#i would rather see a messy pen scribble on the back of a coffee stained napkin with stickfigures than see some smooth smudgy AI BS again

[solarpunkani]

Psst, hey.

Hey you.

Come closer.

Listen to what I'm about to say good and well, alright?

[ashbub]

overdrive ✦

south park: racing au! racer!craig × barista!tweek au & artwork by: @shiroirotasu

contents: cursing, established relationship, mentions of smoking [9.k]

IN WHICH: hearts are won on the racetracks & bets are made.

" when i win, you get the hell out of south park, fatass."

"when you win? didn't take you as a comedian, craig. "

"You can even stay there permanently, if you want- Don't lose this opportunity."

Tucked behind the worn wooden counter of the quaint coffee shop, Tweek had paused in his tracks. His nimble fingers tightly gripped the thick fabric of his coffee-stained apron at the memory, the sharp words freshly ringing through his pale ears.

His teeth had been nervously chewing the edge of his pen, and the random scribbles of orders that he had taken throughout his shift were messily scrawled across the smooth paper of his notepad.

It was supposed to be a moment between him and Craig. Just them, Tweek had been rehearsing for days- no weeks in the bedroom mirror of his apartment- fixing his wrinkled-up olive shirt, adjusting his crooked smile, taking extra late-night shifts at the coffee shop to save up extra cash on the side before finally asking Craig.

"Come on, Red Racer, we have a lot to talk about." Tweek could still practically see Eric's seething smile tugging the ends of his curled lips when presenting the news to Craig about traveling to Washington, his pudgy fingers lightly pushing up the wiry glasses that had been resting on the edge of his reddened nose. A far too friendly arm had been tossed over Craig's shoulder, which he had immediately swatted away.

Of course, it was Eric fucking Cartman of all people who had to ruin it.

Craig adored racing. For good reason too, he was gifted at the sport. He had started with illegal street racing by borrowing the Marsh's busted-up 1987 Harley before eventually climbing his way up to professional racing. For what little the town of South Park offered in exposure and resources, it was only a matter of time before others would take notice of that untapped potential from the uprising talent- Ones that could offer far better opportunities for Craig outside of the snowy mountains of Colorado. Tweek knew that fact all too well.

"Shit, man-" His lanky fingers lazily raked through his messy blonde curls at his hushed curse, pushing back his golden locks away from his crinkled-up eyes, ignoring the small red box sitting warmly in the back pocket of his jeans. "What am I doing?"

The engagement band Tweek had bought was rather simple looking, smooth, and polished, reflecting the soft warmth that surrounded the golden ring. He had spotted it behind the glass display case in South Park Mall, tilting his head to examine the ring under the flickering fluorescent lights- it had taken numerous extra shifts at the coffee shop to finally have enough for it, but he had managed to eventually scrape together enough cash to buy it.

Now? It would probably be tucked away in the bottom of his bedroom drawer with the crumpled-up receipt from the mall.

The last thing Tweek wanted to do was put a pause on Craig's career when it was finally starting to take off for him. Something Craig has wanted from the very beginning of their relationship. Tweek wanted to wholeheartedly support his partner, his best friend. To propose now? It felt shitty.

"Tweek?"

As the jingling bell above the coffee shop's door announced the arrival of a new customer, the gentle rush of warm pastries filled the air and greeted them like an old friend. The newcomer, a young woman in her early twenties, stepped inside, her expecting bright blue eyes scanning the softly buzzing shop.

Her entrance was marked by the soft tap of her sneakers against the polished wooden floor, a rhythm that resonated with the relaxed atmosphere of the coffee shop. She wore a cherry red top with ripped brown shorts, and a few colorful bangles decorating her fair, freckled arms. She casually pushed a few loose strands of sandy blonde hair behind her ear and glanced around, her long, wispy lashes fluttering, taking in the cozy scene before her.

Finally peering at the messy counter, the young woman smiled at the distracted barista, tugging cheerfully at the apron with a glossy smile glimmering under the warm lights of the cafe- "I got your text!" She hummed, her hoop earrings swaying lightly, she lifted her phone screen casually with the exchanged text bubbles between them, her eyebrows slightly perked upwards, "Several of them, actually, is Kyle still here?"

"Bebe!" A warm smile tugged at the ends of Tweek's curled lips, his soft blue eyes finally noticing the bumbling blonde that had slipped into the store. "No-" He added, drying some of the glasses that he had just washed, "He left a while ago."

Bebe Stevens was Craig's current manager- At the beginning of their initial relationship, Tweek had admittedly avoided interacting much with the bustling blonde. The girl was intimidating at first glance, her perfectly manicured fingers, always neatly touched up glossy lips, and sleek limousine that was most likely worth triple in comparison to the barista's childhood home in lower South Park- Tweek had been terrified of making himself appear a fool in front of his boyfriend's boss.

However, they had surprisingly become closer over time. Perhaps that's what having boyfriends who just so happen to be best friends gets you- Bebe had been stopping by weekly for coffee during Tweek's shifts, exchanging numbers & even hanging out occasionally at the local mall in South Park to catch up at the food court. The young manager had even swore up and down that she secretly adored Tweek- and would pick him over Craig any day of the week, making Tweek chuckle.

"I just-" Reaching carefully for a baby pink ceramic mug underneath the counter, Tweek began preparing Bebe's usual order: a brown sugar espresso with sweet cream foam. His stiffened expression carefully focused on the soft whirring of the espresso machine. "I needed to talk to you."

His light blue eyes remained trained on a pink mug, "Today- I-" The soft hiss of steam wands prepared the sweetened foam bubbles, his bottom lip softly trapped between his teeth.

"You?"

Finally, the machine stopped humming, Tweek quietly wrapping his fingertips around the handle to pour the sweetened milk into the warm cup. "I wanted to propose to Craig."

Bebe's bright eyes shot open, nearly dropping the handful of off-brand sugar packets she had been tentatively playing with on the counter. "Holy shit." Her hands warmly reached for Tweek's in comfort, her colorful bangles softly brushing against his skin. "And you didn't because?"

"Cartman."

Her perfectly plucked eyebrows stitched together, and her voice nearly dropped to a whisper at the name, seething out a curse through her pursed lips. "Oh, that fucking son of a bitch." Bebe's fingers curled, her freshly done manicure sinking into the skin of her pink palms. "What did that overgrown tumor do now, hm?"

"He wants Craig to go to Washington-" Tweek quietly slid the coffee mug towards the fuming blonde, his unoccupied hand lightly running up the back of his burning neck. "Potentially permanently."

Her blonde curls quickly bounced over her shoulders, threatening to spill out from the small black ribbon that held some of her thick locks of hair back. "He didn't!" Her shiny lips formed a thin line, "I can't believe Cartman would even dare to try to pull this sorta shit without consulting me-" Pulling out her cell phone from her back pocket, her narrowed eyes focused on the blaring screen in front of her.

Bebe's eyes were a bit different from Tweek's almost stormy gray- Hers was perfectly bright blue. However, at the mention of Eric Cartman, her eyes seemingly darkened into a maddening swirl of violet at the thought of the former manager.

"Wait till Wendy hears about this.'' She hissed out her words, the cute lollipop charm at the end of her phone swaying at each of her frantic texts. "He better be prepared to bend over and take some fucking self-respect up the ass for even trying to take Craig to Washington like this-"

"-What if he's right?"

"Huh?" The curly blonde had glanced up from her phone, slowly blinking carefully with her teeth carefully chewing on the edge of her jutted lips, "Cartman? Right? About anything?-"

"I mean-" Tweek had grabbed a wet rag firmly, cleaning off the counter with a weak laugh pursed on the edge of his curled lips. Tweek knew he was deliberately avoiding eye contact with Bebe, focusing on the circular dragging motion of the rag across the wooden surface instead. "This could be great for Craig- for his career, y'know?"

The café buzzed with the usual sounds of clinking cups, the hiss of the quieting espresso machine, and the soft hum of conversations, but in that corner, Tweek had run patterns across the counter with his fingertips, his voice coming out ragged.

"I am in the way of that." Pausing, he finally released the wet rag he had been clutching tightly in his grasp, his soft smile slightly strained, his voice barely coming above a whisper. "Bebs, this has been all he has ever wanted- ever needed."

Bebe let out a soft laugh, quietly waving her hand before reaching for the small mug placed in front of her, inhaling the warm scent of the fresh brew. "That's so not true." She confessed with a small sip of her sweet coffee, a small crinkle tucked away in her eyes as she tucked a thick blonde curl behind her ear with a small sigh.

"Sure, he loves racing. But ever wanted? Needed? That's you, Tweek."

Tweek remained focused on Bebe, her freckled hand had reached for a spoon to stir some of the additional sugar packets she had dunked in her drink. "If Craig is half as competent as I think he is, he recognizes that you are a fucking catch." She hummed out her words with a faint grin, ripping the sugar packets open with the tips of her crimson-red nails. "There will be plenty of opportunities for him and his career outside of Washington, whether he goes or not- he has a whole life ahead of him."

"Especially with a manager like me-" Her long lashes brushed against her cheeks playfully, "I know he'll be able to pull some sweet gigs." Tweek pulled at some of his sandy curls, the longer tufts of his hair tickling the sides of his face. Some part of him could recognize that Bebe was being honest, her laugh peppered with a small teasing pinch at the sleeves of his rolled-up shirt.

Customers had now begun to seat themselves by the window, savoring their beverages while gazing out at the quaint village square of South Park, the soft rustle of newspapers being turned, and the murmur of hushed conversations filled the air. Bebe finally glanced up from her pink mug, a satisfied sigh of contentment escaping her lips from the last few sips of her drink.

"However, with you- there is only one Tweek." She pulled a few crisp twenties from the crevices of her bubble gum pink wallet, pushing them across the counter with a small smile towards Tweek. "He won't be able to find another one."

Pushing the mug towards him, Bebe Stevens's eyes glimmered mischievously before Tweek could hand her back the cash- Waving a small hand through the air for him to keep the change.

"You guys can figure this out. I know it."

In the world of racing, Craig fucking thrived.

For a while, that's basically what he lived for. The instant that goddamn checkered flag dropped to the floor. The seconds before crossing the finish line, the moment his knuckles would begin tightening on the handles of his motorbike. The soothing feeling of removing his helmet, sweat slowly building across his thick brows- taking a jagged gasp for the sweet air of the racetracks.

Those moments- It felt like breathing.

Craig was sure- no certain- nothing would ever come close to the feeling he got racing.

Then, he met a pretty, blonde barista with soft blue eyes and a beat-up, second-hand bicycle.

"You plan on ordering something?" The barista had asked with a raised eyebrow, the tiny notepad clutched in his hand.

The barista's slender fingers had been deftly crafting latte art on the foam of each carefully brewed cup, the mug in front of him containing bubbling stars for an awaiting customer. Craig had paused for a moment to examine the server, the dash of freckles lingering across the bridge of his nose. His tousled blonde hair briefly caught the warm morning light that fluttered in through the café's windows, nearly looking golden.

Craig had actually come into the shop to pick up some drinks that Wendy had ordered over the phone for everyone after a successful sponsorship deal- A couple of small hot chocolates with marshmallows on the side. Simple- Quick in and out. Now he was stupidly wondering if he had grease splatters across his cheeks from helping Kenny examine his bike in the workshop, dragging a gloved thumb across the warmth of his flushed, olive skin quietly.

"Yeah- Uh, pickup for Craig?"

The blonde barista slightly nodded sleepily, carefully lifting the paper bag to the surface of the wooden counter with a small thud. He had taken a moment to readjust his splattered apron, tugging the pale-yellow strings. Through the name tag clipped on the collar of his shirt, Craig had noted his name was messily scrawled in a smeared penmanship as Tweek.

The pale blue of his eyes reminded Craig of the icy waters of Stark's Pond on a crisp winter morning, framed by his long lashes, their hue set against his warm, rosey-toned skin. "Anything else?" Tweek had leaned his elbow on a smooth counter, peering into the bag to double-check for the marshmallows himself.

"One small apple juice, please."

Tweek had blinked at the request, tilting his head slightly to the side in confusion- "You know there's a convenience store nearby, right?"

"Sure, bet it tastes better here though, no?"

Tweek had chuckled at the comment, reaching under the counter with a small smile toying with the ends of his smooth lips. "These are usually saved for the kid's menu, y'know." The small pressed apple juice gleamed under the café's warm lights as the barista handed it to Craig, their fingertips brushing slightly at the exchange.

"Ah, such a shame, I'm robbing a kid of some apple juice."

The blonde barista shrugged lazily, his wandering fingertips lingering on the back of his neck. "Here though-" Tweek had smiled softly, "Consider it on the house, Craig."

"Ah, Craig Tucker! Being gay as shit as always, I see?"

Dragging the lit cigarette away from his pursed lips, the memory had been interrupted- Craig's green eyes had briefly flickered towards the approaching figure, smoke blissfully escaping from the corners of his mouth.

He was a man of substantial girth, whose ample waistline strained against the buttons of his ill-fitting dress shirts that usually had seeping sweat stains by his armpits. Despite being around the same age as Craig, his already balding pate gleamed under the harsh haze of the streetlights, contrasting starkly with his unkempt, salt-and-pepper beard.

His former manager, Eric Cartman.

Flicking the half-lit cigarette bud to the cracking pavement of the parking lot, Craig half-mindedly crushed it with the tip of his shoe. "Fuck off, Cartman." His mossy green eyes briefly glanced at Cartman before tossing his gloved hands into the warmth of his pockets. "Seconds from a diabetic shock, I see?"

Raising his pudgy hands innocently to his chest, Cartman had raised both of his eyebrows at the sudden comment, his thin glasses threatening to slide down the bridge of his wrinkled nose. "Woah! So hostile all of a sudden, Tucker?" His round, brown eyes faintly crinkled at Craig's comment in almost a bitter amusement. "I just wanted to have a chat."

Cartman had elected for them to privately chat at the South Park Mall parking lot- Rows upon rows of empty parking spaces extended into the distance, each marked by its own numbered slot and the occasional weathered shopping cart left behind.

Eric had casually leaned his back against the smoothness of the streetlight, his complexion was pallid, a stark contrast to the unhealthy flush that crept across his cheeks whenever anger or frustration overtook him. "We are old friends after all, are we not?" Between Cartman's round fingers, a cigarette of his own had smoldered, its ember casting a soft, fiery glow that illuminated his face in soft flashes before signaling his pack of smokes to Craig.

However, Craig could give less of a fuck about Cartman's shitty attempts to reconcile their previous business relationship. His dark eyes had lowered slightly before lazily smacking the packet of cheap cigarettes to the pavement with the back of his hand, watching some of the remaining cigarettes spill across the floor with a strained smile.

"Bullshit- All you did as my manager was screw me over, Eric." He spat out with a sharp laugh toying at the edge of tone, his curled lips forming a thin line in response. "Get to the fucking point, I was in the middle of talking to Tweek. He was gonna say something important till your ass interrupted-"

Cartman's flickering eyes remained focused on the lingering cigarette that had wandered by the tip of his freshly polished shoe, clutching his engraved lighter, a smooth silver before flicking it closed with a practiced motion. "Jesus, Craig-" His foot firmly smothered the untouched cigarettes as his unkempt eyebrows stitched together in a seething chuckle, "I don't need to know your entire life story- you want me to get to the point? I will."

The former manager leaned forward to the racer, his round head tilting to the side with a small smile spread across his narrowed lips, reeking of cologne. "Actually? You will be traveling to Washington." His mocking voice had lowered all too carefully, allowing his jagged words to carry to in the crisp afternoon air with the small tap of his fingertips, a laugh still mingling with his breath. "I tried to be nice and leave it as a suggestion for you, but your indecision is quite frankly pissing me off."

Craig simply leaned back; the thick yarn ends of his chullo hat brushing past his sun-kissed skin. "Will? You think you can force me to go?" His arms crossed over one another casually at the comment, the finely stitched patches of his dark blue jacket remaining close to his relaxed chest. "Even if I did go, it sure as hell wouldn't be under you, Cartman. You don't represent shit for me anymore."

The brunette adjusted the ends of his glasses with the edge of his thumb, his head shaking silently. "You might be right under that technicality, Red Racer." His eyes had a faint glint of satisfaction, his tone drawled out and rather hollow. "However, I was your manager- And now as your host, the contract that you signed indicates you still owe me one more race."

Craig finally made eye contact through his dark lashes, the small yellow folder that Cartman had jammed in between his armpit to hold was clearly meant for this current discussion- In bright red ink, it had his name boldly scribbled across.

"You are so full of shit, Cartman." His lack of infliction in his voice remained steady, chewing the inside of his cheek. Craig had begun to turn towards the handles of his vehicle, the body of the motorcycle gleaming with a rich, candy-apple red paint that appeared to be ablaze in the afternoon light. "Nothing I signed even implied-"

However, the manager smiled bitterly, "Oh!" His eyes remained on Craig, simply clutching the folder between his fingertips with a snarky laugh. "Just check for yourself."

Craig cautiously reached for the folder, his gloved hand beginning to prop the thick stack of papers on his arm. His dark eyes traveled across the printed contract he had previously signed. Everything seemed fine, the terms of their agreement were clearly listed on the page. His breath paused when reaching the final page, an additional signature of his had been marked across the fresh sheet of printer paper.

"You forged my signature, Eric." He had firmly shoved the folder into his former manager's chest, loose papers threatening to spill from the flimsy paper clip holding the contract together. "This was never even a part of the original contract."

With a slow, deliberate gesture, Cartman straightened up and took a step towards Craig, his tailored suit rustling softly at the sudden movement. The cold South Park wind carried a faint whiff of lingering cigarette smoke, "I have connections, Craig, you think I can't sink your career to the ground with one phone call? I can make your ass disappear from the racing world with just the snap of my fingers." The flickering parking lot lights cast an ever-changing shadow on Eric's furrowed face, making it difficult for him to gauge his expression. "I can guarantee you never step foot on another track ever in your fucking life."

The distant hum of city traffic seemed a world away, and an unsettling silence hung heavy in the air. His fingers began tapping on the surface of the spilling contract. The sound echoed through the dimly lit parking lot. "No one will ever wanna work a sponsorship with you again, I will make it hell for you. Even Stevens can't save you from that."

Eric's slithering smile remained steady, simply shrugging his shoulders as if they were two buddies disagreeing over what to eat during their lunch break. "Think about it, Craig- Just a little problem that can easily go away if you just pack your little ass on a one-way ticket to Washington for me." He placed a hand coyly on Craig's upper arm, tapping the edge of his wavering fingers on the smoothly stitched '69' number on his decorated race suit. "I'm the one doing you the favor."

As Cartman finished his sentence, his relaxed demeanor shifted into an uncharacteristically light charm, his voice dripping with honeyed sweetness. "Easy, right? You just gotta pack your stuff up and break things off with your little boy toy-"

With a sudden and forceful motion, Craig's hand shot out and grabbed Cartman's shirt, a fistful of the fabric gathering up in his burning clutches. His Roman-shaped face had stiffened at the comment, he had remained overall unflinching throughout the ordeal, his gloved fingers tightly digging into Eric's collar. His mossy green eyes had gone wild.

"Don't you fucking dare talk about Tweek."

The former manager grinned with a small wince, seemingly unfazed by Craig's sudden aggression at finally hitting a sore spot. "Ah!" His dark brown eyes had gleaned quietly before widening, a jagged laugh mixing in with a light gasp. "There is the Tucker I know," He mused with a stifled chuckle, "I was wondering where you were hiding."

The edges of the parking lot were now fringed with overgrown grass and wildflowers, a small oasis of nature reclaiming its territory. Weeds pushed their way through the cracks in the asphalt, stubbornly asserting their presence, a single bright dandelion brushing through the wind. Oddly enough, it was comforting for Craig.

"I owe you a race, right?" Craig nodded out finally with a small laugh, his arched eyebrows lowering with a small click of his tongue. "Then let's race, tonight."

His smooth breath remained steady, further digging his fingers into the fabric, his jasper eyes normally filled with warmth had carefully narrowed, "Me against any one of your racers- If I win, you leave South Park and never fucking turn back."

"And if my racer wins?"

"I will go to Washington with you, no questions asked."

For Craig, racing was the perfect way to settle this sort of shitty disputes. As soon as the checkered flag dropped, no need for further action outside of the race tracks- It served to ensure a fair race for all those participating- And Craig's crimson Ducati Panigale V4R was always itching to roll on the smoothness of the tracks, to get its engine revved up—with how many times Kenny had rolled up his sleeves to take extra care of it in his shop after races, it was bound to be. It only ever came down to his opponent's ride.

Eric Cartman seemed pleased with the response, his own haggard breath coming out staggered on the small smile posed on his lips, his chocolate brown locks had gotten slightly tousled, "Finally," His laugh was smooth, his round eyes contently catching the faint light of the streetlamp. "Just when I thought you were starting to get a little boring on me, Craig."

Tapping his chunky fingers lightly on Craig's tightening grip, Cartman lifted his chin lazily, "Would you mind releasing me? My ride's here." His eyes flickered to the soft hum of a sudden engine appearing, his previously smooth shirt still wrinkling under a firm grasp.

As it approached the empty parking lot, the rider's silhouette became more defined against the backdrop of the open space and orange afternoon light. He had been wearing a form-fitting black leather suit adorned with racing insignias, the rider leaned low over the bike, their body perfectly aligned with the machine.

He smoothly swung his motorcycle to a halt, the engine soothing to a stop, as the rider effortlessly kicked down the kickstand. A Norton V4 SV, Craig had noted to himself, almost tempted to whistle at the smoothness of the bike. As the motorcyclist walked away from the fading sunlight, long shadows followed him.

The thin jacket he wore was unzipped just enough to reveal a plain white t-shirt that clung to his well-defined chest before carefully removing his sleek black helmet with a small grunt. His jet-black hair was carefully combed back, catching the soft sunlight as thick strands of hair gently grazed his strong jawline, choppily framing the sides of his pale face.

Craig had to admit- He recognized him almost immediately.

Damien Thorne.

He had been a rising star in the racing community for a few years prior. Originating from South Park himself, there had been rumors of him commencing his training to eventually participate in Grand Prix Racing on an international level as one of the youngest participants, although his career had stopped short, with no clear motive indicated despite audience speculation.

His dark eyes carefully flickered, making contact with Craig briefly, his solemn expression remaining stiff.

At one point, he had even been called the Prince of the Tracks.

"Damien, have you met Craig?" Eric had waved a small hand in the air, a light laugh coating his words in amusement. "Actually, I don't give two shits if you have, you'll be getting to know each other plenty on the tracks tonight."

"Hey Tweeky Bird, is this a bad time?"

Tweek pushed the door closed behind him, the gentle click of the lock echoing in the quiet cafe. He couldn't help but glance back one last time, his reflection merging with the deserted interior.

Kenny McCormick had been on the other line of the phone, Tweek carefully propping the cell phone with the edge of his shoulder and juggling his apartment keys with his free hand. Kenny had stayed in their little mountain hometown of South Park, working occasional shifts at City Wok and mainly nights as a mechanic.

Tweek often wondered how Kenny juggled both jobs, but Kenny simply shot his crooked grin- His little sister Karen had just started her junior year of high school, and he would be there to promptly help her out with college with the cash he had saved.

They had become closer friends through Craig's constant accidents with his motorcycle- Bringing Kenny extra pastries from the Tweak's Bros Coffee shop in a small paper bag for him and his sister. Kenny initially had refused profusely, persisting that he didn't enjoy accepting handouts. But Tweek had insisted anyway and had added that the baked goods would have to be thrown out at every end of the shift anyway. Kenny admitted he enjoyed the croissants.

The keys still warm in his hands, Tweek had shoved them in the pockets of his worn-out jeans. "Depends, I'm just closing the shop right now, is everything okay, Kenny?"

On the other end of the line, Kenny was knee-deep in the complexities of an engine repair at his bustling garage. His freckled hands were smeared with splotches of engine oil, his dirty blonde locks smothered by sweat, and headset he had on, juggling with a wrench. "So, hypothetically-" He strained out, nose slightly wrinkled, "If Craig got into some shit- This would be a good time to bring it up? Or-"

Tweek nearly dropped his phone at the sentence, his grip tightening on his cracked phone screen. "What?" His voice had slightly pitched at the mention of his boyfriend, his beat-up sneakers digging into the pavement of the sidewalk outside of the shop. "Is he okay?"

"Physically, sure" He answered with a sense of playfulness in his voice over the phone, his mechanical tools clinking in the background before wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his palm. "But his pride? Shit, that might be a whole different story in a couple of hours." White sparks flew as he skillfully wielded a welding torch, adding flashes of light to the visual tapestry of the busy garage.

"Kenny."

Dressed in a well-worn, grease-stained pair of coveralls, Kenny wiped his free hand across the fabric, boring patches from past repairs, badges of honor earned through months of hands-on work. His sleeves were loosely rolled up before chuckling, "He's fine-" His dark blue eyes remained slightly squinted as Tweek kept his phone pressed closely to his cheek. "He has a bet with Cartman going on about Washington, Craig bet to win this race to avoid going or something."

"What?"

"Jesus, Tweek-" The mechanic whined at the sudden screech on the other end of the phone, "I got my earbuds in right now."

The fluorescent lights of Kenny's workshop overhead illuminated a labyrinth of heavy-duty tools hanging neatly on the walls, casting a warm, industrial glow. The air was thick with the scent of grease and motor oil, mingling with the metallic tang of freshly welded metal. But the mechanic had paused, glancing back at his flickering phone with a singularly raised eyebrow.

"Craig is gonna be racing some ex-champion racer who's tryna be under Cartman." Kenny replied, his weathered hands, scarred from countless encounters with hot engine parts and sharp tools finally clutching his phone, "Craig hasn't mentioned this yet?"

The barista wrapped his blue hoodie tightly around himself, picking off some of the guinea pig hairs that lingered on the smooth material, the warmth a comforting contrast to the cool night. "I haven't even checked my phone yet- I just finished my shift!" He began to tug on the ends of his buttery blonde locks with his fingertips, the aroma of his own coffee shop's brew still clung to his clothing.

"Why would Cartman even go along with this? He gains nothing from it!" Tweek protested, the street was bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, casting long shadows that danced with the gentle swaying of tree branches as his cellphone emitted a faint light on his furrowed expression. "In fact, he most likely loses money going through with a race like this."

"That's where you are wrong-"

"Huh?"

"The chance to bring Craig down a peg- To humiliate him? Worth more to Cartman than any sort of cash." Kenny finally replied, reaching for his busted-up toolbox, a towering- His tool belt, hanging on a hook nearby, was a testament to the day's toil, bearing the residue of dust and dirt from countless bolts he had kicked to the side. "Just the opportunity to drag Craig down at a sport he loves? He gets off on shit like that." The blonde mechanic added over the phone with a small scoff.

"When is this happening? Where?"

"Tonight, exactly at midnight- Over at the South Park Race Tracks."

The sounds of clanging wrenches hand continued, the hum of pneumatic tools, and the occasional revving of engines created a symphony of mechanical sounds. Above it all, the hum and whirr of industrial-grade machinery filled the air. Tweek had pursed his lips together carefully, tilting his phone to examine his cracked screen at the bustle of sudden noises emitting from the other side- "What are you doing?"

Kenny had tightened a few last bolts, wiping down the vehicle's exterior to remove any smudges, and double-checking his checklist to ensure that everything was in order. His speckled face, once etched with concentration, now bore a satisfied grin as he admired his handiwork. "Modding the fuck outta Craig's ride right now." He took a step back, wiping his scarred hands on a clean rag, and nodded quietly in approval. "Otta give Space boy a fighting chance, no?"

The atmosphere was electric. In the thundering grandstands that lined the swerving racing track, a sea of faces awaited eagerly, lit by the flickering glow of neon signs and the mesmerizing dance of headlights on the asphalt. Their collective energy was palpable, a symphony of whispers, cheers, and excited chatter, all underscored by the relentless hum of engines.

The scent of burning rubber and gasoline hung in the night air, blending with the roar of engines- It was the unmistakable aroma of competition and speed, a scent that lingered by Tweek as he worriedly pushed through the bustling crowd of spectators, a few throwing half-assed curses at the nervous barista.

His light blue eyes finally flickered over to a girl standing by the barricades, the tip of her elbows carefully leaning on the smooth metal railing quietly while monitoring the crowd. Her long dark hair pooled neatly over the shoulders of her bright pink sweater; the tip of her button nose slightly reddened by the fresh wisp of chilly wind.

"Wendy!"

Wendy Testaburger had flicked her pearly white scarf, nestled beneath gracefully arched brows, her chestnut brown eyes warmly catching a glimpse of the moonlight before faintly smiling at Tweek.

Wendy was Bebe's current assistant. However, Tweek knew Wendy was the silent mastermind behind most of the sponsorship deals. Her rose-tinted glasses neatly rested on the bridge of her nose, observing Tweek's tousled sandy locks sticking closely to his forehead. "I was just beginning to wonder if you would show up." A subtle and knowing curve of her lips had shone across her face while lightly turning to examine the racing track once more, her rose-tinted glasses shimmering lightly.

His scrunched face had been lightly flushed from frantically riding his bicycle across town, his rosy lips slightly chapped from the crisp air brushing past him. "Where is Craig? I need to talk to him-" His pale, pink fingertips dug further into the warm fabric of the hoodie he had thrown haphazardly over his shoulders before leaving the coffee shop after his shift, feeling slightly raw after tightly clutching the handles of his bike.

The assistant slightly raised her hand, a single finger pointing past the thick metal lining of the barricade. Tweek quickly peered towards where Wendy had been pointing, faintly squinting- The surface of the starting line was pristine, a dark expanse that seemed to stretch infinitely into the distance. It had been meticulously cleaned and inspected, free from debris or imperfections that might hinder the racers.

Tweek had noted the two motorcyclists that had begun to roll their bikes to the checkered line, adorned with the logos of their sponsors and respective numbers. One of the riders had checked and rechecked their gloves, ensuring a secure grip on the handlebars.

One of the racers, however, had been checking the buzzing crowd with their gloved hand, his dark green eyes skipping over the sea of flickering flags while he loosely cradled his helmet with his free hand. The racer's sun-kissed skin complimented the dark blue shade of his racing suit as the handmade chullo hat revealed the tousled strands of black hair that framed his strong, square jawline.

His racer.

His Craig Tucker.

"Craig!" He quickly called out with a smooth smile escaping, quickly finding himself scrambling over the weathered railing while the tips of his worn-out sneakers hit the floor with waving hands outstretched. The racer had finally looked up at his name being called out, watching the stumbling blonde make his way over to him as his own eyes began softening.

Tweek had wrapped his lanky arms around the racer at the moment they made contact, the warmth across his face spreading to the edge of his pointed ears before burying his nose into the side of Craig's neck. Craig had placed one of his gloved hands warmly on the side of Tweek's cheek, his voice quietly hushed while the surface of his thumbs ran patterns across his smooth skin.

"Hey, honey," Craig said softly.

The boy's hand was feverishly hot on his skin, the skin rough and dry from wind exposure and steam burns collected while on shift at the Tweak Bros. coffeehouse. He considered questioning Craig for his impulsivity in accepting this arrangement with Cartman. For not benefiting his career by traveling to Washington.

His gaze had shifted down, Tweek stared at his pale jeans and the tips of his sneakers, the muddy shoelaces spilling out as he clenched and unclenched his jaw.

But part of him was so happy that Craig wanted to stay.

"Craig?"

"Yes?"

Smack!

It had been a light shove across the shoulder, really, hardly painful but still causing the racer to widen his eyes in shock. The dark-haired boy glanced at his boyfriend in mild surprise before another smack tackled his shoulder after another. "The next time you make career-altering decisions without letting me know, I will kick your ass, dude," Tweek murmured, almost more to himself than to his partner before he caught Craig's eye and grinned mischievously.

Tweek smiled fondly, his playful smacks pausing before sighing out a warm rasp of breath- The words were sweetened as they came off his tongue, almost in a whisper.

"So go win so I can kiss you, okay?"

His green eyes had wandered over Tweek's expression, searching for something- Admiring the golden freckles that hid in the swirls of mossy green as his smooth lips parted quietly. "You aren't gonna ask me more about this?" Craig signaled his thumb to the anticipating crowd waiting beside the tracks, the faint engine of his motorbike contently humming at being perched beside him.

" I know you, Craig." When he finally dared meet Tweek's gaze again the other boy was quirking a single dark blonde brow, his face betraying a question he didn't speak. Craig offered him a slight curve of his lips, teeth carefully hidden from view, "I trust you."

"I don't get a kiss right now?"

The blonde scoffed, digging a sharp elbow into his side before answering in a matching whisper, "Not yet, asshole-"

"Yet?"

"Ah! Let's break it up, lovebirds- We got a race don't we?"

The seething voice belonged to Cartman, his piggish eyes alight with glee as he leaned towards them all conspiratorially, knowing most of the audience was watching them. He'd always loved any excuse for an audience, especially now with his title as host.

The former manager in question was dressed quite portly, with a generous and round figure that filled out his suit. His suit, although tailored, struggled to contain his ample girth, giving him a somewhat disheveled appearance as his round fingers were placed warmly on the rider next to him.

Damien's black hair and eyes stood out against the vibrant backdrop of the racetrack. His pale skin dressed in a sleek racing suit, and his dark helmet, adorned with various sponsor logos, reflected the soft hue of the moonlight, concealing his thin face like a shadowed mask. Dark, purposeful eyes silently peeked out from beneath the helmet's visor, before turning to stare ahead at the tracks with a quiet expression.

The blonde-haired boy had shot one final look at Craig, his warm fingertips lingering carefully on the edge of his face before scrambling to return behind the safety of the metal barricade, Bebe and Wendy both peeking out from the swarming crowd, chatting with him through whispers at his arrival.

Cartman had walked past Craig, dropping his raspy voice carefully beside his ear with a coy laugh mingling with the glint in his narrowed eyes, "Better be ready to pack your bags, Tucker."

Lining up at the start used to give Craig the jitters, but years later something is grounding about pulling up to that checkered line. Mccormick had done a fucking great job at cleaning up his bike- His motorcycle's chrome accents gleaned from the handlebars to the intricate exhaust pipes, shimmering like molten silver, adding a touch of elegance to its bold red exterior. The leather seats were a deep, luxurious shade of black, a perfect contrast to the fiery red frame. His motorcycle hummed contentedly under Craig's hands, rolling carefully to bring the bike to a smooth stop right next to Damien's.

With a quick glance in the rearview mirror, Damien was slightly left, remaining slightly unphased, eyebrow quietly raised. Even from here, Craig could visibly see Damien's knuckles whiten around the top of his handles through the holes of his gloves.

The racing event at night was a spectacle that blended the thrill of speed with the enchantment of the illuminated skyline. It unfolded under the inky, star-studded canvas of the night sky, at a racetrack nestled on the outskirts of the town.

The racetrack was bathed in the soft, artificial glow of floodlights that outlined every twist and turn with a brilliant, white light; Craig had noted to himself. The beams cut through the darkness, casting long shadows and creating a surreal atmosphere that was both captivating and mysterious. The asphalt glistened with a silvery sheen under the artificial illumination, ready to bear witness to the thundering engines and the skill of the racers.

"Ladies and gentle-e-e-men! Are you ready for a fucking r-race?"

The announcer's smooth voice at the motorcycle race carried the electrifying energy of the event, resonating through the deafening speakers and across the raceway, Craig had perked up his attention, his small smile carrying across his sun-kissed face at the familiar stutters echoing through the air behind the snugness of his helmet.

Jimmy Valmer was a hell of a racer- But god did he also know how to get the crowd buzzing.

The metal barriers kept the crowd away from the lines and the cars, but the crowd was going to be moving pretty soon once the race began. Two large, checkered flags caught Craig's eyes and he turned his head to watch as the flag girl emerged from the crowd.

Amidst the roaring engines and the palpable anticipation of the racing event, there stood a nervous flag girl, her presence a stark contrast to the thunderous energy that enveloped the racetrack. She was a young woman, clad in a sleek racing uniform- Nicole Daniels. Her trembling hands clutched the checkered flag, and her fingers, adorned with bright nail polish, betrayed her anxiety as they fidgeted with the fabric. Her racing outfit, perfectly tailored.

Craig's teeth scraped over his own bottom lip, left foot tensed and ready to press down on the clutch as the flags dropped down.

Despite her nervousness, a glimmer of determination shone in her dark eyes. She took a deep breath, steadying herself for the crucial moment ahead. The racing world awaited her signal, and with a deep breath, she raised the checkered flag high, her hands now steadier than before. The moment she waved it, a deafening roar erupted from the engines, and the race began.

The first kick and roar as his motorcycle jumps forward always spikes the adrenaline circulating through Craig's bloodstream breezing past the flag Daniels held, the edges of her purple jacket fluttering.

Damien's motorcycle was a sleek, matte black beauty, its design minimalistic yet menacing as it roared past. It cut through the air like a blade, his matching black racing suit and helmet softly whipping through the win. The visor on the helmet reflected the glare of the sun, masking his stoic face. He was a silent force, their focus visible only in the way they expertly controlled the machine. With each twist of the throttle, they surged forward.

Damien had beaten him out for the first turn, a quick curse escaping under Craig's breath before sliding in front and smoothly gliding up to the next corner of the illuminating racetrack. Craig, riding a fierce, red motorcycle, was relentless in their pursuit, his racing suit, equally adorned with badges and patches freshly seething past. The helmet's visor gleamed like a warrior's mask, hiding his darkening, relentless gaze.

As they hurtled down the straightaways, Damien maintained a defensive line, positioning his motorcycle to block any attempts to overtake. Craig had tried his best to remain undeterred, looked for every gap, every opportunity to slip past with the squeal of his wheels.

Fuck.

With each twist and turn, the prince of the tracks held his line, refusing to yield an inch at the humming engine behind him. They skillfully navigated the corners, hugging the apexes and minimizing any potential openings. Craig, meanwhile, tried to force errors, applying pressure and trying to provoke a misstep.

The competitor in the lead, astride a powerful machine, Craig figured he knew he had a target on their back, fully aware that Craig was inching closer with the sound of his beating engine, drafting behind, ready to seize any opportunity to slip past. With every twist and turn, he noted that the rider's muscles tensed, ready to counter any move with the tightening grip on the handle.

As they approached a tight chicane, Damien had leaned hard into the first corner, blocking the inside line, but Craig had simply breathed out a quiet laugh in the inside of his helmet. With a daring flick of the handlebars, he shot to the outside, attempting an audacious overtaking maneuver.

The Prince of the Tracks silently responded, moving to cut off his path sharply, their racing lines converging dangerously. It was a game of nerves as the two motorcycles raced side by side, just inches apart. The tension was palpable, and the spectators held their breath, waiting to see who would yield first.

The tension was palpable as they raced side by side, the deafening growl of their engines a constant reminder of the stakes. The spectators in the grandstands held their breath, caught up in the drama unfolding before them, flags fluttering back and forth in the cool South Park air.

"He's falling behind."

Tweek's pale blue eyes flickered over to the manager- Her bright blonde curls had been pulled tightly into a high ponytail with an adorned black ribbon, her bottom lip carefully caught between her lowered teeth.

Clutching onto the railing, her bright red nails smoothly dug into the cool metal surface, her bright blue eyes remaining focused on the deepening hum of the racetracks. "If Damien keeps blocking him- He's gonna lose at this rate." She continued without taking her eyes off from the scene while her dark blonde eyebrows furrowed together, her voice lowering into a smooth sigh. "He needs to focus, he needs to win."

Tweek's eyes flickered back to the small, black headset Bebe was wearing over her thick golden locks, a little microphone set beside the edge of her parted lips. The one she used to briefly communicate with Craig during his previous races to record his time.

"I got it."

Tweek had nearly forgotten about it- The red box that remained warm in the lower back pocket of his coffee-stained jeans, the soft gold ring residing carefully as his fingertips carefully wandered over the smooth box. His eyes quietly brightened before turning to Bebe Stevens.

"Bebe, hand me your headset please."

Craig leaned into each curve with precision, his gloved hands gripping tightly the handlebars with a vice-like hold. The roar of the engine reverberated through his entire body, a relentless heartbeat propelling him forward.

The world around him seemed to blur into a colorful, high-speed tapestry of asphalt and barriers. The noise of the engines, the wind rushing past, and the sheer speed of the race were sensory overload, but he thrived in this environment. He had to remember he lived for this thrill.

Then, as the race raged on, a gentle voice broke through the cacophony, transmitted through the headset within the racer's helmet. It was the airy voice, soft and encouraging, a soothing presence amid the chaos.

"Craig?"

Static filled the side of his headset, the softness of the voice lingering in his ear warmly.

"Tweek?" Craig had called out while lifting his chin slightly, his dark green eyes widening behind the protective layer of his visor. He hadn't expected to hear his voice in his earpiece- The wind rushed past, harshly tugging at his racing suit. "Babe, what are you-"

Leaning into each curve with precision, his gloved hands gripped tightly the handlebars with unwavering focus as Tweek had sighed before continuing, forming his words- "It doesn't matter-" His voice quietly shakes, "Just listen to me."

Tweek's voice quivered slightly as he began to speak. He chose his words carefully, his smooth voice was a mix of sincerity and hesitation, tumbling forth from his parted lips into the warmth of the small microphone.

"Craig, you have always done your best to win first place, to win gold-" He finally said surely, Craig imagining the end of Tweek's nose slightly wrinkling, "Right now, you can win gold."

Craig smoothly gritted his teeth, the rear tire of Damien's bike swerving, wide and commanding, devouring the road, as he followed in its wake, the motorcycle's distinctive LED taillights cast a mocking red glow. "There are no medals in this race, honey-"

"No, not-" Tweek's voice trailed off before regaining strength, a small laugh had toyed the end of his tone, "The kind of gold that I wanna put around your finger, Craig."

A warmth had flushed his skin. His gaze wavered momentarily to the edge of the racetrack, and he fumbled for words, searching for a way to articulate his own emotions. Tweek's words had left him momentarily speechless before focusing once more on the Norton V4 SV driving steadily ahead of him.

"Win- So at the end of this, I can finally put it on you."

The realization had finally snuck in before the static of his voice finally cut- Craig felt the warmth spread across his tan skin deepen as a gentle blush, like a subtle sunset, graced his cheeks. The wind the collar of his racer jacket as he continued to ride, his racing suit clinging to his physique, his heart beating in rhythm with the throbbing engine-

As he gathered his thoughts, his own feelings began to surface. The soft blush on his cheeks transformed into a genuine, heartfelt crooked smile.

As the race thundered on, it became clear to Craig, the scent of gasoline lingering in the air with excitement.

There was the pretty barista waiting for him on the other side of the finish line and he was excited to see.

He maneuvered his crimson motorcycle with curses settling on his lips- Whenever Craig attempted to overtake, Damien blocked them with calculated maneuvers, using the curves of the racetrack to his advantage.

Approaching a challenging hairpin turn, Craig's eyes brightly flickered before brightening- He saw an opening and seized the moment. With a jagged flick of the handlebars, he lunged to the outside, accelerating alongside his competitor. It was a breathtaking maneuver, a high-stakes game of inches as they jockeyed for position.

The crowd, on the edge of their seats, erupted in cheers. The two motorcycles were neck and neck, and it seemed the leader might thwart the pass once more. But with unwavering resolve, Craig continued, his lips sinking into his bottom lip. The two motorcycles were now inches apart, their shining exhaust pipes nearly touching.

In a heart-stopping moment, his bike had inched ahead, capturing the lead. The crowd's cheers reached a fever pitch as he held on to the top position. With sheer determination and impeccable racing, he crossed the finish line victorious, narrowly passing Damien.

The checkered flag waved through the air, and the red motorcycle crossed the finish line first, claiming victory. The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, their cheers reverberating through the racetrack. Craig had quickly tugged his helmet off with a quick breath, revealing a triumphant, slanted smile, his tan face flushed with exhilaration.

He had won.

He had actually won.

As the crowd erupted in celebration, he didn't hesitate. His heart was pounding with the thrill of victory- but there was one person he wanted to share it with.

He rushed toward the waiting figure of his boyfriend on the very edge of the tracks, a broad smile on his face, and embraced him tightly. The scent of coffee lingered around his boyfriend's pale-yellow apron that he must have forgotten to remove, a comforting and familiar aroma that brought warmth to their hug.

With a contented sigh, Craig had leaned in, his tight arms encircling his partner with an "Ompfh!" He could count the freckles across Tweek's scrunched nose, noting the rosy flush across his cheeks with his blue eyes sparkled with a mixture of cold air and affection, their vibrant color contrasting beautifully with the crowded surroundings.

As their eyes met, the world seemed to fade away for Craig, he felt Tweek's hand gently touch his warm cheek, his smooth fingers tracing a line down his jawline. His heart raced as his lips met his, slightly parted before their foreheads pressed against one another.

"Did you mean it?" Craig's voice had come out quietly in almost a breath, his expression softening before Tweek warmly placed his palm to linger across his face, his face growing warmer under his soothing touch.

In the midst of the celebration and the cheering crowd, Tweek had leaned in and whispered words that would forever seal this moment in their memory, only loud enough for him to catch. "If you won," he whispered quietly, the golden band softly pinched between his pale fingers with a light smile toying his chapped lips. "I'd marry you."

[dreamerhideout]

by my side

part 2 of “the enhypen love playlist” series

jungwon | heeseung | jay | jake | sunghoon | sunoo | ni-ki

summary: after a troubling past few days for university it-boy jay park, his s/o’s company is all he needs. in that same timeframe, he realizes how you mean the entire world to him.

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, university!AU

characters: jay x reader

warnings: alcohol consumption near the end

word count: 1269

a/n: gosh this was so hard to write orz (i really did go overboard... and i swear this sounded better in my head), i apologize if this isn’t very good :’) anyways, the second installment to “the enhypen love playlist” series! i knew from the very beginning that this song would probably be something jay’d relate to. enjoy!

more under the cut!

you bit at the edge of your pen as you studied the mess of papers scattered in front of you. you then leaned forward, bringing a sheet of scribbles to your face; it was as if the answer to the written problem would miraculously pop into your head when you squinted at the paper long enough.

despite you feeling as if you were getting nowhere with your psychology assignment, you preferred doing it in the comfort of jay’s off-campus apartment rather than your dorm. it was a wonder how he managed to find this gem which was coincidentally close to campus, but it wasn’t as if you were visiting there uninvited. in fact, as jay’s first girlfriend, you had recently been spending most of your time at his apartment, and it wasn’t without reason.

“(y/n), your eyes.” jay walked out from the bathroom before gently pushing the paper away from your face. “squinting at your paper like that won’t do anything.”

“i just thought it would, y’know?” you laughed weakly, slapping the paper on top of the kitchen island then burying your face in your hands. you let out a weak groan, and that was jay’s cue to chuckle and plant a kiss on the side of your forehead.

“are you still not done with it?” he asked. he opened a drawer before pulling out a cookie pack, tearing it open, and grabbing a piece. you were now scribbling at your paper once more when you heard the soft crinkle of wrapping bump your hand. jay had slid the cookies over to you and you gave him an apologetic smile.

“i just need to do two more questions, and then i can finally relax.” you pause when you see the bags under his eyes and how they were still slightly bloodshot, albeit not as bad as a few nights ago. a silent feeling of unease settled in the bottom of your stomach.

you knew jay was strong. he was a well-known person on campus; everyone has probably heard of him. how could they have not? he was loaded with money and had an amicable personality; in a way, he was your typical socialite. a few days ago, however, things took a turn for the worse. after a messy fall-out he experienced with some friends, which somehow ended in him removed from the vice-captain position of the university’s dance team, he was furious. but jay park wasn’t always angry, and you knew better when he asked you to meet him outside your dorm building late that night, sobbing into your arms the minute you held him.

“you holding up okay, jay?” he was stuffing his face with the last of his cookie, and he paused for a bit before swallowing.

“yeah, i guess...” he replied, slightly muttering. “it wasn’t as bad as before, though... i just,” jay sat on the edge of the island, swinging his legs. they made soft thumping noises as his heel hit the back of it, “it’s all different now.”

the distant noise of the tv and jay’s thumping filled the air as you watched how he dejectedly gazed down at the floor. you knew how much the team and his friends meant to him. it was hard for your boyfriend to act like all the piercing comments the general public threw his way were of no bother to him, and from the way he let out a tired sigh, it seemed like he was ready to break. sliding your stool back, you put your pen down and walked over to where he sat, placing your palms on his knees.

“jay, look at me,” your voice neared a whisper. his eyes met yours, and the crestfallen gaze he gave you pained your heart a little more.

“you’ll get through all of this, okay?” your fingers went up to caress his cheek, smiling as you did so, “and you won’t be alone. i’ll be here with you every step of the way.”

almost immediately, he wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in your shoulder. exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in, he whispered shakily, “thank you.”

you softly combed your fingers through his hair as you hummed a small sound of approval. he was crying again; you could feel your cardigan slowly begin to dampen. when he let go of his embrace, you gave him a soft kiss on his nose, then leaning your forehead on his. the loving gaze in your eyes was enough to allow a small smile up to his lips before he cupped your cheek and pulled you in for a deep kiss. you could still taste the salt stains from his tears, but you pay it no mind as you felt a familiar warmth spread through your body.

you pulled away a few seconds later, giggling. he too was happier, smiling before sliding off the island. “anyhow,” jay mused, walking over to a hanging cabinet before opening it. he then pulled out a bottle of expensive-looking wine, “i had this kept for special occasions only, and tonight seems like the perfect time to pour a glass.”

“dang, okay...” you sat back to your stool. in a final attempt to finish your assignment, you picked up your pen and asked him, “what's the occasion?”

“tonight’s the moment i realize how much i'm in love with you.”

you froze, pen in hand as you tried to register what he had said. “wait... what did you just say?” you stammer as you looked up to face him. he had grabbed two wine glasses from the far side of the kitchen, his elbow resting comfortably on the countertop as he leaned against it.

“you’ve been by my side since the day i met you, (y/n).” his gaze was soft, “despite all that’s happening to me right now, you still choose to stay.” he knew that anyone associating with him would also feel the brunt of the hate he was receiving, yet he was so thankful that you did.

a warm flush crept up your cheeks, “lemme finish this last problem before sharing that toast with you, then.” getting back to your paper, you could hear him pop open a cork, then pouring himself and you a glass.

a few minutes passed by before you placed your pen down, finally done with the mountain-load of questions assigned to you. you sighed in relief and stretched before standing up to search for your boyfriend. he was sitting on the sofa in front of the tv, with two wine glasses placed on the coffee table. you made your way over to him, taking a seat before snuggling into his shoulder. “hey.”

he kissed your temple as a greeting, smiling as he picked up the glass in front of him. you followed suit, now sitting upright to face him. “a toast,” he started, “to us... and to love.”

you clinked your glass with him before taking a dainty sip of the liquid, its smooth flavor rolling down your throat. placing it on the coffee table once more, you leaned on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around you. behind the tv was a glass wall that allowed you a scenic view of the night city skyline. you stared dreamily at it before turning towards jay. eyes meeting yours, he gave you a quick peck on the lips before smiling. it looked like so much weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and it was beautiful.

“i love you, angel,” he whispered, “forever and always.”

and you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

[heavenunderthemoon]

Doctor, Doctor- Luke Alvez x Reader

Summary: Luke gets injured on a case and you’re his doctor

warnings: mentions of assault

The team had found themselves on a rather hard case, harder than most. Those that were in their home territory tended to do that.

Cases at home meant that, suddenly, that tiny, invisible, practically none-existent barrier between them and the monsters was ripped away.  That fine layer of protection that seemed to encase them every time they got off the jet, stepped off that plane and hailed their cabs back home, back to their family, back to their safety, was gone. Every twig snap, shadow, and eerie noise had their senses on edge. Not only did it cause the team to become more tense but it also awakened a protective rage. Monsters weren't supposed to follow them home.

But this one did.

A man, of course, white and in his mid-forties, avenging a mistake his mother made long ago. The team had split up, attempting to cover as much ground as they could in the abandoned warehouse. That was how they had caught him, the unsub leading them to a rather dilapidated part of the building. The floorboards creaked under his weight, and the team had shuffled in to follow uneasily. Distracted by the seemingly unstable building, they hardly had time to react when a blur of movement halted them in their tracks.

Luke had been the unlucky one to be closest to it. The hammer in the unsub's hands rained upon his head with a sickening crack and he collapsed to the floor with a groan. Already, his head was pounding, eyes fluttering in an attempt to shut them but he forced himself awake. His survival instincts kicked in, ignoring the team handcuffing and escorting the unsub out, only focusing on his breathing.

The team had been worried, extremely so. They practically had to hang up on the technical analyst, the Garcia woman  screaming into the phone as the team forced the former ranger into the ambulance bay and shuttling him off to the hospital.

He had protested the entire way. Sure, his head hurt, but he wanted to go home. Besides, it was a tiny little cut, how bad could it be?

After hours of pacing the waiting room and too many cups of cheap, hospital coffee, the team was informed by a nurse that they could see the man once more. With spirits high and hopes higher, the group made their way into room, surprised to hear a familiar laugh roaring through the space.

Sitting up in a hospital bed, gown disheveled and far too small on his muscular body, Luke wore a large, woozy grin. His hands clutched two slender fingers, his eyes never quite leaving the y/e/c orbs before him.

The room smelled like most hospitals, like sterilization and freshly laundered beds. The walls were covered in a pastel green color, as if reflecting its patient's illness on the walls. The tv played a re-run of FRIENDS, but the volume was almost non-existent, closed captioning dancing across the screen.

Beside the bed sat a small table, a small clipboard of notes lay across it, and a pen scribbled against the paper before the hands were returning to Luke's face. Y/n's hands floated before Luke's eyes, her soft voice telling him to follow her fingers before she was nodding with a smile, scribbling down something else.

With a lopsided grin, the man was speaking again. "How am I doin', Doc? Are you gonna need to amputate?"

From the minute Luke had been wheeled into your examination room, the man hadn't quite stopped looking at you like that. The way he looked at you made you blush, which was rather juvenile and not entirely something you would admit aloud, but true all the same. He looked at you as if you were wearing designer clothing rather than the two day old scrubs you had on. The scrubs you hadn't had time to launder because you had been working for thirty four hours straight, ones that had a stain on the sleeve that you weren't entirely sure what it was from.

Your hair had been thrown into a messy bun, the fast paced environment not giving you time to do anything fancy. And your makeup- well, you weren't wearing any.

But still, he looked at you as if he couldn't quite take his eyes off you. And it wasn't in the creepy, stalker way you had experienced men doing so before. No, because Luke was different. Just the man's demeanor told you so. The way he talked, voice slow and steady (maybe that was just the pain meds), or the way his eyes, two pools of melted chocolate, reassured you that being around him was probably the safest you'd ever be. You didn't need to see his badge on his hip to know that.

At the man's words, you let out a chuckle, clicking your tongue and sliding your pen back into your pocket. "I don't believe we'll be needing any amputations today, but keep landing on the wrong end of a hammer and we might have a different story."

Turning to the large group walking into the room, you smiled warmly. They were a large bunch, the jackets they adorned matching the one Luke had worn before he had been forced to change into a hospital gown. 'FBI' the breast pocket read. Briefly, you wondered what they did, but realized it didn't quite matter. They were here because they needed you to do your job, not to learn about theirs.

Patting Luke on the shoulder to indicate he could sit back, you grabbed your chart, going to stand near the team. They stood adjacent to Luke, and the small room allowed everyone to be in talking distance.

"I'm assuming you're the family? I'm Doctor Y/F/N Y/L/N, head of Neuro." Your easy smile was enough to release the tension from the team. Seeing Luke crumple the way he had made them worry, but the bright smile on your face reassured them.

"When he came in, the wound was looking a bit nasty." They listened intently while you talked and they didn't seem to miss the way Luke's eyes never quite left you as you spoke. "The swelling went down with some cream, and we took a CT to clear him of anything internal. Now, there was a small hemorrhage-" You watched as the team's eyebrows furrowed in concern, and you brought you hands out, a gesture for them to calm. "But his symptoms were small. Once we got the scan we saw that the bleed was tiny. Most bleeds will actually resolve themselves, so no need for me to go in where I'm not needed."

"Doc, you're welcome in my brain any day." Luke smiled cheekily, and your lips quirked, eyes narrowing playfully.

"I'm who you call when you need the big guns, you don't want me in your brain, Agent Alvez." His lips twitched when his last name rolled off your tongue and you would be lying if you hadn't gained the tiniest bit of satisfaction at the reaction.

He clicked his tongue, playfully grabbing his chest. "How you wound me. We went over this, it's Luke." He corrected, and he realized how desperately he needed you to say his name. He needed to say his name whether you were angry or sad or happy or excited. He needed you to say anything at all to him because your voice was something he hadn't even realized he needed until he heard it and now that he had he wasn't sure he would be able to live without it.

His actions made you chuckle, shaking your head at his antics. "Alright, Luke," You conceded, going to hang back up the man's medical chart on the bed. The nurses would take over from here, the former ranger only needing to be discharged after the rest if the pain meds wore off. The ones you had given him weren't too strong anyways, it wouldn't take much longer. "Try not to piss off anymore toolboxes, your head isn't as hard as you think it is."

The man smiled and just the sheer brightness of it made you suck in a breath. "I don't know, the screwdrivers in my shed were giving me a funny look the other day, I may have to teach them a lesson." He quipped smoothly and you rolled your eyes despite the large grin that grew on your features.

When you turned back to the door, the large group of agents seemed to be split between giving knowing smirks to Luke and impish looks to you. A certain blonde adorned in extremely bright colors seemed to want to interject, but the only other blonde clasped her hand onto the woman's shoulder tightly, stopping her from whatever she was going to say.

"I suggest that he doesn't go in the field for at least three days, and I would like to see him in a week for a precautionary scan to check and see if the bleed resolved itself. Other than that, he's good to go.  If you all have anymore questions feel free to ask Nurse Cassidy, she'll be in in just a moment to help you with discharge paperwork and medical prescriptions."

They nodded and, before they could respond, your pager was chirping, signaling the need for your presence elsewhere. Your hand grabbed at the pager clipped onto your waistline, eyes scanning the message before your eyes were flickering back to the agents.

"Duty calls. It was nice meeting you all." You gave a final nod, moving to leave the room, but just as you were about to exit a voice stopped you.

"Hey, Doc!" Luke called out, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You turned, one hand gripping the doorway as your head peeked out from the side. You hummed in response, eyebrows furrowing.

"See you next week!"

Maybe it was childish, or unprofessional, or wildly inappropriate. Perhaps it was the fact that you were sleep deprived, hungry, and running on fumes, or maybe it was just the charming nature of the Alvez man, a gravitational pull toward the comfort he naturally exuded, but you found yourself smiling widely, a pink tint covering your cheeks.

"See you next week." You nodded in confirmation, leaving before you could say anything else.

[bohrapbois]

Full Marks

CHAPTER 4

Description - Ben just so happens to fall head over heels for a Mysterious Man who loves baseball and cracking terrible jokes. Mysterious Man also turns out to be the father of one of Ben’s students.

Warnings - Full blown relationship Hardzello, with plenty of angst, fluff and future smut.

Word Count -  1,347

To say his day was grey was a bit of an exaggeration, but it was near to the truth for Ben. Seeing the Mazzello’s yesterday was all that Ben could think of, over and over again. He was happy for little Beth to have such a happy life, but it didn’t do anything for his aching heart.

It wasn’t common for Ben to fall for someone so easily, but everything about Joe was the type of guy he wanted - and he didn’t even know him! But going off of body language of those around Joe, Ben could tell he was a caring and funny guy.

That didn’t stop him from dragging his feet from the car park to the entrance of the school. Monday was hard for everyone involved, and Ben was going to blame the extra marking he had attempted in his misery yesterday if anyone asks why he seemed so drained. The brightness of the optimistic yellow walls soured Ben’s mood further, and he glared his way down the corridor and into his classroom. He cursed the smiling posters and practically threw his bag onto the floor, tugging the chair back so he could sit in it. He had a while until the students should be arriving, and whereas usually he’d be chugging down some coffees and stealing as many biscuits as he could, Ben instead crossed his arms on his desk and sulkily lay his head on them. He pouted to himself as he whallowed in more pity. Why was everyone else happy except for him? Why was everyone else granted eternal love whilst he only had the shadows? Why was-

“Good morning!” Someone was stood in the doorway, and when Ben recovered from nearly falling off his chair in shock, he saw it was Allen, who taught the first years. Not understanding how the man kept his sanity, Ben was in awe of his skills. The man seemed to really love his job, and would do as much as possible for the kids. Allen seemed to have the perfect life, and Ben only blinked up at the man. Whilst Allen was happily married, got a good house and an actual plan for his life, Ben had finished off two tubs of cheap ice cream last night.

“Hi,” Ben didn’t bother getting up - they were friends, no point in bothering with formalities - but did indicate for Allen to enter. He eyes the extra cup in Allen’s hand, and squealed when the fellow foreigner handed it to grateful hands. Allen was Irish, and had moved over to America in his mid-twenties and ended up staying. He had also been metaphorically adopted by the headmaster and had been teaching here a few years longer than Ben.

“Hard weekend?” Allen perched on the edge of the desk, just about missing the sparkly unicorn sticker Jessica Howard had stuck there for her favourite teacher. Ben grunted in answer, and took a few tentative sips of his coffee (made perfectly, Allen was a saint) before he used his words.

“You wouldn’t believe it, mate,” Ben was very aware that he was avoiding eye contact with Allen, but like hell was he going to show all his emotions this early in the morning.

“Well, I’m here if you need me,” Allen patted Ben on the shoulder, but understood that that particular conversation thread had ended there. So he changed the subject and the two made pointless chatter about the weather, Allen’s wife, their football teams back over the pond, and their plans for the upcoming teacher-parent evening.

“I’ll probably do it in my class,” Ben had long since finished his perfect coffee, but continued to play with the stained mug in his hand, “don’t see why I should go to another class and take away some space and privacy from someone else”.

Allen hummed, eyes not focusing on anything in particular as he sorted out his own plans, “yeah, I don’t really understand why Molly and Heather brought up the idea of sharing classes,” he shrugged, before checking his watch. “Right, love our chat, but gotta go”. Allen stood from Bens desk and grabbed both mugs, “don’t want the rascals to get access to an empty room”.

“Don’t know how you can handle the youngsters,” Ben sighs, stretching his back whilst also glancing at the cat face clock on his wall. Yep, five minutes until show time.

“Could say the same to you,” Allen chuckled and waved at Ben over his shoulder as he left the room.

Ben felt somewhat better, could see some colours between the shades of grey, but still very much whallowing in his own pity. Of course he fell for the hot guy with the hot partner. Rami was probably super successful as well, and could afford to take Joe around the world and give him lavish stuff. Ben could never. He could probably pay for plane tickets back home, but that’s about it.

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

The school day was as boring as ever. Instead of being his usual bubbly and excitable self, Ben had droned on to his students about topics none of them were interested about and had snapped unnecessarily at them if they picked on one another. A tension headache had long since settled behind Ben’s eye sockets and when the final bell rang, Ben just gestured to the class that they were dismissed before falling heavily back into his chair and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

He listened to the tiny footsteps of his students file out, and caught the tail ends of conversations, but when a small hand tapped at his elbow, Ben jumped back with a startled scream.

Below him stood a calm-as-could-be Beth Mazzello. “Hello,” she rocked up onto her toes and smiled up at her teacher.

Ben’s heart was still trying to escape his rib-cage, but he now knew he didn’t need to scream again or attack anything, “oh,” he pushed away from the corner he was trapped in, “hello Beth”.

“Hello,” she repeated, before shrugging off her bright pink, sparkly oversized backpack (all backpacks looked massive on kids her age) and it hit the floor with a heavy thud. The two remained silent as Beth unzipped and rummaged through her bag before she pulled something out triumphantly. She pushed the piece of paper into Ben’s hand and urged him to look at it.

It was pretty obvious that art wasn’t one of Beth’s strong suits. His eyes scanned over the messy pen squiggles and he was ashamed that he had to tilt his head slightly before realising what she had drawn him. A somewhat stick figure of her standing next to a somewhat stick figure of Frankie, both of them somehow smiling (could dogs smile like that?) under the pink sun as they stood on purple grass. “I LOEV FRANKY” was scribbled underneath, the letters curving to run down the page rather than across it by the end, seeming as the letters also increased in size further along the sentence.

Ben made a mental note to work on the students handwriting.

“Thank you!” Ben looked over the drawing again and smiled widely before ducking down, bending his knees so he was eye level with Beth, “Frankie loves you too”.

“When can-” Beth started asking when she’d get to see the dog again, but was cut off by a voice calling from her down the corridor. “Oh, that’s Rami! Got to go! Bye Sir!” And just like that, Beth grabbed her still open bag and sprinted down the hallway.

Although he tried, Ben couldn’t stop himself from hearing the happy and excited greeting between Beth and Rami, and by the sound of it, there was an inside joke as Beth squealed into laughter. Ben sighed, head falling forward heavy as he pushed himself back up to standing. He positioned himself away from the windows as he went around the classroom tidying up until he was sure that they had left, and only then did he grab the drawing again and give it another look.

Beth was a sweet girl.

Tag List

@benhardy-1 @hey-holtzy @watercolouredreams @ellie-hegeman @cyndagoaway @zaniath64 @kiraling88

[falleyes]

Somewhere Else pt.1 - The Airport

[Summary: All of the what ifs of Drake & Riley meeting somewhere else, in any other way.]

This scene drove me insane, so naturally, I wrote something.

“If we’d met somewhere else…anywhere else. At a club in New York or in an airport, or at a party…If you hadn’t been our waitress that night, and I hadn’t been sitting next to Liam…Do you think all of this…do you think it could’ve been different…between us?”

“Last call for boarding Flight 847 to Detroit, last call for boarding.”

Riley could just make out the flight attendant’s calm and professional voice over the usual hubub of the airport as she shifted her carry-on bag and set off towards the baggage claim.

JFK airport was almost always loud, a melting pot of sounds and people that reflected the city it was surrounded by. And Riley loved it. New York City, dubbed the “City That Never Sleeps,” was a cultural hub that Riley hoped would provide her with the adventure and excitement her hometown lacked to satisfy her travel bug for the time being.

Already, in her short trip from Gate 14 to baggage claim, she’d heard at least ten different languages, and just as many distinct accents from countries all across the globe. She’d jump at the chance to see them all, if her bank account could afford it. Riley had been saving up for years to travel the world, but her dead end job waitressing could only get her so far. For now, New York was her closest bet.

Just the very thought of how much this emergency trip back to her hometown cost her had Riley anxiously working her lip and her fingers itching to pull out her phone and text her coworkers for any shifts to pick up.

A sigh escaped Riley’s lips as she slumped against a pillar adjacent to her baggage carousel and watched suitcases go by with bored eyes and folded arms.

Before long, her eyes strayed to observe her surroundings. All around her, people moved about, some moving sluggishly, others rushing like their lives depended on it. To her right was a fierce looking woman in a pinstriped pantsuit, tersely talking on the phone while making agitated movements. To her left knelt a weary man before a crying young boy of his likeness, desperately searching through his duffle bag for something to console his son. All the while, he spoke quickly and despairingly in what Riley assumed was Italian until, at long last, he triumphantly pulled out a rather sad looking blanket out of the bag and held it up to the young boy like an offering.

Amidst the cacophony, Riley tuned into a clipped and frustrated voice, a blend of harsh staccatos with a faint and rather unrecognizable accent underneath. She turned her head as her eyes scanned the crowd for the owner of that voice, her interest now piqued. There was something familiar about that voice, although Riley was certain she’d never heard it before. It was as if her fingers were dancing across the worn ivory keys of a poorly-tuned piano to play a long-forgotten song, and she was trying to figure out the key.

Not far from where she stood by her baggage carousel, at the check-in counter of some airline she’d never heard of, Riley found him.

He had messy brown hair that curled over his shirt collar just below the nape of his neck and was dressed in jeans and a denim shirt that was haphazardly buttoned over a white T-shirt. Although she couldn’t see his face from her angle, the employee’s stressed expression and the way his back muscles strained against his shirt made it quite obvious he wasn’t happy.

Without thinking, Riley drew closer to get within earshot. She didn’t know what it was that compelled her to do so, maybe it was innocent curiosity or the fact that conflict is always interesting to watch. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the way this stranger was so oddly familiar. The way she knew that voice, in every tone it came in, without ever having heard it before.

“Listen, lady, I need to be on the next flight back to Cordonia,” the man said as he placed his hands on the counter and leaned forward, pleading with the airline employee. “I’m not supposed to be here, I -”

“But you bought a plane ticket to New York?”

“Well, yeah,” he grumbled, pushing his hands through his dark hair. “I came here for someone, but they aren’t…they aren’t here and I’ve got someone back home who needs me now. I’ve got the money -”

“Sir, I’m sorry, but if you bought your ticket here to New York City on your own, we aren’t responsible for your being here and cannot prioritize you over other customers,” the employee shook her head as she looked down at her computer screen. “If you want to be on the next flight to Cordonia, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning. I’d be more than happy to assist you in purchasing your ticket for that flight, but otherwise -”

“But tomorrow morning isn’t good enough!” the man groaned, hands fisting in his hair before falling to his side. “It says right there that there’s a flight leaving in forty-five minutes!” he said, pointing at the screen on the wall behind her that displayed the flight schedules.

“A flight we no longer sell tickets for,” the employee stated wearily, as if they’d already gone over this before. “Plane tickets are no longer sold two hours prior to departure, and we ask that all guests check in at least an hour before take off. The soonest we can get you in the air is tomorrow morning at eight.”

“Well, then what the hell am I supposed to do until tomorrow morning?” he snapped before slamming his hand down on the counter in frustration, capturing the attention of quite a few people nearby.

“Sir,” the woman said, stern and slightly startled by his sudden action. Her eyes scanned the area around them, worried that he would start to draw too much attention.

As if only just realizing he was in public, the man stepped back and turned in a half circle to see the small audience he had begun to draw in. For the first time, Riley was finally able to get a good view of the man’s face. He had a strong jaw, a nose that looked as if it had been chiseled out of marble for the bust of Julius Caesar, dark eyes, and a brooding expression to match.

Before she could even think to look away, his eyes swiftly swept over the mass of people before landing directly on hers.

Riley sucked in a breath between her teeth, a jolt going through her body and awakening every nerve as she felt the full force of his stare. Glare? Oh, if he wasn’t before, he was definitely glaring now. His lips twisted into a scowl and Riley quickly turned, busying herself with the search for her suitcase once again as she felt her face flush.

The second she found the old, beat up, black suitcase she’d taken on nearly every trip since middle school, Riley peeled out of there as fast as possible, the rickety wheels wobbling with every step she took. Even as she approached the automatic sliding doors, she could still feel his eyes on her, burning into the back of her skull. When she stepped outside, Riley hesitated, filled with the odd and nonsensical need to turn around.

She kept going.

“Right, Kismet at eight,” Riley repeated, her phone wedged between her cheek and her shoulder as she hastily scribbled the words down on a coffee-stained napkin she found in her bag. “Damn pen,” she muttered under her breath as ink bled into her fingers and smudged onto the napkin. Shifting everything around again, she wedged the clean end of the pen between her teeth, shoved the napkin into her back pocket, switched her phone to her other hand, and checked her watch. Six thirty. She took the pen out of her mouth and tapped it against her hip. “I can do that.”

An hour and a half. That was just enough time for Riley catch the bus home, unload her stuff, take a quick shower, and head over to Kismet, the hottest club in town to potentially pick up a friend of a friend’s shift, assuming they still needed the help.

“Uh huh,” she nodded, pacing around the shelter next to the bus stop as she spoke on the phone. “Of course, it’s no problem…No, not at all…Money is money after all…Alright, cool, thanks…Yeah, you too…Okay, bye.”

Satisfied, Riley hung up with a relieved smile. Due to a series of calls, she was able to find someone through a mutual friend who needed somebody to cover for her at a popular club while she went on a date. It was only for one night and the pay wasn’t nearly enough to make up for her last trip, but it was good enough.

Riley dropped her phone into her bag and plopped down on the bench, leaning back and rubbing her tired eyes. She wondered how many cups of coffee it’d take to get through the night.

“Does this mean you’re done pacing now? It was really starting to get on my nerves.”

Riley shot up in her seat, eyes fluttering open. To her left sat the same man from earlier in the airport, with the cool expression and the brooding eyes. A duffle bag sat at his feet.

“I didn’t realize…” Riley shook her head and scooted backwards, putting some space between her and the stranger. She’d been so wrapped up in her phone call, she must not have noticed when he arrived. As her eyes took in his impassive expression and she remembered his irritated tone, her brows furrowed and she pursed her lips. Any timorous feelings she had under his gaze before had completely disappeared. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” he shrugged, folding his arms across his chest and letting his legs stretch out. “What’s Kismet?”

“It’s a club,” she answered curtly. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you that it’s rude to listen into other people’s conversations?” And then, wilting slightly under his inquisitive but intense eyes, she added, “And to stare?”

The man raised an eyebrow and the corner of his lip just barely quirked up. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you?”

Riley felt her face go hot again and she quickly looked away, mumbling under her breath. “That was different.”

“Oh really? How?” he scoffed. “Pray tell.”

Riley scowled and sent him a scalding look as she crossed her arms as well. “Maybe if you hadn’t made such a big scene, I wouldn’t have paid any attention.”

“And I’m just supposed to ignore you pacing all around the bus station in front of me?”

“That’d be much appreciated.” Riley quipped, turning slightly away from him so she didn’t have to see his irritating smirk and longer than she had to.

“Is everyone in this town so hypocritical?” he muttered bitterly.

“City.” Riley corrected him.

“What?”

She glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow before looking away again. “This a city. You know, New York City…The City That Never Sleeps…”

”Fine, fine. Is everyone in the city this annoying?” the man groaned, covering his face with his hands before pushing them back through his hair.  Then, he dropped his hands to rest his arms on his knees and looked up at Riley, his expression growing smug. “Or is it just you?”

Heat flared up in Riley’s stomach and in her cheeks. She whipped her head in his direction, eyes narrowed into a glare. “Don’t get pissy with me just because you bought a ticket to a city you don’t even want to be in. I mean, who does that? And it’s not my fault that you can’t go home today, so leave me out of your little mope fest.”

For a split, incredibly satisfying, second, the man’s expression fell and his brows raised in surprise at her sudden outburst. But just as quickly as it came, his shock melted away. His brows pulled together, a deep crease forming in the middle, and his lips twisted into a scowl very similar to the one he gave her earlier, but with so much more intensity.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he snapped, eyes flashing. “I didn’t have a choice. I had to come here.”

Riley studied him for a few moments, pensive. He didn’t look the business type. He had only a duffle bag at his feet - no briefcase - so his venture out here couldn’t have been work related. He wasn’t a tourist, he made that much clear. And he clearly wasn’t from around here - any of the states, probably -  given how out of place he looked here. There was also the fact that whatever place he was talking about earlier with the airline employee certainly didn’t sound like any place in America. What was it again? Cordonia?

“Why are you here?” she questioned, her tone no longer harsh but simply curious.

The man’s expression slightly softened as well. “I…” he trailed off, looking crestfallen. His dark eyes took on a hazy appearance and as if he was suddenly miles away. A few moments passed before he abruptly shook his head, coming out of whatever trance he seemed to have been in. He met Riley’s gaze once more, expression guarded yet again. “Forget it,” he mumbled under his breath and looked away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Not sure how to reply to that, Riley stayed quiet and let the cars around them fill the awkward silence between them.

When her bus finally came, Riley was surprised to see the man stand as well and walk over to the curb for boarding. She wondered if he even knew where he was going. Or what he was doing.

Her questions answered themselves as she stood on the step behind him, waiting as he searched his pockets fruitlessly for any spare change to pay the bus driver. In the end, the best he could procure were a few foreign-looking coins and his wallet.

“I don’t suppose you take credit cards, do you?” he asked, no hope in his voice as he flipped open his wallet.

The bus driver shook her head.

Shoulders sagging, he turned to get off of the bus. His arm brushed against Riley’s as he passed.

She turned to watch him go, so defeated, and before she could think twice about it…

“Wait.”

Riley pulled a few extra dollars from her bag and held them out to the driver along with her own bus fare as the man halted in his tracks and turned to look at her, brows furrowed.

“I’ve got him covered.”

She could feel his eyes on her as the driver took the cash and she took off down the aisle without waiting to see if he got on or not. Riley made her way towards the back of the bus and tried to sort out her reasoning for helping the gruff stranger out. By the time she had rationalized that she simply felt bad for him and she was a good person, she heard him mumble a low thank you to the driver and the doors slid shut.

As the bus lurched forward, Riley sat down in an empty row by the window with her suitcase at her feet and immediately pulled out her phone to text her family that she arrived safely and her friends that she was back home.

Someone sat down beside her, and without having to even look, Riley knew it was the stranger from the airport again.

Minutes passed in silence, Riley scrolling through her feed as the man sat there, occasionally glancing over at her and opening his mouth to say something, but ultimately deciding against it.

Finally, he spoke up.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” he said softly. “Pay for me, I mean.”

Riley didn’t say anything for a while and the man looked away, accepting her lack of response as a response.

“I know.”

At the sound of her voice, he turned his head towards her again. She still hadn’t looked up from scrolling on her phone.

“So…why’d you do it?”

His simple question caused her thumb to stall over the phone screen. He watched as she bit the inside of her cheek and shrugged. “I don’t know. I felt bad, I guess.”

“But,” he shook his head, dumbfounded. “I was a jerk to you.”

Riley let out a small laugh and locked her phone before letting it drop into her lap. “Yeah. You were,” she said, looking out the window. “But you seemed to be having a rough day. And being alone in a big city…I guess I can see why it’d suck.”

He studied her, thoughtfully and with a slight twinge of guilt about the way he’d acted towards her earlier. He’d have to apologize for that later, make it up if he could. He wondered vaguely if she liked whiskey.

“What’s your name?” he asked. The question was innocent enough.

It got her to finally turn towards him brows raised. “Riley,” she said. “Riley Cole.”

“Drake.” He held out his hand to her, feeling obliged to introduce himself to this stranger after she’d helped and put up with him. Riley examined his hand briefly before grasping it, her smaller hand easily fitting into his.

Letting go of his hand, she faced forward in her seat again. “So, Drake… Do you even know what you’re doing on this bus?”

He startled her with a short laugh, a low rumble in his throat. “Not a clue,” Drake admitted. “I figured that if I rode around long enough, I’d find a bar or something.”

Riley looked at him incredulously. “Seriously?”

“What?“

“You come all the way to New York City, and you just want to spend the night in a bar?” Riley couldn’t imagine choosing a bar over the New York night life. Sure, she could appreciate a good drink with good company, but was he actually serious? She worked in a bar and there was nothing glorious about it.

Drake shrugged. “You got a better plan, Cole?”

“Only about a million…” she muttered, shaking her head.

Suddenly, an idea began to form. A ridiculous, stupid, and not-thought-out-at-all idea at that. But when Riley looked up at him, she couldn’t imagine just leaving him to spend the night in some bar. And as the familiar street signs and buildings came into view around her, she realized her stop was coming up. It was now or never.

“Look,” Riley said, standing up and adjusting her jacket before grabbing her suitcase. “Why don’t you let me show you around?”

“Wait, what?” Drake’s eyebrows shot up, mouth slightly agape as he swung his legs out into the aisle to let her through. “Really? Why?”

“Apparently, I’m not done pitying you,” she muttered, not quite able to believe she was doing this either. “I might be picking up a shift tonight, but afterwards… Well, it’d be a damn shame if you came all this way and never got to see the good parts of the city.”

“I couldn’t ask…Cole, are you sure about this?” Drake asked as the bus came to a halt. Suddenly, many of the other passengers came to life, standing and pushing their way towards the front or rear bus exits.

“As sure as I can be,” she told him over her shoulder as she fell in step with the crowd. “Just meet me after I’m done and I promise, you won’t hate the city as much as you do now.”

“I – wait!” Drake abruptly stood up and called after her as she stepped off the last stair and onto the curb. “How am I supposed to…?”

His voice got lost in the city sounds, people talking, dogs barking, and cars honking. Desperately, he tried to push his way closer to a window she could hear him out of, but it was no use.

It wasn’t until the doors sealed shut and the bus’s engine sputtered off that she realized.

He had no idea where to find her, no way to contact her.

Riley whirled around, lips calling after the bus to wait but it was already lumbering down the block. She groaned, slapping her palm against her forehead and cursing her own stupidity. After checking her watch and weighing her options, Riley’s shoulders slumped and she turned away to go up the stairs to her apartment building. Even if she went after him and, by some miracle, actually found him, she’d probably never make it to Kismet on time.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, even though he was long gone. Guilt gnawed away at the insides of her stomach and she could have sworn her feet felt just a little heavier than they had before.

Back on the bus, Drake ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the ends as he stared through the window where he’d last seen Cole. Despite his yelling, she hadn’t heard him. And he was pretty sure the universe was just playing one big joke on him as she stopped and turned, the realization dawning on her face, after the bus pulled away.

“Of course,” he muttered, shaking his head as he went back to his seat. Of course, this happened to him. It was just his luck that he’d wind up alone in one of the busiest cities in the world and the only person who finally started to help him just slipped away.

As Drake sat back, he sighed out heavily and glanced over at the seat Riley had occupied less than a minute ago. He let his hands drop into his lap and was about to face forward again when something else caught his eye.

A scribbled-on napkin with an inky thumbprint smudged on the corner.

Kismet. 8 PM.

Drake read it and reread it a few times, his thumb brushing over the hasty scrawl and then settling his larger thumb over the smaller print. A faint smile just barely etched its way onto his face as he pocketed the napkin and pulled out his phone, looking up directions.

(so how about that for a first story? tagging @thedrakeside )

[musesanddrabbles]

A little bit of work in progress (And a half-baked blowjob scene. Lol)

(Inspired by a comment under the song, the butterfly, spider and flower. That Yuuma and Len should just hook up, (I agree). So, 2000 words later, here it is.)

.:.:.:

There was something beautiful about madness...  

It all began when he was ten, scurrying down that darkened alley. The air thick with the stench of rot, suffocating his lungs; a ghastly wheeze, a dying breath. He could taste its salt and bitter. Oh, how frightening, exhilarating, almost in a poetic way.  

An indescribable hatred, blossoming scarlet under his knife, shivering down his spine like permafrost. Spilling a warmth, he’d never experienced. Twisted thrill purring in his guts. He couldn’t recognize the heap of flesh beneath him, was it of human origin? An animal? Well, it hadn’t mattered anymore. He remembered the blade tasted of iron, a little sweet, a little raw. Glistering crimson under the cemetery moon. How deathly silent it had all become.  

Boring. It got boring.  

And now he sat in an empty white ward, across a grinning fox.  

There was a smile on her face, amicable even. But he knew that couldn’t be further from the truth. She fiddled with a pen, scribbling the papers as she flicked her wrists. Those incessant taps and scratches were unbearably loud. In a room far too quiet, too vanilla than he would prefer, because normal, just didn’t sit well, after swimming in poison.  

He was told he was sick.  

“Rin, dear, wouldn’t you be so kind to drop that act?” He taunted her, seeing her infuriating mechanical smile unchanging as a soulless puppet.  

That was what she was, a marionette. Dolled up pretty in her pristine white coat and silver name tags. With layers of makeup to hide her cracks, covering them with her meaningless, docile smiles. Their parents might be blind, but, he knew what uglies she hid inside. All suppressed in her beautiful, brittle, lies.

Psychiatrist aye, how ludicrous when a monster played pretend. After all, they had the same gruesome blood in their veins. She clicked her pen, not lifting her eyes to catch his,  

“I’ll appreciate it if you didn’t lump me with you, Len.” She continued writing. Pages and pages of indoctrination, to saw away his fangs, to wash away his sins. Using the same cookie cutter, she was molded.  

He was told he had to be fixed.  

She had really gotten dull... Like a dying lamp, short-circuiting from all the electricity running in her wires. He abhorred the neurologist who clipped her wings, standing beyond the glass panels. Looking at them with a sneering gaze. As if he was abnormal, ephemeral and uncontrollable.  

(They were.)

But he managed to steal sister’s maiden heart, pulling wool over her eyes and convinced her, she was something weak, fragile.  

Sane.

Bullshit.  

Len saw the way Rin devoured Yuuma with her eyes. Her passion betrayed her, rearing greed in a shallow guise of timid, normal. Yet Yuuma was oblivious to her venomous marks, he couldn’t fathom her very existence was destruction; them both. Because no one understood Rin more than Len did.  

He knew it was not Yuuma’s heart she desired, but his life. And that pretty little head atop his shoulders she’d went out of her way seeking. Ah, he was indeed beautiful. Tall, slender, yet lean beneath his shirt. Like a fairy tale, all porcelain and bright. Perfect for her nightmares.  

(Perhaps for his too.)

Despite she refused to acknowledge that, instead she chose to play human. Play the love-struck princess that was - oh, so, pitiful, with the monster of a brother she has. Was it sympathy she wanted, a sorry fuck?  

He wouldn’t be surprised if she eventually lost it, became delirious as she was meant to be. Because, her madness was once something beautiful, a carnation blooming midwinter. Vivid and glorious, crying an unquenchable thirst. And to contain it all, for some sickening, distasteful, love (obsession) she preferred to call it.    

He’d seen the aftermath of her carnage, that insatiable bloodlust when she killed, orchestrating sinful melodies with a sharpened knife that knew only of need. What skillful art she managed to create; mangled limbs of her prey sewed into a chair, their flesh repurposed as candles.  

She was a beautiful monster, now she’s just a dirty liar.  

“You’re tasteless as always.” She flipped through the photo evidence.  

But, she seemed to enjoy being a dirty liar.      

“Don’t touch me with your filthy hypocrisy.”  

A dirty liar chasing a dream too farfetched. Normality dulled her.  

“Put me in a straitjacket and cart me out on wheels, sister.” He leaned into the chair, metals cooled against his back.  

“But, we know you’re the same...” He leered at Yuuma, and back at her. He was probably listening to their conversations. After all, Yuuma couldn’t let his innocent, precious little psychiatrist in training be left alone with a serial killer.  

“Were, Len.” She corrected him, “I’m not like you anymore.” She glanced nervously at Yuuma.  

Just how badly did she want his approval, it was ludicrous watching her prance around in sheep’s skin. The Rin he knew only took, never negotiated. He found himself rolling his eyes,  

“You can pretend all you want, Rin.” He leaned into his palm,  

“In the end, nothing will get you off more than the sound of screams.”  

He looked at Yuuma again, longer than it was appropriate to stare. Observing the slightest crinkle between his brows betrayed him that he was totally uninterested and stoic. So, he wasn’t such a robot as Len imagined.

“You wonder what kind of despair will suit him.” He waved, smirking, “The sounds he makes when you dig a knife through his skin.”  

Yuuma ignored him.  

“Oops, sorry, sister, I forgot, you’re much more graceful than that.” He targeted Rin this time, “You’re the type who’ll take your time to carve his flesh right off his bones, inch, by inch...”  

His words were honed just enough to break her composure as she slammed the pen on the table. Ah, but not enough to shatter her entirely, that plastic smile was back on her face.  

“I think you’re mistaken, Len, we’re not here to talk about me.”  

He hit a nerve, she was going to silence him. Why did she have to hide such beautiful, intense madness. Only he would accept her for who she really was, but oh no. She didn’t want his acceptance, she wanted Yuuma’s.  

“You, brother dearest, are going to an asylum.”  

He folded his arms, grinning ever so slightly. It was funny she thought she could keep him there and end her disfigured story with a happily ever after.  

Well, she wasn’t entirely wrong, there would be a happily ever after. Except, it wasn’t hers to write.  

.:.:.:      

“Not only are you a hedonistic killer, but lusting for your twin sister too? You’re on a whole new level of fucked up, huh.”

“Ah, was that obvious?” He glanced over his shoulders, musing. Rin sure picked the best ones; not merely a genius, but young, handsome, elegant, reckless all together. With just a smidgen of sinister to hint there was enough bad, to handle her worst.  

She had given him a heart to color vibrant, although nothing would stain on black.  

But, Yuuma wouldn’t see that, not with the iron shackles restraining him in the name of pride. Because Yuuma was a genius, he wouldn’t run. Because Yuuma was a genius, he wouldn’t give up. He believed he could tame his sister, wasn’t that true? (Naïve) To make her something she wasn’t.  

Logic simply couldn’t reason with insanity.  

“It just perplexes me, for a straight A’s student that graduated early. You can be anything you want, a doctor, lawyer...”

“A neurosurgeon like you?” He interrupted, tilting his head to the side.  

“Right. And you choose a serial killer.” Yuuma paused, observing him with prying eyes sharpened to strike. As if he was seeing something rare, transient that only blossomed after a thousand springs.    

“Ever thought that life can be a lot more wholesome?”  

“Boring.” He corrected, strutting towards him, claws on his cheeks caressing down his nape. A chuckle ripped out of him, was this the love she spoke about. So beautiful and breakable. His neck, fragile in his hold, pulsing a symphony called fear, enough to bleed through his palms and intoxicate.  

Len understood why Rin was captivated. Yuuma has the same wretched stench as them; a little bit mellow, and a bucket load of wicked.  

“You’re quite the liar.” Len breathed, rolling his name off the tip of his tongue like melting sugar cubes in hot coffee,  

“Doesn’t it get tiresome to wear those goody two shoes all the time?”  

Ah, he caught on. Yuuma answered with silence, prompting him to continue. Fear was an understatement, or rather, misunderstanding...  

“My sister is a temptress.”  

For a prodigy everything normal, must have been so, unbearably, mundane. And like him, once Yuuma tasted poison, vanilla just didn’t appeal.  

“Although, it’s not her face you’re interested in.”  

It was excitement coursing through his blood.  

“You like how broken she is.”  

He inched closer, and Yuuma held his breath. But, his heart was loud on his palm, feathering his touch as he drew to the dead of his chest. Wild, erratic adrenaline Len could taste, something primal, instinctual like an infant seeking warmth from its mother.  

“And, how broken I am...”  

He kissed him, a tiny storm brew between them, struggling for dominance, yet Yuuma didn’t push him away. Ah, sister, dear – your love is cheap.  

His reaction glowed to him with perfect clarify, even under the dead of night. Part disgust, part curiosity, stirring a toxic concoction despite letting him have his way. Despite answering his taunts.  

Lips were soft against him, sloppy, messy, animalistic, of two brass bells resonating in sync. Oh, how sister would be seething with rage, when the man of her dreams writhed in his touch. Perhaps she hasn’t slept with him yet, he smiled with that thought. Roaming hands dug under Yuuma’s shirt. His muscles tensed in response, down the rigid valleys of his finely sculpted abdomen. Decided to settle on the hems on his jeans, undoing his belt.

And Yuuma allowed him.  

Len rested on his knees, elevating his gaze, to meet his look of hesitancy, carnality. Petals on his fingertips, blooming gardens where he grazed. Yuuma was captivating when he was swept away by his pace. Len enamored him with a sly smile. Rin really knew how to pick.    

Beautiful, submissive.  

Liar.  

Calculative, manipulative, Yuuma was a brilliant actor, but Len took the illusions he’d offered. After all, he was enjoying the show, as he couldn’t quite see how this one ends. Yuuma’s stifled, ecstatic voice, wasn’t too bad either. And he touched too tenderly, (lovingly, hah!) weaving through his hair, edging him to take a little more, pushed a little deeper. It choked him, but he didn’t gag.  

Len drew back, holding him in his hand, still slippery with spit that entangled like silk. He licked his lips, tasting the aftermath of his warmth, aching in his jaws. It’d all felt so disgustingly intimate, vanilla, as if foreboding lovers yearning affections. Akin the mind-numbing fantasies sister would spew. Fate and eternity (nonsense), and dare he even mutter that word?  

Love.  

It was far from. But he shudders each time Yuuma bit back a moan. It was stupid, frightening, because he didn’t know what sort of monster he was. And when false passion ends, and the stage came crumbling. Yuuma might very well be the last one standing, laughing with his meticulous craft that fooled everyone. Len couldn’t tell what preceded him. It irritated him enough to convey in his actions.

Yuuma flinched from his teeth, which weren’t eager to please.  

“Do you want to stop?”  

He said with a sympathetic uncertainty. Although, it was a little too late to adopt that mask again, not after he’d shown Len a glimpse of the serpent he could be, and tasted poison only he made. He concluded that only a sociopath would present himself a helpless lamb before vicious beasts and expect to live.  

Oh, but Yuuma was great at his job. Len could kill him easily right now, but for the first time. He didn’t want to, there was something else he wanted. Could he finally call himself normal? That word strolled off his tongue, still bitter where it had stayed.  

He rose to his feet, swiveled his arms around his neck. Repeating the same melodies, selfishly, greedily, he breathed,  

“No.”  

Yuuma brushed away the wisp of blond, cradled his head to pull him close. Len was left mimicking his sultry approach, this time with more confidence, affirmation. The minute part of his lips, the soft half lidded gaze, so placid as if sleeping. As if dreaming while awake. Lost him in the heat of lust, that wasn’t violent.  

Love?  

No, at best it could be called make believe. He kissed him anyway. And he took away the distaste.    

Look at him, a dirty little liar, just like his sister.        

.:.:.: