature. It wasn’t until you’d finished signing that you noticed a few of your students snickering at something else on the page.

“What has he done?” You asked, knowing that Indy had done something. You peered over one of their shoulders to see Indiana’s signature but not only that... He’d drawn a love heart with your initials and his initials together much like that of a school girl when she has a crush.

“Indiana Jones!” You scolded but couldn’t keep the smile off of your face as the students began to laugh.

Indiana grinned at you, “What?” He asked, “I think it’s cute!” You rolled your eyes, this man... this stupid, wonderful man and that stupid, crazy thing called love.

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part I

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.9k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

A deafening blast jolted me out of my slumber. I snapped upright.

As a member of law enforcement, I was painfully familiar with the sound of a gunshot, and that was exactly what I’d just heard.

I strained my ears with bated breath, trying to hear over my own thundering heartbeat.

Loud, frantic footsteps raced down creaky, wooden stairs. Then a terrified scream filled the halls of my childhood home.

I tore away the sheets and rushed to where the scream seemed to have come from. When I reached the parlour was when I stumbled upon the scene. There, right at the foot of my mother’s memorial, was my godmother’s cold, lifeless corpse. Kneeling beside her was her granddaughter, Paya, weeping into her open palms in shock.

Only a minute or two had passed since I’d awoken at the sound of gunfire. “Wait here,” I ordered, then made a break for the front entrance, the nearest and most instinctual escape route.

But when I threw the doors open, there wasn’t a soul to be found.

I returned to the parlour with my tail between my legs. Then my toe hit something heavy and metallic that clacked underfoot. When I looked down and saw what it was, I froze. With caution, I ever so slowly stepped away from the weapon.

“Great...” I muttered, seeing as now it would have my toe prints on it. But the longer I looked at it, I realized I’d seen this revolver somewhere before.

Then it hit me. It hit me like a two-ton train car.

I quickly made sure Paya’s head was turned. Then with terribly trembling hands, I did what I had to do and carefully tucked it away in my nightgown.

I’d feared the precinct wouldn’t allow me to participate in the investigation seeing as I’d been on the scene at the time of the crime. However, it seemed they trusted me enough to even appoint me as the lead investigator. Granted, I had done a lot to earn their trust over the past three years, but this was unheard of.

Nevertheless, I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. The next morning, at seven o’clock sharp, I returned to the scene of the crime equipped with all the necessary tools of my trade.

I looked out the window of the cramped police buggy at our destination in utter astoundment. There were already droves of officers there, awaiting the arrival of me and my partner. The sight of the place I’d once called home being chained off and hidden from the public like this was jarring, to say the least. Of all the strange crime scenes I’d seen, this was the strangest. I never could’ve imagined I’d be returning here, not to eat Auntie Impa’s delicious pork buns or to hear Auntie Purah talk about her latest technological endeavours, but for work. How could I have?

“Zelda! Good—good morning!” greeted a rather skittish Paya when she opened the door for us.

“Good morning, Paya.”

She nearly lost her smile when she noticed Constable Fyori standing beside me. “Please, come in.” She stepped aside, and he and I entered into the low-ceilinged yet stately vestibule, removing our shoes and leaving them by the door. “Can I get either of you anything? Some tea, maybe?”

My assistant opened his mouth, but I raised a hand, silencing him. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. We have important business to take care of.”

“Oh, yes, of course! Silly me,” she chortled. “I’ll let you get to it, then.”

The first order of business was to examine the body. In most cases, a specialist would be needed to perform an autopsy, but unlike most inspectors, I had the forensic knowhow to take care of it myself. One might have said this was a side effect of my hobbies and my avid interest in all things related to science that I’d harboured since grade school. However, a full autopsy complete with the weighing of the body and the removal of the organs would come later. For now, it would suffice to determine two simple things: the time of death and the cause of death.

But before I could even get close to the body, I was stopped by my assistant, who grabbed me gently by the arm.

“You don’t have to do this,” he uttered in his typical, mousy tone. “I can call for someone else to come and take care of it for you.”

The look of real and profound concern seated deep in his aquamarine eyes pulled at my heartstrings. It had been a year, roughly, since he’d first begun working under me. He was always so worried for me, and I always felt terrible because of it. I unhooked his hand from my arm, putting on a warm smile. “I’ll be okay, Link.”

He looked at me as if to ask, “Are you sure?”

“Really, it’s fine. Don’t worry,” I insisted. “Thank you, though.” This finally got him to return my smile, albeit only briefly.

I already had a decent estimate of the time of death. The period we were looking at was between half ten at night, when the last person awake (which had just so happened to be me) had gone to bed, and three in the morning, when the gunshot had given me that rude awakening. Really I should have examined the body as soon as I’d discovered it. In most other cases I worked on, I even wished I’d been the first on the scene, before the stiff had yet to even go stiff. Of course, the one time I happened to be one of the first to discover a murder, it had to be like this.

And yet, until I knew who was responsible for this atrocity, grieving could wait.

Right off the bat, I could tell that this had been a homicide. This may have seemed obvious to someone like Paya, but as a detective, I’d had to forcefully train myself to assume nothing and question everything. Based on the characteristics of the hole running straight through her neck, however, I determined that the gun had been shot from too far a distance for it to have been suicidal. Auntie Impa’s arms simply weren’t long enough.

But for a death caused by hemorrhage from a severed jugular vein, there was a shockingly small amount of blood. The rush-woven mat beneath her was nearly spotless, and I knew from experience how difficult it was to get stains out of these mats. Even when I checked underneath the mat, there was still nothing. No blood, and no bullet.

With a final nod, I stood up and signalled the other officers to take the body away.

“Now, let’s see here...” I said to myself, scanning the area immediately surrounding the corpse before approaching my mother’s altar. But when I laid eyes on the damage it had sustained, I stumbled back.

Though she hadn’t been a follower of the same faith held by the Sheikahs, my mother’s memory had been enshrined here because, like myself, they’d been like a second family to her.

With all due caution, I picked up what remained of her photograph. The glass was shattered, and a bullet had completely erased her face.

If this wasn’t a sign of the Yiga organization, I didn’t have a clue what was. Who else would’ve borne such ill will toward Hilda Hyrule, the town’s beloved last mayor who’d been dead ever since the tragic “accident” at City Hall eighteen years prior? That massacre had been what had ushered in their age of power, and with no one left to stand in their way, they’d been terrorizing the city ever since.

Before I’d even had the chance to begin my analysis, I heard Paya’s timid footsteps shuffling up to me. “Zelda?” she whispered, obnoxiously tapping her finger on my shoulder. “Excuse me...”

I turned my head and forced a grin. “What is it?”

“Umh, I didn’t know he’d be accompanying you today.” I didn’t even have to follow her gaze to know who she was eyeing.

I suppressed a sigh. “Constable Fyori is my partner,” I reminded her politely. “I take him with me on all of my investigations.”

“Yes, I know, but...” Now her gaze was nervously flitting back and forth between me and Link. “I-I wasn’t prepared to see him again after so long. What if—what if he says something to me?”

“He won’t,” I huffed. “Now, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh my, I’m so sorry,” she fretted. “I’ll get out of your hair.” I gave her a nod of the head in thanks, and she kindly stepped back and out of my space. But even after that, I could still feel her intense stare from across the room. I let out the sigh I’d been holding in. Sure, Paya was irritating, and I was going on maybe four or five hours of sleep at most, but there was no excuse for me to be irrational, especially since it would get me nowhere in my line of thinking. What I wouldn’t have done for a nice, hot cup of chamomile at that moment.

Based on the extreme angle of the bullet’s trajectory, one could tell at a glance where the shooter had to have been positioned. They’d have been standing above the altar with very little space between the two—definitely not enough for an entire person. Therefore the bullet that had taken the victim’s life had to have been a different one. This was backed up by the absence of any blood around the hole or anywhere else on the shrine. So why had I only heard one gunshot that night? And where in the world was the bullet responsible for Auntie Impa’s death if not on the scene of the crime?

After photographing the hole and scribbling my thoughts and observations down in my notebook, I began the procedure of extracting the bullet from the altar. This was a delicate task, one that I admittedly had a hard time trusting anyone else in the force with. Once I’d succeeded in retrieving the bullet, I determined it was of the same calibre as the one that had passed through the victim’s throat, meaning it was likely that it had been fired from the same gun. Unfortunately, all these facts corresponded with the weapon I’d found on the scene mere hours ago, two chambers of which were empty. There may have been no prints left on the trigger, but even so, I simply didn’t have it in me to run a striation comparison.

Standing up straight and taking a quick, deep breath, I turned to my assistant, who seemed to be investigating the mantelpiece. “Right, then, Fyori.” He turned his head as I approached him. “Anything to report?”

“No, madam,” he replied solemnly, avoiding my gaze and peering straight ahead over the top of my head.

“Is that so...?” I tapped the end of my pen against my chin habitually. “We seem to have a dreadfully diligent killer on our hands.” I gave the room another once-over from where I stood beside him. “You’ve been thorough in your search as always, I presume?”

“Of course.”

“And you found nothing? Not even a fingerprint?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Then let’s move on,” I sighed, turning toward the doorway leading out into one of the building’s many corridors. He followed, just a few paces behind me. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to check since we got here.”

“That’s strange...” muttered Auntie Purah as she jumped through the footage captured by the front entrance’s security camera. “Symin, did I miss something?”

The Sheikah estate’s security supervisor shook his head. “Not that I could see.”

“Let me check it again.”

But even when she rewound and skipped through it a second time, the only person to appear was still myself on my initial search for the killer. Link gave me a furtive glance. I smiled at him in reassurance.

“Perhaps the other cameras caught something,” I suggested. “It would make sense that the culprit wouldn’t want to simply waltz right in through the front door.”

Auntie Purah looked to Symin. “Well, there are three other cameras, but two of them are so far removed from the scene that I doubt they’d be of much help.”

“And the third?” I asked, reaching for my notebook and something to write with.

“That would be the courtyard camera.”

“Ah, perfect!” The courtyard was located at the very centre of the property and served as an intersection between the four main hallways. “That one’s bound to have caught something. Let’s see.”

But this, too, would turn out fruitless. Throughout the night, there wasn’t even the shadow of a clue as to the killer’s movements.

“This...” I gaped. “This is impossible.” I knew for a fact that this particular model of camera was designed for the very purpose of protecting its footage from being altered or obstructed. Could the killer have made themselves invisible somehow?

“I don’t believe it.” Auntie Purah shook her head creakily. “Our company takes great pride in the reliability of our security cameras!”

Enraged, the tiny, old lady tried to stand up from her seat. Then a loud crack resounded throughout the cramped surveillance office. She screamed.

“Miss Purah, please calm down,” urged the kindly Symin, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she seethed, adjusting her glasses. “Thank you.” I didn’t know the man as well as I did the rest of the family as he had become a part of it a few years after I’d left the nest. However, it seemed like he would make a fine successor to Auntie Impa’s role of keeping her elder sister’s enduring impulsivity in check.

“There’s no reason to worry, Auntie. This is no fault of yours or your company’s,” I said, hoping to ease her pain a little. She’d suffered a terrible loss, and it was taking a great toll on her. It was difficult to watch such a brilliant mind come undone because of something like this. But after hearing my words, she looked up at me with a wrinkly smile. “My partner and I will just have to do an even more thorough inspection of the property tomorrow.”

The ride back to the precinct wasn’t a pleasant one. By the end of the day, my own mind had deteriorated into a swirling whirlpool of confusion, resentment, and woe. The investigation so far had borne so little results, it was hard to imagine that tomorrow’s search would be that much more successful. Of course there was still so much more that needed to be looked into, but right now, I just couldn’t see this turning out well. I still hadn’t solved the mystery behind my mother’s death in eighteen long years. Why, in this case, would I prove to be any less of a failure?

I curled my fists against my legs, trying my hardest to forget about the empty feeling in my stomach. Despite this, I knew I didn’t have the energy to do much more rational thinking today, if any at all.

Then my colleague broke the silence. “She was important to you, wasn’t she?” he asked, but such a personal question was strangely out of character for him.

“Yes.” I smiled sorrowfully into my lap. “I never really thought of her as a mother figure,” I admitted, “but she did put a lot of time and effort into raising me, in my actual mother’s stead.”

“She must’ve been a wonderful person.”

This made me laugh, to both his and my surprise. “Well, she would often scold me and Paya with the strictest attitude you can imagine, but I suppose she always had our best interests at heart.”

The longer I thought about Auntie Impa, the more I mulled over who could possibly have wanted her dead. She had already been getting on in age. Had the perpetrator’s need to kill her really been that dire? The only time people ever went that far was when their victim’s life would’ve put them in danger somehow if they’d have allowed them to go on living. But then again, there was the Yiga organization. They went around committing murders a couple times every week for seemingly no reason other than to flaunt their power. Perhaps Auntie Impa really had been just another one of their prey. Even so, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that there was more to it than that.

“Don’t you think it’s strange?”

The constable cocked his head, but kept his eyes on the road.

But then I stopped myself. There was still no proof of the Yiga’s involvement, so there was no point in bringing it up now. “Well, all of it is quite strange, frankly,” I amended. “The lack of blood, the missing bullet...”

“Could the killer have moved the body from somewhere else, perhaps?” he tentatively suggested.

“Very good, Link. That’s exactly what I’ve been theorizing.” The tips of his ears flushed, and he seemed to shrink back into his seat a little. “Oh, but then...wouldn’t that make it more likely for the cameras to have caught something?”

“That is true,” he concurred. “And there’s still been no sign of the murder weapon?”

I swallowed hard. “No...” My eyes flickered down toward my briefcase. “None.”

[cozy-neko]

The Cherry On Top • 01 • 02 | The Cherry On Top • 03

“Kozume, are you even listening to me?” Akaashi sighs and closes his laptop. He was only halfway through his scheduled agenda for today’s meeting, but there was no point in continuing if his client was just going to ignore him for the whole hour.

“I am, I am,” Kenma mumbled, eyes fixated on something that was hidden under the table.

“What did I just talk about for the last ten minutes then?” Akaashi challenged.

“We’re changing my video uploads from Tuesdays to Fridays, and Black Sheep wants to do a sponsorship with me in my next stream,” Kenma replies without skipping a beat. His feline eyes are still glued to his phone, unblinking, as his fingers tapped away at one of his games.

Akaashi sighed once more. “And you’re fine with the upcoming changes and sponsorship then?”

Kenma nodded. “Akaashi. I trust you to make the best decisions for me.” He finally slipped his phone back into his pocket and tilted his head to look his friend in the eye. “I didn’t hire you as my manager for no reason.”

“If I knew working with you was going to be this difficult, I would’ve stuck with my previous job.” Akaashi flashed the male a wry smile.

“Hey, if you want to hand in your resignation letter right now and go back to your previous life of disgusting convenience store food and cigarettes for lunch, by all means.” Kenma smirked and extended a hand out, palm up as if waiting for an actual resignation letter to manifest from Akaashi.

Akaashi cleared his throat and reopened his laptop. “Moving on...”

“TOORU!!!” Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs as soon as she spotted the fashion editor from across the courtyard. Lunchers nearby stared at the loud girl before turning their heads to look at the unfortunate boy on the receiving end of the shout.

Oikawa contemplated ignoring his friend and instead considered turning around to head back inside TK Mag’s office building. He would rather eat with his annoying suck-up intern than his embarrassing friend. Unfortunately for him, said friend yelled his name once more and beckoned for him to come over.

Oikawa’s eye twitched and he reluctantly trudged across the courtyard and towards Y/N.

“Don’t be so embarrassing, Y/N-chan,” Oikawa grumbled as he took a seat across from her.

“Oh please, as if that airplane tie you’re wearing isn’t embarrassing,” Y/N shot back, eyes flickering up once at the cartoon-printed tie before back down at her laptop screen.

“They’re UFOs, for your information,” Oikawa mumbled through gritted teeth, “and besides, Ayame-chan said it was cute, so your opinion is invalid and unnecessary.”

“Enough about your tie. I’m about to literally combust from nerves.” 

“What is it this time?” Oikawa rolled his eyes and lazily sipped his latte. 

“I’m about to schedule my first blog post for tomorrow.” At this, Oikawa’s eyes widened and he straightened up in his seat.

“Who’s the unlucky victim?” Oikawa scooted closer to Y/N, their elbows touching as he leaned in to read off her screen.

“You know, for someone who looks like she’s about to shit her pants from nerves, you wouldn’t be able to tell with Cherry’s online persona,” Oikawa hummed and nonchalantly commented. 

Y/N smacked his shoulder once in response. 

“That’s the whole point, Oinkawa. No one’s supposed to know that Cherry is me, and that I am Cherry.” Y/N sighed and brought the tip of her thumb to her mouth. She nibbled on her fingernail nervously as she clicked on the draft of her blog post. “Well? Can you tell who it is?”

“I would say Miya Atsumu, the MSBY setter, but I wouldn’t exactly call him beautiful, Y/N-chan.”

“It’s not Miya Atsumu and you take that back! He is beautiful, but that’s besides the point; it’s Kozume Kenma, the professional gaming streamer and content creator.”

“Well that’s subjective,” Oikawa sneered. Iwaizumi once had the opportunity to interview Miya Atsumu for an editorial, and Oikawa had tagged along much to Iwaizumi’s headache. Having played as a setter as well during his time in high school, Oikawa had some differences with Atsumu’s playing style, and the two did not get along too well that day.

“How’d you even get this dirt on Kozume Kenma anyways?” Oikawa made a face and smacked Y/N’s hand away from her mouth. “That’s disgusting, Y/N-chan, and you’re getting nail polish in your teeth.”

“I stalked his fan accounts on Twitter. It’s amazing what you can find with a little digging, to be honest.” Y/N scanned her draft. “And a little scary,” she added as an afterthought.

“Ugh, kami, I can’t do this, Tooru!” Y/N whined and shut her laptop, taking her head into her hands. “This is the most disgusting line of work I’ve ever imagined myself having to do.”

“You know no one is forcing you to take this promotion, right?” Oikawa leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest.

“This is Y/N and TK Mag we’re talking about here.” Oikawa and Y/N turned around at the new voice. “If you were over $100k in student debt and a well-known and well-paying company offered you a promotion, wouldn’t you take it?” Iwaizumi and Hanamaki walked up to the duo and took a seat at their table.

“You’re literally talking about the girl who’s dream is to become a princess and find a rich prince charming to take care of her,” Hanamaki added.

“Hey!” Y/N interjected, but was ignored. 

“But she also didn’t graduate as a journalist with an emphasis in fashion from UTokyo to become a gossip blogger,” Oikawa pointed out.

“Okay can we not talk about me like I’m not here?” Y/N pouted. “And you all have valid points.” 

She sighed. This was a tough decision. Y/N does have a lot of student debt to pay off, and the pay raise that came with the promotion was definitely enticing and worth drooling over. On the other hand, Oikawa was right in which Y/N didn’t graduate with over $100k in debt with a journalism degree to become a gossip blogger. But one thing that Y/N also had to think about was that this promotion would’ve been her opportunity to become a full-time employee at TK Mag, her dream company. And then there was Hanamaki, who was there just to out her (slightly) embarrassing and (very much so) unrealistic dream.

“Why’d you even take the promotion anyways? You could’ve just stayed an intern and wait for staff writer positions to open up.”

Y/N knocked twice before entering the Editor in Chief’s private office. “Good afternoon, Chief! You wanted to see me?”

“Oh yes, Y/N, come in. Please, take a seat while I finish up this email.”

Y/N grinned and skipped over to the loveseat that occupied the middle of the office. She crossed her legs and smoothed her blouse. Y/N was buzzing, and it wasn’t just because of the three cups of coffee she had stomached throughout the day.

“Judging by how you can’t sit still, I’m assuming you know why I called you in here.” 

“Oh, sorry. I’ve had one too many cups of coffee today,” Y/N responded sheepishly. “But I hope you’re gonna tell me what I think it is you’re gonna tell me.” 

It was hard for Y/N to keep the smile on her face from growing as she watched her Chief pull out a folder and place it down on the coffee table in front of her. The smile on Y/N’s face grew bigger as the Chief pulled out a piece of paper and slid it towards her. It was exactly what Y/N was expecting: a contract for a full-time position at the company.

“Congratulations, Y/N. Your hard work has not gone unnoticed these past few months you’ve been at TK Mag as an intern, and we’d like to extend our offer to you as a full-time employee.”

“Yes, yes, yes! I accept!” Y/N squealed and eagerly looked through her tote bag for a pen. “I don’t even care what staff writer position it’s for -- although my first choice would be for the fashion department since I did go to school for fashion journalism -- but I’m so excited!!” Y/N was already picturing herself attending fashion shows with Oikawa.

“Y/N, wait. Before you sign, I just want you to know that the full-time position isn’t to become a staff writer for the fashion department.”

“Huh?” Y/N stopped riffling through her bag. “...What is it for then?” 

“TK Mag is going to try something new. We’re going to branch out to a sister site and run a gossip blog called The Cherry on Top. I want you to take on the alias as Cherry and run the blog.”

“Gossip... blog...? The Cherry on Top? Me?” Y/N could hardly comprehend what the Chief was saying.

“Will you accept? I know it’s a brand new position and something we’ve never done before at TK Mag, but we have high hopes and I know you’ll do well as one of my best employees.”

“With all due respect, Chief, I’m a fashion writer. I write about fashion week and the latest trends in the fashion industry. I don’t write gossip nor do I want to slander anyone. It’s not my cup of tea.” Y/N narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t believe the Chief wanted her to do such dirty work.

“I had a feeling this might be the case.” The Chief sighed, and all signs of pleasantries disappeared. “Listen, Y/N, if you don’t want this promotion, I’ll give it to the next intern in line. But just know that if you don’t take this position, you’re going to have to clear out your desk by end of day and find a new company to work for.”

Y/N was in disbelief. She couldn’t believe her career was getting threatened. Her grip on her pen tightened as she stared at the document in front of her. The words Full-time Employee Contract for: Cherry, The Cherry on Top seemed to glare at her. 

“There will also be a hefty raise included in your promotion,” the Chief added after witnessing Y/N’s hesitation. “You did just graduate from UTokyo, did you not? Surely you don’t want to be riddled with student debt.”

Y/N was torn. What was she going to do? TK Mag was her dream company, and if she refused the promotion and got let go, she would drown in debt. Surely being a gossip blogger wouldn’t be too bad, right?

Y/N swallowed her pride and uncapped her pen. With a quick flourish, she signed her signature on the contract and forlornly shook hands with a now-smiling Chief. 

I hope I didn’t make the wrong decision...

“You made the right decision, Y/N. Welcome to the team.”

Y/N gulped. She couldn’t tell her friends that her job security had been threatened if she didn’t take the promotion.

“Well maybe it was time for me to grow up. I don’t need a rich prince charming to take care of me. I’ll take care of myself with my new pay raise.” Y/N grimaced on the inside. She hoped that was convincing, but judging by the silent stares she received from her three male friends, even she knew they weren’t too believing of her.

“Anyways, Cherry promised her 500 followers the first post will be up tomorrow, and she isn’t one to break promises, so... let’s queue this baby up.” With a swift click of her trackpad, Y/N’s first gossip post as Cherry was scheduled.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Hanamaki shared a look.

Kenma was unfazed. He really was. Even when his Twitter notifications blew up with mentions, he simply ignored them. It wasn’t like he paid much attention to them in the first place anyways. And when he was in the middle of streaming and his Twitch chat started spamming the link to the blog post, he simply told his mods to delete comments that had anything to do with it.

Kenma was unfazed. Simply because it just wasn’t true. And even though the readers didn’t know if it was true or not and the article was currently trending in the Esports vertical and being repurposed for other articles, Kenma knew it wasn’t true and therefore did not care.

Except Akaashi was getting on his nerves as his manager continued to try to bring it up in conversations. 

“Kozume, you have to say something.”

“Why?” Kenma sighed. He really didn’t see the need to say anything. It wasn’t like this was the first time Kenma had been the subject of a rumor. It was all going to die down soon anyways.

“It’s been three days already and people are still commenting on it. Your fans are upset, and I think you owe it to them to explain your side.” 

“It’s not a big deal, Akaashi. If fans are that upset about a rumor of me boosting League accounts as a side business, they probably should get a job and hop off Twitter once in a while,” Kenma mumbled and continued to click away on his game controller.

“Well it’s not just your fans that are upset, Kozume. Your sponsorship with Black Sheep is also on rocks right now because of the rumor.” 

At that, Kenma’s fingers slowed, and he watched his character get headshot by the enemy on the TV.

“You’re telling me that they believe some stupid rumor that was probably written by a jealous 13-year-old?” Kenma scowled, and Akaashi finally felt his friend getting serious about the situation. It wasn’t often that Kenma showed his emotions other than his usual aloof self, but when his projects started to get affected, Kenma took things really serious.

“It’s not that they believe it, but they haven’t been as responsive to my emails as they usually are ever since the post was published. It seems they might be taking your silence as the truth.”

Kenma sighed and tossed his controller to the side. He wasn’t in the mood to game anymore. Instead, he stood up and trekked down the hallway towards his game room. Looks like he had a fire to diffuse if he wanted to keep his sponsorship alive.

end notes:

→ student debt and job security is no joke 😢

→ mattsun did not join y/n, oikawa, iwa-chan, and hanamaki during lunch because he was away on a photoshoot assignment

→ kenma did boost league accounts back when he was still in college and barely starting out as a streamer... except the accounts he boosted was kuroo’s and hinata’s because they wouldn’t stop begging him to until he did

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[alpacaparkaseok]

7 Secrets

OK! This is my first time EVER posting an imagine on Tumblr! So please love me and don’t hate it lol. I'm also not sure how many parts there will be to this, but you can expect probably at least three. Let me know what you like and don’t! Any ideas?

Summary: For the past three years, Beth has struggled and fought against the notion that she has a soulmate. It was only when she met six other girls who were in the same predicament that she finally decided that this was her life. The only real problem? Her soulmate has no idea that she even exists. Much less that soulmates are even a thing. Will she ever get to meet her soulmate, the ever popular and beloved Kim Namjoon of BTS? Does she even want to anymore?

GENRE: Soulmate!au BTS!

WARNINGS: none

Even now, as my feet lead me through the airport here in Seoul, I can’t quite believe that this is actually my life. Even now, three years later, the feeling of disbelief mingled with the thrill and fear of it all lingers.

To anyone here, I simply look like another tourist. Headphones in, not a care in the world except for keeping my backpack on my shoulders and taking one step at a time. I pass a group of girls loitering by the stairs, completely decked out in BTS merch. I smile at them, my action going unnoticed by my mask and hat low on my head. Am I a tourist or celebrity?

Neither. And yet, in some twisted way, both.

To my eternal horror and delight, six of my closest (and weirdest) friends await me at the baggage claim, welcome signs held up high.

All of them are from either here in South Korea or Japan, yet despite our differences we just click.

It’s something that I’m still not used to.

Their loud squeals can be heard bouncing off the walls of the airport the second I come into view, and I thank the heavens above for the mask and hat I’m wearing which shields my bright smile from the rest of the world. They would never let me hear the end of it if they knew just how excited I was to be back.

“You’re back!”

“Finally, you’ve kept us waiting long enough.”

“Wow, look at you. You look like a whole celebrity.”

“Since when did our little B grow up so much?”

I roll my eyes lovingly at them, unable to hold back as we all rush toward each other in a fit of excitement. A year was way too long.

“You’ve made it look like I’m coming back from military service or something.” I joke with my closest friends, laughing as Minsuh pokes my ribs in defense.

“It feels like it, too. You look like you’re coming out of a battle or something.���

I feign offense. “It’s called jet-lag, thank you very much. Wow, some people never change, do they?” I accept a hug from Aera, and only when I set my chin on her shoulder do I notice the two cameras trained on us.

Ah yes. That is one thing that I haven’t missed. Aera silently attaches a mic to my sweatshirt, clipping it on with a conspiratorial wink. She knows just how much I despise our ongoing documentary.

The cameramen are kind enough, shadowing us constantly in an attempt to compile enough content to someday show our soulmates. However I can’t help but feel like it’s a bit hopeless at times. I highly doubt our boys will ever watch the material, they seem busy enough. And we’re not that entertaining.

But who knows? The most famous band in the world tends to surprise me.

“Is it the balloons? It’s all the balloons, isn't’ it.” Kyung-Soon fiddles with the balloons in her hands, the mass floating above her in an attempt to block out any light from above. The sight pulls a giggle out of me, tired as I may be. I waddle over to her, one of the girls easing the backpack off of my shoulders and grunting at the weight.

I wrap her up in a hug, knowing just how much she tends to stress and over think. “The balloons look great. You know me, I just get embarrassed easily. But I love them.”

“I wonder how you would react if it was Namjoon holding the balloons instead of Soon-ah.” My head swivels to my best friend, glaring strongly. Himari only returns the look, her smirk growing. “You get embarrassed so easily, I’m just wondering what that would be like.”

The mention of my soulmate has my cheeks burning, and I offer up a silent prayer of gratitude for the mask I still have on.

The other girls take up the conversation, wondering aloud how I would react if it was my soulmate picking me up from the airport instead of his band member’s soulmates. Himari’s Japanese accent cuts clear through the rabble, making me feel right at home even as I secretly plan to embarrass her later on. Usually a well placed comment about j-hope’s latest concept photos will leave her reeling and red-faced.

The cameras edge closer, and I leap up grabbing my luggage before I can be embarrassed even more.

“Time to go!” I shout, ignoring the snickers from behind me. “Himari, since you’re so keen on helping me today would you mind bringing my backpack?”

“Yeah, got it.”

“Ha, just like you Beth. Way to avoid the conversation.” A less noticeable Japanese accent greets me, and I turn to see Ichika already by my side. I raise my eyebrows at the girl only a year my senior.

“Your Korean sounds great, Ichika!” She smiles at me, her delicate features reminding me of a flower. Ichika looked like a piece of art, which I guess made sense considering that she had a soulmate who would probably recognize that same fact immediately upon meeting her. At least, I’ve heard that Taehyung has an eye for art. Or maybe he just has an artsy personality? I can’t remember. Probably both.

“Thanks,” she replies, giving me a firm high five. “I missed you!” I breathe out a sigh of relief. It’s always been so refreshing how honest Ichika is.

“Missed ya too,” I mumble out, suddenly disoriented in the humid air as we exit the airport. By now we’ve attracted our fair share of strange looks and even a few stragglers, who follow us solely because of our small camera crew.

Once outside, Aera gently herds me in the direction of a couple of black cars. I nod to the managers the BigHit sent us as they open the car door for us and help to put our things away. I can see one eyeing the mess of balloons that Kyung-Soon still clings to, calculating how on earth to fit seven girls and seventy balloons into two small cars. (Ok, maybe not seventy, but it feels like it)

I turn to help Kyung-Soon, but find Minsuh already there. The sweet girl, only six months older than me, is always quick to help. Typically her and Aera are inseparable, but I’m glad to see that Minsuh has slowly been pushing herself to mingle with the others. It’s another thing that makes sense, seeing that Minsuh’s boy is Jungkook and Aera’s is Jimin. As far as I know, those two are pretty close as well.

Minsuh smiles shyly at me, sidling over to give me a quick hug before going back to her work. The cameraman makes sure to catch the sweet action, never one to miss a candid moment.

Was that cute enough for you? I silently ask Bang Si Hyuk. There’s no doubt that these will be reviewed and only the kindest, funniest, and cutest moments will make the cut.

Pity for Namjoon, but that means I will probably only be featured in a little bit of the documentary. Oh well, if he’s curious he can come find me himself. I’m done waiting. Or caring.

“What are you pouting about?”

Himari’s voice drags me out of my stupor, and I shrug my shoulders in response. Her happy demeanor doesn’t falter as she looks into my eyes like she can read them. There’s an underlying seriousness that few get to know, but I’ve been lucky enough to see it several times.

“Just tired,” I bump her hip with mine before we get the ok to all pile into the car. She doesn’t press the matter, but I can count on her slipping it into the conversation again once we’re alone. Once the pressing matter of the cameras watching our every mood is lessened and I feel more comfortable.

Sliding in, I collide with another body that has already taken the far seat. Both Seohyun and I burst into laughter at the sudden collision, her eyes turning into crescent moons.

“Well hello to you too,” she manages to say between giggles. Himari slides in next to me, shaking her head at the both of us. A couple of cameras in the car automatically focus on us, but I pay them no mind.

“I like your sweatshirt,” I say, gesturing to the homage to her soulmate. Sure enough, Yoongi’s new mixtape “D2” cover is printed on her shirt. Funnily enough, out of all of us, Seohyun is one of the most showy when it comes to her soulmate. Constantly buying merch, listening to his music, and gushing about him.

I know she’ll make Yoongi very happy. If she ever gets to meet him.

If any of us ever get to meet them. Or if they’re ever informed of our existence. Not for the first time today, I curse Bang Si Hyuk again in my mind.

Next

[walkerismychoice]

Rumor Has It (Raleigh X MC)

Book: Platinum

Pairing: M!Raleigh X MC

Rating: PG-13 (just a slight bit of language)

Author’s note:  This is a request from @withbeautyandrage for Day 7 of the Choices February Challenge - Gossip. Yes I realize I’m already 2 days behind, but better late than never right? Subsequently other requests are running behind as well but I promise to complete them all.

Word Count: 1679

Every morning on her walk to the recording studio, Aria makes a point to take in the sights and sounds of the city. A small town girl at heart, she doesn't know if she'll ever get over the wonder that is New York. As much as she she still feels a bit out of place among the bustling crowd of natives zooming along the sidewalks with their heads down and only their destination in mind, she hopes to never become as jaded as so many of them are.

She's gotten a later start today so she has to skip stopping for coffee. That doesn't keep her from appreciating the rich aroma wafting through the air as she passes her favorite cafe. She pauses a moment, closes her eyes, and inhales deeply. Smelling it almost as good as tasting it. Never mind, it just makes her want it more, so she picks up the pace to ensure time for her weekly, somewhat self-indulgent ritual.

“Hey, Joe!” Aria waves at the news stand owner.

His face lights up when he sees her. “How’s my favorite customer this morning?”

“Lacking caffeine, but otherwise decent. Got anything for me today?” Sure actual print media is falling out of fashion and she can get all the latest news and gossip in real time at the tip of her fingers, but there’s something about seeing herself on paper that makes it all more real. Some might think that’s vain, or just downright lame, but it’s all still new to her and she’s going to enjoy it while the novelty lasts.

“There’s a blurb about your collaboration with Avery in People and you’re mentioned in a couple of the rags.” Joe hands her the magazines.

“Thank-” Aria begins as she takes the stack only to be stopped in her tracks by the cover image facing her. "Uh, thanks Joe. Gotta run." She takes some cash out of her pocket, places it in his hand, and takes off, not evening waiting for him to offer the change she always refuses.

Once inside the busy Overnight Records lobby she plops down in a chair off to the side to collect herself. Staring at the pair on the cover and reading the accompanying headline her heart sinks once again: Reformed bad boy Raleigh Carrera and America's sweetheart Jaylen Riaz are the new “it” couple.

Aria wants to scream. She wants to tear up the magazine and chuck it across the room. But she can't afford another public meltdown spurred on by her rivalry with Jaylen. Ugh, she wasn't even trying to be anyone's rival, but their competition fueled it, and then when Jaylen got to sing Aria's song she lost it. She's spent enough time trying to ensure the public that she's not the hot-headed lunatic they saw on TV that day. Jaylen won't get the best of her again.

Just toss it in the bin, Aria's brain tries to convince her body to act responsibly, but curiosity gets the best of her. She opens up the publication to a nauseating two page spread and her stomach turns - Raleigh and Jaylen dancing too close in a club, sitting cozily in a booth, holding hands on their way out. However, none of those cause as much pain as the the one of Raleigh standing with his arm around Jaylen, an enormous smile on her face as he's whispering in her ear.

That's not all though. The worst part, the final insult to injury is Raleigh's hand down low straddling the the small of Jaylen's back and the curve of her ass, or at least that's what she assumed from experience. Throughout Aria's "relationship" with Raleigh that was the one thing, a simple intimate gesture both playful and protective in nature and hidden from view, that led Aria to believe what they had wasn't just for show. What a fool she had been.

Before Aria can listen to rational thoughts telling her that this could possibly be another publicity stunt, she's distracted by an inset with a broken apart picture of her and Raleigh.

"Rumor has it Raleigh broke Aria Campbell's heart when he left her for Jaylen?!," she can't help but read aloud, her voice escalating much more than intended. A nearby man in a suit looks over at her, and Aria takes a deep breath and vows again she's not going to fall apart. Out of patience and out of time, she throws the tabloids away, no longer interested what any of them have to say.

The click of her heels on the marble floor sounds extra loud as she stomps off in the direction of the studio. Aria’s fine, she really is. Her little thing with Raleigh was never supposed to be real, so what he’s doing now is none of her concern. Out of sight, out of mind...until he’s not.

“Fuck!” Aria blurts out, clasping her hands over her mouth as she comes to a dead stop.

“Well it’s nice to see you too, darling. Didn’t you miss me?” Raleigh stands inches away looking as smug as ever.

“What are you doing here?” Aria dodges his question with one of her own. 

“You know we are signed by the same record label....”

“But you weren’t on the schedule today,” Aria says before realizing she’s given away too much.

Raleigh smirks. “You stalking me Campbell?”

“Just an observation,” she replies coolly. “Anyway...I’m running late, so see you around.” She breezes past him without waiting for a response and doesn’t look back.

Aria’s recording session goes well - exceptionally well actually. Music has always been a safe space to channel her emotions, where she can feel without thinking too much. In fact, she’s almost forgotten she was so upset about Raleigh this morning, when she walks out the studio door to see the living, breather reminder once again.

“What, are you stalking me now, Carerra?”

“Touche.” Raleigh chuckles but then his tone becomes more somber. “I did check the schedule because I wanted to talk to you before you left. Something didn’t sit right after I saw you this morning. “Are you upset with me?”

Such a loaded question. Yes she’s mad at him even though she has no right to be, or maybe she does. Their relationship started out fake but somewhere along the way there was a shift, at least for her. But then he just let her go like she was just a contractual obligation that had been fulfilled.

“How’s Jaylen?” She deflects yet again, but she can't help getting right to the point. 

Raleigh shakes his head and lets out a sigh. “Is that what this is about? Jaylen and I are just friends, if you could even call it that. You know damn well how easily the media makes assumptions and how much the label encourages it. It's more like a work thing.”

"Just like I was a work thing? Did you fuck her too?" Aria fires back, almost in disbelief over her newfound boldness.

For the first time ever, she's the one to leave him lost for words. His eyes wide before they begin to soften Raleigh takes a step forward and tries to place a hand on her shoulder but she flinches and backs up against the hallway wall.

"Aria....it's not like that, we weren't like that."

"There was never a we. Once our little stunt was done, you seemed perfectly fine to wash your hands of me."

"But I thought-" Raleigh runs a hand through his through his hair. "Look, I'm used to women throwing themselves at me. I've never had to question if someone was into me. I really thought that you genuinely liked me, and the feeling was mutual, but then you talked about how relieved you were it was over and that we weren't forced to spend time together anymore. I may not have shown it, but that hurt."

Oh my god. Aria cannot believe what an idiot she had been. Unlike Raleigh, she'd never had such confidence in relationships. She doesn't want to say she had been testing Raleigh, but that's basically what she had done. She didn't want to face rejection, so she'd thought if she played it cool, Raleigh would have an easy out if he needed it.

"And I thought since you didn't fight me on it, you didn't really want me. God, I ruined everything."

Raleigh takes another step closer, and with her back against the wall Aria now has nowhere to go, but she doesn't want to either. He brings a hand up and she lets him rest his palm against her cheek, fingers twining in her her hair.

"Well then, to be clear, I want you Aria, I always have."

Raleigh's words and the sincerity in his voice create a spark that ignites a flame inside her. And when he leans in to kiss her, lips softly brushing hers until her response lets him unleash the hunger that's been lingering, that flame sets her whole body alight, like fireworks illuminating the dark night sky.

When they finally break for air, Aria can't speak. Raleigh has literally taken her breath away.

"Convinced yet?" Raleigh asks the question he already knows the answer to, amusement in his eyes and a smile playing on his lips. Aria just nods and he goes in for another kiss.

"Wait..." Aria turns her head and pushes her hands against his chest. "Aren't you supposed to be with Jaylen? Shouldn't you clear that up before anyone sees us? We wouldn't want to create any more scandalous rumors."

"But scandalous rumors make for the best publicity." Raleigh chuckles.

Aria laughs but shakes her head. "Your reputation may be bulletproof, but I don't need to add mistress to my list."

"Okay, okay. I'm texting Fiona to help handle my 'break-up' with Jaylen effectively immediately. Once the word is out, you're all mine and I don't care who sees it. Deal?"

"Deal." Aria shakes his hand as if they are entering another business deal, however this time it's anything but.

[ask-the-clergy-bc]

Anniversary Gift (Papa I x Reader)

Made something soft and simple for Opus today! :) 

Papa I x GN Reader - unbeta’d! Please enjoy some soft!)

---------

      Your beloved Papa was not hard to find after a ritual. His schedule was always like clockwork and rarely ever broken for anything. You personally knew that today he was due for paperwork and preparations for the newest ascension in the Papacy. One that he took with such decorum and grace it shocked even his younger brothers. But that was your Papa, always doing what was best for the clergy no matter how it might personally scathe him. That was why you, in turn, dedicated your being to him and the word of Lucifer. And Today was the perfect day to show your dedication. 

After conducting his latest spine chilling mass, one you eagerly devoured every word of like a communion, you watched as he retreated from the pulpit. An excited grin on your face spread when you carefully picked your way out of the pews and past your fellow siblings. You nearly ripped the black gift bag in your hands from nerves alone! The only thing keeping you from trembling with nerves was caressing the blue ribbon streamers from the paper handles. The same ones you had spent an exasperating amount of time curling until they were uniform and perfect. 

Waiting was the hard part, you knew. Sure, you stationed yourself out of his door but you knew Papa wasn’t alone. You memorized the routine. He would conduct his Sunday Unholy Mass, receive siblings, hobble back to his office, be hounded by various deacons and bishops for Lucifer knows what, then he would be left to his paperwork. Muffled voices reached your ears as you patiently waited against the wall, phone keeping you entertained for the moment. None of the clergymen even bothered to look at you twenty minutes later when the heavy oak door finally opened. You watched as they filed out. Some looking quite pleased and others sour faced like they just ate a whole lemon. 

You gave Papa a few minutes to himself before politely knocking on the door. Granted, you could have just waltzed in, but you liked to respect him. You tip toed in and noticed the Anti-Pope wasn’t even bothering to look up. There was a scowl present on his face under his comically small reading glasses. A pen scratched furiously at the desk as his gravely voice rumbled out, not waiting for you to fully enter.  

“The decision is final, Bishop- I will not speak of it again-”

“I’m no Bishop, but I’ll take the title if you want!”

Papa seemed more startled that it was you and immediately looked up. A small smile tugged at his painted lips as his eyes softened a fraction- the way they always did when you came to him. He tried to sit upright as much as his crooked back would allow and held out his hand. 

“Beloved lamb,” he rasped pleasantly, “ What a beautiful sight for sore eyes.”

You eagerly shuffled over, taking his hand immediately as he pulled you to his side. You loved the way his eyes crinkled in adoration and how those endless depths looked at you. Papa suddenly looked down as your bag hit the side of his arm. The chance for him to ask what you were up to wasn’t even given as you plopped the bag in his unsuspecting lap. He chuckled low and rich and looked up at you. 

“Is it my birthday already? How generous.” His dry humor never ceased to make you smile. But you shook your head and rubbed his arm. 

“A birthday, you could say that! Not EXACTLY for you but just- just open!” 

He raised a brow at you, mirth evident in his face. Perhaps he was getting too used to the small gifts you showered him with, as he took his time to undo the ribbons. It was practically torture for you to watch him be so meticulous and respectful of the decorations you hand prepared. You practically wanted to rip the paper bag open just so he could see what was finally inside! But you stayed your hands, instead tapping your foot in anticipation. Papa let out a surprised click of his tongue, one only a trained ear could hear if they knew the old man. 

A sleek, black wrapped sleeve was produced- attached to it was a little card. Papa nodded and took the envelope, popping it open with practiced ease. You watched him read lightning fast as he looked up to you with the softest expression. The last time he looked at you like that was when you confessed your feelings, or the first time you made a special cake for his actual birthday.

“Beloved- has ten years passed so quickly?” 

You grinned. 

“Yes- but that’s not the best part!! Open!” 

He chuckled again as you eagerly tapped the gift with your nail. He wasted no time in ripping open the black paper and you heard him give a soft inhale. You twitched your hands, hoping it was a good sound. 

“This is-”

“It was from the first batch circulated… still sealed.”

Papa didn’t look up at you, he instead chose to gently stroke the sealed plastic over the logo. You watched him smile fondly down at the ‘Rise Above Records’ label. And you weren’t lying. You spent so many months searching and bargaining for this. It took you two months just to get the printing information, and then many more scouring record shops and dedicated private collectors. Quite frankly, you were beginning to lose hope of getting one in time. The only reason you got one collector to part with it was by getting Papa himself to sign a few items to send from the Clergy. (At the time you lied to him, saying they were for a huge fan giveaway. He’d never say no to his fans.) 

You were torn out of your thoughts from the sound of his glasses chain being removed from his neck. Papa stood up and took your hand gently- his eyes gleaming in barely concealed tenderness and love. The other hand cradled the vinyl like a precious artifact. 

“All this trouble for an old man and his music?”

“I remembered you said you never got a chance to get your own record… just the test copy. You deserve it. Happy Anniversary Papa!”

The record was left nearly forgotten on the desk as he pulled you in for a gentle, long kiss. When you two finally parted he held you still, studying your features as you reached up to cup his painted cheek. You knew he wouldn’t mind when it would inevitably smudge. 

“Thank you my sweet… such a gift will be with my heart forever.”

You smiled back before giggling. 

“I’m just sorry I couldn’t find one with your signature.”

The room erupted with his hearty, booming laugh.

[ellebabywrites]

The Hitman - In Exodus

Type : Oneshot (Part of The In Exodus Series) // Angst // Fluff // Smut // Cartel!au

Warnings : angst, death, cussing

Author Note : This took me far too long and had my anxieties far too high. I’m finally happy with how it turned out and hope you all enjoy it too !! Please give me some feedback because I’ve worked so hard on this chapter..

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀*⋆.*:*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆**･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ.: ⋆*･ﾟ☾

The smell of freshly baked croissants flood the streets, a sign that the Bakery is about to open and the day beginning. Shutters rise and doors open. The busting workers of Exodus bracing for the day ahead; a day of sales to kids who can barely walk straight with the amount of poison saturating their bloodstream; a day of fighting with the guy from down the road who insists that things were ‘cheaper last week’; a day of overworking for much less of a profit than it’s all worth. Living the dream.

The bakery was different though. Something about it felt like home, and everyone treated it as such. It was the only building for miles that wasn’t painted in graffiti, the only business that was doing well for itself, a little slice of goodness in the middle of all that bad.

That’s what everyone thinks anyway.

Across the street, Jongin is watching through the scope of his rifle. Watching the Baker unlock his doors and flip the closed sign to open. He scoffs. Such a poser.

Saying Jongin enjoyed his job would be pushing it; how much enjoyment can one really get from taking a life without being a psychopath? But he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t looking forward to taking out this one particular man.

He watches the Baker great the first of his customers with a toothy grin, hugging Mrs Jamison when she comes in for her regular morning pastry. If only Mrs Jamison knew all the dirty things that man had been doing with the hand she shakes so willingly.

The town’s beloved Baker wasn’t nearly as squeeky clean as he liked everyone to believe. After hours, he found himself in SUjU territory, hanging out with drug runners, dancing around the subject of Exodus till the haze of alcohol took control, divulging any and all information that might get him another drink.

Pathetic Jongin thinks, noticing how the Baker danced around his customers with such fictitious glee, as if he hadn’t sold them out a hundred times over.

Again, not to say EXO were any better, but surely there should be some sense of town loyalty right? Jongin thinks so; making this particular betrayal all the more infuriating and his death all the more inevitable.

Jongin lines up the crosshairs of his gun against the Baker’s head, having the courtesy to wait for the shop to empty. One. The corner of his lips pull into a smirk, the buildup of adrenaline flooding his veins working as his own personal high. Two. Is it sick to say he can’t wait to kill this guy? Maybe? He deserves it Jongin thinks, afterall, he did try and ruin their business for a few shots of tequila. Thr…

“Hey Joey!”

So close…

“Well this is a surprise! How’re you today darlin’?”

Usually, you would only visit Joey’s bakery at the end of the week, needing some sort of sugary treat to get through the piles of work you had to do; but today your classes were cut short and you were gagging for something with chocolate.

“Our professor had to leave early and a girl needs her goodies!” You joked, leaning against the counter.

Joey had been a staple in Exodus for your entire life, the man was everybody’s uncle, everybody’s friend, you could talk to him about anything and your weekly visits had become a huge part of your routine.

“Good job I’ve got a whole bunch for you to choose from duck,” Joey laughs at how your eyes quickly scan over the trays of baked goods like you were a starving puppy, “Ooo I know what you should pick, I need someone to try out my new brownie recipe!”

Fuck. Joey moved away from Jongin’s line of fire just enough to grab the box of brownies from behind the counter, the perfect shot ruined by a few brownies.

“Well if you made them Joey then I’m sure they’re absolutely delicious!” you coo, giggling at how easily you can make him blush.

Just as you were about to leave and the Baker to return to the firing line, a rush of people came flooding into the small shop, putting a stop to whatever chance Jongin had at completing his mission right now.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Nini groans in frustration, packing up his equipment quickly as to get away unnoticed, “he was right there, I could have had him!” It was frustrating sure, delaying his plans a few more hours before there would be another chance to take out his target; but there would be another chance and Jongin would get the job done. So while the sweet-toothed girl had momentarily saved old Joey’s life, it wouldn’t last much longer.

---

The clock read 11:57pm as you were hunched over on the living room floor, trying to finish this essay that you’d definitely not been putting off for weeks…

“Need ...sugar ...immediately..” you whine, dramatically throwing yourself across the floor to grab the box of brownies Baker Joe had gifted you earlier in the day. Mmnn, indulging yourself in the chocolatey goodness, you decide now is the perfect time for a break, only 6,000 words left to go anyway…

Completely oblivious to the ramifications those few brownies had had on the day for more than one party, you munched away the last of them, licking the crumbs from your fingertips and moaning at the euphoria a simple treat could bring.

‘Breaking news tonight : Beloved Exodus baker found dead. The 56 year old’s body was discovered an hour ago near his home, cause of death is officially named as a GSW through the neck…’

A chill runs up your spine as the news plays quietly from the television. Baker Joe was dead. Someone had killed him! You’re confused and hurt and angry all at once. Why would anyone want to hurt Joey? He was one of the only decent people in this shit-show of a city and now he was gone. Your eyes wander to the now empty box of goodies, the bakery’s logo printed on the front in swirly gold font and you feel the sudden need to cry, so you do.

---

Who did this guy think he was? An MX falcone wandering the streets of Exodus without a care in the world, stealing from the market stalls as he sauntered his way through the crowds. Minhyuk is his name. When Baekhyun had gotten word of their latest visitor, Jongin was immediately sent to take care of it. Honestly what did they think was going to happen? That they could just hang out in Exodus without consequence? That no one would be the least bit suspicious?

“You like the farmers market huh,” Jongin keeps a trained eye on Minhyuk as he moves from stall to stall. There were far too many people around for a direct hit so all he could do was watch and wait for the perfect opportunity.

“Why the fuck are you here?” He mumbled in annoyance, MX were getting far too comfortable for anyone’s liking; it was like the calm before the storm, except the storm was standing right in front of him chatting about produce with Mr Kim.

Suddenly, Minhyuk takes a sharp left, making his way out of the bustling crowd towards the alleys. He’d been made. Fuck. Following as quickly as he could, fighting his way through the sea of people, Jongin tries to keep up.

“Excuse me, I’m trying to get to…”

Minhyuk is fast, but maybe if you weren’t standing in front of him, blocking the way, Jongin would have been able to get him.

He doesn’t immediately recognise you. Your hair is tied differently and you’re wearing a different coat, but once Jongin places you as the girl from the bakery, he’s immediately on guard. Twice now you’ve gotten in the way of a hit. Could it just be a coincidence? Sure Exodus is small, you’re bound to run into the same people more than once. Baker Joe’s was a town staple and the market is always busy, but what are the chances? Jongin tries to side-step passed you, eyes scanning the crowds for Minhyuk, but you move along with him.

Holding out a map in front of him, you try again to ask for directions but Jongin doesn’t have time. He doesn’t have time to entertain the possibility that seeing you again could be anything but a coincidence, not when he’s about to lose yet another target.

“Move!”

You watch in astonishment as he pushes you out of the way before storming off. What an asshole you think; all you needed were directions, a simple no would have sufficed. Then again you’d come to expect nothing more from the people of Exodus. Sighing, you carry on your way alone, soon forgetting about the rude man you had met on the street.

---

8am lectures were the bain of your existence, but Professor Jeong’s class was always worth it.

Armed with a large cup of coffee and a stack of notes to aid you through, you made your way to an empty space near the front of the lecture hall. Biology never came easy to you, but the drive you had to succeed more than made up for it.

“Sorry I’m late guys,” Professor Jeong rushed into the busy hall, his own cup of coffee balancing on a pile of books clutched between his arms, “I got caught up with Professor Lyn, he’s such a ...fungi!”

The room fills with groans and muffled laughs at the attempt of a joke so early in the morning, but the Professor didn’t seem to mind. “Okay I’m sorry, let’s get into today. Can anyone tell me where we left off last week? Y/N?”

From the back of the room Jongin notices you.

“Oh you have to got to be kidding me..”

Once again, you happen to show up right in the middle of a job. There had to be a reason. There was no way this could be a coincidence anymore. Were you following him? Working with MX? Trying to get intel on EXO? Jongin didn’t know, but at this point he didn’t care. You were a problem.

Jeong was another star poser in Exodus. The esteemed environmental science professor, that drew students from across the country just to take his conservational bio class. The hotshot teacher who was already in the running for tenure. The slimy asshole that used his connections in the science world to help EXO’s competitors recreate their patented drug.

This was supposed to be an easy hit, wait till after class and use the pocket knife hidden in his belt to slit the professor’s throat before next period. But now, Jongin had to put those plans on hold so that he could figure out what to do about you.

---

Following you was far easier than Jongin had anticipated, thinking that he’d be kept on his toes trying to avoid getting caught, but you seemed completely oblivious to the fact that someone had been following you, watching your routines and judging them oh so harshly.

He kept his distance at first, observing from afar as you went about your daily activities. But soon enough, Jongin found himself immersed in the story that was your life. On the sidelines, a spectator, keeping mental notes of your behaviours.

Keeping space between you, Jongin follows you down the familiar street. He knows exactly where you’re going, the same place you’ve gone to for lunch every day that week. After your first class of the day you head straight to Lou’s café to grab something to eat and get some studying done. Like clockwork, the only thing to change was your order. Jongin would never admit that he’d grown to enjoy the establishment himself, but it was one of the least tedious moments of the day.

With the sky starting to darken in the cold weather, you fumble around your bag for your wallet amongst the loose scrunchies and old receipts, Jongin scoff in disbelief.

“How have you not been jumped yet?” He mumbled to himself. Before you’ve even walked through the café doors you have your money in hand, out in the open for anyone to take. Jongin had picked up on the blissful ignorance you had in regards to the danger in Exodus, instead, choosing to carry on carefree. Stupid he thinks.

Standing in line a few spots behind you, he watches as you let person after person cut in front and he just doesn’t get it. You only have an hour before the start of your next class and yet you’re willingly letting yourself be pushed back? People were clearly taking advantage of your kindness, but you were either incredibly stupid or didn’t care. When the older woman in front of you is a few dollars short, you don’t hesitate before lending her the difference, even putting back your own drink just so you could afford to help her. How could someone so generous be apart of something so evil? Then again, most of Exodus were playing that game.

Grabbing a coffee of his own, Jongin sits a table over from where you plant yourself, what had become your regular spots. Finding amusement in the way you struggle to fit both of your study books in the small space.

Now, only a short while before you needed to be back in class, you attempt to get as much work done while shoveling food down your throat as you could. Jongin thought it was hilarious, bar the tuna mayo that is. “Tuna? Really? It’s 11am jesus christ!” Maybe it was easy for him to judge you from a distance, but out of all the things he’d learnt, your love of tuna was the worst.

He watches your face scrunch and eyebrows furrow as you try and absorb the information, recognising the same study book you’ve been working on all week, the one for Professor Jeong’s class that you’d been struggling with. The pages covered almost entirely in highlighter with notes and doodles littering the margins. Cute.

You just seem so harmless. No matter how hard he tries Jongin just can’t seem to figure you out. Perhaps MX were blackmailing you? Maybe they had something that forced you to be their spy? It was the only explanation he could think of, because it just didn’t seem plausible that the girl in front of him, furiously editing her notes for the hundredth time that hour, the one with drops of mayonnaise left over on the corner of her lips, could be willingly working with the notorious MX. But you were involved somehow, of that he was sure.

---

The library is quiet, the sound of rustling papers and hushed whispers being the only source of noise. Luckily, it was busier than usual due to the wave of group projects being assigned, it made it easy for Jongin to blend in.

He watches you curiously from behind one of the bookshelves, trying to understand why you haven’t slapped the asshole beside you yet. He’d been cutting you off and putting you down every chance he could.

“I just think if we..”

“Seriously Y/N don’t strain yourself, I think we’ve got it.”

Asshole.

Even Jongin wanted to punch this guy. Being the only girl in the group, the others found it easy to dismiss everything you offered.

“Why doesn’t she say anything?” Jongin wondered, once again you were letting people walk all over you.

It’s not like you particularly enjoyed being treated that way, in fact you were daydreaming about slamming said assholes’ face into the wall at that very moment, but you couldn’t do that. This project defines your grade for the semester and you couldn’t afford that kind of taint on your record. So you bite your tongue. Act none the wiser and count the seconds before you could go home and be done with them all.

Across the library you spot Minho, the cute senior who’d been working as the student librarian for the last month or so. He’s scanning out returns at the desk, eyes glancing up occasionally, you presume to keep an eye on things . God he’s cute. When he spots you staring and then takes a look at the rather heated debate going on between your group, he decides to save you from the disarray, waving you over.

“My hero,” you tease, almost running to where Minho is.

“It was getting too painful to watch! What’s he ranting about this time?” He teases playfully, knowing all too well the constant tension in your study group.

“Ugh I don’t even know, it’s so much easier just to tune him out,”

Jongin’s teeth clench watching the exchange between you and the librarian. The childish giggling, the ‘accidental’ touches, the lingering stares. Disgusting.

“Who even is this guy?” If he didn’t know any better Jongin would think this was jealousy, but he did know better, so all of these unfamiliar feelings had to be from just how pitiful the sight was. This guy was clearly flirting with you, the blush on his cheeks and sweaty palms said as much, but from everything Jongin had learnt, you weren’t going to reciprocate. Tragic.

“Are you kidding me? Why is she twirling her hair like that!? He’s not even her type! He’s... he…” his mumbled ranting cut off by the sound of you laughing across the room. “Well if that is her type then no wonder she’s corrupt.”

He watches the pair of you for a little longer before the need to throw up eventually overtakes his need to stay, deciding he could catch you up later and spare himself the torture of sitting through whatever this was.

---

The open sign light bounces off wet concrete, illuminating your face with such a subtle glow of pink that Jongin could barely make out the streaks of tears running down your cheeks. He almost missed you sitting crouched over on the pavement, the smell of smoke being what made him stop. Why is she crying? He thought to himself, seeing you curled up in a ball, cigarette dangling from your fingertips haphazardly concerned him. Jongin didn’t have to wonder for too long though, the closer he got to you the clearer he could hear your muffled cries.

“Stupid fucking Geord,” you cuss, taking another long drag to calm your anxieties, “takes all my ideas, monopolises the entire presentation and then my contribution isn’t enough!?”

Jongin had come to know the infamous Geord all too well this last week, the pompous ass that had belittled you in the library, the snotty rich kid with mommy issues that just loved being right. Honestly the fact he hadn’t killed him yet was an accomplishment in itself; but still, seeing you clearly so upset gave Jongin a weird feeling.

You were either getting much better with your performance skills, or he was actually getting mad for you…

With each sniffle, each tear drop, Jongin felt his resolve breaking away and being replaced with a type of anger he’d never felt before. Why did he care that you were crying? Why was it affecting him so much? He didn’t know, but it took all his strength not to go find Geord and make him regret whatever he’d done.

As quickly as you put out the cigarette that was now burning short, you’re reaching for the box to light another. You only really smoked when you were feeling particularly stressed, Jongin hated it. Ironically it was the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen; painting the walls with someone’s brain was nothing compared to the strong stench of nicotine that passed your lips.

For a second Jongin lets his mind entertain the thought of approaching you, but the professional side of him reminds him who you were. This could be a trick...She’s not an idiot. Then he considers calling you out. Drawing his gun and putting an end to MX’s game once and for all, besides, he’d been observing you for a week now and he couldn’t afford for his attention to be diverted any more, he still had the good old Professor to end.

Before he gets the chance to do either however, you stand up. Taking one last drag before stomping out the flame, your hands carelessly wipe at your face in a feeble attempt at clearing the remnants of your breakdown.

“I’ll be fine, let’s just go home,” you whisper, more than familiar with putting yourself back together and wanting nothing more than a hot bath and warm bed.

---

When you first noticed that the new guy on campus was following you, you tried not to think too much of it. In all honesty, you were far too busy trying to keep on top of everything to pay much attention as to why you were being followed. Knowing the people in Exodus, you figured it was just his creepy way of flirting, or at the very worst he was planning on robbing you, not that you had much to take anyway. But as the days went by and the presence of your stalker persisted, you were growing frustrated. It’d been a stressful week and the last thing you needed was some guy watching your every move.

After getting the results back from Professor Jeong for your group presentation, you weren’t exactly in a ‘good mood’ and the looming shadow of the man trying to be inconspicuous as he followed you home, was the last straw.

"How much longer are you planning on following me?” You shout over your shoulder, not having the energy to even face him. When you get no response, you reluctantly decide to turn around to stare him down.

His chocolate coloured hair is pushed back exposing his forehead, eyes golden but harbouring so much animosity that they could have turned black, the jacket adorning his shoulders almost blending him into the dark street behind. He was handsome, strikingly so.

“Look dude it’s been a long day, can’t you just lay off the stalking for one night?”

Jongin stiffens at your words. So you did know he was there? And chose now, while you were both alone in a dark street, to confront him? God she’s stupid.

“Sorry Darling, can’t do that,” he insisted, watching how your shoulders slumped and fingers twitched at the side of your coat.

“Of course,” sighing deeply, too tired to argue, you decide to continue on towards your apartment, stalker be damned.

“Aren’t MX getting bored of this game yet?” Jognin calls. He figures if you already knew he was following you, then now would be the perfect time to put an end to it. You were alone after all.

When he sees you freeze at the sound of MX, he takes a tentative step closer, you’re still turned away from him, just a few steps ahead. “I mean, were you really the best they could do? We expected more.” The smirk on his face when you turn to him, wide eyed and lost for words, only grows at your reaction. Gotcha.

“What are you talki..”

“Come on now Darling, we both know what’s going on here.”

“I promise you we do not.” You’ve heard whispers of MX around town, while you didn’t know much, you did know that if this guy thought you were somehow apart of it, then this was a dangerous misunderstanding.

“You have a choice.” Jongin takes another step closer, “You can leave, now, and make sure MX stay out of Exodus for good,” Reaching under his jacket, he grabs the gun that’s been burning through the back of his shirt since you called out to him, “Or I can send them a message myself. Choose.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about!” You tried to keep calm, swallowing the lump forming at the back of your throat. When you spotted the gun being pulled from his coat, it was like a pin dropped and the reality of the situation finally began to sink in.

Exodus is a dangerous place. Exodus is full of dangerous people. You were standing alone with a strange man that you’d just yelled at, that had been following you for god knows how long, a gun pointed at your face and not a soul in sight that would help you.

He doesn’t flinch when you jump back, his smirk doesn’t falter when you start begging for him to listen. In Jongin’s mind, the fact you’d acknowledged his presence at all was enough to prove you were involved.

“Please, please, just listen to me, t-there’s been a mistake, I d-don’t kno…”

“Oh my god shut up!” He yelled over your desperate cries, “It’s over! Done!”

“I don’t know who you think I am, b-but my name is Y/N I grew up a few towns over with my parents, I-I study Conservation Biology at the university because when I was little I saw a film about sea turtles and now I love them.. I...” you read somewhere that telling a killer personal information about yourself would make them less likely to kill you; so, with your hands held up in surrender, you start begging, pleading, letting slip every boring and mediocre fact about yourself in hopes that the handsome stranger will let you live.

Jongin was taken aback to say the least. Never had a target begged for their life quite like  this before, but the more you rambled on and the more tears that fell down your cheeks, he couldn’t help it. He believed you.

This is a mistake... Did I mess up here? Fuck! His mind raced to find a way out of this, but his composure was breaking down with each second you plead your case. How could he have gotten things so wrong? Looking at you now; scared and shaking, there was no way you could be with MX. Jongin’s mind quickly looks back on all the time he’d been watching you, at school, at the library, with friends, home alone... Is it possible he let feelings cloud his judgment? No… Jongin didn’t have feelings.

Bang.

In a split second the air was slashed with bullets, plastering the wall behind you with open wounds. Your body drops to the floor, hands covering your ears like a scared child at a fireworks display, your screams piercing through the air.

Jongin doesn’t even think about it before he’s at your side. He fires back some warning shots, just enough to cover the pair of you so he could pull you out of there, but you were frozen in place.

“C’mon we need to get out of here! I can’t get a clear shot!”

Jongin hoisted your trembling body into his arms, waiting for a gap in the bullet wave before rushing out of the street. Weaving between the crumbling buildings, waiting in the shadows for a free moment to sprint out of there to a nearby underpass. It was sheltered and open, meaning Jongin could keep a solid eye on the surroundings while still keeping you safe while he let himself freak out a little.

As soon as he puts you on the ground you melt into the concrete, hugging your knees to your chest and crying into them silently. It’s all too much. How did this happen? Yesterday you were failing Bio and trying to avoid the creeper puppy boy that’d been following you. Now…. you were pretty sure you were going to die tonight.

“Fuck...fuck..fuck, fuck, FUCK!” Jongin paces back and forth, using the barrel of his gun to scratch away the headache slowly spreading across his temples. How could he have messed up this badly? He’s the best… at least... he was the best.

With every footstep he takes you flinch a little, hyper aware of the gun swinging from his hand, fingertip dancing along the trigger. You still don’t know who he is or why you’re there but you’ve seen enough to know to keep quiet. So you stay sitting on the ground, letting the tears melt into the fabric of your jeans, watching the state of panic escalate in the man in front of you while your own turned into something akin to resentment.

After almost half an hour of silently waiting for some sort of direction, you’ve had enough. Eventually Jongin had stopped pacing, choosing to lean up against the wall with head in hands, instead. In your mind, you have nothing to do with this. There is nothing connecting you to whatever chaos was happening here. You had no reason to wait around to get shot.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?!” He shouts, annoyance bubbling beneath his skin.

“Home.”

“You can’t!” Pushing himself off the wall, Jongin reaches for your arm in an attempt to keep you still. You try to shake him off but his grip is too strong.

“I DIDN’T ASK FOR ANY OF THIS!” You’re screaming at him now. Tears no longer from fear, but anger. You feel trapped in whatever this was and it wasn’t fair, you just want to go home.

“Yeah well tough shit Darling, because unfortunately you’re my responsibility now and it’s my job to make sure you don’t get yourself killed!”

“I can take care of myself! I’ve been doing it long enough!” He rolls his eyes at your response, growing tired of trying to be the good guy for once. “Let me go! I’ll be just fine! Like always!”

Finally loosening the grip on your arm, Jongin let’s you storm off. Waiting, only out of spite, for you to be out of ear shot before cussing out loud at himself.

---

Somehow you managed to drag yourself to class. The events of last night still burning fresh at the back of your mind, but you were desperate enough for a distraction that even Professor Jeong’s morning class was worth that extra effort.

Barely able to keep your eyes open with the little sleep you were actually able to get, it takes you a moment to recognise the familiar body that plants themselves in the desk next to yours.

Jongin doesn’t look at you. Maybe it’s pride, maybe it’s nerves, but he keeps his eyes trained on the professor’s desk up front, waiting for his cover to be inevitably blown all for the sake of keeping you safe.

“Good morning class!” The professor’s abrupt entrance pulls your shocked and frustrated gaze from burning holes in the side of Jongin’s neck. His tan skin glowing under the plain white tee he’s wearing, hair falling into his eyes softly, contradicting the hard image he’d worn the night before. Does he have his gun with him? You wonder, letting your eyes wander to the waistband of his jeans, remembering how he’d pulled the weapon from them the night before. Stop! You hope he doesn’t realise you’ve been blankly staring at his crotch, mind racing with questions, you don’t even know his name.

“Today we’re picking up the remaining presentati…” When the admirable Professor meets eyes with Jongin, smirking from his seat beside you knowingly, he loses all train of thought.

It’s a feeling Jongin had missed. When a mark knows they’re done for, that he’s coming for them. When their eyes double in size. When fear pales their skin. When they lose all hope of fucking over EXO and getting away with it.

“T-today..um…” You can see the Professor eyeing your seat partner nervously, stuttering over his words. You’d never seen Jeong like this before, he looked terrified, and after last night it didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

Jongin shifts in his seat, enjoying the effect his presence has on the esteemed scholar. While Jeong tries to regain some semblance of decorum, Jongin wraps one of his arms around your shoulders and squeezes tightly, keeping eye contact with the professor, claiming you.

“What are you doing?” keeping your voice low as to not draw anymore attention to you both, you try to push Jongin’s arm away from you, only for him to put it right back.

“My job. Now be quiet.” He hisses, hiding the harshness of his voice behind a sickly sweet smile.

Professor Jeong spends the entire lecture avoiding your side of the room, refusing to make eye contact, completely ignoring you. You try not to take it personally of course, it’s definitely not because of something you did, that you know for sure; but for once you actually know the answers to some of these questions and want to participate.

“I told you, I can take care of myself!” you grumbled, again trying to physically get Jongin away from you, but he just smirks. Like he was enjoying it. Like this was all just some big game and not the life threatening situation he’d made it out to be the night before.

And you would probably believe that were true, if it wasn’t for his nails digging so sharply into your shoulder.

By the time class finishes you want to run a million miles away. The pressure of Jongin’s arm around your neck you’re sure will leave you aching for days; but as long as he’s far away from you, you can deal with it. You all but sprint out of the lecture hall, forgetting all about your next class and heading straight home; taking a back street you hope he hadn’t seen you use before.

“What the hell is this?” You mumble to yourself, pushing down the fear as far as you can in hopes the empty space will leave room for answers. You’re so caught up in your head, trying to figure out what you did to deserve this, you don’t even realise that Jongin’s been on your tail the whole time, watching you freak out and creep around like the amateur he now knows you are. It’s not until he steps into your building’s elevator with you that you realize he’s there.

“Jesus! Fuck, can’t you leave me alone!” He was exhausting; flattering when you thought it was a puppy crush, less so now you know he wanted to kill you.

“I can’t,” Jongin leans against the side of the elevator, growing tired of the chase.

“Why?! You’re the only one stalking me here!”

“Oh Darling, you have no idea.”

“Then explain! Because I’m tired of this! I have work to do, classes to study for, and I can’t when you’re scaring my teachers and dragging me through shoot outs!!”

Jongin understands why you’re annoyed. He gets it, he messed up and now you’re in danger. But to admit that outloud… to admit that to you… he’d rather not.

He doesn’t give you an answer, finding his reflection in the steel doors far more interesting, chewing the inside of his cheek and fixing his jacket over and over.

When you finally reach your floor, it becomes a race of wills to get to your apartment. Jongin trying to force his way in; you trying to lock him out. You sprint for the door, key in hand; almost managing to slam it shut in his face before Jongin’s hand pushes it back open, forcing himself through the small gap and locking you both inside.

In a second he’s slamming your back against the door with his hand covering your mouth, keeping you in place with the weight of his body, trying to work up the nerve to finally tell you the truth.

“I’m not going to hurt you, but you need to listen to me just for one fucking second… My name is Jongin, okay?” he asks, face dangerously close to your own. You manage a weak nod under his hold, terrified but needing answers.

“I made a mistake. I...I thought you were working with MX,”

Your eyes widen at the second mentioning of the infamous gang, more confused than ever as to why he thought you would ever be involved with them. He didn’t even know you.

“There’s rumours they’re coming for EXO territory..”

He’s with EXO. The realisation floods through your body like a lightning strike, frying your nerves, limbs locked in place while the rest of your body falls limp into his arms. EXO. The kings of this city. The reason shops close early and children aren’t allowed out after 9. The  doctors responsible for prescribing the death, the destruction, of a city once so healthy and vibrant. Monsters, as far as you’re concerned.

“They must have seen me tailing you and after last night, I think you’re a target.” Jongin watches as your eyes well up with tears, red and swollen as you choke back the sobs you so obviously want to release. It doesn’t affect him… it doesn’t make him angry… he doesn’t want to wrap you in a hug and take it all back… right?

“So as much as you don’t like it, I’m here. I messed up so I need to fix it, because this isn’t a game and this isn’t a joke. If they think you’re with us they will kill you. Milk carton kids, where are they now, 27 club dead.”

You wish he was a better actor. That he could hide the shame, guilt, pain he feels for putting you in this position better. That the cold exterior he wears so well didn’t have quite as many cracks, because then maybe you could tell yourself that everything was going to be okay. But if Jongin looks scared, then you’re absolutely terrified.

Blinded by the fear, your body reacts before your mind can catch up. Fists pounding into his chest weakly as the sound of your sobs rip into his heart. You’re in hysterics, screaming at him for an answer to questions still lodged at the back of your throat. Jongin doesn’t break down with you, as much as his body tries. Instead he just grabs your wrists, stopping their assault and pinning them into his embrace. His hold the only thing keeping you standing as you finally let the last walls crumble, letting out every tear, every scream, every desperate cry for it all to be some twisted dream.

Jongin doesn’t know how you both ended up on the floor, your head buried between your knees as his hand finds itself brushing through your hair. Somehow you manage to calm yourself down, letting the sobs turn to whimpers and cries to sniffles. Finally numb after the dust settles in your mind, you force yourself to look back up at Jongin. He looks how you feel, just doing a better job at hiding it; you don’t miss the concern that washes over his face and maybe that’s why you decide to let him stay. If he was so determined to fix what he’d done, you weren’t going to stop him. At least not tonight.

“I need to sleep,” you say weakly, standing on shaky legs but brushing off Jongin’s worried hands when he tries to help, “you can stay on the couch.”

---

Tiptoeing across the living room, shoelaces dangling from your teeth while your hands clutch onto your books; you’re desperately trying not to wake a sleeping Jongin. His sprawled out body half falling from the couch, you admit he looks a lot cuter when he’s sleeping.

Before you can stop it, one of your shoes drops from between your teeth, making Jongin jump up at the sound.

“What are you doing?” he mumbled, rubbing the fatigue from his face, stretching back into his familiar hard persona.

“Uhh, going for breakfast?”

“Did you not hear me last night!” It didn’t sound like a question. His voice raising ever so slightly in frustration as he stands to tower over you. Failing miserably at being as intimidating as usual, with his hair a mess and cheeks puffy.

“I heard you,” you say, pushing your feet into the fallen shoes before giving him a chance to stop you, “I’m just not going to hide away like a victim when this is your mess.” He stiffens at your words, ignoring the cut they etch into his heart, instead focusing on your relentless stubbornness in such a risky situation.

“If they catch you out alone they won’t miss another shot!” Jongin clenches his jaw when you roll your eyes at his remark, unsure of what he can do to change your mind.

“Look if you’re so worried, you’re more than welcome to join me,” you offer, determination radiating off of your face in such a way that Jongin finds himself unable to argue.

---

For the next few days Jongin stays by your side, sleeping on your couch, going to breakfasts, your classes, all to make sure you were safe.

He walks the familiar routes around town with you, not from a few paces back this time, but shoulder to shoulder. Sitting beside you in Professor Jeong’s early morning classes, Jongin was having far too much fun watching the colour drain from his face each time he showed up to one of your lectures to kill him just yet.

Everything became a threat to your safety. As far as Jongin was concerned, your life was in danger and MX could strike at any moment…. Even if it had been quiet since the shooting… it was better to be safe. That’s what Jongin told himself everytime he stayed a little longer.

“Hey Y/N!” Minho waved at you from across the library, he was reshelving returns when he spotted you studying at your usual table.

Jongin felt his ears burn red at the sight. Jaw clenching when he sees the boy walk over. Eyes narrow in judgment when you return his warm smile.

“Hey Minho, how are you?” It’d been a few days since you’d last had the chance to talk with Minho, him still as handsome as ever, but your heart not jumping quite so high at the interaction.

“I’m good, are you? I’ve missed seeing you around lately..” Minho let’s his words fade noticing the glare he was getting from the man sat beside you. “Oh I’m sorry, I’m Minho, Y/N’s friend!”

Jongin glances at Minho’s outstretched hand between them, choosing to throw his own over your shoulder rather than shake it.

“I’m Kai, Y/N’s boyfriend.” He smirks at the shocked expression that Minho wears, ignoring your startled one in favour of silently challenging the boy to leave.

“Oh...oh uh… Nice to meet you, I’ll see you guys around..”

Jongin keeps you close till he’s sure Minho has gone, only loosening his grip when he feels you nudge him gently.

“What the fuck was that, Kai?” You’re more amused than angry, but you’d never let him know that, enjoying seeing the varied emotions you can bring out of him now, when  he was supposed to be a stone cold killer.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” feigning innocence, Jongin tries to go back to reading the book he’d randomly grabbed from the pile in front of you both.

You scoff at his reaction, or lack thereof, staring at him quizzically till he finally gave in.

“That guy is sketchy! I’m here to protect you right?  So I’m protecting you. Good?”

“Minho is not sketchy,” you giggle and Jongin can’t help but smile at the sound, “and who is Kai?”

“It’s what my friends call me!”

---

“Hey!” Jongin had appeared out of nowhere, pulling the cigarette from between your lips and stomping it out. With Geord goading you relentlessly for the last hour of class, you were desperate for a smoke. You would argue that those little white sticks of bliss were the only thing keeping you from ripping his throat out.

“It’s disgusting,” he says, leaning down to your height so he could look you in the eye, “why do you do this?”

With a deep sigh, you stuff the near empty packet of unlit cigarettes back into your coat  pocket, storming away in frustration, knowing he’d follow you.

“Wait, I’m serious!”

“I like them!” you shout back, thankful the streets were empty so you could argue in peace.

“They’re bad for you you know!” he teases, laughing when you throw your middle finger up behind you.

“My cigarettes are better for me than you are!” Teasing back, you finally turn to face him, a cheeky smile on your face.

---

“We got him.”

While making dinner for the pair of you, Jongin’s phone buzzes on the counter, a string of messages coming in from someone called Minseok. You tried not to be nosey, sitting on the counter beside him while he cooked, but he didn’t even glance at it.

“Wasn’t MX. Some small town nobody trying to prove himself.”

“Jongin”

“Call me when you get this”

“Boss wants you back asap”

The thought of Jongin leaving had never even crossed your mind till then. It hadn’t been that long at all, but it felt like an eternity since he’d first come into your life. Maybe it was selfish to want him to stay.

Jongin had recently started to open up to you more about his work with EXO. He was their protector, he kept them safe. You didn’t see him as this dangerous monster anymore, he was just Jongin, Kai, the one who took care of things. Just like he’d been taking care of you all this time.

You knew deep down that when he left you’d probably never see him again; if what EXO suspects is true and MX really were making their way into Exodus, then there was a storm coming and Jongin would be right in the middle of it. He wouldn’t risk getting you anymore tangled in EXO’s mess.

“Here, try this,” Jongin held a spoon up to your mouth expectantly; pretending he didn’t see Minseok’s messages, pretending you didn’t see them either, holding on to this reality for just a little longer.

---

“We need you back Jongin,”

After ignoring Minseok’s messages a few days ago, Jongin couldn’t ignore another call from the boss.

“Jun I have to pr..”

“No you don’t! We took care of the shooter, the girl will be fine! EXO needs you, I need you!”

He doesn’t want to leave. Jongin doesn’t know what it is that makes him want to stay near you, keep you safe, go to breakfasts at Lou’s - but the thought of leaving it all behind makes his heart twist and turn in unimaginable ways.

His whole life had been about EXO. They’re his friends, his family, and he would never abandon them. But somehow he’s made a new home with you, in his heart at least. You feel like home. Sitting on your living room floor watching Blue Planet feels like home. Falling asleep on your shoulder in the middle of your lectures feels like home. EXO have been his entire identity for so long, but now there’s this other life, another door, and Jongin was finding hard to resist stepping through.

“Be back today. We have work to do.”

After Junmyeon’s orders, the frustration coursed through Jongin’s body with such force he hadn’t even realised he’d thrown the phone till you were beside him, asking what was wrong.

“I...I have to leave.” He couldn’t look you in the eye. He didn’t want to see the betrayal, the disappointment, the pain reflected in them. “It’s my fault you’re in danger and now I have to leave you…”

He doesn’t know that you know.

“I..I’ll be okay Nini.. I can look after myself remember?” Your voice is weak but you do your best to convince him; as much as you want him to stay you know that’s not an option, and you know he knows it too because he can barely look at you right now.

“Y/N… I don’t want to leave..”

It broke your heart but there was no other choice. You had to let him go. The boy you’d tried so hard to avoid just a few weeks ago, you now didn’t want to see go.

“I know..” You cup the side of his face, forcing him to look at you as you spoke, “but they need you Nini...” It was hard to keep how you were really feeling hidden, especially when he looked like he was about to break, “You’re the best Nini, they deserve the best.”

He knew you were right. He needed to be there for EXO, his family. Things in Exodus were about to get a lot messier and the fallout would be astronomical, if he wasn’t there to do his part there’s no telling what could happen, then you really would be in danger.

Leaning into your touch, Jongin grips onto your hips like it was the first time not the last, pulling you flush against his body. Memorizing the shape of your hips, touch of your skin, smell of your shampoo. Locking you inside his heart. Melding the memory of you into his soul so that this wouldn’t be the last time. He would forever be with you and you would always be there for him, long after he’s gone.

Looking at you would be too much, he might not be able to force himself away if he saw your eyes. Saying goodbye felt too final, like the end of something that never really was. Instead Jongin buried your head into his shaking chest, placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, pretending he can’t feel your tears soaking through his shirt, before turning away and walking out of your life forever.

[mrs-captain-evans]

For the Love of Dogs - Chris Evans x You

Summary:  You’re spending time at your local dog park with your rescue dog when you run into a certain Captain

Pairing:  Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count:  1946

Warnings:  None, fluffy, slight language

A/N:  Beta by @whiskey-cokenfanfic, thank you! 😘

@mycapt-ohcapt sent me a prompt of my doggy meeting Dodger a little while ago when I was hitting the wall with ideas. Inspiration hit me, so I changed it up slightly, and wrote this for you to celebrate your day today. Happy birthday darling! ❤️😘

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It was yours and Frankie’s first trip to your local dog park. It had always been a dream of yours to have a dog of you own, so when you visited a pet event show and clapped your eyes on the beautiful brindle Greyhound, your dream came true. You had spent a lot of time over the last few months researching the breed and speaking with experts, so you knew a Greyhound would fit perfectly into your busy life. As soon as you looked into Frankie’s chocolate brown eyes, you instantly fell in love and quickly signed the adoption papers before he was snapped up by someone else. That was 4 days ago.

Walking through the gate on a beautiful Spring morning, you made sure it was securely closed before removing Frankie’s leash. You had the park to yourselves, so you enjoyed a leisurely game of fetch with the tennis ball you brought with you. After a while, Frankie decided he was more interested in sniffing out all the plants and bushes which lined the paths around the large park. Taking this opportunity, you sat down on a bench nearby, pulled out your phone, and caught up with the world.

Preoccupied by the group chat with your girls, you didn’t hear the gate open as another eager hound entered the park with his owner. Just as you started to type out a response to one of your friends dating disasters, a brown and white dog jumped up into your lap, placing his paws on your thighs as he excitedly pushed his wet nose into your face, licking you with a wagging tail.

“DODGER!!”

The loud voice, of what you assumed was your new furry friends owner, echoed through the park. Looking up, you could see a dark haired, bearded, tall man, stride quickly towards you scolding at his dog, “Dodger! C’mon boy, get down!”

Giggling at the affection, you awkwardly secured your cell in your pocket and moved a hand towards his nose so he could give you a good sniff.

“Hello mister, well aren’t you an adorable boy.”

Now that both your hands were free, you ran your fingers through the soft, long fur of Dodgers neck, tickling him behind his ears.

“Awww yes you are! Who's a good boy, huh? Who’s a good boy?!” Your usually soft, quiet voice increased in pitch as you cooed over the pooch, showering him with love.

The man soon approached you and interrupted your petting with a deep chuckle. His arms were crossed, a broad smile on his face, “Shall I leave you guys to it, or..?” The amused, teasing tone in his voice didn’t go amiss.

Feeling embarrassed, you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and apologised to the man with a small smile.

Dodger was still in your lap, so his owner grabbed his collar and pulled him off you. That’s when you realised your light wash denim jeans now sported mud shaped paw prints, and your pale pink cami was covered in dark patches, thanks to the slobber caused by the ginger hound.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry!” The attractive man turned towards his dog, giving him the side eye, ”he’s normally got much better manners than this!”

Shrugging your shoulders, you waved off his apology. “It’s fine, honestly.”

Not quite forgiving Dodger just yet, he glanced back at your ruined clothes, and proceeded to tell the poor mutt off.

While the handsome man was giving his dog a lecture on how to be polite, you looked him over. His dark hair was soft and fluffy, easily styled with a natural look. His eyes were covered by a dark pair of sunglasses, and a neatly trimmed beard covered the bottom half of his face, while his pink, plump lips looked juicy enough to bite. He was wearing a dark pair of jeans, coupled with an unzipped navy blue bomber jacket, meaning you had a perfect view of the white cotton tee he was wearing underneath, which did little to cover his impressive chest. You could see a dark shadow over his clavicle area, and wondered if he was hiding some ink. Before you could ogle some more, Frankie wandered over to see what all the commotion was.

“And who is this curious fella?”

Looking down at your brindle beauty, you replied, “This is Frankie. He’s only been with me for a few days, but he just fitted right in, haven’t ya bud?”

“Well it’s lovely to meet you both, I’m Chris, and as you probably figured with my not so manly screaming, this dumbo is Dodger,” he showed Frankie his right fist in greeting, while petting his head with his left hand.

Chuckling at his humour, you also introduced yourself, as your two fur babies sniffed at each others butts, getting themselves acquainted with one another. Suddenly, Dodger gave a quick bark before he threw his front legs down flat against the ground with his butt up high in the air. His tail was wagging rapidly in excitement and he pounced towards Frankie wanting to play. You and Chris laughed as you watched them run off across the park.

Taking a seat on the bench, Chris turned towards you, “So you recently adopted Frankie?”

“Yes, he’s my gentle giant. I’ve always wanted my own Greyhound, especially an ex racer. They’re such laid back dogs, and a professional couch potatoes!” Sharing a laugh, you continued. “Growing up, we always had a dog in the family home but when I flew the nest, and rented my own apartment, pets weren’t allowed in the building. For the last few years I’ve been saving up for a deposit and eventually, with a little help from my grandpa, I managed to afford my own house.”

You glanced Chris’s way, “It’s been a long wait, but I could finally have the Greyhound I’d always wished for. He fits into my lifestyle perfectly.”

Chris sent you a genuine smile, “Well I’m glad he found you. Too many dogs are left waiting for homes, and I’m happy he found a perfect one with you.”

Heat filled your cheeks with a rosy pink blush, instantly feeling shy, “Thank you.” Turning in your seat towards him slightly, you asked, “What about Dodger? Was he a rescue?”

“Yeah, he’s been with me a few years now. I met him while I was working in an animal shelter. As soon as I saw him, I knew he didn’t belong there . I mean look at him, he’s just so full of life.” He gazed out across the dog park, a tender look on his face.

A comfortable silence filled the air, you followed his eyes and beamed as your fur babies made friends, sniffing at all the blossoming flowers. All of a sudden, Frankie leaped forward into a full gallop, sprinting off around the park. Not wanting to miss out on the fun, Dodger quickly gave chase trying to outrun him, but failed. Frankie’s long legs, flexible spine and muscular build was no match for the energetic pup, but it was certainly amusing watching the two of them.

Chris thought so too. His hysterical laughter filled your ears as he got very animated, leaning back and slapping a hand across his chest. Tears brimmed his eyes, so he pulled off his sunglasses to wipe his eyes. Your breath hitched in your throat when you realised who he was.

It was only yesterday you watched Marvel's latest blockbuster, Endgame, and now you were sat on a bench, in a random dog park in Massachusetts, with one of the biggest and most talked about stars of the moment. Your girls would not believe this.

Trying to keep your composure, you asked if he was okay while you tried to not freak out.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just so good to see Dodge happy and making friends.” Chris watched on with a fond smile, like a proud father, a tinge of regret in his voice.

Finding the courage to speak up, you sassed, “Does he not have many friends then?”

“Oh haha, very funny. He has plenty of friends thank you very much!”, he playfully pointed a finger towards you, while shaking his head.

Wrinkling your nose, you sarcastically said, “Sure..”

Chris jokingly rolled his eyes as he ran his left hand through his hair. “We’ve been across the Country for most of the year so he hasn’t really had chance to get to know the locals, ya know?” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he continued, “Sometimes my work is pretty full on and I don’t spend long enough in one place for him to enjoy the doggy life with a playmate. It’s gotta be hard on him, makes me feel guilty, y’know?”

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to explain yourself to me...Captain.”

Chris quickly looked up at you with wide eyes, a shocked expression etched across his face. You snickered at him, overjoyed at your quip.

“So, I guess the cats outta the bag then?” he silently chuckled.

Nodding your head, you confirmed his suspicions with a wink, “Uh huh. Nice disguise though.”

He snorted a small thanks before the dogs made their way back over towards you both on the bench. They were both exhausted from their run with their tongues hanging out of the side of their mouths, panting excessively.

“Well it looks like he’s found a fellow sidekick now.” You noted while giggling at the sight of the two of them.

Chris joined in with your laughter, before he made a suggestion, “I’ve got the rest of the summer off, so we’ll be spending a lot more time in this park. Maybe you and Frankie would like to join us sometime? Y’know, so they can bond.”

Stunned at his proposition you were speechless, staring at him with your mouth open, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“So, what do you say?”

Still in a daze, you tried to utter out a confident response, “Oh, um, ye-yeah.”

Chris looked delighted, happy you agreed to his proposal. He turned towards you with a sheepish smile, “Look, I am really sorry about ruining your clothes. Please let me cover the dry cleaning costs, it’s the least I can do.”

Waving a dismissive hand his way, you replied, “Please, it’s not a problem. These things happen. It’s nothing a quick wash at home won’t fix.”

Not accepting your forgiveness that easily, Chris pressed on, “At least let me buy you a coffee?”

You looked down at your watch noticing the time, “Oh thank you for the offer, but I’m not sure. It’s getting late and I haven’t had lunch yet.”

Seeing the hesitation in your eyes, he persevered, “Go on, you know you want to, I’ll even buy you a cookie.” He nudged your side with his elbow playfully, “Plus these dogs need a drink, just look at them!”

Not playing fair, he jested, “Surely you don’t want to upset Frankie by leaving when he and Dodge have just become best friends!”

“Best friends? Really?!” You stifled a laugh and looked between the two dogs. They sure did look happy. “Wow, you’re persistent aren’t you?!” His smug smile answered your question.

Just as you were mulling over his coffee invitation, that bastard had to pull out the big guns didn’t he? He raised his right eyebrow, giving you the puppy dog eyes.

Feeling defeated, you sighed waving a hand towards him, “God, how can I say no to that face!”

Chris’s boisterous howl echoed through the park, as he stood up, holding a hand out towards you, “C’mon, let's go grab that coffee.”

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

Thank you all for reading! Please reblog and comment, it’s very important to all writers on here. Please send me a message if you would like to added/removed to the tag list.

Tag List: @mycapt-ohcapt @princess-evans-addict @gigglegirl77 @coffeebooksandfandom @the-sunshine-in-the-dark @loricameback @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @whiskey-cokenfanfic @winters-buck @anavengerstale @jbug491 @thinkxlovexloud @patzammit

[tommyhardyx]

Mr Solomons

Previous Part | Next Part

Pairing: Modern!Alfie Solomons x Reader Word Count: 1.5k Summary: You’re a journalist tasked with doing a profile on Alfie Solomons, CEO of a popular rum distillery. Warnings: swearing  A/N: OOPS. Yep, so I wrote a thing. There will definitely be more parts to this, this is only the beginning. I hope you like it, please consider leaving a comment if you enjoy! 

The warm, smooth taste of coffee touches your tongue and you have to stop yourself from letting out a moan, knowing just how inappropriate it would be while sitting in your editor’s office.

“You did well with your last profile piece,” Quinn says, her eyes stuck on the printed draft of your latest piece you’d come in to deliver to her when she told you to take a seat and stick around.

“Thank you! I enjoy the profile’s, I like spending the time getting to know a person, getting the chance to paint a picture of them for the world to see,” you explain.

Profile pieces had always come easiest to you, and you had always felt most confident when writing about a person rather than any of the other kinds of pieces you’d had to write since starting at The City Scoop.

“That’s good to hear, considering I have another one for you. Have you heard of Alfie Solomons?”

“The name sounds familiar. Who is he?”

“Owner of Solomons’ Rum. Apparently, his distillery in Camden is all the rage at the moment everyone is apparently drinking his rum. I want you to go there interview him find out what makes his rum so special.”

As Quinn speaks you realise why the name sounds familiar, Alfie Solomons had recently had a few run-ins with the law with a physical altercation between Solomons and a business rival making headlines in the last few weeks.

“Isn’t he the one who punched got into a fight with a business rival recently?”

Quinn finally looks up from the papers in her hands, a sly smile on her lips.

“He should make for an interesting interview then shouldn’t he?”

Stepping out of your car, you look up at the red brick building in front of you the sign reading Solomons Distillery the only sign you’re in the right place.

Inside the front doors, a young man with dark curly hair stands with his back to you, reading something off a tablet in his hands.

“Excuse me?” you call, hesitating in the doorway.

The man looks up, a look of curiosity on his boyish face as he spots you.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Mr Solomons? I’m y/n l/n here to interview him, I’m with The City Scoop,” you hold your hand out to the man waiting for him to shake it.

“Right, he mentioned you were coming,” he says, shaking your hand. “Ollie, Vice President of the company.”

You raise your eyebrows, not completely sure how a man as young as this one could be the vice president of anything, but if he notices Ollie doesn’t say anything just offers you a kind smile.

“Alfie’s in his office, I’ll show you,” he says.

Ollie leads you further into the warehouse, down a long corridor past several open doors until you come across a closed one. Ollie stops just outside the closed door, knocking twice.

“Come in.”

The man sitting behind the desk looks very much the type of man who would get into a fight with a rival, a serious yet handsome face with a deep set frown as he looks at something on his computer. Even beneath his button-down shirt, you can see his bulging muscles, the hint of tattoos visible on his chest where the first few buttons of his shirt have been left open.

“Alfie, this is y/n she’s from The City Scoop,” Ollie explains.

“Right, yeah, nice to meet ya,” the man says, scratching the back of his head as he crosses the spacious office to greet you holding out a ring-clad hand with a crown tattooed on the back of it for you to shake.

“And you, thank you for meeting with me,” you tell him.

“Not a problem,” he says, turning his attention back into the room. “Oi Cyril come on mate.”

A large bullmastiff makes its way out from the other side of the desk, the dog moving slowly through the office to sit by Mr Solomons’ feet.

“Don’t worry ‘bout him, he’s friendly. Pretty sure if he saw me getting attacked he’d fucking lick my attacker,” he says, his tone might sound exasperated but the smile on his face as he glances down at the dog is one of pure fondness. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

With Cyril close behind, Mr Solomons takes off back down the corridor Ollie had brought you up.

“You bring your dog to work?”

“Yeah well, I’m here more often than I’d like to be, don’t want him at home by himself all the time, he’d tear me fucking house apart wouldn’t he?” he says and you smile at the large innocent dog, looking up at you with innocent eyes.

“So, Mr Solomons -”

The man cuts you off just by holding out a hand, a deep frown on his face as he looks at you.

“Alfie. No need to call me Mr Solomons, yeah, it’s just Alfie.”

“Alright. Alfie, why rum? There are more popular and profitable spirits to make, why choose rum?”

The man runs a hand through his beard as he listens, his rings glinting in the light as his eyes narrow in thought.

“Me mother used to drink rum after she died I wanted to do something for her. She gave up a lot for me, I wanted to honour her in some way so I started makin’ rum.”

“What did she give up for you?”

“When she found out she was pregnant she fled her home in Russia, started a whole new fucking life completely alone just so her kid would have a better life,” he rolls up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal an arm covered in tattoos, pointing out one on his forearm. “This one’s for her.”

“You commemorate people with tattoos?”

“If someone’s important enough to me yeah, most of the time though I get ‘em cause I like the way they look.”

Alfie leads you through the distillery, explaining the rum making process between answering your questions his answers. He’s incredibly animated in the way he talks, his eyes alight, hands waving everywhere and you can’t help but wonder how on earth you’re supposed to capture him in his entirety with words alone.

Soon enough your time together comes to an end, you’ve run through all your prepared questions and have wracked your brain for additional questions to ask just to have a little more time with him. But sadly it’s time to go, and as you bid him goodbye in the entrance to the distillery you think you notice a hint of disappointment in his face as well.

“Well thank you for talking with me Alfie, if you have anything you’d like to add please feel free to call,” you explain as you slip a business card into his hand.

“Will do. If you have any more questions you’re welcome to drop by, yeah, I’m almost always around here somewhere.”

You smile, turning your attention to Cyril giving the dog a brief pat on the head.

“Goodbye, Cyril.” You straighten up, offering a smile to the man as you reach for the handle of the door.“Goodbye Alfie.”

Alfie watches with his thick arms crossed over his chest as you leave, eyes following you through the glass doors until you’re out of sight, ignoring the smug look on Ollie’s face as the younger man comes to stand beside him.

“Fuck off,” Alfie grumbles, shaking his head as he walks back to his office.  

Stepping through the door to your flat you let out a long breath, feeling the way your entire body relaxes as you step over the threshold. The air inside is warm, a relief from the chilly air outside you slip off your coat and hang it on the rack by the door.

Your roommate Nancy is already home, already in pyjamas and on the couch. You kick off your heels, glad to be free of them as your bare feet press into the cool wood floors, picking up a pair of leggings from your pile of clean clothes on the table you hadn’t gotten around to putting away just yet.

Stepping into the stretchy fabric and slipping off your bra, you’re finally comfortable again.

“How’d it go today?” Nancy asks, turning her attention away from wherever Netflix documentary had her attention.

Dropping onto the couch beside her, you open your laptop flipping through your notes as you wait for it to start up.

“Really good actually, I met with that Alfie Solomons I was telling you about last night,”

“Weren’t you nervous to meet him? How was he?”

“He was nice. Really nice. He seemed intimidating at first, but really he just loves his dog and his mum and he was just really nice.”

“Oh girl, you fancy him don’t you?”

You scoff at her comment, turning back to your notebook just to escape her insinuation.

“Don’t be stupid, of course, I don’t.”

You only spent a couple of hours with the man, surely you can’t already fancy him. No, no of course not. You were just charmed by him, enjoyed your time with him. Nothing more than that.

“Oh shut up,” you grumble at the look on her face, busying yourself with typing up your notes from the day.  

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Decryption_Error: “The Aftermath”

Summary: Y/N has to deal with the aftermath of the incident in the server room, and not only does she have to worry about losing Elliot’s trust, but she has to navigate through the dirty layers of what it means to be a “Wall Street darling.”

Story Summary,  “The Server Room, Part I”,  “The Server Room, Part II”  “The Long Weekend, Part I”,  “The Long Weekend, Part II”

Word Count: 5300

Tags: @sherlollydramoine  @rami-malek-trash  @teamwolf2411  @limabein   @txmel  @hopplessdreamer  @ouatlovr  @backoftheroomandnotbelonging  @alottanothing  @moon-stars-soul  @free-rami

If you want added, let me know.

A/N: HUGE thanks to @alottanothing for helping me through this chapter. I couldn’t have done it without her cheerleading and feedback 💕

It took an extra coat of concealer to cover up the purple under my eyes from not sleeping at all, and to top off not sleeping, my beauty blender broke, the top tearing off just as I finished a light blend of my foundation. I threw it in the trash, hoping it wasn’t an omen for how the day was going to go.  

The train ride into work served as nothing more than calisthenicsfor my mind. I replayed my plan over and over again and tried to predict as many outcomes as I could before I found myself swiping my badge to get into CIStech.

I was early and not even Jayne was there yet to set a meeting with Miles, so I headed into the server room and performed a few more patches on the OS. Other than that, everything seemed to be operating as normal. Looking around the room, it was like nothing had ever happened. Once again, I found myself thinking about how absurd life is, just how complicated it can become in a single moment.

Speaking of complicated, things with Elliot were now permanently complicated. We had definitely moved from work-friends to friends, and then there was that kiss on the rooftop. The one I initiated after lecturing Elliot about waiting to know if what he felt was real—if I was this confused, I couldn’t imagine what he was feeling.

I shook my head and tried to tamp down the series of questions running through my mind—nothing could be answered until I dealt with the aftermath of the server room. When I asked Elliot to kiss me during the fireworks, this was why—today, everything would change. I just didn’t know if it would be for the better, the worse, or like most things, somewhere in between.

As I made my way back to my office, I startled Jayne who was just settling into her desk.

“Good morning!” she said, her eyes wide, her voice pitched high.

“Sorry to scare you,” I began as I gave her a quick smile. “I need you to set a meeting with Miles—his earliest convenience. Then, I need a meeting set with Colin and JaLeah as soon as they walk in the door.

“Got it. Anything else?”

“Not at the moment.”

I sighed as I entered my office, my thoughts returning to Elliot. I thought about the way he looked in that server room, how scared and confused. I thought about the way he acquiesced and just let me take care of him—the way he seemed so desperate to know someone cared. I thought about the way his hair felt as I ran my fingers through it when we were stoned. I thought about the feeling of his lips on mine. And I thought about the way I felt so lonely once he was gone.

I pulled out my lime green sticky notes, and I quickly scrawled, No matter what happens today, I still owe you a night that ends with making s’mores :)

I walked out and slid it under Elliot’s keyboard so just the edge was peeking out.

An hour went by as I checked my email and compiled the data I knew I’d need for my meeting. Franco had sent his bill, so I printed it out for Miles’ approval before it went to accounting.

The office came to life as the early morning waned; although I hadn’t forgotten about what was ahead, I did enter a zone of deep concentration. When Colin and JaLeah walked into my office and shut the door, my stomach dropped as reality immediately sharpened back into focus.  

“What the hell happened, Y/N?” Colin demanded, his hands shoved in his pockets while his eyes drilled into mine.

“Take a seat. Both of you. I was hoping Miles would be here so I’d only have to tell this story once.”

“It would’ve been nice to have known something before I got bombarded in the elevator by half of my team.”

“I’m sorry, Colin. I didn’t see any reason to alert you over the weekend because I took care of the damage.”

“Damage?’ JaLeah asked, her eyebrow raised.

I pushed back from my desk and walked over to the round table. Instead of joining them, I stood and leaned onto the chair in front of me, my sweaty palms resting on the edges.  

“A few of the white hats thought it would be easier to lock Elliot in the server room than actually do their job and fix the holes he kept finding.”

JaLeah’s eyes widened and Colin’s fingers began to drum on the table.

“While Elliot was locked in, four towers were damaged. I came in yesterday and set up four new servers, so everything is up and running smoothly. It’s like nothing ever happened, minus the bill for new servers.”

“Howwere the servers damaged?” Colin asked, even though it was clear he already knew the answer.

I was quiet for a few seconds, wishing JaLeah was in charge of the white hats because she didn’t an aversion to Elliot, unlike Colin.

“Elliot had a bad reaction to being locked up,” I said, keeping my voice even.

“You call smashing four towers to bits with his fists a ‘bad reaction’?”

“They weren’t smashed ‘to bits.’” I said, my fingers clutching at the top of the chair while I fought to keep my voice even.

“What the fuck is it with you and this guy?” Colin said, pushing back from the desk, his leg bouncing as his agitation grew.

“He needs fired. Now!”

“Fired because he got bullied at work? Do you watch the news, Colin? That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen,” I said, knowing Elliot would never put himself at the mercy of the legal system, but also knowing I could use this angle to help save his job.

“That’s what happens when you hire an anti-social freak who’s probably a part of some underground hacking ring!” Colin yelled, his face reddening.

I pushed off the chair and rounded on Colin.

“Elliot is not a freak, and once again you’re proving yourself to be a real jerk.”

“I don’t give a shit, Y/N. I’m tired of listening to my team complain about him. We never had this problem before.”

“And since we put Elliot on the team, how many tech issues, you know the ones we get paid to fix, have we had thanks to his automation scripts, huh? Did you forget my job is to track all of that? I just presented those numbers to you last week or were you too busy shoving your own head up your ass to listen?”

“Don’t you talk to me like that, Y/N. You may have your job because of who your father is, but I earnedthis position after years of doing good work.”

“Go ahead! Start proving my incompetence, Colin, since I’m only here because of my last name,” I said, gesturing at the chair behind my desk. “Sit down. Give it a whirl!”

“I don’t want your job, Y/N,” Colin said, finally taking his eyes off my face. “I just don’t want unnecessary stress because one person can’t play nice.”

JaLeah, who had been watching our confrontation with a cool, steady gaze, spoke up.

“Who locked Elliot in?”

“Aaron, Julia, Maurice, Corey, and Ali are the ones who signed out the latest, at the same time, mind you, on Friday night,” I said, careful to hide the fact I had more information, careful to preserve Elliot’s trust I had worked to gain.

Colin immediately asked, “So that’s it? You walk into a destroyed server room—”

“Damaged. Not destroyed—”

“And that’s all Alderson tells you? He got locked in? I call bullshit. No way the guy didn’t rat out who did it.”

“Fill me in, then, because you sure as hell seem to know a lot considering you weren’t there,” I bit back.

“What doyou know, Colin?” JaLeah said, her interruption reminding Colin and me we were in a professional setting, not a back alley gearing up to throw fists.

Colin huffed and rolled his eyes.

“I talked to Corey—it was just a bit of hazing. They were going to go back in a few hours and let him out, but he was gone—”

“Bullshit. No one else entered the building until I came back on Monday.”

Colin shrugged his shoulders, “They knew he’d gotten out.”

“Five adults locked another adult in a secure room, knowing there was no way out! Elliot didn’t have his phone or his badge on him and I guarantee they made sure of that.”

“What did they do—steal them?” Colin asked, a chuckle in his voice.

“You’re a fucking bully,” I said, my temper rising again.

“And you’re spoiled—just another Wall Street darling,” Colin spat.

“Colin, you are out of line,” JaLeah said just as the intercom buzzed and Jayne’s voice interrupted.

“Mr. Hanson is here to see you, Y/N.”

I moved to my desk and answered, Miles entering even before I even pulled my finger from the button on the intercom.  

“What’s going on?” Miles asked as the door closed behind him. “You assured me it was nothing you couldn’t handle, Y/N.”

I gestured to the table for him to have a seat as JaLeah rose and said, “I should get back to supervising my teams since none of them were involved, right?”

I nodded and we were all quiet as JaLeah walked out.

Miles’ bright green eyes flicked between the two of us and settled on me. He plopped his phone on the table and waited, his perfectly manicured nails not yet drumming, but clearly itching to.

Miles was no-nonsense and valued numbers far more than people; in other words, he was just the sort of corporate guy that would one day rise to the top. His main concern was keeping his reputation spotless so nothing would serve as an impediment to his climb.

“There was an incident on Friday,” I began as I shot Colin a warning glance. He knew he couldn’t play his little game in front of Miles because it would publicly call out that Miles may have promoted me because of my father. It took a long time, but I had myself pretty convinced Miles hired me because of my abilities. But at times, especially at times like this, I couldn’t ignore the niggling reminder that I knew it wasn’t wholly true. All I could do was my best work to remind everyone I was deserving—yes, I was born lucky, but I worked hard to be deserving.  

Miles kept his eyes fixed on mine as I sighed and took a seat at the table. I recounted every detail of Friday night, up until the part where I took Elliot home.

“So, an employee destroying company property is what this boils down to,” Miles said in his matter-of-fact tone.

“I think the circumstance warrants some pretty heavy merit, Miles.”

“Colin?”

“I expressed my distrust of Elliot on the day Y/N hired him—I just knew something was off. I knew something like this would happen.”

“I don’t deal in feelings, woulds, or coulds. I only deal in facts,” Miles said, giving Colin a pointed look.

“The fact is,” I said, “Elliot was a victim of workplace harassment. Events like this are taken seriously now.”

Miles gave me a measured look before nodding his head.

“What do you suggest, Y/N?”

“Colin and I conduct a formal investigation into the events surrounding what happened in the server room on Friday night. When the guilty parties are found, we fire them.”

“Oh, no way!” Colin interjected, his voice panicked. “Elliot Alderson should be fired. The others should get letters of reprimand in their file for unbegetting conduct in the workplace or something like that. Theydidn’t destroy company property!”

“The last time I checked, Colin, you didn’t have the authority to fire anyone.”

“You’re impossible, Y/N. You’ve turned this Alderson kid into some sort of charity case.”

“Charity? The fact he outperforms every single member of your white hat team has nothing to do with it, right? I am an expert in data analysis in case you’ve forgotten,” I said as I stood up and grabbed a file off of my desk.

I spread out the charts I had used at our meeting and focused on the parts I had revisited this morning to highlight Elliot’s performance. Elliot’s numbers spoke to his brilliance behind the screen, his outperformance of his teammates clear.

Miles looked over the charts, his eyes scanning every piece of information.

“Is this when Alderson was hired?” Miles asked, pointing to a date.

“Yes.”

“Impressive. Not only has our overall performance in prevention increased, but it looks the flaws in our security network have decreased by 32% since his hiring. Do you really think that can be ignored, Colin?”

Colin’s mouth was drawn into the tiniest line I had ever seen. I was pretty sure his lips had become a part of his face, completely absorbed into the skin surrounding his mouth.

He settled for a headshake no.

“I’m not going to spend any more time on this. Y/N, I want you to compile a job performance chart like this for each of the other employees in question. Set an example of them, but make sure it’s one that impacts CIStech the least. Any questions?”

“How is this fair? She could make those numbers show anything she wants!”

“And why would she manipulate data, Colin? Is there a shortage of cybersecurity engineers in New York City I am unaware of? An example must be set because we can’t run the risk of a lawsuit. I question just how closely you have been supervising your team, if I’m being straight with you.”

Colin’s mouth popped open and I watched as his lips reappeared. I did my best not to grin because Miles had put Colin right in his fucking place.

“Will that be all?” Miles asked pointedly.

“Yes,” Colin said.

“Thank you, Y/N, for ensuring our operations were not disrupted.”

“Elliot helped me set everything up yesterday—he feels terribly about the whole thing.”

Miles paused on his way out and added, “I want everything taken care of today. I’ll be checking in with HR at the end of the day to see what action you’ve taken. Work together.”

I walked behind my desk and sat down, sighing.

“It will take me about an hour to compile performance assessments on the five of them.”

“Don’t bother. I can tell you how this is going to go.”

“I’m not firing Elliot.”

“Of course that’s not an option now. You know how to play the right cards with Miles.”

I raised my brow and asked, “So how, then, is this going to go?”

“Julia, fired. She couldn’t hack her way out of a paper bag. She’s only on the team because Aaron recommended her and carries her workload. Aaron, now he’s good. I would like to keep him. Maurice, he can go. No real loss there. Ali and Corey,” Colin said, chuckling and shaking his head. “Well, you’re fucked. Corey’s dad is the CEO of Wells Fargo, so Corey gets to have any job for any length of time he wants it.”

I huffed, but before I could speak, Colin continued.

“And Ali,” Colin said. “Ali is the son of the first female to run a publicly traded bank in Saudi Arabia—

the family’s damn near royalty. Do you know what people will say about us if wefire Ali Olayan?”

I knew that a lot of people who worked for CIStech or for Precision Machining had connections, especially people in management. I did not know the extent of Ali and Corey’s connections, but it made sense. Neither of them had gone to college, yet they immediately secured positions with us.

“Why the hell are they even working?” I asked, my voice biting into the still of the office.

Coling laughed, an actual laugh so that his eyes crinkled at the corner.

“Why are youworking?”

“I work because I need to,” I said quietly as Colin ceased his laughter and turned a pointed glare to my face.

“I’d love to live off of daddy’s money--travel, do what I want, live how I want.”

“It’s not in my nature. I need to have direction. Purpose. Without either of those things, I’d end up in an asylum.”

Colin frowned, unwilling to make eye contact.

“Other people’s problems always look much better than your own.”

“Give me an hour to compile the reports.”

“You’re the boss,” Colin said as he got up and walked toward the door.

“Do not say anything to your team other than giving the directive to finish patching the holes Elliot found on Friday.”

Colin gave me a wave of acknowledgement as he left.

I gathered the performance data, and as I waited for each report to print, I thought back to Friday night. Elliot deserved to know there was good in the world—it just sucked that good always seemed to come with a limit. Sure, we can dole out some justice, but only some. Society isn’t ready, may have never been and may never will be, to house anything that is truly good.

And that just fucking sucks.

I pulled the charts from my printer and went over to the conference table and got to work analyzing each one. As it turned out, Colin wasn’t wrong. Julia was definitely out of place amongst the white hats, but Aaron had done a damn good job. While Maurice outperformed Julia, he underperformed Aaron, so Maurice was neutral territory.

Ali, as it turned out, was a damn good white hat, his numbers second only to Elliot’s. However, Corey seemed to perform somewhere in the in-between along with Maurice.

If we went by numbers alone, Ali and Aaron should stay, while Julia, Corey and Maurice were fired. However, I knew I couldn’t escape Corey’s connection. The wave his firing could make for Miles would end my own career.

I buzzed Jayne and asked her to send in Colin.

I relayed my findings, and Colin said, “What about Alderson?”

“We’ve been over this—”

“No, we haven’t. All you’ve said is, ‘I’m not firing him.’ Fine, but something has to happen.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Letter of reprimand so it’s on file for the next time something goes wrong.”

“Colin—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Seriously, though. I’ll accept Miles’ suggestion of listing it as ‘damage to company property.’”

I sighed, knowing I had to agree.

Colin was also quiet for a minute before he said, “Not that I care, but I do want to say this so I can say I told you so; Getting too close to Elliot Alderson has probably never ended well for anyone.”

“Don’t worry—I’d never think you could actually care about my life. But look at how well isolating him has worked out,” I added.

Colin shrugged. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Jayne—can you send in Julia?”

As it turned out, none of the five were surprised at being summoned into my office. While it was clear Julia and Maurice expected a repercussion, it was equally as clear they didn’t think it would be as severe as being fired. Julia sat stone-faced, her leg bouncing as she listened to the reasons CIStech was choosing to part with her services, and Maurice’s eyes filled with tears. I assured both of them they would get letters of recommendation from Colin.

Aaron, perhaps the most humbled and humiliated out of all of them, issued a thoughtful apology to us and as I would later learn, to Elliot. Instead of accepting a letter in his file, Aaron issued his resignation. I knew Miles wouldn’t be particularly pleased because someone else would scoop him up, but an unblemished record was important to Aaron.

When Corey walked in the room, I would more accurately describe it as a saunter. He knew he was untouchable and it finally occurred to me that that’s what I didn’t like about him—his arrogance. Corey wasn’t arrogant in an obvious way, well, not until he pulled his little stunt with Elliot.

Corey was subtly arrogant. It was in the way he smirked, in the way he took control of conversations to direct them to something he wanted to discuss. It was the kind of arrogance that was bred into a person—the kind of arrogance that got his father his job.

“Well, Corey,” I began. “I assume you know why you’re here.”

“Actually, I’m a bit perplexed,” he said, barely containing a smirk.

“Cut the shit, Corey,” Colin began, and for a minute, I actually liked him.

Corey gave Colin a measured look before turning his eyes back to me.

“It was a joke. We didn’t mean for it to get out of hand.”

“Corey, why do you work for CIStech?” I asked, throwing him off his game a little.

“I have an affinity for computers—always have.”

“But why thiscompany?” I said, careful not to push it too far, careful not to say, when you could get any job you want in your own father’s company.

“I like that it’s a mid-size company. I like the job I do and the people I work with, for the most part. I feel like I can learn a lot about the way a big company like Precision Machining operates by how it works to protects its assets.”

I listened, trying to get a read on how much of what Corey said was a truth or a lie, and how much was grey. I had a feeling Corey lived in a world of grey, of always pushing to see how much he could do without suffering a consequence.

“Corey—you’re off the white hat team. . .for obvious reasons. As of tomorrow, you will report to JaLeah for your duties,” Colin barked, uninterested in my question or Corey’s reply.

Corey nodded, his eyes roaming the room as if he were bored.

“Please consider this letter a memorialization of the conversation we held today. Note that any further transgressions against any personnel in this company will result in your termination,” I said.

“Where do I sign?”

I swallowed my disgust as Corey left the office, the scratching of the pen as he signed his name the last noise issued from him. No apology, no thanks for the leniency—nothing.

“Why do you hold such disdain for me and not for him?” I asked, knowing I shouldn’t care about Colin’s opinion, but also knowing my mind would never give me peace until I asked.

“Oh, it’s equal amounts of spite for all of you Wall Street darlings. It’s just I still have some power over Corey. For whatever reason, he listens to me. Plus, the dude’s a beast at our pick-up games on Saturdays and I like to win,” Colin finished, smirking at me.

He continued, “Get over it, Y/N. He might be your boss someday and we will lick his bootheels just like every other clown that came before him and will come after him.”

Nope—shouldn’t have asked. Should’ve just let my mind wonder,I thought.

“Jayne,” I said into the intercom. “Send in Ali.”

While Ali was as visibly unshaken as Corey, he lacked Corey’s arrogance. Ali was much smarter than Corey and his family was quite strict. His family trusted Ali to conduct himself with propriety and to maintain the legacy his mother was working to build.

Ali apologized and readily signed the letter; however, Colin was keeping him on the white hats.

“If you ever even sneeze in Alderson’s direction, you’re off the team.”

“I understand, sir.”

There was only one more meeting left, and my stomach was clenched in knots. I did my best to maintain a front of only casually caring, but I wanted to get this over with as painlessly as possible.

“Jayne—send in Elliot.”

I closed my eyes for a moment and hoped against hope that Elliot would be okay, that this moment wouldn’t ruin the trust we had begun to build.

“Hello, Elliot,” I said as I gestured toward the empty seat at the conference table.

“Hello,” Elliot replied quietly without looking up at me.

“Sorry to interrupt—” came Jayne’s voice over the intercom. “Mr. Hanson is here.”

“Send him in, Jayne,” I said after walking over to answer her and wondering why the fuck Miles was coming in for thismeeting.

If Elliot didn’t appear nervous before, he certainly did now. I could see the movement of his eyes beneath his lids as he examined the floor, probably counting the fibers in the damn rug under the conference table.

“Carry on,” Miles said, as he took a seat at the table, his eyes glued to his phone.

I cleared my throat, praying to god my voice didn’t give out.

“I understand several employees conducted themselves in a manner unbefitting of CIStech’s code of ethics. Those employees’ behaviors have been addressed, and we apologize for the stress endured as a result of their actions.”

When I said, “we,” Elliot looked directly at me. I averted my gaze, shame reverberating through my mind for what was about to come next.

“However, even though your actions in the server room were a direct consequence of their actions, we must issue you a letter of reprimand for the destruction of company property.”

Miles set aside his phone and interrupted, finally providing an answer for why he unexpectedly dropped in.

“Listen, Mr. Alderson,” Miles began. “Y/N is as professional as they come, so I wanted to drop in off the record. Your job performance is outstanding, and we don’t want to lose you as an employee. I am sorry this happened to you, and I want to do anything I can to help you think of CIStech as an ideal work environment.”

Elliot just looked at Miles, his eyes unnerving and unblinking before he finally said, “You’re lucky to have someone like Y/N in charge. I’m sure nothing like this will happen again under her supervision.”

I couldn’t believe Elliot was defending me—I was so shocked that I almost laughed out loud. Here I am, on the opposite side of the table, having agreed to his reprimand, and he’s defending me.

“I agree. She’s proven herself an asset time and time again,” Miles said, shooting me a brief smile.

Colin hmphed, a noise that did not go unnoticed by Elliot, but I’m pretty sure only I caught the quick flicker of his eyes in Colin’s direction.

“Just don’t be surprised to see our appreciation for your skills reflected in your new contract after the next round of employee evals,” Miles added, smiling briefly at Elliot before he turned his head to me, waiting for me to finish the reprimand.

I cleared my throat again, and said,“This letter serves as a memorialization of the conversation we held today. Please sign and date.”

Elliot’s eyes flew over the words on the page and he picked up the pen and scrawled his name and the date.

“That’s it, Elliot. Again, you have my apologies on behalf of CIStech and if you can offer any suggestions to better the working environment, I would look forward to talking with you,” Miles said, once again looking up from his phone.

Elliot nodded, but said nothing as he stood to leave.

The three of us watched him exit before Miles then dismissed Colin.

“Damn, Colin really bugs me. I shouldn’t say that, but he’s really such an—”

“Asshole,” I finished.

Miles chuckled.

“Exactly. Listen, I need to have my secretary put all this paperwork through to HR, but what do you say we leave at 5:00 and hit up that bar on Cedar Street?”

I had to admit that after today, a drink or two did seem in order.

As I walked out to meet up with Miles, much earlier than my usual quitting time, I met Elliot’s eyes. He paused his typing to watch my movement, his eyes quickly taking in my handbag and my tote.

I gave him a small smile, but turned my gaze forward, not wanting to draw attention to him or to myself.

By the time I got home around 7:00, I had a bit of a buzz. I probably shouldn’t have drank as much as I did, but it felt good to unload some of the day’s stress. After changing into some comfy clothes and rummaging around the fridge, I texted Elliot—my fingers had been itching to do it since the second I walked out of the office.

While some of the day’s stress was over, I still had no idea how much damage I had done to my relationship with Elliot.

Y/N: Hey—not sure what the appropriate greeting is for someone I just gave a letter of repri to?

I prayed to whatever higher power that existed he would answer. Just as I popped some leftovers into the microwave, my phone buzzed.

E: Hey about covers it.

Y/N: I’m sorry. I didn’t want anything to go on your record.

E: It’s okay. It’s not like I exactly used my head on Friday night.

Y/N: I really am sorry, Elliot. But I also want to thank you for what you said about me. You didn’t have to say that.

E: I meant it, Y/N. You did more for me than I deserved and I just wanted someone to know that even if they can’t ever know just how much you did. 

I stared at my phone and wished to god text messages were capable of conveying emotion. I wanted to know what Elliot meant by that. Was he implying I was ashamed of our friendship? Did he think I crossed line by helping him? Or was he just expressing gratitude? Maybe I was overthinking it like usual.

I jumped a little when my phone buzzed because I was so deep into asking myself unanswerable questions.

E: Actually everyone’s been nicer.

Y/N: Omg. Did people actually ask you about Friday night?

E: Not outright. It was like everyone just knew. Said they heard something went down and that it sucked. Said they were sorry people were such assholes. Aaron apologized and offered to take me to lunch.

Y/N: No way that you went lol

E: lol nah. But it was a nice gesture.

I waited, wondering if Elliot would text me anything else. I felt unsatisfied by our conversation, but didn’t want to force him into talking to me. I fiddled with my phone, typing and deleting, typing and deleting, eventually just tossing it on the counter and sighing.

E: Lol is there something else you want to say?

I laughed. Of course Elliot was watching his phone, probably almost-laughing in that way of his at my indecisive text bubble.

Y/N: Honestly? I don’t know…I just don’t want to stop talking to you.

E: Then don’t : )

My stomach did a little flip and a grin spread across my face. I settled in on the sofa, thinking of what to say next, knowing that it didn’t really matter because Elliot didn’t want to run, didn’t want to retreat inside of himself even though it was a difficult day for him.

I hadn’t ruined our relationship.

And now the aftermath was over. Elliot wasn’t fired, and even though I wasn’t happy with keeping Ali and Corey, I was only one person in a huge company and a Wall Street darling myself.

How much could one person really change in a day?

[lesmiserablessecretsanta]

A very merry (and ugly-sweatered) Christmas present for @thepiecesofcait , by @youknewyouwerelost Caitlyn, I hope this little fic finds you well and brightens your day a little. Happy holidays and all the best for the following year! :)

_________________________________________

The back room of the Café Musain - usually dimly lit and barely decorated, a utilitarian headquarter for a group of very motivated students - was shining in a multitude of colours today. Candles were lit, strings of fairy lights were haphazardly put up on every vertical surface, and a tree was placed near the door, adorned with baubles and lights; everything smelled like mulled wine, hot chocolate and pine needles.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre watched their handiwork with a smile on both their faces. Their annual Christmas celebration, the one time a year the Les Amis decided to leave politics behind for a shared evening of companionship and unbound joy, was about to start.

This year, however, things were about to look a little different, which led back to Eponine’s cunning plan at one of the latest meet-ups: To spice things up a little the evening would be completely by their first ugly Christmas sweater contest. The winner, with the ugliest and most hideous sweater chosen by the group of fourteen, would not only receive bragging rights for the upcoming year, but also a package filled with a small gift from every single one of their friends. No one fully knew what the price actually contained, but that was half the charm.

The first guests began to filter into the room as soon as Courfeyrac tossed the door open, one by one. Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta were the first to step into the Musain, all three of them in matching, hideous sweaters in glaring reds and greens. The LED-lights built into the reindeer’s noses on each of their garments reflected brightly on Bossuet’s head, which was adorned with a red bow tie.

Courfeyrac welcomed them with laughter and pats on their backs, already handing out drinks for the first arrivals. He kept his sweater hidden underneath his jacket, waiting for the moment of the reveal when everyone had arrived.

Next through the door was Feuilly, looking… decidedly normal, if not almost elegant. His sweater was dark red and white; he wore his nice clothes, yes, but there was no sign of an even remotely ugly looking Christmas sweater underneath his jacket.

 He held a present in his hands, and had the most brilliant smile as he looked around the room.

“Hey!”

“Good evening,” Combeferre greeted him near the door. He raised an eyebrow behind his glasses, clearly surprised.

“You’re not joining the… contest?” he asked politely. There was some tinsel in his hair that had clearly been courtesy of Courfeyrac, earlier, and his sweater – a dark blue, rather moderate one actually - read in swirly letters ‘I’m a doctor, of course I’m on the nice list.’ That had most likely been courtesy of Courfeyrac, too, but nobody mentioned it outright.

“I….”

Feuilly smiled, and then shook his head, always modest.

“I had this one at home already, and I like it very much, so why not wear it for the opportunity?”

“You’re quite right. And I have to say, it looks fantastic on you.”

Combeferre clasped his shoulder as he walked in, followed by Eponine (in a short dress, no less, which she wore over a pair of trousers that looked like ridiculously decorated stockings) and Gavroche (in a painfully colourful and definitely self-made sweater of his own design).

“Thank you!” Feuilly said, taking off his coat and then following Combeferre into the living room-like structure of the Musain, where everyone was already beginning to drink some mulled wine. Courfeyrac had already taken off his jacket, and he did look like a tree himself, complete with string lights woven into the fabric of his sweater.

Joly greeted them with a more than bright smile and waved happily at Feuilly, indicating the spot next to him.

“There you are!”

The table was already heavily decorated with tinsel and presents, and the friends were having a good time. It was too rare that they got together out of nothing but leisure - their lives were busy enough, and their regular meetings were stacked with current topics and calls to action. This was a rare pleasure which all of them cherished.

Feuilly squeezed himself between Joly and a just arriving Bahorel, who’s sweater read ‘Brodolf the red nose Gainzdeer’, complete with a very muscular reindeer-slash-man flexing his oversized muscles. He leaned into Feuilly’s side and clapped him on the back in cheerful greetings.

Prouvaire brought a stack of gifts, a Christmas sweater with cats of all things, and Marius and Cosette along.

“Almost all of us are here already!”, Courfeyrac said with a big grin around a mouthful of cookies. He took a quick headcount.

“Looks like only our fearless leader is still missing!“

“And Grantaire,” Eponine said from where she was sitting with a mug of wine in hand. She had barely finished the sentence when the door slammed open once more, and a very cheery, very much… decorated Grantaire approached the table.

“Season’s greetings,” the artist chimed with his sweetest voice, arms loaded with presents. He didn’t even wear a proper sweater; it was a ridiculous, glaring green-and-red cardigan with Santa on its front, holding a wine bottle and saying 'Merlot-Ho-Ho.’ It looked horrendous enough to have Gavroche fall off his chair laughing.

Courfeyrac instantly jumped up and went in to hug him fiercly, toppling over a few of the presents. His laughter was full of happiness as he helped picking them up again, relocating them to the tree near the door.

“You, Sir! You look fabulous!”

“I try,” Grantaire said, wild hair adorned by an equally green-and-red Christmas hat that jingled with every step. He sat down opposite Feuilly once his hands were cleared, a mug already in front of him.

“I’ve never seen this much elegance compiled in a single room.”

“Well, thank you!”, Bahorel muttered with an exaggerated bow. Combeferre slowly went towards the counter, ordering more drinks and snacks for the growing group.

Eponine’s eyes narrowed with a sudden plan, and she leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“R, what do you say… We could decorate Feuilly’s sweater to make it match our own.”

"You defintiely don’t need to - ” Feuilly began, but Grantaire was already shaking his head with a grin, hat bobbing happily.

“Nonsense!” he declared, taking a rope of tinsel from the table and wrapping it round Feuilly’s neck like a tie. “You can’t have me look like a proverbial Christmas tree alone, my dear friend. No, no, you must agree to some… additions.”

“I agree!” Bahorel chimed in and grabbed another colourful rope, wrapping it around Feuilly’s arm.

“That looks nice!”

“Be nice to the young man,” Musichetta cried as all of them dissolved into laughter, decorating a smiling Feuilly with tinsel and baubles. He still was the most elegant of all of them, but at this point he matched the chaotic attire of all his friends.

Bossuet put his head down on his hand, smirking at the door. “I wonder what Enjolras will wear.”

“Man, I hope he’ll be here so-”, Eponine muttered, right as there was a ring, announcing the last missing piece to arrive. Combeferre headed to open the door, and was greeted by quite a sight…

“Good evening,” Enjolras said, scarf wrapped around his throat and covering him op to his nose. The rest of him was well-hidden underneath his long, red coat, but his pants…

“Don’t tell me,” Combeferre muttered as Enjolras passed him. His legs were clad in what looked like a Christmas sweater, but as pants…

“I tell you… I came to take part in this contest,” Enjolras said with a lopsided grin. He took off his scarf and coat, and then stepped into the main room, clad in quite a hideous suit.

No, “hideous” didn’t even cut it. The suit was well tailored to his measurements, but everything - the jackets, the trousers, even the slightly askew tie - was printed in a red, green and white Christmas sweater pattern, complete with stars and trees on the fabric. Grantaire’s mouth dropped open as everyone yelled in joy, and he said, loud enough for the entire room to hear, “If I wasn’t already head over heels for you, I’d be gone by now.”

“Is that so…?”, Enjolras answered with a raised brow, a strange, but happy gleam to his eyes. He didn’t step away as Grantaire approached him from his spot on the table to greet him with a ferocious hug.

Just as they separated Eponine let out a cheer and grabbed her mobile phone from its spot on the table.

“Okay, you two, look alive! You’re underneath the mistletoe! Time for a KISS!”

“What?” Grantaire squeaked, his voice almost breaking on the sound. His hat jingled merrily as Enjolras turned to him, the same gleam still in his eyes, and a smile ghosting across his features.

“Seems we have to do it…”, Enjolras muttered sweetly. “I mean, we can’t disappoint Eponine, can we?”

“Certainly not,” Grantaire said… And then stopped speaking altogether when warm, solid lips pressed against his own, without hesitation or second guesses. Enjolras’ lips tasted sweeter than the wine he had and spread a fire inside of him that threatened to overtake his rapidly beating heart…and the moment did not stop at that. Long, pale fingers were on Grantaire’s cheeks, curling into his hair, and Enjolras deepened the kiss softly, his tongue exploring R’s mouth.

Grantaire was lost in the moment, in the kiss, his hands touching Enjolras’ long, untidy hair. He let out a shuddering breath as they parted for a second, then simultaneously rushed back in for another, hotter kiss, in front of their cheering and yelling friends…

When Enjolras finally moved his head back he licked his lips, and there was something in his gaze that Grantaire couldn’t fully name…

“….I wanted to do that for so long….”, the blonde whispered.

Grantaire flushed at the words, his eyes wide and mesmerized. “Does that mean you’re going to do it again,” he muttered lowly as soon as his voice returned to him.

“If you… permit it… I won’t stop anytime soon…?”, Enjolras whispered, smiling softly now.

“… What do you think, Apollo? Permission enthusiastically granted,” the artist breathed against his lips, going in for another kiss.