#it was SPECIFICALLY about corset photos so at least the ask had that leg to stand on

[sergle]

EXACTLY why the rcdart post makes me laugh so hard bc I can’t Not think about that: the worst insult I’ve ever been given

[a-dumbass-jester]

End, Dark, and Hunt

Here are my designs for the sentient entities au {Part 1} (personality will be in the main part, I didn’t want to make it even longer than it already is(also there’s a image limit))

{End, Dark, Hunt}

{Stranger, Lonely, Desolation}

{Slaughter, Web, Eye}

{Spiral, Flesh, Corruption}

{Vast, Buried, Extinction}

If you don’t know what this is it’s basically a shitpost au of what if the entities where sentient (I’ve been thinking about this since December send help)

For reference on why most of them look so human if you haven’t seen the {main post} (will be linked when finished) especially since that post will come out after these. So basically overtime the entities look more human because of two things. 1, how old they are (they’ve built off of themselves more and developed a personality and stuff) and 2, how feared they are (keeps them more stable) (it’s also just more convenient with the environment their in)

All images from Pinterest (reverse image search it for the original post)

END

(I have so many thoughts get ready) I imagine the End to look very human. it originally looked a lot like the grim reaper and has become more human with time. First off in its transitional stage the roots sort of acted like its hair with resulted in long vine like locs. Due to the whole death/grim reaper thing, they have a very skeletal form with ashy pale brown skin. I feel like they’d be 5’7. I don’t have a reason. That just feels right. They present very androgynous, and appear to to be around 30 or 40. I will be referring to it with they/it pronouns.

I tried to create a Pinterest collage what I think The End would wear but some of it I couldn’t get accurate enough so I will describe in detail.

I imagine it to have a very whimsigoth or witchy look. Still very grim reaper esc. Long dark dresses/skirts and sleeves. I’m specifically picturing a long gray black skirt that goes to its heels. A deep purple skirt clipped up(?) layered on top that ends right above the knee. A red/brown maroon waspie (half) corset that has several belts around it. Long drapey sleeves attached to a loose v neck cut top that’s a similar color to the first skirt. The neckline has been stretched to loosely fall off the shoulders with a thin strapped tank top underneath it that’s the same color as the second skirt. It also has various necklaces around its neck and maybe some rings. It’s still wearing similar boots that it wore in the Victorian era with dark black tights underneath it. As for makeup I image something similar to the 4th photo but maybe a bit more dramatic (specifically eyeliner) with matte black lipstick.

Casual or other outfits would have a similar vibe to it, or a general goth vibe. I feel like if you wondered what would death wear, goth would be one of the first things you thing of. It was goth before ‘goth’ was even a thing(officially at least). Ends outfits have changed with human fashion, since they’ve always kinda been interested in it. So if you wonder what ‘goth’ was during a certain time just look at what End was wearing.

Images: 1,2,3,5,9: outfits. 4: makeup. 6,7: shoes. 8:hair.

Ok I have to be honest I don’t have much for Dark and Hunt (that kinda why I chose them bc of the image limit) so I will try my best to give them full designs but if anyone has any ideas PLEASE tell me.

DARK

So for dark I’m more so picturing like a void of darkness in a somewhat humanoid shape. It’s like kinda swirly and looks a bit like weird misshapen tentacles(only way I can describe it sorry) coming off of it (especially around the head(image below)). If you try you can make out a head, torso, arms and legs. And maybe it’s wearing a long black coat bc it deserves it. I asked @helinedmightbehere if they had any ideas and they said “a single closed eye”. I don’t know what exactly they ment but I’ll add it here anyway. I will be using it/he pronouns (mainly bc it’s also called “Mr. Pitch”).

Here’s a shitty sketch by yours truly^^ (it truly does look like shit but i feel like it gets the point across)

HUNT

Ok I have the least for The Hunt. It is an animalistic fear but still has a few human avatars so maybe some fucked up animal human hybrid. I literally don’t know. Maybe it’s wearing a hunting uniform? I will probably use it/its pronouns.

Anyway this is done thx for reading bye

[jay-and-dean]

I don’t need you  Chapter 2 : Freaking super hero

Dean x reader

Summary : She’s a warrior, she’s a loner. Nothing can stop her, nothing ever had. She doesn’t need Dean, does she ?

This is a request by @magssteenkamp​ that I decided to turn to a serie, see the original request on the serie Masterlist.

Serie Warnings : Swearing (duh). Mention of death. Smut, probably all kind from rough to fluffy, I’ll precise in the chapters if there are specific warnings. Fluff. Angst of course.

Chapter warnings :  Swearing (duh). Mention of death. A tiny hint of jealous Dean. 

Words : 3k

Note : I’ll try to stick to the 3k rule, like for Rescue You

If everything goes as planned, you’ll get one chapter every wednesday (Thanks to @magssteenkamp, I call it WednesJay, lol. Sorry okay, I shut up).

***Want to read more ? => MASTERLIST***

*** I don’t need you MASTERLIST***

__________________________

2.     FREAKING SUPER HERO

 Dean’s Pov

             All the lights. This apartment is big, and its windows are too. I look at the regular shadows of the metallic lines of the windows that divide her bedroom door into bended squares.

She offered us to stay at her place, opened the sofa bed, and disappeared behind that door. I just can’t sleep, again. I try to imagine I’m in my bedroom in the bunker, or on Baby’s backseat, but everything is so new to me here. I lost my bearings.

I stare around, my eyes wide open, now used to the weak darkness. Is it possible that she’s just better than us ? Like more up-to-date, trained by the cruelty of huge cities ? How can she do this alone ?

The walls are covered in those research papers, and, after a while, in the middle of this organized mess, my own name catches my eyes.

I get up in silence, trying not to make the mattress move too much, to let my brother sleep. Is it California that made him so insensible to lights and noises at night ? Maybe…

“Dean Winchester is a demon.” I frown, it’s a printing of a mail she got from someone called thathunter87, she hung it here and made a red line between that and a stolen page of a grimoire about demon cure. Why ?

On the table under all those articles and notes on the wall, a long desk, covered in books, notebooks and folders. It’s like she had hundreds of hunter journals, one for each subject.

Discreetly going through them, I find one called “Winchesters” and a shiver runs down my spine but the thought attached to it never reaches my brain. I open it. There are no photos, just mails from thathunter87 and pages of those Supernatural stupid books.

My eyes widen suddenly, and my heart misses a beat. Next to pieces of the books and a sketch of our anti-possession tattoo scribbled like she was thinking hard, a few words : Was John abusive to Dean ?

“Trouble sleeping ?” a whisper makes me jump.

I turn and my breath gets caught in my throat.

           She’s standing in the door frame, an oversized Hocus Pocus t-shirt hiding her upper thighs, and nothing covering her legs.

She looks so different now. Almost… cute. Her worn out t-shirt falling childishly like thin drape on her body, her face freed from any makeup and her hair going in every directions. I can’t help but imagine a morning after…

           She walks to me, pushing her messy hair out of her face. And I’m so caught up in this vision that I forget to hide what I was looking at.

“Oh… I’m sorry” she murmurs, taking the notebook out of my hands. “I know it’s not my business.”

I have no idea what to answer despite the thousands questions flying in my skull, and just keep searching her face, loudly cursing at myself in my head.

“How do you know us ?” I finally say low, my pupils dilating at the ray of the night light hitting her collarbone and I try to fight the electric feeling giving me goosebumps.

“Well, the Supernatural books saved my life” her whisper feels like her nails were grazing my back.

“How ?” I dare, my curiosity getting the best of me.

She chuckles but a shadow crosses her face, a shadow of fear and pain, something weak and lonely, everything she usually hides so well.

“Dark days… I… I lived in the street a long time ago” she looks down. “I needed to believe in heroes I guess.”

Her smile is soft and kind for a second, making me almost believe I could take her in my arms, like an old friend, like a lover. But she sighs, and it’s like she had breathe out everything soft, her eyes become stern and her neck straighten.

“Jimmy doesn’t whine too much ?” she asks, pointing at the laundry room with her chin.

“Not a sound” I assure her, and she smiles dangerously.

“I threatened him a lot.”

 Reader’s Pov

             I walk to the laundry and open the door.

“Ah good you’re there” Jimmy starts right away, making the chair creak. “I-…”

But I cut him.

“One more word and you will regret it, Jimmy. Remember what I said : If my guests sleep bad because of you, I cut your cock, to see if it grows back on an immortal.”

I close the door and give Dean a little corner smile.

           Sam grunts and turn in the sofa, taking all the cover with him. I chuckle and take a glass of water from the kitchen sink.

“Sleep, Dean, tomorrow will be a long day” I murmur walking back to my room, hoping my own thoughts will stop harassing me.

 *******

             I get up and grab my clothes, lazily walking to the bathroom. On my way to it, my eyes glance at the brothers on my sofa, Dean is still not sleeping.

           He looks at me in silence, his piercing eyes following me when I cross the room, but I don’t say a word to him. I know he’s familiar with nightmares, he would hear it in my voice.

           Having them here somehow brought bad memories. It’s a paradox : They saved me from very bad moments in my life, but meeting them makes me think a lot about those dark times, and since I know they’re in town, my own demons are screaming at me. Or maybe knowing I will see Holloway tonight…

           I enter the bathroom and put my clothes on the chair next to the shower. I have to be prepared. In the shower I repeat my plan in my head. I have nothing left to lose, so nothing can end worse than it already is. If I feed, if I become a vampire, I know the Winchesters will end me, and I would finally die peacefully, knowing at least I tried. If I miss Holloway, I will have him next time… If I just die, well it will be over, at last.

           Sam and Dean will try to talk me out of it, I know that, and I’ll have to be very firm, because they can’t make that mission fail. There was a time when I needed heroes, now I don’t.

           The shower turns cold again, ripping me out of my thoughts, I grunt and rinse quickly under the familiar freezing jet.

Naked, I look at the mirror, using the sight of my scars to focus my anger. This is the cut they made on me to taste my blood, after they killed my family… my finger graze the little straight scar on my arm ; this one is the knife cut I got from that rape attempt when I was in the streets. This is fangs, I hate this one.

Then the transformation starts.

Like every day, I put on my mask : The outfit I use to remember who I am, and to forget who I was.

           I feel like putting on an armor the second I start to draw my eye-liner cat’s eye line. And by the time I tighten the ribbons of my corset hard, nothing in me is vulnerable anymore. My back is straight and held, my eyes are dark…

           I’m going to kill them all.

 Dean’s Pov

             She comes out of the bathroom, dressed like that warrior she is, tough and sexy, transformed, unrecognizable, like a freaking super hero.

But I will never forget the cute girl I saw last night.

“I have coffee” she says when Sam sits up, looking around like he was wondering for a second where he was. “And I can make eggs, I don’t want my side kicks to be hungry.”

Her voice sounds slightly different on the word “hungry” and, knowing she lived in the street, I guess she knows what truly hungry is…

I nod and Sam thank her but she’s already in the kitchen. I get up, joining her behind the counter to help her with anything she would need. The truth is, I just want to be around.

I notice a man big jacket on a chair and wonder who she could invite here, despite hunters. Is she really alone ? Does she have friends ? Lovers ?...

“I have no sugar” she states sternly.

And once again, I’m mute, taking the mug she hands me to break eggs in an old pan.

           Suddenly, the walls tremble and the power goes off, the only light she had turn on going off, and the few device she has dying. She sighs but keeps cooking on her gas stove like it was nothing.

“Your stomach is noisy” she chuckles.

“Sorry” I mumble, making her raise an eyebrow.

           She puts the plates on her coffee table with two cups of coffee, going back to the kitchen to take a mug for herself. Only two plates.

“You don’t eat ?” Sam asks.

“I don’t like eggs” she shrugs. “And I have nothing else, I’ll buy something later.”

“I can go to buy you something” I state, really uncomfortable with her not eating with us.

“Eat, Dean. I can handle myself.”

           A knock on the door makes Sam and I frown.

Keeping her coffee cup in her hand, she grabs her gun, puts it in her belt in her back, and walks to the door. Sam and I get up, even if we can’t see the main door from here, we’re ready to fight.

“Hey Y/n. Was it the Winchesters ?” a man voice greets her.

Y/n…

“Yeah. There are no more eggs, I gave them the ones you bought” she answers.

“You feed them now ?” the man mocks. “I bought you a chocolate muffin.”

Why does that annoys me ?

           She appears in the room again, followed by this guy, Joe, the bartender. He’s a very tall –Sammy tall- strong guy with long blond hair in a bun. Freaking hipster.

           When he sees us, he frowns, and look at her like she was insane.

“What are they doing here ?” he asks, making my brother raise his eyebrows at his rudeness. “Wait, Y/n, did they sleep here ?”

“I invited them” she shrugs, sitting to unwrap her chocolate muffin. “Sam, Dean, this is Joe. Joe, bla bla.”

I can’t help smiling at her attitude, but Joe doesn’t. It’s like he didn’t want us to be here, like he was threatened by us somehow… And it suddenly hits me. The chocolate muffin, the things he “forgets” at her place, the worry.

He’s in love with her.

“I have to buy a few things for tonight” she states, ripping a little part of the muffin between her fingers, to slip it between her lips, licking her index a little when chocolate stick on her skin.

“Do you want me to come with you ?” Joe immediately says and I have to blink to not roll my eyes.

“No” she states, then she turns to Sam. “You already made the cure for your brother, I heard.”

“Y-yeah” Sam hesitates. “But are you sure…”

“Then” she cuts him. “Could you prepare it while I’m out ? I already have all the ingredients… And Jimmy.”

“What are you talking about Y/n ? You’re not doing it ? Tell me you’re not doing it.” Joe asks, looking around and she sighs, getting up.

“Okay listen” she states. “All of you. If you have something to say about my plan, you can walk out the door now. I can do this alone. I don’t need you.”

She puts the rest of the muffin in Joe’s hands and take her coat.

“I’ll be here in a few hours, don’t kill Jimmy accidentally with day light, and don’t, well… I don’t know, be stupid. Sam, the ingredients are on the sill, and if you don’t want to do the cure, just… Okay” she says before she leaves, a silence falling on us.

 *******

           I don’t like Joe, the guy stayed with us for no reason, like he wanted to survey us.

           Sam is looking in the box, trying to find a bowl to mix them. And the bartender and I are left practically staring at each other.

“Did you guys convinced her it was a good idea ?” he finally speaks.

“What do you mean ?” I grunt. “Of course not ! This is a terrible idea. I should go, not her.”

Sam lifts his head form the bowl and looks at me with a disapproving frown.

“She will kill you” Joe chuckles darkly. “You have no idea how bad she needs to get them, you have no idea what she’s been through.”

“Well, I won’t let her get killed by those freaks” I state.

“Dean…” my brother speaks. “She knows them way better than we do, this is her plan, her hunt. I think she knows what she’s doing, and you’ve seen her… She’s a great hunter.”

I sit down, sighing, rubbing my face with both hands. Am I supposed to stay there, watching her run to her death ?

 Reader’s Pov

             I take another sip of whiskey, letting the smooth notes of blues wrap me in the comfortable atmosphere of the small bar. I knew Joe would stay with them, and looking behind the bar, I give his colleague a little smile.

           I sigh with the little bottle in my hand, making the thick poisonous liquid redden the sides of the glass.

           I can’t go back to my apartment. They must already be making plans to force me to stay home. I know them. In a way I Know the three of them.

Joe is my friend, and I know he thinks we should be more than that, those ideas of “saving” me spoiling his mind for years, like I was some kind of precious bird with broken wings.

I am not.

I’m not broken or damaged. I’m just furious, a storm of rage boiling in my veins. And he can keep his fairy tales for him. Unconditional love is not going to save me. I told him that, and refusing any kind of proximity with him, I think I made it very clear. But he will always try to save me.

And the Winchesters… They are heroes. Self-sacrifice is burned in their genes. They are as determined to protect everyone they meet, as I am to kill Holloway.

The early winter night is announcing its rise with a pink ink in the city sky. I finish my glass and take my phone.

Did Sam prepare the cure ? I send to Joe.

I get up and walk to the bathroom to check my look on the mirror. Arranging my hair, I practice my smile. It has to be innocent, charming and seductive.

He did. We have to ad Jimmy’s blood but only once you’re turned. Oh God, please don’t do that. Why didn’t you come back ? Where are you ? The night is almost there, and the Winchesters are sneaky. I stayed with them to make sure they don’t rummage through your stuff, but they’re asking questions. Why did you let them stay at your apartment in the first place ? Joe answers in four messages in a row.

Because I don’t really care.

           I put money on the counter and greet the woman behind it, getting out.

           Dead man’s blood capsules in my purse, my vampire killing knife in my boot, another thin slightly longer blade in back along my spine. The magical burning oil in its little flask. That’s all I can take with me. I stuff my purse with lipsticks, random keys, foundation powder and other useless things, in case someone looked into it.

I will drop my guns and other weapons in the trash cans outside the club. I already spent two hours looking at it to be prepared. I know every entrances.

It’s time.

I walk to the alley I slept in so many nights. I don’t know why I chose to do it here, probably because I so often thought I would die here. It’s smaller than I remember, darker too.

On the wall, the drawing I had made, the anti-possession tattoo my heroes wore in their skin. I was sure it would protect me from my own demons, I was so sure it would. I used to put my hand on it when hunger made me so weak I couldn’t stand, when cold was biting my skin ; and when despair was beating me up, telling myself it would make me go through the night.

At least I thought it helped. The truth is, I was alone, and I was the only one fighting all this, the only one that could help me.

I put my finger on it.

“I met the Winchesters” I whisper to the girl I was, to the childhood that died here, wishing I could hear that in the past. “They’re even more handsome than you thought” I half smile, fighting the tears. “But they are not going to save you. You are. It ends tonight.”

           Taking the little bottle in my hand, I close my eyes for a second. I hate vampires. I have to focus on that, I have to be strong, and merciless.

If I become a vampire for good. They have to kill me. I send Joe.

Then I open the flask and drink it in one go.

 Dean’s Pov

             “She answered !” Joe exclaims, getting up to read her long-awaited text.

When he frowns, my heart starts to beat faster. She never came back and now night is here. I’m going nuts, I can’t just stay on this stupid couch.

“She…” the bartender says, but he doesn’t finish, just showing us the text.

Sam runs to the laundry door and opens it.

“Did she take your blood ?” he almost yells and my pupils dilate.

When the vampire chuckles darkly, Sam turns to us.

           She’s already gone.

________________________

***FEEDBACK IS GOLD***

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I don’t need you tags : @charmed-asylum​

[aliciameade]

Santa's Little Helper - Merry Pitchmas 2019

Merry Pitchmas to @brandneweyesx! 

Summary: Beca needs to earn some extra cash so Chloe hooks her up with a job at the mall. And maybe her motives aren't totally innocent.

Rated: T

(Also on AO3)

“Just cover me one more time; you know I’m good for it,” Beca says, giving her best big doe-eyes that she knows will win over Chloe. She doesn’t take advantage of the known weakness that often, but it’s useful when she does.

She watches Chloe sigh yet nod in agreement. “Okay. You know, if you’re so broke, I could try to put in a good word at a few of the stores in the mall. They all staff up for the holidays.”

Beca’s instinct is to reject it; she’s busy enough as it is with figuring out how the Bellas will defend their national title and repeat as champions. Oh, and attending class. She does that most days, too. She’s also flat broke as a result of her packed schedule and Chloe’s paid Beca’s share of the Bella house bills for the last three months.

“Fine,” Beca says, resigned. “But nothing lame like Cinnabon or hocking hand lotions at a kiosk. Get me in at Journeys or Sunglass Hut. Somewhere I can get a discount on stuff I actually want to buy.”

She smiles into Chloe’s shoulder when she gets tackled by a wholly unnecessary and welcome hug. “I’ll do my best. I can’t believe we’re going to work together!”

“Do not get me a job at Victoria’s Secret.”

“What—too tempting to look at all the pretty girls?”

“Shut up,” Beca huffs while pushing Chloe off her. She schools her face into a strong pout with a hefty glare that earns her a giggly kiss to her cheek.

“Don’t worry,” Chloe says, voice dropping to a whisper, “your secret’s safe with me.”

Beca’s pout turns into a furious blush. She’s still getting used to the whole someone-knows-she’s-gay thing. Chloe was the first—and remains the only—person she’s come out to. It’s been kind of nice getting to talk about it, even if it feels a lot like learning to ride a bike without training wheels.

It’s helped that Chloe had made no secret about her own bisexuality, and her current favorite hobby is quietly pointing out (or texting pictures of) girls she thinks Beca might find attractive and prodding her for an opinion. It’s also often accompanied with, “I can talk to her for you if you want.”

Beca’s been dismissive of the options, begrudgingly admitting that, “Yes, that girl is pretty,” but, “No, please don’t talk to her for me.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” is the reason she provides when Chloe asks why not.

“What if we went on a date instead?” is the answer she wishes she could give,” but, “No, please don’t talk to her for me.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” is the reason she provides when Chloe asks why not.

“What if we went on a date instead?” is the answer she wishes she was brave enough to give instead.

“Okay, no lingerie stores,” Chloe laughs, interrupting Beca’s thoughts. “Let me see what I can rustle up for you.”

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

When Beca shows up at the mall the following Thursday afternoon, she’s there via what seems like one step away from an illegal hustle based on the lack of information provided by the man who had called her.

“Southeast entrance. 4:00. Ask for Randall.”

Turns out the southeast entrance isn’t where she’s going; a man identified as Randall leads her through a service entrance and into a network of nondescript, neutral-colored hallways. She’s considering texting Chloe and asking what exactly she’s about to walk into or if she needs to have her family prepare ransom money when Randall pushes open a door into an employee locker room.

Her apprehension eases considerably at the normalcy that comes with it. Just walls of blue lockers, a few benches, and a vending machine.

“163,” he says, pointing vaguely.

“They’re assigned? What is this, high school?” she asks with a laugh, only he doesn’t laugh back and she sobers, apprehension immediately returning. She follows his orders though, glad to put some distance between them, and pops the latch on locker 163.

“What is this?” she asks, pointing at its contents as she turns around, but Randall is already leaving and has offered no further instruction or clarity. “Cool, cool, cool,” she says with a nod as she turns back to face her reality.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

“We need to talk,” she texts Chloe, accompanied by a photo of the atrocious red and green outfit hanging in her locker before stuffing her phone into the pocket of her green skirt (at least it has pockets). The candy cane-striped leggings are itchy, the corsetted top is, in her opinion, too racy for Christmas, and honestly, don’t even get her started on the hat.

At least she can wear her own boots.

Unsure where to go, she stomps out the same exit Randall had gone and nearly runs into the man waiting on the other side of the door.

“Let’s go,” he says before dialing a number on a weirdly out-of-date flip phone.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on? I mean, I have a pretty good idea but it’d be nice to know—“

She stops mid-sentence when a door opens and she’s pushed (not led) right into the open floor of the shopping center just meters away from what is clearly the back of the mall’s installation of Santa’s Workshop, a noisy, bright monstrosity designed as a cash-grab for parents who need Instagram content. She’s avoided it like the plague every season while shopping, and now it seems the avoidance has ricocheted back upon her ten-fold.

She turns around looking for Randall but he’s gone and the door she was booted through is closed and the only thing left for her to do is to explore the obvious: she approaches the back door of the workshop and knocks while considering ding-dong-ditching.

The door swings open and a man that looks to be about her age, maybe a bit younger, sticks his head out. He’s dressed similarly but has a noticeable amount of rouge on his cheeks and he’s definitely wearing body glitter. “Beca?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Just in time; I need a damn break. Get in here.”

She’s half-pulled into the structure which is much less magical inside than its exterior, save for a few deliberately placed decorations that can be seen if one looks in from the front windows. There are a couple of overstuffed chairs, a Christmas tree, a fake fireplace,  and a plain table and chairs that sit in the back out of sight for employees. “Um, I don’t really know what I’m doing here. Literally and figuratively,” she adds hoping for at least a smile but instead, she gets a blank stare.

“You’re an elf. Go be an elf.” With that, her new, nameless coworker disappears out the back as if such an explanation is suitable for someone’s first day on a job, as basic as it might seem.

“And a Merry Christmas to you,” she says with a sarcastic bow in his direction. She checks her phone expecting a response form Chloe but she hasn’t replied so she does the only thing she can do.

She puts her phone away and opens the front door of Santa’s Workshop to the cheers (and screams) of children and a loud, “Ho, ho, ho! Here’s another of my little helpers!” from an unimpressive mall Santa who looks at her with what should be a criminal level of disdain. Or pity. “Well, let’s not keep the good girls and boys waiting!” He gestures at the line that has no end in sight and Beca figures there’s only one thing to do.

“Okay, little guy,” she says, reaching out to take the hand of the next child in line, “let’s visit Santa!”

She’s going to have some very strong words for Chloe when she sees her tonight.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

“Dude, you said you were going on a break! It’s been at least two hours,” she whispers harshly under her breath when the elf she replaced returns. All he offers is a shrug and takes up a position at the front of the line to pass off the children to Beca.

At least she doesn’t have to walk back and forth trying to control the kids anymore. If they make it as far as her, most of them are agreeable to her lifting them on to Santa’s lap without too much of a fuss.

Her back is aching by the time someone tells her that she can take a dinner break and her hands are so uncomfortably sticky that she knows she’s destined to wake up puking tomorrow thanks to some illness she’s acquired. She pushes through the front door of the workshop and makes a beeline for the giant pump bottle of hand sanitizer, briefly considering bathing with it but settles on slathering it only on her hands and arms.

A check of her phone reveals to her her worst nightmare.

A photo, sent from Chloe, of Beca standing on the porch of Santa’s Workshop looking less than impressed by her situation, staring off into the distance contemplating her existence.

Only the photo was sent to the Bellas’ group chat, not just Beca, and there are at least fifty texts of varying levels of amusement and threats of blackmail that follow it.

She’s typing out a message intended just for Chloe to convey her irritation as she exits through the back door only to find the would-be recipient of her words waiting for her wearing exactly the smile Beca imagined her sporting when she sent her evil, evil photo to the girls.

“You!” she growls, her stride changing to stalk toward her co-captain. “You knew about this!”

“You asked me to get you a job, Bec!” Chloe says, voice so high and eyes so bright with mirth that it’s impossible for Beca to maintain any level of ill-will toward her. “So I got you a job.”

Beca pokes her squarely in the chest. “This wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“No?”

“I specifically said nothing lame.”

“It’s not lame,” Chloe grins. “I love Christmas!”

“Right. You love Christmas.”

Her correction goes unnoticed (or ignored) by Chloe. “I knew you’d make a good elf.”

Beca crosses her arms. “And why is that? Choose your words carefully.”

“Because I knew you’d look adorable in the costume.” Her eyes roam Beca in what feels like a slightly invasive manner. “And I was right.”

Beca blushes despite herself. “I look like an idiot.”

“But an adorable idiot. Are you on break?”

Beca lets her comment slide. “Yeah.”

“Awes. Me, too. Let’s go to the food court.”

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Beca should have known that going to the food court in full elf attire would garner attention, especially from children. They flocked to her asking about Santa like pigeons to tossed breadcrumbs and if not for the stupidly cute way Chloe watched her while it happened, she would have probably done something to get herself fired on her first day, like yelling that Santa isn’t even real and to get the fuck away from her.

“You know you owe me. Big time,” she says as Chloe walks her back to the workshop.

“If I’m not mistaken, you actually owe me. That’s why you’re here.”

“Right,” Beca grumbles.

“But seeing you dressed up like this is definitely worth more than the money you owe me. Let’s call it even.”

“What? Dude, no,” Beca says, feeling immensely guilty that Chloe’s offering to forgive the nearly $100 she owes. “I’ll pay you back.”

She feels Chloe grab her hand once they’re behind the workshop and sidle up alongside her to whisper conspiratorially. “Tell you what: give me a private tour of Santa’s Workshop after you close. Then we’ll call it even.”

Beca’s stomach flip-flops, maybe from the mall sushi she just ate or maybe from Chloe being so close and sounding so suggestive. “I don’t think I’m supposed to do that.”

Chloe clicks her tongue and the fact that it happens so close to Beca’s ear makes her shiver. “Everyone knows Santa’s Workshop after-hours is the place to be. You just have to know someone to get in. And now I know you.”

Beca can’t help but smirk a little. “You make it sound like it’s the hottest new club.”

“Well, maybe not quite,” Chloe says with a shrug and puts a bit of space between them once again. “But I do want to see it.”

“It’s just a big empty box.”

“Then who cares if I see it?” Damn Chloe and her logic.

“Fine. What time does this thing close? I don’t even know who my supervisor is. Or when my shift ends.”

“Mall closes at 9:00. Santa at 8:30.”

Beca checks her very non-elf-like watch and groans that it’s only 6:30. “Then meet me here at 8:30.”

Chloe gives her one of her excited squeals and a kiss on her cheek before scampering away back toward her much less lame job at Aeropostale with a wave.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

She spots Chloe spying on her in the open plaza of the mall when she’s helping the other elf close up the workshop (which involves little more than placing a sign in front of the door that reads Santa’s checking his lists - come back tomorrow!) and she throws a glare or two her way.

Chloe laughs at them and when Beca disappears into the workshop house to exit through the back, she sees Chloe all but skipping around it to meet her. Beca lets her fellow elf depart first who stops when he almost bumps into Chloe waiting at the back door. Beca’s immediate reaction is to panic that she’s in trouble but instead, he turns around smiling and says, “Nice one, honey. And on your first day.”

She doesn’t have a chance to ask what he means because he’s out the door and Chloe’s stepping in, closing it behind her.

“Why did he look at me that way?” Beca asks, trying to catch sight of him through a side window as he departs.

“I don’t know,” Chloe says airly. “This is cool!”

“Uh, sure,” Beca says as she steps aside so Chloe can explore what little there is to the place. She watches her try out both chairs, wondering aloud which one is Santa’s and which one is Mrs. Claus’s while taking more than one selfie.

“Come sit on my lap,” Chloe says and it makes Beca wonder if she heard correctly.

“What?”

“Come on,” she repeats, patting it. “Don’t think I’m not getting a picture with Santa’s cutest elf in his workshop.”

“Oh, my God, stop,” Beca says with a roll of her eyes. “I’ll do it, but only if I get photo approval.”

“Deal,” Chloe grins, holding out her arms expectantly.

As if it’s really some big chore for Beca.

She perches cautiously on Chloe’s knee only to get pulled back until Chloe’s arm is around her waist, the other poised in the air with her phone at the ready.

“Say, ‘Have a holly jolly Christmas!’”

“Not saying that,” Beca says but she smiles for the photos anyway.

A few minutes and many photos (and one photo approval) later, Chloe has a new Instagram post and Beca has days of ridicule lying ahead. She’s also still basically on Chloe’s lap, the two of them shifting to share the chair, though Beca’s legs have to drape awkwardly over Chloe’s to fit.

“You know,” Chloe starts as she wiggles to get her phone into her pocket, “I’ve worked at this mall for three Christmases and I’ve never been invited to the workshop.”

“Should I know why that’s significant?”

“Well,” she says as she settles again, her free hand now taking up Beca’s to start playing with her fingers absentmindedly, “this is totes the make-out spot in the mall.”

Beca nearly chokes. “What?”

“I told you: it’s VIP. You have to be invited. It’s like, the law of the mall.”

“And you thought making me an elf would get you in? Dude, I’m not going to be a lookout while you hook up with someone in here.”

“No, silly,” Chloe laughs. “I didn’t mean that. I wanted you to invite me.”

Beca feels like her ears are on fire. “What?”

“You wanna make out?”

Beca’s sure she’s now entirely engulfed in flames, and Chloe’s hand resting on her hip isn’t helping matters. “Dude, what?”

“We don’t have to,” Chloe quickly follows with. “Unless...unless you want to? Maybe? I’m not trying to make anything weird, I just thought, you know, I like you, and now that I know you like girls, too, I just thought maybe...”

Beca’s brain tunes out after that because Chloe’s turned from a giggly, cuddly friend to a rambling ball of nerves; she can even feel how tense Chloe is beneath her. She tunes out because Chloe’s asking Beca if she wants to kiss. Each other. And something about Chloe having thought about it?

“Okay.” She doesn’t know where the word comes from but her brain spits it out and it cuts off Chloe.

“...Okay?” Chloe repeats slowly, as though unsure she heard what she thinks she heard.

Beca feels seconds from full-on panic so she just nods.

“Oh. Cool,” Chloe says, the uncertainty and tension starting to ease. “So…”

“So…” Beca repeats and finds herself adjusting her position next to Chloe so they’re less cheek-to-cheek and more face-to-face.

Or lips-to-lips, as it were. Not that she’s thinking of such things. Mostly her heart os pounding in her ears and her stomach is tingling because there’s no doubt that Chloe’s staring at Beca’s mouth with intent and there’s getting to be less and less distance between them.

Beca holds her breath when they’re so close she can feel Chloe’s. But then Chloe stops.

“Are you sure?” she asks and Beca almost laughs.

“Chloe.” She hears herself and is embarrassed by how whiney it sounds but it makes Chloe’s soft lips split into a grin.

“I just wanted to hear you beg,” she whispers before erasing the last inch between them to press her lips to Beca’s.

Beca’s still reeling from the fact that Chloe is kissing her when her sassy and startingly sexy words register with Beca. She starts to pull away with a grunt of protest, not of the kiss but of Chloe’s cockiness, but Chloe laughs against her lips and slides the arm that’s been around Beca’s waist higher up her back so she can’t get far.

Beca doesn’t really want to get away from Chloe anyway. Or stop what’s currently happening. Because Chloe’s lips feel amazing touching hers and just when Beca starts to sink into it, Chloe changes things up and tilts her head in a way that makes them fit even better.

The sound Beca makes at the touch of Chloe’s tongue to her lips is just as embarrassing as whining about Chloe teasing her but the sound Chloe makes in response is the sexiest thing Beca’s ever heard.

It fuels her. Emboldens her to press a bit forward, to part her lips and let Chloe in to meet her tongue with her own.

That’s all it takes for them to be making out in the darkened Santa’s Workshop. A rambly suggestion and Beca nodding like a bobblehead. If she had known it would be that easy, maybe they could have done this a long time ago.

Not that she has any regrets. Not when Chloe’s tongue is playing with hers in a way that makes Beca think she might be showing off. Or maybe Chloe’s just an amazing kisser.

(She’s pretty sure it’s the latter.)

She doesn’t know how much time passes but eventually Chloe is the one to pull back with a satisfied-sounding groan. “God, that was really good,” she says before leaning in to kiss Beca again, a hard, fast, wet kiss that turns Beca on more in those three seconds than everything prior.

“Yeah,” Beca replies and she can hear in her own voice how breathless she sounds.

“And you look...smokin’ hot dressed up like this.”

Beca almost finds enough snark left inside her to turn that into a comment about Chloe having a weird Christmas kink, except as soon as she thinks about Chloe having kinks of any kind, her mind shuts down again and she’s the one suddenly kissing Chloe, hard, fast, and wet.

Chloe groans again when Beca pulls back and it’s all she can do to not lean right in for more. It feels too good and knowing it’s affecting Chloe like it’s affecting Beca is even better. She manages to refrain, though, because she’s noticing how dark it’s gotten. “Dude, they turned off all the lights.”

“Mall’s closed,” Chloe says, voice sounding as dreamy as she looks.

“And it’s okay for us to still be here?”

“Security will let us out. Do you want to do this again?” Chloe’s question follows her comment about security with no warning and it catches Beca off-guard.

“Uh, I mean…” she stumbles over what she should say; she doesn’t want to sound like the horny college student she is, and she doesn’t want to sound like she’s rejecting Chloe’s offer (?), but she definitely wants to do this again. “Amy’s crashing at Bumper’s tonight,” is how she answers it and it’s not until Chloe’s eyes go wide with surprise that she realizes how that sounded.

“I just meant...oh, my God,” she rushes, trying to figure out how to explain that she didn’t mean it ‘that way’ except she kind of did, just not all-the-way that way. Except despite tonight being their first kiss, she’s pretty sure she would sleep with Chloe tonight if things went that direction.

It’s not like she’s never thought about it.

“I just meant we can hang out in my room and be alone and see what happens.”

Chloe’s smiling at her struggle to answer and it only grows. “‘See what happens’? What if what happens is more of that?”

Beca thinks it’s a dumb question. Dumb dumb dumb. “Then that would be fine,” she says with a nod.

“Then let’s go home,” Chloe whispers before pulling Beca into one more kiss, all of it leaving Beca’s legs unsteady when she finally rights herself so they can leave the workshop.

“I can’t get over this,” Chloe says with a tug to Beca’s skirt before standing up as well. “Can you keep it on when we get home?”

“In your dreams.”

Chloe hums thoughtfully as she takes Beca’s hand to lead her out of the workshop and through the hidden hallways of the mall to the exit. “Oh, it will be.”

Beca has a lot of questions about that: what exactly she means, what exactly she’d be dreaming of, what exactly what’s happening means for them as friends, and if it means something more.

Instead of asking about any of that, however, she says, “I didn’t forget what you did. You’re not off the hook for this elf thing.”

The look Chloe tosses her over her shoulder makes her breath catch. “Guess I’ll have to make it up to you.”

The End

[darth-el]

You Put A Spell On Me

Pairing: Billy x Reader (modern AU)  Warnings: Alcohol, smoking, implied smut A/N: This was requested by an anon who wanted the famous person trope with fated mates from table 5. If you want to request a couple of tropes you can find the post here. I hope you enjoy and feedback is always welcome. I really enjoyed writing this one.  Masterlist

The winter sun was exactly what you needed. That's one thing you loved about touring, a lot of the time it took you away from the cold. You remembered when you first started out, you were in small venues with barely anyone watching. You were fortunate to find a few local circuits which helped you build your name. The trouble with what you were doing was that it was oversaturated, you needed something groundbreaking to make yourself known. You had been dancing since you could walk, you were fortunate to have parents who supported you. When you were ten you started saving your money because you were fascinated with the Argentinian tango and wanted to visit Buenos Aires to learn properly. You did exactly that when you were seventeen. You stayed there for three years. You also met the love of your life, Xavier who was there on business, on your 20th birthday. He was smart and successful and took you around the world with him and encouraged you to dance. He even built a very large dance studio in his apartment for you.  One day while you were in Bali he took you to see fire dancers, you were hooked. You wanted to learn that, so you did. It took a lot of courage as the fire scared you, and you burnt yourself a couple of times, but fortunately it was never anything too serious. When it was one of those rare stints you were back home in New York, you stumbled across burlesque dancing. The women were glamorous, they were sexy, they were everything you felt you needed to be. You read everything you could have about burlesque. You started to take classes to understand the basics and it started to snowball into other things, from aerial to pole dancing, to pyrotechnics and sword swallowing. You decided burlesque dancing was what you wanted to do with your life, and that's what you exactly did. The more well known you became amongst the dancers and fans the more Xavier pushed you away because you needed him less and less. You realised you didn't need him at all when you twenty-four and walked away from him. You weren't going to let some man destroy your dream. After you ended the relationship you ended up dating a lot of business owners and trust fund children who hadn't worked a day in their life. You eventually grew bored of this and decided not to date anyone which became easier and easier due to touring.

Sitting in the dingy bar bought back all those memories, it was nice to have a night out in between shows. You wanted to say that it was nice not being someone else, but in reality your stage persona was you. That night you were dressed in a dark red velvet pencil dress, it clung to your figure in all the places. You stood out in the crowded room. As did he. He was rough around the edges, not the usual type you would go for. He was captivated by you and he had a cocky smile on his face as walked over to you. He was wearing a dark red shirt which was buttoned down exposing his chiselled chest with a leather jacket over the top and dark jeans. He wasn't that different to the guys you went for, he loved himself just as much. He leaned on the bar as he stared at you smiling, you flirtatiously smiled at him as you slowly looked away. “What you drinking doll?” He moved closer to you which made you look at him with a smirk on your face. “Vodka on the rocks.” You raised glass at him as you said this still with the smile on your face. You adjusted your position as you leaned on the bar yourself, to accentuate your legs and ass which definitely caught his attention as he was eyeing you up as he ordered two more vodkas. “Do you have a name darling?” The smile not leaving his face. “Y/N.” You hold out your hand to shake his and he cups your soft hand in his rough ones before kissing the top of your hand not taking his deep blue eyes off yours. “Billy.” His voice was husky and low, like you he knew he was going to conquer you. You knew he was used to getting any girl he wanted when he wanted, so you decided to make him work for you. You were the one in control. “How does a beautiful girl like you find herself in a place like this?” His said as he took a sip of his vodka. You look at the bar, it wasn't great, but it definitely wasn't bad. It was just a bit middle of the road. At least they had good vodka though. “I'm on tour,” You smirked at him leaning in closer, you could smell a mixture of cologne and cigarettes on him, and he could smell your expensive perfume on you. “You in a band?” He laughed gently at this, thinking that there was no way an elegant girl like you could be in a band. “Something like that,” You winked at him taking the last sip of vodka before paying your tab. “Might see you around.” You blew a kiss at him as you walked off confidently swaying your hips. He stared at you in awe wondering if you were real. You enjoyed your two days in LA of not doing anything except preparing for your show, which came around quickly. The show was sold out, you were performing to a crowd of over 2000 people. This wasn't the biggest crowd you performed for, but it didn't stop the nerves. As you squeezed yourself into your crystal encrusted corset and adjusted your extravagant headpiece. “GUYS, DOLLS, AND NON-BINARY PALS PLEASE PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR THE BEAUTIFUL STRAWBERRY D'LITE!” Your partner in crime, Leah announced to the audience. You walk on stage and begin your routine.  This routine involved you breathing and eating fire. The audience were starstruck. After the show you get dressed back up and make your way to the bar out the front of the venue and met with everyone who wanted to meet you and have photos with you. This was the favourite part of your night, as you got to meet people from around the world. You saw a few a familiar faces and enjoyed conversing with them and seeing what they were up to and how they were enjoying LA, or how they were enjoying the USA because some were from overseas and flew in specifically to you. That's when you see Billy again. This time he was with friends, you could tell it was his friends idea to go and see you as he looked like a fish out of water. He clocks you again and looked intimidated, he was like a shy school kid who was trying to pluck up the courage to ask you to prom. The crowd started to filter out and move onto the next place. You order two vodkas and bring them over to him along with a napkin which had your hotel address on it. His eyes are wide in shock as are his friends. “Repaying the favour from last night.” You smiled handing him the glass and napkin before walking off. His friend's jaws dropped so fast you were sure a couple of them could have swallowed you whole.   The hotel suite was large, you had a view of the entirety LA from your private rooftop garden. You were lounging under the moonlight in a sheer feathered robe that made you look like you had just killed your millionaire husband. When you get a call from the front desk saying that someone wanted to see you. You instructed to let them up knowing exactly who it was. You make your way downstairs to the bar in the living area of the suite and started making yourself a cocktail. The elevator dinged and Billy walked through to where you were. “What can I get you?” You took a sip of your cocktail smirking. “I can see something I want.” He walked over to you confidently, taking the cocktail out of your hand and had a sip before putting it down on the bar. You say nothing and lead him to the bedroom pushing him down onto the queen size four post bed and gave him a  show he never going to forget. The LA show signalled the end of your tour and you decided to hang around in LA exploring with Billy, which involved the historic music venues, a hike up to the Hollywood sign, and all the other touristy things. The day before you were heading back to New York he took you to his favourite secluded beach to teach you how to surf which was hilarious as you were really bad at it. You wiped out several times which made him laugh a lot. You spent all day with him, he was completely unlike anyone you had ever met. He wasn't trying to be anyone he wasn't. He had a real passion for surfing and worked as a mechanic in a garage. He had a younger step-sister that was studying to be a game developer. You instantly felt comfortable with him and he felt comfortable with you. You watched the sunset together, he lit up a cigarette and passed it to you who happily accepted it. You weren't usually a smoker, but it just felt right in the moment. You laid your head down on his lap still smoking the cigarette and he was playing with your hair gently. He was very content as were you. A wash of spontaneity came over you and you sat up examining his beautiful features. You decided not to go back to New York. “Do you want to go Thailand with me?” He looks at you in shock and nods with his mouth slightly agape.

[hexwritesfanfics]

Behind the Mask [pt 1.]

ALN: This was an idol AU using the two MHA OCs my friend and I have, plus of course another friend’s OC shipped with our favorite icyhot bastard.

Fandom: My Hero Academia x Idol AU

Pairing: OC X OC; mentioned Shouto Todoroki x OC

“That’s a wrap!”

    Ran Ringo had never thought she would hear those words after an endless day of shooting for a music video and hours-long photoshoots. The brunette pushed her hair away from her face, exhaling a sigh as she collapsed onto a chair away from the set. She reached for the water bottle sitting on a table beside her, along with a tabloid magazine. Hazel eyes fell on the glossy pages on the bold words on the cover and another irritated sigh left the slender brunette’s lips.

    “Rin-chan!” Ringo turned her head at the call of her name, seeing the familiar figure of a pink-haired girl bouncing toward her, and the stoic, dual-haired male following behind her. As soon as the girl threw her arms around the brunette, Ringo let out a soft laugh. “Hi, Kari-chan. Hi, Shouto-kun,” she greeted. “You two are done with your sessions too?”

    “Of course we are,” Hikari replied before cerulean eyes fell on the magazine Ringo was just looking at. The pinkeye heaved a sigh, reading the title aloud. “An Idol Love Triangle Between Japan’s Brightest Stars? They came up with something that corny.”

    “The tabloids have been running that rumor for weeks. You shouldn’t worry about it too much.” Shouto folded his arms over his chest. While his expression was cool and collected, Ringo could sense the irritation in the young man’s stance over these rumors. It was bad enough the outlets were spinning some scandalous tale that made Shouto out to be a player and Hikari and Ringo were two, blind floozies trying to win his attention.

    The trio had known each other forever. Since they were toddlers, their parents had become their “managers”, pushing and pushing the three into talent shows, competitions, photo shoots. The three grew up together, trying to make it, where agencies found the appeal in a trio of teens who were skilled at their crafts. However, it was more than that. Regardless of what their parents tried to do, Ringo, Hikari, and Shouto promised that if an agency wanted any of them, that they would never take a deal without the other two. They were a unit, a package deal; they refused to let fame and fortune get in between their friendship.

    However, it did leave for tabloids to try and spin the friendships into something more than what it really was and Ringo was too exhausted for it down to her bones.

    Was there any worth in being an idol now? Was glitz and glamour supposed to be her whole world? Ringo loved her friends more than anything, but could she continue this on for longer when people just continued to see through her?

    “Rin?” Hikari’s soft voice urged Ringo back from her thoughts, the hazel-eyed girl being attentive now. Those familiar blue eyes were shimmering in concern as the pinkette tilted her head. “Are you okay? You’ve been spacing out a lot lately,” she said, the concern even saturating her voice. Even Shouto was looking at her, trying to hide his concern in his eyes. A twinge of guilt ached on Ringo’s heart. The last thing she wanted was her best friends to be worried about her.

So the brunette smiled, getting up from the chair and grabbing Hikari’s hand. “I’m fine. How about we get something to eat, yeah?”

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

The halls were swirling about the front cover of the tabloid magazines. It was astounding how often these fans obsessed over the private lives of these idols.

But then, Akatsuki Ryuu was someone who valued privacy among other things.

It was bad enough to see the magazine covers on his way to work; now he has to hear the constant chatter of his colleagues, with them spouting off their opinions about celebrities that didn’t even know they existed, as though their input mattered. In the lives of idols, maybe the general public’s opinions on nonsensical things did matter. Why else did some names fade into obscurity while others remained on the airwaves.

Exhaling a breath, Ryuu leaned back against his chair at his desk, golden eyes narrowed in thought. People weren’t focusing on their work; instead music was blaring in the near-miniscule office space and echoing off the bland, yet pristine walls. Irate, Ryuu turned his attention toward his nearest coworker, who seemed to be dancing in his seat to the beat of the music. “Harima, what the hell are they listening to?” he asked.

Fresh-faced, blonde-haired Harima turned to look at Ryuu with an expression as though the male brunette mortally wounded him. “You really don’t know? You really are out of the loop on HONEYlove, aren’t ya, Akatsuki?” he replied before fishing his pockets for his cellphone. The other man quickly unlocked his phone with several taps of his thumb. “They’re super popular and getting more traction day after day. ‘Course the tabloid thinks there’s some love triangle going on between them since they’re always together even after recording music videos and the leeches got nothing better to do than come up with their own conclusions,” the male chattered away before handing Ryuu his phone. “Take a look.”

With some reluctance, Ryuu took Harima’s phone to scroll through whatever was brought up in regards to the group whose music was currently dominating the airwaves in the office. His thumb flicked against the screen, scrolling and reading through the summarized beginnings of the idol group and its members: Asakura Hikari, Todoroki Shouto, and…

The male brunette paused.

Hazel eyes were looking up at him and despite that it was only an image, there was something about those irises in a still photo. Ran Ringo, the youngest of the group, posed in her individual shot like her group members, with a stoic expression meant to elicit some sort of play on the “bedroom eyes” trope. Her pose seemed simple, yet dripping in sex appeal, with one hand strategically placed so her index finger barely brushed against her lower lip, her other hand planted on her hip, donned with a leather coat, corseted top, a leather mini-skirt, complete with one leg in a fishnet stocking and heeled, knee-high boots. Despite the similar arrangements of her friends to exude some sort of sex appeal, there was something in that girl’s eyes.

Something that screamed that she was being twisted in two directions and drowning. That behind that sexy expression etched on a rather delicate face was someone screaming for help.

I’m reading too much into this, was the immediate thought and Ryuu almost slapped himself for getting distracted, handing Harima back his cellphone. “These kids are popular idols?” he asked offhandedly.

Harima took his phone back with an affronted look. “I dunno, Ryuu. You were staring at my phone pretty hard and by the looks of it, you were staring at the baby of the group. I won’t lie, Ran-san does have that combination of a sweet face that can make sexy expressions. Asakura-chan’s a favorite too, with those curves--I’d figure you’d go for her as an ideal. No wonder people think something is going with them and the third member, Todoroki; how can he choose between those two?”

Why did hearing Harima talk about these girls--more specifically, the youngest one--like they were nothing but objects piss Ryuu off so much? He didn’t care about these celebrities and their seemingly perfect life in the clouds. They had no idea what it was like for the lesser masses that worship the ground they walked, every song they dropped, every photoshoot. Ryuu had to chalk it to chivalry; he was raised to treat everyone, especially women, with respect regardless of their profession. “You don’t know what their lives are like? Maybe they get tired of people objectifying them like they have no feelings,” he muttered. Ironic, given that he made it a whole deal of not giving a damn.

“Then they shouldn’t be idols, my man,” replied Harima with an offhanded shrug. “If they can’t handle their private lives being in the open and their every move on record with paparazzi and their agency, they should quit while they’re ahead.”

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

It had been weeks since the photoshoot and Ringo, Hikari, and Shouto discussed the tabloid’s persistent need to create a nonexistent love triangle. Walking through Shibuya, wearing sunglasses and a simple sundress to make at least a feeble attempt to blend in, Ringo needed air. The studio was suffocating, squeezing in on her lungs until she could hardly bring in some air. HONEYlove was apparently going to collab with another group--one full of boys--on an album. Despite the rampant opportunities, Ringo’s chest squeezed tightly. By this point, she only stayed in the idol circuit for her friends; they were her entire world, her family, they were everything to her.

But Ringo wanted normalcy. To not have to watch her figure, have people telling her what to do, arranging her for the consumption of the general public, to keep to a schedule, to not even develop interest in anyone. Every aspect of her life--of her life with Hikari and Shouto--was controlled with precision so that HONEYlove generated positive publicity. This, the life of an idol, was a path chosen for her. She never asked for this life, but it was a condition to stay with her friends, the people she loved most.

Ran Ringo just wanted to live, to one day fall in love, because it was her right and no one else’s.

Huffing, Ringo kept her eyes on the ground, finally free of the heels she constantly had to wear at the agency. It was relief on her feet to have them in comfortable flats to match with her dress. A lot of things could be comfortable if everything wasn’t always about music contracts, awards, airwaves--

A sharp gasp left her lips as Ringo felt herself stumble. Of course, of course, her clumsiness decided to kick in now! Bracing herself for impact with the concrete, Ringo shut her eyes behind her sunglasses--

--But there was no impact. At least, not with concrete…

...It was against something warmer, more firm and Ringo could distinctly hear the clatter of her sunglasses on the ground.

“Are you okay?” A soft, smooth voice asked. It was deep. Definitely a male. Ringo’s eyes cracked open, taking in a tanned arm that was imprinted with...what possible tattoo? It’s covered by his sleeve. Now the red and black sleeve only made her curious to what the image was before Ringo had the necessary focus to lift her gaze.

And her heart absolutely stopped.

Golden eyes clashed with hazel, loose, shaggy locks of brown hair framing a stoic face of the young man she had all but clumsily fallen into his arms. Recognition flickered in those eyes and Ringo mentally slapped herself for getting so momentarily distracted. Her sunglasses had fallen off!

“I know you,” he murmured, angling his head as though making sure he was actually seeing her--

Wait.

Had anyone...stared at her like that?

Ringo blinked, almost disoriented. Those golden eyes were fixated attentively on her, seeing her. Had anyone, besides her friends and group members, ever looked at her like this?

He continued, withdrawing his arms away from her slowly. “You’re…”

“Oh my god, it’s Ran Ringo of HONEYlove!” Ringo heard the shriek from the distance as though it were right at her ear and the slender brunette spun around, shaken at being recognized, but wanting to be able to school her features for the inevitable mob.

A strong grip circled her wrist and Ringo’s attention returned back to the man with those unique eyes. “Come on,” he urged, tugging her by the arm before she realized his aim.

“You’re...you’re helping me?”

“You look like you don’t want to be mobbed. Now come on.”

The man pulled her this time, not giving her a chance to refuse or confirm if she wanted to go with him and yet her body moved, guided by him so that the two wouldn’t be separated, through a crowd of people out on this bright day. Running from fans, this had to be so un-idol-like, but for some reason Ringo didn’t care. Not right now.

-----------

What was he thinking? He was legitimately going to be in social media crosshairs for helping a famous idol run away from her fans? Wasn’t there some kind of protocol that idols follow when a fan recognizes them and calls them out in the middle of the street? What the hell was Ryuu thinking?

Well, one answer to that: not running into Ran Ringo of HONEYlove.

Second answer: not help her run away from fans.

And yet as soon as he saw her eyes in the flesh, he saw the same shimmer of desiring to be free. Of a girl screaming for help but she can’t say the words with her own lips. She seemed to look so perfectly poised and balanced in her still images that Harima had showed him; it was nothing to the girl who stumbled on virtually nothing that he caught before she smashed her face into the sidewalk. As soon as some fan shouted her name, Ryuu saw the panic that grasped at Ringo and before she could settle into public relations mode, he was suddenly urging her to run away with him.

What the hell is wrong with me?

They both slowed into a stop, having zigzagged all through Shibuya, and Ryuu slowly released Ringo’s wrist. He had to apologize; he all but could be labeled a kidnapper for this. “I’m--”

“Thank you.”

Ringo spoke and Ryuu turned carefully to look at her. The famous idol was bowing her head to him, her strands of chocolate hair seeming to shine in the sun. When she righted herself up, those hazel eyes met his and Ryuu’s chest constricted. He shouldn’t be having this reaction to an idol, someone who would forget he was even alive after this moment. What did he care what she would do beyond now? He didn’t care, damn it! He just did what he thought would be helpful!

She was waiting for an answer and Ryuu could only murmur, “You’re welcome.”

“I owe you. For helping me. I can’t really run away from fans and you...didn’t have to help me,” Ringo replied, averting her eyes. “Is there anything I can do? Just name it.”

“You shouldn’t tell people, especially guys, that you’ll do anything to owe them for helping you,” chided Ryuu, mentally asking himself why he would tell an idol this. She was in the entertainment industry, surely she knew there were shady characters there as well. “They could get the wrong idea.”

“Then is coffee fine? There’s a cafe over there. I can buy you coffee,” persisted the female brunette, returning her gaze to him and Ryuu wanted to argue with her. Badly. Especially if this would affect her image in a bad way.

But instead, he found himself answering: “Fine. Coffee, then.”