#Traffic Multiplier

[vinestaff]

study ft. ivory

[azen13]

To Gaze at Polaris

Description: After you manage to escape Jing Yuan's home, the General chases after you to Aurum Alley, intent on bringing you back.

CW: Yandere Themes, Non-Sexual Nudity, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Bathing Together

Pairing: Yandere!Jing Yuan x GN!Reader

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It is a cold night on the Luofu when Jing Yuan strides through Aurum Alley.

By this time, all the shops, restaurants, and homes have gone dark. There is the faraway din of starskiff traffic, and the quiet buzz of cicadas in the moonlit neighborhood. As he walks through alleys lingering with the scent of day–the smell of tea leaves in particular lingers in his nose–there are no signs of you.

You are good at this, Jing Yuan thinks sadly. He wishes you weren’t.

“Y/N,” Jing Yuan calls quietly, though his voice carries. He does not need to be loud or aggressive to have a presence. “Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” 

There is no response.

He sighs. There is no anger in his voice, no vitriol or rage. Jing Yuan–as you have learned by now–is not prone to fits. In fact you’ve never seen him mad, or without at least a fleeting trace of a smile on his face; it's as if he was blessed by Aha THEMSELF. Because whenever he sees you he cannot help but feel light glimmering in his heart like starlight, making it bloom like pink morning glories. They have tender stems, delicate petals and grow in soil that is rocky and dry, but they are growing nonetheless, guided by your light.

He enters a different alley knowing you are hiding in the dumpster. Trivial really, but impressive nonetheless. Your determination is one of the things that attracts him to you most. It is a double edged sword. It comes in various shades and hues. He sees it in your eyes when he challenges you to a friendly game of Star Chess. Or when you’re cooking a new dish.

Or when you are shouting insults at him like if you curse him enough, you can make him disappear. In a way, it has the opposite effect. Every time you sob and plead he coos and reaches out for you, pulls you in tighter with comforting embraces and sweet, cloying words. 

For a few moments, he simply stands there. A part of him wishes that you would just come out. His footsteps are perfectly audible, and you are entirely perceptive enough to know that he has stopped in front of the alleyway. You know that he is there, waiting for you to surrender to his comfort and charm.

But you don’t. 

It drapes his heart in darkness, those flowers wilting when you don’t. He steps forward slowly, eyes fixed on the dumpster, his expression forlorn. “Dearest…please come out. I won’t hurt you.” It’s a promise, and it is one he cannot break. He hates seeing you in pain. He loves your smile. It is radiant in an infinite number of ways: the upturned quirk of your lips; the soft crinkling of your eyes; the way your irises seem to glow. You are a star of glass in his hands, and he is afraid he has shattered you.

But, he thinks, as he continues his slow conquest forward, nearing the dumpster, would that be so horrible? 

His mind flashes to the art of repairing broken pottery–kintsugi–where broken pieces are glued together with a lacquer mixed with gold powder; it is not meant to not hide where the breaks have occurred, but allow them to shine. He could bring you back together, multiply your luminescence by a thousand suns, and he would want you even more. The flowers in his heart would grow and bloom until his veins have become xylem and his tissues petals, every cell in him wanting your light. Craving it. Needing it.

When his hands–gentle and calloused from centuries of spars and fights–lift you from the dirty dumpster, you scream and wriggle in his tight embrace. His heart is flooded by rainstorms, flooding the flowers.

It has been raining for countless months. It feels like dying.

“Shh…it is alright my love,” he murmurs, his arms squeezing tighter around your torso; it’s not enough force to hurt you or bruise you, but enough to keep your squirming contained. “Let’s return home. I think this has been…enough excitement for one night.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

He runs you a bath. You smell like trash now, and that won’t do. He wants the best for you. The best food, the best clothes, the best life. Because when he sees your happiness, even if it is as ephemeral as a shooting star, it rejuvenates his soul. 

The gentle smell of jasmine fills the bathroom as he quietly works shampoo into your hair. By now, you have lost the battle. Is it a sacrifice, though? Or have you truly blundered a piece away on this grand chessboard? Jing Yuan has played you enough times to know your strategies and tactics, the most inner machinations of your mind. You lose to him every time, but always put up a good fight. He hopes that pattern holds true for this game you and him seem to be playing every waking moment.

Water cupped in his hands is brought to your head, washing the suds out of your luxurious hair. Gentle kisses are peppered on your bare shoulders and neck, before his hands reach to massage your shoulder blades. This is what Jing Yuan longs for: days spent in pure domestic bliss. The kind of sunlit silence that leaves him warm and sleepy, craving an afternoon nap next to his lover.

He hums a song. You lean a little more against him, exhausted from your little escapade. He smiles, careful not to chuckle, lest he scares you away like one of his sparrows. Later, perhaps in the morning Jing Yuan will have a conversation with you about this. But for now he is content to enjoy this honeyed moment, bathing in your incandescence, enjoying these brief moments of sunlight before the deluge begins again.

When your fingers start to wrinkle like prunes from the water and your eyes are beginning to droop, he knows it is bedtime. He wraps you up in a fluffy towel, letting you get ready for bed as he does the same; his eyes watchful but fond as he brushes his teeth and lets his hair out of its usual ponytail. Searching for the first signs of wind picking up or darkening skies.

The two of you cuddle in bed, though it’s more like Jing Yuan cuddles you, and you tolerate his embrace. His arms wrap around you, loose enough not to hurt but tight enough to anchor him around you. Drift too far away again, and Jing Yuan doesn’t know if he can recover. He needs you. 

He is tired, too. But he is tired in a different way. His fatigue is like that of a mountain carved in twain by the river of time. One day, both sides of that once-mighty peak will collapse. But you give him strength. You are his guiding light. His North Star. His sun. His Polaris.

His breathing begins to even out and he pulls you closer against him, sweet dreams of you and him begin to dance behind his eyelids. Hopefully, he thinks as he lets himself slip into slumber, one day you will forgive him for ripping you from the sky and placing you in his chest, in the space right next to his heart.

[bekolxeram]

TW: traffic accident, injury

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“I crashed, into a tree, now my wife can’t get out. Somebody please help us!”

------------------------------------------—

“Vehicle collision with obstacle, aka car crashed into tree,” Bobby informs his team while guiding them towards the scene of the accident. “One male driver, escaped the wreckage on his own, and one female passenger still trapped inside. Hen, Chimney, check her vitals. Buck, Eddie, go see if the driver needs any medical attention.”

“DUI?” Hen asks, clearly concerned by her past experience with councilwoman Ortiz.

“No, I don’t think so. Apparently the driver was alert and coherent enough to call 9-1-1 and explain their situation,” Bobby responses. “Now go help free the victim.”

Hen nods and takes off with Chimney.

“Hi, my name’s Hen. What’s yours?”

“Jessica…” the woman sobs, visibly in shock.

“Jessica, okay, we’re here to help you. I know it’s not easy, but please, try your best to relax,” Hen reassures her. “Hey, Chim, take her vitals while I check on her wounds.”

Chimney simply puts the clip onto her finger, watch the monitor and wait. She’s doing surprisingly well in her state.

Until a worried expression from Hen extinguishes his optimism.

“Femoral artery,” Hen whisper in Chimney’s ear.

He looks down to see a large mangled piece of metal protruding through Jessica’s left thigh. Ironically, the foreign object causing her so much pain might be the only thing keeping her from bleeding out right away.

“The driver is fine. The airbag saved him. He told me he was working long hours and fell asleep behind the wheel,” Eddie comes back with Buck. “I’d say let him stay with his wife. No law enforcement needed. He doesn’t seem under the influence to me.”

“Good. We need a saw and some running water to cool things down here,” Chimney yells at Buck and Eddie.

“Oh, god, are you amputating my leg?” Jessica panics. “I’ve watched it on TV. This is the setup when you want to amputate someone’s limb!”

“No, Jessica, don’t worry. TV shows aren’t real,” Hen directs her team to get the necessary tools. “We’re cutting the metal off and transporting you to a hospital with it. They’ll keep you comfortable with medicine before they take the metal out of you, okay?”

Jessica nods faintly, trying her best to keep her body still.

“We need to get her to a trauma center, stat,” Hen turns to her captain, “every second she spends on the ground, the risk of the piece of metal accidentally dislodging multiplies.”

Bobby ponders for a few moment before speaking into his radio, “this is the 118, at the scene of a traffic accident. Requesting air support for medevac.”

Buck’s entire body freezes once those dreaded words leave Bobby’s mouth.

He’s been fearful of this day since Tommy dumped him, almost 3 months ago. Just the two of them, meeting up for the first time since the breakup on a call, struggling to push the awkwardness aside and maintain a façade of professionalism, fighting against his urge to forget about the emergency and just yell at Tommy, to feel him, to devour him, to cling to him and never let go.

Still, there’s a severely injured person whose life is hanging by a thread. Buck decides to shake off his overly active mind and help carry the heavy machinery to the patient.

“Eddie, you handle the saw. Chim, you take the water. Hen, keep a close eye on her vitals,” Bobby instructs his team, intentionally leaving out one member.

“I — I can help, Cap,” Buck asserts.

“It’s not personal, but this requires the highest level of precision and concentration. You can take the next one, when the circumstances are a bit… different,” Bobby puts up a palm to stop his subordinate on his track, “now, I need you to stay on the side and stand by.”

Buck complies, reluctantly.

The soaring sound of a helicopter rotor inches in merely minutes later.

Buck debates internally whether to hide or take a good look at the helicopter, to see if the pilot is Tommy. It’ll likely rip his heart out if he sees Tommy all rugged, brokenhearted from the breakup, but it’ll kill him if Tommy looks normal, good even, seemingly moved on from his latest fling.

He decides to stand beside an engine when the helicopter lands on the freeway, in order to look without standing out.

“What’s the status of the patient?” A tall, blond Asian paramedic hops out of the helicopter, still putting on his gloves.

“We’re still trying to free her,” Bobby says, with sharp, mechanical noise in the background.

“I think it’d be best if we avoid moving her too much,” another paramedic, a giant, burly man who puts the best body builder to shame, chimes in.

George and Carl, Buck recognizes. They’re in Tommy’s flight crew.

“Uh, maybe we should bring the chopper closer?” Buck suggests.

“Donato, bring the bird closer,” George speaks into his radio.

“How close?” Lucy replies.

“So close you can smell my conditioner.”

“Copy that. Hey, why do I only get to do cool stuff when Tommy…”

“Ahem,” Carl interrupts Lucy’s communication, “we have company here, the 118.”

“Uh… wilco. I’m gonna bring her in, stay clear of the downwash.”

Carl directs all personnel on the ground to stand behind the 118 engine and make way for the aircraft. Buck catches George on his way to his destination.

“Hey — Hey, George. Where’s Tommy?” Buck asks, the fear of Tommy being in trouble enters his mind once again.

George sighs, then rolls his eyes, “you would’ve known if your so-called friends didn’t pretend he never existed after your two broke up.”

“What happened to him? Is he hurt? Come on, I just want to know if he’s okay,” Buck pleads.

“Oh, the patient’s out. We’d better get going,” George ignores Buck, choosing to focus on his task at hand instead.

Buck emerges from behind the firetruck. The LAFD helicopter is now parked steps away from the wreckage of the car, thanks to Lucy’s piloting skills.

This is the last chance for Buck to investigate, before they fly away.

“Carl,” Buck knows for a fact that this man is soft and easily persuadable, despite the tough exterior, “please tell me Tommy’s okay.”

“I guess you’ll just have to ask him yourself,” Carl says, carrying the patient into the chopper.

“But I thought he didn’t want to talk to me. I’ve been giving him space,” Buck chases after the aeromedic.

“Take the initiative. Brave the ice,” Carl shouts before closing the door and flying away with his team.

[copperbadge]

I found myself wishing the other day that humans had to sleep for an hour every 2-3 hours. I think this would solve a lot of problems and create a bunch of interesting new ones!

1. Publicly available places to sleep would be commonplace because you'd want to just sleep where you are and keep getting stuff done. You don't want to be commuting to work every 2 hours for example. So you'd do like three waking shifts and then go home for a while, and you'd have a comfy place to sleep at work.

2. I would never have to spend more than two hours doing any one thing and if I did I'd get a break in the middle and wouldn't have to come up with an excuse to go.

3. Clothing would need to be mainly sleepable. Goodbye business casual! Also people who hate getting dressed up fancy (ie me) would have their sacrifice properly appreciated since getting dressed up takes time and demonstrates commitment.

4. Movies would never go more than two hours without an intermission.

5. On the downside, studies have shown that one of the biggest perils to the health of a person in the hospital is the number of times staff changes over while they're there. More handoffs of patients does correlate with more medical errors. If you're handing off every two hours, or four hours at a push, either a bunch more people die, or medical communication has to be a lot better....

6. Which is actually an upside I guess. Probably extends to shift work too, like heavy construction and such.

7. Insomnia in this sort of situation must REALLY suck, though.

8. I suppose it would also suck for people who are Bad At Mornings, I've just vastly multiplied the number of mornings you have to deal with over the course of your life. If you live to the age of 80, you will have had about 29,000 mornings. If you had to sleep eight times a day, you would have like 230,000 mornings.

9. We would probably do something terrible to the ecology of Earth in order to grow enough coffee to deal with that.

10. Driving in traffic or taking long road trips might be logistically complicated. Most plane flights would need like four teams of pilots. Might lead to more mass transit, though.

11. Marathon running just got harder, but I know marathoners and they're all deep weirdos to start with so they'd probably embrace the challenge.

12. I get terrible bed head and would spend most of my time looking like I'd been dragged out of a tree.

I'm sure there are unknown horrors lurking in the idea, but I still like it. I bet all cats everywhere would appreciate it too.

[gvnvks]

acts of service they do for you… !

> pairings: non-idol!zb1 x fem!reader

> warnings: not proofread, lowercase intended, pet names

> song recommendation: not another song about love by hollywood ending

> a/n: literally nothing to say … so so so sorry about disappearing for so long 😭 im begging on my knees for any reqs… i literally have 0 ideas

// 김 jiwoong. PUTTING THE DISHES AWAY W/O YOU ASKING

you found yourself standing in front of the sink, staring at a mountain of dishes that seemed to have multiplied overnight. with a sigh, you rolled up your sleeves, resigned to tackle the chore.

just as you were about to plunge your hands into the soapy water, jiwoong entered the kitchen, "hey there, need a hand?" he asked, already reaching for a dish towel.

you couldnt help but smile at his offer. "i was just about to start, but if you're offering…"

"consider it done," your boyfriend replied, flashing you a grin as he began to gather up the dirty dishes. he moved with practiced efficiency, stacking plates and bowls with ease.

"you really didn't have to," you protested, though secretly grateful for his help.

"i know," jiwoong said, shooting you a wink. "but i wanted to. plus, its the least i can do after you cooked dinner last night."

as you worked side by side, scrubbing and rinsing, the conversation flowed effortlessly between you. you talked about everything and nothing at all – from your plans for the weekend to the latest episode of your favorite tv show.

at one point, jiwoong paused to inspect a particularly stubborn stain on a plate. "looks like this one needs some extra attention," he remarked, reaching for a sponge.

you chuckled, shaking your head in amusement. "youre so thorough."

"its all in the details," your boyfriend replied with a shrug, scrubbing away at the offending spot until it disappeared.

before long, the pile of dishes dwindled down to nothing, thanks to jiwoongs efficient work. with a satisfied smile, you leaned back against the counter, admiring the clean kitchen.

"thanks for the help," you said, genuinely grateful for him being so altruistic.

"it was my pleasure," jiwoong replied, drying his hands on the dish towel. "besides, anything to make my favorite person smile."

// 장 hao. GETTING YOU YOUR GUILTY PLEASURE SNACK

you sat at a small table, your fingers tapping rhythmically on the surface as you waited for your boyfriend, to arrive for your date. he was always a little late, but you didnt mind. it gave you time to people-watch and soak in the lively atmosphere around you.

finally, hao appeared, a sheepish grin on his face as he approached your table. "sorry im late. traffic was insane."

you waved off his apology with a smile. "no worries, hao. ive been enjoying the view."

taking his seat across from you, your boyfriend reached into his bag and pulled out a small package, wrapped in colorful paper. "i got you something," he said, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

curious, you eagerly tore into the wrapping to reveal a box of your favorite snack. "oh! how did you know i was craving these?"

he shrugged. "just a lucky guess, i suppose."

you laughed, leaning across the table to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. "youre the best, you know that?"

hao grinned, his cheeks flushing slightly at the praise. "i try."

as you indulged in your snack, the two of you fell into easy conversation, discussing everything from work related to literally anything else, letting the hours fly by.

eventually, the sky darkened and the café began to empty out as patrons headed home for the night. reluctantly, you and hao gathered your things and prepared to leave.

as you walked hand by hand through the bustling streets, the glow of the city lights casting a soft halo around you, you couldnt help but feel grateful for your boyfriend.

"you know," you said, squeezing his hand gently, "i think this might just be the perfect night."

hao smiled down at you, his eyes sparkling with adoration. "with you, every night is perfect."

// 성 hanbin. BUYING YOU GROCERIES

today was the worst day you could imagine. not doing well at job, getting yelled at by your boss, just starting your period… it hit all at once. as you approached your apartment building, you noticed a familiar figure waiting for you at the entrance. it was hanbin, his hands filled with grocery bags. his face lighted up as he saw you.

"hey there," hanbin greets you with a gorgeous grin. "i thought id surprise you with some groceries. i know how busy youve been lately, so i took care of it for you."

you chuckle at his thoughtfulness. "youre too good to me, hanbin. thank you," you say, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

together, you make your way up to your apartment, your boyfriend regaling you with everything and nothing — hes always been a natural storyteller.

once inside, he set the bags down on the kitchen counter, taking stock of the contents. "woah, you really went all out," you remark, impressed by the assortment of fresh produce and pantry staples.

hanbin shrugs modestly. "i just wanted to make sure you have everything you need," he says, flashing you a grin. "plus, i may have or may have not indulged in a few snacks along the way."

you playfully roll your eyes at him before reaching for a bag of apples. "well, i appreciate it. you always know how to take care of me," you say, leaning in to give him a hug. "how much do i owe you?" you ask, looking up at him.

he brushed off your question with a smile, his eyes softening as he gazed at you. "you dont owe me anything, sweetheart. seeing you happy is payment enough for me."

// 석 matthew. SPOTTING YOU AT THE GYM

as you entered the gym, you spotted matthew instantly, his buffed frame standing out amongst the crowd. with a warm smile, he waved you over, his eyes brightening as you approached.

"hi," matthew greeted, his voice carrying a playful tone. "ready to crush those weights?"

you chuckled, feeling a surge of affection for him. "absolutely, especially with you by my side."

you both headed towards the weights section, where your boyfriend always offered his unwavering support. as you began your workout, he stood beside you, offering encouragement and spotting you whenever needed.

"come on, youve got this," matthew cheered as you lifted the barbell, his hands ready to assist if you faltered. "youre stronger than you think."

with each rep, you could feel your muscles burning, but your boyfriends presence gave you the motivation to push through. his words of encouragement were like fuel to your determination, propelling you to new heights.

after a challenging set, you took a moment to catch your breath, leaning against the bench. matthew stood beside you, a proud smile on his face.

"you killed it," he praised, giving you a gentle pat on the back. "im always amazed by your strength."

you smiled, feeling a surge of pride at his words. "thanks, but i couldnt do it without you. your support means everything to me."

as you moved on to the next exercise, the two of you engaged in a light joke war, exchanging lighthearted jests and teasing each other about your progress. with him by your side, the gym felt less like a daunting challenge and more like a fun part of the day.

after a grueling workout, you and matthew retreated to the stretching area, where you relaxed your tired muscles and enjoyed each others company.

"im beat," you admitted, letting out a contented sigh as you stretched out on the mat.

matthew chuckled, sitting beside you. "you did amazing, as always. we earned ourselves a post-workout treat, don't you think?"

you perked up at the suggestion, the thought of indulging in a delicious meal together making your mouth water.

"absolutely," you agreed, shooting him a witty grin. "as long as you promise to spot me while i devour whatever were eating."

your boyfriend laughed, his eyes sparkling with affection. "deal. anything for you."

// 김 taerae. LEARNING HOW TO COOK YOUR FAVORITE RECIPE

as you trudge through the door after a long days work, the aroma of something delicious envelops you, instantly lifting your tired spirits. you kick off your shoes and follow the tantalizing scent to the kitchen, where you find taerae bustling about, apron tied securely around his waist, his sleeves rolled up and a focused expression adorning his features.

"welcome home!" taerae greets you with a warm smile, his hands busy chopping vegetables with practiced precision. "how was your day?"

you sigh contentedly, the stress of the day melting away at the sight of your boyfriends earnest expression. "long, but seeing you here makes it infinitely better. whats all this?" you ask, gesturing to the array of ingredients spread out on the counter.

taerae beams proudly. "i wanted to surprise you with dinner tonight! i know how much you love that one particular recipe of yours, so i thought i'd give it a try."

you feel touched by his gesture. taerae isnt that much of a cook, but the fact that hes gone to such lengths to learn your favorite recipe speaks volumes about his love and dedication.

"thats incredibly sweet of you, taerae," you say, crossing the kitchen to wrap your arms around him. "im sure itll be amazing, no matter what."

he chuckles, returning your embrace with a gentle squeeze. "well, i hope so. i may have had to watch a few youtube tutorials to get the hang of it."

you laugh at his admission, imagining him furiously scribbling notes while trying to keep up with the pace of the video. "im sure you did great. is there anything i can do to help?"

your boyfriend shakes his head, his focus returning to the task at hand. "nah, ive got everything under control. why dont you go relax for a bit? dinner will be ready soon."

reluctantly, you release him from your embrace and make your way to the living room, sinking into the comfortable embrace of the sofa.

time seems to slip away as you lose yourself in a book, the minutes ticking by until taerae finally calls you back to the kitchen. you enter to find the table set with candles flickering softly, casting a warm glow over the room.

your boyfriend stands proudly by the stove, a steaming pot of your favorite dish bubbling away in front of him. he grins as he sees you, gesturing to the chair hes pulled out for you.

"ta-da! dinner is served," he announces, ladling generous portions onto your plate. "i hope its as good as you remember."

you take a bite, savoring the familiar flavors that dance across your tongue. it may not be perfect, but its made with love, and thats all that matters.

"its delicious, taerae," you say, beaming at him across the table. "thank you for putting in the effort to make tonight special."

he beams back at you, his eyes shining with love. "you know id do anything for you, love."

// 리키 ricky. CARRYING HEAVY THINGS FOR YOU

you and ricky were on a mission today - a shopping spree, a day dedicated to finding the perfect pieces to add to your home. you wanted to go alone, but ricky insisted on joining you, his enthusiasm evident as he happily trailed beside you.

as you entered another store, a quaint home decor boutique, your eyes widened with excitement at the array of items displayed. ricky, ever the gentleman, offered to carry the shopping bags. "let me take those, baby," he insisted, reaching for the bags already laden with your purchases.

you chuckled softly, gently pushing his hand away. "no, ricky, ive got it. you dont have to carry everything."

"but i want to," he countered, his eyes dripping with determination.

you couldnt help but smile at his sincerity. "alright, you can carry one bag," you relented, handing him the lightest one.

your boyfriend grinned triumphantly, accepting the bag with a nod of thanks. "deal."

as you moved from aisle to aisle, ricky stayed true to his word, diligently carrying the one bag while you browsed through the shelves, examining each item with care.

after a while, your arms began to ache from holding the heavy bags. "okay, maybe you can take another bag," you conceded, unable to hide the strain in your voice.

his eyes lit up with delight, his lips curled up in a smirk, and he eagerly accepted the additional burden. "told you. wanted to see how long you will last."

as the day progressed, your boyfriend kept bothering you with his tender gestures - whether it was carrying the bags, fetching you a drink, or offering his opinion on decor choices, he was always there. was, and forever will.

// 김 gyuvin. DOING THE CHORES, EVEN IF ITS YOUR TURN

coming back from college, you found yourself standing in the kitchen, staring at the sink full of dishes. it was your turn to do them, but after a long day at school, you were feeling drained and exhausted.

gyuvin, always attuned to your moods, entered the kitchen and immediately noticed the tired slump of your shoulders. "hey," he said with a soft smile, crossing the room to wrap his arms around you from behind. "rough day?"

you leaned into his embrace, grateful for his comforting presence. "yeah, it was pretty hectic," you replied, letting out a tired sigh. "i just... i dont have the energy to tackle these dishes right now."

without missing a beat, your boyfriend pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "dont worry about it," he reassured you, his voice warm and soothing. "ill take care of them for you."

you turned to face him, a mixture of surprise and gratitude in your eyes. "but it's my turn," you protested weakly.

he shook his head. "i know, but youve had a long day. let me handle this, okay?"

you smiled softly at his kindness. "okay, thank you," you said softly, reaching up to cup his cheek affectionately.

as gyuvin rolled up his sleeves and got to work on the dishes, you leaned against the counter, watching him with a fond expression. it wasnt just this one kind act that made you fall for him all over again – it was the countless little ways he showed his love and support for you every single day.

after a few minutes of silence, broken only by the sound of running water and clinking dishes, gyuvin glanced over at you with a soft grin. "you know, if you keep staring at me like that, i might start to think you're falling for me all over again," he teased.

you chuckled softly, shaking your head. "as if i could ever stop falling for you," you replied, your voice filled with affection. "youre too sweet, gyuvin."

he paused in his task, setting down a plate to walk over and wrap you in a warm hug. "and youre too amazing to not spoil."

// 박 gunwook. LETTING YOU EAT THE LAST BIT OF A DESSERT (this one is such ass im so sorry)

you and gunwook had made it a tradition to visit this one cute café every saturday evening, savoring the delicious treats and enjoying each others company. tonight was no different, as you both settled into your usual spot by the window, the soft light casting gentle shadows across the table.

"hello, welcome to bean bliss cafe," you heard a waitress, greeting you cheerfully. "what can i get for you today?"

glancing at the menu, you and gunwook quickly decided on sharing a slice of their famous chocolate cake, a decadent treat that you had been craving all week.

minutes later, the waitress returned with a generous slice of chocolate cake, adorned with a scoop of velvety vanilla ice cream. your mouth watered at the sight, and you couldn't wait to dig in.

after a while of eating and sharing stories, you reached for your fork again, wanting to take another bite of the cake. your face fell a little however, as you noticed that theres only a small bit left.

"theres only one a little left," you pointed out, furrowing your brow.

gunwook simply smiled, pushing the plate toward you. "its all yours," he said, his voice soft but determined.

"but what about you? dont you want it?" you protested, feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of eating the last bit of dessert all by yourself.

"dont worry about me," your boyfriend replied, reaching across the table to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "id rather see you enjoy. it will bring me twice as much joy."

// 한 yujin. HELPING YOU WITH SCHOOL ASSIGNMENTS

as you entered the school library, you immediately spotted yujin sitting at a table near the window. his eyes were focused intently on his notebook, lips slightly pursed in concentration. his hair, messy as usual, added to his endearing charm.

"hey, yujin," you greeted, sliding into the seat across from him. "thanks for agreeing to help me with this math stuff. i swear, im hopeless without you."

yujin looked up, a warm smile spreading across his face. "hi, baby. dont worry about it. well do this together, okay? whats giving you trouble?"

you pulled out your textbook and notes, laying them out on the table. "its these calculus problems. i just cant seem to wrap my head around them. like, seriously, why does math have to be so complicated?"

your boyfriend chuckled softly, reaching over to squeeze your hand. "i know it can be frustrating, but trust me, once you get the hang of it, its not so bad. lets start with this one," he said, pointing to a particularly tricky problem. "do you remember the chain rule?"

you nodded, grateful for his patient guidance as he walked you through the steps, breaking down the problem into manageable chunks. his explanations were clear and concise, making even the most complex concepts seem simple.

as you worked through the assignment together, the hours seemed to fly by. occasionally, youd get stuck on a problem, but yujin was always there to offer encouragement and support.

"youre doing great, baby," he said, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your temple. "i know its tough, but i believe in you. if all else fails, we can always grab some ice cream afterwards."

you laughed, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. as the afternoon sun began to dip below the horizon, you finally finished the last problem, feeling a sense of accomplishment wash over you.

"i cant believe we actually did it," you said, grinning up at him. "i seriously couldnt have done it without you."

your boyfriend smiled back, his eyes sparkling with pride, smiling playfully. "thats what boyfriends are for, right? to help their pretty girlfriends through the tough math stuff."

© gvnvks 2024. do not copy or translate any of my works.

[ambers-archive]

what if all i need is you?

2 times the universe conspires against Spencer and the 1 time it doesn't. no use of y/n pt 2

"I think we’re lost," Spencer mumbled, stealing a glance at you, you’re in his passenger seat and you look like a dream he thinks. 

He hates driving, usually avoids it, but watching you smile next to him and hearing you sing along to his favorite songs makes him think it’s not all bad.

"You think?" You laugh, meeting his eye.

He had the date perfectly planned in his head – a tour around the city since you just moved here. Showcasing his favorite bookstore, two tickets to his favorite museum's exhibit, the whole thing.

However, things were not going as planned. He found himself driving in circles, twists and turns multiplying at every corner.

The universe was taunting him.

"I swear, these street signs are conspiring against me," he muttered.

“In the meantime, we should enjoy this,” you suggested, pointing to a barely visible café on the corner, proposing an impromptu coffee stop.

With a slight smile tugging his lips, Spencer nodded.

“You’re in Med school?

Spencer asked, trying to hide his amazement.

It all makes sense now, he thinks. Rarely does he find someone who matches him intellectually, even rarer for him to enjoy conversations with them.

“I am! I know it’s a cliché saying, but I just want to help people, I want to make a difference in the world.”

“It’s not cliché at all, that’s really noble.” Spencer replied, a genuine smile forming on his face. The passion in your voice is like a breath of fresh air for him.

You blushed at the compliment, warmth spreading across your cheeks. "Thank you. It's not easy, but it's worth it if I can make a positive impact, even in a small way."

As if you took the words right out of Spencer’s mouth, hearing you made him realize the reason he started the BAU. 

And oh how beautiful it is to have that passion.

For so long, his work had only consisted of repetition; the work that had brought him happiness was now draining him of it all. His thoughts are audible emanating from your lips.

To make a difference, and just for a little while, listening to you happily describe your passion, the horrors of his job, which once clutched his heart so deeply, slowly started to fade.

“Where to next, Doctor?” 

“I hope you like museums, I was able to get us tickets to one of my favorite exhibits.” 

“Lead the way.” 

“I agree; the universe is not happy with you right now,” you laughed, both stranded in the middle of nowhere as his car broke down under the afternoon sun.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” he sighed, opening your car door. Taking his hand you led him towards the field, there were worse places to be stranded in you thought. 

“If we call for a cab right now, we can reach the museum in an hour, depending on traffic. We’ll miss the first half hour or so, but—”

“Spencer, look! The sun is setting.” You walked off into the distance, taking a seat near a tree.

“We’re going to miss the show.” He said disappointed. You looked up at him and the orange glow casted a beautiful hue over your face. Just when he thought you couldn't get prettier.

“No matter how much you try in life, you’re bound to miss something. Just take in the moment right now.” You say, patting the seat on the grass next to you.

To his own surprise, he obliges. 

He doesn’t mean to profile you, but it’s a reflex, a defense mechanism. Being around serial killers and rapists, he needs to know their every move. But right now, being in your apartment as you give him a tour, he lets go.

Realizing he doesn’t have to know everything about you right away; he can take his time.

He expected your room to be something like a catalog magazine, but books, plants, and paintings you've made surrounded you.

Messy maximalist, you called it.

Spencer learns you hate minimalism, you hate gray white empty spaces that don't feel like home.

He is almost envious of how carefree you are, willing to wear your heart out on your sleeve. Your guard has been down the whole time, a luxury Spencer can’t afford.

“Can I offer you some tea? I recently perfected my mom’s recipe for chai,” You asked, already boiling the water and getting your tea bags together.

“Tea sounds amazing.”

He looks around, forming a profile in his brain.

You’re messy, but you somehow find beauty in it. It doesn’t bother you; it makes sense, he thinks.

Artistic people are commonly messy.

“What books do you like?” Spencer asks, watching you get two mismatched cups out.

“I love classic literature, Persuasion is one of my favorites. I love Jane Austen and the way she captures love in its most pure form."

“How would you define love?” It’s a question that has been nagging him, he wants to pick apart your brain and know every thought.

He can tell you’re a hopeless romantic, and he now wishes he had accepted Garcia’s movie night invitation to watch Jane Austen movies.

He already has a sense, knowing you love classic period pieces, but he just wants to hear your explanation for it. 

“In Med school they teach us that love is a complex emotion, a bunch of hormones: dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin in the brain. I can’t say much about hormones but love is life, and it's just peaceful like the slow water going down a stream. But an immediate phenomenon, much like life itself. It fills and empties you all at once, swirling like a river's water after a storm. Your hands, heart, stomach, and skin are just a few places on your body where you can feel it. And it overtakes you so intensely. You don’t even realize it until you’re in it. You can’t exist without it, love is like breathing.” You sigh, a shy smile overtaking your lips “Sorry i tend to rant a lot.” 

Spencer meets your smile. It feels nice to be on the receiving end of someone rambling.  “I don’t mind one bit. I knew you were an artist but I didn’t peg you for a writer.”

“Have you been profiling me, Doctor Reid?” you ask, he smiles avoiding your gaze.

“Most writers are artistic people; that is, they are imaginative, creative, and productive when working in an environment that promotes self-expression. Not to mention you mentioned journalism being your minor, also I saw you had a typewriter.”

“You're amazing, Spencer,” you say, taking the kettle off the stove, pouring two cups of chai.

Spencer whispers your name, and you look over, your name falls so easily through his lips. This is what was missing from your life, you think.

“I think you’re one of the most unique people I’ve ever met.”

He says, taking your hand, interlocking your fingers.

You graze your thumb over his knuckles squeezing his hand, meeting his brown eyes. And as if the universe was on his side for once you lean forward, your lips meeting his. Lips meddling into each other as if it was made just for you.

The morning sun is beating down on his small car, and there you are sitting in his passenger seat laughing at his horrible jokes.

Your favorite songs playing in the background. You smile at him, and Spencer is lost again, but not because of the street signs. He's just lost in your smile.

This is what was missing from his life Spencer thinks.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Young!John Wick x Model!Reader Imagine

Imagine you are the love of John Wick's life...

You meet in Paris when he’s a young man. You spend a mind-blowing night together, and watch the sun rise from Sacré-Coeur. He disappears, and you’re devastated because no one has ever made you feel that way, and you’re certain you’ll never see him again. But throughout the years he keeps finding you as you travel for work. He kisses you silly in the Gamla Stan of Stockholm, makes you cum on his fingers in a dark club in London, and when he leaves you utterly wrecked in Rome you know that you’re in love with this man. You don’t know exactly what he does for a living, but you’re not stupid. You’ve memorized every inch of his body, and you notice as his collection of scars multiplies over the years. You are half convinced he's a spy, but then there are the tattoos...ominous as they are captivating, they suggest membership in a darker world than the shadows of international espionage. You cannot reconcile it. How can this sweet man, this man who makes you laugh, who brings you joy and such exquisite pleasure, be a part of such a violent occupation? When you finally get up the courage to ask him he just shakes his head, and says it’s better you don’t know before kissing you in that way that utterly scrambles your brain cells.

-It all started in Paris with a broken heel... You nearly fell into traffic, but a strong arm around your waist snatched you back from death.

You hid against his chest for a long moment, even though he was a total stranger, because he felt so safe. You were in Paris for your first Fashion Week—and you were so lost. It’s the 1990s, a dark age in which we didn’t have handheld computers to pleasantly tell us where to go, and we used archaic documents to find our way known as paper maps...And you’d left yours in your hotel accidentally.  

You look up to see kind brown eyes fixed down on you. “Are you alright?” You hate to think it, but you are so relieved to hear an American accent. You have been yelled at no less than three times in French that day, and even if you totally deserved it, you're a bit gun shy now.

“Yes. Thank you. Jesus, I...” You look at the traffic barreling by at breakneck speed, a chill running down your spine. “Thank you,” you say again. You look up at him, really look at him, and realize you're in the arms of the most handsome man you've ever seen—and you work in fashion. 

“You're welcome.” 

He seems as taken by you as you are by him, and for a stretch of long moments you just stand there staring at each other like moon-eyed idiots. He looks down, suddenly shy. It's totally endearing. “Sorry,” he apologizes, releasing you slowly. You teeter on your broken heel, and you can tell he is ready to grab you again if he has to. This protectiveness makes a surprising warmth bloom in your heart.

“Do you...need help getting somewhere?” he asks. You wonder if it’s that obvious you’re lost. Usually you'd be wary of that question from a stranger. You've dealt with so many creeps throughout your life. But somehow you sense that he’s sincere. 

“I guess I'd better get back to my hotel.” 

Sebastiano was going to kill you. You broke a $600 pair of heels...well maybe Gucci should have made them better, the lazy bastards. 

“Can I get you a cab?” 

With your broken heel, you guess you’re not hoofing it back. “Sure.” He hails one down, and you’re delighted when he climbs in with you, speaking to the driver in perfect French, bless him.

“Where are we headed?” You give him the name of your hotel, and he repeats it the way it’s supposed to be said. Oh. No wonder the previous drivers gave you such contemptuous looks… You took Spanish in high school, ok? You can read French but have zero experience speaking it.

When you arrive at the hotel your savior thrusts a wad of Francs through the window before you have a chance to even open your purse, and helps you out of the cab. You are totally leaning against his arm more than you have to. You can feel the hard curve of his bicep beneath the fine fabric of his suit, and it makes you a little giddy. Only once you’re safe in the lobby does he seem willing to release you, though somehow your hand has ended up in his, and you find you don’t really want to let go. “Are you doing anything later?” you ask boldly, before he can disappear back into the bustle of Paris and you’ll never find him again.

He pays you a melancholy smile that squeezes your heart for some reason. “Unfortunately, I have to work,” he says. You make a pouty face that draws his attention to your lips. The intensity in those dark eyes is thrilling. “Maybe if I finish early…I could join you?”

You know you grin like an idiot at this suggestion. “I’ll be at the Versace afterparty. I could…have your name put on the list?”

This seems to amuse him for some reason, his mouth twisting in a smirk. “I can find you,” he says, and your heart flutters. In fact, when he presses his lips to your knuckles, your heart attempts to flutter right out of your chest.

He turns to go but you call, “Wait!” He pauses. “What’s your name?”

The smile he pays you is heart stopping. “Jardani,” he answers quietly. “But everyone calls me John.” You bite your lip, nodding, very pleased with this new bit of information, sensing that maybe he’s told you something just for you. “I hope I get to see you later.”

He nods too, touching your cheek lightly. “You will.”

It sounds like a promise.

-You should be beside yourself with excitement because you’re walking your first runway in Paris, and this could be the moment that makes or breaks your career, but the real reason for your nerves is the hope that you’ll see him again.

-The show goes great. You kill it. Sebastiano, your friend and the designer you’d modeled for, can hardly contain himself. But you find you’re just watching the clock ticking down the seconds until later.  

-John does find you later. You have a drink, and you dance, and from the adoring way he looks at you, you feel brave enough to ask if he wants to go someplace quieter. You go for a little walk, and even though it’s the wee hours of the morning you feel perfectly safe with this man. He kisses you on the Pont Alexandre, his hands in your hair, and your fingers curl in the lapels of his jacket to hold him to you. You ask if he wants to go back to your hotel, and he agrees. This man looks at you like you are something irreplaceably precious, and you don’t know how you’ll let him go.

-He is strong. In your hotel room he picks you up by your thighs and presses you into the wall, kissing you senseless before carrying you to the bed. His hands are calloused, but he’s so gentle with you. He touches you like you were made for him, like he was born knowing how to make you see stars. He claims you with his hands and his mouth and his big, beautiful cock deep inside you, and you know you’ll never be the same after this. You’ve been disappointed so many times that you almost don’t know how to handle an encounter going this well.

-When he stirs in the blue light of pre-dawn your arms tighten around him. You’re not even awake yet, but you don’t want him to leave. He kisses you behind the ear and you practically purr. “Want to see the second most beautiful sight in Paris?”

“Yes,” you agree.

“Bring your camera.” You’d told him about your interest in photography. Maybe modeling was paying the bills, but you’d actually majored in fine art, and minored in literature. Naturally, your interests make for shit at paying bills.  

Sleepily you get dressed. It takes a little longer than usual because you can’t stop kissing each other between pulling on garments. Soft, slow kisses that curl your toes. You sense deep down that every one of them is infused with apology, and goodbye. It breaks your heart, but greedily you’ll take every second with him you can get.He takes you to Sacré-Coeur in the heart of Montmartre, the very roof of Paris. You sit on the steps and watch the sun rise over the city, fiery oranges and pinks painting the sky and rendering the buildings aglow. It truly is beautiful, but you don’t lift your lens to try to capture it. You sit with your arm linked with his, and experience this moment with him as fully as you can. You want to remember everything.

“You didn’t take a picture,” he teases once the sun has cheerfully risen above the horizon.

You pull out the camera and frame him in your lens, his sleepy smile and bed-mussed hair. You feel something shift in your heart as your finger depresses the button. Click. You’re not sure if it’s the camera in your hand, or something settling into place in your heart that has always belonged there.

“Now I have the first most beautiful sight in Paris,” you say.

He laughs at that. “I meant that was you,” he insists, lacing his fingers with yours, kissing the back of your hand. He takes you to breakfast, and you enjoy dark coffee and delectably crafted pastries with your legs tangled together under the table. Afterwards he takes you back to your hotel, and in the gilt-appointed lobby somehow you know what’s coming.

“I have to go,” he says sadly. You actually believe his regret isn’t an act.

You nod, leaning into his large hand on your cheek.

“I’ll never forget you, y/n.”

A shuddering sigh escapes you, and you close your eyes. You are not going to cry.

“Likewise, I promise you.”

You don’t exchange any further information. You know that if it was possible to see him again, he would have offered it to you. There is something mysterious about this man. Something almost…forbidden, and a part of you knows that the little time you stole together was a precious gift.

He kisses you one last time, a passionate, soul-rending thing that leaves you utterly weak in the knees. He says nothing more, pressing his forehead to yours one final time before turning to go. You watch his tall, dark form exit the hotel into the Paris morning, and you know he’s taking a piece of your heart with him as he goes.   

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

tbc because goddamn this got long...

part deux >>

[gabessquishytum]

Ok so dreamling making a road trip

Hobs driving and Dream is bored and complaining.

Hob pulls over, flips Dream over and stuffs a couple vibrators into him. Puts dream back in his seat with the seat belt and keeps them buzzing for hours and dream is crying and begging but hob won’t stop them until he comes dry (or safety words)

Basically “captive audience” multiplied by thousand and make Dream cry :)

Sorry if there are mistakes. English is not my first language

Your English is fantastic, friend! And this is a great prompt.

Poor Dream - clearly he thought he could be a brat and get away with it. Or maybe he wanted to Hob to give in and give him the "entertainment" he obviously needed.

Dream suddenly seems completely unable to finish a coherent sentence, bless him. His complaints from before are now just mewling sobs as he writhes in his seat. Occasionally he manages to utter a little "please!" and he sounds so cute begging for mercy, but Hob doesn't intend to give in. When they stop for traffic he leans over and gives Dream a kiss on his sweaty pink cheek, but that's all.

Dream is left to cum all over himself, sitting in his own mess between each orgasm and practically wailing when the over-stimulation grows and grows. And Hob gets to watch the show, which is taking part only for his entertainment.

Hob loves his little brat so much, maybe he'll stop by the drive-thru and get him a treat. Presumably he'll be quite dehydrated by the time he's finished!

[nocturnesmoon]

Chapter 1: The Wandering Fool

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - Chapter 1: The Wandering Fool

Wordcount: 6.8k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Religious trauma, PTSD, Hallucinations, Paranoia, Anxiety, Disturbing Themes, let me know if i missed anything

Description: You ran from it all for a reason, it's easier to disappear when everyone thinks you're dead, but what happens when someone wants to bring you dangerously close to your past, the one you've been trying to run from for so long?

A/N: Trying to not panic over the fact i'm finally releasing this- Hope you enjoy it!!

[Next Chapter]

Through all your problems in life, your most prominent ones always seem to have a connection between the weather, and unnecessary questions. Since the dawn of time people have had this annoying notion of being very nosy.

There aren’t many places in the world you've been to where it's different. They can deny it all they want, it's all the same no matter where you go. Simultaneously the weather has never quite agreed with you. It makes your nonstop travel tedious, a draining task that often takes more time than you'd like it to.

Even here, with the amount of time it took you to get here in the first place because of the weather. It's an ironic turn when only a few days after your arrival, the sun turns the concrete into a fire from hell. A stark contrast to the storms and rain, that kept your flight delayed, again and again.

The heat makes you want to never leave that little flower shop, with the big fan in the corner. If it wasn't for the sharp floral smell, and the continuous buzzing of the thing, you could even have considered working here. It's not prone to traffic of many people, and those who are here are usually in a hurry, so they don't engage you in too much meaningless chatter, while you would work.

Unfortunately, you rarely have that luxury, every turn and twist in your day-to-day life, threatening you with the underlying feeling of being caught, of being known.

A loud sound erupts from the back, when the old man drops a pair of scissors. Children squeal outside the shop, as soon as the ball goes into the hoop placed above the window. It's a disaster waiting to happen. However, it kept the children happy and busy, in the early hours of the morning, when there was nothing to do yet, and the heat wasn't high enough to spoil their activity.

The quiet sound of snips continues soon after, the man continuously giving you odd looks from your request. You don't pay it any mind. Your hands nervously clutch at your wallet, the ache in your knuckles barely noticeable anymore.

One of the kids outside pick up the ball again, launching it at the hoop but missing by an inch. The ball bounces back, and you realize it before you see it. The silence between the kids is almost comical, the squealing and happy yelling gone within an instant.

A little streak of crimson runs down from the kid's cheek, the bruise already forming with unnatural colors. The other kids flock around them, fuzzing about with caring tones and careful touches. One of the older ones finds a rag to gently dab away the blood.

You wonder if it would still be warm to the touch, metallic in taste, an awful sign of life.

The kid's eyes keep staring ahead, through the window. You could pretend that they're looking at the pretty flowers, but you hold their eye contact with purpose. They look defeated in their shock, too big of a reaction for a little accident in your flawed opinion.

You could've stopped them, prevented it before it happened, they wouldn't have gotten hurt.

They continue to stare you down, a frown settled on their lips. Do they really think that you could've stopped them. The kids would've laughed at you at best. The eyes multiply tenfold when the other kids notice the injured one's staring. You keep it up, not backing down despite the uncomfortable feeling of too much attention on you. You've been too exposed today.

You've had eyes in the back of your neck ever since you left your room this morning. Not the usual way either, this time it's been from an unknown source.

You don't miss the man leaned up against the wall to a clothing boutique. His hood raised up, his lips moving to speak every now and then. He's doing a good job at pretending to watch the kids have fun and play.

The old man clears his throat. He's already arranged the flowers beautifully, they now rest on the counter, waiting for you to pay up.

You put down your payment in coins, ignore his grumbling in favor of grabbing the flowers and getting out of there in a hurry.

The café has been your only place of respite. A quaint little space you found when you first came to this place. It sits open to the streets, while still managing to feel packed away. Behind those old curtains, and dainty accessories adorning yellowish walls, is the best coffee you've had in years.

Ding

A pleasant little sound fills your ears every time you open the door, and step down in the lowlight place. As much as you liked it, every time you were here, you'd be fighting your instincts to make the sound again and again and again. Your own mental oblivion urging you forward.

Coffee is already placed on your table. Steam rising from the little blue cup, the one with a chipped side, unofficially assigned to you. The little corner is always free when you come in. There was always the question of whether the little spot was unpopular, or if there were other external factors for its lack of use.

It was hard to tell, by the already general lack of customers and patrons, but the little seat was always there for you.

Confined in your own little corner, you would spend the mornings of the past month sipping coffee, and looking like you belonged in a prison cell. With the amount of paranoia your posture exuded, it's impossible to not think you had something going on.

Luck has a tendency not to follow you in places like these, so you refrain from interacting too much with anything. It leaves you looking a bit like a social reject, but you comfort yourself in the knowledge that in a month, none of these people will see your face again.

At least people don't ask questions here.

You walk over to the counter and place the bouquet of spider lilies down next to the registry. Being careful not to disturb the beautiful order the nice old man had put them in. Your eyes linger for but a moment.

A meek old woman owns the place. Elena. She took a quick liking to you the first you arrived here a few weeks ago. She seemed to understand you in an underlying way, she never asked you the hard questions, she accepted your secrecy in a way only a mother who's seen the worst can do. It freaks you out.

You still feel bad about lying to her.

Had she been someone else, you might've been more inclined. To let the woman know who -what- you really are, would only put her in more harm’s way than necessary. That would even be before she could get a chance to hate you, for the things you've done to stay alive.

The wood protests when you settle into the chair. You pull back on the urge to wiggle in it. The old woman was nowhere to be seen, but the little rustle of pots and pans in the back gave you clear indication of where she is. There's always the fresh smell of newly baked pastries in the mornings, just before everyone wakes up for their daily hustles.

Not many people would come this early, making it a regular occurrence for you to spend that time here. Little hole in the wall only really served the continuing patrons, most others took to the more populated places.

A flash of light shines through the thin curtains, illuminating the dust swirling around in the air, as well as the colorful pillows carefully placed in each chair. They felt out of place to everything else in here. Newer. You quickly learnt a lot of things about the mentality of the people living here, you had to if you intended to blend in inconspicuously. Something you found out the hard way, was that the old woman tended to take things personally.

It didn't matter how much you meant it positively, negatively, no meaning at all. One little comment a faint evening, and the next day the pillows were all replaced.

You squint your eyes from the raging orange and put your focus back on the coffee. It's no longer steaming as much as before. You hadn't originally picked this place because it would provide you cover. In all fairness, if the place wasn't as cozy on the inside, it would likely be shady enough to be conspicuous, from the odd looking outside alone.

Yet still, it serves as your little paradise.

You find your brain goes quiet when you're in here. You can sip your coffee in peace, unaware of the shadows creeping in the corners of your eyes. It's numbing. Your little respite away from the danger outside, the danger within, and with Elena's nurturing soul, it makes you not want to leave.

Ding

Unfortunately, fate has a funny little tendency to give you the middle finger. It has never been on your side, and you doubt it is ever going to be.

Your little paradise is about to be invaded. With lingering smells of gunpowder, and blood so thick it will stain your soul. Patches of blonde and black hair, one making its way to your corner, and the other stationary at the door.

You take a sip of your coffee. It tastes wrong.

The blonde woman pulls out the chair opposite of you. She takes a moment to get comfortable before leaning in, her arms neatly folded on the table. She's playing on your domesticity, your familiarity, you know her too well to expect anything else. You don't doubt if you were look up, you'll see those blue eyes full of desperation, ready to ask you to move heaven and hell for her.

She's a few years too late.

Much to your surprise she keeps quiet when you take another sip. How kind of her. It doesn't last long. As soon as you put the chipped cup down, and acknowledge her, she opens her mouth to speak.

"No" you intercept her.

She closes her mouth, opens it, closes it. "You haven't even heard what I have to say," a small smile plays on her lips. It seems innocent enough. You know her better. She has blood on her hands, the same way you have blood on your teeth.

"The answer is no."

"I wouldn't come to you if it wasn't serious," her folded hands tighten, "You know that." She's honorable, as far as you know, but you're not ready to get back into your harness, so she can pull on your collar.

The next sip burns your tongue. You bite down on it, choke the yelp deep down in your throat. "Laswell..." you speak her name with urgency. The quicker you can shut her up and get her to leave, the quicker you can get back to making your plan to move.

"I need you to just hear me out alright?" she pauses, "it's in your best interest."

She's not letting you leave this place unless you agree.

Your eyes dart over to the man standing at the entrance. There's more than one way to get out of here, the one he is blocking is the least convenient. But you suppose you do owe it to Laswell to hear her out.

If you narrow it all down to the dirt and bones, she is the only reason why you're sitting in this café alive, while remaining dead to the world.

Your would-be grave is far from here. Dug and scraped with your own charred hands and broken nails.

Crack crack, bury the sin beneath blood and bone.

You can still hear it when you unfocus your brain, they won't let you forget.

"It's him, he's back" the words soil your throat, and they didn't even come from your own lips. "He's brought his group back along with him, and they're causing a bigger disturbance," It's sickening that she's even bringing this up.

She continues despite your grimace, "I would have pulled out every other resource I could before coming here, but you're the only person I can rely on to see this through."

She wants you to go back.

Go back, Go back, Go back.

"You're the only one I know that has both skill and cause."

Your eyebrow twitches, and you bite down on your tongue to not retaliate. You can taste the metal before you relent. The last thing you want to do is cause a scene in here.

The old woman doesn't deserve this.

"I understand your apprehension to this, but you know how important it is that we put a stop to him, you should want this more than anyone else."

The chair screeches as you push yourself to your feet. Your palms connect with the table, and it in turn rattles. The man who was standing stationary at the door breaks form. He reaches behind him, and let's his hand settle on something.

Not that you thought she would come here unarmed.

Laswell calls your name, bringing your attention back to her. She's a lot calmer than her jumpy backup. "It's just a talk, nothing more for now," it's all lies is what is.

"Bring attack dogs to all your family meetings?" you don't settle back into the chair. You were done with this place the moment Laswell and her soldier set foot in it.

She spares a single glance back at her friend, something reassuring in her face, it makes him ease back up to form. "Fine, there's no going around it with you," she wants it to all be lighthearted, to ease you in, you won't fall for it again.

"I am cashing in the favor, you'll be properly paid of course, and you can settle a score, does it really sound that bad?"

"Yes."

You stare into her blue eyes. She smells faintly of smoke. Her eyes won't leave you, but you see the contemplation in them, the searching of your figure. She's looking for the right bait, looking for the best way to sink her hooks into your ribs and drag you along.

"I don't want to have to do this to you..." her voice is quieter. It almost surprises you, but you know what she's talking about. She's in a bind herself.

She's not going to wait forever for you to say yes, and she needs you. On paper you are the perfect candidate for whatever she has planned. Though you doubt your mental profile lives up to the required standards. Certain things can be overlooked in desperation, you suppose.

"I'll hear you out," you start "somewhere else." The determination in her eyes border hope. It's pitiful that she thinks you'll have so much influence on her mission. You're really not all that.

You have the basic training, but also enough history to disqualify you, from any position within the military ever again. Laswell let's out a sigh of relief. Was she really that worried?

"Everything alright petal?" your eyes snap to Elena, a pot of something steaming in her hands that she places on the counter.

Laswell's backup twitches, seemingly surprised that the place wasn't as empty as he thought it was. You give the old woman a curt nod. It's enough to make her go about her day as normal, and you silently thank God that she isn't one to question.

"Always pick the jumpy attack dogs?"

Laswell stands up, breathing in harshly. If she doesn't like your resistance, she can pick someone else. "The squad is still weary from the last op." She explains.

You nod quietly in response. At least that's one thing you can sympathize with.

"Come, I'm not going to wait around for you to change your mind."

You hope Elena likes the flowers.

You feel like an idiot. Not even an hour out of the town you resided in, is an off the map military base. You are disgusted, appalled, shocked, disappointed. Every word in the book they could find.

You had prided yourself in being able to outrun anything. When Laswell helped you fake your own death, it was even easier. The amount of preparation you had to do when moving from place to place, was to put it mildly, extensive.

Somehow you completely missed this place.

It has your head reeling. Not even the rumbling of the car, or the passing outside, is enough to distract you. You catch Laswell eyes in the rearview mirror. She was first to get behind the wheel, which is a...choice.

Allowing out a soft sigh, you let your head rest against the window. The base is out past the middle of nowhere. You'd go crazy if you had to count all the corn fields you've passed by now.

Oh look...a cow.

"Nervous?"

The man next to you startles you out of your thoughts. You spare him a glance, not allowing yourself to linger too long at a time. He's casually dressed, his weapons hidden cleverly beneath layers of clothing.

If you remember right, Laswell called him Gaz. Odd nickname but not like you can judge, you've been called way worse.

He's got a good build, even with the blue hoodie you can see how his muscles fill it out. You don't doubt he could deck you fast if he wanted to. There'd be very little you could do about it, so out of form as you are. Occupied with everything else and staying out of sight, you haven't much time to keep yourself excessively fit.

Laswell picks her attack dogs well.

How sweet the sound of his bones breaking beneath your boot would sound.

You shake your head, grimacing at the thought. The little cracks that fill your ears are deafening.

"Don' worry, Cap's nice enough"

You don't doubt it, you just can't find it in yourself to care. Promises can so easily be broken; at the end of the day everyone wants something. That something has a tendency of putting you in danger, so you're not particularly excited.

"Gaz..." Laswell looks through the rearview mirror, making brief eye contact with the sergeant. Does she really think you that unhinged to not handle a simple conversation. A bit insulting.

"What...jus' making conversation," Gaz mumbles and turns his head to the side, subsequently joining you in looking out at the passing cows.

How much would she even tell Gaz about you. He couldn't know much, over half the things you're included in would be classified, and he's but a sergeant. His standoffish stance in the café was likely just to assess the danger, but the switch up is kind of freaking you out.

He seems nice enough overall, but you can't decide whether or not you actually want him to be. In a way it would be easier if he wasn't. You're not here to cultivate new friendships, you're here because you don't have another choice.

Whatever conversation he tries to make, dies out for the rest of the ride.

As soon as the car is put in park, Gaz jumps out. Gone within a blink of an eye, which you came to expect. The rest of the way was spent in awkward silence, and as much as you'd rather have silence, it was bad even for your taste.

Laswell takes it upon herself to lead you through the base. It's hard to ignore the looks and glares you get. You're an unknown variable, and without Laswell, you likely seem like an outright danger. It's a bit uncanny, to think that you once stood on their side, shoulder to shoulder with a sibling made of war.

She doesn't talk to you as you walk through base. You rely on your prior knowledge of the layout of UK military bases, to know where your exits would be. She parts with you in front of the "captains" office, a small throwaway promise to come get you once she has talked to him.

You don't question it, but it does make you raise a brow. Has she even told the captain you'd be coming? He would be the one supervising you when Laswell wouldn't be there, it's a pretty big thing to leave him in the dark about.

As soon as she closes the door, you let out a frustrated gust of air. This was already turning more complicated than you wanted it to be. Why didn't you resist a bit more, protest a bit more, you didn't even negotiate better terms with her. The shock alone, of seeing her again so soon after everything, rendered you unable to think logically.

At least the hallway is relatively empty.

Shadows start to creep in the corner of your vision. Thousands of little things hide there, occupying the otherwise empty space around.

You read the inscription on the door; Captain John Price.

The captain wasn't completely unknown to you. Though it all stems from rumors you heard, when you were a recruit. A few of your teammates had spoken about him in quiet whispers. Back then he didn't have the rank of Captain yet, nor a whole taskforce to command. He's come a long way.

Could they be similar?

No.

No one else could be like that, not that far. Especially not an old Idol, that would just be cruel.

"Kate you can't be serious...have you seen their file."

You perk up when you hear the slightly raised voices from inside. They're talking about you. You tilt your head closer. A grumbled brass voice sounds out, it reminds you of that of a dragon, most likely one belonging to the captain. You try to put a face to the name, but you can't remember any of the old pictures you saw. Every vivid image in your mind is distortedly different.

"You asked me to find extra help, this is it."

You'd laugh in her face if she was out here. There are much more qualified people than you, even with dealing with a group such as this.

"You could read one line in this and know they should not be handling a gun; much less be sent out in possible high-pressure situations."

You nod along for no one to see. You've done this song and dance trying to get reenlisted, twice before. More for the protection aspects than anything else. It would’ve been a lot easier getting your hands on weapons that way, instead of the unconventional way you've resorted to in your time away.

You did give yourself a bit of credit. Despite everything you had fared quite well for yourself, without Laswell's extended help. It came with strings, so you had turned it down.

At least you weren't dead in a ditch somewhere, which to be quite fair, you wouldn't put it past you for it to happen.

"John..."

"Kate..."

You start to wonder if Price would look like a dragon in human form. He already has the voice to match. Maybe he has a fiery beard, a tone that commands the respect of thousands. Would he hoard his possessions, to a disturbing extent?

The door scrapes against the floor when its opened. The sound makes you want to tear your ears off.

"Come on in" Kate waves you inside, making sure to close the door behind you. His office is simplistic, no personal touches around, only the standard issued items rest on his desk. From what you remember, he's used to moving from place to place often, it's likely that this office won't be his anymore by the end of the week.

"This is Captain John Price" She introduces you, and you offer him a nod of hopefully mutual respect. It's not reciprocated.

At first glance you notice two things about the captain.

One.

He stands tall. You don't doubt no matter how many meters you have in you, the man has ways of making you feel small.

He has a beard, beautiful eyes too, when you find it in you to look past the serious expression. It tells you all you need to know about him. At least he's not incompetent, he knows you shouldn't be here. Anyone would know after a single glance at you, even if Kate seems to think otherwise.

And two.

Price doesn't look like a dragon.

You don't know why it disappoints you. You knew very well he would not, and still, you find your heart sinking just little at his dismissive look.

It's a fantasy.

You stopped dreaming years ago; you have no intention of starting the childish notion again. You see enough things that weren't real, why add to it.

Price let's out a long sigh. His frustration with you is clear, but Laswell is steadfast in her opinion, no matter the resistance she wants you in this. The look she's sending his way, does as much as a firm set of words would. He folds his arms over his chest, looking back at her with as much determination as she is.

The quiet is...intruding.

You feel like you're witnessing something that you shouldn't be. The type of conversations, that your boss would have about you in private, to decide what to do with your behavior. You feel a need to say something, to break the silence and remind the two in the middle of a staring contest, that you're still here.

"Fine" Price concedes reluctantly, "but if there is anything-"

"There won't be any problems," she assures him "right?"

You freeze up the moment she refers to you. What were you supposed to say to that. You didn't want to be here, it was only out of obligation to her, to pay the blood debt you owe her.

You shrug your shoulders, finding a spot in the floor to stare at. The stain morphs and changes, subtly getting bigger and smaller, wider, and thinner all at once. It bleeds into the tile. You try to place a shape to it, but it changes too fast for you to decide on anything.

"Right then," Price moves over to his desk and pulls out a folder of multiple files. "You're going to want to know who you're going to work with," he slams the folder down on the wooden table. It creeks. You fight back a flinch.

"Kate has promised me you're going to be able to help," he doesn't sound convinced, "we'll see what you can do."

Laswell gives Price another glare. It would be comforting -her protectiveness- if it wasn't shrouded in obligation. It's laughable how much she believes you can solve her problem.

"You'll be accompanying the 141 in this, they've been working on this for the past month." Laswell chimes in as Price gets out the files of each respective member.

"I thought you needed my help immediately."

"I told you I was going to pull out all other resources before bringing you back into this." There's something pitying in her eyes, it makes you feel sick.

You were always going to be in this. No matter how much you hated it. It has been a part of so much of your life, there's nothing you can do to peel it off your skin. Lord knows you've tried to.

"Yes...We've been gathering as much information as we can on the group," Price leans his hip against the table. "We haven't found much, like the last time they were around, their efforts are very secretive, but we know where they're grouping. We have received reports, threats, missing persons rapports, all the signs the same group gave a few years ago, it seems very possible they have the same leader as well."

"The Divine Principle" you dig your nails into your palms. Your eyes catch the captains, now suddenly more attentive of you.

"You-"

"That's what they call themselves. I've hunted them before; I thought Laswell said." You don't bother looking towards the woman on your left, this is between you and the captain. He didn't seem to be quite convinced of your knowledge or skills. You didn't blame the man. You couldn't prove your skills worthy just yet, so your knowledge had to suffice.

You don't know why you suddenly feel the need to prove it to him, but there's something about his presence that makes you want him to like you. It's a rare feeling, the last time you felt like this you-

"She did, but she did not explain much about you, other than what's available in your file."

"I know enough to know they aren't good people," you switch up your stance, mimicking the way he was standing when you first came in. Your attention catches on the files again. You wonder who they could be, what their skills would include, if they would collide with your own.

You weren't used to working in groups like this, it was going to be different.

"Then you also know how important this mission is, they've done irreparable damage in the past, we can't have it happen again."

Price pushes one file towards you, holding the other three files in his grasp. "Gaz, who you already met as I understand it." You nod, thinking back to the man. Part of you had expected to meet him again, you should've realized he likely already was in the taskforce if he was accompanying Laswell.

"There's Soap, he'll be enthusiastic having a new member on the team I'll assure you that." Price places his file for you to see, giving you a moment before moving on. John MacTavish, Scottish by the looks of it, and an interesting hair choice of a mohawk. You're almost surprised they let him keep it.

"Lastly Ghost, and myself" he puts down the last file. It has no attached picture, but that isn't what initially grabs your attention as out of place as it is. What settles deep in your bones, is his name.

Simon Riley

Simon.

That Simon.

Your brow furrows as you read his name over and over and over again, gradually wishing he had a picture so you could confirm it for yourself. You hadn't seen or heard the name in years, not since you left Manchester. Was there really a chance it could be him.

"There's no picture," you pick up his file, as if reading his name closer would bring clarity to your adding questions.

"Never is," Price observes your hesitance the way you give Ghost's file more attention than the rest, "Do you know each other?"

"Might, it was a long time ago though, I doubt he'd even remember me."

He observes you for what feels like forever, trying to look past your carefully crafted mask, to gouge out the state of the relationship. "Well, it'd be good to have some familiarity on the team," he shrugs "can make the transition easier for you."

Yeah, if he doesn't despise you still.

You don't feel the need to tell the captain of your possibly declined relationship with the man. There's still a chance it's not him. You don't know why you're trying to fool yourself that it's not. You knew even back then that he wanted to join the military, that it had been all he ever wanted.

He's a lieutenant now. Despite everything you can't help but feel a little proud of him for making it this far, even if it's tinged with sadness.

"Will it be a problem?" Laswell brings your attention to her. Her voice layered with a sense of supposed knowledge that she is not supposed to have. It's hard to not get a little irritated, at this point you have no idea how much information the woman has in her skull. Information that you'd love nothing more than to erase from her memory.

"No, it will not" she isn't expecting any other answer. It's not like she's suddenly going to let you go if you do. Worst case scenario she restricts your workspace to avoid a conflict, and if she so desperately wants you to do this job, then you need your space.

"Make it quick, yeah?"

Gaz comes to a stop in front of the door to your little motel room. He makes a quick glance down each side of the hall. Deeming it clear, he leans back against the yellow tinted walls. Too bad he can't see the shadows breathing down his neck.

Though you'd never experienced anything shady or violent, you knew there was a rising criminal activity in the motel. You just never really spent enough time here to witness any of it.

"Yeah yeah," you grimace fumbling with your keys. You really should get rid of some of them, most of them didn't have a purpose anymore. Though like with most things, you had a hard time letting go.

The inside of your the little room you rented is exactly as you left it. Dresser door broken and splintered, curtains half closed, shadows looming in every corner and crevice.

Home sweet home, or something to that effect.

It's not a lot, but you don't complain, you've certainly lived with worse. Not staying in one spot for more than a month at a time didn't leave many options for work, so you had made do.

As much as you trusted Laswell's skills, and her promises, you had your own wariness to battle against. This way was the only one that actually made you feel like you had an advantage, against those that meant you harm.

The duffel bag with most of your belongings, had been hastily shoved into the dresser the morning prior. You find it uninterrupted in the same place, as expected. You glance towards the window and mark your possible exit. Should the man outside turn for whatever reason, the window would be loose, and you could break through the rusted glass frames.

For now, though, you had to trust that this taskforce you were to temporarily join, didn't actually want you dead. Yet.

Your variables are changing, and fast. There isn't a bigger part of you that enjoys this, and meeting up with Simon again could only prove trouble. He probably still held some resentment towards you, there's only the small hope that he keeps things professional.

You look down into your bag, rummaging around in the sealed pocket to locate your pile of papers. Years old and stained letters, some answered, some not. It was your only means of communication for a time, until it all stopped. You don't think he ever found out why, he would've contacted you if he did right? Or maybe he had decided then and there you weren't worth his energy.

Pushing the thoughts aside proved a much harder task than normal. You had gotten used to putting all into a tightly sealed box in your brain, but now that you knew for certain it would all come flooding out, it proved it harder to contain overall.

There isn't much to collect from the room itself, most of your things were already packed and ready for an easy go. You pick up an extra set of shoes and stuff them in before venturing to the bathroom.

You had to give it to this place, they had some of the most uncomfortable bathrooms you'd had the pleasure of occupying. The mirror is stained and dirty, the tile an ugly brown color, and not even to talk about the toilet itself, or the odd smell. Though the latter could be explained by you and your own ministrations.

Your eyes land on the cross tossed into the tub. Little thing on a chain, the same one you had worn for years at a time. Dried blood still gives it that discoloration.

Your knees click when you reach down and place it in the cup of your hand. To think that this little thing carries so much of you. It has seen it all, witnessed your greatest heights making you feel light as a feather, and watched all your sins unfold, burning like hellfire against your chest.

You've never hated a thing more.

Slipping it around your neck is a thoughtless process. The muscle memory in your fingers do the work for you, securing the chain on the back of your neck, like reattaching a leash.

You stand up straight and walk to the sink. Your toothbrush has fallen, it's green hue so faded it's turning white in some areas. You really should just get a new one.

Your reflection catches in the mirror, and you make the mistake of not looking away. Your face turns to a blob of colors and bleeding effects. There's nothing to tell and nothing to see. Your eyes cave in, your nose splitting apart, your ears fuse with your hair and your fingers are too long dragging off your skin.

You barely recognize yourself anymore. You know it's in there, begging to come out, but it'll only come worse than before if you let it.

It all morphs together. A thousand different shadows standing behind you, their long digits running over your arms and shoulders, beckoning you forward. They lean into your ears, fester in your brain, in your eyesight. The shadows in the corners are always the worst in front of mirrors.

It's your fault. You know what you did. You know that they would've still been alive if you hadn't done it. Why are you still here. Why do you think you can hide? You always go back, it's your place, it's ingrained on your skin.

There's never been an out for people like you.

You grab your toothbrush and exit the bathroom.

"You really been livin' in here?"

You clasp a hand over your mouth, masking the shriek you would've let out. You thought he was going to stay outside.

Gaz looks into mirror hanging next to the dresser with the broken door. He inspects his reflection, rubbing a thumb over a smudge of dirt on his neck.

"It was a temporary solution," you tell him as soon as you get your spiraling mind under control. You walk over to the duffel bag on the bed, throwing in the rest of your dwindling belongings.

You can feel his eyes on you, likely judging you. At least he has the decency to keep his mouth shut. You couldn't afford nicer in your current situation, and moving as frequently as you were, this was the least costly option.

"For how long?"

He walks over to the bed, glancing into your bag once before continuing his move around your room. You didn't truly know the answer to that question yourself.

Very long, too long, as long as you can hide like a coward.

"As long as necessary," you answer him while zipping up your duffel bag. It slings around your shoulder, fits neatly against your back. It's a familiar lightweight. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad, you were planning your move anyway.

He gives you a curious look, waiting for you to elaborate. You don't. His shoulders sag a bit when he seems to realize. "Hurry it up," he says and walks to the door, "don't got all day, we have a plane to catch."

He leaves you alone in the hollowing room. It turns a shade darker when the sun shifts outside the window. The shadows consume more of the room. Millions of little eyes watching you in secret.

You walk over to the wall and kneel. It feels wrong to do. There's so many little dents and scrapes hammered into it, the pattern of the wall hiding the little room perfectly. You bang on it once and quietly. Moving the cutout piece out of place, you reach inside to find the gun.

You check it, still fully loaded, and put it down amongst what little clothes you have. It's only for necessity of course, nothing vicious yet.

Come come come.

Your head tilts towards the window, the curtains managing to flow ever so slightly. They bleed into the background, the murky watery color splitting with the patterns on the walls, and the greenery outside.

All of it dark and gloomy. Threatening.

Your legs carry you there. The sun has disappeared behind a set of clouds, leaving dark promises of rain and thunder. The whispers are always the loudest when you're alone. They're not always saying anything. Sometimes they're shaming you, reminding you, other times it's incessant noise.

Occasionally they take shape. Shadow figures with creepy smiles, wide bloodshot eyes. It hides down in the forest behind the motel, to watch you through the window to your room. It's crooked grin bleeds and oozes. You forcefully blink a few times, trying to will it away, but you know it won't disappear until you get distracted, or it wants to go.

You don't hear it; it merely mouths it to you.

He'll find you.

And the scariest part is, you know it's right.

There's never been anywhere you could hide.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

[severeannoyance]

It is Fall and Therefore We Plant Bulbs

The good thing about moving across the continent and away from my friends and family to a snowy, traffic-filled hellscape is that I can grow tulips. There are, of course, bad things about moving across the continent and away from my friends and family to a snowy, traffic-filled hellscape, but for now we will focus on the tulips, which apparently enjoy the kind of weather that requires me to run the car for five minutes before trying to scrape the ice off while swearing. If you're cold, they're happy, leave them outside.

I've never lived in a place where I could have tulips before and so I've been pretty excited about this, starting as soon as we got a rental where I had enough ground to put tulips--and other bulbs--in and multiplying exponentially when we actually got our own place this summer. So I spent yesterday planting the five bags of bulbs I stress-bought at Home Depot while deep in Election Despair, because whatever other shit spring brings, I might as well have a metric shit ton of tulips (the daffodils and crocuses can come too).

The thing about planting bulbs is, the package instructions are intimidating as hell. Every one of them seems to want to be at a different depth, and a different distance apart, and a different special time to plant. It was bewildering the first time I planted, and the only reason I didn't tie myself up in knots this time is because I steadfastly ignored the package instructions, dug a trench to either side of our front path, and dropped them in.

Because--and here's the thing that gets all terribly profound in the distressing present--the thing about bulbs, the #1 thing about bulbs that you absolutely must remember when planting bulbs, is this:

They want to grow.

And you brought them home from the store, where they never would have a chance to grow if someone didn't scoop them up and bring them home, and you took them out of their little bags with holes in the sides, where they might have tried to grow and had no success, and you put them in the damp, chilly earth, and that is where they can grow, even if you got tired and put them 4" down instead of 6", and 2" away from the next daffodil over instead of 8". Even if the squirrel gets them. It's not going to be perfect, but they want to grow, and now they have a chance, and even if the squirrel gets them they still got further than they would have in that cardboard container in Home Depot, and actually that matters.

(Aside about the first year I grew tulips, and they were juuuust putting up buds with the colors beginning to show and then one of the goddamn deer came through like it was at a buffet and snipped each bloom off right at the top, and my god, I have never wanted venison so much in my life. The tulips recovered though, and gave second blooms, and the deer had moved to greener pastures by then so it was all right).

Everything is cold and dark right now. The instructions are bewildering and conflicting and it's hard to decide what to do. But the flowers, both physical and metaphorical, want to grow.

Plant them. Whatever they are, no matter if they're not perfect, go and plant the flowers, and in the spring we will all enjoy them.

[aplaceforyourhearttorest]

Counterproductive Tendencies ✩ James Hetfield

⭒ introductory, part one, part two, part three ⭒ (wordcount: 7.8k )

Part four of multiple: Lakeside Views and Imminent Goodbyes (Part Two) (18+)

Mentions/Warnings: cliff jumping, partial skinny dipping, explicit sexual content, oral sex (both receiving)

Yellow-tinged sunlight beams itself upon your mostly bare thighs as you slump backwards and rest your head against solid and warm, large palms. Thick and calloused, ring-clad fingers, run their way through your baby hairs, as Cliff and Jason haphazardly argue and banter back and forth over the soft onslaught of metal music melodizing through the car's aged speakers- the warming up air traveling through the partially rolled down windows barely being enough to keep the confined space of the car from becoming too condensed and unbearable, from the heat radiating off and through the front windshield's window alone. Empty beer bottles rattle and collide together near James and Jason's feet, the sound emanating from them sounding like windchimes, a peaceful juxtaposition to their raising voices and the line of traffic multiplying and growing behind your guys' car.

"How much longer do you think we've got left, if you estimate it?" Jason asks again, his last few words sounding muffled as he slides his bottom lip in between his front teeth to hold back his already poorly hidden bout of laughter. You rush to raise a hand up to your own mouth to conceal your wide and amused grin, the small burst of laughter residing in your throat just barely being kept inside as Cliff tosses an incredulous look over his right shoulder. "Because not only was I not allowed to ride shotgun, but I was also lied to about how long it'd take for us to get down to the lake."

"We've barely even been in the car for more than twenty minutes, you not-so-little shit," Cliff snips back as an answer, even as the side of his mouth involuntarily quirks up to show his true reaction to his newest bandmate's playful complaints and questioning. "Keep on bitching, and I'll strap you to the front and let you sunbathe with the gnats." James leans forward and presses his own mirthful smile against the back of your head, his hands and arms sliding down to wrap and encircle themselves around your front to bring you in even closer. You lower your head to place a kiss on his nearest wrist, your eyes almost closing in bliss as you're squeezed back in a nonverbal answer and reassurance, and fully embraced.

You jolt forward instead and widen your eyes as the car harshly brakes, and disbelieving laughter fills the sudden silence in the shocked space. Kirk tosses a rushed and apologetic arm out the driver's side window of Jason's car as they fully emerge themselves in front of Cliff's and continuously speed forward, Lars' uninhabitable and unhidden screech of adrenaline filled merriment still coherent and audible as they hurriedly pass by. James' embrace turns into a secured and protective grip as Cliff curses out loud and barrels his foot into the accelerator, perspiration accumulating on your chest and lower back as you force yourself to calm down and suck in a deep breath.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" James asks you in a worried murmur, his tone soft and placating, while his arms continue to hold you in a near, vicelike manner. You nod dazedly and extend your hands to hold onto his forearms, slow grins growing on the guys' faces as your deep inhalations turn into dumbfounded and astounded chortles. The tense air in the car quickly tethers and breaks at the sound, and James coerces himself into slowly relaxing his hold around you. You lean back in the front seat and prop your head up against his left shoulder, as Cliff manages to pass Kirk and Lars and waves a blind middle finger in their direction.

"Five dollars Lars had his foot on the pedal." Jason bets, his attention now on the comic book splayed open on his lap, his words coming out lazily as warm, pillowed puffs of air loosen the hold the elastic has around his hair. James purses his lips and finds Cliff's eyes in the rearview mirror, only airing out his side of the bet once Cliff shakes his head. "Ten they were trying to open cans of Coors, and Kirk forgot he was the one driving." You shake your head in amusement and sigh in relief as the tendrils of hair once sticking to your cloying neck, blow free over the tops and expanse of James' biceps. Cliff meets you halfway with an exasperated look, as Jason ups the amount and James lets out a scoff, before doubling it.

"You already regretting crossing the street and knocking on our door?" He kiddingly asks you, the drawl in his voice amused and low as he leaves Jason's car behind and intercepts his way into another lane on the highway. Hard blasts of stale, spring air whip against the sides of his car as you send him a large grin, and delicately graze your thumb against the beauty mark situated on James' left elbow. Soft, hushed murmurs of folk music cascade through the small gaps of the car's windows from another nearby, as you easily and readily divulge your response, the answer being automatic.

"Never."

⭒

The guy's gradually quiet down as the lake comes into view, and you slowly raise your head from James' shoulder to look around in silent, stunned awe. Sun ladened diamonds shine and dance their way across the acres-long expanse of water, as lilies and pickerelweed plants and flowers brightly and colorfully stand tall at the precipice of the waterline, while simultaneously making their way across the entirety of the water's edge. Cicadas chirp from the surrounding trees, and birds expressively speak to each other as Cliff brings the car to a stop. Your hand is wrapped around the passenger side's door handle before it's even placed in park, your awe turning into excitement with every second that passes by as you take everything in.

James is barely able to disconnect from you, before you're rushing out of the car and glancing around with a wide smile, his soon matching your own as he takes in your giddy expression and enlarged eyes. Jason places his comic book to the side, before sliding off and out the backseat, and unevenly stepping onto the sun-marked and stained pebbles and rocks. He makes his way over to the back of the car and leans against the trunk next to Cliff, them sharing a knowing and content glance as James walks over to you.

"James has had a box in his room for the past few days, and I'm pretty sure he brought it here with him today." Cliff says in a quiet tone, his eyes only gliding away to look at a bee landing on top of a lotus-covered, lily pad. Jason peers forward as Kirk and Lars skid to a halt only a few feet away from them, his eyebrows sarcastically raising as they both shout out a muffled sorry over the car's still running engine.

"I came down earlier, after I saw him holding onto it. That's why I called her upstairs. I was hoping he'd give it to her already. Even though I don't know what the hell's inside." Cliff grins to himself as Jason loudly whispers, the few beers he had earlier becoming apparent in the way he wasn't able to keep his voice down. Luckily, Kirk slammed his door shut at the same time, and Cliff pushes himself off the bumper to make his way over to his sheepish looking best friend.

"I almost totaled my car because of you." He teases, purposefully making his tone hard, and bites back a laugh as the other immediately begins to stutter out an apology. "I swear, it wasn't my fault. At least, not all the way. Lars almost spewed, and he thought drinking was the only way to curb his hangover, so he reached down by the gear shift to grab a can of beer," Kirk rubs at the back of his neck and looks away as Lars stumbles his way out of the passenger's side, drunkenly raising a thumb after he manages to land on his feet and shut the door on his own. Jason lets out a groan, before begrudgingly making his way over to help steady the Dane. "I may have also forgotten I was the one driving, but only for a second." Cliff softens his expression as Kirk looks up at him worriedly, raising a hand to pat him on the back as his friend attempts to begin to apologize again.

"I'll call us even, but only if you help me get this shit out of the trunk, and help me get all of these tents built," Cliff offers, watching with an amused grimace as Jason bends over to turn the key in his car's ignition to off, letting out a string of curses as Lars tries to jump on his back at the same time. "I don't think the rest of the guys are going to be much help. Not until they sober up, at least." Kirk gloomily looks over at the boot of the car, before nodding. He soon lets out a groan once he opens the trunk and the contents nearly pop out all at once and tumble over.

"What about James?" Kirk asks petulantly, the tone in his voice bordering on a whined out exhale. Cliff silently nods his head towards the couple making their way down the stone path, near the entrance of the woods. "They've only got so many days left together, before we hit the road again," Cliff begins, reaching forward to heave a large, still boxed and unassembled, tent kit out of his car. Kirk winces at the echo the box leaves behind, as it makes contact with the rough grounding now underneath it. "We should let them have an easy time, before things become less easy and harder on the road. You know how things can get, have gotten." Dark curls tickle his shoulders as Kirk bends down to lift the cooler and store bags instead of verbally answering, only sending his friend and bandmate a dismissive look over the condensate-covered container once he's fully stood back up.

"Things will be better for him this time, for all of us," Kirk affirms, closing the trunk with finality once everything is piled up outside of the car and its earlier compartment. All except for one bag. "If he's doing this well, while already knowing how much little time they've got left together, he'll be fine once they're separated and doing their own shit." Kirk tilts his head to the side, watching as you two share a smile and walk your way into the wooded area. The usual weight he has on his chest while thinking of James alone on tour, suddenly feels light. Cliff looks away as Jason and Lars clumsily make their way on over, him sending them a grateful smile, as they cautiously bend over and seemingly pick up the lightest and easiest things left to carry.

Cliff nods in the direction of the flattest looking grassy area, and drops down in a squat, allowing a laughter lined smile to temporarily push his worries away, as the guys playfully gasp at the sight of him taking out his switchblade. He digs it into the side of the box, and then turns around to face them once again, his smile turning cheeky as he watches two out of three of his best friends let out a groan at the thought of having to move around anymore than they already have.

"Alright. Let's get even."

⭒

Small and uneven pieces of stone and gravel scatter beneath yours and James' boots as you two make your way even farther down the path and fully into the woods, the hot and incessant sun and its following heat temporarily being blocked by the tall trees' branches and leaves now covering you two. James grins widely as you playfully shove him to the side, before readjusting the already too large, self-cut off sleeves of his shirt back onto your shoulders. You unsuccessfully hide your own as his fingers find purchase on your shoulder blades once again, the pads of his warm fingertips dipping underneath the fabric of his t-shirt to lightly dance across your heated up and already tanning skin.

"I'm just trying to make sure you aren't hurt, baby. That's all." James playfully insists, his grin turning into a smirk as he feels the chill that runs its way down your spine from his simple touch alone. You hum noncommittedly, trying to coax yourself into coming off as relaxed. Your breath gets caught in your chest as the trees eventually disappear, and an even more beautiful sight than before comes into view. You two stand only a few feet away from the edge of a much taller drop into the lake, a rosebush on each side of the precipice a beautiful arrangement of pink and purple. You extend your arm, and only move forward once you feel James' long fingers intertwine with your own. You allow yourself to be gently tugged and tucked into his side, your joined hands being held behind your back as he places a kiss on your dampened temple.

"I can't believe you just randomly found a place like this on your own." You breathe out, your tone incredulous and heavy with wonder. James' next words make your cheeks wildly color, and you cant your head back to look into his eyes. "I only found this part of the path after I met you, actually." Your eyebrows furrow as you watch him get lost in thought, and as his smirk falls down into a slightly downtrodden expression. You lift your free hand and use your open palm to rest it upon his jawline, holding onto him as he peers down at you, suddenly looking tired.

"Hey, what's going on up in there?" You ask quietly, not wanting to interrupt the moment by accidentally raising your voice or talking too loudly. James shakes his head, and then hesitates, the hand holding your own coming loose enough to reach forward and grip onto the fabric of his shirt around you instead. "I thought I was alright with the idea of going back on tour and us doing long-distance, but I don't think I am," he confesses, bringing his other hand up to encapsulate it with the one currently cradling the side of his face. "The last few days without seeing you have been terrible enough on their own as is, I can't imagine a few days turning into a few months."

Realization dawns on you, and you can't help the soft coo that finds its way out of you. You gently turn your hand around in James' own and wrap your smaller palm around his, before beckoning him towards a higher leveled rock. Watery, blue irises meet yours as you sit him down and make your way onto his lap, his free arm instinctively wrapping itself around your middle to bring you flush against his front. "I'm not going anywhere." You start, your tone coming out as matter of fact. You place a delicate kiss on the side of his mouth before he can rebut, wanting more than anything for your physical touch to be more than enough reassurance that you're still here, and that you always will be.

"Where am I now?" You ask him, his lips twitching upward as the question reminds him of the ones he had asked you earlier this morning. "You're right here, with me." He answers throughout a small and gentle, growing smile.

"And where will I be when I'm not able to be there with you physically?" You whisper, your lips brushing against his as you press your palm on his bare chest, resting it against the skin covering his fast-beating heart. "Right here, a phone call away, a letter away, maybe even a ticket if we're lucky," you lift yourself up on your knees to rest your forehead against his, before continuing. "It's not like I won't miss you, won't want you close, but we can still make this work. I'm here with you, whether you're across the street, or across the country. So, please, be here with me. While I still have the opportunity to have you in my arms. While we still have the opportunity to experience new things together." James swallows thickly and murmurs his own agreeance, before tilting your head down with his thumb, and lowering you into a devouring, passionate kiss.

Your lips audibly shift against his with every slick and breathed out moan, your fingers molding themselves into his sweat clad skin, while his own reach down to caress small circles around the fingerprint marks he left behind only a few hours ago. Warmth awakens within your gut as you feel James subconsciously buck his hips forward, and as the soft fabric of his swimming trunks brush against the rough texture of your denim covered zipper. As you hungrily swallow down his gasped out exhale, an aborted exclamation tears itself out of your chest as a cheeky sounding throat clears itself from behind you, only a few feet away.

You squeeze your eyes shut as a drunken laugh reverberates and echoes over to you two, the sound of a bag being placed on the ground following soon after. You groan in mortification as Lars speaks up, the amusement in his voice making his accent thicker and richer with every word he forces out through choked back titters. "Kirk made me walk this out and over to you nasty fuckers, since I'm apparently still too out of it to help them build the tents," you brave a look over your shoulder and immediately blaze red as you two make eye contact, your shoulders dropping and hunching forward as you twist back around to bury your face into James' neck. James sends his best friend a glare, before nodding his head towards the path's walkway. Lars raises his hands in faux surrender, beginning to stumble as he starts to walk backwards. "Don't know if there's any condoms in your girl's bag, but I do know that she at least brought a yellow towel." Lars holds back a grin as he hears you let out a muffled and embarrassed sound, tilting his head down towards your bag once he's sure you aren't looking, and mouths bikini to James, before fully turning around.

"Fuck off." James spits, hiding his own amusement at being caught behind his urge to get Lars away to make you feel more comfortable. The Dane's laughter is still audible after the sound of his footsteps subside, and you only raise your head once James begins to fully sit back up again and gently taps at your backside.

"I'm never going back out there again," you declare, running a hand through your hair as you shift yourself back to sit on the heels of your booted feet. "I'll just swim home, I brought a bikini for a reason." James can't help the loud burst of laughter that fights its way out of him at your defeated tone and Lars' earlier mention, and you can't help but to dissolve into giggles at the hilarity of the situation. Tears spring to your eyes as you struggle to catch your breath, it hitching in your chest once you blink them away and catch onto the look James sends your way. Oceanic colored joy shines around his dilated pupils as he watches you finish up your bout of laughter, and heartfelt warmth fills the entirety of your chest as you finally make sense of the look you're being gifted with. Love.

You glance down at your bag, feeling overwhelmed. Your hands shake at your sides as you try to come to terms with everything coincidingly happening at once. You and James making things official, Cliff approving of you, you seeing James with a small, jewelry box. James, your now boyfriend, looking at you with so much love. You force yourself not to run, to not backtrack, and you send him a small smile, before rising to your feet.

"You agreed to experience new things with me while we have the time, chance and the opportunity to, right?" You ask, relief flooding through you as James looks up at you openly, albeit a bit confused, before nodding. Your smile widens as he immediately takes your hand once you outstretch it towards him, and he quickly chokes out your name as his shirt is tossed over your head and onto the now newly abandoned rock.

You take a step aside as you reach back to unlatch the clasps holding your bra together, your smile turning shy as you watch your boyfriend's jaw slacken and lower at the sight of you. "Go swimming with me?" Your bra straps just barely graze your forearms before he's vehemently nodding his head yes, his cheeks burning a bright red.

⭒

Heated stone burns the backs of your upper thighs as you dangle your feet over and off the edge of the large rock and its cliff, hiding your doubt and hesitation as James tosses your bag down to the side of the lower level of foundation, the eventual landing of the carrier sounding long and far away. Your bikini straps lightly dance around your upper back as you graze your calves against the smooth moss collecting around a part of the overhang, sending James a nervous glance once he straightens up, his own expression now bright and excited.

"When I offered to go swimming, I didn't mean cliff diving." You murmur, sucking in a deep breath as you peer down to see how far your feet are from the actual body of water. James hides his grin behind his hair, before squatting and sitting down next to you, his bare shoulder caressing your own as he does so. "And if you're nervous, you can just say so." He rebuts, his tone teasing. His eyes rake over your form as you begin to tense up, his amused smile turning gentle as he watches you stutter in an uneven exhale. Your breath evens out as his warm palm raises and steadily runs itself down the middle of your spine, the cool temperature of his rings making you feel familiarized, as you slowly peel your eyes away from the main source of your anxiety.

"We don't have to do this if you aren't ready or comfortable, babe," he reassures you, his thumb delicately dipping into the natural curve of your back as you lean and arch into his touch. "We can just walk back down the path and past the boys. There's a lower level down there, and I'm sure one of the guys can join us, if that'll make you feel more safe and secure about it." Your lips shakily lift at his caring proposal, before immediately shaking your head no and dragging your now bare heels across the solid surface beneath you.

"Lars has probably told everyone that he walked in on us having sex on top of the first solid surface we saw already." You respond around a small huff of laughter. James can't hold back his own sound of amusement, and you both fall into a small moment of silence, before he slowly extracts his touch and inches his way forward. You follow after him, reaching down to tightly grasp onto his right hand as your backside makes contact with the slippery ridge. James turns his hand around, palm facing the sky, and intertwines your damp digits with his, before twisting to the side to place a kiss on the middle of your neck placatingly.

"Don't look down, look at me," He instructs you, squeezing your hand in his and sending you a proud smile as you do so. He tilts his head toward the water. "The water's only fifteen feet deep, and the jump is even less than that. I know it seems scary now, but I promise you, I'll be right next to you the entire time. And if it at any point feels like too much, just hold onto me, and I'll keep you from going in too deep." You nod along with his words, your heartbeat regulating in your chest and your fingers relaxing in his hold as you look up into his affirming gaze.

"I won't ever let you fall on your own or stray too far away from me." He promises, his words sounding heavier than intended, like a double meaning commitment. You ease back and then straighten up, your eyes momentarily leaving his to glance back down at the lake, no longer feeling overwhelmed, as a gentle ripple accumulates itself into a small wave just a few yards away from you two. "I trust you." You hearten, looking back at your boyfriend just in time to see the way in which your words affect him. James' smile widens and he takes in an enlarged, heavy breath, his pulse skittering underneath his wrist, which is directly pressed up against your own.

"And I trust you." He echoes back, his tone the most gentle and vulnerable thing. You elongate your thumb to brush it against his index finger's second knuckle, before nodding and bending your ankles back to brace yourself for the quick jump and drop. "Let's do this." You grin, your anxiety now long gone, as adrenaline and security run through you instead.

Your thighs touch as you two prepare yourselves at the precipice, and you two share an excited smile, before using your free hands as leverage to lift and push yourselves off the mount and edge of the rock. James' bright laughter is the last sound you coherently hear, before you stretch out and make contact with the lake's water.

Your feet kick underneath you as you fully submerge, the cold water awakening goosebumps on your skin as you relax your body and allow yourself to naturally float back up. Ripples of crystallized sunlight greet you as you reopen your eyes right before your head reaches the top, and you gasp in a delighted breath of fresh air as you resurface. Joyous titters bubble themselves out of you before you can help it, and you whip your head around to find James, only to have the sounds muting and freezing in your throat as you seemingly find yourself alone. Before you can even call out for him, a hand encircles itself around your left ankle, and yanks you back under.

You panic and thrash, only to huff as your eyes find his underwater, the first few feet of water illuminated enough by the sun to see his grin a few inches away from you. You reach a hand out to shove at his shoulder, before wiggling your leg free and swimming back up to the top. Droplets make their way down your forehead and temples as James cackles next to you, his hair clinging to the sides of his face and making him look even more youthful as he laughs. You forcefully whip your hand underneath a wave in his direction and bellow out a laugh as a sizeable splash of water directly smacks him in the face.

"Oh, you're gonna get it." He playfully gravels, his smile jubilant and euphoric as he reaches his arms and hands out to grab onto you. You shriek and halfheartedly attempt to break free, fully relaxing in his grasp as his hands slide down to rest upon your hips instead of assumingly pulling you back under or tickling you. Your arms encircle themselves around his shoulders, and you hold back a shiver as you're lifted out of the water and placed onto the cornerstone next to your bag. James slides himself between your legs and rests a forearm on each of your knees, a nervous laugh of yours echoing in the air as he places a brush of a kiss against your wet, bare stomach.

"Thank you for trusting me," he whispers against you, his bottom lip caressing the skin beneath your bellybutton as he speaks. Your thighs begin to tremble as his arms slide back down into the water, and his large palms hold your legs wide open instead. A whine tears itself from your chest as his tongue travels down to the beginning of your bikini bottom, the whine turning into a moan as he turns his head to the side to bite the tied knot free on the side of your striped material. Once blue turned onyx irises peer up at you as you push the hair from clinging to the side of his face back past his shoulders, the sun barreling heat down on your reddening face as one of his hands slide up to rest upon your upper thigh. "Still trust me?" He asks, his tone turning husky as he watches the now free material bare another inch of your skin to him, and as your nipples harden and petal from your newly, onset arousal.

You needily nod, your clit beginning to pulsate behind the nylon as his right hand reaches up to push it to the side, your breath halting as he lets out a curse as soon as your sex is finally visible. "Even prettier than I thought it'd be." He nearly moans out, sounding drunk. You can barely blink, before he's descending down upon you, and running the entirety of his thick and hot tongue through your folds. Your fingertips press into his skull as he skillfully takes you apart, your stomach muscles tightening and convulsing as you fight back the urge to scream his name. Thick rings press themselves in your skin to hold you in place as you writhe, and your head falls back to rest upon your partially open bag as the tip of his tongue slides up to lap at your clit.

"James," you sob, your pussy beginning to throb and become hypersensitive as his free hand comes up to rub its fingertips against your sopping wet entrance. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as he slowly pushes and curves a finger into your tight heat, a strangled and wet sound clawing its way out of your chest as he finds your g-spot on his first attempt. Overstimulated tears lie on the edge of your lash lines as he lifts his head from you, your wetness leaving a thick glaze on his chin as he looks up at you, a second finger entering you as he watches you fall apart right in front of him. "Please."

"What do you need, sweetheart?" He coos, his voice sounding unaffected, while his chest heaves and his tongue peeks out like a man starving to lick at whatever it can reach beneath his bottom lip. James moans as he feels your walls constrict against his middle and ring fingers, his swollen lips lifting as your hips raise from the rock to try and ride them. "Need me to finger fuck you a little bit faster, don't you? So fucking needy for me. I knew you'd taste and look like a dream once I finally got the chance to be alone with you. Look at you now, doing and being so good for me." Your eyes roll back in your head as he crooks his digits upward, your heels you've been using to help you thrust sliding down and weakening as his second knuckles nudge against your sponge-like spot relentlessly.

"I just need you, always just need you." You answer through unadulterated and hiccupped mewls, no longer caring about if the other boys could hear you as you get closer to orgasming. James lowers himself back down onto you before he can mutter the few words dying to make their way out of his mouth, making his appendage useful as he sucks at your clit and flattens it against your weeping pulse point. Your knees lock around his shoulders as your hips raise from the ground once again, before dropping back down with a soaking wet sound, a wail of your boyfriend's name being wedged out of your gaping mouth as you release all over his face and over welcoming tongue.

Yesyesyesyes repeatedly makes its way out of your jaw slack mouth as he continues to lick and lap and suck, his fingers only slowing down and halting once you begin to whine and push his head and wrist away. Ripples of shivers wrack and shake their way through your entire being as you fight to bring in air, eyesight blurred from the force of your orgasm, and your legs only being stopped from spasming by James holding them in place. Morning stubble tickles the tops of the front of your thighs as James kisses the expanse of them while you calm down, his own eyes fluttering as you loosen your hold against his scalp and grip onto his shoulders instead.

"Come up here." You invite once you catch your breath, your hunger becoming insatiable as James shakily lifts himself from inside of the lake and makes his way over to mount himself on top of you. Your taste is being licked into your mouth before your head can even touch the top of your bag again, and you obediently follow his tongues movement with your own while he feeds you your own essence. James' heart leaps in his chest as you flip the two of you over and you slowly sit yourself on his lap, the exhaled sigh of relief he lets out from the pressure of you on his dick enough to have you bending down to place and lick kisses on the flesh of his flushed neck.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to." James tries to reassure you, even as his hips buck up to thrust and press themselves against your bare pussy. You smile against his skin, damn near eating the sounds he lets out as you suck red hued marks into his tanning skin, the drawn out moans and shocked inhales being more than enough confirmation for you to keep going.

"You think you're the only one who's been wanting to see the other naked, to want to have the other one's taste in their mouth?" You ask him, grounding your sex into the thin material of his swimming trunks and smiling triumphantly as you feel his cockhead jump against your swollen clit with every movement you make. James mutely opens his mouth, slamming it closed to grit out a heaved out grunt as you lift yourself up to lick your way down to his hipbone like he had done to you earlier, the combined taste of the natural salted water and the heady taste of his sweat making your head spin. Your mouth salivates as you slide the material of his shorts down and finally see his dick, the swollen and blood red tip weeping beaded and nearly translucent drops of pre-ejaculate as you readily lick your lips and slide down to lie on your stomach in between his legs. "As if I haven't been wanting to taste you since the night we first kissed. It took everything in me to not turn around and beg you to take me to your room."

Your boyfriend squeezes his eyes shut and reaches down to run a hand through your still damp and unruly locks as you attempt to wrap a hand around his pulsating shaft, a slim rope of spit keeping your lips together as your fingertips barely touch the underside of your palm. "Going to make you feel so good for treating me so well." You promise, your other hand sliding up to hold him in place as you peek your tongue out and lightly run it across the tip of his soaked head. James' fingers lightly twist and become a small fist in your mane as you slowly encase your swollen lips around him, a cry of your name pouring out of his mouth as you make your way down to mid shaft, your saliva coming out of the sides of your mouth, only to travel down and messily rest and pool on and around his raising and jolting ballsack.

"So good," James nearly breathes out in a carnal sound, the wet heat of your mouth and the tip of his cock lightly tapping against the back of your throat enough to make him already feel close to the edge. "So perfect for me." The praise makes you moan, the reverberations causing James' balls to spasm and for his legs to jolt up. You close your eyes and take in a deep breath before attempting to deepthroat, the way his knees bracket you in as he shudders beneath you making you feel stable as you push your head forward. You weakly gag as you feel your throat constrict and fight against the unusual stretch, before relaxing as his spurts of tangy precum soothe and coat your soon to be sore throat. You unlatch and relax your hand from around his shaft, bringing it up to encircle it around the hand attached to your head, to signal to him it was okay for him to start moving his hips.

Light, dirty blonde hairs tickle the bottom of your nose as he slowly thrusts his hips upward and pushes your head flush against his abdomen, his muscles feeling painfully taut as he forces himself to breathe through the overwhelming pleasure. You bring yourself up to your knees and hold back a wince as your skin rubs against the hard slab underneath you, before sliding a hand down in between your legs to rub at your incessant and still throbbing clit. Tears stream down your face as you easily bring yourself to your second orgasm, already so close from the lack of oxygen from James' solid thrusts into your mouth and throat, and from the taste of him alone. You raise your hand covered in your own slick to nudge it against and massage his ballsack, hiccupped moans coming from your throat along with barely suppressed gags, as James uses you with rough and reckless abandon.

"I'm close baby, can I?" He asks you, his voice barely audible and scratchy from all of his moaning and pants. You tap twice against his wrist once again and shakily breathe in as often as you can, the force and strength behind his thrusts as he fucks your mouth enough to pulse and move your head backwards. James twists his hand through your hair and yanks as he cums down your throat with a low and punched out moan, the seed so warm and large it makes you push against his stomach and tug your head free. You gasp for breath and swallow as much as you can before beginning to cough, the rest of his release sliding down from your chin and landing on the mounds of your breasts as you roll back onto the heels of your feet. A satisfied and satiated smile lifts your spit and cum clad lips as you look at how fucked out and debauched your boyfriend looks underneath you, his chest heaving for breath and his eyes wildly large. You teasingly tap on his thigh and let out a chortle as you're yanked down and rested on his middle, your hands sliding down to rest upon his as you both take a moment for yourselves while holding onto each other.

"Please don't tell me that was a dream." James breathes out, his still panting lips shaping into a grin as you let out a loud laugh and toss your head back. "Not a dream, baby. But it would be a great one anyway." You reassure him, leaning forward and resting a hand near his head to grab ahold of the aforementioned and infamous yellow towel. James laughs as soon as it comes into view, and you smile to yourself, before using the dry and rough fabric to clean yourself off as best as you can.

Your boyfriend lowers his hands to use them as leverage to sit himself up, his elbows unsteady underneath him even minutes after his orgasm. You scoot back to lightly dab at the mess you left behind on his thighs and where you sat on his stomach, a blush rising to your cheeks as you notice the amount of your slick stuck on his fingers and still clinging to both of your guys' skin. "I don't think the towel's going to be enough to clean us off." You coarsely whisper, your throat beginning to sore and feel rough. James feigns contemplation, before gently tugging the fabric out of your hands, and throwing it over his shoulder. Before you can even laugh at the fact that it landed perfectly on a tree branch, you're being lifted and tossed back into the lake.

Laughter fills your water covered ears, and you hastily swim back with barely enough time before James is jumping into the water alongside you, his swimming trunks being left behind to dangle haphazardly on a sharp edge of the rock's ending. You decidedly unknot the top already loosely hanging from the back of your neck, and then toss it towards his shorts, a hoarse laugh making its way out of you as it lands near the towel instead. James swims toward you and tugs you back flush against him, the smirk on his lips apparent as he tantalizingly rubs your breasts clean and trails a hand down in between your legs.

"You were amazing." He praises you, his voice gentle, despite his sexual touches and his wide amusement being pressed into the side of your neck. "And you were perfect." You respond, your eyes closing in bliss as his thumb flicks over your clit and his other fingers run their way through your oversensitive lips. Your head rests upon his shoulder like it did earlier in the car, and your eyes snap back open once you acknowledge how loud you two had been. "Oh God, the guys." You groan, slumping forward as James lets out a hysterical laugh from behind you.

"If you thought Lars was the only one to worry about, just you wait." He cryptically teases, leaning back and away from your arm's length as you blindly swat for him. An amused expression cascades itself upon James' features as you turn around and point a finger at him, the soaking wet version of you extremely adorable and as nonthreatening as humanly possible.

"Don't tempt me, I will swim home," you threaten, your laughter melodizing with his after you finish up your sentence. "I just have to put my bikini back on first."

⭒

Howling laughter and low whistles greet you two as you two make your way off the path and towards where the guys have everything unpacked and set up, a grimace set on your features as your feet uncomfortably shift in the confines of your now damp on the inside boots. You lower your head as James wraps an arm around your shoulders and playfully waves everyone off. "Fuck off, you've all done worse."

"Our girl's first walk of shame with us, and it isn't even at our home." Lars whispers out brokenly, wiping a fake tear from the side of his eye as he cradles a beer to his chest with his other hand. Kirk looks up from Jason's comic book from the softened ground and sends you two an amused smirk, before going back to reading. Cliff unzips the largest tent and points at the inside, an unimpressed yet highly mirthful look on his face as he does so.

"Fucking is for the inside of tents, not in the lake, while you scare off and interrupt wildlife." Jason chokes on his drink and bends in half while Lars unhelpfully beats on the middle of his back with a half-closed fist, laughter bubbling out of him as he tries to keep their newest best friend and bandmate upright. You turn your head to the side to hide your own grin, and to look at the lakeview instead, only to have your head guided back in the opposite direction. James cups your chin and brings you into a chaste, meaningful and long-lasting kiss, the reverberation of his laugh tickling your cupid's bow as the guys groan out loud in unison and complain from a few feet away.

"Disgusting behavior." Lars snips, the small and genuine smile on his face the opposite of his tone and words. Jason nods toward the car and sends you a secretive smile once he stops coughing and finds his breath, before walking over to you two and attempting to snag James away.

"There's another bag or two still left in the car, would you mind grabbing them for me while I talk with your guy?" Jason asks, the side of his mouth upturning as he shares a small, yet full glance with Cliff. You nod and remove yourself from under James' arm, sending your boyfriend a comforting smile as he begins to look nervous. Hushed murmurs erupt from behind you as you make your way over to Cliff's trunk, and you force yourself to not look back at them as it opens underneath your hand. You peer in look around confusedly, before realizing James' bag is the only one left in the truck. You take in a deep breath, before wrapping your hand around one of the bag's large handles.

As you tug the bag forward, a small and red, velvet box falls out from the confines of its side pocket. Picking it up, you glance over your shoulder and latch onto James' eyes with your own. He freezes at Jason's side, yet doesn't stop you from slowly inching it open. As you look away from his hesitant expression and look back down instead, your stomach drops and tears spring to your eyes as you take in what's been in the box, and in the trunk, all day and for however long James has had it.

"Holy shit." You whisper, unaware of James making his way over to you, his hair as damp as the palms he's wiping against his swimming trunks. James stops just a few feet away from you, his hands anxiously wringing themselves in front of his stomach. You take in a deep breath and force yourself to stay in place as he sends you a nervous smile, before opening his mouth.

"I can explain."

I'll never forget the first day we spent together, and with the guys, at the lake. I still have your gift, and I still wear it every day. It still reminds me of you, still makes everything feel like home while you're out and gone on the road. Still reminds me that I belong to you, and that I always will.

[tomorrowsgardennc]

market update // september 28th 2024

before market 👉 after market

another slow day. this time was because a lot of regular customers did come by to say hi, but that they were out of power after 2r hours from the hurricane so they were honest and said they just were there to get out of the house and not buying. when 3 different customers say that... then you know that's probably multiplied by at least 3. a lot of window shoppers overall at the market, not just me. about half the farmers didn't show up either because of storm damage. me myself and my hubs kitties and house are completely fine, but it was significantly worse south and west of us. and guess where most of the farmers are located 🫠

if there is ever any severe damage of any natural causes, they need your support then more than ever. they always need your support... but only the cash crop farmers are eligible for compensation loss from the USDA. the farmers at your local market are not eligible. support them.

look at me, right at the very end. all my neighbors still setting up. the main market is right around the corner to the right. this is considered the back entrance so there is still traffic, but nowhere near as much as the main entrance.

my sun tarp that kept attacking me when it was windy the other week didn't make it through the storm, so i spent about half the market taking refuge in the shade. i hung out with another plant vendor for a bit. i was telling her about my perennial flower garden, and i did already get spanish lavender from her. going to get more next time she's at market. she said spanish lavender is the easiest to grow - especially in these parts - but the flower heads don't look like the stereotypical lavender flower so a lot of people don't want it. i don't care, i want the bees to care! but she's wonderful, sells only herb transplants. she recommended a few more flower perennials for me... i forgot ehat they were but she said she got them so that's why i didn't bother remembering because i said SOLD and i'll get them from her later 😅 i'll tell y'all what they are when i get them.

my sun tarp didn't make it, but my seed banner only got slightly frayed! easily fixable, fix it later.

question of the day!! this applies to everyone, but this farmers market offers a special deal. if you have SNAPs, or food stamps...

seeds are covered by SNAPs!!

now, home depot or other large hardware stores won't accept SNAP cards because they don't sell food as their main source of income (well, customers aren't their main source of income but that's another post for another day). Those stores won't invest in accepting SNAPs to a "small" customer base. BUT!! Walmart, Target... other stores where they have groceries and a few seeds in the spring will accept SNAPs for vegetable and herb seeds. if it turns into something edible, it is covered by SNAPs:

✨️ the more you know ✨️ a couple of customers were surprised and got a lot of seeds after they learned that. me, personally, my goal is to eventually accept SNAPs on my website for selling seeds. it costs a lot of money to do so....... but it is still a high priority. for now, I can accept farmers' market tokens for the seeds.

close up of seeds. seeds. seed seed seed seeds. appreciate the seeds.

kid wave back count: 1 out of 1. not too many kids today, surprisingly, but the one i waved at waved back. 100% wave back rate, let's gooooo.

[breathofabonehead]

Okay, so I don't know if anyone has ever said this before, but like... Gotham is a hellhole, right? Obviously. And while so many people are so good at remembering to add comedy and humanity to it, we can get more accurate(ish)...

It's a running joke that Gothamites are so desensitized to Gotham, and they would be but we don't focus enough on just Gotham. It's just batfamily and the people they interact with, and the occasional joke about the harbor.

But never about the fish living in the harbor... It's an untapped market! And I want that shit casual, okay?

Like, in cloudy with a chance of meatballs, absolute terror inflicted on a town from just Flint. Multiply it by twenty. The shit those people are unloading onto that poor city doesn't only affect people, you know.

("Billy! Just play dead!" You know?)

It had all started when Crane and Man-bat took a lunch break. And came back to see the group of —what they think might still technically (?) count as a gopher — ate through the metal of the cage and were nowhere to be found.

They'd found their 'practice round' in the tabloids two days later. Fun fact: they play dead to lure you close to them. Any seasoned Gothamite knows it's a trap.

Late to work? Sorry, boss, it was those damn slucks (slug ducks) backing up traffic like a mama duck being trailed by her babies. Did you know they're slime is bioluminescent now? Yeah, they don't know if they're toxic yet. Better safe then sorry to wait it out.

Oh... Did that fish just crawl out of the harbor? Yeah, what about it? It just probably needs some air. What, have you never seen a fish before?

Everyone outside of Gotham thinks it's probably exaggerated by the media, and it's kind of a joke. But they're too scared to go find out for themselves.

[angelasscribbles]

Law's End: Murder at Vista Heights Chapter 7

Series: Law’s End

Episode 1: Murder at Vista Heights

Fandom: The Royal Romance (loosely, there is zero canon, I've just borrowed the characters)

Pairings: None yet

Word Count: 2,582

Rating: MA

Warnings for series: adult themes, any given chapter may contain murder, violence, language, drinking, drug use, etc.

My other stuff can be found here: Master List.

The conference room in the homicide division of the seventh precinct was filled with the smells of coffee and fresh pastries. It was early. Too early, considering they’d all been there until well after midnight interrogating witnesses.

The food was Bertrand’s way of making up for the fact that no one had gotten much sleep the night before, but everyone still turned up bright and early, ready to work.

“So, she does have a history of stalking.” Liam flipped the file across the table to Flynn.

Detective O’Malley reached for the manila folder and flipped it open. “Who’d she stalk?”

“Clarence Coleman. An app developer. The police reports are in there. He was granted a restraining order. I’ve left a message for him to contact us. See if he’s heard from her lately.”

Flynn skimmed the information in front of him. “This was three years ago.”

Liam nodded. “It’s likely that she stopped harassing Cole when she started sleeping with Trent.”

There was a knock on the conference room door and Rashad entered, carrying a laptop. “There are no security cameras at the vic’s apartment complex, but I found a late model Nissan Pathfinder registered to the suspect and scrubbed video footage from nearby traffic cameras.” He placed the laptop on the table and flipped it around for the detectives to see.

Liam leaned forward to get a closer look. “Is that our suspect?”

“Yes,” Rashad confirmed, “Three blocks away from our vic’s house, heading that direction, fifteen minutes before the 911 call. And this….” He swiped to another image. “…is her ten minutes after the call heading the other direction through the same intersection.”

“We need more than that for an arrest warrant,” Flynn said as he zoomed in, looking for any evidence of blood visible in the photo, but it was too grainy. “It’s not illegal to be in the vicinity.”

Liam pushed away from the table. “Let’s get back over to the apartment complex and show her photo to the neighbors. Maybe someone will remember seeing her that morning.”

An hour later, he was seated in a small but elegant dining room as Stella Haltom served him coffee. Flynn was canvassing other neighbors, ones they hadn’t been able to reach yesterday.

Liam had tried to decline, but Stella was insistent.

“You’re very young for a homicide detective, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, I—”

“Are you single?”

“I am. But—”

“Really? A young, handsome, successful man like you?”

“Well—”

“You know, if things don’t work out between my granddaughter and that nice reporter—”

Liam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Ma’am, if we could get back to business. I just have a few quick questions—”

“Oh, yes, of course! You wanted me to look at more photos?”

“Well, one more.” Liam pulled up the photograph of Sabrina Simmons on his cell phone and held it out to her.

“Oh, my yes!” Stella somehow managed to convey disapproval with a nod of her head. “That was the one that was over there the most.”

“Did he entertain a lot of women?”

Stella snorted so hard she choked on her coffee. Once she recovered her breath, she clarified, “Whatever you think a lot is, multiply that by at least three!”

“That many?”

“Yes, and now that I think of it, two days before the murder, this one,” she gestured toward his phone, “showed up while one of the other ones was there.”

“Was there an argument?”

“Was there an argument?” She scoffed as a frown pulled her lips down. “Woke half the building with the screaming. I’m surprised no one called the cops.”

“Thank you. This is very helpful. Did you happen to see her on the day of the murder?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. I was gone for most of the morning.”

“Where were you, again?”

“I left to help organize the church rummage sale early that morning.”

Liam checked his notes. “So, you overheard the argument between the two men when?”

“On my way out. I had to walk past Mr. Hayes’ apartment on my way to the elevator.”

“Just to review… you overheard the argument at roughly seven a.m., left for the church, followed by brunch, and returned home just after noon.”

“That’s correct.”

“So, you were home when the gunshots were fired?”

“Yes.” She shuddered. “It was terrifying!”

“And you didn’t see or hear anyone else coming or going from his apartment that day?”

“No.”

“Is there anything you can think of that you noticed that day? Anything at all?”

“I already told you everything yesterday. And that lovely reporter as well.”

Liam sighed at the mention of Riley. He couldn’t forbid a private citizen from speaking to the press, no matter how much he wanted to. But it did remind him of something. “Speaking of Miss Brooks… she mentioned you saw a woman at the victim’s apartment the night before the murder?”

“Yes.”

“Was that woman either of these?” He showed her the photographs of both Sabrina and Katie again.

Stella peered at both, then shook her head. “No.”

“Do you know who she was?”

“No, sir. I’m sorry. I couldn’t keep up with all the women that were in and out of that apartment. Besides, I don’t like to get into other people’s business.”

It took a concerted effort for him to not react to such an obviously false statement.

He jotted down a general description of the woman before extricating himself from the conversation. “Okay, ma’am. Thank you for your time.”

“I’m always happy to help the boys in blue!” she smiled proudly. “You have my number in case you have any further questions, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve got it.” Liam flipped his notepad closed. “If you think of anything else, please let us know.”

He stepped out into the hallway and reconvened with his partner. “How’d it go on your end?”

Flynn shrugged. “I found multiple witnesses that identified Sabrina Simmons as Trenton Hayes’ girlfriend, but none that could definitively place her at the scene on the day of the murder.”

“I confirmed there was a third woman here the night before the murder, but I don’t know who.”

“We’ll have the plainclothes canvas again and try to find that information. I think it’s time you and I go have a conversation with Ms. Simmons.”

“Agreed.” Liam pushed the button for the elevator. When it dinged open, he found himself face to face with Riley. “What are you doing here?”

“Good morning to you, too.” She stepped back so they could fit into the lift with her. “Probably the same thing you are.”

Liam made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat as they stepped into the elevator. “Where’s your sidekick this morning?”

“Max?” She looked surprised at his question. “I don’t know. Probably sleeping in after that late night we all had. Why do you ask?”

Liam shrugged. “I’m just used to seeing the two of you together.”

“When I need a photographer.” She studied his demeanor, then a small grin crept across her face. “Why so interested in who I spend my time with, detective?”

“I’m not.”

Before she could answer, the elevator rocked to a stop on the first floor and the doors slid open. As they stepped off, a familiar face caught her eye. “Drake!”

The PI turned from the concierge desk to face the trio, his eyes lighting up. “Riley! What a pleasant surprise!” He was less enthusiastic as he greeted the two men. “Hello, detectives.”

The men exchanged handshakes as Liam asked, “Why are you here, Walker?”

“I’m investigating the murder of Trent Hayes. I was officially retained to do so this morning by Sadie McGraw. I was thinking it would be in both our best interests to collaborate.”

“I don’t know—”

Flynn’s phone cut through the conversation. He pulled it out and glanced down at the screen. “This is the boss. Hold on.”

Flynn stepped away to take the call, leaving Riley with Liam and Drake.

Not awkward at all.

After a brief conversation, Flynn returned to inform the group, “The chief just got out of a meeting with the mayor. We are to collaborate and cooperate fully with Walker here.”

“Great!” Drake gloated.

“Great,” Liam grumbled.

Flynn shot a pointed look at Riley. “If you’ll excuse us, ma’am, we have a case to discuss.”

“Don’t let me get in your way. I’m just going to grab a latte and update my notes.” She gave them a disarming smile and turned on her heel, disappearing into the small coffee shop located just off the main entrance.

She really was going to update her notes, but she had no intention of leaving without an update on the case. Liam was never going to crack, but she liked her chances of getting information out of Drake. She fired off a quick text as she waited for her drink.

Ten minutes later, Drake was at her table. “You said you had some information for me?”

“I said I was willing to trade information with you.” She gestured for him to sit as the barista approached to take his order.

He ordered a black coffee and then returned his attention to the reporter. “What information do you have that I can’t find out for myself?”

“Maybe none.” She lifted a shoulder. “But it took me three hours of knocking on doors to find out the identity of the woman Trent was with the night before the murder. You could spend the next three hours doing the same or we could help each other out.”

He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. He didn’t have to reveal anything about his client to slip her the information about who the police were looking at as their prime suspect. “I suppose I could share a detail or two. You’re going to find it out on your own anyway.”

Her eyebrows raised. “How do you know that?”

“Because I did a little digging. Your investigative skills are impressive. No wonder you’ve won the Edward R. Murrow Award for journalism as well as two Scripps Awards.”

Her eyebrows arched even higher as she took a long sip of her latte before placing the cup carefully on the table in front of her. “Wow. You really did do your homework. I don’t know whether to be impressed or alarmed. Are you stalking me, sir?”

“Hardly.” He snorted. “Are you going to tell me that you did absolutely no research on me after agreeing to a date?”

“I agreed to dinner. No one said it was a date.”

“Semantics, but fine. Dinner. Answer the question. Did you not look into me at all?”

“You mean did I find out that you graduated from the police academy at the top of your class but quit six months into your first year to go into business with your father? That you have one sister, Savannah, and that you’ve never been married?”

He gave her a smug smile. “I knew you were into me.”

“Please,” she laughed, “It’s just common sense to find out what you can about a man you plan to be alone with.”

He leaned across the table with a smirk. “So, you plan to be alone with me?”

She hid a grin behind her cup. “At the very least I’ll be getting into a car alone with you when we go to dinner.”

“Is that all?”

“Well, we’ll see how the evening progresses, won’t we?”

“Can’t wait.”

“Now, are you going to tell me what you learned from the cops?”

“I don’t know. Are you going to tell me who the woman from the other night is?”

“If your information is good enough.”

“I know who their prime suspect is.”

“Is it Katie or William Sloan or Dean Collins?”

“No.”

She sat up straighter. “There’s another suspect in play?”

He twirled his coffee cup in his fingers. “Yep.”

“Okay. Yes, that’s a fair trade. Who is it?”

“Sabrina Simmons. She was his secretary when he was engaged to Katie. He cheated on Katie with Sabrina. That’s the reason they broke up. After Katie dumped him, Sabrina became his girlfriend. Last weekend, she showed up while he was entertaining someone else. Several neighbors heard the argument. The theory is that she got fed up with his womanizing. She has a history of stalking, and the cheating gives her motive.”

“Interesting theory, because the woman that was there Monday night is his current secretary.”

“Sounds like he has a history of sleeping with his secretary. What’s her name?”

“Sarah Foster. She’s not at work today. I already called.”

“Well, her boss slash boyfriend was murdered yesterday. I can track down a home address for her.”

“Way ahead of you.” She shoved her notes into her bag as she stood up. “Wanna go question her together?”

“How the hell did you get her address already?”

It was Riley’s turn to smirk. “I have my sources.”

“Okay, let’s go. But I’m driving.”

“I don’t want to leave my car here. I’ll meet you there. Here’s the address.” She quickly scribbled the information on a piece of paper.

He threw some money on the table to cover the coffee, took the slip of paper from her, and then pulled his phone out and opened the contact list.

“What are you doing?”

“Holding up my end of the deal with the CCPD. Collaboration works both ways.”

“Could you at least wait until after we have a chance to talk to her?”

He hesitated as he considered her request. “Why?”

“Because you and I both know that once the police get there, I won’t be allowed to talk to her! Police protocol this and interfering with an investigation that, blah, blah, blah… Come on…. You wouldn’t even know who she was if it wasn’t for me.”

“I would have eventually knocked on the right door and found out.”

“Yeah, hours from now, by which time I would have already interviewed her for my article. Don’t make me regret sharing information with you.”

“Fine.” He slotted the phone back into his pocket. “You get ten minutes with her, then I’m making the call.”

“Deal. Let’s go!”

The drive from Vista Heights to Sarah’s apartment complex took nearly forty-five minutes. Riley found Drake waiting for her in front of the entrance.

The apartment complex was a stark contrast to Trent’s. A dingy brick building surrounded by other dingy brick buildings, it had no doorman, and the front door was propped open. There was certainly no concierge desk or coffee shop in the lobby.

No elevator came when Drake pushed the button. “Looks like we’re taking the stairs.”

“Good thing she’s only on the fourth floor.”

As they approached apartment 412, Drake suddenly stopped and put his arm out to halt Riley.

“What?”

“Shhh….” He moved in front of her and pulled a gun from his hip. “The door is cracked open. Stay here.”

Riley Brooks hadn’t built her career by standing down. The moment Drake pushed the door open and stepped across the threshold, she followed, keeping quiet so he wouldn’t notice.

“Hello? Is anyone home? Sarah?” He called out as he made his way through the living room. He entered the kitchen and stopped in his tracks. “Well, shit.”

Riley entered right behind him, craning her neck to peer around him. Well, shit was right.

Sarah Foster lay on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood.

[pedge-stuff]

trailer reunion (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked," as always. this one skews a little more m! and a little less gn!, apologies if that puts anyone off.

thanks, as always, for everything.

summary: 5 weeks is a long, long time.

——————————————————————————

Your leg won’t stop bouncing. It’s not your fault, really— it’s the Edmonton Airport’s, for having such a conveniently located Tim Hortons, right outside the baggage claim. After the 7-hour red eye from JFK, with the connection through Toronto, the coffee was necessary.

The caffeine isn’t entirely to blame, though. If the taxi wouldn’t stop going so fucking slow, maybe you’d settle down. But the traffic is unyielding, so the 20 minute drive to your heartfelt reunion is looking more like 45. Apparently, shutting part of the city down to film a TV show really screws up peoples’ commutes. You’d waited long enough (a month and six days, but who’s counting?), surely an extra half-hour won’t kill you. But in the taxi, the minutes seem to stretch into years.

The filming schedule for The Last of Us has been brutal. From what Pedro has told you, there was apparently a strain to film both the first and second episode back-to-back; something about using the same locations and exterior shots. For him, it has meant a marathon of shooting… the only downside to being the star of the show.

SNL’s new season was in full swing anyways, so you’d had plenty to keep you busy. Spent enough late nights at 30 Rock, after many a panicked call to the dog walker, that you barely had to inhabit his otherwise vacant condo. You talked every night, usually Facetiming before bed, but the distance was wearing on you both.

Now, the only thing in between you and your man is this fucking traffic jam.

Though this wasn’t a surprise visit— you’d booked the flight as soon as you’d realized the SNL hiatus week lined up with The Last of Us breaking to change locations for the next episode— you did have one trick up your sleeve. Or, more accurately, under your mask.

You’d been attempting to grow facial hair well before meeting Pedro, but it had been a sparse and largely unsuccessful endeavor until very recently. Your jawline had filled in between your sideburn and chin, albeit slightly patchy. You’d been hiding it over Facetime, opting for regular calls a bit more and hoping he wouldn’t notice. Not the craziest surprise, but still, your heart thrums at the prospect of finally sharing it with him.

Of course, once you arrive to set, the obstacles multiply.

Some college kid in a neon yellow vest stops you before you’ve even managed to remove your duffle from the trunk of the cab.

“Covid testing is this way, please follow me,” he insists tersely. Self-consciously, you adjust the KN95 strap around your ear.

The kid leads you to a tent, where two people in full white hazmat suits, complete with gloves and face shields, ask your name and instruct you to pull down your mask. (There’s a joke in there somewhere, about infection at a show about infected, but you get the sense it might be inappropriate to fool around here.)

Once swabbed and registered, you move to leave, scanning the exit for anyone who might be able to help you navigate onto set. But you are immediately blocked by a hazmat woman.

“You need to wait for the rapid to clear,” she insists, pointing to a row of folding chairs. “Fifteen minutes.”

Fifteen minutes, after 5 weeks. Just fifteen minutes. You resign yourself to a seat by the door.

It’s 4pm. You were supposed to have arrived during a stop down between shots— timed so that Pedro would be in his trailer, and accessible, when you arrived. It feels like that window is physically, tangibly closing as you watch the second-hand tick slowly. 

 Initially, you’d been hesitant to join him on set at all, but he’d insisted you come meet his “second family.” You’d met several of his colleagues via Facetime, when he’d called you from his trailer. Bella, in particular, you’ve taken a liking to— they pepper you with whispered questions about transitioning and gripes about the gender binary when Pedro has been forced to hand over the phone.

You check your phone. Nothing from Pedro, although his little blue dot looks stationary when you pull up FindMyFriends. The clock ticks. There is a burning sting each time you blink— that third cup of coffee is wearing off, and the 5am wake-up this morning is starting to catch up to you. Really, all you want to do is go back to your partner’s hotel room, said partner in tow, curl up on the king-sized and fall asleep watching some West Wing rerun. (Maybe also shower together, and then some. You can keep yourself awake for that.)

Finally, finally, finally, the hazmat woman returns. “You’re clear,” she announces, handing you a green sticker to adhere on your jacket. You make it through the tent flap, heart in your throat with anticipation— 

But you have no fucking idea where to go.

A sea of white tents lays before you, stations with people doing things of varying levels of importance. A neon slip of paper points you towards set, but that’s not where you’re headed. Finally, past a corralled group of extras in some really disgusting mushroom prosthetics, and a tent full of picked-over lunch offerings, you spot some trailers in the distance.

And apparently, a stranger with a duffle bag walking quickly towards actors’ trailers, yields a quick security intervention.

In their defense, you definitely look like a crazy person. 

“Do you have a clearance list, or anything?” You beg, discretely craning your neck to see over the guard’s neck. The trailers are right there. There are only a few, it shouldn’t take any time at all to find Pedro. He’s within arm’s reach and yet he couldn’t possibly feel further away as the guard talks code into a very official-looking walkie talkie.

“Roger.” He looks down at you. “Listen, you gotta go man. It’s a clearance-only set, and they’ve got strict covid rules, so—”

The green sticker may or may not get shoved in the man’s face. There may or may not be angry tears threatening to ruin your cool.  “I got covid tested! I’m clean, they let me through. They had me on their list. I’m—”

From behind you, a familiar voice cuts you off. “With me, Robbie.”

You whip around.

Jaw? On the floor.

Pedro looks… really fucking old. His hair has been sprayed gray, wily and wind-swept; the beard, too, is much grayer than normal. It’s all part of a dirty-looking, artificially stained, mostly denim-based costume. You file away for later, how attracted you are to seeing him like this. Jesus Christ.

He looks old, but he is here, and he is grinning at you, and he’s here.

“Aw, shit.” The guard talks into the radio again. “86. Sorry about that.”

Easy to ignore him, though, as you’re preoccupied with staring at your man.

Before you can move to pounce on him, close the final four feet of distance between you, a well-manicure hand splays menacingly out at you.

“Don’t even think about it,” Coco warns. “We have fifteen minutes for touch-ups and I do not have time to fix everything.”

Pedro’s nose twitches, frowning at you. You reach down to hold his hand, but it is… apparently also covered in make-up, looking red, nasty and broken.

Sorry, he mouths dejectedly.

The inside of his trailer is familiar, though it looks a little smaller in-person than it appears on Facetime. A mirror and counter, a decently sized couch, a bathroom, a desk in the corner. Pedro settles in the make-up chair, smiling backwards at you in the mirror.

“Drop your stuff,” he insists.

Little touches of your life together pepper the room in a way that grips your heart a little. A framed picture on the desk, which you recognize from last summer; a particularly nice day in Prospect Park with the dogs, captured in a Polaroid snapped candid by a total stranger. You’d declined it, at first, assuming it was a weird fan thing. But they had insisted, leaving the picture behind and walking away. It was too lovely to leave.

The sweatshirt draped over the arm of the sofa is yours— an old NYU hoodie Pedro usually travels with. He claims it’s a ‘security blanket,’ and honestly, he might only be half-joking. A note you’d recently sent in a package (he’d accidentally left his whole box of contacts at home), taped up on the mirror, alongside a photo strip with Sarah from some gala a couple years back.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Pedro says quietly, watching you look around. “Take your mask off, baby, I’m assuming you cleared testing if you made it through the front.”

In your excitement to reunite, you almost forgot the little surprise. His jaw drops, into an awed smile. With the un-fake-injured hand, he reaches up to palm your cheek. Runs a hand up and down your jaw, scratching lightly along the new hair.

You turn enough to plant a kiss on the pulse point of Pedro’s wrist. Capture his hand with yours, against your face, to feel him for the first time in over a month.

“Oh! The oil is working,” Coco has paused, midway through spraying something silvery and chemical-smelling to Pedro’s temples. She had suggested it surreptitiously a few months back, off-handedly, and you’d been religiously using it since. The woman knows her shit.

Pedro continues to thumb at the new scruff, transfixed. His jaw muscle twitches.

“I’ve uh—” He stalls out. “Uh. Sorry. Dinner. Craig—”

You step backwards, pulling your hand down to hold in his lap, instead. He huffs.

“Craig wants to go to dinner tonight, since we’re wrapping in Edmonton. I guess there’s this restaurant he is insisting we have to try, it’s a whole thing. Big group. I didn’t give him an answer, in case you’re tired and wanna just head back to the hotel? But we can go, either way it’s fine, I figured…”

“Pedge,” you interrupt. “It’s all good. I’d be happy to go, it sounds fun.”

He exhales. “Thank god, because it’s like a spouse-thing, Neil and Craig’s wives are here.”

Your eyebrow quirks. “Spouse?”

Just to get a blush out of the man. You’d discussed it, of course, but had yet to make moves. Being marked soothed any sense of urgency— you were committed by flesh and blood, and that was ultimately more binding than a ring or ceremony. But, still.

“Joking, love." Despite the coffee, a yawn sneaks up on you. "I might crash on the couch for a bit, when you go back."

He glances at his phone. "We only have one more shot to get alts on. Neil swears we have a hard-out in an hour. Close your eyes, and I'll be right back."

— — — 

You didn't mean to actually fall asleep. Just lay there on your phone and zone out for a bit. But suddenly, you're waking up, to the feeling of a mouth on your own.

A familiar mouth. Warm, scruffy around the edges, a little pepperminty.

"We're done," Pedro whispers. "Coco says I can fuck up my makeup now."

When you open your eyes, he is hovering above you, grinning like a wolf. He's still in costume, though the denim overshirt is already half-unbuttoned.

"Are you done being gross?"

Sitting up, you find Bella in the doorway. They waste no time flinging themselves at the couch.

"In the flesh!" You both laugh.

"Shorter in person, huh?" Pedro is rewarded by a hearty shove from his costar, as he scrubs a makeup wipe across his face.

Wiping sleep from your eyes, you can tell it's gotten dark outside in the time that you've been asleep. "Craig still insisting on dinner?"

"Mm. It's like fancy Mediterranean, I think."

"Fetaaaaa," Bella pumps the air. "Nice."

The evening stretches out before you— a few more obstacles between you and the hotel bed. But Pedro is here, in the flesh, and he's smiling at you in a way that forms the little crinkles beside his eyes, and you think maybe you can sit through a few hours of fancy dinner and small talk.

You've waited this long, anyways.

[pyropsychiccollector]

Illya: (๑╹ω╹๑ )

Shiro: (✿◠‿◠);;; Could you stop making that face? You're making…people…upset…

Illya: (๑╹ω╹๑ ) Sorry, niisan, it's the face I was born with. And now it's the face that will give birth to twins~ (๑╹ω╹๑ )(๑╹ω╹๑ )(๑╹ω╹๑ )

Shiro: R…Right… (≖_≖);;; Is that what this is about? Can I just…take Rin out for a while and you'll calm down?

Illya: (๑╹ω╹๑ ) Oh, you go ahead and take Rin out for dinner or whatever~ She and Sakura are both gonna need pity parties. I win. (๑╹ω╹๑ )

Shiro: … Win what exactly??? (☉_ ☉) Please don't egg Sakura on, too. She was going to help make dinner with me……

Illya: (✿◠‿◠) I would neeeeever upset aaanyone~ Not my fault if there's a few sore losers around here. (๑╹ω╹๑ ) I'm superior breeding stock. Your seed wuvs me more. (๑╹ω╹๑ )

Shiro: (☉_ ☉) knows there's going to be a murder tonight

Rin: Screw you, Illyasveil, you're full of shit. (╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ) You, me, and Sakura are all pregnant right now. It's not about superior genetics, it's pure LUCK if you get twins!!! (╬ಠ益ಠ)

Illya: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Well, I WAS the Lesser Grail, so it makes sense my wish to be superior to you was granted. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Rin: BEING A FUCKING CUP DOESN'T MEAN SQUAT!!!!!!! (╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)

Shiro: (✿◠‿◠);;; C-Can we please calm down…? I-I love you all?

Illya: Yes, yes, niisan. That's the official, diplomatic line. pinches his cheek (๑╹ω╹๑ ) But clearly you love ME best cuz I'll have a leg up on number of kids. And we're only gonna keep multiplying. (๑╹ω╹๑ )(๑╹ω╹๑ )(๑╹ω╹๑ )

Rin: I'll pile-drive you through the wall, damn porcelain doll!!!!!! (╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ) We can all have as many kids as we damn well please!!!

Illya: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Aww, you caaan~? But I thought you were going the heeeir route like a gooooood traditional Tohsaka~? Multiple kids means you won't love them equally. There can be only one heir. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Rin: Forget the wall. I'm chucking you into ongoing traffic!!! (╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ) I am NOT going the heir route!!!!!!

Shiro: (☉_ ☉) can hear Sakura humming too sweetly and rifling around in the kitchen Illya, please for the love of God stop while you're ahead. Y-You've had your fun.

Illya: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Of course, niisan, of course~ I can only stop while I'm ahead. I get one kid to match each of the yandere sisters. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Rin: …

Sakura: Even the Buddha loses patience, Illya-chan. hands clasped behind back ominously (✿◠‿◠)

Shiro: (☉_ ☉) Trace. On.