#how to build a car rental business

[newbusinessideas]

How to Start Your Own Car Rental Business and Thrive

🎥 Dreaming of your own car rental empire? Let me show you How to Start a Car Rental Business from Scratch! 💡🚗 Don't miss out on this golden opportunity! #CarRentalTips #BusinessAdvice #EntrepreneurLife #ViralContent #businessideas #carrental

A car rental business is a company that offers cars for rent for a limited period, from a few hours to several days. As convenience and flexibility are highly valued in today’s fast-paced world, the car rental industry presents a lucrative opportunity for aspiring entrepreneurs. A well-executed car rental business can thrive in a diverse market by catering to tourists, business travellers, or…

[wraithlafitte]

even it up

pairing: dean winchester x f!reader

CONTENT: violence (hunting), graphic descriptions of injuries and repairing them, SMUT, unprotected piv, dean might have a pain kink (or a competency kink), praise (m!receiving), blowjob, riding, (reckless) choking, edging (m!receiving), begging, biting, overstimulation

word count: 4.7k

a/n: part 2 to bitchin'. sorry it took so long! i got busy with schoolwork, but the semester's almost up so we'll be back to our regularly scheduled programming soon. thanks for your patience!

Silence filled the rental car as you and Dean drove to the location you'd tracked the missing vampires to. You had woken up tangled together, naked, dried bodily fluids a stark reminder of how far you'd fallen. You hadn't said a word to him all morning, and even Dean was devoid of his usual quips. At least you seemed to agree: last night was a mistake, and shouldn't happen again.

You parked the car in an unmarked, cracked parking lot a few blocks away from the abandoned house. Dean was out the door before you pulled the key from the ignition, rushing to the trunk to grab his weapons. You sighed and went after him, slamming the door behind you.

You stopped to the side of the trunk. "Dean."

"What," came his gruff reply from under the trunk lid. The sparse weeds growing through the pavement were suddenly very interesting.

"We should talk-"

Dean slammed the lid of the trunk, causing you to jump, and tossed you a machete, which you caught easily despite being startled.

"Let's just get the job done," he said, his face hard and unyielding as he made eye contact with you.

You looked away quickly, avoiding his stony gaze. "Fine," you mumbled. Those weeds sure were growing. Kind of how Dean had started to grow on you... persistent, despite the unforgiving terrain.

Shaking your head, you fell into step behind Dean as he started walking down the uneven sidewalk.

Your hands were deft as you picked the lock of the back door to the old, peeling green house. All the windows were boarded up, so you had no idea what was waiting for you directly behind this door, but if there was one thing you could count on, it's that if something did charge you, Dean would chop its head off. Not necessarily because he wanted to save you, but because he liked killing monsters. And you had a feeling that he had some anger he might want to take out on something deserving.

The lock finally clicked and you pushed the door open cautiously. It opened into a dirty mudroom, scattered with shoes and coats of all sizes and styles. Your stomach turned as you realized they must have belonged to victims.

Dean noticed it too. "Let's go," he said grimly and pushed past you into the building, machete held high.

You picked up your own machete from the ground where you had set it to pick the lock and followed Dean. He was quick, peeking past corners before whipping around and advancing down the hallways, pressed flat against the wall. You were less... dramatic about your caution, choosing to let him clear the way.

Dean stopped suddenly and threw an arm back, stopping you in place. For a second, you were distracted by the way his hand pressed back against you, fingers almost curling around your shirt, touching but not quite. A breeze through a broken window sent a wave of his Old Spice scent in your direction that almost overtook you. Then you came to your senses and slapped his hand away.

You peered past him to see what it was. You had come across a bedroom, in which three vampires were snoring away unwittingly. You recognized them from the warehouse.

Dean looked back at you and nodded, creeping into the room. You each went to a side of the bed and made eye contact over the sleeping monsters in front of you.

One, Dean mouthed, raising his blade.

Two, and you followed suit.

Three, and both of you swung. The blood of two vampires splattered the white sheets, and the third leapt up immediately, fangs descending. She stood on the bed, ready to pounce on Dean, when you pulled her legs out from under her. The vamp fell to the mattress, where you unceremoniously chopped off its head.

"Nice move," Dean muttered, wiping his blade and already walking towards the door. "Let's clear the rest of the house."

You checked the remaining rooms on the ground floor, while Dean hurried upstairs. You found nothing in the dilapidated rooms except some mice and rotting wood floors.

A loud pounding and scuffling sounded on the ceiling above you, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of metal hitting the floor. You turned and ran up the stairs two at a time.

Dean was locked in hand-to-hand combat with a vamp on the landing, his machete lying some distance away. Blood trickled down his temple. The ornate bronze candlestick the vampire wielded had a matching red stain.

The vampire hooked his beefy arm around Dean's neck and slammed him face first into the wall, shattering the glass on a picture frame that hung there. You seized the opportunity of having his back to you and rushed up behind him, hacking at his neck. Only his neck was so thick and muscular that your blade barely went through a third of it.

The vamp dropped Dean on the ground and slowly turned on you, your machete still stuck in its neck. Your eyes darted to where Dean's machete had fallen, and you scrambled backwards to pick it up, almost tripping on a rug in the process, but successfully retrieving it anyway. You brandished in front of you as you got backed into a corner, your last line of defense.

It had the audacity to laugh at you. "You think that's gonna work?" he taunted, bearing down on you and shadowing you from the meager sunlight coming through a window in an adjacent room.

In your periphery, you saw Dean rising from the ground, eyes fixed on the weapon stuck in the vampire's neck. You suppressed the urge to glance at him fully as he crept up behind the monster. He took hold of the machete handle and yanked.

It was no good. The vamp whirled on him, socking him in the jaw. You saw your chance. Dean was down for the count and the vampire had its back turned again. You ran up and swung with all your might in the opposite direction. The vamp's head rolled.

Dean looked up at you from the ground where he had fallen, panting hard. “You’re welcome,” he breathed heavily.

“For what? I saved your ass,” you reminded him, holding out a hand to help him up.

“If I hadn’t distracted it, you wouldn’t have been able to get it,” he said while standing, obviously trying to repair his ego.

You rolled your eyes and dropped his hand roughly. “Oh please.” You started down the stairs to head back to the car.

“At least we got them all now,” Dean commented, stomping down the stairs behind you.

You ignored him all the way back to the car and all the way back to the hotel as he continued to try to convince you that you hadn’t done all the work.

The sun was setting by the time you got back to the hotel, all shades of red and orange that reminded you of the blood you had spilled today. It reflected off the Impala, parked in front of the side door of the hotel. And it bathed Dean in a warm golden light that bounced off his freckled skin and made him look like he was glowing.

Ew, what am I thinking, you scolded yourself. He's just sweaty. He's a gross, sweaty man who you hate and never want to be intimate with again. He doesn't look sexy at all right now.

You were brought back to earth as Dean winced heavily while hauling his bag out of your trunk to transfer it to his car. His hand went to his ribs, tenderly feeling around for cracks.

"You should come inside so I can check you out," you said without thinking.

Dean looked at you incredulously. "Yeah, I bet you'd love to check me out, but I gotta go."

You rolled your eyes, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "Not what I meant. You're obviously hurt, let me take a look. I can patch you up better than you can yourself."

He threw his bag into the trunk of the Impala and slammed it shut. "Fine. If you'll let me leave after."

You prepared your first aid kit while Dean stripped off his top layers. You could have just gotten what you needed as you went, but you were preparing yourself for seeing him shirtless again... in the same environment that you'd fucked in last night.

You turned around, heart rate picking up. You were just making yourself nervous more than anything. You'd seen him shirtless thousands of times before. It's fine, it's normal.

And there he was.

Half-naked.

Sweaty.

Groaning.

Dean sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed, trying to look down his side, where deep red bruises were already formed. They were accompanied by a gash on his chest, presumably where the vampire's claws had cut into his skin as it tossed him around.

You kneeled in front of him and began examining his ribs, making sure to be gentle as you ran your fingers over each bone. Goosebumps rose on his flesh in the path of your hands. "Well, good news, nothing's broken."

Dean gave a pained sort of grimace-smile. "Great. So I can leave." He made to get up off the bed, but you held down his thighs.

"Not so fast," you said. "Let me fix up that cut."

"It's fine, really, I can do it myself," he protested. He met your determined gaze and slumped back.

"Fine. Make it quick."

You poured some antiseptic on a gauze pad. "This is gonna sting."

"I know, sweetheart, this ain't my first rodeo," Dean griped.

You gave him an expressionless look like I-am-so-done-with-you and pressed the soaked gauze to the cut. Dean hissed through his teeth, fingers tightening into the blanket beneath him. You wiped away the blood and the grime, revealing how deep the cut was.

"I'm gonna have to close this up," you told him. "It's deeper than I thought." You begin rummaging through the first-aid kit for the suture needle you knew was around somewhere. A hunter's first-aid kit was a little more elaborate than most.

You carefully threaded the needle, tongue poking through your lips, then looked up at him. "Ready?"

Dean's expression hardened and he grabbed the t-shirt he had been wearing, wadded up one end, and shoved it in his mouth.

Your brow furrowed in concentration as you wove the needle through his delicate skin, meticulously joining the two sides. You worked as quickly and as steadily as you could, painstakingly making sure to sew him up in a way that wouldn't scar too much. Dean did his best to keep quiet, occasionally grunting in pain, his face scrunching up around the shirt in his mouth.

You reached the end of the cut and adeptly tied off the thread, snipping the loose end off. Dean spat the chunk of t-shirt out of his mouth and tossed it to the side.

You made eye contact for a moment as you covered the wound site with a bandage, then Dean shifted his eyes to the side. "Thanks," he said after a minute.

"You sure you want to go? Why don't you rest one more night before getting on the road?" you asked softly, placing your hand on his knee soothingly. His leg twitched under your hand.

"I should go...." Dean protested half-heartedly, not making any move to get up. Did he want to stay?

"Got somewhere to be, Winchester?" you teased. Testing your theory, you rubbed his thigh a couple times. His eyes fluttered half-closed and he looked at you darkly through his lashes.

"Don't," he murmured, uncharacteristically non-combative. His hand crept around your wrist, holding your hand on his leg.

You looked up at him from your place between his legs. "You say one thing, but do another," you said softly. "What do you want, Dean?"

Dean bit his lip and let go of your hand, clasping his together in his lap and dropping his gaze to them. You waited a beat, then grabbed his hands, pulling them to your chest.

"Look at me, Dean," you commanded. His eyes flew up in surprise. "Tell me what you want."

His expression changed from surprised to irritated to aroused. He grabbed you by the shoulders.

"You."

You grinned and stood up to clamber onto him, leaning down to capture his lips in a kiss, Dean's hands ghosting across your back and legs, helping you into his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him as close as possible as you made out and rolled your hips down onto his hardening cock.

Dean groaned and broke away. "Let me fuck you," he rasped, pupils blown.

A lovely mischievous idea occurred to you. You pouted. "You'll hurt yourself. Let me take care of you." You slid off his lap onto the floor and turned away, pulling your own shirt over your head. "Get comfortable on the bed."

In the fake gold plated mirror on the wall, you saw Dean look you up and down hungrily. Then he quickly stripped the rest of his clothes off and sat against the headboard. You slowly lowered your jeans, then your panties, being as teasing as possible, knowing he was watching.

"Come here," he barked finally. You turned to face him, bra still covering your breasts.

"So demanding," you breathed, but went to him anyway. You sat down on his thighs and looped your arms around his neck again, pulling him in for a kiss, which he swerved in favor of mouthing kisses into your neck and jaw. You moaned a little as he paid attention to a sensitive vein. Your hips almost involuntarily rolled forward, meeting his lower stomach.

His hands, which had just been resting on your thighs, squeezed harshly into the supple flesh of your hips. You yelped as he dug his fingers into the bruises he had left the day before.

"You said you would take care of me," Dean said snarkily, staring pointedly at his cock between you. You smirked and wrapped your hand around its base, admiring the reddening tip. You slowly squeezed your hand up from the base to the tip, and were rewarded with a thick drop of precum leaking out and dripping down the side. Dean huffed, a dark flush spreading across his neck and chest.

You scooted down his legs until your face was level with his crotch. Making teasing eye contact with him, you slowly stuck out your tongue and licked his cock from his balls up, flicking off the tip. Dean growled, his skin and gaze fiery.

"Quit'cher teasing," he slurred, tilting his head back to knock against the headboard.

You found significant pleasure in weakening him, and although you'd have liked to keep teasing him, you wanted to make him come undone. So you took his cock into your mouth, sucking gently on the fat head, savoring the salty taste of him.

"Fuck," Dean whispered, head still back, eyes closed. You swirled your tongue around a few times, then started lowering your head, taking him further and further into your mouth. He reached for your head but you caught his hand and held it down to the bed.

You raised your head, letting his cock fall from your mouth, a string of drool still connecting the two. "Trust me," you said, raising your eyebrow.

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you," he groaned.

"Don't make me tie you down," you warned. "I will."

"I'd like to see you try- ngh!" You squeezed the base of his cock tightly and watched as it turned red and Dean squirmed beneath you, mouth agape and panting. He truly was a beautiful, lewd sight.

"Mind your stitches," you reminded him gently. "Lie still." You loosened your hold on his cock and began sliding your hand along it languidly.

Dean visibly relaxed, eyes fluttering open. You lowered your mouth back onto his cock, taking him all the way to the back of your throat and swallowing around him. Your eyes watered and stung, but the groan he let out was worth it. You repeated the process a couple more times, then pulled off and looked up at him. He regarded you darkly and lustfully as you grabbed his hand and brought it to the side of your face, allowing him to lace his fingers through your hair and grab a handful.

A handhold.

You nodded slightly and dropped your jaw, mouth waiting above his heavy cock. Dean's mouth slowly grew into a grin.

"Want me to fuck your face, huh? Guess that's one way you can help me out." He shoved your head down onto him. You gagged as his tip hit the back of your throat. "Fucking slut, letting a guy fuck your mouth just 'cuz you feel sorry for him." He began bobbing your head up and down. His grip on your hair made your scalp tingle.

You made a little moan of protest. It turned into the most obscene gurgling, gagging sound as he continued to use you like a human fleshlight.

You gripped his wrist and tugged his hand out of your hair so you could pull off of his cock. You looked at him through narrowed eyes. "I will stop."

"Yeah, right," Dean scoffed, out of breath. "You practically threw yourself on me."

You smirked, moving up to straddle him, and pinned his hand to the headboard. "I think you'll find that, both times, it was the other way around."

Before Dean knew what was happening, you ambushed him with a handcuff snapping around his wrist, the other side looped haphazardly on the bedpost. It didn't matter that it wasn't secure. He didn't have enough leverage to lift it over the tall post and free himself.

While he snarled, distracted, you trapped his other wrist in the same way. You smiled down at him sweetly when his angry face turned to you.

"I did warn you," you said, grinding down on his lap. "But I guess I should've known better than to give you any control. It was always going to come to this, wasn't it?"

"You bitch," Dean said through gritted teeth, straining forward against his restraints.

You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his neck, his jaw, his earlobe. "Just say the word if it's too much."

You felt him relax underneath you, then he nipped at your ear. "How weak do you think I am? Do your worst," he sneered.

You rose above him, triumphant. "Oh, I will, baby." You ground your wet core against his cock, still slick with your spit. He ground his teeth more, trying not to react. You threaded your fingers through his hair and tugged gently.

And oh, how beautiful it was that he let his head loll back, giving himself into your control, eyes fluttering shut. Then he seemed to snap to his senses and he opened his eyes, muttering, "Just ride me already."

"Patience," you whispered, and began kissing him. You kissed down his neck, across his chest (avoiding the stitches), down his stomach through the soft hairs that led back down to his pretty cock, laying on his stomach and leaving droplets of precum like dew in the hairs.

You blew softly across his length as you considered the best way to make him unravel for you. He let out a low groan, quiet and strained. You smiled to yourself and lowered your mouth back onto his cock, running your tongue lightly along the thick vein that ran up its underside, tracing the life-force that pulsated beneath his skin. He huffed softly in quick succession.

"Breathe," you murmured against his dick, and licked the tip gently, slo-o-owly. Dean made a pretty noise that was halfway a grunt and halfway a breathy sigh, and your pussy fluttered between your legs.

You clambered back up his body, your knees framing his waist as you hovered over him. His eyes were completely clouded by lust, an eager expression taking over his face. You took hold of his cock and lined it up with your body. His breath hitched in anticipation.

You cocked your head, smiling. "What do you say?"

Dean scowled. "Fuck you, I'm not begging."

"Oh, but you already have, Dean." You stroke his cock gently where it waits between your legs. "What's one more word?"

His eyes threatened to close against his will. He gritted his teeth, opened his mouth, closed it, sighed, and spoke. "Please," he whispered.

"Good boy," you praised, sinking down onto his cock slowly. You moaned loudly as you felt him fill you up again. It almost felt better now that you were taking your time with him. Dean moaned softly, arms finally relaxing in his bonds.

Your head dipped down and you kissed him. His mouth was soft and pliant against yours, not fighting, not working to dominate, and you had the fleeting thought that you had tamed him. You didn't know how, but in this moment, he was completely submissive. And you liked it.

You raised yourself up and drew off his cock until just the head remained inside, then slid back down slowly, like you had at first. Dean leaned forward, held back somewhat by the cuffs, to suck and press kisses to your breasts. You ground down on him, pressing his cock as far in as it would go until it ached, and your chest vibrated with Dean's responding groan.

"Please move," he begged hoarsely, hips twitching underneath you.

"Since you asked nicely," you breathed. You began rolling your hips against his steadily, watching as his pleasure flickered through his rugged features. It was a stark contrast to last night, when he had been scowling and making quips the entire time as he fucked you into the mattress. This was almost... loving. Or perhaps you were simply providing him a service. You did agree to take care of him, and maybe that's what he needed.

You reached up and unclasped the handcuff on Dean's left hand, somehow trusting that he would not go anywhere. His eyes flew open and his hand was on you like it was a magnet and your hip was the opposite charge. His hand massaged into the flesh of your hip, making a dull ache arise from the bruises of the previous night.

You looked into his eyes as both your moans filled the air. They were wide and asking, and since his hand was gentle on your body, and he had been on such good behavior, you released his other hand as well.

It was like a switch flipped. His right hand darted to your waist and dug in, the hand on your hip tightening as well as he took control of your movement. You yelped and he began pushing you faster, your thighs screaming with effort as you tried to regain control.

"Dean," you gasped, clawing at his shoulders.

He grinned, slamming your hips down on him until you were forced to fall against his shoulder. "You were too slow," he gasped between heavy breaths, the wind rushing from his lungs each time your hips met his.

You managed to push yourself back up, bracing your forearm against his throat. His gasps turned ragged as you cut off his air. His thrusts slowed as you regained control of him.

"Be good," you said harshly, catching your breath and narrowing your gaze. "Only good boys get what they want." Dean scowled as he realized you were parroting his words from the night before.

"Fuck you," he spat hoarsely, voice barely audible from the pressure on his vocal cords. You cocked an eyebrow and leaned a little heavier on his throat. His cock twitched inside you.

Letting up on his throat just enough that he could breathe, you picked yourself up and began fucking yourself on his cock again, this time fully in control as his hands just clutched at your hips. You swear he went bug-eyed at the renewed friction combined with his light-headedness.

You felt pressure build in your core as you watched Dean's face, red and straining, mouth hanging open as he gasped in a desperate bid for a full breath. All that came from his mouth were raspy moans and heaves. He seemed determined not to beg still. You supposed he had been faking before. That wouldn't do.

"Tell me when you're close, baby," you purred in his ear as you began rubbing your clit, the sensation causing you to clench around him tightly. You readjusted the arm on his throat so he could speak.

"I'm close," you continued. "If I come on your cock, can you take it? Or will it be too much?" You pouted in mock pity. Dean was barely listening, eyes rolled back in his head, mouth moving in something that might have been words, if he wasn't so pussy-drunk and oxygen-deprived.

The look on his face finally pushed you over the edge, and you fell on his mouth hungrily as your pussy spasmed around him, eating up his desperate whines and moans as they fell from his lips.

You didn't stop your pace, overstimulating yourself and building another orgasm while Dean... finally broke.

"Please," he gasped hoarsely into your mouth, teeth clashing against yours as he jerked forward, drawn towards you, needing to be closer and closer and closer. "I'm so close."

You smirked down at him and slowed drastically. He was going to feel everything you were subjected to last night. He whined and buried his face in your chest, hips wiggling in an attempt to thrust into you again. "What do you say?"

"I just did," he growled, scraping his teeth over your skin.

"You didn't," you said cheerily. "You know what you need to tell me."

He let out a drawn-out groan followed by what could be considered somewhat of a sob. "Fuck."

"That's not it," you chastised.

Dean gritted his teeth and looked up at you, meeting your gaze. But he couldn't hold it. "I need to come," he whispered, eyes dropping. "Please make me come."

You resumed your last pace, touching yourself and clenching down on him as your body reacted to the feelings. Dean let out a broken moan as you leaned on his throat again. "Fuck- fuck-" he gasped against your skin, more his mouth just forming the words than speaking, hot and wet and open. His entire body tensed and he stopped breathing for just a moment-

And then he came inside you, shuddering and digging his nails into your hips so tightly you thought you might bleed. You didn't slow until you were following him, wringing every drop from his spent cock as he begged you to slow down in half-human sounds. You didn't slow until you were overstimulating yourself too, and he was straining against your arm, all but crying as his face contorted, all gritted teeth and tense muscles and red cheeks.

At last, you seated yourself fully on him and just stayed there, finally un-obstructing his airway. Dean's hands fell limply to your sides as his chest heaved, panting heavily and looking at you with a glazed expression as his cock jerked weakly inside you.

You made a quick scan of his injuries. Nothing had burst or ripped. He was catching his breath. Satisfied that he was physically okay, you smirked down at him.

"Now we're even," you told him slyly, dragging yourself off of him and laying down beside him.

"Fuck you," he croaked.

You smiled and nipped at his jaw. "Think you better just stay the night, wouldn't want you to drive like this."

Dean hesitated, then decided to take the bait. "Like what?"

"All weak and worn out," you said sympathetically. "Driving tired from a good fucking is the same as driving drunk, you know."

He let out a sharp chuckle. "I don't think that's how the saying goes."

"Really?" you asked sweetly, propping yourself on one elbow to look at him. "Could've sworn it was something like that...." You pretended to think.

"I'll stay," Dean sighed, snaking his arm around you and pulling you into his side. "If you promise we can do this again before checkout."

"I don't know," you said. "We might sleep too long. We might have to take it out to the car."

Dean shivered at the thought of fucking you in his Impala. "I guess that wouldn't be so bad."

[onlyjaeyun]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 – 𝟓𝟎

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘: 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

↬ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬!𝐀𝐔, 𝐂𝐄𝐎!𝐉𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟒.𝟏𝐤 (not proofread im sorry)

"Please, pick up", Jongseong begs quietly as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel of his car, "please, Baby. Please, pick up the phone."

In his twentyeight years of life he's never been as anxious, nervous and stressed as he is in this particular moment and as Jay tries his best to follow all the traffic rules, a wave of flashbacks from your last panick attack at your own apartment hit him, yet this time it seems to be even worse.

He knows you're safe.

His men are with you and from Donyeom's last call only two minutes ago, he knows there are actually enough of them to take down a whole football team, let alone your two brothers. Yet the feeling of nausea seems to become permanent the longer the drive to your apartment takes and the scenarios in his head start drifting into the worst directions possible.

By the time the young CEO finally parks his car right in front of your aprtment building, his eyes nervously roam his surroundings, desperately searching for the rental car his security guard had mentioned about twenty minutes ago, only to realise that his is the only one in eyesight.

With his heart brutally slamming against his rib cage, Jay walks up to your boys, the faces now familiar like he's known them all his life and as he approaches the grouo of young males, they don't hesitate to reassure him of your safety.

"She's safe, Jay", Seyeon says quickly, his thick eyebrows furrowed as he looks the business man up and doen to make sure of his physical well-being.

"I – Where are they, Yeonie? What the fuck happened? And why didn't you guys tell me about this?"

Jay knows he's wrongfully accusing the boys, yet in this particular moment he's not ready to admit the fact that this is his mistake and his only.

He should have made a proper background check on the two men he hired. He should have taken even better precautions. He should have been more careful.

"Calm down", the young boy says calmly and doesn't stray away from Jongseong's strict gaze.

"They left as soon as more of your men arrived ten minutes ago. And we didn't tell you because we didn't know. You should have told us about this!"

Jay's eyes scan every single one of Seyeon's expressions, the accusation hitting him at full force and if it wasn't for the intense anxiety mixing with adrenaline in his veins, he would have been a little more rational and less emotional, yet the louder the young boy's words become in his head, the harder it becomes to fight back the tears of guilt.

"I'm sorry", Jongseong whispers softly, his voice breaking at the end of his apology as a thin veil of tears blurs his vision.

Seyeon's cold expression immediately softens at the sight of the usually so strong and rather distant CEO in such a vulnerable state and without giving it another thought, he pulls Jay into a tight hug.

"She's safe. That's what matters. We'll talk about this when you're in a better headspace. Go and see your girl now, big boss."

Jay almost instinctively buries his face in the neck of the teenager, not realising just how shaken up he is before he pulls away, nods and wordlessly passes the rest of the boys to enter your apartment complex.

Just like the last time, Jong doesn't waste time waiting for the elevator to areive and opts to sprinting the stairs all the way to the fifth floor and when usually he'd do something so physically challenging would never faze him, he can barely catch his breath the moment he finally comes to stand in front of your apartment with about ten of his men all lined up in the hallway, waiting for him.

"Has she finally opened the door, Dokyeom?" Jay's eyes anxiously scan the face of the security guard, only for him to shake his head before verbally responding to his question.

"Fuck", this time Jong simply can't hold himself from getting louder, the anxiety and stress driving him into absolute insanity.

"What the fuck is she doing? Is she even in there? What if they somehow got in there and are holding her hostage? Why haven't you guys kicked in her fucking door yet? What the fuck is this shit?"

None of the man dare to speak up as their young boss loses himself in the panic of your absence and their silence just seems to drive him even crazier.

"Answer my fucking questions, Dokyeom! Why the fuck aren't you guys saying anything?"

Jay's voice is loud, louder than any of the men have ever heard him and in no other situation would he raise his volume like this, yet the mere thought of you being in danger has easily turned him into the worst version of himself he's ever experienced.

"Did something happen to her? Did something happen to the love of my life? Somebody just fucking say something – anything", without even realising, Jongseong reaches for Dokyeom's collar, his grip tight enough to turn his knuckles white as he looks at the young man with teary eyes, "please, don't tell me something happened to her."

And just as said security guard opens his mouth to say something, Jong finally notices the movement in the corner of his eye and with his heart brutally slamming against his rib cage, he turns his head to get a proper view, only to be met with the sight of you, the love of his life.

For a whole minute, the world as well as his heart come to a stop just to spin and beat even faster the next second, leaving the business man lightheaded as relief takes over his whole body.

You carefully watch the way Jongseong's facial expressions soften as his brain processes your presence and at the way his usually so soft and gentle eyes are filled with pain and panic you can't stop the tears from streaming down your cheeks.

The past two hours passed by in a blur. After spending a good hour just crying about your little argument, you didn't even bother taking a shower and just went straight to your apartment, craving a nice hot bath to calm yourself down and give your brain at least an hour to shut everything else out and focus on the warm water and silence.

You didn't know what to expect from your boyfriend, yet it definitely wasn't fifteen missed calls, especially after stepping out of the shower to the sound of way too many male voices on the other side of your door.

As the panic overwhelmed your body, you didn't even bother changing into your pyjamas and simply having a quick look through your peephole to ease your messy thoughts. To your luck the sight of about ten men in suits, Dokyeom and Mingyu included, it didn't take much time for you to calm down again.

You didn't even get to call your worried boyfriend back as his loud voice made its way through your thin walls and as if the universe had just waited for him to say those four words, you opened the door and stepped into the hallway just to hear him call you the love of his life.

A wave of guilt washes over your body as you take in the sight of your boyfriend in his actual pyjamas, hair messily falling into his bare face and his shaky hands as he pulls away from the security guard with his pretty eyes widened in nothing but relief.

"My Angel", is the first thing to leave Jongseong's lips before he approaches you and quickly pulls you into his arms, his mind too messy as it tries to make him believe that you're not actually there, only for all those thoughts to leave his head as soon as you wrap your arms around his neck and your sweet scent embraces him in the most perfect way possible.

"I'm so sorry, Jongie", you whisper into his ear, your soft cries breaking his heart but Jay doesn't dare use his voice just yet, so all he does is shake his head in response.

"I'm okay, I promise", your words, your voice, your touch easily calms his heart down enough and with a soft sigh Jay allows you to pull away just enougj to meet your gaze, "everything is okay. I'm here. I'm safe."

It's then that Jongseong realises that his body went into an anxiety attack, something he hasn't had in so long it actually overwhelmed him to the point where he didn't recognize his own reactions. While last time you were the one to follow the pattern of his breathing, it's him doing it with yours now, inhaling and exhaling deeply for who knows how long.

"There you go, you're doing so good for me, my love", you whisper softly, holding his face so gently, it feels like you're afraid to break him into pieces if you made a wrong move.

You're quick to pull him back into a hug once his breathing is back to normal and as Jay deeply inhales your scent, he finally finds his way back to reality.

You're here. In his arms. Safe and sound.

"You need to come home with me, Baby", Jay whispers into your ear, not rrady to let go of you just yet, "we can sleep in separate rooms if you want to. Fuck, I'll even stay at Hoon's if that's what you need me to do but please, I need you to come home with me, angel girl. It's too dangerous, you're not safe here."

His words definitely take you aback but as soon as you saw those missed calls on your phone display, you knew something had happened because Jongseong would have never panicked this much for nothing.

"Of course, Jongie", you reply calmly and take his face into your hands again, gently caressing his cheeks and quickly wiping away the single tear drop which had managed to escape. 

"I'm going to explain everything to you in the car. Go ahead and get changed, we'll go when you're ready."

All you can do is nod with big, teary eyes, still not quite over your boyfriend's intense reaction and although you're not necessarily scared or anxious, there's still this weird feeling of panic crawling underneath your skin, leading you to be as fast as physically possible. 

You don't even bother taking anything but your phone and your keys as you step out of your bedroom dressed in random sweats you found on the floor and the oversized hoodie you had on when you had arrived to your apartment about three hours ago. You give Jongseong a nod of approval and instinctively reach for his hand, only for him to pull you even closer to his body, yet remaining just as quiet as you. 

The car drive to your boyfriend's penthouse is filled with silence until Sunghoon's name pops up on Jong's phone and the young business man makes sure to give his best friend an update on the whole situation after only texting him a single text message and then not picking up any of his calls. 

You can hear the other boys' voices in the back as they all let out exclaims of relief upon receiving the news of your wellbeing and it doesn't take Jongseong longer than a few minutes to end the call. 

You're glad he agreed to let Dokyeom drive, as he realized that sitting behind the wheel in such an emotional state might not be the best idea. 

Jongseong reaches for your face, his knuckles softly graze your cheek before he places two of his fingers underneath your chin and tilts your head up. You don't even wait for his next move as you push your lips against his and indulge in the sweet feeling of his kiss. 

The kiss is soft. It's gentle and so full of love, you feel it fill your chest with warmth in a way only Park Jongseong has ever been able to, a feeling of comfort and security quickly following. 

It doesn't take much for you to lose yourself in the sweetness of him and the second Jay pushes your chin down just enough to push his tongue into your mouth, a soft whimper bubbles up your throat and loudly echoes through the silence in the car. 

Jay doesn't want to pull away. He just got a taste of his favorite drug after what feels like ages, yet he'd never risk letting his men hear what's meant for his ears and his only. 

To his luck, you're only about five more minutes left until you two are back in the safety of his penthouse and for the first time in the past few hours, Jongseong finally doesn't struggle to take a breath. 

With a soft sigh he gives you one last kiss on the lips but doesn't move a single inch, knowing you both need the close proximity now more than ever.

That's probably exactly why neither one of you bothers to walk further than the couch as soon as you step through the door and into the warmth of your shared home.

While he was still a little hesitant in the car because of his men, Jay doesn't seem to have an ounce of patience left in his body as he pulls you onto his lap the second he plops down on the couch next to you. 

You don't know how much time passes until Jay starts to speak, you're too mesmerized by the sight of his soft yet somehow sharp features, his pretty eyes and plump lips. You've missed looking at him like this, with no time pressure or the fear of someone seeing the two of you like this. 

It's finally just the two of you and nothing else matters. 

"There's no need to panic or be worried, okay, Baby? Everything's taken care of now but some things didn't go according to plan", Jong begins and pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear, his tired eyes never once leaving yours and you can't even get yourself to verbally respond, so all you to is nod. 

"It's about my brothers, isn't it?" You finally find your voice after a beat of silence and this time it's your boyfriend who just simply moves his head to answer your question. 

"Apparently the men I hired to take care of them are working for someone else, which is why and how they found your addressed and basically camped in front of your apartment building, waiting for you to come back."

You attentively listen to your boyfriend's words and despite a wave of horror washing over you, you find yourself more focused on the way he suddenly avoids your gaze, something you're not quite used to from him. It takes you a few seconds but as soon as you notice the way he nervously starts chewing on the inside of his cheek, you can finally put a name on the emotion written all over his face. 

Shame. 

"Why are you ashamed, Jongie?", you don't even think about the part with your brothers, too consumed by Park Jongseong, just as usual. 

"Because I put you in danger", he whispers, not an ounce of his usual confidence and certainty to be seen, "I didn't do roper background checks on those two men and that's why those fuckers felt so comfortable waiting for you."

Saying these words out loud are supposed to feel relieving, but all it does is make Jay's conscience cry out even louder as guilt, shame and embarrassment take over every inch of his body. 

"Jongie, you–", "Don't try to find excuses for this, Baby. I promised to always keep you safe and protected, yet the danger was right there, right in front of our eyes and I failed to see it. I failed to keep my promise because of a mistake so stupid, a mistake that should have been avoided at all costs. I'm sorry."

Maybe it's the fact that you haven't been this close to him in what feels like an eternity or maybe it's about you two getting into your first argument and maybe, just maybe it's because you've never loved a person the way you love Park Jongseong, but regardless of the reasoning, you can't help but feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes at his words. 

There's just something about him that gets to you in a way you can't even explain. It's like that tiny shaking in his voice just slices a knife through your heart, yet the comfort it comes with heals you just as fast. 

"Jongie, look at me, please", you say softly and are now the one to take his face into your hands, your lips stretching into a soft smile as soon as his gaze meets yours.

"You're human, Jay. Things like these happen and that's okay. There's no point in beating yourself up over this, because it was exactly that: a mistake. Mistakes are done unintentionally", you never once avert your eyes from his and feel yourself falling in love with him all over again, "besides, you never broke your promise. Dokyeom was with me the whole time. I was never in actual danger. Please, don't be so hard on yourself, it breaks my heart to see you like this."

"No, please", Jong suddenly gulps harshly and shakes his head, "no more tears. No more pain. My heart can't bear it anymore."

You're slightly taken aback by his response and it's then that you realize that a few of your tears had managed to make their way down your cheeks and with a soft sigh you pull him into yet another kiss. 

To some it might seem odd that you're the one comforting him when you just found out that your brothers have been stalking you and aren't as far away from you as you had initially believed, yet for some reason you're not as concerned about them and their silly little plans to taunt and terrorize you as you are about your boyfriend's mental and emotional state. 

They're going to do whatever they need to feed their fragile ego either way, which is why you're not as scared about their actions as you were just a few weeks ago. Oh, and also the fact you're now accompanied by a six feet tall former military man most of the time now. 

"It's okay, my love", you sigh and wrap your arms around his shoulders, loving the way Jay doesn't hesitate to bury his face in the crook of your neck. 

His brain struggles a little process your choice of pet name, yet as soon as he processes what you had actually called him, not even for the first time tonight, Jongseong's heart finally stops aching in agony when he realizes the weight those two little words carry. 

"Your...love?"

Yet, he remains hesitant because maybe it's a term you use for your friends he hasn't heard yet or you don't actually mean it the way he thinks you do and after a night of such heart break and pain, he simply doesn't have the energy to fight his demons anymore. 

"Yes, Jongseong", you say confidently, pushing away slowly to look at him again, your heart thrumming in your throat at the mere thought of what you're about to tell him. 

It took you exactly eight weeks to realize that you're in love with Park Jongseong. You still remember the way you caught yourself staring at him from across the room, just watching his mannerism and movements as he engaged in a conversation with the head of the team you had just listened to. The second his gaze met yours, his eyes visibly softened and his lips even stretched into a tiny little smirk. That was the exact moment you knew that your silly little crush was a lot more than that and every day for the past few weeks he had managed to make you fall even more in love with him. 

The realization seemed scary at first, but now it's one of your most treasured emotions because nobody has ever made you feel as loved, appreciated, cared for and respected the way Park Jongseong has. 

As your eyes roam his handsome face, you take in the adoration and love gleaming in his pretty eyes, the ones you had found the home in you'd been searching for all your life. 

"I'm in love with you, Park Jongseong." 

You don't allow yourself to overthink and overanalyze your thoughts and decisions. Not this time. Not when you've never felt as sure about something as your feelings for the man you've waited for all your life. 

For a moment, however, you feel tiny jolts of anxiety making their way through your skin as Jay remains completely silent. 

Little do you know that this is the first time someone has ever said those words to him with such sincerity, such genuinity, such honesty. 

Little do you know Jongseong can't get himself to physically react yet because his brain has yet to get past the point of replaying the sound of you saying those sweet words and actually process them. 

Little do you know he has no choice but to remain reaction less, simply because he's never felt as happy as he does in this particular moment. His body has absolutely no idea what to do with all the serotonin rushing through his veins. 

"My Baby", he then finally breathes and lets out a soft chuckle, the tip of his nose reddening as tears of happiness blur his vision, "my pretty girl. My everything. The love of my life."

And there they are. The words he had used to describe you to his man in a moment of panic and anxiety, this time said with nothing but love and honesty, adoration and need.

"And I'm in love with you, Y/N."

Every doubt and worry that has ever crossed your mind in regards to Park Jongseong and his feelings for you suddenly vanishes. The only thing that matters is the fact that of all ways to call you, he's decided to give you a title so powerful and heavy in meaning, you can't even think of one that could ever come close to it. 

Just when you think there's no way this moment can get any more perfect than it already is, Jay suddenly reaches for your right hand, gently taking it into his own before lifting it to his lips and placing the softest kiss on your promise ring.

His eyes never once leave yours as he looks up at you through thick lashes, driving the mob of butterflies in your stomach even further into insanity with just a simple look. 

"And I promise to love you until my last breath and to find you in every life time. Thank you for giving me what I've been craving all my life, my perfect angel girl. Thank you for giving my soul the home it's been looking for all this time. Thank you for the privilege to be loved by you. It will forever remain my most treasured gift and something I won't ever take for granted."

You've always loved Jongseong's way with words but as he verbally expresses his love and gratitude for you, you can't help but gasp for air, too overwhelmed by a feeling so unknown yet so familiar. 

"Jay, I–", you stop mid-sentence as the tears get the best of you and the only thing to follow those two words is a soft sob of his name.

"It's okay, my sweet girl", Jong chuckles softly and pulls you closer against his chest before he places a firm kiss on your head, "I love you, too."

Not a single word is said after the as the two of you silently agree to take the sweetness of your love confessions into your drams, rather than the pain filled hours from earlier. As you bury your face even deeper in his neck, his strong arms wrapped tightly around your waist and his scent and warmth the one embrace your soul, you feel yourself slip into the best sleep you've ever had because despite everything that has happened, you've never felt as safe and protected as this. 

And when your breathing becomes lighter, Jongseong allows himself to let go of all the tears he had been holding back and finally fully indulge in the feeling of relief and gratitude that you turned out to be his person, after all. 

His home. His future.

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

(A/N: And here it is babies! I know you guys expected the worst so pls don't hate me, I gotta keep y'all on the edge to hit you even harder once we reach the actual big bang, bear with me 🤕🫣 honestly im not the proudest of this and i hope i didn't disappoint you guys, i promise i'll make up for the lack of smut soon!🫣 thank you sm for all the love and support babies, you're truly the best and i can't thank you enough. feedback is always appreciated!💞)

TAGLIST CLOSED: @soonigiri @xrr-s4sha @kwiwin @heelcvr @deobitifull @kpoprhia @doodlelibrary @abrazosolorcereza @certifiedmoa @sleeping-demons @heerinnie @ohmy-moonlightx @heeswif3y @hoonieluv @fakeuwus @jjaeyuns @cheybabey @ineedsomezzz @super-amberlynn @kshoshi @tinie03 @jseongies @mimikittysblog @primroselover @heebrry @jebetwo @donghyckl @07myonlylove @enhamysunshines @quemirasboboandapaya @lostwonderwall @seuomo @enhaz1 @teawithbucky @beomgyusonlywife @dammit-jjk @lhsvibez @azurez @boutyouwonu @finchyyy @ocyeanicc @jaylaxies @in-somnias-world @zerasari @spookyauthorspopmusictrash @capri-cuntz @fluerz @3amstarlight

[cheriladycl01]

Miami Waves - Logan Sargeant x NewZealandOlympicSurfing! Reader

Plot: Miami boy wants to see if his Olympic surfing girl can keep up with the Floridian waves and you end up getting to know his colleagues more in the process

“Thank you for coming and being here with me” he smiles, his parents had been wanting to meet you for a while. You’d started dating when he first got into F2 and was put under the Williams Young Driver Programme.

“You knew I wouldn’t say no. I’ve been wanting to meet them just as much!” You exclaim. You were a little nervous to meet them, as in your mind Logan was it for you, this was the boy you wanted to marry and have a family with. And even if he didn’t feel the same way right now, that was okay. Not that you knew if he did as you’d never discussed your guys future.

But if you had, he would have told you he felt the exact same way.

Meeting his parents was so much fun, and you got to meet his older brother who teased the both of you relentlessly.

You were used to surfing in Australia and New Zealand. They were the closest to you, and there wasn’t quite any waves like their were on the Australian Coastline. That’s actually where you’d won, one of your first ever championships in surfing. Two years later and you were a Silver Medalists.

“Well my family love you. I’m pretty sure they wanted you to move in” he laughs, Logan lived at home all through his career in F2 and he still visited often as he always said how he felt like an outcast on the F1 grid.

Alex helped but he’d drifted apart from Oscar and had to watch him form a really strong bond with Lando.

He still talked to his friends from his days in Prema as well but everything but you felt so disconnected lately.

So spending those two weeks with his family and you in Miami in the beach villa you'd all rented was vital for the both of you. You felt like you'd been so busy running around, travelling the world with Logan all the time, surfboard rentals at every new place you went so you could train and sometimes travelling for your own championships.

You spent the two weeks doing the most mundane stuff, like cooking together with Logan, building sandcastles, teaching him how to paddle board before showing him the intricacies that came with surfing, which you thought considering his concentration and hand-eye coordination in an F1 car he'd be good at but he couldn't stay on the board once.

Your favourite thing was his family getting really excited to show your their favourite local restaurants in Florida.

You were currently sat on your surfboard with your legs in the water and hands on the middle part of it, watching everything in the neck high water below you.

The water's were crystal clear and you could see the little fishes swimming around playing through the sand. You were swaying a little bit where the quieter, unrideable waves were lapping over your board and sending you in random directions.

You were peacefully watching everything go by, until that peace was ruined by Logan, coming running into the water in his basketball shorts making you look over to him in shock.

"Logan?" you asked as he swam up to hold into your board, you scooted back so that he could haul himself up and sit opposite you on the board.

"Erm, so ... kind of last minute but you about to meet Oscar, Arthur and Freddie" Logan said, trying to give you his cute teddy bear smile, but all that was running through your body was shock.

It was a bit strange but you hadn't actually met his friends, you were very very busy with training for the next Olympics and another set of Championships in New Zealand when Logan was in F2, so you didn't see him in the paddock as much as you do now, and if you did you were nervous and kept to yourself.

"No, stop. I'm basically naked!" you exclaim looking down at your cleavage that wasn't well covered up by your bikini.

"Come on, lets go meet them. And get you a cover-up because I don't trust them" he laughs, placing a hand and the side of your neck before pulling you into a passionate kiss. You guys moved closer to each other to the point where you were basically sat on his lap. A wave a little to large came and toppled you both off the board making you both come up sputtering in shock.

You swim to where the water is knee deep and see three boys watching you.

"Oh" you mutter, knowing exactly who they were.

"Baby, these are my friends" he offers, grabbing your coverup and handing it to you so you could chuck it on.

"Yeah i gathered" you chuckle.

You spent the day with the boys, Oscar was the only one that could surf and you found yourself getting on with all of them, Oscar the most who became like a sort of Oceanic brother to you, being from Australia.

Arthur and Freddie were a whole other story, constantly flirting with you to try and get a rise out of Logan which you couldn't help but giggle at but always grab his hand, arm of leg in a comforting way to let him know none of it was affecting you.

"So, how are you feeling about the Paris Olympics?" Freddie asks as you were all sat around a bonfire, telling stories.

"Yeah confident, I'm excited to be able to participate in it for a second year running! Going for Gold and all that..." you grin.

"Well... we will all be there to watch you, right Logan?" Arthur grins, making you shake your head again.

y/user

Liked by logansargeant, arthur_leclerc and oscarpiastri

y/user: Missing NZ P1🇳🇿🥝 but Miami and Hubby are treating me well P2-4 🇺🇸🦅

Tagged One Person

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logansargeant: Out of all the pictures you could have used of me on the beach … 😩

-> y/user: baby, I had sunburn in all of our ones 💋

-> logansargeant: but you make such a pretty tomato 🍅

-> y/user: outside for you tonight

-> logansargeant: arthur_leclerc, oscarpiastri, frederickvestiofficial I’m in the dog house boys, help me out!

-> arthur_leclerc: sounds like a you problem, Y/N looking radiant as always 🌸

-> oscarpiastri: maybe you shouldn’t have called your girl a tomato? You hit those Miami waves Y/N 🏄🏼‍♀️🌊

-> frederikvestiofficial: Y/N deserves better 🫣🫶🏼

williamsracing: incredible stuff from you! 🦋💙

Instagram Story Caption:

I prefer the Miami sunsets 🌅

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[exhaslo]

Hey, if you're still taking requests, then can I request Farmer!reader x business man! Miguel? It can be nsft or fluff.

Ohhhhh, a different turn of events. I got just the idea for this!!!

Warning: None, just fluff

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

The sun blazed brightly against the hot, humid sky. A large empty field that offered no sign of building to cool down in. The summer humidity making it hotter than it should be. Not a single breeze to give any sort of comfort either. It was truly a day from hell.

This was not how Miguel wanted his day to go. Currently, the business man was leaning against the hood of his car, cussing loudly. The motor broke down in the rental he got for an out of town trip. Now, not only was he late, but there was no sign of a town nearby.

Miguel was fucked.

Laughing to himself, Miguel claimed that this was why he never left the city. It was a damn good thing Lyla told him to bring a case of water and some food for the trip. Miguel had been broken down for hours now and not a single car had passed by.

"And there's no signal," Miguel hissed, tossing his phone into his car, "Fuck!"

It was a bad idea to walk too. Miguel forgot how far the last town was and who knows when the next one would be. Miguel could be walking for hours before spotting a sign. This was true bullshit.

--------

It had been another two hours and Miguel felt like he was going insane. Sitting on top of the roof of his car, Miguel sighed as he wiped his sweat with his tie. It was scorching. Miguel was afraid that the heat would take him at this rate.

Miguel groaned before immediately going silent. He furrowed his brows and stood. It sounded like there was a car coming. Finally. After hours of waiting! Hearing the sound of a car getting louder, Miguel stood on the roof of his car and looked around.

There, off in the distance, was you in your pick up truck. Miguel was relieved to finally see a human. Waving his arms around, Miguel sighed in relief as you came to a stop.

"Oof, how long you've been stuck there, pal?" You asked. Miguel shrugged,

"I've lost track. The sun was to my left when my car broke down," He told you. You sucked against your teeth,

""Yikes. Hop in, next town ain't for a while, but I got enough room for you to crash the night. I'll call my neighbor to pick up your car and get it fixed."

"Thank you. Just tell me the cost and I'll pay it," Miguel entered your truck, buckling up, "Money is no issue."

"From the city, huh?"

"Yes?"

"Got that city smell. I don't need money, my neighbor might. I just like to lend a helping hand,"

Miguel was hesitant, but appreciated the save anyway. It was a quiet ride as you sang to your music. Miguel focused on the area around him. The large farm land that stretched for miles. Honestly, he should have asked if you could take him to the next town, but the heat wasn't make him think straight.

"Do you work in these fields?"

"Yep. All of this land is mine and my family. I tend to the crop that we just passed, but had to watch the animals on my cousin's land for the day. Poor child is sick," You said with a chirp, "Ain't used to this?"

"No," Miguel said honestly, spotting a house in the distance, "Are you sure you're alright with taking a stranger into your home?"

"My dogs bite," You said almost too innocently before laughing, "I ain't no fool. I offer you shelter, but I do expect some help with a few things. Aside from that, you'll be in a guest house behind my main house. If you try to sneak into my house at night, not only will the dogs attack you but also my pigs."

"Pigs can attack?" Miguel asked, confused.

"Mine are very protective of their owner."

Miguel couldn't help but chuckle lowly. You were an interesting character. Honest, king and quite charming. As you pulled into the house, Miguel was surprised to see the mansion you owned. Who would have thought at a farmer would have such a nice home.

"Don't look too surprised. I make good money with my farms. Ain't as fancy looking as you city folk, but I make an honest living."

"I didn't say you don't." Miguel hummed and followed you to the guest house, "I won't lie, I am a little surprised. Now, what did you need help with. I would like to pay you back for giving me a place to stay the night."

You opened the door to the guest house and smiled towards Miguel. Giving him a small tour, you decided to let Miguel into your main home. Leading him into the kitchen, you took off your hat and boots, sighing in relief.

"All I ask in return is assistance with dinner," You smiled and handed Miguel a knife, "Do people in the city cook for themselves?"

"Wow, do all of you farmers look down on us?"

"No, just me." You teased, "You're not the first one from the city to break down on that road, but you are one of the only few to listen."

Miguel didn't have the heart to tell you that he was just exhausted after hours in the sun. To be honest, this was the most he spoke to strangers at all. Well, it was the least he could do since you did get him out of that situation.

----------

It was getting late. After Miguel helped you in the kitchen, you offered him a drink for a job well done. Miguel happily took your offer, but decided to shower in the guest house first. You did the same and cooed in relief once you got comfortable.

Planting yourself on your couch, you started to relax after a long, hard day of work. Your cats, dogs, piglets and ducklings all started to swarm into the living room, demanding your attention. You chuckled towards the crowd,

"You're all so needy today! What, don't like your momma's new friend? Is he that big and scary to you all?!"

"Animals do tend to fear me," Miguel said, knocking before entering your home, "Thank you again for your help."

"Happy to be of it. My neighbor called a bit ago, your car should be good by noon tomorrow."

Miguel thanked you again and took a seat across from you. Damn, he looked fine. There weren't many men your age in town, so you had slim pickings, but the city? Phew, Miguel was a fine catch, but how were you to charm him?

Pulling out the drinks, you offered Miguel first. You knew better than to let a stranger into your home, let alone a man, but there was something different about Miguel. Also, you weren't lying about your pets...they were all ready to pounce on him.

As the night continued, both you and Miguel started to have a few too many drinks. You shared some stories with him and visa versa. It started to feel more like a date if anything. One you were actually enjoying.

"C'mon city boy, tell me more about your fancy little woman. Ain't no way she can be real." You chuckled, nudging his side as a movie played. Miguel scoffed,

"I would introduce you to Lyla, but the signal out here isn't receiving well."

"Oh, sorry about that, let me connect you to my WIFI." You gasped, leaning over him to get your phone.

Miguel closed his eyes as your breasts pressed against his face for a moment. His face heating up slightly upon contact.

"Where's your phone?"

"Here," Miguel muttered, avoiding eye contact with you, "Just don't touch anything but the WIFI. I have important folders in there."

"I won't," You replied, "There."

"Lyla?" Miguel sighed.

You gasped in awe as Lyla appeared in front of Miguel. Your eyes sparkled at the sight of the tiny AI. Lyla just smiled as she started to observe you.

"Migueeeeeel, you should have just said you were finally spending time with a girl than going offline~" She cooed. Miguel flinched,

"I was offline!" He hissed and tried shooing Lyla away.

"Fiiiine, I'll leave you two alone."

Miguel groaned lowly as he covered his face before taking another shot of vodka. You glanced at Miguel, resisting a chuckle since you were in the same boat. Taking another shot yourself, you nudged Miguel's side once more.

"So even in the big city there aren't that many fish, huh?" Miguel chuckled as he leaned back,

"Guess not. Had to leave to find a nice catch,"

"Oh?" You smiled brightly, feeling your heart skip a beat, "Well, if I recall I was the one with the fishing rod."

Miguel's lips cracked into a smile as he listened to you. You were truly something else. Feeling something crawl onto his lap, Miguel noticed your pets starting to cozy up to him.

"I suppose you were."

--------

Miguel stared at his rental car with contempt. While he was ready to return to his work and apologize to his partners for being late, Miguel also wanted to stay. He quite enjoyed the peace and quite you had offered him.

"Have I made that much of an impact?" You teased, leaning against his car, "I could always use an extra worker,"

"Thanks for the offer, but I don't believe my company could afford me leaving," Miguel hummed and approached you, "But, I may have to take this road again...soon."

"Oh? Then I better keep a look out for a poor soul in need of saving."

"You just might have too."

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

Hope you enjoyed!!

[eruden-writes]

Room & Board - Part 20 (Vampire x Reader x Werewolf)

paranormal fantasy vampire x human eventual triad (x werewolf)

Anonymous asked:

For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

Links under cut!

x x x x x

First | Previous | Masterlist | Next

x x x x x

In the end, Jemma’s location spell does the trick. Well, kind of. The enchantment leads you through paranormal markets under the city, finding the right people to interrogate. It turns out vampires have few friends in your city. People who seek out vampires are either signing their own death warrant or ready to stake a few of the arrogant bloodsuckers.

Either way, it wasn’t anyone else’s business. One lead turns into a dead end. Another has no substantial foundation. Yet another tries to extort money and goods out of you, which led to Jemma actually turning that informant into a toad. With each new bit of information, you’re all led further and further out of the city.

Eventually, weeks after Tabaeus left, a tip finally strikes solid and true.

Two states away from home, you sit in a rental car with Jemma, Ewan, Liuva and Bjarka at a late-night diner. Despite the time of night and the fact the building is shuttered up, the mall across the way from the diner is seemingly popular.

Even when you ask the waitress - Tess, she/her - if there’s an event going on over at the mall, she shoots you a puzzled look. When her eyes flick up to the window, you spot a glaze tinting her gaze as she informs you, “Nothing’s supposed to be happening over there. The old mall is about as dead as it ever is.”

Even as the waitress stares, you watch one group head into the allegedly abandoned building as others leave. Some are elegant, others are crude and punkish. Yet it seems Tess does not see or notice them.

As the waitress falls into her rehearsed spiel, you share a look with Ewan and Jemma. Tess doesn’t seem to acknowledge the dense air settling around your group as you all realize she - and likely the rest of the diner’s staff - is under some vampiric sway. You push the discomfort away before ordering.

Something burns in your chest. Tabaeus has to be nearby. This feels like the right place, but you have no reason beyond the smoldering in your chest. You never felt like this with any other lead before. Or maybe you’re just tired of searching, sick of getting your hopes up.

After you’ve finished your meal - saying nothing further of the mall to the staff - the three of you trudge to the parking lot.

“What’s the plan?” Ewan takes out his phone, swiping through random apps. It’s only when he points vaguely toward the highway that you realize he’s putting on a front for anyone potentially spying on you. His green eyes tilt toward you, uncharacteristic seriousness making his words sobering, “Are we heading in now or biding time?”

“We should bust in, magic blazing.” From the backseat, Jemma leans forward, her own phone in hand. She, too, has taken up Ewan’s ruse.

Unlike the other two, you don’t bother with a phone. Shaking your head, you fight the urge to flick your gaze back toward the mall. “I think we should be subtle.”

Silence settles over the car as Jemma and Ewan continue to look at their phones, their hands, you. Anywhere but directly at the mall. If anyone watched your little crew, they’d believe it wasn’t even on your radar, you think.

Finally, something glints in Jemma’s eyes as she meets your gaze, raising her eyebrows. “Don’t malls usually have skylights or vents on the roof?”

“They’ll hear us coming.” Another shake of your head. Besides, how would the three of you get up there without causing a commotion?

Ewan nods to the back where the imps-turned-sugar gliders sit with ethereal intelligence gleaming in their eyes. The two have been silent as potential plans have bounced around the car. Upon them being noticed, Bjarka and Liuvia exchange a look. Wordless communication flies between them until Bjarka nods and says, “We will do it for a pie.”

You frown at their little demand. “I thought you wanted Tabaeus back.”

“We do,” Liuvia says, but they smile in a way that reminds you they are supernatural, “But we also want pie. A strawberry rhubarb one.”

With a heavy sigh, you glance from the imps to Jemma and Ewan. They both return your look with mild amusement and shrug.

“Ugh fine,” you sigh as you open your door. “You could’ve said something when we were still inside.”

“You didn’t ask,” chirrups one of the imps, though you’re not sure which as the door closes. You trek back to the diner, still fighting the urge to look toward the mall. Despite your efforts to remain realistic, you can’t help but feel a little lighter. As if you were one step closer to a conclusion.

—

It’s early morning, just as the sun half climbs above the horizon line, when you decide to put your plan into action. Through a scrying mirror conjured up by Jemma, you watch as Bjarka and Liuvia embark toward the mall from the nearby woods you deposited them in the night previous. The two dart along the dwindling shadows as dawn rises. As squirrels, they easily scale the building and prance along the roof with light steps. They duck and bounce around, taking stock of their options as far as vents, grates, and skylights go.

As the imps decide their next course of action, the rest of you wait. Liuvia and Bjarka eventually pry a grate off a vent and clatter into the metal tunnel. The image on the mirror follows as they scurry through the twisty ventilation. The motion and lighting makes your stomach cramp, so you turn away.

You sit in the backseat with Jemma, who continues to watch the mirror, eyebrows furrowed. In the front, Ewan drives. Last night, after leaving the imps behind, the rest of you drove off and found a clearing to hunker down in for the night. Sleep hadn’t been easy and, now, exhaustion battles in your veins with mounting adrenaline as you near the mall again.

Your plan banks on the fact Lachlan and Tabaeus are different - older, stronger, more powerful - than the average vampire. That should make walking into the mall-turned-vampire-nest easier. Well, as long as Bjarka and Liuvia managed to unlock a door for you.

As Ewan pulls the car into the mall’s parking lot and settles the car in a spot close to the door, he turns to Jemma. “How’re the smallfries doing?”

“They can see us and they’re unlocking the door now,” Jemma answers and, with a wave of her hand, the scrying mirror fizzles off. She’s already climbing out of the car, stowing the mirror in her bag. Despite long conversations last night, Ewan and yourself weren’t able to dissuade the witch from coming along.

“Ready?” Ewan pops his door open, though he’s still turned toward you. Concern etches into his features, as if he’s on the brink of saying you didn’t have to come along. He could handle this, he could save Tabaeus in your place.

But he can’t. Something in you knows this. With a swallow, you nod and open your own door.

The trek into the mall is short and blessedly uneventful. There don’t appear to be any vampiric thralls or familiars standing guard. Perhaps it is hubris on Lachlan’s part, but you don’t dismiss the possibilities of guards or problems deeper inside the building.

Liuvia and Bjarka hitch a ride in Jemma’s bag as Ewan leads your group, with you smack in the middle. He tilts his face up, nose twitching. The barest of a transformation touches Ewan’s features. Some thicker hair, a slew of stubble, the vaguest shift of a nose becoming a snout. He’s delaying the transformation to keep the vampires from sensing him, but you’re sure he’s nervous.

Hell, you’re nervous. You strain to hear the smallest sound, nearly holding your breath the farther you wander into the mall. For the most part, it’s silent. You don’t see or sense anyone else around, other than your group. Though that’s not saying much, considering you’re just a human. With a glance to Jemma, then to Ewan, you confirm nothing seems immediately suspicious.

Though their features are pinched as they focus, neither says or indicates a danger is nearby.

Faintly, you wonder how long he can hold a semi-shift as your eyes take in the corridor. Illumination surprisingly spills in from the sunlights. The stores appear chained and locked, the windows blacked out. Squinting at the locks and darkness, you wonder if there’s more beyond. Is each store a vampire’s personal territory? Is it like a hotel here? Or are they all lower in the building?

All five of you remain as silent as possible as you journey deeper and deeper. Past stores, through the food court, to a stairwell. Jemma conjures up a ball of light without further instruction, lighting the stairs. The aesthetic of the mall holds firm with tiled walls as you descend to the underground section of the mall. A vague chill creeps along your limbs, realizing you’re now underground.

Apparently, the basement is still a commercial area, you realized as the stairs open up to another floor of storefronts. Here, however, the stores are larger and, if you squint, you realize there’s faded signs like ‘bowling alley’ and ‘community development’ hanging over the entryways. No light manages to filter this far down, though. You try not to think about that as you follow Ewan, who keeps close to the walls.

Along with the faint chill, the silence of the area weighs heavily in your ears. It’s too quiet, even as your group scuttles over the expanse of tiled floor.

Quickly enough, you’re led down a slightly obscured hall, before Ewan finds another door. Pushing it open reveals a second set of stairs. This time, the stairwell feels industrial. There’s no happy white-and-blue tiled designs. Just stark metal and industrial grey that devolves into shadows as you peer down into the stairwell.

There’s a brief moment when you look at Ewan and Jemma. Their gaze seeks yours as well, checking to see if you’re still determined to continue. As one, the three of you nod. Jemma hoists the light a fraction higher and it glows a little more intently as you all descend.

The atmosphere grows colder, now raking across any bare skin. Dankness tinges the air as you notice thick gatherings of cobwebs and dead rats on the stairs. Eventually, you come to a landing that leads to a heavy door. The air is locked in your lungs as Ewan slowly shoulders the door open, obscuring your view as he peers around the other side.

After a beat, he opens the door further and the scent of damp and mildew overpowers the air around you. You choke down a cough as Ewan motions for you to follow him into a darkened hall.

If possible, it’s even harder to discern your surroundings now as you follow the werewolf. The shadows seem deeper, darker, more dangerous. The chill in the air bites at your throat. From the light of Jemma’s magic orb, your gaze follows various pipes and catches on rusted, industrial machinery. You have no clue what this all is. Elevator and escalator mechanisms? Gas piping for the food court? Long-abandoned generators?

Whatever is down here, you feel the vague sensation of continuing to go downward, on a gentle slope.

A startle rocks through you as you freeze, hearing something skitter on the concrete floor and echo in the distance. The other two pause. In the span of a breath, fur sprouts from Ewan and his face elongates further, his limbs and muscles growing. A crackle of energy hisses behind you, but you can’t bring yourself to turn and see what Jemma has conjured.

A low rumble of a growl catches in Ewan’s throat as you all wait.

Nothing and no one makes itself known. Slowly, you all carry on in the darkness.

You’re not sure how far you walk when Ewan stops and turns suddenly. You follow as he stalks down an adjacent hall - one you barely even saw - and stops at a wrought-iron door. This time, he doesn’t look at you and Jemma.

Ewan reaches for the large handle, yanking it open so fast your heart trips.

Soft, warm light spills over you from the room on the other side of the door. Rapidly, you blink to dispel the blots of blurry color. The room slowly takes shape in front of your eyes.

Lanterns hang around a large circular room, glowing low and vague. The room is as industrial as the rest of the underground hell, with large pipes and metal and machines. At odds with the metal, however, are mountains of cushions and fabrics draped haphazardly around the room. The pillows and fabrics - of all colors and styles and sheerness levels - bring some color to the deary grey, but somehow that makes the room worse. It sends agitation scraping down your spine.

Then your gaze lights on Tabaeus.

They are chained to a hulking system of pipes, lounging on a smaller hill of pillows. They’re naked, covered only in bruises and fresh bite marks. Their head lolls back, their hair a tangled waterfall. Your heart cracks at the sight, the rest of the world melting away as you step closer to them.

“You’re free to try and take Tabaeus, but… Well, they likely won’t go. This is what they know, this is home.” Lachlan’s voice shocks you from your thoughts. Your attention jerks to Ewan and Jemma, both looking as startled as you feel. Their attention doesn’t snap to the door you just entered from - nor any other dark crevice on your level.

No, you realize their attention is tilted upward. You follow the angle of their gazes and dread curdles in your guts. Lachlan is positioned overhead, on some sort of walkway that snakes through the pipes. He sits on a railing, draped in a way that screams egotistical ease and surety. Others linger behind him, ranging in muted hues and wearing clothing from an array of eras. More pallid vampires start to poke their attention out from the dark shadows of the room, all watching you with red eyes.

Mounting dismay fills your chest before you see Lachlan’s smile twists into something smug. In an instant, rage flares in your chest. Your hands fist at your sides, your shoulders straightening as you glare up at Lachlan. Somehow, through the sick sensations in your stomach, you manage to bite out, “Let Tabaeus be the judge of that.”

Lachlan’s answering chuckle makes your blood boil as he languidly motions toward Tabaeus. “Be my guest.”

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: The moment Mingyu saw you on the beach in that skimpy bikini, it was over for him. Pairing: Mingyu x fem!reader Rating: R18+ Genre: smut Tropes: spring break au Word Count: 1,525 Warnings: language Smut Warnings: public sex, body worship, breast play, unprotected sex, creampie

Chapter 1: Honey Flavored Lips ៚ WITT Masterlist ៚ Chapter 3: Patience is Key

The last thing Mingyu wants to do right now is sit in the bungalow. He slept on the couch last night and will be for the whole week; he’s not the most pleased with the arrangement, but at least it’s a comfy sectional. He weighs his options and ultimately decides another day on the beach couldn’t hurt at all. If anything, that’ll be the most fun option without getting absolutely drunk at 2 pm in a club. The club is a half-hour drive away into the city anyway. It’s not very easy to do without a rental car. He doesn’t even bother to ask the others if they want to join him. Changmin and Hyunguu are off exploring the town and the jungle that lies just behind it. San and Jaehyun went to the nearby city earlier, and Youngkyun is likely still a recluse despite them being in a tropical location.

He leaves the house after preparing, and, of course, he lacks a shirt. Why should he wear one when he is on the beach anyway? His hair is up and out of his face, and he still wears a silver chain despite his lack of clothing on his upper half.

Luckily, the beach isn’t too busy despite the nice day. He sets up his spot and stays sat on the sand for a while. There are a few other people in his surrounding area but not too close that he feels like he’s on top of them. It’s not too hot that he feels the need to be in the water, and the wind isn’t too strong to make him feel the need to bake in the sun, either. It’s just all around a really nice day.

He notices a gorgeous girl walking up the beach and toward the beach blanket set up nearby his. Her bathing suit leaves just enough to the imagination that Mingyu wants to know more. It couldn’t hurt to at least try, right? The moment she’s settled and laying belly down on her place, Mingyu glances over. His glance must’ve been more of a look because she looks over at him and giggled quietly.

“Enjoying the view?” you ask flirtatiously.

“Is it so bad if I am?” he flirts back.

You chuckle, flipping your hair over one shoulder, “You trying to do something about it?”

Mingyu smirks, leaning back on his hands behind him. He looks up in the sky for a second, then drops his gaze back down to you. You’re giving him a rather suggestive look. It conveys very clearly to him. He returns your gaze, and it tells you all you need to know.

“There’s a private bathhouse over by those palms.” you jerk your head in the direction of the trees.

“I do need to learn the beaches a little better. Care to show me where you mean?”

You stand up, brushing a bit of dry sand off your chest and stomach. You can feel his eyes on you, and you absolutely love how easily you can get a reaction out of him. You walk over to him, swinging your hips a little extra, and stop right in front of him. You squat down, resting your butt on your heels. His eyes are transfixed on your chest, which is now basically at his eye level. You reach out a hand in his direction.

“Let me show you around then.” you ask with undertones of flirting.

He takes your hand, “Show me the way, beautiful.”

You’re pinned to the wall of the bathhouse the moment you step inside with the tall man. His lips are immediately on your throat, pulling sweet sounds from you. He has one hand holding your hip while the other is playing with your chest. Your hands find their way around his neck and up into his hair. You gently tug at the locks soliciting a quiet groan from the man. His hand travels around to your back from your chest. He pulls the string that’s holding your bikini top shut, and then you feel the release of the fabric.

“So fucking beautiful.” he sighs, “If we weren’t stuck in this stupid building, I’d spend so much time making you feel good. We don’t have a whole lot of time, though, do we?”

“We could go to yours or-”

Before you can finish your thought, he takes one of your nipples into his mouth a swirls his tongue around it. His hand that had previously been untying your top returns to your chest, playing with the breast not occupying his mouth. Your breath is stolen from your lungs, and you grip his hair just a bit tighter so as to hold onto a bit of sanity. You start to grind against him, hoping that he catches your drift and fucks you soon.

“God damn,” he moans slightly, “you okay if I fuck you raw? I didn’t bring anything with me.”

“If you don’t fuck me in the next thirty seconds, I’ll leave and find someone who will.” you threaten, though there’s no intent behind it.

Mingyu chuckles slightly, knowing there’s no true threat to your words. His lips continue to kiss paths across your body in any way he can. You snake your hands down his muscular form and into the front of his bathing suit. You feel a shot of arousal run through your body and center itself in your core, just thinking about how well he’ll fill you up. He lets out a shaky breath as you start to move your hand around his member. His hand moves away from your chest and glides across your side to tug at the strings holding the lower half of your bathing suit together. The moment one side falls loose, his fingers quickly find your clit and rub circles on it. It takes everything in you not to crumble against his body.

“You’re so wet. Bet this pretty pussy would take me so well.” he muses between a few kisses to your collarbones, “Let’s see if I’m right.”

You can’t think of anything to say. Your brain is practically mush hearing and feeling how he worships your body. You simply shove his bathing suit down as best you can to finally release him from the fabric. Within moments he’s fully inside you, and if you thought you couldn’t think straight before, now is even worse. He waits a few moments to allow you to adjust to his size. Still, he kisses any skin he can reach on your body, whispering praise between each one.

“Y-you can move; please move.” you practically moan.

“So fucking pretty, and you take me so well. Fuck, ‘m gonna start moving now, pretty girl.”

When he starts moving his hips, you swear that you see heaven. He’s hardly started, but you already have a continuous stream of moans and whimpers escaping your lips. Your back is pressed against this wall rather uncomfortably, and your hair is definitely a mess, but right now, all you can think about is how good he’s making you feel. He’s an expert with his hips, rocking them at a pace that isn’t too fast or slow. His fingers never stop drawing circles against your clit. You clench around him slightly, making him groan against the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“If you squeeze me like that, I don’t know how long I’ll last, beautiful.” he warns you.

“Can’t help it,” you breathe out, “you feel so good inside me.”

Soon enough, Mingyu’s pace becomes rougher and slightly uneven. You couldn’t care less since your high was quickly approaching. You feel like you’re on cloud nine, high off of the adrenaline of fucking a stranger in a public place. Just as you’re about to topple over the edge of an orgasm, you hear someone outside the small bathhouse. The man fucking you couldn’t seem to care less, though. You moan loudly but try your best to muffle the sound against his neck.

“Don’t hide those pretty sounds,” he tells you, “those guys out there are just my housemates; they won’t mind one bit.”

Normally, something like that would make panic swell in your belly. This time though, it makes you feel more of a rush of arousal bolt through you. Tossing your head back against the wall of the building, you let your moans fly free. The tall man warns you that he’s about to cum, and you let him know he’s more than welcome to cum inside you. When he does, it triggers your own orgasm, and he carries you through it with the continued stimulation to your clit, now combined with him toying with your nipples again. His hips slow to a stop. Both of you pant, trying to catch your breath. He chuckles slightly and rests his forehead on the wall beside yours.

“I, um, I never caught your name.” you admit.

“Mingyu,” he informs you, “that was one hell of an adventure for being strangers, huh?”

“Mmh,” you hum in agreement, “You gonna be around the rest of the week?”

“Name a time and place, gorgeous. I’ll be there.”

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[galaxygolfergirl]

Watcher's Expenses

I didn't major in accounting: I took three classes and it grinded my brain to a fine powder. However, after graduating with a business admin degree, being a former eager fan of their videos, and from a cursory glance over their socials, there's a lot to consider in their spending behavior that really could start racking up costs. Some of these things we've already noticed, but there are other things I'd like to highlight, and I'll try to break it down into the different categories of accounting expenses (if I get something wrong, let me know. I was more concentrated in marketing 🤷‍♀️). I'm not going to hypothesize numbers either, as that would take out more time than I'm willing to afford-- you can assume how much everything costs. Anyways, here's my attempt at being a layman forensic accountant:

Note: All of this is assuming they're operating above board and not engaging in any illegal practices such as money laundering, tax evasion, not paying rent, etc.

Operating Expenses

Payroll: 25+ staff salaries and insurance

Overhead Expenses

CEO/founder salaries

Office space leasing or rent (In L.A, one of the most expensive cities in the US)

Utilities (water, electricity, heating, sanitation, etc.)

Insurance

Advertising Costs

Telephone & Internet service

Cloud Storage or mainframe

Office equipment (furniture, computers, printers, etc.)

Office supplies (paper, pens, printer ink, etc.)

Marketing costs (Social media marketing on Instagram, Youtube, SEO for search engines, Twitter, etc. Designing merchandise and posters, art, etc. )

Human Resources (not sure how equipped they are)

Accounting fees

Property taxes

Legal fees

Licensing fees

Website maintenance (For Watchertv.com, Watcherstuff.com, & Watcherentertainment.com)

Expenses regarding merchandising (whoever they contract or outsource for that)

Inventory costs

Potentially maintenance of company vehicles

Subsequent gas mileage for road trips

Depreciation (pertains to tangible assets like buildings and equipment)

Amortization (intangible assets such as patents and trademarks)

Overhead Travel and Entertainment Costs (I think one of the biggest culprits, evident in their videos and posts)

The travel expenses (flights, train trips, rental cars, etc. For main team and scouts)

Hotel expenses for 7-8 people at least, or potentially more

Breakfasts, lunches and dinners with the crew (whether that's fully on their dime or not, I don't know; Ryan stated they like to cover that for the most part)

Recreational activities (vacation destinations, amusement parks, sporting activities etc.)

The location fees

Extraneous Overhead costs (not sure exactly where these fall under, but another culprit, evident in videos and posts)

Paying for guest appearances

Expensive filming & recording equipment (Cameras, sound equipment, editing software subscriptions, etc.)

The overelaborate sets for Ghost files, Mystery Files, Puppet History, Podcasts etc. (Set dressing: Vintage memorabilia, antiquated tech, vintage furniture, props, etc.)

Kitchen & Cooking supplies/equipment

Office food supply; expensive food and drink purchases for videos

Novelty items or miscellaneous purchases (ex. Ghost hunting equipment, outfits, toys, etc.)

Non-Operating Expenses

These are those expenses that cannot be linked back to operating revenue. One of the most common examples of non-operating expenses is interest expense. This is because while interest is the cost of borrowing money from a creditor or a bank, they are not generating any operating income. This makes interest payments a part of non-operating expenses.

Financial Expenses

Potential loan payments, borrowing from creditors or lenders, bank loans, etc.

Variable Expenses

Hiring a large amount of freelancers, overtime expenditure, commissions, etc.

PR consultations (Not sure if they had this before the scandal)

Extraordinary Expenses

Expenses incurred outside your company’s regular business activities and during a large one-time event or transactions. For example, selling land, disposal of a significant asset, laying off of your employees, unexpected machine repairing or replacement, etc.

Accrued Expenses

When your business has incurred an expense but not yet paid for it.

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

(If there's anything else I'm missing, please feel free to add or correct things)

To a novice or a young entrepreneur, this can be very intimidating if you don't have the education or the support to manage it properly. I know it intimidates the hell out of me and I'm still having to fill in the gaps (again, if I've mislabeled or gotten anything wrong here, please let me know). For the artistic or creative entrepreneur, it can be even harder to reconcile the extent of your creative passions with your ability to operate and scale your business at a sustainable rate. That can lead to irresponsible, selfish, and impulsive decisions that could irreparably harm your brand, which is a whole other beast of its own.

My guess at this point is that their overhead and operation expenses are woefully mismanaged; they've made way too many extraneous purchases, and that they had too much confidence in their audience of formerly 2.93 million to make up for the expenses they failed to cover.

It almost seems as if their internal logic was, "If we make more money, we can keep living the expensive lifestyle that we want and make whatever we want without anyone telling us we can't, and we want to do it NOW, sooner rather than later because we don't want wait and compromise our vision." But as you can see, the reality of fulfilling those ambitions is already compromised by the responsibility of running a business.

And I wrote this in another post here, but I'll state it again: Running a business means you need to be educated on how a business can successfully and efficiently operate. Accounting, marketing, social media marketing, public relations, production, etc; these resources and internet of things is available and at your disposal. If they had invested more time in educating themselves on those aspects and not made this decision based on artistic passion (and/or greed), they would have not gotten the response they got.

Being a graphic designer, I know the creative/passionate side of things but I also got a degree/got educated in business because I wanted to understand how to start a company and run it successfully. If they’re having trouble handling the responsibility of doing that, managing production costs, managing overhead expenses, and especially with compensating their 25+ employees, then they should hire professionals that are sympathetic to their creative interests, but have the education and experience to reign in bad decisions like these.

Anyways, thanks for coming to my TedTalk. What a shitshow this has been.

[itsgrimeytime]

Home is Where the Heart is (Part One) || Farmer!Rick Grimes (TWD) x Teacher!GN!reader AU

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: Like Real People Do by Hozier.

Summary: Your life was spinning out of control, you knew that. After a string of particularly shattering events, you decided it was time to start anew. With a little help from one of your Grandma's rentals, you found yourself in the small town of Alexandria. The last thing you expected was your neighbor, Rick Grimes.

TWS: starting over, and identity crisis.

[[A/N: Thanks to @imaginemyfavoritefics for the name idea. The vibes of this are hallmark forward, so expect something rather cheesy. Thanks for reading!! ]]

You weren't running, you rationalized deep in your head -almost as if on instinct. You were an adult, you could deal with adult problems -like relationship issues, you just wanted to... you just needed a break. A breather even. Plus, they needed a teacher -it was practically destiny.

So, why did it feel like you were running?

You hadn't had a serious job in Atlanta, just an assistant, and as much as you loved those kids, you needed to do your job. When it felt like everything was going wrong in the world (and it was-), you still had teaching. It felt like what you were supposed to do, it was a reprieve from... everything else. So, even with a fresh start, you still needed teaching.

The transitions between cities bright against the landscape into more timid more rural areas was something you found somehow conflicting. You'd spent the last few years in the city, busy nights with a constant buzz of noise -cars honking, people talking, street performers... As it got quieter, there were fewer people on the road and the tall buildings turned into trees scrapping the sky; it was all a little surreal.

And it struck you then, you weren't scared -not really. Not scared to uproot everything and start over, it made you wonder bad it had gotten without you knowing.

"Okay," you hummed, turning down a sort of suburban road -houses every little bit, but much farther apart than the tight compression of a culdesac, "-1259, little white house-"

Your Grandma had called you at least 10 times ensuring you'd remembered the address -as if it wasn't written in your GPS. But as it turns out, back on these roads, just off what you assumed to be the town center, Google had no fucking clue where you were. So, perhaps you should thank her, actually.

"1259," you muttered, again -eyes focused out your passenger side, trying to see the addresses, "-little white house-"

And then, someone tapped on your driver's window.

"'Ay, ya need somethin'?"

You spun around in your driver's seat quickly, matching a man's -tall, brunette, brown-eyed. He wore some assortment of a leather vest and seemed to have been busy prior -you could see the dirt dusted under his fingernails and staining his jeans. The second thing you noticed was his tone wasn't friendly.

Maybe he thought you were nosing around in something you shouldn't.

"I, uh, yeah-" you rolled down your window, -briefly wondering how long it had been since you met somebody new, "-I'm trying to get to 1259? It's a uh, little white-"

"No, no," he echoed -interrupting you, less confrontational, "-I kno' the place, got a friend 'at lives near ya. Just follow me."

And without another word, he waltzed off in front of you -focusing succinctly on a motorcycle. An old one, by the looks of it, well-maintained though -maybe there's an auto shop around here?

The purr of the engine was loud, even through your rolled-up windows. Something in you had expected heads to pop out of windows -words yelled, so when they didn't... you assumed he was a regular here.

Cranking your car, you slowly cruised to follow him. He seemed to be attentive to you being behind him -driving slow when you were certain it had seen far faster speeds. Maybe even earlier today actually-

You appreciated it, nonetheless.

It was a short journey, a few more turns, and a little bit more driving down roads aimlessly. All things considered though, you were very close to the center of town -where everything was sold and the only stores miles in any direction resided. So, you could work with it.

That being said, where the house was wasn't exactly suburban. There weren't pristine sidewalks and crosswalks, or only little patches of grass here and there. You had a yard -a flourishing yard with trees and flowers and just... open space.

The neighbors were close enough that you could see the house -a surprising sort of light blue paneling, but you could definitely see that their fence far surpassed your own. Their yard seemed almost to last forever, you could even see a barn far back from the back of the house -red, yes, but very worn by the weather, and if you truly listened you could actually hear the shuffle of some livestock.

Okay, so next door to a farm, you told yourself -lightly, -totally can do this.

Without another thought the man pulled off to the side in front of you -making way for you to pull into the driveway. A smooth sort of ease on the bike that made you assume he had years of practice. He certainly looked the part.

You got out of your car, roaming close to him at a comfortable distance (for him or you weren't sure). He didn't seem the type to want strangers close, but then again you weren't really, either.

"Thank you," you started, kind of awkwardly but you were meeting someone new so you let it slide -tone taking a casual sort of amusement, "-I appreciate the help. I know I would've been out there for hours if-"

"Don't sweat it," he echoed -kind of coldly but you didn't know him well enough to assume he meant it that way, "-anythin' else?"

"Uh," you started, "-the Elementary? It's back by the center, right?"

"Yep, can't miss it," he answered, shortly, "-if ya need anythin' else, I'm only a few houses down. Otherwise, people 'round 'ere are pretty friendly."

You smiled -at your very first success, "Okay, thank you, really... uh...?"

"Daryl," he puffed out -making no effort to move from his motorcycle, "-Daryl Dixon."

"Y/N," you offered back, "-Y/N Y/L/N."

And without another word -only a single swift nod of his head, he was gone. It was such a quick exchange that you almost thought for a moment you dreamed it -that you'd somehow gotten the memo of where the house was and he didn't exist at all. Which, to be fair, at the rate your brain was firing could definitely be plausible. You were a mix of something between relentlessly tired from the drive, and insanely stressed because well... You'd just up and moved your whole life for good reason, but still.

"Everythin' alright?"

You blinked and were met with yet another unknown face. Not that you expected to know anyone here -other than maybe a few faces your Grandma had stories of. But this man... you would've known him.

Tall with a head of brunette curls matted in a sort of dirt -the same dusted across his shoulders, you guessed, and encrusted into his fingernails. His eyes were a sort of blue that you considered people write poems about and along his tan jaw was a big bushy beard -something about it was untamed. Like he hadn't cared to brush through it that morning, or maybe just hadn't cared for it for a while. Still, somehow he looked good. Handsome, even.

"Oh, yeah, sorry-" you started -trying to calm the flush of him just waiting while you downright ogled him, "-I just, I got some help finding my new place. Kind of zoned out there, but I'm... I'm fine, really."

He raised an eyebrow, intently, "Ya sure?"

"Yeah, yeah," you softened slightly at the concern his tone held -something in you aching in realizing you hadn’t been concerned over in so long, "-just tired. 'Been a long drive."

"Where'd ya drive from?"

"Atlanta," you answered -far easier than you intended to (there was just something about him-).

"A very long drive," he chuckled -low timber of his voice rattling through your bones (something in you stiffened -not again), "-ya need any help with anythin'? I got some free hands."

"If you're not busy," you countered -exhaustion a distant rattle in the back of your body, ever present.

"Nah," he reassured, blue eyes flickering over you, "-I got stuff 'at can wait. If you don't mind waitin' a minute, I can get my son to help too."

"Well..." you responded, slow and awkward, "-thank you."

"No, really," he echoed, "-ain't a problem. I'm Rick, by the way, Rick Grimes."

You smiled, maybe a bit less of a polite one and more genuine then, "Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N. Do you... Do you live around here?"

Rick laughed -a sort of deep chuckle that mostly felt warm in tone as he roamed towards some of the boxes, "Yeah, I'm uh... I'm actually y'er neighbor."

"Oh," you echoed out, as he seamlessly picked up three -like it was as light as a feather, "-really?"

"Yea'-" he spoke, hoisting up the boxes slightly and you suddenly realized just how snug his t-shirt was, "-blue house, big farm-"

And despite the flatline of your brain then, you still managed to remember the large plot of land right next to yours. The beautiful blue house was his, of course it was-

Handsome, strong, probably married neighbor, you tsked yourself -remembering the mention of a son, -totally can handle this. Totally cool with this.

This trip wasn't to ogle neighbors, it was to care for yourself and start fresh, and further your career-

"You okay?"

"What?" You startled in place, merely jumping actually, "-oh, yeah, just... a lot to do. And even more tomorrow."

He tilted his head slightly, eyes sweeping over you -like he couldn't read you, "Take it day by day, 'sure it'll all work out."

Correction. Handsome, strong, caring, probably married neighbor, you ran through your head -words anything but at your leisure.

God, you were so fucked.

[mbta-unofficial]

If your city is a Brand, it’s already too late

Long post time. What is it that drives gentrification? Also, what is gentrification? Is it when a city gets blue hair and pronouns? No, it probably already had those.

Gentrification is the result of concentration of wealth in the hands of business owners, including landlords, over and above the hands of residents.

Let’s start with rent. Rent, like any good, is priced according to the laws of supply and demand. Supply of available rental housing is primarily determined by construction costs and estimated return on investment for new construction, and property management costs and estimated return on investment for existing units.

Breaking that down a bit, the higher construction costs get the higher the rent needs to be to break even on new construction. Construction costs include labor (which can always go down but you want it high for moral and practical reasons), materials (highly variable depending on the project) and bureaucratic costs. A bureaucratic cost is a cost that is based on how projects fit into the legal and practical environment, and are usually non-negotiable. Dig Safe, a program which requires three days of surveying local records before breaking ground, is an example where the function is to prevent crews from flattening a neighborhood by puncturing a gas main. Environmental Impact Statements, Fire Codes, Habitability Guidelines, and other regulations increase costs to projects. These programs are good and need to exist, but do stop smaller projects from happening at all because the capital investment required just to actually break ground on a new house might cost as much as the land and materials put together at which point you might as well build another 120$/sqft luxury midrise.

Property management costs for existing units are largely dependent on age and wear. A unit with no occupant is going to depreciate little, and may also appreciate in value. Depreciation and appreciation here are sort of unintuitive because they can happen at the same time. Imagine an old luxury sports car with a high resale price. Driving depreciates the value because it’s literal condition is poorer, even as the resale value goes up over time. The appreciation needs to beat both inflation and the value of depreciation for it to go up in real value. For companies with large capital holdings however, losses such as through the upkeep of empty apartment buildings are useful to a point because they reduce these organizations’s tax burdens. A company that makes a killing on the stock market only has to pay taxes if they keep it: if they buy houses they then don’t rent, they can claim they “lost” their stock market earnings with “bad investments” and then pay no tax while saving the real estate to rent later. Again, this favors the largest possible projects and the largest possible operators because small companies can be killed by an unprofitable quarter or 4 while large ones explicitly benefit from unprofitability in reducing their tax burden.

Expected ROI is the final piece of this, which affects both new and existing units. Every private developer and landlord wants to make as much money as they can, unless they are explicitly are renting as a service. An example of renting as a service would be families, who will rent to each other at favorable rates or for free, privileging people with large and/or wealthy families that are friendly with each other. Now, ROI is also subject to supply and demand. Everyone wants to build 120$/sqft luxury apartments but once everybody does nobody can sell/rent for those prices without setting a price floor and waiting for buyers to catch up. If you are a small developer, you can’t afford to do this. Your expenses will eat you alive. If you are a big developer, though, those expenses are offsetting the gains you make and serving to reduce you tax bill. Units at prices nobody can pay are effectively furloughed, meaning off the market, and, so long as they remain cheap to maintain, will remain that way, artificially restricting supply. It doesn’t matter if it’s for sale or not when it’s at a price you can’t afford. (Sidebar, anyone who tells you that the minimum wage depresses hiring because it artificially restricts demand is lying to you. It’s not strictly false, but like the above it’s a multi-variable equation and blanket statements about cost of labor are aimed at killing wages.)

What this alludes to also is a need for greater income equality. In order for rental to be a competitive option with furlough, not only does the price of furlough have to be increased, the real value of wages have to be increased in order to create opportunities for people to splurge. This is a twofold strategy, of both increasing the rewards of putting units on the market and increasing the costs of keeping them off. If real wages barely cover cost of living, or don’t cover cost of living, nobody can realistically spend more real wages on rent regardless of the percentage of their income it is. (Real wages here refers to the political power implied by dollar wages. A dollar is really worth whatever it can be exchanged for, whether that is a candy bar or a square inch of a 144$/sqft condo) The real value of everything except time and land are also constantly going down because of constant improvements in manufacturing. The cost in acres of land and hours of labor of a pound of beef, a bolt of cloth, or a pint of beer have dropped dramatically in the last century. Unfortunately, land is one of the few things that remains in marxist terms uncommodifiable, because it cannot be fully abstracted from the physical properties that make it valuable and we can’t make more of it just by making a better machine. This means that as the real value of things goes down because of supply and demand, the value of land only goes up because the supply is hard capped. If the value of everything under capitalism must go down because of increased production, while the value of capitalist assets must go up, or the system collapses, it makes sense that land would become a fixed point in that equation, the marxist speed of light observable from all reference points. The best approximation of land as commodity is, what else, apartments, which make available as living space the empty air above us. Because production never stops, the value of everything but land must go down. Therefore, as time passes, the price of land, and hence the price of housing, must tend upwards. Therefore, in order for housing to remain affordable, real wages must grow. This is the opposite of what is currently happening, as real wages have gone down for decades.

This income inequality which is one facet of capitalism is not new. For as long as people have lived in urban areas there have been issues between the abject class, the working class, the ruling class, and the professional class, a four part distinction I will seriously argue for in opposition to a lot of marxist theorists. The ruling and working classes ought to be familiar, or at least self explanatory. However, the other two classes I identify, the professionals and the abject, are useful to this analysis because they fill both a racial gap in the primarily marxist analysis I put forward and identify the two most likely groups to rent, which is to say the worker who works to produce but owns without governing and the professional who works to govern but does not own. The ruling class both governs and owns, but its court is full of courtiers who are there to push various agendas from within the rule of law without per se producing. Likewise, the working class pensioner exists in opposition to the abject who is denied the opportunity or the resources to be productive explicitly as a means to manufacture a threat against which inter-class solidarity between the workers and the rulers is developed. The textbook nazi conspiracy theory about “elites” doing a great racial replacement picks out perfectly what I mean by both the racial character of the professional and the abject and their utilization to foster solidarity between your plumber uncle and Elon Musk. This is relevant to both the broad theme of gentrification and the narrow theme of rent because gentrification is a wedge issue that divides the working class and the professional class far more than its impact on any other. The working class’ disidentification with doctors, lawyers, PMCs and other yuppie types, as well as the professional class’ disidentification with union politics, illegalism, and radicalism in general is brought to firecrackers in virtually any conversation about gentrification which seems in passing to be more about tapas bars than about real politics. Likewise, these groups shared distrust of and disdain for the abject, who are explicitly labeled by the state as constitutionally guilty, is the basis for the very broken windows policing strategy that empties neighborhoods of minorities regardless of class. The Rent is Too Damn High, and excluding homeless people from the “working” working class is a big part of how we got here specifically because the interests of small time owners and small time government functionaries, carried to their conclusions, are necessarily self defeating. These two groups eliminate the presence of the abject from their spaces at their own financial peril.

In addition to class, there is also a specific historical movement that is crucial to the understanding of gentrification as it exists, which is the movement of factories in search of cheap labor. The United States is not a good place to find cheap urban labor. You build a factory and suddenly everyone complains about air quality and labor violations and you can’t just kill them because everyone has lawyers. You kill one (us citizen) organizer and the NLRB is trying to get you in court for intimidation. What’s the country come to? But a shipping container costs a quarter cent per mile and the goods aren’t perishable so you go to Guangzhou or Cape Town where you can kill union bosses in peace. But for the American city, that’s a loss of what once made land prime real estate. What jobs can replace the insatiable demand for labor that a 24 hour paper mill once produced? Service labor, which crucially is site specific and therefore not outsourceable, is what the US has predominantly turned to. (and arms manufacturing which is not outsourced for very different reasons) However, service labor is only in demand if there is already a stable population that can be served, which requires a constant influx of capital holders in demand of service. This is why Airbnb exists and is hollowing out rental availability, why Boston as a college town is the way it is, and why there are in fact so many damn tapas bars. Fred Salveucci talked about being able to go north of the expressway in the 70s and being able to get a plate of mac and beans for half a buck. I went looking for a 5$ slice of pizza on my lunch break today around Government Center and found two places that were boarded up and ended up spending 20$ at Chilacates. Cities are being slowly turned into Cancun, complete with the fences to keep out the homeless.

What can be done about this? Obviously the factors we’ve discussed that favor consolidation of housing are mostly either contained within a gordion’s knot of tax policy or intrinsic to capitalism/goods as commodities. But, given that we narrow our objectives to making the rent lower, some obvious weaknesses jump out: increasing the cost of vacancy forces units out of furlough, because companies are no longer able to justify the losses, and increasing real wages increases the availability of capital for workers to spend on rent. These are the prongs I talked about earlier.

Legal means to pursue each prong exist. Both a minimum wage and a maximum wage, depending on their implementation, can potentially increase real wages, and vacancy taxes directly increase the costs of vacancy. The government can also ignore the market and directly mandate maximum rents within certain parameters. This tends to decrease the long term supply of housing for the reasons discussed at the outset, given that if the revenues from house building don’t cover the costs of building, less gets built. However, any political movement that exists exclusively within the white lines of the law fails to genuinely threaten change. Landlords, like bosses, break the law constantly with the impunity that a lawyer provides them against consequence. This is why a healthy dose of illegalism is an important part of any effective political movement. The most direct action one can take is property occupation, or squatting. Squatter’s rights are nearly non-existent in the United States. The most leeway that any state grants to any unknown persons occupying a dwelling is 60 days notice to vacate the property, and there are states that allow no notice evictions or lack statutes governing squatting at all. Every single state regards the occupation of owned property as trespassing, meaning most kinds of squatting are prosecutable offenses. However, squatting, even temporarily in ways that don’t expose the squatter to liability provided they don’t get caught, can seriously impact the value of properties. You have heard of rent lowering gunshots. This is the serious version of that. At the same time, illegal action needs legal defense, both in terms of non-compliance with police to protect those willing to take illegal actions from arrest and in terms of legal, 1st amendment protected disruption to keep focus on the issue. The most effective movements have a radical wing and a institutionalist wing who do not acknowledge each other but share the same tactics and objectives.

If you are housed, you need to be willing to protect and support homeless people because they are your front line. Start or join an Occupy movement, where they are your peers in occupying a public space illegally in a way that is too public to prosecute. Give to people on the street, and smash anti-homeless architecture if nobody is watching. Be willing to distract cops if you see someone doing something dodgy so they can get away. Remember that following the law is a tactic, and so is breaking it.

The case for this being on my transit blog is arguably weak, but I felt compelled after a particularly hateful experience looking at facebook memes about homeless people on the T. You should want those people there. You should want those people breaking down the doors of luxury apartments and setting up shop. You should want them keeping your city safe because the cops you hire to separate you from them will train their guns on you next.

And for gods sake, don’t let your city become a brand. Branding is marketing. Branding is clean, and bloodless, and a gloved hand around your throat that leaves no fingerprints.

[skippyv20]

Welcome! You are one of the chosen. Please read and eat after reading.

Working for Mr. And Mrs. Meghan Markle

When Mr. and/or Mrs. Markle enters the room bow and curtsy.

When Mr. and/or Mrs. Markle speak, listen intently but do NOT look them in their eyes.

When Mr. and/or Mrs. Markle give orders, JUMP

When Mr. and/or Mrs. Markle walk into the room face the wall

Tell Mrs. Markle how wonderful she is (minimum 150 times a day)

Tell Mrs. Markle what an inspiration she is to the world

Tell Mrs. Markle you love all of her projects

Do NOT ask about the children

Do NOT ask for freebies

Do NOT ask about any vicious rumours you hear

Do NOT ask about the BRF

Do NOT ask about past employees, or reason for leaving

Do NOT ask about Mrs. Markle’s friends

Do NOT ask Mr. Markle about his family or friends

Do NOT ask about secrets they know

Do NOT ask about Mrs. Markle’s past

Do NOT ask about upcoming projects

Do NOT ask how they make money

Do NOT ask about blood earrings

Do NOT ask about fake jewelry

Do NOT ask about trolls

Do NOT ask about their social media accounts

Do NOT ask about their pets

Do NOT ask about their famous car chase

Do NOT ask about their security worries

What to bring to work each day Caligraphy set

Pens

Cookies

Paper

Coloured pencils

Ink stamp

Ink

Binder

Three hole punch

Yellow post it notes

Message pad

Computer

Phone

Bank card

Coffee cup

3 water bottles

Avocados

Loaf of bread

Paper clips

Atlas

The reason we ask that you bring these essentials with you daily is due to the fact we move around a lot. Our office location must be kept secret at all times, we use back offices in tow truck buildings, car rental buildings, dollar stores, restaurants. We do this for “security reasons”.

You may decide to bring along a pair of coveralls, as we don’t pay for dry cleaning. Easy to jump into and out of when you have to attend a business meeting. Also, bring your car it saves us money.

As an employee you MUST sign our 60 page NDA. This is a MUST DO!

We do hope you will enjoy your employment with us, if you don’t, we really don’t care. Just being honest. We believe in honesty when it suits us.

Welcome!

[livsbrutalitys-blog]

Unfinished business

pt.1 | pt.3

pairing(s): Rhea x f!reader, wwe x f!reader, not really but aew x f!reader

a/n: this isn’t as Rhea based but it’s still important as it is building up relationships and the character

use of y/n

tw: eventual smut, cussing, physical violence (y’all this is wrestling what’d you expect), idk if there’s more lmk if you see any

After you put down your phone you took a quick nap to pass the time on the long flight. You woke up just as the plane was landing and once it was time for you to get off you grabbed your things and made your way through the airport after grabbing you luggage. You walked outside and got in your rental car and finally made your way to the pc.

Once you arrived at the pc and made it through the door you were greeted by Stephanie. "Hi y/n, it's so good to see you again. I had a look at your match from last night and it was really impressive." she said with a smile on her face. "Thank you so much Stephanie, that means a lot to me especially coming from you", you said reciprocating the smile she'd given to you.

"Ok so your probably wondering why I wanted you down here so soon" she said "yes and I'm ready for whatever you have planned for me" you said becoming a little antsy. She chuckled a bit before speaking again, "That's good to know, but I wanted you here so you could meet some of our wrestlers and meet your partner in your debut" she said waiting for a response. You were bit surprised not disappointed but definitely surprised because you thought you were debuting alone.

"Partner?" is all you said wanting a further explanation. "Right I didn't tell you yet, you are gonna be entering into a feud with 2 other people one of those being the person you are pairing with at Wrestlemania, but for the night you guys will be friends we'll build the feud after" she said and you could see the passion for this story in her eyes. It wasn't a bad idea at all but it wasn't what you expected for your debut so you took a chance on it and put your trust in Stephanie's years in the business.

You followed Stephanie to room that was meant for working out and when you entered you saw about 5 people in there and she kept walking toward the blonde on the far side of the room. She was currently sitting on a machine getting ready to do another set when we approached her. Stephanie tapped the woman's shoulder and she turned her head to look at who had just tapped her.

When she looked at you you were slightly stunned to see who it was it was a girl you had briefly met at a training camp a few years ago.

"Hi Liv sorry to interrupt your workout but I wanted you to meet your wrestlemania partner" Stephanie said gesturing her hand towards you. "Hi my names y/n, it's so nice to meet you" you stuck your hand out for a hand shake. "Hey I'm Liv" she shook your hand firmly she looked at you inquisitively as she spoke again "have... we met before?" she said "You know what I think so were you at (random training camp lol) a couple years ago?" you said "Oh my gosh! yes that's were I know you from, how have you been its been so long" she said standing up and looking genuinely interested in what you were about to say.

"Everything's been good, do you remember when I told you about a deal I got offered with that indie promotion?" you said "Yes! How'd that go? I saw some of your stuff you were doing at AEW and damn girl you are so good at this whole thing I could probably use a few lessons" she chuckled "Yeah so that indie promotion ended up being AEW and well you can see how well that went" you laughed. "Well I can see you two have some good history, that'll be useful later on but I thought maybe you two could do some team bonding" she said "Oh that sounds like a great idea!" Liv exclaimed "Yeah I'm in what were you thinking?" you asked Stephanie. "Maybe you guys could just go out and grab dinner or do a training session" she said just kind of throwing out some idea's. "y/n, we can do a session together I'm just getting started you are more than welcome to join if you'd like" she asked and you thought about it because you weren't exactly prepared to do any wrestling but eventually you agreed and went and changed.

You walk to one of the rings and found Liv, she was running the ropes and had just finished stretching. So, you decided to stretch outside of the ring and once you were done you slid under the bottom rope and walked over to Liv. "so what'd you want to start with?" you asked her while doing some little arm stretches. "you wanna do some sparring? Just a warning I'm a little rusty I've been out with an injury for a while" she asked and you decided to ask about said injury "Yeah we can, what happened if you don mind me asking?" "Rhea happened" is all she said when answering your question. "Sorry I haven't watched a lot of WWE in a while since y'know I've been kinda working for the rival" you said getting kinda nervous about how she would feel about you not being 'in the loop'. She understood your reasoning and explained further what she meant.

After she told you about what Rhea did to her you felt a sense of anger and protectiveness over Liv. You guys spent a couple hours at the PC and after you finished up you headed to go grab something to eat. While you were eating you two talked about how excited you were about your debut and her return. As you talked about it you realized that this was gonna be a big deal and the people were definitely gonna be talking, Liv realized it too.

As the next couple months passed you and Liv grew a strong friendship and were closer to her than you've been with anyone in a long time. You were 2 days away from your debut on the grandest stage of them all, Wrestlemania. You heard a knock on your new apartments door and ran to answer it cause you knew exactly who it was. You swung the door open and Liv walked in she was just as excited as you because today you guys were gonna be finishing up your outfits.

"Girl I can't believe in like two days we are gonna be making history, this is so crazy!" she said with enthusiasm, you chuckled at her actions. It's not that you weren't excited you were just nervous about seeing her for the first time in years. How would she react? How would you react? What if she hates me? What if the fans hate me? Was all you could think and it was clouding you feelings of excitement. You didn't bother to tell Liv much about how you knew Rhea, all she knew was you and her trained together but what she didn't know is that you two had a sort of... situationship for 4 years and 'broke up' if you'd even call it that because the way things ended was with her abandoning you and then ignoring you after she left that day back at the gym.

You wish you and Rhea could've had real relationship instead of a secret multi year fling. But, she wasn't ready to tell everyone that she was into girls and that she was indeed secretly in love with one. You understood and were content with what you had going on but eventually you wanted more. You wanted to go on dates, kiss her in front of other people or even just hold her hand. Anytime you asked for more its like she would shut down and try to change the subject or try to initiate sex and it would work for a bit but you grew tired of the same old same old. It started to feel like she was ashamed of you or just being with you in that way.

Rhea had said she loved you and you told her you loved her but of course nobody knew how you guys felt about one another and it was beyond frustrating and tiring trying to hide how you felt about her. She was another reason you stopped watching WWE, even though you loved it and it was your dream to make it there you couldn't bear watching her every week and knowing how you felt.

While you were lost in thought about what its going to be like seeing her after all these years Liv saying your name snapped you back to reality. "Hey y/n were did you say those rhinestones were, I wanna practice my makeup for the show" she asked while poking her head out of your bathroom. "Oh they should be in my makeup bag under the sink are they not in there?" you said as you walked away from your bed that had your semi finished out fit on it. "No I didn't see them maybe there in there and i just missed them" she said as she walked out of the bathroom to give you room to look under the sink. "Ah there they are, they fell out sorry about that" you said as you chuckled slightly "Oh no problem thank you for letting me use them" she said grabbing them from your hand and you guys switched spots. "You're welcome I have more somewhere if you want them I'm out of my rhinestone phase" you said as you walked back to your connected bedroom. She gasped "You wore these, oh my god girl I just know you looked so hot with them" she laughed "Yeah I did they just don't fit the vibe anymore y'know" you said while also laughing at her reaction.

You guys finished with your looks and decided to try on your outfit's to see if anything else needed to be fixed or added. Liv tried hers on first and she looked stunning (i hate doing these but i need to so you understand my idea here are the outfits )

liv’s

You gasped at her whole look it was amazing. “Liv holy shit I think the whole arena is going to collapse when they see you” you said while getting off your bed to get a better look at it and she laughed because she didn’t expect your reaction to be that positive. “Thank you boo, ok ok now go try yours on I wanna see” she said pushing you towards the bathroom to change. Once you were done you walked out and did a little twirl to give her a good look. She paused and her jaw dropped at how good you looked.

your outfit

“BITCH OH MY GOD IM DONE YOU ARE GONNA STOP THE WHOLE SHOW” she yelled. “Thank you bae I was worried it was gonna be to much” you laughed not knowing how to properly accept the praise you’re were receiving. “Girl have you seen how Seth and Becky dress to their standards this isn’t enough” you and her shared a laugh knowing how outlandish those two like to dress from seeing some of their pics on instagram.

“Hey did you wanna spend the night so that we can just get up and go to the airport tomorrow?” you asked and this wasn’t an unusual question because you guys had sleepovers often. “Yeah that’ll make it a lot easier since we have to get up and go so early” she said “ok it’s getting kinda late did you want to change and watch a movie, maybe order some dinner?” you asked “yes but can i pick the place this time because you picked last time” she said and you giggled a little bit “yes you can as long as it’s not gross like that one place you picked” you said playfully grimacing at the memory of the awful food and she laughed and also made a disgusted face at the same memory.

After you got done watching the movie and eating dinner you guys were to tired to move so you just slept on the couch and you made sure you had an alarm set for the morning at 4 am since you had to be at the airport at 5 am.

You woke up at exactly 4 in the morning and Liv took a little more convincing to get her up but she eventually got up and walked to your bathroom but before that she had asked if she could borrow a pair of your sweatpants and of course you let her. Once you guys were changed you walked to your car and drove to the airport.

The airport was your least favorite place but seemed to be the place you spent the most time. You got through all the checkpoints with no problem and soon boarded your plane. You and Liv sat next to each other, She eventually dozed off and took a nap leaning on your shoulder and you soon followed resting your head on hers. She woke up about 5 minutes before you were due to land and her movement had woken you right up. “Are we about to land” you asked while yawning “uh yeah it looks like it” she said groggily. You checked the time and it was about 9 am since the flight was a short one,about 2 hrs, you were grateful.

You guys got off the plane and made your way to your shared rental car after grabbing the rest of your luggage. You made your way to the hotel and checked in, it was 1 day till you made your debut and her return. 1 day till you came face to face with her again. The pit your stomach grew but you also had butterflies at the thought of seeing her. You and Liv had been staying in a separate hotel due to nobody knowing about you guys coming.

There was a knock at the door and you glanced at Liv "Are you expecting anyone?" you asked curiously "No are you?" she asked in the same tone and you shook your head. Liv stood up quickly to answer it. Her demeanor changed almost instantly as she greeted the stranger with a hug and a quick hi. You heard a familiar voice as she asked if she could come in and Liv moved aside gesturing her in. You stood up to greet the person and you were settled by the stranger being Stephanie. “Hey y/n how was your flight” she asked as she entered the room. “Oh it was good, a short one which i don’t mind at all” you chuckled and she did the same. “Oh I bet the short ones are the best but what brings me here is I wanted to go over some of the finishing touches for tomorrow” she said while glancing between you and Liv. “Oh ok yeah did you want to do it here or we could maybe go grab a coffee while we talk” Liv suggested. “You know what that sounds great let’s explore the city a bit and get out of this room” Stephanie said happy to get of the hotel. You guys walked around finding a good coffee spot and you all finally chose one.

You all sat down with you drinks and stared talking more business. “So have you girls decided what your wearing tomorrow?” Stephanie asked “Yes we finished them up last night at made sure everything was good” You said glancing at Liv who was nodding in agreement as you spoke. “Great do you have a picture?” she said and you went to look through you photos and couldn’t find one. “I don’t think I took on Liv did you” you looked over at her “uhhhhh… yes I do” she said as she turned her phone towards Stephanie. Stephanie grabbed the phone and got a closer look. “Oh these are amazing I think you’ll win best dressed” she said as she chuckled and handed Liv her phone back. “I think that’s what we were going for” Liv said grabbing her phone back and laughing.

You guys talked for a bit and once you were done you made you way back to the hotel once you got your respective floors you said your goodbyes and heading back to your rooms. You immediately face plant onto one of the beds groaning because you were so tired and also because the amount of business talk you just did drained you completely. Liv slowly made her way to the other bed and you both laid there for a few minutes before you both started laughing. For no reason at all you were both laughing so hard, you turned you head to face her and laughed even harder “what’s so funny” you said between laughs “I don’t know felt right I guess”.

You both calmed down and we’re just having sleepy small talk and making jokes. “God what time is it?” you asked slightly jarring your self to wake up. “Oh shit I have no idea” Liv said as she chuckled and immediately searching for her phone. You found yours first and read the time 6:30 pm you had been laying there for about 2 hours now after your 4 hour long conversation with Stephanie. You both decided to eat something and head to bed early.

You both are laying there watching a random movie on the TV and Liv starts some small talk. “Are you excited for tomorrow?” she asked but she already knew your answer. “Yes god I can’t believe it’s already here it feels like yesterday I was responding to an email on the way to an AEW event” you said recalling the start of this journey. “I know right I mean it really does feel like this whole thing has flown by in no time” she said agreeing with what you’d just said. “I have to ask you something” Liv admitted and you sat up slightly to prepare for what seemed like a hard hitting question. “ok” you said hesitantly “I don’t want to overstep and you totally don’t have to answer if you don’t want to and I won’t be mad if you don’t want to but i’ve been thinking about a lot..” she rambled on “Liv what is it your scaring me” you said trying to get it out of her. “Ok sorry, sorry, so, whenever Rhea is mentioned you get kind of- i dunno- weird- i guess- did something happen with you guys?” she asked quietly not wanting to upset you. “Oh I mean no- not really- I just y’know- had a lit- little crush on her-that’s it” you said while debating if you should come clean or not. “Really because it seems like it was more?” she said not believing you one bit. You sighed as the debate in your head was settled, “ok well that’s not the whole thing- we had a kind of- well i mean not kind of but had- a sorta relationship for a couple years” you said trying to not give to many details.

“What?” is all Liv said trying to understand what you just said. “Yeah I mean it wasn’t that serious but the end really hurt not gonna lie” you said with your head turned down. “wha-why didn’t you say anything?” she asked sounding a little hurt. “i- i don’t know it just didn’t seem important” you said trying to justify it in your head and to her. “Not important? Are you kidding me it’s so important because now we’ve gotta go out there you’ve gotta be your revenge” she said surprisingly more upset at the fact that you didn’t tell her sooner because she could’ve planned your revenge tactic sooner. You laughed surprised she wasn’t mad at you.

“Your not mad?” you said “Girl no that’s your business and i’ll never press you to talk about something you don’t wanna talk about” she said with a matter of fact tone. “Ok but how do you know shes not the one who needs to get revenge?” you asked as she turned towards you quickly. “Did she make you cry?” you nodded your head “ Did she do it over text?” you shook your head “How’d she do it?” she asked now interested “She got on a plane with no word and left” you said grimacing at the memory. “Bitch i’m done you need revenge ‘cause that is seriously messed up” she said looking you dead in the eyes. “I know like who would do that?” you asked in disbelief.

You two carried on talking about your relationship with Rhea for another hour or so. “And please Liv you cannot tell anyone I don’t want this getting out for mine and her sake please” you begged “For you I will I love you girl and I mean that I’ve got you no matter what” she said reminding you that she always had your back.

You two soon fell fast asleep. You dreamed about Rhea which hadn’t happened in a very long time. You suddenly jumped and it woke you up. You stirred and got up to grab a water. You chugged it and crawled back in bed. After a while you couldn’t sleep you grabbed your phone to check the time and scroll through social media real quick. You decided to do something you never thought you’d do. You unblocked her account and viewed it.

You saw a totally different person than you’d last seen. She was more muscular and her hair was jet black and she was fully tatted. It was now not a doubt in your mind that the person you saw at the arena a while back was in fact her. You watched some of the reels on her page and looked at some of her pictures. You felt different towards her you didn’t feel the love you’d once had i mean it was still there just a little further down than they were before you now felt more rage and anger towards her because now you realized you weren’t the problem. You didn’t deserve what she did to you. You needed your revenge.

[postmodernbeliever]

Thoroughfare- Fox Mulder x Female Reader

Chapter Three: Two’s Company, Three’s a Crime Scene

table of contents <3

if you’d prefer my ao3 | word count: 4,317

TW: mentions of a body at a crime scene, some graphic description.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

“No comments from the peanut gallery!”

“I’m simply saying that if you’d let me handle the directions, maybe we’d get there faster!”

You sighed as Fox screwed with the gigantic spiral-bound map he found shoved between the bench of your rental truck. When the two of you landed, you discovered something new about your fellow agent- he liked being in charge of not only picking but driving the rental car. You knew the Bureau provided money for the vehicle, but you had no idea it was within your purview to choose which. You might’ve picked something a little sleeker and smaller, like an understated sedan, but the man with the pen did not share your taste, so this time you didn’t get to exercise the privilege. Fox teased you as he signed the papers for an old Chevy pickup, saying, “Seniority, Piglet.” And now he was refusing to let you control the map while he drove the two of you straight into bumblefuck Kansas as if he had a foolproof inner compass.

“Seriously, Fox, come on. It’s dangerous to drive like this, just let me help.”

“I’ve survived every case this way, you know,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, alone! You’ve got me here now, and I’m not gonna let you crash the damn car while I’m inside!” You resolved, tearing the map from his hand and ripping it at the corner of the page. All you tore was the map scale, but he still shot you a dirty look. 

“Nice going–”

“Enough!”

You wanted to believe you didn’t enjoy the way he bickered with you, but it kept the endless drive of dying grass and grey sky interesting. Fox had to double-check every direction you gave him on the way into Marysville, Kansas, at whose name you of course rolled your eyes. The snarky driver learned to stop doubting you about an hour in when he disregarded your order to make a right-hand turn and went left. It took him ten minutes to admit he was wrong and turn around. You graciously accepted his apology, but not before sticking your tongue out in juvenile triumph. Nearly three hours later with the late afternoon sun preparing to set, the rickety truck pulled past a sign that greeted Welcome to Marysville! and you found yourself in the middle of a quaint little place, seemingly empty, with rows of colonial buildings and businesses. You rolled the window down and felt the muggy spring air stick to your face as you poked your head out, admiring the center of town. You could feel your hair frizzing up, and you hoped you’d have time to fix it before you had to do any work. This was not the time to look anything other than prepared.

Fox piped up, “Don’t get too comfortable. I’m gonna make a pitstop at the police station before the motel.”

You huffed and fell back into the seat, and the man let out a soft chuckle. You combatted, “What now?”

“You’re like a little kid.”

“Am not!”

Fox quirked an eyebrow at you, silently proving his point, and your face melted into a playful smile. You stopped complaining and he turned his attention back to the road, where he surveyed for a police department sign. He found it on the corner of a block, but he nearly missed it- if he wasn’t paying attention, he might’ve mistaken it for just another shop. There were stately stone steps out front and two swinging doors that were reminiscent of a saloon, so you made note of the entrance for the next time it camouflaged into the rest of the town. Fox pulled up to the curb and turned off the engine, which sputtered a bit, and you made a nervous face. 

“Don’t worry,” Fox smiled, “I can just hotwire something if we need to.” When you made a face, he added, “Come on, I’m kidding!”

All you gave in return was a skeptical, “We’ll see.”

As he moved to open his door, he paused, noticing how you sat still. “Everything okay?”

In your head, you weren’t sure how to answer his question. One thing has been irking you since you landed in the Midwest, and that was how badly you wanted to nail introducing yourself; you’d thought over exactly how to pull your badge from your pocket, and how you’d assert your new title, but every vision ended with you screwing it up. You’d done this at your old job in New York so often it became second nature, but somehow this was different. This was bigger. You had so much more power with a federal badge. You wondered how Fox did it every time; if he was stern, or positive, or something in between. You almost wished you’d practiced it in the mirror, but that felt stupid to entertain.Yet now that it was time to establish yourself as the overarching authority, a beacon of hope to the people of this town and the families who have lost daughters, you were afraid to make a fool of yourself by either overdoing it or not doing it right at all. For God’s sake, you dropped your passport in front of the flight attendant- what made you think you wouldn’t blurt out FBI too loud in front of the sheriff? What would the citizens of Marysville think if the government sent them a detective who couldn’t even get her name out without stuttering? 

Fox wished he could read your mind, but all he could do was watch your eyes glaze over. He reached out and touched your shoulder. “Anybody home?”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“You’re nervous.”

“Kind of,” you huffed, “There’s a lot I’m nervous about, you know that.”

“About the case?”

“Yeah, the case. And about doing well. Proving myself. Not letting you down,” you added at the end, to which he broke into an appreciative grin. “I don’t know. It’s a lot of pressure.”

“You’re lucky you have me then. I’m practically a diamond,” Fox winked, “Relax. I’ll take the lead.”

Fox might be a pain in the ass, but he was somewhat of a gentleman; after promising he’d lead you through things, he held the door to the station open for you, and you went inside first. There wasn’t much of a lobby. It was more like walking straight into a bullpen, and a calm one, at that. You saw three officers sitting at their desks; two working diligently on what seemed to be simple paperwork, and another with his feet kicked up on the desk and a newspaper over his head, snoring loudly. A faulty fan was whirring exhaustedly in the corner next to an open window. It was mundane everywhere you looked- dusty bookshelves, tidy filing cabinets, dust floating in the light beams spilling through the blinds. An aging woman was working the counter with fat librarian glasses perched on her hook nose and a frizzy, box-blonde French twist. Fox nudged your elbow politely, and you stepped aside to let him approach her first. 

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Special Agent Fox Mulder. This is my partner.” 

You watched him carefully as you fished your badge out of your jacket pocket and flipped it open. He held his own up briefly, barely long enough for anyone to know if it was real. You took it he never ran into that issue. His voice in introduction wasn’t stiff, but it was still assertive. There was a warmth in the way he spoke to her, and you thought maybe he was always gentler with older women, or possibly with everyone- he certainly spoke that way with you. You would’ve kept thinking about it if he didn’t keep going.

“I talked on the phone with a Sheriff Hale, he requested my partner and I come down and take a look at a string of murders?”

The woman smiled with all her teeth, and you could tell by the way her eyes sparkled that she liked him. Just like the lady at the airport. You wouldn’t have pegged him as a ladies’ man, but it made sense. He did have a unique charm about him.

“Oh, yes! Well, Sheriff Hale is out on a house call, ‘ya see, but he’s bound to be back in soon. I can send a call out for ‘im, if you like.” Her country accent was thick as molasses, and just as sweet. 

“That’d be great, ma’am, thank you.”

“Oh, please, call me Mary!”

Fox laughed and confirmed, “Mary from Marysville, huh?”

Mary cackled like an obnoxious schoolgirl, and you had to bite back a laugh yourself. Fox stepped away with you as the woman hopped on the phone to speak with the sheriff, throwing glances his way all the while. 

“Flirting on the job, Fox?”

“What can I say? I’ve got game, Piglet.”

A part of you wanted to know more, but there wasn’t enough time to try between his teasing comment and the interruption of frazzled Mary: “Excuse, Mr. Agent Mulder, sir?”

“Yes?”

“The- the sheriff says he needs you down at the Church of Saint Peter the Apostle as soon as you can, sir, down on the corner. There’s been another murder, dear Lord…”

Fox defaulted to you, and despite your apprehension, you were the first to head for the door. He called back to the woman with a rushed, “Thank you, tell him we’re on our way!” and the two of you hurried to the old pickup parked out front. He got it up and running and rushed off, and there wasn’t one complaint when you reached for the map and turned to the page with a closer view of Marysville, and told him where to go. 

“Up on the corner, she said, but which corner?” You wondered aloud, and Fox kept his eyes on the road. You were just about to tell him to make a left when a beater came barreling through a stop sign at the intersection, wholly ignoring your right of way, causing Fox to slam on the breaks. You lurched forward in the seat and caught yourself by slamming the map against the glovebox. You flushed, feeling like an idiot for forgetting your seatbelt. 

“Are you hurt?” Fox blurted. His hand reached out to brush some hair away from your forehead, checking for a bruise or blood, but all you could think about was how softly his fingertips ghosted against your temple. You didn’t feel any pain, but you sure were shaken up.

“Y-yeah, I’m okay. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me.” He dropped his hand and looked in the direction of the tin can that nearly killed you both, seeing its tire marks trailing down the road. “Where do you think he was going, driving like that?… Dick.”

He tried to let the insult slip under his breath, but you heard it loud and clear. You giggled, and he smirked at you, noting that you liked a slip-up here and there. You began to say something, but two more cars came hurtling down the street in front of the truck, laying on the horn at you for being stopped a quarter of the way into the intersection. Both loosely followed the tire tracks and made screeching turns a few blocks to the right. You looked to Fox for an explanation, who stared back with just as much confusion as you, and he took off, chasing the commotion. You clicked your seatbelt in hurriedly, holding onto the door handle. You weren’t one for speed, but you didn’t feel as unsafe as you would’ve expected yourself to. Fox knew the car well. He knew the dimensions, he knew how fast it could go, and he clearly felt comfortable in the driver’s seat because he was plowing through town like he was the one being chased. You saw a wild grin creep up on his cheeks, and your face felt warm. It was fun, going fast. 

Just up the road, you saw red lights flashing in alarm, and a mass of cars pulled up in disarray outside a little church, including the three trucks that nearly killed you. It had to be smaller than the police station- it was wooden, with a weathered steeple that was shadowed by the falling dusk, and moss grew unabated over the windowsills. Teenagers and parents were prowling by the sheriff’s car, which Fox parked right beside. 

“Holy shit!”

“Lord, that’s disgusting!”

“Lemme in, lemme see!”

The two of you hopped out and hurried through the hollering crowd of townspeople, right up to the ambulance that blocked them out, but didn’t hide their view. Kids peeked past the authorities with sick looks. Two paramedics met you at the yellow tape and passed some rubber gloves off, which you took gratefully, already feeling your stomach drop at the exclamations of the onlookers. When you finally got past the ambulance, you gasped at the crime scene which one deputy and the supposed Sheriff Hale were rushing to cover with tarps and close off. Fox held up the tape for you to duck beneath, and he followed as you stepped onto the scene. 

“Sheriff Hale?” You inquired. “We’re with the FBI, you called for us?”

The older of the two men looked up. He had a beet-red face, which could’ve been from the intensity of the Kansas sun or stress; his eyebrows were bushy as beaver tails, and his stocky build made it hard to believe he did much more than paperwork. But nonetheless, he stood up and shook your hands as he greeted, “Thanks for getting down here so quick, agents. I reckon this is the fourth victim, she, uh… well, how about y’all take a look?”

You and Fox stood on the little dirt path that led to the steps of the church, lined with painted rocks. It looked like a children’s effort, a community project. There was a large crucifix marking where the peak of the building met the steeple, and a giant translucent sheet covered the steps; on the tall double doors, there were thick splatters of oxidizing blood and splintered wood. You knelt beside the younger officer, who was taking photographs of the scene, and made yourself known. 

“What do we have here?” 

“Looks like another murder, ma’am,” he frowned. You noticed his name embroidered into his uniform pocket: Deputy H. Jones. He was tall and skinny as a twig, with an endearing gap between his two front teeth. He looked too young to be a college student, let alone a police deputy. “A real shame.”

“Did you know the victim, Deputy Jones?” 

“Sure I did, knew ‘em all. Lots… lots of ‘em went to school with me. This girl here, though, she was a good friend of my lil’ sister. Liane Jacobs. Real sweet girl. It, uh, it’s a rough thing to see, ma’am.” 

Your heart sank at the thought of what it must feel like to be him. You reached to peel back the tarp, and it took less than a second for you to lay it right back down. You weren’t prepared for the sight, and had to choke down a gag. “Jesus Christ.” 

“You ask me, Jesus ain’t got nothin’ to do with this, agent. Not a thing.” 

Deputy Jones’s face fell pale as he walked away, leaving you to examine the victim. You slowly lifted the tarp again, careful not to reveal anything to the crowd gathering outside the confines of the caution tape. Despite the breakfast you had rumbling like rocks inside your gut, you took a mental note of the girl lying before you, gutted like a pig. She looked far worse than the photos in Fox’s file. Her entire chest cavity was splayed open as if her ribs had been ripped out all at once. The tissue of her dermis and lungs was a mixture of chop meat, all littering the jagged edges of her vertebrae, which were missing bones in all the spots the X-rays had in common. Her lower body was littered with bruises and cuts, especially around the hips and lower abdomen, yet her face was left untouched- not even a spot of blood was present to interrupt the porcelain appearance. She looked supremely calm, in contrast to her violent disposition; relaxed eyelids, perfectly tinted lips, flawless teenage skin. Her dark hair fell in Hollywood ringlets across her shoulders, manicured, well-placed, well-planned. You gazed up at the cross she sat rotting beneath, and you wondered what God would do, had he the choice to help you understand. You only stopped contemplating when a hand tapped the crown of your head, and you saw your partner looking down at you. 

“Her name is Liane Jacobs,” you sighed, “The deputy knew her personally.”

“Seems like everyone did. Seventeen years old, grew up a mile out from here. She worked at the library as a part-time bookkeep and spent her weekends volunteering at this very church,” Fox informed. “The sheriff, deputy, and her parents all swore she was a good girl, a good friend. Devoted to her faith.”

“Look what it got her. So much for being devoted,” you grumbled, tugging Fox down to take a closer look.

A short-lived expression of shock crossed the man’s face, and then he was all business; he knelt over the body, close enough to give you the creeps, and studied the girl’s lacerations. You leaned back on the heels of your boots and glanced around, finding the bystanders terrified of how Fox seemed to dole over the dead body. You squirmed uncomfortably, realizing they must think you had a screw loose, too. 

“We’re gonna need an autopsy on the body, but a lot of these mutilations match the other victims just from a visual deduction. The missing ribs, the bruising around the waist and legs. But this is way more aggressive. This is like the other deaths on steroids. The killer didn’t take nearly the same care removing the bones from her chest cavity– I mean, the last murders weren’t surgical by any means, but this? This is violent. Might as well have torn her apart by hand. Somebody is really angry. Maybe even crying out for help. It’s hard to tell.”

“Well, however they’re feeling, they clearly had something against this girl. I mean, they desecrated her, Fox. Her body is completely destroyed. I can’t even fathom what would possess someone to- to ruin a young girl like this.”

Fox nodded curtly, furrowing his eyebrows in agreement. Then his neck craned down, and he mumbled, “Hey, look at this.”

You watched Fox’s glove-clad hand dig into poor Liane’s jeans pocket, tugging out a thin string of wooden beads. It was uneven with little plastic beads between the wood bits, which told you it was homemade. The rosary looked almost charred, and the cross dangling at the bottom was splintered. 

“Do you think it’s hers?”

Fox laid the chain in your palm and pointed to the little metal tag that conjoined the sides, where three initials were stamped: LMJ.

“Liane Michelle Jacobs,” he confirmed, “Seems like the type our guy would pick, don’t you think? Looks-wise. Even if she died differently, still fits the profile.”

You moved to drape the tarp back over the body, but not before taking one last look at her face. Liane looked like she didn’t have a care in the world. Her family couldn’t hold an open casket, and everyone would live with how she was found, discarded like roadkill on the local church steps, but she was still beautiful, and that was eating at you. 

“I feel horrible.”

“This isn’t really the best first case to work on,” Fox admitted, “I wish it was something different for you.”

You wouldn’t have expected to be so moved by a dead girl. In all your years at college studying the world’s most prolific cases, learning how to compartmentalize, and doing fieldwork in New York, you had a stomach of steel. You could take any case, see any death, and solve it. But you’d never had the feeling you have now, as you see the fourth victim surrendered at the foot of a carpenter. Something dark surrounded her, something that nailed you to the steps. There was a force at work you’d never known before. Something was wrong. You couldn’t be sure if Fox felt it, too, but it was making it near impossible to separate your empathy from your logic. You just wanted to cover Liane, and hope that she didn’t feel any pain, and if everyone might turn their backs to you, maybe you could cry for a moment at the loss of an innocent girl to a monster. 

Fox could see you fighting with yourself by the way you chewed at your bottom lip, eyes locked on the girl’s still face. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he had to say something. 

“I know this is hard for you. Especially with all the pressure you’re feeling. But I also know having you here will help save other girls like Liane. You’re more than well-equipped for this. If anyone can do the job, it’s you.”

You tipped your head back to blink away a few tears that poked your eyes, and you let the plastic cover the body. Fox cleared his throat and said, “Come on, let’s go. Let the coroner take her.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Offering you a hand, Fox got you back on your feet and you followed him down the walkway towards the street. Two men shuffled over to scoop up the mess on the steps, and you had to tune out all the crying and commentary coming from the townspeople. The colors on the ground were distracting. Every rock was a different shape and size, all probably appealing to the child who chose them; there were paintings of houses and dogs, butterflies and crosses, mothers and fathers holding hands. Kids always seemed to draw what they knew best, even if their imagination took them to so many other places. You stopped short in your gawking and bent down, picking up one of the rocks lining the path; it was red, with a faded painting of a donkey looking up at a lopsided star. You turned the stone over in your hand, feeling the smooth texture, and found a neatly printed name on the back: Liane J. 3rd Grade. You pocketed the rock with no good reason and hurried to catch up with your partner who was waiting by the passenger door of the rental truck, lost in his head. When you reached him, he opened the door for you, and you slipped inside, suddenly deflated. 

“I don’t think there’s much else to do tonight until we hear back from Sherriff Hale or the county morgue, so I guess we should head to the motel. I could use a second to settle in. I bet you could, too.”

“Yes, please. Thank you.” You muttered.

Fox began to shut the door on you, but paused, eyes grazing over your face. You weren’t nervous anymore, but were something else. There wasn’t a touch of color in your cheeks, but your skin was still soft-looking, like your eyes. He didn’t like the softness of them, actually, since it seemed more like fragility, or frailty, than gentle. Sitting in the truck he’d picked, on his case you were unlucky enough to be placed on, you looked young and worn, eager and tired, your hair just sweet fuzz framing the face of a girl unaware of what she agreed to. That might be the worst part, how you looked, along with how he imagined you felt. It made his chest ache. 

“Hey, uh, are you hungry? I know, bad time to think about eating, but I haven’t since before the flight this morning.”

You scrunched your nose and thought about the last time you ate. You recalled grabbing a power bar on the way out of the house in the morning, but you also seemed to recall passing it to Fox at the airport gate when he complained about being starving. So, you haven’t eaten at all. The nerves kept you full.

“Well, a little, I guess. I probably should have something.”

“How about I stop and grab us a bite on the way over? Sound good?”

You felt the shadow of a smile on your lips, and you nodded your head. Fox made up for the grin you couldn’t muster with all his teeth and shut the car door swiftly, jogging around the front of the truck to get in the driver’s seat. Without another word, he started the engine and backed away from the scene, leaving the Marysville authorities to pack Liane up and ship her off to the morgue. You watched the crowd watch, and you wondered how a town so small and close-knit as this one appeared could stand around and ogle a dead girl they claimed to cherish. You replayed the whole thing in your head- how you froze, how you almost cried, how Fox had to get you out. You were more than embarrassed at how you acted, but you couldn’t change it. You were just lucky he was the only one paying attention. 

Blowing out a slow, sleepy breath, you flipped the map open to look for the motel, but Fox laid his hand on it and said, “It’s okay. I got directions from the Sheriff. He said there’s a burger joint on the way, too. You take it easy for now, okay?”

Unwilling to protest, you sat quietly in the seat and let him drive down the pothole-riddled road. You obsessed over the weight of the rock in your pocket, and it felt the way you did back with Liane’s body– dark, unnatural. You left it there and hoped no one would notice it was gone. 

[concreteburialplot]

VIRALITY // 08

08 - Play Along

pairing: noah sebastian x fem!oc / nicholas ruffilo x fem!oc

word count: 5.3k

masterlist/intro: here | crossposted: ao3

warnings; irritating moody noah lol, angry/jealous nicholas, alcohol, noah teaching how to play pool, creepy guy at bar, implied past SA experiences, physical fight, blood, love triangle a brewin', 18+ ONLY MDNI

a/n: don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

VALLIE

Noah somehow convinced me to drive us to a bar down the street from the warehouse where we were brainstorming with Bryan.

“So, remind me why you couldn’t have just driven here yourself?” I asked, looking over at him in the passenger seat of my rental car.

“I don’t have a car.” He replies flatly.

“You’re a world famous rockstar, and you don’t have a car?”

I hadn’t notice just how tattooed his hands are until I catch them moving up and down his thighs. The small action reminds me of ways I soothe my anxiety, especially in stressful work meetings.

“Not ‘world famous’, nobody even knew who we were til last month.” He’s quick to correct me and his grumpy tone makes it transparent that he’s still annoyed about getting kicked out by Bryan.

“Right.” I reply shortly.

I pull up to the small seedy bar Noah directed me to. It’s nestled within a larger strip of restaurants and shops. The random tiny city we’re in is not nearly as busy as LA and the buildings are all rustic and brick.

I’m not even parked a whole minute before Noah has already slammed his door behind him and headed towards the front door. At this point I should just expect to have to babysit every single grown man in this fucking band.

When I walk into the establishment, I’m smacked in the face by thick cigarette smoke and my face twists in disgust. It’s packed for 2pm on a Tuesday and almost every single patron is accompanied by a lit cigarette. I spot Noah at the bar already, just receiving his first full beer.

“A cosmopolitan please.” The words can’t come out fast enough, I need alcohol more than air itself right now. The bartender nods and starts curating my order.

Noah scoffs, “A cosmopolitan really? Could you get any more pretentious?”

“Oh my god.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Could you just shut up for literally like 5 minutes?” Right on cue the bartender places down a stemless martini glass with transparent red liquid. “At least it’s better that some basic ass beer.” I take a long sip of my ice-cold drink and alleviation begins the moment the alcohol meets my tongue.

He finishes the last of his beer and lands it hard on the wooden tabletop. “Fine. Whiskey and Coke please.”

“What is your deal huh, why are we here? What exactly are we doing?” I ask the obvious, finishing my own drink already and gesturing to the bartender for another.

He lifts his new glass, “You’re looking at it, Thornhill.”

My brows immediately scrunch together, “How do you know my last name?”

“You think you’re the only one who does their homework?” He asks ironically. “You do work with us after all.”

Both of our new drinks are halfway gone already with replacements on the way. Getting plastered midday on a Tuesday with my most infuriating client in some hole in the wall California bar was not on my bingo card for the week. But these boys keep surprising me, it’s almost refreshing. Almost.

Noah is quick to get started on the fresh drink in front of him, maybe too fast. The glass hadn’t even hit the table before it was half gone.

The numbing already growing in my fingers reminds me that all I had for breakfast was a green juice. Noah’s eyes travel over the bar and land on something across the room then back on me. His eyes are mischievous and playful, “You know how to play pool?” His lips spread into a competitive smirk.

I raise my brows at him. The man that was just 30 minutes ago arguing with me about music video lighting now wants to play pool?

“You want to play pool… right now?”

He laughs, which makes me realize I’d never heard him laugh. It’s nice. If I wasn’t already so exhausted by his bullshit already, it might’ve even made me smile.

“So, you don’t know how to play is what you’re telling me.” He slips off the stool and grabs my arm dragging me off my own.

“Hey, hey!” I smack his hand off my burgundy blazer, “This is designer, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t get your bourbon-y fingers all over it.”

His eyes roll so hard I think they might fall out. “Oh, so sorry princess.” He raised his hands up in defense. “Wouldn’t want to get your Prada dirty.”

While derogatory, the nickname makes my cheeks heat up but I’m not quite sure why. “It’s YSL actually.” I correct him, not that it matters but I guess when you pay almost $4000 for a jacket, it seems like it matters.

“See? Pretentious.” He points at me before going over to the table to set up the game.

I brought our drinks and my bag over to a wooden chair just behind the tables so I could keep a close eye on them. I decide that between the weak airflow in the bar and the sticky surfaces that it would be best to shed the jacket. I slip it off my arms and immediately remember that the blazer was essential to the look, since I only have a black lace corset underneath. But with the 4? 5? drinks I’ve had, I don’t care right now.

“Okay so since you don’t know how to-” Noah turns to look at me and seems to forget his words, he just blinks at me with a deer-in-headlights look.

I step closer to him, “Ya know, it’s not polite to stare.” I say in a hushed tone and poke his pointy nose. Whether or not he is actually looking at me like that, doesn’t matter, my confidence is boosted regardless. Surviving in an industry like the one we’re means walking a fine line between power and control. Men are easy to control when you know how to use assets correctly. And right now, he’s looking at the assets on my lace-covered chest.

“What were you saying again?” I ask, putting my weight on my palms at the edge of the table and leaning forward.

He clears his throat and diverts his eyes away from my cleavage. He directs me to a triangle filled with variously colored balls, some solid, some striped and all with numbers on them. “So basically, you want to get all your designated balls into the holes.” He hands me a long stick, “This is a cue, this is what you’ll use.”

“Got it.”

He perks up a brow above an eye, “You’ve really never played before?”

“Nope.” I take a sip of my potent drink without breaking eye contact with him. “Never thought I’d like it. I’ve watched exes play though. Seemed lame.” I say, sounding more apathetic than I actually am.

“Alright well,” He tugs at the hem of his long band shirt, “You might like it.” He knocks back the last of his drink and holds out a hand to me, “You want a refill?”

I drink the last bit of my own, letting the ice slide down the glass and sit on my numbing lips for just a second before handing it to him. “Please, thank you.”

The minute he leaves me, I become very aware that I’m the only female in the dark bar and every set of eyes is on me. I cross my arms over my chest and retract into myself.

Not long after Noah returns, we start playing. He explained how he “broke” the triangle and he ended up being solids which meant that I’m stripes. After a very bad attempt at hitting a ball, he decided I wasn’t doing well.

“No, no, no.” He waves me off before my stick touches the white cue ball. “Here, I can help.” He rounds the table and stands behind me. I obviously knew he was taller than me, but it isn’t until just now that I realize just how much taller he is than me – the top of my head barely meets his shoulders. And the boots I’m wearing have heels, making me even taller than normal. His sizeable hand runs down my spine and hooks it around my hip to readjust my position. His other arm goes to help adjust my arm that’s holding the stick. I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol, but my skin is burning anywhere he’s touching me and the way his hand engulfs my hip completely sends a buzzing between my legs. His fingertips are mere centimeters away from my core and I am extremely aware of it.

“See, not so bad.” He smiles, pulling away from me and it’s only then that I notice he actually helped me hit the ball.

My eyes linger on him longer than they should’ve. It must be this dim bar lighting and the copious alcohol I’ve had that is making see him through a new filter. His smile meets his eyes and he’s just so…bright. His chocolate eyes are so welcoming and kind, a stark contrast to how harsh and cold they are normally. He’s so much more attractive when he’s not scowling at everything I say.

“What?” He wipes off his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do I have something on my face or something?”

“No, no.” I shake the thoughts from my head. “I just don’t think I’ve ever really seen you smile.” I blurt out stupidly. “It’s pretty.”

He rolls his eyes walking over to the other edge, “Shut up.”

“What?” I ask walking over to where he’s lining up his cue to the ball. His tongue his tightly held in thought between his lips.

The cue ball clashes into a grouping and sends balls flying across the table, some landing in holes. “You’re still on your boyband bullshit.” His voice gained his usual attitude once again with a bit of drunken slur.

“What?” I shake my head, “No, no. I’m not talking about that.” I chase after him around the table. “I mean it.”

Though I should’ve taken the excuse he provided himself as to why I was even paying attention to his smile in the first place.

The long-haired boy holds his cue stick like staff looking at me with an unconvinced look. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Vallie.” He says in a deep gravelly voice that almost sounds like a threat.

My eyes widen slightly when I look up at him. “I meant it.” I repeat softly, this time with a somewhat intimidated undertone.

He eyes me beneath a skeptical propped brow like I just told him something completely out of the realm of possibility. “Let’s just get back to playing.” He grumbles and walks over to finish off drink.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Similar to Nicholas, Noah also has a sort of whiplash duality, just different. I see tiny peeks of a sunshine-y Noah hidden beneath his grouchy storm-cloud persona. It makes me wonder what it would take to see more of the Noah that was just joking and smiling with me.

After another round or two and various refills later, I’m winning. Again.

“How are you winning when you just learned how to play?” Noah asks, pushing himself off the pool table. “Are you conning me or something?” His voice now has a thick, noticeable slur to it, but I don’t think much of it.

I giggle, “No. I just like to win.”

He scoffs playfully and grabs his own glass with my empty one. “You sure you don’t want another?”

I bite down on my thumbnail thinking, but ultimately refuse. “Nah I’m good for now.” I’ve hit the fine line of if I have another, I could get sloppy. Sloppy mixed with what I felt earlier with his hand on my hip could get me in trouble.

He nods and heads to the bar. I pull my phone from where I tucked it in the waistband of skirt and rest against the table as I scroll through emails I’d missed. Suddenly, I feel a presence that definitely isn’t Noah’s. It’s larger, meaner, and darker.

“That your boyfriend with you darlin?” Speaks a low southern accent. His words seem harmless, but I can tell by his tone that he’s not.

My eyes rise to meet him, he towers over me about as tall as Noah maybe an inch or two more. He might be as tall as Noah, but he’s about double his size, wide and muscular. His face is angular and sharp, adorned with middle-aged wrinkles. My gaze glances down to notice that he’s holding two drinks, one that looks like the one I’ve been drinking all day.

I keep an arm around my waist, my phone open facing me and prop a brow at him. “Maybe. What’s it to you?” I neither confirm nor deny out of caution.

“Well, I was thinkin’ you could have a drink with me.” He holds out the similar-looking drink. “The bartender told me you’ve been drinking cosmopolitans.”

I analyze the martini glass within a quarter of a second – the red liquid is dull, murky and the ice is bobbing at the bottom. I’ve lived alone in big cities long enough to know not to take drinks from strange men, especially when they look suspicious. I’ve dated enough men to know what this familiar uneasy feeling in my stomach means. My thumb maneuvers slowly and discreetly to my camera app and hit record. I would send my location to someone, if I had someone to send it to.

I smile politely, “I’m okay but thank you.”

As I predicted his energy shifts and he steps towards me, “Oh c’mon pretty girl, it’s not very nice to refuse a free drink.”

The fear coiling around my spine forces me to fake a laugh, “I’ve really had enough, but thank you.”

He steps even closer backing me into the pool table, the curved wooden corner digs into my lower back. The bar is so busy that nobody is taking notice of what he’s doing.

“I don’t think you heard me, it’s not nice to refuse a free drink.” He says lowly within the small space between us. “We could just play a round of pool and have a good time.”

The walls begin to cave in on me and air is vacating my lungs. I’m paralyzed, panicking and my heart is racing so fast I fear it may tear through my ribcage.

From the moment he was just near me I knew, I just knew.

I always know.

“I’m just not interested, I’m sorry.” The words slip from me quickly and I brace for verbal impact.

He bridges the little gap that’s left between us and sets each drink at each side of my hips, caging me in with my arms wrapped around my body and my phone still recording. “You think you’re better off with that toothpick of a date you have?” He hisses.

Right on cue Noah returns, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

I must’ve really been working off survival muscle memory because I had completely forgotten Noah was with me until just now.

The mystery man pulls back from me with the biggest bullshit smile on his harsh face. “Oh, I was just offerin’ your friend here a drink.” He raises the drink to him.

I chuckle nervously and wave him away, “It’s alright Noah, it’s fine, he was just being nice.” I scratch my arm anxiously. I want the interaction to be over and I’m not expecting Noah to defend me, he barely likes me as a person.

“No Vallie, I saw him.” He sets down his beer and points a finger at him. “You were being fucking creepy.” His drunken voice is rising, and I’m scared that it’s only going to make the situation worse.

The man chuckles at Noah like he’s a puppy barking at mountain lion. “What is this your girlfriend or something?” He asks as though that it’s something he hadn’t already suspected.

Noah briefly glances at me then back at him, “Yes, as a matter a fact she is.” He states assertively but his poker face isn’t that good. I’m surprised that he’s even gone this far to defend me but I’m appreciative.

He laughs even harder, “Oh you really expect me to think a girly twig like you can pull a girl like her?”

Noah doesn’t skip a beat, “You think a meathead asshole like you could pull a woman like her?”

While Noah is scrawny compared to this traditionally “macho man”, I think that was the manliest thing I’ve ever seen a man do for me.

However, it is painfully clear how drunk Noah is by the way he chooses to get in this huge man’s face.

“You’d better fucking watch it, Toothpick.” He growls in his face, then breaks eye contact with Noah to look over at me. “This pathetic joke of a man is your boyfriend?”

Noah doesn’t waver, doesn’t back down with tight fists at his sides but I can’t take it anymore. I may not get along with him, but he doesn’t deserve to be insulted like this on my behalf.

“Yes.” I say confidently with a straightened back, even though it couldn’t be farther from the truth. “Yes, actually, he is. And I’ll prove it.”

I instantly realize that I have no idea how exactly to prove it. So, I go with the first thing I think of within a split second.

I give Noah a brief look that says play along – though, I’m not sure he had enough time to understand the message because when I stand on my tippy toes, take his face in my hands, and land my lips into his, he freezes.

It feels like time freezes too as my eyes flutter closed and I melt into the kiss. Drunk in this shady bar, in this shitty scary situation, right now, it feels like it’s just me and Noah. In this moment, with our lips locked, the bar is quiet, everything is calm, and it feels really fucking good to win at pool. I can’t tell if the swirling in my tummy is from the panic or from something else entirely.

When I finally pull from him, my brows can’t help but furrow together in confusion. He looks back at me with a similar expression – though it’s hard to really decipher any real reactions in his glazed over eyes.

What the fuck was that?

The asshole is visibly over the charade. “What the fuck ever. Maybe next time you shouldn’t let your slut of a girlfriend leave the house looking like a whore.”

Before I even have time to process what he just said, Noah’s fist swings and crashes into Mystery Man’s face.

“Oh my god.” I gasp and bring a hand over to cover my mouth in shock.

It takes a second for the muscular man to react, his hand immediately going to his now bleeding nose. He doesn’t fully realize his condition until he holds out his fingers covered in blood.

His mean eyes then land on Noah like he’s a bullseye target. “You little fucking shit.” The man charges at him and in the blink of an eye, he’s on top of Noah on the ground just pummeling into his face.

“Noah!” I run over to him, not really knowing exactly what I could do.

Luckily, we’d already garnered the attention of the whole bar, so other similar sized patrons were able to pull the man off Noah before he had time to do worse damage. They drag him to the opposite corner of the bar and they fade into the background with my focus now being on Noah.

“Fuck Noah.” I mutter as I land on my knees near his head. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I stammer frantically looking around at what I could use to help him. The workers near us must’ve read my mind because they brought over a huge stack of napkins. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

He says nothing and flutters his glossy eyes closed when I start to clean him up. He winces when I dab the blood gushing from his nose. “I’m sorry.” I repeat breathlessly, trying my hardest to keep a panic attack away. He flinches a bit when I try to gently wipe his busted lip. “Sorry.” I repeat again, because what else am I supposed to say to someone who just got beaten up because of me. I don’t dare go near his already swollen eye until I get access to some ice… or maybe some frozen peas.

“Should I call Nicholas? Or Jolly?” I ask meekly, folding the napkin within my hands.

Noah groans. “Nicholas.” He brings his hand to his forehead. “Don’t call Jolly. He’ll kill us.”

Us

There’s something about that word in that statement. I can’t explain it, but it seems so much bigger than just Noah and I.

Before he finishes his statement, I’ve already texted Nicholas. I’m surprised at how quickly he responded and even more surprised when he says that he’s not even 5 minutes away.

“Nicholas is here? He said he’s visiting a friend at a tattoo shop in this strip.”

“How convenient.” He grumbles sarcastically and uses his hand to cover his eyes.

When I return my gaze to him, I notice his bloody and bruising knuckles. “Oh my god your hand!” I gasp and take his hand in mine. I urgently steal the condensation off a nearby beer glass to wet a clean napkin and use it to delicately clean each knuckle. An overwhelming sense of guilt fills my chest, and another even worse feeling wraps itself around my throat with thorns. My heartbeat begins thumping so hard I can hear it in my ears and I’m trying my hardest to steady my now trembling hands.

He peeks an eye at me while keeping the other scrunched closed. “Are you okay?” His voice is soft with an inflection reminiscent of concern.

My eyes begin to burn the minute he acknowledges my panic and only makes everything worse. I focus intently on where the napkin is meeting his skin. “Mhm.” I know the moment I open my mouth to speak any semblance of emotional control would disappear. I discreetly attempt to stabilize my breathing so that it might tether me back to earth.

“Hey,” His brows knit together and lifts himself up onto his elbows. I never let go of his hand. His other hand finds my chin and gently redirects my gaze to him. “What’s wrong?”

My eyes fill with tears but immediately screw shut in a last-ditch effort to keep my composure. I rarely cry and even more seldom do I cry in front of others. And here am I, about to cry in front of the person I least want to.

The lump in my throat is painful and I try to swallow it down in an attempt to keep my tears at bay. “I’m fine, just let me keep cleaning you up.” My cracking voice gives away just how close I am to unraveling. A tear escapes me and I’m quick to wipe it off with the back of my hand.

He sternly but gently grasps my wrist to stop me from continuing. “I’m not letting you keep going until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know… a panic attack maybe?” A couple more tears escape, and I swiftly wipe them away. “You don’t deserve this, this is all my fault.” My eyes fall back down to his bloody hand in my own. “You look like this, because of me.”

He sits up more, analyzing. I can feel him dissecting me – even though we’re both drunk, it feels like he can see right through me. “I think it’s more than that Val. What’s up?”

That’s the first time I’ve heard my name come out of his mouth without some sort of insult attached to it. It sounds nice. I wouldn’t mind hearing it that way again.

My breathing is slowing down marginally, and I choose to ignore that his touch might have something to do with it. Surely it couldn’t have anything to do with it, right?

I take a deep inhale in preparation to speak without crying. I hold his bruised hand carefully with both of mine. I keep my attention on my thumb that is grazing across the black ink on his fingers. “Um.” I press my lips together and take another breath through my nose. He gives me my time, doesn’t rush or interrupt. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I hear my own voice crack and it feels like I’m somehow betraying myself by crying. “But, it’s not the first time something like…that has happened.” I blink some tears from my eyes and still focus on his hand. My voice is small and quiet, not the way I ever like to hear it. “It’s not even the second or third. And they’ve all been so much worse.” I let out a sad, sobby chuckle. “Which is why me crying about this is so fucking stupid because this was nothing. Worse things happen to people all the time and this was just some guy being a creep and–“

“Hey,” He rests his free hand on top of my own that were fidgeting more than I’d realized. “It wasn’t nothing. It was something. Something worth getting in a fight for. Okay?”

“It just shouldn’t be this upset over something so small.” My voice is not even a whisper. “It’s my fault.”

Weak

Is the only thing that is repeating in my head over and over.

I could’ve gotten myself out of the situation sooner.

I shouldn’t have frozen up.

I should’ve just taken the drink.

It didn’t have to escalate to that point.

I could’ve handled it on my own.

I shouldn’t be crying.

I was weak.

I am weak.

Weak.

Weak.

Weak.

He sits up and takes my chin into his fingers, titling my face up to meet his. The growing swelling all over his face only makes me feel worse. “You’re not stupid and it’s not your fault.” I know he’s trying to keep it together for me, but I can tell he’s struggling to form and deliver coherent sentences. “I don’t need to know any of the other instances to know that you were never stupid or that anything was your fault. Okay?”

I nod but it’s not enough for him. “I need to hear it.” The look in his chocolate eyes is one I haven’t seen in him before. Even behind his drunken daze and black eye, his eyes are genuine, kind, and concerned. A warmth blooms in my chest – it reminds me of when you’re running from the rain, and you rush into the safety of your car. That feeling of reaching a warm, safe place, that’s what I feel.

“Okay.” I reply quietly. “Thank you.”

While Noah is mere inches away from my face with his hand on my cheek, I hear a familiar voice. “What the fuck.” States an already irritated Nicholas.

Our eyes snap up at him and Noah instantly pulls away as if he has something to hide. Nicholas’ eyes shift between us, seemingly trying to decide which to address first.

“What the fuck did you do Noah.” His tone is immediately defensive.

Noah sloppily falls back onto the floor. His eyes go back to focusing on the ceiling. With Nicholas here, he looks unimpressed, maybe aggravated – definitely aggravated. For the person he told me to call, he seems quite unhappy that he’s here.

“No, no, it’s my fault.” I stop him before he continues to blame Noah. “He was protecting me.” I lower my voice into a whisper for the second half, “He helped me.”

“Bull fucking shit.” He sighs then the crouches down to inspect Noah further. He carefully pushes some bloody hairs away from his face, Nicholas’ touch on him is gentler than even mine. He gets a clear view of Noah’s face, it’s adorned with a black eye, a bruised nose covered in dried blood and a gashed open bottom lip.

“Do you think he’ll have to get that stitched up?” I bring up my thumb and chew on a freshly manicured nail.

He tugs at the injured boy’s lip looking at it closer, “No he’s fucking fine.”

While Nicholas is visibly angry, he seems oddly calm, at least calmer that I expected. I suppose it makes sense though, I’m sure this isn’t his first rodeo with a drunken Noah in a bar fight.

He lets go of his lip letting it harshly snap back into place earning a whine from Noah. “Hey!”

Nicholas stands up straight and offers me a hand to get myself up. Once I’m up in front of him, he gives me a once over, probably questioning my outfit of a lace corset and a skirt. “What were you guys doing here?” He questions angrily and closes a bit of the space between us.

“It’s a long story.” Between the alcohol, the fight, and my fading panic attack, I don’t have the energy to go through it all. He goes to argue with me, and I shut him down, mirroring his low grumbly voice. “I’ll explain later.”

His thick brows fall straight, evidently not liking my answer. He takes a moment, as if he’s trying to decide on the next thing to say without pissing me off. “He could’ve gotten you hurt. He could’ve hurt you.”

I scrunch my brows up at him. Sure, I’ve seen Noah storm out of numerous doors, and I saw him get a little abrasive with Bryan earlier, but would he actually hurt someone? Would he have hurt me?

“He didn’t, Nicholas.” I place my hand softly on his chest in an effort to calm him down. “Believe it or not… he saved me.” The sentence surprises even me as I say it.

Skepticism plasters itself across his face. “Saved you from what exactly?”

My eyes flutter to the ground and the same panicky feeling from before spins behind my ribcage. “It doesn’t matter.” I wave away the technicalities. “Point is, he didn’t do anything wrong. You should let up on him.”

He gives me a you’ve-gotta-be-shitting-me look.

The man from before – which I learned from the guys that pulled him away earlier, that his name was Mike – is being escorted out of the bar by two men who look like security guards.

“Oh, so you didn’t just need one scrawny bitch you needed two?” He practically spits at me while wiggling beneath the guard’s grip.

“Excuse me?” Nicholas snaps immediately turning to narrow his eyes at the man.

He laughs, “This one’s even more pathetic.”

I’m not sure why that, out of everything, fills me with the most rage of all. Anger spreads through me like electricity and every cell in my body propels me towards him.

An arm hooks around my waist and recoils me backwards before my fists can reach his body. Even though Nicholas is shorter than Noah, he still towers over me, and I must look tiny in his arms.

Mike mocks me while the guards try to urge him towards the door.

“Shut the fuck up! Don’t fucking talk about them like that!” I struggle trying to escape from Nick’s surprisingly strong arms.

“Hey, hey calm down,” Nicholas hushes me with a little chuckle. “I got you.” His hand gives my side a reassuring little squeeze. “It’s okay.”

Once Mike is completely out of the bar a heavy weight is lifted from my chest and I can finally breathe again. Whether on purpose or by chance, Nicholas’ arm is still wrapped around me, but I don’t mind it. His warmth is comfortable against the frigid air of the bar. It feels nice, like a shelter.

Only then does it occur to me that any sort of panic or fear I was feeling before was soothed by him. In his arms I feel safe, and it reminds me of the way I felt with Noah earlier.

“C’mon asshole,” Nicholas snaps at Noah who’s looking half dead, still laying on the ground.

Noah covers his mouth and squeezes his eyes closed, “I’m gonna need a fucking trashcan.”

“Enough with the dramatics.” Nicholas rolls his eyes, and I can practically feel the impatience and aggravation radiating from his body. “Get the fuck up so I can get us home.”

There is that word again: us.

Us.

It’s a just small detail of wording but for whatever reason, I cling onto it like it means something.

Maybe my time with them won’t be as fleeting as I thought it would be.

next chapter -> 09 - Lavender Haze

tag list; @ladyveronikawrites @kingdomof-omens @persuasivus @strawberryruffilo [comment if you'd like to be tagged?]

A/N: The love for this story has honestly been so overwhelming (in a good way obv) and I couldn't be more grateful. I really thought this would flop lol so, thank you so much for every like, reblog, ask, or comment. It means the world to me truly. Thank you.

i love hearing your thoughts so feel free to share! (i'm really bad at responding to asks but i still love them 😅 i'm so sorry)

ALSO! Thank you so much for the love on my new series, Intertwined 💗 New chapter coming soon! 💗

[delopsia]

tell us about your new rare pair pls 👁️👁️ also how are you??? I’ve been away a lot lately (life ya know 🙄) but things are finally getting less busy!

I'm glad things are calming down for you! ^w^ I was heavily debating on whether or not I'd share them because I don't have any plans to write a proper fic for it, but 👁️👁️you have me convinced to share.

It's Miles x Reader x Harrison 💐

They've been in my head for days now 💕 it doesn't make any sense at first glance, but they balance each other out in a weird sort of way. The introvert and the extrovert, Harrison brings Miles out of his shell, but he isn't pushy about it.

Your first meeting is...less than graceful. The booking system failed at the hotel you were staying at, and double booked several rooms, including your room. By the time you'd stumbled through the front doors, half awake and achy from sitting still for so long, every single room in the hotel was occupied.

"That's okay, I'll..." Your eyes dart to the corner of the room, away from the doe-eyed man behind the counter. "I'll find another place to stay."

"Good luck with that," the unnamed man sitting in a lounge chair waves his phone in the air, "the whole city is booked. Something 'bout a football game."

You sit on a white couch for over an hour, scrolling through sold-out hotels, before the receptionist finds it in him to speak up, meekly offering a temporary solution.

It takes even longer for you to learn that his name is Miles.

There was a room in the back corner of the building that was closed due to a non-functional air conditioning unit and a shredded carpet, courtesy of a guest Miles didn't seem too eager to talk about. What he did explain was how he had been living out of the room for a few weeks now and that he'd be more than content to share it until more rooms opened up.

Not ideal, but there were two beds, Harrison seemed harmless enough, and Miles was small enough to fit onto the frail couch. Between this and sleeping in the back of a tiny rental car, you didn't have much of a choice.

Nobody really spoke until after Harrison rounded the corner and accidentally nailed Miles with a surfboard, hadn't seen him standing there until it was too late. Something about the rush to make sure he was okay got you three to start talking. Migrating from if Miles felt okay, to where the surfboard came from, to everything under the sun.

You got your rooms two nights later, but it hardly mattered. You were in Harrison's room; he and Miles were in yours. There was always something to talk about, and right when you thought it got too quiet, someone's mouth would open with another thing.

Your schedules were booked, but you had a cancellation on the same day that Miles had the day off, and Harrison was just so good at convincing you two to visit the beach with him.

Nobody could stray too far from shore because Miles couldn't swim to save his life, but it was a fun way to spend the afternoon. Harrison and his gently worded guidance, sitting you two up on the boards and doing exactly what he promised to. Miles found a way to make up for his shortcomings by challenging you two to finding the biggest seashell, and right when you thought the fun was over, Miles had another idea.

Harrison's hair was still damp when he hit the ice that first time, falling on his ass and nearly taking Miles with him in the process. But where Harrison dominates in the water, Miles does on ice. You'd thought he was joking when he said he played hockey in high school, but there's an underlying competitiveness glinting in his eyes that suggests he was entirely serious.

Even when your trips come to an end, and you're forced to go on your separate ways, it's hard to lose contact with them. They both live a few hours away from you, even further from each other, but it makes you and your home a nice middle ground. The place where they come to spend the occasional weekend with you, where almost all of your early memories together are located.

Miles is, strangely, the one who pushes the relationship from just friends to something exclusive, very nearly combusting from the effort to keep his feelings to himself. He's bold in the most unlikely of spaces, and Harrison does nothing but intensify that.

It's what you've taken to calling the Harrison effect. He just kind of...does that, whether it be intentionally or unintentionally, nudging you out of your shells in a gentle sort of fashion. Never pushy or demanding. Doesn't fault you if you choose to remain closed up.

He's so sweet with you two. Speaks for Miles when he's too shy to do it himself, takes over when you and Miles start bickering about who has to talk to the delivery guy. He teaches you how to rely on someone, teaches Miles to swim, and makes the best damn mixtapes for every little occasion. Birthdays, date nights, anniversaries, milestones, just because.

Miles is something a little more subtle. He's not good with his words, but he's fiercely protective in a way that makes Harrison look like a big teddy bear. He can make a day of cleaning feel like a date night. Always seems to find a way to make you enjoy yourself, even if that's when you're stuck in rush-hour traffic on your way to Harrisons. And if that doesn't work, there are very few things that kisses and snuggles can't soothe or fix altogether.

They're such an odd little pairing, two pieces of the puzzle who, when paired with you, fit together without flaw. Or maybe that's just me 🤷‍♀️

[greenninjagal-blog]

Smoke and Mirrors

Hi :D Who's ready for this monster? Welcome to my Big Bang for this year! Special thank you to @tss_storytime for putting this together and giving me the opportunity and @dragonsarecats for being my amazing fantastic artist partner who created this cover art!

Summary: Roman and Remus don't have and never have had reflections. Logan has been betrayed by someone, but he’s not sure who. Patton's been dead for sixteen years and counting.

Somehow, all of these things are related.

Words: 3637

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Master List

“I’m just saying—” Remus says, almost sounding excited at this new revelation of his, “—the next step would definitely be an apartment building! Think about it, Roman!”

“I am thinking about it,” Roman says, tiredly. “I don’t want to be thinking about it, but I am.”

“So many people live there, you know? There’s, what, sixty units in your building, right? At least twenty of them have got to be families with little brats, then old people with their pets, other college students with friends over. On a Friday like today there’s got to be, like, over two hundred people. And then you have the narrow staircases, which Grandma and Grandpop can’t get down in a timely manner, and I bet with all the mold in the walls—”

“Remus,” Roman says, tilting his phone so that the microphone clearly picks up on how incredibly not-amused he is with the conversation.

“...the elevator is basically already on its last legs. Remember how it shook when I jumped in it last time?”

Roman remembers it really well actually, probably better than Remus, since Roman actually has a healthy dose of self preservation. Remus had just been finishing laughing his nasally, crackling chortle when the elevator doors opened again finally on Roman’s floor, and the sight of the bruising on Roman’s face when he saw him again was enough to set him off periodically throughout the rest of his three hour stay. 

Still, Roman knows that Remus has a point. Not that he’s going to admit it before he’s actually in a casket, because Remus would never let him live it down.

Roman side steps out of the way of a cyclist who seems to think the whole sidewalk belongs to them, and readjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder that is currently cutting off the circulation to his fingertips. The city isn’t entirely busy, nor the weather too terrible, but Roman is regretting choosing to do the hike back to his apartment building. His knockoff vans are hella cute today, but they were not made for long distance walking, and there’s a rock in his left one that he hasn’t managed to get out no matter how many times he’s stopped to take it off and shake.

“I’m just saying,” Remus repeats, “If I were—” 

“I hate to be the voice of reason here,” Roman says, “but you are not a serial arsonist, Remus!” 

“I could be. You don’t know everything I do in my free time.”

“You don’t have time to be an arsonist. Between all your comic deadlines and the various licenses you have accrued, you don’t spend enough time on this plane of Earth in order to have set fire to anything other than your toaster,” Roman rolls his eyes. “And that’s only when you remember to eat, Rem.” 

Remus blows a raspberry back at him directly into the receiver so that Roman can hear exactly how wet it is and cringe away from it. 

Remus had a talent for getting himself into trouble and trying new things that skirted the edge of legality, but he’d given up fires back when they were tweens. Whoever or whatever was doing it now seemed to be doing it with much more intention: a rental car in a half full parking garage, an abandoned warehouse in the industrial area already set to be demolished, a newly built, still for-sale two-story house in the suburbs (casualty: one, injured six). The most recent event had been two days ago when a department store nearly exploded right as it was closing, killing two employees, three customers, and a firefighter and injuring far more. The fires were slowly getting bigger and gaining more traction, as if gearing up for a grand finale and the news hadn’t been taking it easy.

The police and the FBI were apparently hot-on-the-case and the tip number line was almost engraved into Roman’s retinas from how it was plastered all over the place, begging for Cyra City civilians to stay aware, keep a close eye on things, and report anything that seemed suspicious.

So far no actual details about the whole thing had been made public (on the very valid worry of copycats), but the lack of information had left people far more options to gossip about it. So far Roman’s physical chemistry class was split between it being a handful of rowdy teenagers “rebelling” and it being a serial murderer winding up for an enmasse attack that would go down in history along with the “greats”. Most of the stores had started selling mini fire extinguishers in the checkout lines and Roman’s mom had called last week to see if he had already bought himself one, and Roman wasn’t embarrassed until he answered yes.

But Remus already knows all that, and had texted him a string of mocking emojis until Roman had asked if he should sell it. 

It’s currently sitting in his apartment next to his bed, in easy access if he spontaneously catches fire while sleeping. ((His last hook up had called him prepared, and well… Roman had been eager to show the guy just how prepared he was.))

Luckily, his beloved apartment building is around the corner and he can feel his second wind coming at even the thought of taking his shoes off and collapsing face first into his bed. He starts patting through his pockets for his keys, stalling his walk behind two older women in jogging outfits, and switches his phone to his other hand so he can check through his bag frustratedly. He’s found at least three chapsticks he thought he lost months ago, and his extra hairbrush, and about twenty seven receipts (one of which has the number of the cute barista and he makes a mental note to put that in his phone later). There’s a crumpled flier for some niche religious group that that Roman accepted partially because the guy handing them out looked a bit desperate for interaction, but mostly because they were outside of the boutique Roman likes, blocking the entrance. He tosses that one in the nearby trash can as he walks by.

Roman pins his phone between his cheek and his shoulder, using both hands to sift through his bag. His brain tumbles through the previous conversation trying to remember what they were talking about. 

“Did you eat today?”

“Huh?” Remus says, which is a Remusian for ‘What day is it?’ “Hey, how many people do you think I could murder and get away with?”

“Remus.”

“Probably like fifteen right? At least to start. Once I figured out how to do it. Gasoline and a lighter and I could probably get a full apartment building—”

“Honestly, going from no murder, to a few murders, to about a hundred is an insane jump. Even for you.”

“Well it wouldn’t be a full hundred. At least a few people would get out, right? Unless I barricaded the front doors, or like… chain-and-padlock-ed it closed.”

“The point still stands that— and I can’t believe you���re making me argue this— you didn’t set those fires and you aren’t going to set them in the future!”

Remus makes a disagreeable tone and Roman smiles graciously at the women nearby who probably just overheard that whole conversation and might call the police on him for it later. Lovely. He turns away quickly leaning into his phone.

“In fact, right now I bet I can guess exactly what you are doing!” Roman continues. “Sitting in your drawing chair, with both your computer monitors on. The left one has the sketches for the next page of your comic, half lined, and the right one has the character sheets for Anton and Pryce and the Dragon Witch. Your drawing pad is in front of you, and you’re spinning your pen in your hand aimlessly while we talk, and everything is the same way it was this morning.”

“You forgot the part where there’s a super hot stripper giving me a blowjob right now,” Remus says with the tell-tale clack of him putting down his digital art pen, which is as good as him admitting to it all. Roman pauses just enough to roll his eyes so hard he’s certain that Remus gets the vibe from his own apartment.

“Damnit,” he huffs, checking his pockets again. “Why can’t I find anything today?”

“Are you still looking for that compact mirror?” 

“Keys, now,” Roman says. “But I swear I had that mirror this morning when I left the apartment. I was late because I was cleaning it!”

Or well. Because he was trying to put on makeup via guesswork, but he didn’t need Remus knowing that was the real reason. 

“You know you could have made the jump with the right angle at the windows in your fancy science school, right? No one would even have noticed. All too busy being boring lame losers with no life, just like you.”

“I don’t like traveling without another mirror.”

“Um, hello? Phone screen!”

“I’m not going to leave my phone behin— found it!” 

“The mirror?”

“My keys,” Roman twists his keychain around his hand, and waves at the other college students loitering at the corner before he heads towards the entrance to his apartment building. “Look, Remus—”

“Yeah, yeah, homework, physics, blah blah blah, you’re not getting laid, blah blah—”

“Between the two of us, who walked in on the other in the middle of—”

“Between the two of us who forgot to return my copy of 2005′s Just Like Heaven and made me come get it myself?”

"You didn’t even like it!"

"I don’t like you either," Remus says. "And jeez for someone who looks exactly like me there are some startling fucking differences. Like length—”

“Tony didn’t have a problem with it.”

“I thought his name was Kyle?”

Roman frowns, pulling his key out of the door and catching it with his knee, thinking that night over. “No. He was definitely a Tony. His hair was… you know, Tony hair!”

“The fact that you had to rely on his hair is sad,” Remus states. “You get how that’s sad, right?”

“I’m hanging up—”

“Wait, wait! Just… you’re sure that…you’re not going to, like… burnaliveinafire?”

Roman blinks, and swallows back the ridiculous amount of softness that appeared out of nowhere, and hits like a sucker punch right through his ribcage in a way that is so very Remus.

“I’m not going to burn alive in a fire,” Roman says.

“… promise to jump over the second anything looks sketchy."

"There's, like, nine other apartment buildings and two hotels within walking distance! And like ten others around this district in the city!" Roman says, just short of whining because inside the building there are people who recognize him and he does not need them thinking all he does is whine and complain. At least the air conditioning in the lobby is running, offering relief from the horrible ten minute walk he was forced to endure. He does not get how normal people do this, all the time, every day!

"Fourteen, actually. I looked it up this morning and I don’t need your fancy math degree to know that’s a one in twenty-five chance. That’s a non-zero percentage," Remus counters, with that mocking tone that borders on awe because even after all this time he can’t imagine how Roman had gone from center stage to knee deep in calculus problems, willingly. He’d only made the mistake of asking Roman once, and since then both of them pretend that Roman had always dreamed of solving differentials. 

“It will take hours to find something that’s close to your apartment,” Roman says instead.

“At least you’ll be alive,” Remus says.

“Fine, fine….are you still wearing those dog tags?”

Remus makes an affirmative noise and Roman sighs. They had been polished relics of their childhood: something their parents had insisted that they have at all times for emergencies and that Roman and Remus had complained about endlessly. They hadn’t been allowed phones until they were nearly twelve years old because every argument of “we need it for emergencies” was countered by “you have necklaces that allow you to travel miles in a handful of inches”.

"And don’t use the elevators at all,” Remus adds. “I’m serious about this. They’re deathtraps in a fire. I’ll come over there and hide all your mascara.”

"Yeah, yeah," Roman stifles a yawn. "And if something happens, meet at that ugly gas station at the state border between us, don’t tell anyone where we are going, and don’t accept any rides from strangers."

"Don’t make me sound like Mom."

"Nag me a little less."

"Bitch."

"Dick."

"Dork."

"Geek."

"Loser."

"Dumbass," Roman says, far more affectionately than he meant it to come out as, and so he clears his throat quickly and he heads towards the elevator. “I’m hanging up now. Remember to eat something and I’ll see you in two days.”

“Two days? What’s.... ah, fuck me,” Remus says. There’s a loud creak of leather and Roman imagines Remus throwing all his weight back in his chair and staring at the ceiling as if he’s personally challenging fate itself. He breathes out heavily in a way that ironically mirrors how Roman’s own bones feel at the realization.

“Another year,” he says.

((He does not ask if Roman ever thinks it will get easier to bear. Roman does not answer him that no it probably won’t ever. It doesn’t make either of them feel better.))

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Roman says, forcibly shoving away the deary aura that descended on them as easily as he could. If he takes a breath and swallows away the lump in his throat he could pretend that they were talking about visiting each other for a birthday celebration.

He might not ever get to be an actor, but he’d always had a passion for acting. Is it any wonder? When he’s playing a part, he can shed the skin of a no-named nobody from somewhere so remote no one thinks it's a real place, and he can be someone with a name standing on center stage.

Roman breathes out so heavily that he almost misses Remus’s quick response.

“I already attempted to swan dive off the roof into a spoon today,” his twin says, flippantly. “Bruised my eye and split my lip and probably broke my collar bone.”

“Wait, what—” 

“Later, Prince Charmless.”

“Remus, you did what?!”

But by then he’s talking to the end call screen on his phone, staring into the picture of the flaming dumpster that he used as a profile picture for his idiot brother, with his heart racing. Logically, he knows that Remus is joking.

Probably.

Uh, maybe? 

Roman suddenly remembers a lot of leaping off the backyard shed until Dad came out screaming at them red in the face with worry, followed by tag games that ended with a leap through a window wrong and three hours worth of sitting still to get the glass shards pulled out of his arms, and then racing through the upstairs hall to jump the stair railing into the strategically placed hand mirror to make it to school on time.

In all honesty, Roman bets that Remus did try it, as part of a morning routine that their parents hadn’t been able to beg out of him. One would think the first time the jagged edges of a break had shredded his skin, Remus would have learned to be more careful, but somehow it seemed that Remus had fallen in love with webbed cracks in his mirror.

Roman sighs, placing his phone into his pocket. And then he presses the elevator button and leans against the wall next to the panel to take off his shoe and look for that stupid rock again. 

His keys jangle in his other hand, annoyingly loud in the otherwise still entrance alcove. It’s times like these that he can appreciate that most of his neighbors dislike the other people in the building and therefore make extra effort to not be caught outside.

The only person Roman really ever has to worry about is the guy on the third floor who he thinks might be a weed dealer and is constantly hinting at giving Roman a first time discount. Great guy, really! He just always manages to catch Roman right next to a reflective surface. It’s pure coincidence that he hasn’t noticed yet.

The elevator dings and the doors roll open with a gentle rumble that does not betray any of the unreliability of its innerworkings. Every other week it’s out of order and Roman’s pretty sure at least 80% of the building has complained to the owners about it, but the solutions never last more than another few days.

Roman doesn’t even usually take the elevator! But the walk was long, and he lives on the top floor, and serial arsonists aren’t going to set fire to his apartment building in the two minutes it will take to get to his floor. 

It’s fine.

Roman slides on his shoe and hobbles into the elevator, breathing in the musty stench that smells like it’s coming from the corpses that might be buried under the building. Part of Roman entertains the idea that ghosts haunt only the elevator, sadly floating around and gaining their small enjoyments from watching people get stuck in between floors when it inevitably breaks.

Roman hasn’t done anything to annoy the spirits recently, at least to his knowledge, so he should be okay. 

He leans back against the railing just in case though.

It takes another long moment for the elevators to start closing again; definitely long enough that Roman gets the impression that he shouldn’t have gotten on at all. The longer it stays open the more likely it is for someone else to suddenly show up and want to get on as well. There are only about three things Roman can think of that are worse than being in an enclosed space, with a stranger, while his compact mirror is MIA. 

Last time something like that happened, the other person got agitated enough that Roman had seriously thought they were going to attack him. Roman knows he’s unsettling to be around; it’s not simple to catch what is off about him at first, but most human brains can pick up that something is distinctly wrong. Knowing something’s wrong with a situation, but not being sure what and being trapped in a small compartment without a sure way to defend yourself? Yeah that’s a recipe for disaster. 

Across the alcove, the door to the stairwell opens just in time for Roman’s heart to leap right into his throat: his brain screaming that oh hey! People to join you inside your small box that Remus just told you not to get into! Even when it wouldn’t make any sense to go down the stairs just to take the elevator back up.

There’s three of them, all dressed in the very uniform pest control jumpsuits that make Roman’s insides shrivel slightly. He’d been meticulous about keeping his apartment clean and if he saw a single cockroach, Roman would be turning into the next arsonist, no other incitations required.

They’re all carrying various equipment items: a thick duffle back with the pest control logo (an ant ironically burning under a magnifying glass), a bulky backpack that nearly doesn’t fit through the doorway, and a thick leather briefcase that seems out of place. The first guy is saying something in a language Roman doesn’t recognize, with a smile on his face that is very charming, despite him being at least a decade older than Roman, as he holds the door open for the others. The second rolls her eyes, tugging the brim of her hat lower over her head.

The third has a scar from running from the middle of his left cheek all the way down his face to his neck in a way that barely seems more than a few months healed. When he makes direct eye contact with Roman, the man’s thin lips twisting into a grin, like he knows how fast Roman��s heart is beating at the sight of him. He waves and Roman catches sight of a cheap industrial bike lock in his other hand.

Please please please, don’t suddenly realize that needs to go back upstairs, please don’t get in here, pleasedonotcomecloser—

But in the end the doors close fitfully, locking out that man and his smile and his friends, and Roman sags against the railing. He presses a hand to his chest trying to regulate his panicked heartbeast back to something manageable and sustainable. 

Say what you will about Remus, but he knows best how to make Roman paranoid for the rest of the day.

The gears shudder, and the mechanical whirl of the elevator fills the whole area as it begins its ascent. Roman pulls out his phone again, swiping through the notifications that he accrued during the walk. A few responses to his Snap Chats streaks, three emails (two junk and one from a classmate asking about studying together for the test, which would be great, if Roman hadn’t already turned her down twice), a reminder to play one of his mindless phone games, and something must have happened in the group chat he has on instagram with a few other Math majors. Roman double taps the notification and swipes in his passcode (it’s an R, it’s always been an R. Remus has been able to hack into his phone since they were eleven, but Roman is horribly, secretly afraid that if he changes it now, he’ll forget it by tomorrow). 

The elevator shudders. 

And somewhere, distantly, Roman thinks he smells smoke.

[Next Chapter? Find it on Ao3 now!]