#i have a whole folder of him from this interview

[erraomens]

Chapter 4 . Set Me Free, I Think I’m Giving Up.

Pairing . Noah Sebastian x Eden Blackwood Word Count . 2,522 Summary . Eden learns that Noah called, but not intentionally, stirring a storm of emotions that drives her to confront him in person. Meanwhile, Noah, unable to face an interview with her, requests a different interviewer, unknowingly setting off consequences beyond his control. Their conversation is heavy with unspoken regrets, both blaming the other for leaving yet knowing neither of them truly fought to stay. As tensions rise, old wounds resurface, forcing them to finally acknowledge the weight of their past. Warnings/Themes: Unresolved tension, emotional conflict, guilt, miscommunication, past relationship angst, self-sabotage, yearning, manipulation (by a third party), featuring strong language, mild sexual content, and hints of past trauma. My inability to be happy with my writing. taglist . @fadingangelwisp . @chey-h . @flowery-mess You can read the first three chapters here . chapter 1 . chapter 2 . chapter 3 .

Lover boy called, and I might’ve accidentally hung up on him.

The words took a second to land. They floated around her mind, circling like smoke before finally sinking in. Eden stood frozen, towel clutched tight in her fingers, damp hair sticking to her shoulders. Lia’s expression made her stomach drop—like something was wrong. Really wrong.

“Why was he calling?” “I—accidentally called him an—”

“Why would you do that?” Eden’s voice cut sharp, her feet already moving. She grabbed the phone before Lia could stop her.

Lia flinched as Eden snatched the phone, hurt flashing across her face. And Eden felt bad—she really did—but it was all too much. This whole thing with Noah, seeing him again, the mess he always dragged back into her life.

Every time she thought she was getting over him, he was right there.

The idea of what they could have been clung to her like a phantom limb—something that should have been gone, but still ached like it was real.

“You cannot fix this, Lia.” The words flew from Eden’s mouth before she could stop them. “No matter how much you think you know—just because you’re screwing their drummer doesn’t mean you can fix this.” She saw the way Lia flinched. How each word sliced her open, deeper and deeper.

“He keeps leaving me, Lia. He is the one who keeps walking away from me. So why does it feel like you keep putting me in a position to be hurt by him?”

She doesn’t wait for Lia to answer. Just turns on her heel and walks away. Anything to keep from crying in front of her. Anything to stop herself from breaking down and admitting the truth— she was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of seeing his face everywhere.

Tired of wondering why she was never good enough.

The door clicked shut behind her, and Eden pressed her back against it, forcing air into her lungs. The room was too quiet, too still. She focused on anything to keep herself grounded—the low hum of her LED lights, the scratchy fabric of the towel still clutched in her fingers. Anything to stop the panic from creeping in.

He keeps leaving me, Lia. He’s the one who keeps walking away.

The words echoed through her mind, the reality of the situation was standing there right in front of her. She could keep blaming Noah, keep hating him for always walking away—but wasn’t that the easy way out? She never told him to stay. Never gave him a reason to. She let him leave, over and over, because saying ‘stay’ would have meant giving him the power to hurt her.

She crossed her room, pulling the towel from her frame and quickly drying her hair before dressing in a pair of shorts and one of his old hoodies, one of the original merch ideas for the band before they had made it big. 

Eden stared at her phone on the bed, wondering if it would tell on her if she had picked it up and scrolled through the old photos of them that she had saved in a private folder on her phone. Wondering if it would tell the world that even though she had done everything in her power to avoid him, she wished that he would fight for her as well.

Picking it up and unlocking it, she was met with the contact photo of the two of them together, his name in bold letters, and all she could hear was Lisa's words in her head, how he had called and she wants to call him, wants to know what he had said and – maybe she just wanted to hear his voice.

Her thumb hovered over the call button. Just one press, and she’d hear his voice. Maybe she’d finally get the answers she pretended not to need. Or maybe it would be worse—maybe it would pull her right back into the spiral she was barely holding together. 

She could delete his number.  Erase him from her phone. Pretend he was gone for good. 

But his number was etched into her memory, an imprint she could never scrub away. He was her person. Her everything.

Was.

It was a split second decision to get dressed, shoving her phone into her pocket as she exited her room, seeing her best friend in the kitchen, tears streaking her cheeks. The sight broke her heart, and she knew that she had fucked up, knew that she had hurt one of the people who loved her the most, so it didn’t even warrant a moment of hesitation before she had hugged her tightly. 

She whispered apologies into Lia's hair, feeling her best friend trembling as she held onto her, Eden promising that she wasn’t going to hurt her again. That she was sorry and would do better. After what felt like a lifetime, she pulled away from her, thumb brushing a tear from her cheek.

“I’ll be back.” “Where are you going?” “I’m going to talk to him, in person.”

Lia looked like a wave had crashed over her, like she’d been hit with whiplash. But she didn’t argue. “Did you talk to him?”

Eden shook her head no, lips pressed tightly together as she tried to compose herself with a deep breath. “I think I should talk to him in person. I think we both deserve that much.”

“Do you need me to come with you?” “No, why don’t you go hang out with Folio?” 

One eyebrow raised slightly, sadness still tainted her features, but she couldn’t help a playful smirk. “I did ruin your night with him.”

With a quick goodbye, Eden slipped into the night. Each step felt heavier, her heart hammering, her mind screaming at her to turn back. This was a bad idea. She should just go home, crawl into bed, and forget about him. Or pretend to forget about him.

A cruel echo of her own choices played on a loop in her head, one lyric that tormented her.

But it’s too late to turn back now.

And maybe it had been too late for a long time.

Noah's POV.

“Hey Ava, it’s Noah.”

Noah spent the last hour staring at his phone, cycling through every possible scenario. No matter how he spun it, the answer was always the same. He couldn’t do that interview, he couldn’t sit there with Eden and talk to her about his music, about the things that inspired the lyrics and what his future looked like.

He couldn’t sit across from the woman he once thought he’d spend forever with and talk about the future—not when every version of it still had her in it.

“Sorry for calling so late–”

“No, don’t apologize. Is everything okay?” Ava interrupts, sighing loudly, as if he was inconveniencing her.

“I had a request for the interview.” “Are you cancelling?” “No–” “ –then what’s the issue?”

Noah couldn’t believe the rudeness of this lady, how she had spoken to him as if he wasn’t doing her production studio a favor by going on one of her shows. But he swallowed back the comments, not wanting this to become about him and his possibly hurt ego, but about doing what he thought was right.

“I want to see if I can do the interview with someone else.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone, so much so that he worried that she might’ve hung up, but before he could question he heard an annoyed,’Of course she messed this up’, and then she replied.

“We can set that up, what caused this change? Did Eden do something?” “No, I just think it’s better this way.” “Was she inappropriate with you? You know, I can’t allow that in my company.” “No, Ava. No. It’s a conflict of interest on my part, she did nothing wrong.”

Ava let out a dry laugh, a click of her tongue as he heard what seemed to be a clacking of a keyboard from her end.

“Fine, I’ll make the change. But you know this doesn’t look good, right? You’re the biggest name on our schedule, and–”

“I’m not cancelling,” Noah cut in, jaw tight. “And don’t put this on her. This is my decision.”

“Of course,” Ava said smoothly. A little too smoothly. “I understand.”

Noah knew that he should feel a sense of ease, that he had done what he thought was right, but there was something that nagged at him. Something that ate at his resolve and he wasn’t sure if it was the anxiety of the interview, Eden finding out, or if there was something more manipulative at work here.

“See you tomorrow, Noah.”

And with that, she hung up the phone, not allowing him a chance to respond. 

Eden felt like she had been cast as the villain in a horror movie, standing outside of her victims house, waiting for the right time to strike. But instead of going in and causing bloodshed and destruction, she would be going in and facing her fears and everything that she had avoided for years.

Somehow that seemed so much worse.

Approaching the front door, she once again hesitated, finger hovering over the button of the ring doorbell, swallowing hard and reassuring herself that she could do this, she pressed it. The doorbell’s chime echoed through the night like a death march. No turning back. No stopping this.

The door opened after what felt like an eternity, wondering if he had seen her and had planned to ignore her, but his damp hair and the way his shirt clung to his body was a clear indication that he had practically jumped out of the shower and ran to the front door.

“What are you doing here?” “I can leave if yo–” “No!” He yelled, clearing his throat, stepping back and letting her in. “No, please come in. Sorry.”

Eden was holding her breath, waiting for him to change his mind, but when he didn’t she had allowed herself to take that step forward and crossed the threshold of his place. She had never been there, never been inside, and it had looked exactly what she expected it to look like. Of course she did see his streams, so there was some familiarity because of those, but nothing was like looking at it in person.

“You called me.” “I meant to text.” “But I didn’t get a text.” “I’m a coward.”

The conversation felt like deja vu for Noah, but this time instead of making excuses, he admitted what he knew was true.

“I didn’t call you back.” “No, instead you showed up here.”

There was something awkward there, the air between them thick with tension, uncertainty of what they would talk about. Noah could see the way that she was looking around, rubbing her arm and shifting on her feet.

“I asked to be interviewed by someone else.” Noah blurted out, breaking the silence, and Eden practically shot daggers at him, jaw dropping in utter disbelief. She went to yell, to tell him that he had no right, but he cut her off before she could.

“I’m a coward, Eden.” She couldn’t help but take in the way he said her name, the way that it felt like a prayer, like it was the most delicious thing to touch his lips. But she wasn’t going to allow herself to fall into him that easily, not when he ruined her interview.

“You are the most important person on the schedule, that interview is important.”

She made sure to emphasize that point, made sure that she was to tell him that he had no right to do that and he should’ve talked to her first. This is the issue, this was their problem. There was never any communication about major things.

“And that’s why I asked.” He hesitates, tongue darting over his lower lip, fingers brushing through slightly damp locks and he sighs. “It’s important for the band, it’s important for the production company. I can’t do it, Eden. I can’t sit across from you and pretend you aren’t still the answer to every question about my future.”

The answer takes a moment to sink in, hitting her like a freight train and she’s speechless, eyelashes fluttering as she tries to find the words to say. She knew that this was going to be difficult for the both of them, but she wasn’t aware that it would be this difficult for him.

“You left.” “You stayed behind.” “You didn’t fight.” “Neither did you.”

They could go back and forth on the blame, but they knew that it wasn’t just one or the other who was at fault. But Eden didn’t want to admit that, she didn’t want to admit that she had a part to play in their downfall. That all of this pain could’ve been avoided. Because who is to say that it was.

“I should go.” Eden turns to head towards the front door but stops herself, head tilted down as her fingers twitch, flexing slightly before she turns around to look at him again.

“Eden.” He steps forward, hand reaching out to grab hers, for the first time he was not going to let her go. At least, that is what he hoped for. It wasn’t up to him.

“Ask me to stay.” the words fell from her lips, a plea for him to fight for her even though she wasn’t sure if this was a good idea. Wasn’t sure if staying there with him was something that would do either of them any good. They didn’t talk about the past, they didn’t talk about all the different ways that they were different, how they had changed.

They never talked about how broken they were and how they might not even be good for each other anymore. They were not those 18 year olds who finally admitted they loved each other, they weren’t those kids who planned forever only for it to be ripped away from them.

It was heavy, suffocating—the weight of every unsaid word, every unresolved moment. The air between them screamed for something, anything to break. Anything to break the barrier that they had built between the two of them.

But Eden didn’t know who moved first, if it was her who closed the distance, or if he had– but she was standing in front of him, his tall frame towering over her. One hand was pressed to the side of her face, thumb brushing over her lower lip and she felt vulnerable with him. She felt every nerve in her body thrum to life, and how his touch had ignited something below the skin.

She felt alive. But at what cost?

“Kiss me, Noah. And if you can’t, I need you to let me go.”

With that, his lips pressed against hers, the world shifting below them as their resolve crumbled around them. Knowing that everything had changed, and that whatever happened next would either bring them closer, or destroy them.

[g0dlyunsub]

it takes two.

spencer deals with a lot on the field, but nothing can prepare him for when he’s stuck inside a locker with you.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: 18+ due to sexual themes but no smut, slight claustrophobia triggers

word count :: 2.2k

author’s note :: inspired by a scene from s9e23, i'm imagining spencer in a fitted collared shirt and tie, reader wears a skirt

accompanying song :: stuck between by dutch criminal record

“nothing’s showing up on vicap. i’ve cross-checked records against everything you’ve mentioned, sir, but there’s literally nothing. zilch,” you hear garcia let out an exasperated groan as she ferociously taps at her keyboard. 

you watch as hotch kneads the skin between his brows with growing impatience while morgan starts to pace around the room. you’re not doing any better yourself, your stressed-out fingers threatening to tug at the strands of hair neatly holding your ponytail together. 

it’s too frustrating. the leads are clearly there, but your team is lacking the final puzzle piece to complete the profile, to confirm that it’s someone in the department that’s deliberately injecting themselves into the investigation.

“your answer is probably written down on paper. ugh, i hate when bad guys try to act all smart,” garcia fumes, and sulks as she gives an apologetic wave from her side of the screen. hotch nods, relays a thank you, and cuts the call before rounding the whole team together.

“think about it, those two are the perfect scapegoats. all of these agents have everything to lose, so why not just blame them? they’ve been in and out of cells already, and it makes perfect sense to craft a narrative that’ll point fingers at them,” morgan starts, making small gestures as he speaks with his signature cadence, topped with a honeyed rasp.

“and they’ve got all the authority to influence the public’s opinion,” jj nods in agreement.

“we need to try to get those two to talk again, but we also have to take extra precautions. jj and prentiss, go interview them one more time to see if they’ll spill any names. morgan, i need you to work with garcia to look for other possible leads. reid and l/n, go to the records room to review the files of the agents working with us. dave and i will try to hold down the fort,” hotch instructs, nodding at each of you as he rolls out the orders. 

“and try not to draw suspicion. if all else fails, say that you need to run to the bathroom,” rossi adds with a wink. it always amazes you how calm the italian agent is during such high-pressure situations, a trait you’ve grown to immensely appreciate.

“shall we?” you say as you nudge spencer, and he hums back in response. you bid a wish of good luck to emily and jj and traverse the hallway to the records room with the doctor, your heels clacking beside the cushioned steps of his slightly worn converses. 

after looking left and right to make sure no one’s around, spencer opens the door. you silence the sounds of your heels as you follow inside, and let the bolt of the lock plunge into the frame by slowly closing the door. 

“alright, you take the left, i’ll take the right,” you whisper, and spencer gives you a thumbs up. 

the two of you work silently and as fast as possible, sifting through the piles of records that lie on the tables and beside the cabinets. you feel your heart jump into a cartwheel every time a sheet of paper slips out of the manila folders, the sounds of rustling and creasing setting you on edge. 

“i found mcgregor and drew, but i don’t think it’s either of them,” spencer declares with a voice that isn’t supposed to sound loud at all, but it feels hundreds of decibels higher than the bare whisper you spoke with earlier. 

“okay, i found weaver and lee, but they don’t fit the profile either. let’s continue looking for the other two,” you call back. 

spencer walks over to you and kneels beside your left to help you with your search. once you spread the folders on the floor, you spot one of the two remaining files, and spencer soon finds the other. you’re about to turn through the sheets in the folder when the doorknob starts to shake, startling the both of you.

“shit. spence,” you blurt as spencer takes his file in one hand and grabs yours with the other, and shoves them into an open drawer. after he slides the compartment back with his careful and nimble fingers, you grab his arm and squeeze into a spare locker. you barely manage to seal the opening shut in time.

you could say that it was quick thinking that saved your and spencer’s cover, since the door jiggles and thrusts open a mere second later.

you never would’ve imagined that the day would come when you would draw air directly from spencer’s breaths, let alone enclose yourself in the same room as him. 

and yet here you are, perched on top of spencer’s knee, the scratchy fabric of his trousers resting under the hollow space of your pencil skirt and between your legs. his other leg presses against your side of the wall with an uncomfortable bend, while his chin sits an atom’s width from your forehead.

it’s a nonnegotiable consequence that comes with his tall figure, the way his clothed knee has to rub against your inner thighs under the draped fabric.

one of your hands lies awkwardly on his chest while the other is on his thigh, right above the knee that’s using you for leverage. your attention immediately shifts to your left when you see the rays of the intruder’s flashlight scope through the room. 

you stop mid-exhale when the light pours through the gaps of the locker, casting shadows on spencer’s face and your body. he looks stressed, anxiously wetting his lips with closed eyes, face turned away from you.

and he looks overwhelmed. rapid bursts of inhales and exhales fire from his body, likely due to the collar of his shirt being bound tightly around his neck with the tie. with shaking fingers, you slowly reach for his tie, waiting for approval to loosen it. 

you feel his forehead bury into the cave of your shoulder, and he whispers his desperate ask into your ear: “please.”

despite the lack of light around you, you’re able to locate the small end of his satin tie, and you tug lightly. the knot unfurls as you pull, and spencer lets out a small sigh of relief before breathing a low thank you in your ear.

as this happens, you hear the intruder surf through the piles of papers, unlocking drawers and lifting boxes left and right. hurry, hurry, hurry, you pray desperately in your head. beads of sweat start to form at your temple and threaten to fall down to your exposed neck, which happens to be situated directly in spencer’s line of sight.

“come on,” you hear the guest in the room complain, angrily flipping through papers and slamming the cabinets. you think it’s finally time for him to leave when you hear the high-pitched ring of his phone. 

but your eyes widen when instead of heading to the door, he makes strides towards the locker right across from yours, and leans his back against it before holding the phone up to his ear. holy shit.

“jensen speaking,” he says with a gruff voice, and plays with the button of his flashlight so it turns on and off spontaneously. as the light flickers, it dimly shines the space inside your locker. 

spencer turns his head to meet your eyes, a panicked expression covering his face. you’re about to mouth a small sorry for the helpless situation you’ve dragged him into, but just as you’re about to do so, spencer’s trousers slide against your legs, creating friction so unbearable that you let out a squeak. 

you freeze, looking up to see spencer’s eyes flash warningly. he instantly clasps your mouth with his hands to cover any further sound from escaping your lips, but with no form of support to maintain his position, he starts to slip, and his shirt lightly skids against the locker’s slippery walls. this is somehow even worse for you, because spencer’s knee starts to dig further up your legs and into your cotton underwear, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut.

luckily for the both of you, jensen seems to be distracted by whatever words are being spewed from the other end of his phone call to pay any mind to your suppressed yelps. 

“i think their agents might be on to us,” he scowls, and you watch from the corner of your eye as he tosses the last of his files into a box and opens the adjacent locker to ram it inside.  

“yeah, i’ll try to stall them for as long as i can. they don’t know what they’re getting themselves into.” 

jensen curses and promptly ends the call, returning his phone into the pocket of his shirt. he finally walks to the door, sighing as he twists the knob and steps out. the two of you lie in wait for an additional three minutes before trying anything. 

“i think we’re good,” spencer huffs, finally opening the locker door with a thud as the sounds of steel clashing against steel echo throughout the air. 

“yeah,” you nod, taking a breath to collect yourself as you step out. you watch as spencer runs a hand through his hair and moves his fingers down to adjust his tie. 

he returns the stare, his adam’s apple bobbing when he eyes your wrinkled shirt and scrunched up pencil skirt – which looks more like a mini-skirt with how it sits right below your hips.

“i um, i need some air. how about you?” spencer asks at last, clearing his throat. you bite your lip when he starts to brush the dust off his thighs and knees, the moments of earlier flooding into the back of your mind like the warmth pooling between your thighs.

“yeah, i could use some fresh air too,” you respond breathily, averting your eyes and focusing instead on smoothing out your shirt and retying your loosened ponytail. when you’re done, you turn around and stagger to the door, not looking twice to see if spencer’s following you. an intense flush spreads across your cheeks, and your only viable path of escape is to the bathroom.

“you, um, missed a spot,” you hear from behind, and you follow spencer’s gaze to see that he’s referring to the back of your skirt.

“oh,” you say as embarrassment swamps you, and you hurriedly pat at the fabric. “does that look better?”

“it’s still folded there. if you want, i can- may i?” 

the question tumbles from his pretty lips and messes with your head. his hand hovers right around your waist, the same way yours lingered on his tie as you waited for his consent. and his softening eyes. his slightly smoldering gaze looks so innocent and alluring at the same time, your heart starts to feel heavy with the weight of desire. 

note to self: never wear a pencil skirt again.

“please,” you utter like a silent prayer, and mentally prepare yourself to endure the test of his fingers against your skin.

as soon as he receives your word, his hand lightly brushes against your thigh and trails down your skin. he takes the hem of your skirt and pulls down, giving several tugs before releasing the stretched garment. 

he clears his throat when you don’t move even after he’s retracted his hand.

“all good now.” 

spencer’s words drown out your thoughts and snap you back to reality. he’s already standing by the door, holding it open for you with a patient smile.

“thanks,” you say as you walk out and rub your hands together, nervous for what you’re about to say next. “spencer, um, i’m so sorry about that whole ordeal, it was really unprofessional of me to drag you in there, i wasn’t thinking when i-”

“you did the right thing,” spencer interrupts your ramble with the shake of his head, and his flawless smile pulls at your heartstrings.

“i would’ve pushed you in there if you hadn't. that door’s the only way in and out if you don’t count the windows,” he continues, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walks you to the elevator.

“oh,” you shyly murmur back, your cheeks flushing with a shade of bright pink as his words pour over you like warm water. he would’ve pushed you in there if you hadn’t?

“yeah, but how about we try a bigger locker next time?” spencer almost reads your mind as he half-mindedly jokes, causing you to drop your jaw in shock. he doesn’t acknowledge your reaction, however, because he starts to dial rossi’s number on his cell.

“by the way, the uh, new look suits you. the grey skirt and all,” spencer says with a lopsided smile before he raises a hand to excuse himself and call rossi. you’re saved the embarrassment of responding when rossi accepts the call, but your palms are already profusely sweating at his compliment.

note to self: maybe wear the pencil skirt again.

[gotta-winwin]

OT13 Reaction -- to you having a fan account

SCOUPS:

he finds it so incredibly adorable that you have a fan acc dedicated to them. he follows it from his burner acc asap, adding it to his list of accs he checks daily. is so surprised when he finds out that he's actually been following the account already, having been using it for updates on seventeen. amazed to know you're the one behind @ svtfanclub.

JEONGHAN:

teases you about it every chance he gets. he insists you're sooo obsessed with him and everything he does. you have to start second thinking everything you post about him, knowing even the smallest thing might set off a firework of omg you're sooo in love, at least hide it better. ik, ik, you can't help it. i'm irresistible. smirks when he sees you typing on your phone, fingers already itching to save the post before you've even posted it.

JOSHUA:

has a dedicated saved folder just for your posts. saves every single one to look back on later. brings them up in daily conversation randomly - you guys could be talking about what to have for dinner and he'd throw in a soooo i saw your latest post, the one with my photoshoot pictures~ turns red whenever he sees you thirsting for him online.

JUN:

singlehandedly turns your svt updates fan acc into a svt meme acc. he sends you exclusive photos of the members whenever he can, urging you to turn them into memes and to post them. cackles reading all the comments and only ever sends you good pics of himself. he refuses to be caught lacking.

HOSHI:

remember when hoshi spammed weverse with horanghae? he will 100% steal your phone and do that on your fan acc. accidentally stirs up speculation about whether or not you know hoshi or if you're trolling your followers. insists you post one photo of him a day, resulting in the acc being more of a hoshi shrine than a svt fanpage (oops.)

WONWOO:

lowkey impressed how routinely your updates are despite your busy life. he's a little embarrassed by some of your more....enthusiastic posts, but he appreciates the amount of love. ends up adding the acc to his phone so ya'll can run it together. he handles all the nomination updates and real other stuff - allowing you to spend your time posting more fun content about the members.

WOOZI:

doesn't really get the point of it. he does his best to understand the hows and whys of running a fan acc, ending up just telling you how much it means to him that you're supporting his work. gives you exclusive mini interviews about his creative process and songwriting, leaving your followers wondering where on earth you're getting these insider info.

MINGHAO:

touched when he notices you have dedicated posts to him and his art projects. scolds you whenever he sees you interacting with haters, reminding you that as much as he appreciates you defending them, violence is not the answer! he's always there to remind you whenever he feels like you need a break for social media, turning off your phone for you and proposing a day out.

DK:

cries as he scrolls through your posts, not being able to take how thoughtful and supportive you are. clings onto you the whole day after he finds out, whispering how much he loves you and how much it means to him. turns on notifications for your posts and smiles whenever he sees them.

MINGYU:

accidentally likes one of your posts thirsting over him with his main acc. panics and deletes it but it's too late - the ever-watching carats have spotted him. sends millions of followers swarming to your acc and he can only shrug when you confront him about it. claims its for media and promotion purposes. sends you exclusive gym pics and thirst traps for you to post - although some of them are too spicy so you keep them to yourself.

SEUNGKWAN:

has that iconic shocked expression when you tell him before taking out his own phone and showing you that surprise! he has one too. the two of you now sometimes coordinate your posting times and interact with each other in the comments. he will tsk with disappointment if a post doesn't met his standards. competitive ass turns it into a competition.

VERNON:

he's not surprised. you seem to know like everything about seventeen already, so it's only natural you help inform other carats! he'll send you trends he thinks you should incorporate into your acc and provides you with behind-the-scenes pics. gets you vip access to any event so you can grab those up close shoots of him and his members - nepo baby(?) at its finest.

DINO:

his ego is boosted to the max when he finds out. loves that you found a way to love him loudly despite your relationship being private. giggles to himself (although he'll never admit it) whenever you post about him and sends your posts into the svt gc for his hyungs to see.

[ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey]

How about jealous Ginny for a prompt? I mean there are plenty of jealous Harry stories but for once I want to need to see a jealous Ginny! Loved the overprotective Harry btw❤️🩷

They - quite literally - run into her at the Leaky Cauldron. 

Ginny was walking backward, grinning wickedly at Harry as she tried to surmise just how many photographers would swarm Diagon Alley once word had spread that he was there, while Harry continued to argue he should at least be allowed to don the Invisibility Cloak. 

“No, no, I’ll look insane talking to myself all day. You’ve got to face society, sometime, Potter,” Ginny was saying. “Some would say it’s your responsibility, no your duty to–”

“--my duty?”

“--to spend the day dodging photographers for your girlfriend. Isn’t that your whole deal? Self-sacrificing, hero–”

“Rita Skeeter is worse than Voldemort.”

It was precisely the moment when Ginny let out a loud, unattractive Ha! that her back came into contact with a person turning away from the bar. It’s all a bit of a flurry for a few moments - a folder of papers flutters to the floor, Ginny stumbles and corrects herself with an “Oh Merlin I’m so sorry,” Harry jolts forward helplessly as though to catch… something. 

Ginny turns to apologize more earnestly, when she realizes that she knows the person she’s just crashed into. 

“--I’m such an idiot, are you– Oh! Cho!”

“Er, hi,” Cho Chang says, a bit ruefully. “It’s good to – oh, no, don’t worry, I can–”

Cho flaps her hands uselessly, for Harry has bent over to pick up the papers Ginny had knocked to the floor. 

“Here,” Harry says, stuffing the papers haphazardly back into the folder and thrusting it out toward Cho. 

“Thanks,” Cho says, and then a horribly awkward silence swallows them all. 

Ginny struggles for anything to say. The only idiotic thing she can think to say is - You look pretty - because Cho does. Her silky black hair is swept up into some elegant looking chignon, and it’s clear she’s done up her makeup a bit more than usual. She’s wearing smart robes that are fitted elegantly, and her soft-pink nails are perfectly shaped. 

“Are you two off to Diagon Alley?” Cho says, with an air of desperation to fill the silence. 

“Yes,” Ginny says, latching on to the subject like a life raft. 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “Picking up school things for Ginny.”

“Oh!” Cho says, turning to Ginny in surprise. “Do you have another year of school left, then?”

The question, in conjunction with Cho’s very grown-up elegance, leaves Ginny feeling particularly infantile and irritable; their two-year age-gap seems suddenly to span decades. “Yep,” Ginny says, a note of petulance creeping into her tone. “Finishing up my NEWTs.”

“Good for you!” Cho says, in a way that manages not to sound patronizing, even though Ginny's certain it is. “I don’t know if I could go back to school, after every–”

Harry, shooting an alarmed glance at Ginny’s expression, interjects. “Did you do some shopping today, as well?”

“Oh! Er, no. No I… I just finished up a job interview, actually, in one of the back rooms here.”

“Did you?” Harry says, raising his eyebrows. “Nice. Hope it went well.”

“Me too,” Cho says, looking at Harry a bit shyly, now. Ginny narrows her eyes. “Actually, I’m glad I ran into you. The job - it’s in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“Really?” Harry says, and he sounds genuinely interested now. “What role?”

“Oh, something administrative. I’m not very interested in field work, I’d much rather be working on the policy side of things, but – well, I’d actually wanted to thank you. Everything was so in flux after���well, in May, and I never got a chance to–”

“Thank me?” Harry says, sounding baffled. “You don’t–”

“I do,” Cho insists prettily, wringing her hands prettily, sounding pretty. “You were so brave, what you did. Facing him. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you– And honestly, I wouldn’t even have had a chance at this job if it weren’t for the DA. I think they only interviewed me because I mentioned I’d been a part of it–”

“Really,” Harry says awkwardly, “it’s nothing, you don’t need to–”

“It’s isn’t nothing, at all!” Cho says emphatically, tucking a silky strand of her hair behind her ear. “You’ve made such a difference for everyone and I’ve been wanting to tell you but I–”

“Don’t be modest, Harry,” Ginny interjects hotly. Cho’s gushing so much they all might drown in it. In fact, Ginny wouldn’t mind all that much if Cho did. 

Harry shoots her a wary look, and then turns back to Cho. “That’s, er, really nice of you to say.”

“I mean it,” Cho says. “I heard you’ve joined the Aurors, is that true?”

“Er, yeah–” Harry says, ruffling his hair anxiously. It strikes Ginny then, as it so often does, that Harry is quite good-looking, now. Not that he hadn’t been, before, but months of regular eating and living out from under the thumb of the threat of constant death has been good to him - go figure. He’s filled out and bought clothes that fit and Ginny’s very much enjoyed it all until this moment, when it strikes her that he could stand to be a bit less handsome, all piercing eyes and messy hair and wry smirks directed at Cho bloody Chang. “I have.”

“I knew you would,” Cho says, like she’s some insider expert on Harry’s tendencies. “We’ll be in the same office, then, if I get this job!”

“Oh!” Harry says, coming up short. “That’s—” he shoots a glance at Ginny. “That’s great.”

“That’s wonderful,” Ginny says in a passable impression of earnestness that she’s positive does not fool Harry. “Really, really, wonderful.”

Cho looks at Ginny as though she’s only just remembered that she’s there. “Yes, well. Are you still interested in doing the Quidditch thing, Ginny?” Cho asks. 

“Oh, who knows?” Ginny says brightly. “Maybe I’ll do the Quidditch thing, or maybe I’ll go be an Auror too. It’ll be a regular party, the three of us.”

Cho’s smile falters a bit. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

“Lovely,” Ginny agrees. “Just lovely.”

Harry coughs, and then they’re plunged into a miserable silence once more. 

“Well,” Ginny says heartily. “We’ve got to get a move on. Those photographers won’t dodge themselves, you know.”

“Oh, of course,” Cho says. “Well, it was lovely to see you both.”

“Lovely,” Ginny agrees. 

“Yeah,” Harry says. 

“Best of luck at school, Ginny,” Cho says, and Ginny hates that she sounds like she means it. “And maybe I’ll be seeing you in the office, Harry.”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry chuckles, “Maybe! Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Cho says, and then she gives them an awkward wave and departs. 

Once the door has closed with a jingle of the bell above it, Ginny turns to Harry, her eyebrows raised.

“Ginny…” Harry says with trepidation. 

“Looks like you’ve got a new office best mate!” Ginny says with supreme sarcasm. “I’ll tell Ron he’s been usurped, he’ll cry for a bit but I’m sure he’ll manage–”

“She might not even get the job–”

“Oh, no. She will. I mean, she name-dropped you and the DA, that’s sure to give her a leg up, never mind that she wasn’t even at school last year with the worst of it, never mind the whole thing disbanded because of her stupid friend–”

“I don’t think that’s what she–”

“I’m just so glad that while I go months without seeing you, you’ll get to pal around with Cho Chang, I was so worried that you’d get lonely without me, but now–”

“Ginny,” Harry says with an awkward laugh. “Come on, you know that’s not how it is.”

“She can go on thanking you for what a bloody hero you are,” Ginny continues. “I don’t think anyone’s told you that in about five minutes, so it’ll be good to get a nice top up from her when you’re feeling down.”

“Well, sure,” Harry joins in. “You know I can’t go more than six without being reminded.”

Ginny pats his chest. “So brave. There. Do you think that’ll last you until we get to the book shop?”

“I might need a quick round of applause in the apothecary.”

Ginny snorts. “Oh, come on, then,” Ginny says. “Maybe we’ll run into Fleur’s little sister, too, if we’re really lucky.”

They make their way through the brick entrance to Diagon Alley - a far cry from the days of the war, the street is bustling and busy once more. They take a circuitous route to Flourish and Blotts, taking care to walk quickly so that not too many people take notice that Harry Potter is in their midst, and because Ginny cannot bear the sight of her brothers’ joke shop, once alive and bustling and colorful and loud, boarded up and quiet. It’s a bit too on the nose. 

They make it nearly to the front door of the book shop before Ginny can’t take it anymore. “Did you hear the way she asked if I was doing ‘the Quidditch thing’?” she snarls, halting them just outside the door. “Like it was some cute little hobby, never mind that she was a Seeker too. Not a very good one, mind, but still!”

Harry has the gall to look faintly amused as he pulls her off to the small alleyway next to the shop. “I’m sure that’s not what she meant. Professional Quidditch is really difficult, she knows–”

“Oh you’re sure, are you?” Ginny spits, rolling her eyes. “Just like she just knew you’d become an Auror? Someone alert Professor Trelawney, we’ve got another Seer on our hands. No one without a powerful Inner Eye could’ve possibly predicted that–”

Harry grins and shakes his head. “You do know I’m not thrilled about this either, don’t you?”

“I can’t imagine why,” Ginny rants. “It’s perfect, your girlfriend will pop off to Scotland and you can hang round with your ex instead!”

“My ex?” Harry says, an eyebrow raised. “We went on one date when I was fifteen and it was terrible.”

“Oh that’s only because you were both traumatized,” Ginny says airily. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled at the chance to reconnect now that you’re both older–”

“Ginny,” Harry says, the amusement replaced with something firm. “You’re not really worried about this, are you?”

Ginny can’t look him in the eye. She’s so irritated, so bothered, that it takes her a moment - she wants to say yes of course I’m worried, did you see how annoyingly pretty she was and the way she looked at you - but she doesn’t. Because it’s not true, not really. As she’s tried to rebuild in the rubble after the war, Harry’s been the one thing she’s sure of through all of it, and she reckons he feels the same. No, she knows he does. She knows he’s not interested in doing anything with Cho Chang.

Ginny takes a deep, calming breath, and meets his eyes. “I just really fucking hate that she might get to see you every day and I–” her voice catches. 

Harry pulls her in and gives her one of those hugs that seems to calm every cell in her body, like he might be able to shield her from everything bad in the world. She can’t believe that in two weeks, this is a comfort she won’t have, anymore, reduced instead to stolen moments at Hogsmeade weekends and words scribbled in letters.

“I really fucking hate it, too.”

Ginny burrows her head deeper into his chest, and breathes in the woody smell of him. Finally, she says. “You were right, you know. I can admit it.”

“What?”

She pulls back and looks at him. “I really should’ve let you wear that damn Invisibility Cloak.”

[cluedoenthusiast]

Big Autism Post

(I'm not calling him autistic. These are just some autistic traits that I've noticed that he has that neurotypicals can also have)

This is a list of ND traits, each with a few examples of instances or whatever:

Like to lead conversations and provide extensive information on the specific topics you are interested in.

Find it easier to talk ‘at’ people, rather than engaging in a two-way conversation.

“Oh… I forgot to bring my cheat sheet. I’ve got a folder with notes, which I planned on bringing with me. But it also feels a little know-it-all and self-conscious to start giving a lecture from my own notes here. My best line… I wouldn’t know! I simply don’t know all the lyrics by heart yet. [long pause] I think ‘Big Ideas’ as a whole is a very accomplished song.” [X]

Have your own unique phrases and descriptive words.

“A bone-coloured gentleman” - him describing a spider [X] [+post I made a while back about him and words]

Find building and maintaining close friendships and relationships difficult in a range of environments.

hmm 🤨

May use facial expressions and make gestures when speaking with people that others find unusual.

This whole interview is just him stimming but specifically watch 1:46 in the video when jamie mentions it

The Zane Lowe The Car Interview where he’s doing the same hand stim over and over again

He makes a pained expression sometimes when he’s just talking about normal things but there’s too many examples to get

Autistic individuals are often perceived as controlling. + Have a strong desire to set and follow rules, whether in the classroom, work or social situations.

“…but I'm quite a control freak." He grins. "There's a bit of that." [X]

Would you describe yourself as a control freak in the studio? “Yeah, probably… (Laughs) well, definitely. I think somebody needs to take the reins and I’m happy to do that. I’m sure it’s quite annoying for other people at times, but I think they’re glad that someone is… not exactly in charge but has a vision.” [X]

Alex Turner is not satisfied with the light of the room chosen to serve as the basis for our interview. It is a small and cozy hipster hotel in the neighborhood of Los Feliz, in Los Angeles, of those who are above a cafe with tables occupied by young people on the computer and without queues at the cash registers that do not accept cash payment. The leader of Arctic Monkeys, the largest rock band to leave the United Kingdom in the last 20 years, moves the switches until he finds the perfect balance of luminosity. "Is that okay with you?" he asks, but doesn't seem to care much about the answer. Turner likes to have full control over his environment. "Where do you want to sit? Here will be the best place, right?" he asks, with coffee in his hand, already standing in front of a small beige table below the lamp that insisted on not releasing the proper light. Shy to the point of never completing an entire sentence, as if the mouth did not accompany his fast brain, Turner is fully aware of his obsession with control and attention to detail, something that has become greater in recent years ahead of the band. [X]

Have intense conversational focus on subjects that interest you, combined with a minimal interest to engage in conversation on other topics.

This interview (2:08 - end) where he kept talking about wrestling (+finger flicking) while the interviewer kept trying to steer the conversation back to the question.

This TBHC moment where he got excited about something Zane said.

May speak in a monotone, with an accent, in a very proper and formal way or not at all.

I’m very excited. I want to just… y’know, jump up and down on the bed :|

Zane Lowe bullying his “nice one”

Making repetitive body movements, such as hand clapping, hand flapping or rocking, making noises, or frequently clearing the throat, also known as stimming.

Hair + Head/Neck hold

Rocking

His shoulder tappy thing + the shoulder hug thing he does when he’s nervous like when he met Julian Casablancas

Eyes

Jaw

Fingers + finger biting + finger biting (gay)

Arm rub

Legs

The Car 

Prefer hanging around on your own, rather than joining in with others.

“I like to feel foreign, alone. That said, I probably live far too much inside my head, it would be good for me to have more relationships with real people.” [X]

There are fan stories about them seeing him eating alone at like 2am or something but those don’t count everyone does that

Anxiety in social settings

“[very long pause] I just don’t wanna get it wrong in front of everybody” (when asked about his favourite dessert)

Him apologising for calling Batman’s butler Albert instead of Alfred (I lost it ): ) (update: [X] thanks slippy)

His ipod suddenly playing T-Rex

“It’s gonna be alright…”

…The next day, Turner sends me an apologetic email. “I sat myself too far away from my internal cue cards and few sentences made it to the finish line,” he admits. [X]

I would fire a question at them and Miles would respond at length while Alex would emit, perhaps, a tiny smile and draw back a little further in his chair. If you address a question directly to Alex he clams up. If you ignore him then, bit by bit, he comes back because Alex clearly thinks Miles is amazing. [X]

"I was racking me brain for this," he admits in his undimmed Northern accent, holding up a little piece of paper covered in hand-scratched recollections. (Mistaking the hotel lunch menu for his notes at one point, he even cracks a self-deprecating joke; Tuscan kale, he knows, is not the answer we came for.) [X]

Ability to “hyper-focus” on work or a specific interest

“I’d just gotten obsessed with cardboard.” (not a great example but it’s funny)

Experiencing emotions more intensely than others

- “He just feels a bit…. I don’t know… Fragile”

Often accused of being rude or blunt.

no need for example 

May have perfectionism in certain areas.

Find that others don’t understand how you are feeling and say that “it is hard to know what you are thinking”.

I can’t find a good example for these two, but it’s been mentioned before.

Masking, where specific behaviours are consciously or unconsciously concealed to fit into social norms or to avoid negative responses from others.

"You know how Shakira's hips don't lie? Well mine are incredibly good liars. A mask if you like." (I looked everywhere for the video I had it saved a few years ago but I can’t find it)

Echolalia and vocal stims

“Stupid slow dirty PC” & “The year is 1965” [X]

“Ipswich”

“In the big room”

“Spectrum section spectrum” (was not a stutter, he just liked those words together)[X]

Stealing peoples accents and mannerisms

Andy: “…he soaks accents up a lot, ‘cause when he started hanging around with Miles quite a lot, he started to get a bit of a Scouse twinge to his accent.” [X]

His Americanish accent in that SIAS interview (I can’t find it, but he says the word “pretty” in an American accent)

Dino hands: This unique posture, colloquially known as "autistic T-Rex arms," is commonly observed among autistic individuals.

Dino hand compilation

While not every neurodivergent person reports high justice sensitivity, and many people with high justice sensitivity are not autistic or ADHD, this can be an autistic or ADHD trait.

The Green Book: Everyday Guide to Saving The Planet [you can also spot “The Abortion” and “Natural cures and gentle medicines”]

Recycling (4:00)

Telling the interviewer that it’s wrong to say “The Gays” [X] (5:06)

“I once stole a ‘Dip Dap’. I walked out of the shop immersed in thought and when I came to the next crossing, while I was enjoying my lolly, I suddenly realised that I hadn’t paid for it. So I walked back to the shop and kindly paid for it.” [X]

May struggle with eye-contact (either too little or too much)

“Alex Turner on the other hand is an inveterate fiddler with keys or phone while he talks. Otherwise he has the slightly unnverving habit of staring at you unblinkingly with his dark brown eyes, like a curious young horse.” [X]

Some autistic individuals struggle with being on time

“Matt: He's always late. He's like clockwork in his lateness. Yesterday in Southhampton, the bus was picking us up at half 12 at the hotel to go to the venue, and [tour manager] Timm phoned him, goes, 'Al, where are you? The bus is here.' Everybody knew what time they had to be down there. He said, 'I'm watching Danger Mouse'. He was still in bed.” [X]

Obsessive interests

Whatever show he's currently watching (The Sopranos, The Wire, Breaking Bad, True Detective etc…): “[Staring] Sorry, I’m just thinking about True Detective” [X] (17:53)

Space

Films (maybe this interview the most) + this clip “Man, Alex was really into this whole sci-fi thing, Man…” [X]

etc…

Zoning out/taking a long time to think

“Well, everything has changed. [2 minutes of silence while you can almost hear a movie playing in his head] …” [X]

Cluedo Enthusiast interview!

Distracted Compilation

Zoning out compilation

People describing him:

‘With Alex, I knew this was someone unconventional, a little bit different, with a brightness and a cleverness that would serve him well. He had a very original sense of humour, as you'd expect, but he was always quite reserved. I remember giving a class a bollocking once, and he was sitting there like Gromit from Wallace and Gromit – mute, but with these incredibly expressive raised eyebrows, as if he was saying sarcastically: "Ooooh – we've really cocked it up now."’

Alex was never particularly vocal, but you could sense when some pieces of poetry moved him. [X]

I think one of the Gallaghers called him a weird guy but he likes him or smt it was a tweet (update: “Strange little chap but I like him” [X])

“…In fact I began to think that Alex (Turner) might be in touch with them (aliens) in some way, the way he works on his lyrics. If there was a line to hone or edit he’d step outside without paper or a pen, stare at the horizon for a few seconds, then walk right back in and deliver some majestic new couplet. Seeing him conjure these lines from nothing I wonder if he’s not at least part extraterrestrial himself.” - Josh Homme 

Other:

Doesn’t like hearing himself

“And yet, in person, Turner, a man acclaimed as the voice of his generation, is surprisingly tongue-tied. “Where am I going with this? Uh… I… Yeah… No… I’m sorry, I’ve completely lost it,” he says at one point. “I just hear myself talking sometimes and I’m like bleurgh!” [X]

Taking off Headphones Compilation

Characters/embodiment autism

How he changes looks, haircuts, voices, accents etc depending on where he is in his life at a specific moment. 

This Compilation

Twitchy Compilation + him twitching when his phone rings here

Taratata

how hes weird in fan photos idk (not that he’s always weird but yknow)

The one instagram post where the fan asked him to smile and said it didn’t work out (I can’t find it they were skiing and she was a waitress) all i have is this:

I think in the last gif they said he was shy (and smelled like cigarettes)

well he’s terrible at faking a smile in general:

stupid smile compilation

Something about change? He’s been wearing the same clothes until they’re worn out and he always uses that brown bag. I dunno he seems like he loves change but I don’t know him and it’s none of my business (I’m aware of how ironic it is that I’m saying this at the end of this post)

For more stuff on this topic just visit my featured tag thingy.

This post is sponsored by this ask

[jayflrt]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 34. in too deep

WHEN YOON JEONGHAN TAPPED JAY'S SHOULDER, HIS BRAIN WAS TOO MUDDLED TO EVEN THINK PROPERLY.

He underestimated how casual the gesture of tapping someone to get their attention was, and it was evident when he was looking back at Jeonghan with a confused gaze. Jay had spent the entire day freaking out over whether he was going to get a seat in the Order, and now that he was face-to-face with one of their members, he couldn't even grasp that he was being offered a spot.

Jay was in the middle of reading your frantic texts about getting a seat from Sungjin, sitting at an empty booth in the library so that he could charge his laptop. The very thought of Sunghoon being left behind had him so baffled that he could only gawk at Jeonghan for a few seconds. The senior only seemed amused, hardly even realizing that Jay had far more weighing on his mind than being tapped.

"Congratulations, Jay," Jeonghan said with a broad grin stretching across his face, "welcome to the Order."

Every word he could have used to finish his sentence died on Jay's tongue, and instead he croaked out, "I—huh?"

"Yeah, I'm not sure how else to dumb it down for you."

He wasn't sure what snapped him back into reality—maybe it was the whistle of the wind in his ear, or perhaps it was the fear that Jeonghan must have thought he was a crazy person—but Jay immediately straightened up and let out a forced cough.

"Sorry," he got out immediately. "Thanks. I just thought—"

"That you wouldn't get in?" Jeonghan finished for him. "Yeah, I thought so, too. We were debating between you and Kazuha for nearly an hour. It took a lot of manipulation to convince them that Kazuha wasn't the right choice."

The corner of Jay's mouth picked up in a grin. "Manipulation?"

"Let's just keep that between us." Jeonghan gave him a wry smile and handed over a thin, black folder with a few sheets of papers tucked neatly inside. "You can open that later. It's just a welcome letter and a notice about sending us details so we can coordinate your initiation night."

"Huh..." Jay trailed off; his mind was still stuck on his bid rather than the folder in his hands. "I didn't think I'd get in after that interview."

"Are you kidding? They loved your answers, especially when you said you'd punch Sunghoon."

"But—I didn't even know the answer to whatever seven-eight-six meant, though."

"That's the whole point," Jeonghan said. "You're not supposed to know everything! What we believe is that it's valuable to admit that there are answers you haven't found yet, but you also did your best to draw a conclusion with the little information you had."

"So... what does it mean?"

"We don't know."

"What?"

"We don't know," he echoed with a shrug. "We think the founder chose it to represent us because he claimed to have decided eighteen of the characters on the Kryptos sculpture himself—on top of the ones that're already deciphered."

"Interesting," Jay replied with an inquisitive hum. He then gave Jeonghan a strange look. "Are you supposed to be telling me this, by the way?"

"Sungjin didn't want us talking with you guys too much, actually. We're supposed to just tap you on the shoulder, hand you the file, and leave." He scratched the back of his neck aimlessly. "I have to stay on campus until my next class, though, so I don't really have anywhere else to go."

"If they ask, I'll let them know that you were very, very mysterious."

"See? I told them that was what the Order needed: loyalty."

Jay felt his stomach twist. He was probably the worst example of that, but seeing that Jeonghan held him in such high regard, he couldn't bring himself to object. Instead, he brushed off the senior's words with a shy grin.

Jeonghan continued, "I swear, they were deliberating for so long that I—"

"Jeonghan—wait, Jay?"

To Jay's relief, you walked up behind his table, looking between the two men several times before you seemed to piece together what was going on. The determination that had darkened your eyes seconds prior started to melt away.

"You got a seat?" you breathed out, and before Jay could nod, you were shooing him further down the cushioned bench so that you could sit next to him. Your gaze immediately landed on the black folder in Jay's hands. "Oh!"

There was an awkward pause. You looked up at him for a brief moment, and it looked like you had a lot more to say instead of opening and closing your mouth over and over again. Jay's throat felt tight. Your sideways look at Jeonghan made Jay wonder what your true reaction would've been if you two were alone.

Since you clearly hadn't anchored yourself back into reality, Jay slapped his folder onto the table to take Jeonghan's attention away from how distracted you had gotten.

"What? You didn't think I'd make it in or something?" he teased you, although he was quite aware that that wasn't your intention.

"No," you insisted with a scoff, kicking Jay's shin under the table.

Jay hissed through his teeth, nudging your leg back with his shoe. Unbeknownst to Jeonghan, you two were in an intense battle of trying to kick the other; your attempts were always stronger than his.

"Oh, that's fucked up," Jeonghan joined in, leaning forward onto his elbows. "Were you hoping someone else would get in over Jay?"

He rolled his eyes, realizing that Jeonghan was just hungry for a morsel of gossip. However, anticipation was swirling in Jay's chest as he prepared himself for whatever your answer would be. After your text about Sunghoon's situation, he wouldn't have been surprised if you were more concerned about your ex-boyfriend.

You huffed. "No, I think Jay deserves it out of anyone who interviewed."

His heartbeat was somehow quicker. More intense. Jay couldn't understand why your words left little electric currents running under his skin, but he was just grateful that you couldn't see how much of a mess his head was.

"But what the hell, Jeonghan?" you continued, sharper. "Why did Sungjin give me his seat?"

Jeonghan let out a dry laugh before shaking his head. "Can't give you our reasonings."

"Weren't you just talking about mine?" Jay cut in since he was equally curious about where Sunghoon's predicament was going.

"Well, that's—" The senior cut himself off and screwed up his eyes as he processed his next words. "Okay, you're technically right, but I gave you my seat, Jay. I didn't give Y/N my seat, so I can't tell her why she was chosen by Sungjin."

You and Jay stared blankly at Jeonghan for a moment, who was slowly losing his resolve to keep quiet.

"Okay, fine." Jeonghan sighed heavily. "Tell anyone about this, though, and you two won't be having a fun initiation process." As Jay swallowed thickly at the thought of being hazed, Jeonghan leaned over the table and lowered his voice to say, "I don't know much because we don't really question Number One, but he just said that he didn't want to extend his seat to his brother anymore. Something about wanting Sunghoon to make it on his own."

Jay frowned. "Number One?"

"That's what we call our president," he replied. "Only the members of the Order know about Number One's identity for the duration of their office."

"You're really a loudmouth, Jeonghan," you sneered.

Jeonghan held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Then did Sunghoon get a seat or not?" Jay asked. "He had to have gotten a tap, right? It'd be ridiculous if he didn't."

Jeonghan only shrugged in response. "The finalized list of our new members will be emailed out tonight. You'll find out then."

You and Jay exchanged uneasy looks. Waiting to hear back from Sunghoon appeared to be their only option, and it only made Jay feel more at war with his head and heart.

For one, Sunghoon was a crucial part of the mission. Something happening to him would definitely affect you, and although that made Jay feel a twinge of bitterness, he recognized that you two had a previous connection that he couldn't get between.

On the other hand, he felt that he was in too deep—so deep that he wasn't sure how he would pull himself out when this was all over. Jay remembered it every time he turned white-knuckled when he would text his client; every time he laughed around Heeseung; every time he had to take a few seconds for his rage to simmer around Sunghoon; and every time he looked into your eyes and felt some semblance of peace.

And it made him feel terrified.

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SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

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[russellsppttemplates]

I don't think you'll ever have to find out (Carlos Sainz)

The lack of contract for next season has been pushing Carlos to extremes and friends and family have noticed it

Note: english is not my first language. First Carlos big piece 🫶 I hope you enjoy reading it 😊

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions some anxiety and burnout symptoms

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

"Hmmmm", you hummed as you felt the mattress move a little before the warm sheets approached your body instead of the warm body that laid under them before.

"Shh, it's just me, cariño", Carlos lulled you, "go back to sleep, it's still early", he kissed your forehead softly as the tucked you in properly.

"Where are you going since it's still early then?", you wondered groggily, "I'm going for a run, I'll be back to have breakfast with you, okay? I love you", he kissed your forehead again before he grabbed his workout clothes and stepped into the ensuite.

When you woke up a few hours later, you could hear water running from the shower, assuming Carlos had got back from his run.

Opening the windows and pulling the sheets to the end of the bed so the whole room could air out, you put on your slippers and one of your boyfriend's hoodies, heading downstairs to start on breakfast. After a quick look at the meal plan left by his trainer, you retrieved the ingredients from the pantry and fridge, toasting, whisking and flipping what you needed to when you heard footsteps joining you on the kitchen.

"Good morning, beautiful", Carlos said as he hugged you from your back, his lips kissing under your ear softly before he looked at what you were making, "smells nice", he murmured before you turned your head slightly so you could kiss his cheek.

"Here you go", you smiled as you handed Carlos the plates to carry to the table while you carried your drinks.

"Gracias, my love", he smiled back as he sat down, taking a sip from his mug and starting light conversation between you two.

"I need to go to the school to get some forms from the secretariat service and some of the kids' tests I forgot to bring home", you began telling him your plans for the day, "I'll mark them when I get home, but we might have some time to spend together in the afternoon".

"I have a meeting with my engineers to analyse data and then I have a sponsor event as well, I have to go there, give an interview and hang around for a bit - I think I'm going to be home for dinner though", he explained his schedule, "but you can use the office, don't worry", he smiled, kissing the top of your head once he finished eating, taking both plates with him back to the kitchen.

"I love you, handsome, have a good day!", you said, kissing his lips once you left the house, knowing he wasn't going to be there when you arrived back from school.

The secretariat services were quicker than usual in getting you the paperwork you needed so you were able to go to your classroom next. As you were making sure everything was in place and none of the kids had left anything out during the holidays, you looked for the tests.

"Hi, Y/N! What are you doing here?", your colleague from the classroom next to yours wondered after she announced her presence with a light knock on your door.

"Hello! I could ask you the same thing, hm?", you chuckled, "I left the tests here and they're not going to mark themselves", you waved the folder in your hand.

"Carlos isn't racing this week?", she asked. You had been classroom buddies for over five years so you had gotten to know eachother pretty well and felt comfortable enough around eachother to ask such questions.

"No, he's racing next weekend though, I'm flying out to see him and then flying back in a hurry so I can teach without taking many days off", you offered.

"Sounds good then! Good luck with all of those, my little ones had some trouble with these last tests, I must say", she added.

"I haven't even looked at them properly to be honest, but I'm sure they did their best", you recalled, waving at her as she said goodbye before putting everything you needed in your bag and leaving as well.

When you arrived back home, you walked straight to the office, arranging your desk in a way that your organisation system worked: to be marked, marked, and the double checked tests, along with space for you laptop so you could insert the data straight on the platform.

The pause you had for lunch was spent on the balcony, soaking up the sun rays while you ate and allowed your mind to escape the math problems and the water cycle drawings your little ones made.

It started when you were a teenager and wanted to earn a little extra money, wanting to buy things yourself and the small independence that came with it, so you started offering help to your neighbours' kids with their homework in exchange of a small amount of money. Over the years, it got a little more serious and grew outside of your neighbourhood because you enjoyed it so much and the kids and their parents loved the work you did, and when it to came to choosing a career you'd see yourself working in happily, teaching little ones sounded perfect. Years later, it still brought a smile to your face every single day.

You were measuring the rice quantity for you and Carlos when he arrived, "cariño, are you in the kitchen?", you heard him ask once he shut the door.

"Yes, my love, just getting dinner ready", you called back, washing your hands once you were done while he stepped closer to you. Drying your hands on a kitchen towell, you left it on the counter once your boyfriend joined you in the room, "did you have a good day?", you mumbled against his lips before stealing a big kiss from him.

"It was good, did what needed to be done, and you? Are your little geniuses getting good grades this term?", he smiled, lacing his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

"They did so well! I'm so proud of them, they barely had any spelling mistakes and they drew these pretty drawings on the side - I have to show you, come look!", you pulled his hand to follow you to the office, feeling his tiredness in his movements and stalling, "I can show you later - how about a cuddle in the sofa while dinner cooks?", you suggested as you noticed him nod, "sounds nice", he kissed your hand as you pulled him to the living room, letting you rest your body against his for a little bit as he told you a little more about his day.

"Sounds tiring", you mumbled, tracing random shapes on his clothed chest, "it's fine, part of the job", he shrugged as he looked at his watch, "dinner should be ready soon, no? I'll help you with the table", he kissed your forehead before you got up and sorted the meal for the two of you.

By the time you were done, cleaning up was easy and quick. Carlos suggested you retired to the bedroom early, doing your night-time routines before cuddling on the bed.

"How about a movie?", you suggested, flickering the streaming platforms to find something to watch.

"I might fall asleep in the middle of it, you won't get too mad if I do?", he smiled, kissing your cheek multiple times.

"Of course I won't be mad, love! I'd never be mad for that", you cooed, looking up at his eyes as he tried his hardest to blink the sleep away, "I'll keep the volume down and the brightness low, you sleep all you want, okay?", you checked with him, sealing your request with a kiss on his lips, "sleep well, my love".

Carlos pulled you closer to him, your scent and steady heartbeat lulling him to sleep quickly, leaving you to smile at his peaceful features when you glanced away from the screen every now and again.

.

"You look so gorgeous! My teacher was never this stylish!", Blanca said as she greeted you once you stepped inside her car, setting your bag on the seat next to yours and squeezing her shoulder as well as her mother's, "hello hello! Thank you for inviting me, I've been needing a wardrobe change now that the temperatures are warmer", you smiled as they squeezed your hand back before you put your seatbelt on.

"It's been a while since I've seen you, dear, how have you been?", Reyes asked you while her daughter drove off to the spot where they wanted to spend the afternoon shopping.

"The little ones have been keeping me busy, now that they're on school break, it's a little bit calmer", you replied.

"That's nice, you shouldn't run yourself to the point of exhaustion - no matter how much you love it, you should also take care of yourself! You and Carlos are very much alike on that - your work ethic is excellence", she winked through the rear view mirror.

You agreed with your boyfriend's mother. Both you and Carlos worked extremely hard to get to the point you were in now and sometimes you needed someone - often eachother - to pull you out of a overworking spiral.

When Blanca was trying on a dress, you and Reyes sat on the small sofa while you waited for her and conversation flowed easily like usual, "how has Carlos been? It's been a while since I've seen him too", she wondered.

"He's been working a lot - being without a contact prospect for next year has obviously had a big impact on him", you began, "to be completely honest, I worry he is overdoing it. It's meeting after meeting, then all the workouts he goes on - I'm happy he's healthy for it, but too much of something is never good, right?", you shared.

"I've noticed it, too - I wasn't just asking", she smirked softly, "but I wanted to confirm it with you, a mother's instinct is always worried for her children and maybe part of me was hoping I was just exaggerating".

"I've tried to make sure he feels all the support he has and just be there for him, but I think it's all him, pushing to be better and better", you expressed your worries.

"What do you think about us having dinner at your place? Not to invite myself - even though that's what it is-, but maybe he would feel better and more inclined for a yes? Last times I invited you two for dinner with us he said he had things planned and the plans fell through", she said.

"Sounds nice, don't worry about inviting yourselves in", you chuckled as she gently squeezed your shoulder, "I'm going to suggest it to him, thank you", you squeezed her hand.

"We should be the ones thanking you", Blanca said as she stepped out, leaving you to assume she heard some of the conversation, "you've been his safe place for so long and continue to do so no matter the conditions", she smiled, "you're making sure my very hard headed brother is looking after himself and being looked after - the love you have for eachother is all we could've wanted for Carlitos", she hugged you, "now do we think this looks nice as it is or is it borderline making me look like a cloud?", she looked at the piece of clothing on her body.

You were pulled out of sleep when you heard Carlos mumbled something incoherent, and turning to face him, the sweat on his forehead evidencing that he was probably having a nightmare.

"Amor, hey - wake up, amor, wake up", you shook him awake, "it's just a nightmare, you're okay, you're okay", you coaxed him as he opened his eyes, turning on his bedside lamp while you held onto his hand.

"I woke you up? I'm sorry", he apoligised, voice groggy as he tried to catch his breath and bring his heart rate back to normal.

"It's okay, amor", you smiled, kissing his cheek and brushing the hairs away that were stuck to his forehead, "do you want to talk about it?".

Did he want to talk about it? The nightmares that kept occurring and keeping him up, only until now they had only woken him up? They had been happening for about a month now. He would wake up all sweaty and his breathing erratic, and more often than not, he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again, so he stayed awake thinking about all the possibilities of how his employment situation would be for next year and all of the ways he could improve his performance.

"It's fine", he gulped, "let's go back to sleep, okay?", he encouraged.

You knew better than to push him at that moment, so you cuddled up to him, holding him too as you kissed his chest, "I'm right here, nothing bad is going to happen to you, I'll make sure of it", you whispered before he turned the light off, wanting to believe you so badly and to sleep without his mind running a million miles an hour.

.

It really was taking up a lot of his mind - as well as your and his family's worries - and how it was soon going to be too much if he didn't manage everything well, and after his mother's conversation with you, you knew you needed to do something.

"My love, can I talk to you for a second?", you asked as you walked inside the office, seeing his sat in the long sofa instead of at the desk, "sure, come here, cariño", he urged, tidying some of the papers and notebooks so you could sit.

"I'm not going to bat around the bush, this is going to be straight off the bat - me and your family are concerned you're running yourself harder than you should, and if you keep going at this rate, you're going to burnout soon", you tried, rubbing his thigh softly and encouraging him to really think about it.

He pondered his words for a bit, "I have to do all I'm doing, Y/N, if I stop, I'll fall behind - it's bad enough as it is", he argued.

"But it's not doing you any good, handsome, you're more tired, you barely spend time with your family, with me even", you argued back. You didn't want to play that card or make him feel like he was failing you, that wasn't the point, "you're not doing the things that bring you joy outside of your work, and it shows", you attempted again.

"I have to keep working, I can try and make more time for them, but I can't miss my workouts and these data analysis sessions", he reasoned, "there's so much at stake here and I can't miss any of it because I'm unprepared or unfit".

"Handsome, I never wanted you to stop all of a sudden - and I knew you wouldn't anyway, I know who I'm dating, believe it or not", you smiled, "all I'm saying is you need to protect yourself too, have a place to just be yourself and let loose for a bit", you grabbed his hand and brought it to your mouth, kissing his knuckles.

"I will try my best", Carlos stated, "I'm sorry if I've been neglecting you", he said and you shook your head.

"No worries, now come and help me because your parents are coming over for dinner!", you have him a cheeky smile, pulling him to the kitchen and away from work for the rest of the day.

"This had my mother's hand on it, didn't it?", he wondered.

"She told me she was worried, and I agreed - so I took matters into my own hands because we knew you wouldn't let your mother tell you half of what I told you", you pulled him to you, hugging him tight, "we love you so much, I love you so much - and things are going to work out for you, I know they will", you kissed his clothed chest before looking up at him, "we all want you to be happy at what you do and you're doing the best you can - the universe will do the rest, amor".

"What would I do without you?", Carlos asked, kissing your lips passionately.

"Lucky for you, I don't think you'll ever have to find out", you smiled.

[eu0n1a]

Pls I need more of yandere Izuku!!! I BEG OF YOU!!!! I 100% believe he is stalker material and would have that wall of pictures of you.

yandere prohero izuku breaking into your home (+more Stalking details)

your relationship seemed normal to you, he's your childhood best friend. after graduating UA and quickly rising to the top. you never escaped his mind. he misses you SO MUCH!

i mean you two have spent practically your whole lives together, and now what? nothing? he's so busy now, beating villains bloody, attending national TV interviews. if it's not the work then it's the media not giving him space to breathe. and you barely have time with all the pile of work your professors give you.

he would try his best to maintain contact with you. but everytime the messages would be hours apart. he felt you fading away and it upset him. he hasn't seen you in so long.

so he decides to visit you. issue is during his visit ...

he knows it's late at night. but something caught his eye. around the small space between the curtains and he saw YOU!

"gosh you're so cute," he thinks with heart eyes.

deciding to let himself in.

"best friends let themselves into eachother's houses, right?"

"i just want to turn off the TV, i'm doing her a favor."

taking advantage of the fact it's 3AM. passing through the white picket fence. in your backyard he opened the back door you forget to lock. Japan is one of the safest countries in the world. why lock it?

because of him. you'll learn soon.

exploring your house first, particularly your bedroom. rationalizing it by saying, "their birthday is coming up. maybe i'll find out what she likes."

of course he rationalizes every odd thing he does.

sniffing the pillows, a soft smile, whispering to himself, "mm strawberry shampoo" total lovesick idiot.

by the time, he finished learning things about you, he got to the living room. The TV radiating light on your face, everything else dark.

today was his first picture, his heart beating rapidly as he took it. gosh, how much he wanted to kiss you, hold you. you always lingered on his mind and he hates himself. hates himself for not confessing his love to you back in UA.

you could have been his. his honey, his lover. someone to dote on, someone to love, he hated how he wasn't able to caress your cheek.

but for now he had to return back home.

creating fake social media accounts. thank goodness you didn't have a private account. saving all your pictures, visiting your page whenever he could.

screenshotting pictures, making deep dives on the surroundings. who's that? he's searching up everything about the people around you in those pictures.

but he wouldn't talk to you, no. he needs to make sure he has all his facts straight about you. needs to make your reunion perfect.

instead he took pictures, videos. his phone had a whole folder dedicated to them. it was private, labeled as 'documents'. even bought a usb to upload it to his personal laptop.

pictures of you out on a walk, at a club, at home. he would dedicate his time simply staring, excusing it as "she's changed so much, i need to learn more about her".

it turned into something he couldn't help. secretly following her because 'a quirkless person must be protected. nothing will happen to them on my watch.'

familiarizing himself with you again as he opens one of his drawers. notebooks upon notebooks, all about you, from elementary to his UA years. reading through them either to give himself a good laugh or reminisce the past.

opening up a new notebook for a new era. once the pen hits the paper, he writes quickly, whispering gibberish at a rapid pace only he could understand.

(thx 4 the ask, I've literally never had one before💗)

[danielmolloyshole]

@ahubofreadersandmagicians:

Why would Daniel hate Marius? He’s already read the “forced prostitution” and “Marius de Romanus” folders from the Talamasca’s Armand file, we’ve seen them. His only response was to shame Armand for talking abt the Arun/Amadeo days and imply he was lying. Even knowing Armand was telling the truth. Daniel’s bad w/abuse victims generally and hates Armand. Sadly, I think he’ll be ok with Marius.

This got stupid long and also needs to broken into parts to try to minimize how all over the place I am so let's gooo. Friendly disclaimer that this is my opinion but I am literally trained in media analysis like this so I promise I am coming from a place of knowledge. I'm gonna start with my interpretation of Daniel's character and go from there.

RE; Daniel is bad with abuse victims

I'm assuming you are saying this because of how Daniel talks to Luis about his abuse. The way Daniel approaches this topic is, frankly, awful. Daniel is not good at it. However, he is not supportive of it. He calls Lestat out on how badly he was treating Luis, the racial dynamic (again, said in a really bad way but later we do see Lestat minimizing Luis's feelings about how he is treated as a black man so he wasn't wrong). I also think about the rent boy line, which to me was more directed as a snide remark at Luis and his assumption of what their relationship is. Not saying it wasn't also supposed to be a jab at Fake Rashid (by this point he is suspicious and annoyed and staring all the time and in general does not know what to make of him, which Daniel doesn't like), but Daniel was in active conversation with Luis and not Fake Rashid. Daniel is mean, this is not in contention. He is not a good person. But he does not ignore or get down with abuse and instead calls it out into the room, both explicitly and implied.

RE; Daniel's Past & Hating Armand

Now, what informs the fact that Daniel is such a bitch, especially when he is chasing the high of bringing out the truth? Working under the assumption of my previous post, Devil's Minion has happened. The evidence of such is, in my opinion, scattered throughout both seasons and would be a whole other post to detail. This, in my opinion, is supported by comments made by the actors and show runners that imply they have purposefully planted seeds. All I have to work with in terms of analysis right now is the book and these seeds and my last post stated that we are treating the Devil's Minion chapter as canon up until Daniel's turning, at which point Armand would have erased his memories. This implies that from 1973 until 1985, the ages of 20 and 35, Daniel's memories are incomplete. Imagine your most developmental years as an adult are now so full of holes that you wrote a memoir about how inconsistent your memory is. Your first love, your first heartbreak, the first time you debased yourself for someone's love, the first time you really fucked up with someone, countless mistakes now altered. Any self-actualization that would have made Daniel a better person is now incomplete. This includes the memory of Daniel fucking a girl with a bag on her head. It is a shameful memory, that's why Armand brings it out, but as a twenty year-old shitty kid from Modesto, Daniel might not have fully conceptualized how ashamed he is of it until it is used as weapon against him. Assuming the memories begin to return next season, either in partial or in full, this would mean that Daniel would suddenly have a much fuller context of his trauma and why he does what he does. Eric Bogosian mentioned in an interview that both he and Daniel have forgotten trauma and I do not believe San Francisco is the end of that trauma. A relationship as volatile as Armand and Daniel's, influenced by drugs and blood and danger, would hold just as much trauma if not more than the six days spent in that apartment. Bogosian went on to say that those traumas influence how someone acts and interacts without even being aware of it. I believe a lot of the development we're gonna see in Daniel is him reconciling the mean, tear-it-all-down journalist with the man he was at the height of his affair with Armand. We've already seen heightened emotion from his Paris memory (another tangent but I do not believe Alice is Armand but rather that this specific memory was altered. Daniel cares a lot less about the memory of Alice telling him she's pregnant so the inconsistency is odd).  Daniel is going to need character development moving forward. Does this mean he's going to stop being an asshole? No. He's still an asshole. I just think he'll be a different kind of asshole.

RE; Daniel Shaming Armand

I don't interpret that Arun/Amadeo line as shaming him, exactly. Asking where the lies start, implying the Arun dynamic was something of a sham (master when it's hot and convenient, etc), yeah. He's in the throes of bringing down the castle of lies, he's gotten his hit, he's basically high on exposing the truth. To me, especially given how he looks at Armand while he's on the floor, I don't think Daniel hates Armand. In book canon, it's said that he could only feel ravening desire and it is my opinion that that remains true. Daniel was gloating until the high wore off and then he was at the very least incredibly shook and definitely not making a move to rub it in Armand's face that he won.

RE; Daniel hating Marius

The show has set Marius up to be a pedophilic groomer. I don't even know if grooming was a widely-used term in the seventies but they dropped it in there and modern sensibilities make that very purposeful writing. Daniel, as stated before, does call out abusive behavior. Is he doing it in a way that reduces harm? Fuck no. Is he hurting everyone in the way he does it? Absolutely. But he has shown no evidence of being supportive of abusers and Marius has been set up explicitly as an abuser.

RE; Conclusion

Daniel Molloy is not a good person but he is not an abuser and there is no evidence that suggests he would love Marius or be in any way supportive of his actions. This is true in particular with Armand, since it is now well-established that they will have a romantic relationship in the future.

[covetyou]

some good friend - pt. 1

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3

pairing: Tim Rockford x Soft Dom!Sex Worker!f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: pegging, anal fingering, praise kink, mild glove kink, very mild feminization, masturbation, Tim has body image issues and a bit of an identity crisis, kind of coming untouched, sex work, comfort word count: 7k summary: Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it. And it made him nervous.

A/N: finally, my boy Tim sees the light of day. I've been working on this for a while, and it's been nice to try something a little different. I hope you like it (and someone, anyone, please, stop me from making this a 3 part series too late, it's going to be a series)

divider by @saradika-graphics follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

Everything burns. His lungs, his legs, his goddamned feet.

He wasn't made for this. Not any more. His fucking shoes definitely weren't made for this - a fact made more and more obvious with every harsh, sharp, slap of his soles against the ground. Gone were the days of intense foot chases. They'd long since been replaced with hours spent at his desk, in interview rooms, searching the stacks in the archive room. The only saving grace was at the very least he was accustomed to low light - the dimly lit rooms he frequented coming in handy now as he thuds along in the semi-darkness, chasing after someone who is more shadow than man.

The drizzle of a cold October day certainly isn't helping either. He's coated in a fine mist of rain and soaked through to the marrow. His shoes - these fucking shoes - skid on the wet road, threatening injury with each turn of a corner. Every intake of breath blooms pain in his chest, each gasp seeming to draw in more water than air. That is, of course, if the biting chill of the wind doesn't swipe it all out of his mouth first.

He's drowning. Drowning and suffocating and burning all in one, but he can't stop. He can't will his legs to stop, even through the burn. Stopping means he loses, and he cannot lose. Not again. Not with this case.

But then, he turns a corner and the shadow is gone, faded into the darkness of an unlit alley, and out of his grasp once again.

Shit.

The ache is settled well into his bones by the time he gets home in the early hours of the morning. His tie sits damp in his jacket pocket - discarded at the roadside in a fit of rage and stomped into the wet ground, only to be picked up and pocketed a moment later. He liked that tie. His holsters tug uncomfortably at his shoulders, the twist of his body as he was running having shifted them to where they now pinch uncomfortably at his underarms. He can't wait to discard it all, to take off the whole damn lot - and these fucking shoes - and pretend for just one moment that he's not who he is.

So, he begins to shed the skin of Detective Tim Rockford.

The shoes go first. The jacket second. And then he removes his gun, stashing it in its case where it belongs and throwing his holster at his closet, where he'll no doubt struggle to find it again tomorrow. The burning sear of a shower is the last thing left to rid himself of the title that hangs over him, but instead he walks to his office. He needs to be Detective for just a moment longer.

It's tidier and more comfortable in here than it has any right to be. Dark wood, soft leather, neat folders, and blank papers. Of course, it's neat because he's rarely here to use it, preferring to use the space given to him downtown where a plaque sits on his desk telling all and sundry that Detective Tim Rockford works here. Here, in this room, he can be a little less Detective and a little more him.

He flops heavily into his chair, a move he immediately regrets when he feels the relief of taking the weight off his feet. How he'll ever get up from here, he doesn't know. Maybe he'll sleep here. Halfway between Detective and himself, stuck in some weird limbo where he is both and neither all at once. That'll lead to some good dreams.

Tim thinks of you. This was the place for that kind of thing, after all. This office where he is himself and someone else, the perfect parts of a person to be liaising with someone like you. Because that's what it was with you, a liaison. Nothing more, nothing less. And you, everything that you were, were his last chance for some good news before he peeled back the rest of the Detective and became himself for a few blissful hours.

Pulling a card from a drawer, he flips it in his fingers once, then twice before tapping it on his desk. You'd given it to him on his last visit - your address and number emblazoned on the front, both things he no longer needed to see to know, and a small list of services on the other side. Services that he ignored when you'd first pointed them out to him with a wink, but that he'd since spent a long time mulling over and, on occasion, searching in an incognito window of his browser.

With a heavy sigh, he picks up the phone, dialing your number from memory, and waits for you to pick up. Anyone else would be furious with a 4am phonecall, but not you. For a while he thought it was what suited your work best - common sense, and his years on the job, had taught him that illicit activities so often were better suited to darkness than daylight. But he'd seen clients leave your studio in the middle of the day on more than one occasion. No, by this point he simply suspected you didn't sleep at all.

A click of the call connecting, a soft breath down through the line, and there you are, the lilt of your voice ringing through his ear like music.

"Detective Rockford, how nice of you to call. What can I interest you in this fine morning?"

He pinches his nose, card still gripped tightly between his middle fingers. You did this every time, no matter the time of day or night. You were always on, always ready to try to rile him and get into his bloodstream. He'd admonished you once, told you he was only trying to do his job and he expected you to do the same. When you told him you were doing your job, Tim had to admit you got him there. You were both professionals, just in very, very different ways. From then on, he'd learned to appreciate it. Even if it did make him ache sometimes in ways he thought best to ignore.

"You got any news for me?"

You scoff down the phone. A light sound, but he can picture you rolling your eyes with it anyway. "Always so charming, Detective. Diving straight in without any foreplay at all. You can do better than that. Sweeten me up a little before you -"

"Please."

He sounds desperate in a way you haven't heard before. A year into your arrangement and he'd never sounded so bone tired and stressed out. You can even hear the pinch in his brow over the phone, the wrinkles there getting deeper and deeper the longer you knew him.

"It's been quiet, Detective. I doubt I have the names you're after, but a few whispers have been floating around. The case with the cat still causing you problems?"

From the heavy sigh he gives you can tell it's not what he was after, but that it is, indeed, still causing him problems.

"Well, I heard that..."

And so, you divulge your secrets, secrets that aren't really yours to have or to give, but you give them anyway. Whispers and names softly delivered down the phone line where he scribbles them down on a blank sheet of paper, careful not to indent the pages below it.

The pen clatters to the desk when you finish. You both know you haven't given him what he needs, but if Tim's honest with himself he isn't always sure what he needs from you any more. Though, he knows what he wants. Yes, he's frequently made painfully aware of what he wants.

"Anything you need?" he asks, his voice sounding tight with frustration. You can't blame him any more than you can hold back the laugh that trickles from your lips.

"Nothing right now. Here I was thinking that was my line anyway, Detective. The things I could do for you, if you'd let me."

Tim's eyes are drawn to the card again, now face up on the desk beside the scrawl of information you'd just given him. Truth be told, your services are as emblazoned in his mind as the details on the front of the card. Sometimes, like right now, he could barely get that list out of his mind long enough to think straight.

That's the moment when, after a long day at the end of an even longer week, part Detective but part just him, he gives in to what he's been fighting himself for for almost a year, and clears his throat.

"Like what? What... what exactly could you do for me?"

You're caught between surprise and glee, briefly straightening where you lounge in your chair. Softening back into the plush fabric, you dance a finger across your lower lip, wry smile tugging at your mouth as you think of the very many things you could do for him.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I thought you'd never ask."

Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it.

And it made him nervous.

He was in half a mind to walk away, but it was too late. His knuckles had already rapped against the wood, and you were already flicking the latch on the other side, readying to let him in.

When you do he's stunned, just like he always is when he sees you. This time you're half naked, a thin robe draped over your shoulders and left untied at the front. Beneath it you're wrapped in soft mesh lingerie, your nipples visible through the fabric as you beckon him inside.

The space - your studio - was a simple office unit in an undesirable part of town, but you made it work. As funny as it felt to admit, it was familiar to him now, and there was a comfort in that that was already easing the swell of nerves in his body. It wasn't always this way, of course, that first visit being eye opening both figuratively and literally. Furniture and furnishings that were odd were now somewhat normal, and the soft, rich, scent that permeated the room was one that he now associated only with you and this place you existed within. It was a smell too, he notices, that is so much stronger today than it has ever been on any of his previous visits, and he breathes in deeply, both to savor it and to calm the last of the nerves vibrating in his core.

When you shut the door, closing off the world outside, you stand before him again, looking a picture of sultry confidence as you size him up. This wasn't something that was new. You often stood there, letting your gaze wander up and down his body, lingering in places that made him flush red as you taunted him with flirty quips he'd ignore. This time is no different, and he finds himself mesmerized by the way you toy with the ties on your robe as you eye him, fingers gliding up and down the fabric.

"Are you here on your business, or mine, Detective?" you say with a smile, drawing his gaze from your fingers to your face. It was a long running joke, something you said each and every time he visited you here, despite the answer always being the same. But today, finally, it would be different.

Tim rolls his eyes, just as he always does, but instead of replying with a curt mine, he lets a smile pull at his lips instead. "Yours."

"Music to my ears. And you still want to do this? You're ready?"

You both knew that had a double meaning. In the literal physical sense, he knows he's as ready as he could possibly be. But he still takes a moment to check in with himself, to see if going through with all of it is something that he still wants. If those whispers down the phone, whispers that had quickly turned from flirty promises to guidance, to gasps, to relief, were what he still wanted. Would it be worth it, or was it a momentary blip of weakness and want? But then he remembers that relief once again, the soothing of that ache like sitting down off of pained feet, and can only imagine how much better that will feel here, with you, in this room. He's ready.

Tim nods, prompting you to take another step forward. The smell isn't the room at all, he notices. It's you. The fragrance clinging to your hair or your skin, he's not sure, but so much stronger each time you move.

"Good," you say on your slow approach. Barely a step from him you reach out, tugging on his jacket and straightening his tie before letting your palm rest on his chest. The soft stroke of your fingers does nothing to soothe the rapid hammering of the muscle pumping in his chest cavity, but you suppose it wasn't meant to. You wanted him excited and desperate for it. He'd already shown you how beautiful he could be for you over the phone - all whines and whimpers and yes ma'am's. Now you wanted the real thing.

"Why don't you get all of this off for me."

Before now, Tim had wondered how you started these things - how you went from 0 to seemingly 100 with clients to get them in through the door and out in the allotted time frame. He hadn't expected it to be so quick, or so easy. Maybe he just hadn't expected himself to be so quick, or so easy, but he's tugging at his tie before you even move away to settle against your desk with your ankles crossed.

"That's it, Detective," you prompt, letting your robe slip from your shoulders and pool at your elbows as he stuffs the tie into his pocket. "I want to see all of you."

And he wants you to see all of him. He wants to take off everything that makes him Detective Tim Rockford right in front of you, and have you take control, tell him what to do, make his mind blissfully empty. So, first he kicks off his shoes, then he takes off his jacket. Slowly, his shirt is peeled from his body, the nerves racketing up again with each button. He doesn't look how he did 10 years ago, he was less lean and more soft than he had ever been, the middle aged spread proving to be a fact of life he couldn't escape.

You know what he's thinking as his fingers stall on the last few buttons of his shirt. You'd dealt with these insecurities before, in countless other clients. You weren't immune to similar thoughts either. But, he'd told you he wanted to let go, to give up control with you, so you nod to the remainder of his clothes and prompt again.

"Come now. Let me see."

Tim's fingers work quickly over the last buttons and pull the shirt from his broad frame just as quickly, giving no time for the nerves to take root. You voice the sound of your smile the moment his shirt is discarded and he looks up to see your appraisal. Each button had drawn your eyes down his chest, to the soft swell of his belly, and further still to the growing bulge in the front of his pants. Tall and broad and beautiful, the mass of man in front of you had the power to catch your eye even fully clothed, but now, shirtless with the promise of more on the horizon, you couldn't ignore the thrill at seeing so much of his tanned skin, littered with freckles and a soft smattering of hair.

His belt is unbuckled and off, and his fingers are pulling open the button of his pants and his fly. He doesn't look at you again. He can't right now - if he does he'll choke up and stop himself, feeling entirely inadequate offering this body of his to you. Pushing down his pants, down past soft thighs and strong calves, he steps out of them, taking his socks with them with each step, before nervously scratching at his belly.

Only then, does he look back up at you. You're enraptured, and have already pushed back off your desk, circling him to look at every inch of his body. You'd dimmed the lights slightly, as you always did for client sessions, but even in the soft lamplight he looked stunning. Your fingers trace the swell of his bicep, across his shoulder and the jut of his shoulder blade. A shudder runs down his spine as your fingers dance across it, down to the dimples at his back and over his hip before you round him again where your fingertips rest on his soft belly and the trail of hair there.

"You've been hiding all of this from me for how long, Detective?" you whisper, letting your fingers glide down further and further with each word. "It makes me wonder what else you're hiding."

Tim's cock twitches in his boxers, the thin fabric straining more and more with each passing moment under your gaze. He'd never felt so seen, so appraised, before. The way you looked at him was so easy, the shine in your eye so bright as he peeled back each layer.

"You still want this?"

It's what he said he'd wanted. Days ago now, but he'd said he wanted it and he did. He does. He swallows thickly, desperate to get moisture back into his mouth, nodding a croak of a yes.

At that, you slide the tip of your finger into the waistband of his boxers and pull, stretching the elastic a fraction before releasing, pinging it sharply against his skin.

"Then get these off too, Detective."

His boxers are on the floor a second later, his cock springing free semi-hard between his legs. Raising your hands to your face, you gasp in faux shock, hiding your very real delight behind your hands as you take in his entire naked form.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I'm disappointed. After all this time you've been hiding that from me?" you gasp, and while Tim can't help but roll his eyes, his cock betrays him and stiffens even more at your words. You'd been through it all with him. Your services, yes, but also specifically what he wanted from you, some of which you'd discovered together on the phone that morning. This was one of those things - a thing you'd discovered on a whim, but something you both knew he would like before the words left your lips. There was a reason he was asking you for this and nobody else - Tim knew the specific brand of sordid you dealt in and, more than anything, he trusted you. Unfortunately for him, you planned on keeping exactly to your word from that call and, guiding your fingers down his bare chest, you tease closer and closer to his length.

"Tsk. Such a shame I won't be playing with it today."

Tim groans, a gasp of a thing he cuts short with a pinch of his lips. He's frowning again too, but nods, knowing that what he came here for wasn't that, but also very aware of the weight of the words you used. Not today, but not never.

Then, your robe is off and you're guiding him to the bed, where he lowers himself and leans back, watching your form as it retreats into the other room. He looks down, down at the body you'd just spent minutes looking at and enjoying, and wonders what you see that he doesn't. All he knows is he's trusted your word for as long as he's known you, and it's no different now. Whatever you see in him, you at least believe it to be true, and that alone makes it easier for him to believe himself. Before he can figure much or anything else out, you're sauntering back into the room.

In your hands you hold a few things. None of them should be surprising to him, but he still sucks in a sharp breath when he sees it - the strap you'd picked out just for him. You'd told him about it over the phone, said that you had the perfect one for him, that you could picture him beneath you taking it, moaning and shaking as you fucked him, and now there it was, exactly as you described. This was never something he felt able to ask for with anyone else, his ex-wife especially. It's true he was always married more to his job than to her, but even in the privacy of their own bedroom he had secrets and wants he could never share with her - she made that much clear early on. With you, he didn't even need to mention it first for you to suggest it to him, didn't even need to feel the heat of shame in his cheeks as he struggled to find the words for what he wanted, because there you were already with all the answers.

You settle everything beside him, letting him see the soft, slender, curve of the dildo up close for the first time, and pass him a bottle of water. Tim takes it, grateful that once again that it was another thing he didn't have to ask for, and cracks open the lid, taking a deep gulp of the cold liquid before setting it out of the way. Another day he'd wonder how it got to this - how on earth Tim Rockford got so used to suffering in silence that even thirst wasn't something he'd remedy until he was desperate. But, right now all he knows is the heat of your body and the smell of your skin as you kneel next to him on the bed, looking down at him with a smirk on your lips.

"Usually I ask people how they'd like it," you whisper, stroking gently down his neck, "but I think we both know you'd like it on your knees, Detective." You twirl your finger in the air, signalling for him to move, and like the good little thing he is, he shifts onto his hands before crawling forward slightly to perch on all fours on the bed.

You think he looks glorious; he feels so exposed - entirely naked for you while you're draped in that thin mesh he can see right through. He doesn't want to think about how he looks like this, on his knees with his ass on total display, his cock hanging low and, already, starting to leak precum.

Blunt nails drag down his back, softly scraping down his ass cheeks and the backs of his thighs. He shudders. You can see his cock where it bobs between his legs, and his balls where they hang softly just beneath the cleft of his cheeks. If he were a different client, maybe you'd give in and drag your nails across the soft flesh of them too, cup them in your palm and give them a firm squeeze, but you resist. Whatever this is doing to you, you'll deal with later. For now, this is for him and that desperate man, the Detective, who had all but begged you for information down the phone.

Grabbing at the small selection of things you'd dumped next to him, you get ready. Tim watches, eager eyes looking as you pull a black nitrile glove down your hand and snap it around you wrist, wiggling your fingers at him when you spot his gaze.

"I can tell you're excited," you say with a look down to his ass where his cock bounces hard against his belly with a tense of his muscles. "You're so ready for this too, aren't you? You've been waiting so long..."

Guiding your ungloved hand down his ass, you squeeze, gripping the flesh and pulling him apart, exposing him to your gaze. "Very pretty."

Tim huffs a laugh, not believing for a second that he is pretty at all, let alone like this, or there.

"What? You don't think you're pretty, all bent over and exposed for me, Detective? I'd argue you've never looked better."

"Right. Is this how you get all your information? Your clients must tell you all sorta things, huh? Vulnerable like this."

A swift, sharp slap is delivered to his right ass cheek, making him gasp as you tut and soothe the sting with your palm. "Ah-ah, Detective, you're off the clock. No work talk. We're here on my business now, not yours."

"Fu- Never off the clock, not in my line of work."

"And that's exactly why you're here, sweetie."

"...Yes ma'am."

There's a small delighted giggle that you just can't hold back, a sound that makes him flush, before you speak again. "Polite and pretty. Are you ready for me, Detective?"

It's then he realizes that your hand hasn't stopped its slow, steady caress of his ass cheeks, pushing and pulling him apart as you watch the tension leave his shoulders. He nods, trying not to brace himself for whatever is coming first, not hearing the click of a lube bottle through the blood rushing in his ears, but definitely feeling the cool trickle of it when it drips onto his asshole.

"That's it," you say, soothing with your ungloved hand, as your gloved one comes down to stroke the pucker of his ring. "We both know you're familiar with this feeling, Detective. Are you going to let me in here?"

The wet swipe of your finger between his cheeks almost feels like it could be cool, cold tongue with how you swirl it around and around his asshole. He tries not to curl his toes, and manages not to until he can't help but beg, a small please falling softly from his plush lips, and you immediately push, sinking the tip of your finger into his ass.

Tim groans, gripping the sheets in an effort not to surge forward and away from the gentle probe of your finger.

"Make all the noise you need to, Detective."

"Fuck."

Your finger steadily sinks into him, drawing out and in to collect more lube as you drizzle it onto his hole.

"Remember how this feels?"

He remembers. Remembers the crackle of your voice over the phone line as you told him to finger his ass. How his hands had scrambled to turn on speakerphone, the other still wrapped around his cock, jerking weakly as you whispered filthy encouragement down the line. Before even that, he remembers the nights spent in his own bed, concocting his own fantasies while he fucked his fist and fingers in tandem.

Except, your fingers feel so much different from his own, can reach places his cannot, and he's groaning with his head hung low between his shoulders before you're even knuckle deep.

Curling this way and that, you feel him from the inside out. Soothing him with a hand on his back, you can feel the deep breath he takes just as the tip of your finger collides with a spot inside him he was all too familiar with, massaging back and forth until he's a groaning mess.

"Oh, well that's a pretty sound, Detective. It sounds to me like you want another."

If he closes his eyes, he can see it, see the black of your gloved hand curled into a fist as your index finger stretches his hole. He can see already as you pull out a little, unfurl another finger, and slide it next to the first, ready to push into him again.

And he takes it, letting out a shuddering gasp, as your fingers fuck into his ass once again, scissoring in him before pushing down and beginning a slow curl against that spot again.

"There. That was easy. I think someone is enjoying this quite a bit, aren't you, Detective?"

There's no denying it, he is. The feel of your hand making him want to buckle into a heap on the bed already and you'd barely even started.

"Yeah. It's - ah fuck - it's good. That's - uh - not fair."

You'd been curling and prodding against his prostate as he tried to talk, making him garble words at you as you watch his cock get more and more engorged between his thighs. "What's not fair?" you ask, with a firmer press down into the spot, and you relish in the deep gravelly moan that grumbles from his chest, forcing his elbows to drop down onto the mattress.

When his hips buck forward, you place a steadying hand on his back, stroking soothing circles with your bare fingers over the dimples in his skin whilst your gloved ones curl into the spot again and again. Part of him is longing to reach down and grab his cock, to jerk it and come all over his fist with your fingers buried in his ass, but that's not what he's here for. Each time he opens his eyes he's made aware of what he's here for by the strap that still lays next to him. If he comes too soon, he's scared that'll be it over, the relief he was really seeking from you still totally out of reach by his own failure. He couldn't, wouldn't, fail at this too.

"Just look at you, Detective. You're getting so wet already." He is. He can feel it. His cock is dripping, beads of precum collecting on his tip and threatening to make a mess of the sheets below. Nodding and groaning and squeezing his eyes shut seem to be all he can do already, feeling like a total mess of a man with your voice like honey trickling into his ear. "So good. I think you can take one more finger. That's it, just one more. Good. Good boy."

He preens, back arching with the praise, cock definitely dripping onto the sheets now, three of your fingers curling and thrusting into his ass. He throbs, the ache of arousal thrumming through him with no relief, just building and building and building with nowhere to go, because you don't let it. You control it, each press of your fingers still so achingly slow that it can make him drip and ache but never explode.

A thin sheen of sweat is coating his body, his legs shaking, forehead pressed into the cool sheets, groans falling wantonly from his mouth, by the time you gingerly pull your fingers from him. That in itself feels like a relief, he thinks. Even though he's still painfully hard at least, for one moment, he's not being worked up and up to an edge you won't quite let him over just yet.

But the strap beside him is gone when he looks up, pushing up on shaky hands to look around for you again. Now, it sits on your hips, straps pulled taught over the mesh of your lingerie. You're pulling a condom over the length of dildo, rolling it down to the base, your glove discarded somewhere he can't see. His mouth is dry again, so he reaches for the water, swallowing deeply, wiping away an errant drop from the scruff of his beard.

He can't stop looking. Between your face, your beautiful face, your scantily clad body, your hands and those fingers that had just been inside him, the cock between your legs. He's entranced. It takes a gentle hand on his shoulder for him to notice you're talking to him.

"Look at you, Detective," you hum down to him, and all he can think is Yes. Look at me. Please. Here he was, stripped bare as a man could be, seen by you in ways he'd never been seen. And that name - a taunt coming from you that he longed for rather than loathed. Each tease of Detective a reminder that with you he could be both and neither all at once, just as he always was.

He reaches for you then. Slowly. Delicately. Fingers bridging the gap between you. Usually you'd step back, move away from grasping hands when permission wasn't granted. But, you let him touch, his fingers resting on your mesh covered hip and stroking you. It's the first time he's ever touched you, and it's so soft. You're so soft.

"You're ready for it, aren't you?" you ask, your eyes lazily dragging down to the strap between your legs where his follow.

Without word, and avoiding the mess already splattered on the sheet, he moves back to all fours, his hand leaving you cold. Slicking more lube across the strap, you kneel behind him, palming his ass with both hands, rubbing soft circles down his thighs as you gently rut against the crevasse of his ass.

"Do you trust me, Detective?"

It's a stupid question - stupid because you already know the answer, and so does he.

"You're kidding, right?" he says in disbelief, looking around to see the coy smile on your face.

"Humor me."

"Of course I do."

With his eyes still on you, you press forward, hand steadying the dildo to slip the tip into his slick asshole.

"Oh. That's it. Look at me when I fuck your ass. That feels so good doesn't it?"

Tim pants, nodding as you bear forward. The strap is barely thicker than your three fingers, but his rim still stretches and pulls as you breach him, slowly, steadily, until the entire length is buried in his ass.

"There we go. That's it. I'm all the way in. You take an ass fucking so well, Detective. Are you sure you haven't done this before?" With another roll of your hips he's gasping again, dropping his face to the sheet. The heat of his thighs are against yours and you know, you just know, that his cock is straining, his balls begging to empty already.

"There we are. That's it. You can take it. Oh, good boy. You like that don't you. You like being a good boy."

With his cheek is pressed to the mattress, you can see nothing but the pinched look of ecstasy on his face. It's boiling in his veins too, the heat spreading up his back and burning his cheeks. If he opens his eyes he'll see you, looking down with intent at his ass as you slowly roll your hips into him, and the thought alone makes him groan, brings him so close to coming that he's scrambling for purchase on the bed again, desperate gasps rattling out of him. The cloying scent of you is all over him - stuck in his lungs like molasses, each deep breath in of you coinciding with each slap of your hips against his ass until desperation turns to pleading.

"Please. P-please. Fuck. Please."

"Please what?" you say, looking around at him. And that's when you see his cock, angry and weeping, splattering cum all over your sheets. You hadn't felt him come yet, there'd been no tensing of his muscles or twitching of his cock, just a steady stream of precum dripping from him like a leaky faucet. "Oh, look at that. You're making quite the mess, aren't you, sweetie? Are you going to clean that up? Hm? Or will I have to bill the city for my laundry?"

"Oh, fu-," he pants, and you feel a shiver trickle down his back at the empty threat, his palms pressing harder into the mattress beneath him as his shoulders draw back. He's going to come. You don't even need to move, you could just talk to him in that voice of yours, call him a good boy and tell him how dirty he is and he'd be gone, skyrocketing to a place he'd never been and making a glorious mess of everything.

"What was that?" You slow down the roll of your hips, drawing him back from that edge you'd been dangling him so deliciously over.

"No. No. Don't - Fuck."

"Then you'll have to clean up your mess."

You swipe your finger through the cum that has steadily dripped from his cock and onto the sheet below, and lean forward to bring it to his lips, pressing your hips further and further into his ass. There's a sticky sheen of sweat on his back that slicks you together, and you can't resist. You kiss him. Soft lips pressing into the muscle of his shoulder, waiting for that moment he parts his lips in a voiceless moan to slip your finger inside. His tongue laves around your digit, tasting himself on the salt of your skin and he groans, vibrating desperate sounds from his chest to yours as you fuck so deep he's seeing stars.

"That's it, that's a good boy," you coo, dragging your finger from his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva across the scruff of his cheek.

"It's such a shame I have no use for your cock when it looks so pretty, Detective," You say, lifting your leg to fuck more deeply into him. "Look at it, all drippy and useless. You're going to come, aren't you? Even without touching your cock, you're going to come and make even more of a mess."

"Yes. Fuck, yes. Don't stop."

The steady slap of your hips picks up, and you're panting with exertion now too. You could've had him coming in five minutes, but that was no fun for you. You'd waited too long for this not to drag it out, not to see how long he could hold off for you, how much of a desperate mess he could be before he was begging for release. This was it. His limit. You'd found it, and his groans were suddenly impossible to ignore, shooting white hot heat into your own core, making you feel slick with want as you fucked him. You need him to come, before your need for more friction clouds your brain and you need to slip your hand between your own legs before he even leaves.

"Such a pretty ass to ruin. Come for me, Detective. Oh, fuck. Come for me."

He stops breathing. He thinks he's died. He has to have. You think you've killed him. But then his whole body tenses and he groans out a sob, biting sheets and spitting them out over and over as he comes, and comes, and comes. You don't stop, each shuddering sob of a gasp spurring you on until he's milked dry and almost prone on the mattress.

"That's it. That's it. You did it. Good boy. Well done, Detective. Well done."

He feels so soft. His bones must have turned to dust and spurted out of his cock with that final thrust of the strap in his ass. He's never been this weightless, never been this carefree. There's not an ache in him, just pure bliss, and he's so relieved he could cry.

And you're there. Pulling out of him slowly, wiping down his back, his thighs, with a damp towel, cooling him before you dry him with another, bringing water to his lips for him to drink. Pushing his hair back from his forehead, you guide him onto his back, letting him lie down and take a moments rest you know the man wouldn't take any other time. You're fairly certain he doesn't sleep. Detective Rockford works too hard because he cares too much, you know that. And you also know he doesn't care for himself. That is why he's here, even if he'd never say so himself.

"Up you get, sweetie. It's cold. Let's get something on you," you're whispering to him all too soon. Tim's lost, the concept of time gone from his body entirely, but he supposes it has been too long, his time is up. He only paid for an hour of your time, and even that seemed much more valuable than the price you'd put on it. He should go.

When he sits up he's lethargic, reaching for his clothes as he shuffles to the end of the bed. He doesn't know you're holding a robe out for him, strap discarded. He doesn't see the concern in your eyes because he suddenly can't meet them. "Should get going, I guess."

"No. You shouldn't. Stay."

Tim looks up to you then, seeing you wrapped and fully covered for the first time in the year he's known you. You're no more on the job right now than he is, he realizes, blinking in confusion at the robe you toss next to him.

"Look, I've taken up enough of your time, I don't want to overstep -"

"I'm not asking you to stay as a client, Detective. I'm asking you to stay as a friend. Stay. Talk to me." And you say it because god knows you mean it. You want him to stay and you want him to talk as much as you know he needs it, that gap he'd bridged with his hand now being bridged by you, and your simple request that he stay.

"Some friend to have."

"A good friend to have, Tim.”

“- I didn't mean - I meant me, I -”

“The point still stands either way," you say. And you mean that too. "Stay."

And that's it. There he is. Stripped back, just like he wanted. No more Detective. Just Tim. And there you are. Sitting on the blanket draped sofa, looking him straight in the eye. You don't need to look down to see him, and he doesn't need to look up to see you.

Grabbing the robe, Tim drapes it around himself, walking on unsteady feet toward you, the mess of the sheets and his life forgotten for one more second.

"Decaf? Might not have all the answers. But I do have coffee. And that's a start."

"Yeah," he says as he sits beside you. "Yeah, that's a start."

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr @corazondebeskar-reads

also a little sneaky tag if you showed interest in my snippet the other day 💛 @heareball @nerdieforpedro @missredherring @survivingandenduring

[leiawritesstories]

Part 1: Velaris

Co-Written with @mariaofdoranelle

Of Hearts and Heists Masterlist

Read on AO3

Word count: 5.8k

Warnings: swearing, grumpy Rowan, icky paparazzi, blink and you miss it angsty hints oops

A/N: @mariaofdoranelle and i are so excited about this story!!! we're also kind of busy lol so this might be very randomly updated, but we're still so excited to share it with you!!

Enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four Months Earlier

Aelin blinked awake at the soft tap on her shoulder, brushing the bleariness from her eyes. She touched a button on the side of her headphones, turning off the noise-canceling feature, and moved one of the cups off of her ear, looking inquisitively up at the uniformed flight attendant standing politely beside her reclined seat. 

“We are preparing for descent, Ms. Galathynius,” the lady said softly. “I’ll need to bring your seat upright. Would you like to stay here or move into another part of the cabin?” 

“I can move, thank you.” Swinging her sleepy legs over the side of the makeshift bed, she got up, picked up her small bag and the media report her publicist left while Aelin was asleep, then moved to the other half of the private plane’s cabin. Comfortable beige leather chairs sat in clusters of four around a few tables, and she crossed over to the one where a dark-haired man around her own age was sprawled in one of the chairs, snoring softly. 

He didn’t budge when she sat down opposite him, propped her chin on her hands, and stared directly into his closed eyes. Time to work, then.

She flipped open the folder that held Elide’s report. On the first page, she’d left a Post-it note with the reminder that Aelin would meet her new bodyguard. She didn’t know anything about him, except he was highly recommended and flew from Wendlyn to temporarily replace Chaol while he was on paternity leave.

Post-it aside, Aelin knew what was inside Elide’s media report even before she opened it: a reminder of the next season of her show among a whole bunch of speculation about her love life. She wasn’t masochistic enough to Google herself and see what was being said about her, hence why her publicist always curated a sum up of what was currently being said about her, with a few headlines and hit tweets so she could have an idea of potential subjects for the next round of interviews. 

And this week’s media report? Just a big are-they-or-aren’t-they.

Because if producers invite Aelin and Dorian to co-star together, it’s obviously because they’re in a romantic relationship, it wouldn’t have to do with both of them being hard-working stars who have chemistry on screen, get along with each other and the rest of the crew off-screen, and also happen to not arrive late or throw tantrums on set.

It was another several minutes before he stirred, and Aelin prepared for it, putting her work off to stare at him with crazy eyes as he pushed the silk sleep mask off of his eyes—to her delight, he gave a little shriek. 

“Holy shit, Aelin!” 

She snickered. “Morning, princess. Have a good beauty sleep?” 

Dorian Havilliard pushed his hair away from his face with a sniff. “Since you’re clearly so invested in my well-being, yes. I did.” 

“Aww, Dor, you know how easy it is to scare you.” She caught the pencil he threw at her head. “You would have been scared when you woke up anyway, since we’ll be halfway around the world.” 

“That doesn’t scare me.” He settled his headphones around his neck. “We’ve both been in this game too long to be freaked out by a little time change, right?” 

“Right.” Aelin turned her attention to the notes on her phone. “Are we ready for tonight?” Her publicist had left her a lengthy list of instructions for that night’s launch of the teaser trailer for the new season of “Queen of Glass,” the hit Netflix series that Aelin and Dorian starred in. 

Dorian grumbled under his breath. “I guess. Wish we didn’t have to jump straight into press, but that’s just how it worked out this time.” Normally, when going to an event for their current project, they would arrive at their first stop and have a day or two to settle in, adjust to the time change, and prepare for the upcoming interviews, but their last few weeks of filming had gone later than expected, and they hadn’t been able to leave until the day before the trailer launch. 

“I know, you wanted to be able to see the sights—the landmarks, the river, the art, the men.” Aelin laughed at the guilty flush that crept up Dorian’s face. “It’s okay, you know—I have a thing for Velarian men too, I’d never judge you for it.” 

He smirked. “We can leave that to dear old Dad.” 

She barked out a sharp laugh. “It’s too bad he won’t be at this event, because you could give him all the heart attacks.” 

“About that…” 

Aelin arched one eyebrow. “Why do I sense that you’re about to ask me for one of your big favors again, Dor?” 

“I have a big favor to ask,” Dorian crooned, right on cue, snickering. 

She sighed in pretend reluctance. “What is it?” 

“Weshouldpretendtobedating.” The words spilled out of him in a single, breathless rush. He took a big gulp of breath and tried again, his fingers tapping erratically on the top of the table. “We should pretend to be dating when we give interviews.” 

“Dor, sweetheart…” Her confusion grew. “Why the hell are you saying that?” 

“I have a whole entire explanation that I should’ve given first, but of fuckin’ course I had to go and spill the conclusion.” He took a long drink from his water bottle. “You know how much of an asshole my dad gets when he’s stressed out during campaigns.” 

Aelin nodded. “Oh, I’m very aware of Asshat-in-Chief Havilliard.” 

Actually, his dad was an asshole every day of every year and managed to get worse around the elections, but Dorian was so used to the toxicity and verbal abuse that he saw it as ‘normal’.

Dorian snickered. “Well, before we left on this trip, he decided to grant me the immense favor of a two-minute phone call, and he told me quite bluntly that if I ‘do anything to screw over his campaign,’ he’d go the extra mile to ‘unscrew it’—that was a direct quote, by the way, and you know…” 

“I do,” Aelin said, softening now. Havilliard Sr. was the perfect example of how dangerous it could be to hand that much power in the hands of a jackass like him. The possibilities of what he could do to his son were endless—publicly cut him off, forbid him from seeing his mother and little brother, even sink his career with a few phone calls to high-profile executives from his golf club—and the worst thing, he had no qualms about dangling this over his own son’s head when convenient. “Sounds just like the kind of shit he would say,” Aelin agreed. “What do you need?” 

“The next thing he told me—as if it wasn’t already clear—was that if I’m too indiscreet, he’ll consider that me screwing over his campaign. So, I just need to keep him off my ass, get one hell of a solid alibi, you know? And I didn’t have any good ideas until I told Lys about Dad’s phone call.” He took another deep breath. “I’m not trying to shift the blame here—” 

“You definitely are, but I’ll ignore it,” Aelin teased. “Go on.” 

“Lys suggested that we pretend to be dating for this press tour, potentially starting as early as this event. If we’re seen in a ‘relationship,’ then all the paparazzi and tabloids will assume that we’ve been hiding it for a while, and they’ll go fucking insane trying to dig up all the little hints. They’ll get so consumed with our fake love story that they won’t pay any attention to the stuff we don’t want them to see. Plus, it will get even more engagement for the season premiere.” 

“Don’t I know that,” Aelin muttered. She tapped her nails thoughtfully on the edge of the table, thinking over Dorian’s proposal. “I want to ask for time to think about it, but…Lys is right. Damn, it’s like she knows things about this.” 

Dorian chuckled. “Almost like it’s her job, right?” 

“Who would’ve guessed?” Aelin laughed. “It’s a hell of an idea, Dor. Do you think we can actually pull it off?” 

“My beloved Elentiya,” Dorian intoned, quoting his lines from the season they had just finished filming. “My heart and soul are yours.” 

“You’re such a drama queen,” she teased. “Okay. We just have a lot to plan and discuss, but… I’ll do it.”

While she hated to indirectly support Dorian’s dad, she’d do just about anything to protect her friend.

“Thank you,” he said with a soft, grateful look—completely serious for once—and reached over to squeeze her hands.

The plane touched down as they spoke, the slight jolt of the landing causing the luggage in the overhead compartments to rattle softly. The pilot’s voice crackled to life over the speaker a moment later. “Welcome to Velaris! The local time is 14:25. We will likely be taxiing for ten to fifteen minutes, so please sit comfortably until we’ve reached our gate at the private flight terminal.” 

“Looks like we’ll have a few hours before the trailer launch,” Aelin remarked, glancing at her smart watch. 

“At least enough time to prepare while we sit in hair and makeup,” Dorian said, somewhat cynically. 

She wiggled her brows at him. “We both know your favorite part of being a famous film star is getting your hair done every day, you little diva.” 

“Guilty as charged.” He combed his fingers through his dark waves. 

The plane finally pulled into a gate and stopped, its engines rumbling down to silence as the jet bridge connected to the plane’s doors. Aelin stood up, stretching her arms above her head and wincing a little at the stiffness in her hips from eleven hours on a plane. Even the comfort of the private jet didn’t relieve the physical strain of such long travel days. 

She fished out her pair of sunglasses from her purse, but before she could descend the jet’s stairs, her assistant Manon was already talking to a man on the floor.

A man? Aelin wasn’t sure. He was the size of a French-door refrigerator, and he was probably strong enough to lift one, too. Pale blond hair, sunglasses, black ink peeking out his collar and sleeves contrasting with that Wendlyn tan.

“Darling, is our relationship open?” Dorian slid his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to get a better look. 

”Why?” she said in a teasing tone. “Last one to ride the bodyguard is a rotten egg?”

Manon, who was standing on the jet bridge, had her back to them, but she turned to give them one of her scary glares. Dorian immediately straightened, and it was only then that Aelin realized that they were both blocking the airplane door to gawk at the bodyguard.

Both hurried to descend the stairs, but Aelin went directly to her assistant—and new bodyguard—while Dorian went to Lys, probably to tell his publicist about their conversation.

The bodyguard took off his sunglasses, exposing a set of pine-green eyes. Gods, he just kept getting more attractive. 

She was in such deep shit.

“Aelin,” Manon said crisply when she was within reach. “I want you to meet the personal security officer that’ll work with us while Chaol’s out.”

He gave nothing but a curt nod, his face a blank mask.  

“I’m Aelin,” she offered.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Galathynius.”

“Do you have a name, or should I just snap my fingers at you?” She couldn’t resist a teasing grin, or the analytical up-and-down stare, watching as his jaw clenched. 

“Whitethorn. Rowan Whitethorn.” 

Rowan Whitethorn—stern, blazing green eyes, muscles for days, and tattoos that made her wonder how far they went. They curled down to the fingertips of his right hand and up part of his neck, only highlighting his…god, he was hot. An annoyed scowl crossed his stupidly handsome face. So far, his personality was the only unattractive thing about him, and his grumpy ass would stick out like a sore thumb among her team’s friendly environment.

”We treat each other on a first-name basis on my team, are you okay with this?”

He nodded. “Of course, ma’am.”

His automatic, almost robotic reply brought a slow smirk to her lips. “Let’s practice, then. Call me Aelin.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, barely concealing his irritation, and kept strong eye contact as he said, “Very well, Aelin.”

“And I’m Dorian,” the annoying pain in her ass she called a best friend and co-star cut in.

Aelin sighed. “He’s—“

”The boyfriend,” he interrupted again, this time sliding his hands around her waist. “A very possessive one, too.” 

“Dorian,” Aelin sighed. “We agreed not to tell people yet!” 

The incorrigible man shrugged. “I think it’s best that our security team knows, right?” She rolled her eyes. He continued, “Though I do think it’s a big insult that you don’t think I can protect you myself—I was killing zombies at 16, for Mala’s sake.”

“You and I both know the zombies were CGI-ed, Dori.” 

Rowan huffed under his breath. “If the two of you are done, we have a schedule to keep. We need to get to the car.” 

 The private terminal was mostly quiet, but years of being in the spotlight made her extra attuned to the amount of possible eyes that could be watching. Dorian fell into step beside her as they walked through the terminal, exiting into bright summer sunlight. A black SUV with tinted windows waited beside the curb, and as they came out of the terminal, a man in dark gray pants and a long-sleeved gray shirt, dark shades covering his eyes and a clear coil of wire trailing from the earpiece in his left ear, stepped out of the car and opened the side door. Like most of the security personnel Aelin had met in her years of having a security detail, he was fairly nondescript—averagely tall and physically fit with closely cropped brown hair and a bland, forgettable face. 

She left her suitcase for the guard to put into the back of the car and climbed in with Dorian, exhaling deeply at the comfort of the plush seats. “Damn, I could fall asleep so fast.” 

“Don’t even think about it.” Seated in one of the seats opposite Aelin and Dorian’s row, Elide handed Aelin a steaming paper cup. “We have shit to talk about, Ae.” The petite woman had been Aelin’s publicist for five years and her close friend since childhood, and she was fearsome in front of the press. 

“You are the best,” Aelin breathed, taking a sip of the double espresso in the cup. 

Elide’s lips twitched into a little smile. “We’ll see how you feel about that when I’m done telling you about tonight’s event.” She glanced down at her tablet. “Dorian texted me earlier that he’d talked to you about the strategy?” 

“You mean Lys’s brilliant, crackpot scheme to break the internet?” 

Next to Elide, Lysandra raised one perfectly threaded eyebrow. “Lady, I know you didn’t just insult my brilliance.” 

“I would never,” Aelin crooned innocently. 

Dorian snorted. “You would.” 

“Traitor.” She poked him in the ribs. 

Lys clapped her hands. “Class is now in session. Pay attention, you two.” She and Elide shared a look. “So, Dorian told both of us that he talked to you, Aelin. Have you made up your mind about the dating plan?” 

“Yes.” Aelin sipped her espresso. “I’m in.”

 “Good.” Lysandra tapped something on her tablet. “We don’t think you should jump straight into it tonight, mostly because the timing isn’t great and we don’t expect you to be able to pull off a fake hard launch after traveling for most of the day. So here’s what we were thinking: when you make your red carpet appearance, just act normal. Be the two best friends that everyone knows you are.” 

“But if you want to stay a little closer together, maybe stay side by side for all the photos and have multiple hugs, that wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Elide added. “The idea is that you give the press a subtle hint of what’s going to happen. Make them start to wonder if there’s anything more than friendship between the leading actors. That way, when you do launch your fake relationship, they’ll sprint back to the photos from tonight and put them up everywhere as proof that everyone missed.” 

Dorian nodded slowly. “I know I say this about once a day, but you are truly a genius, Lysandra.” 

“I know.” The publicist smirked. “Any questions?” 

“When do you want us to do the big reveal?” Aelin asked. 

Elide shrugged. “We can talk about it after the event tonight. You have a couple of free days after the trailer launch, so I was thinking that when you two go out exploring the city, you could make a point of holding hands or whatever so that people can catch those moments and start freaking out over your relationship.” 

“That sounds like you’re going to stage some photos,” Aelin commented. 

“Maybe I am.” Elide winked. “You should be expecting it by now, Ae.” 

“I really should,” Aelin chuckled. 

Dorian tilted his head to the side. “Hypothetically, what if we dropped a big hint during the screening of the trailer?” 

Lys narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean by ‘big hint,’ Dor?” 

He shrugged. “I dunno, like a kiss?” 

“What part of not today did you not understand?” Lysandra sighed, but she noticed that Dorian was holding back laughter. “Are you…did you do that just to play me?” 

“Maybe.” He snickered. 

“You’re a little shit,” she laughed. “I swear, one of these days I’m going to drop you, and you’ll be running around in circles trying to figure things out.” 

He shot her an angelic smile. “Lys darling, you’re the best publicist in the world.” 

“I know.” 

The car slowed to a stop at the back entrance of a five-story sandstone building, its walls broken with elegant arches of sparkling glass and columned balconies that were often the site of romantic photoshoots. The River Mansion, a two-century-old hotel that had been remodeled to modernize its facilities while preserving its historic architecture, was possibly one of the most beautiful buildings in Velaris. Aelin had stayed there twice before, and each time, she had loved it. 

Their gray-clad security guard opened the door, and the four of them climbed out of the car, Aelin falling into step next to Dorian with the two publicists and Manon in front of them as they walked in the back entrance of the hotel. Rowan was a couple of steps ahead, and he held the door open for them like a gentleman, even though he was a grump. Inside, her feet practically sank into the plush blue carpet, but she barely had time to admire the tasteful art adorning the walls as Lys and Elide led them up to their rooms. 

In Aelin’s room, a small army of stylists had already set up shop, and she barely had time to have a proper bath before being whisked into a chair. Elide ran through her whole list of instructions for what to expect at the event as Aelin’s makeup artist and hair stylist worked their magic, transforming her from travel-tired to glowing. The puffiness under her eyes vanished beneath a layer of expertly applied concealer, and a sharp wing of black eyeliner flicked out from the corner of each eye. 

“You’re a wonder, Rin.” Aelin checked her reflection in the mirror. “I’ll never know how you do this kind of magic.” 

“It’s called makeup,” Asterin Blackbeak laughed. She’d been Aelin’s makeup artist for just over a year, and she was magical with an eyeshadow palette. 

“Ruin my fun, why don’t you?” Aelin winked at Asterin. She got up from the chair and went over to get dressed, returning once her form-fitting red silk gown was laced up her back, the slit up one leg allowing her freedom to move in the fitted skirts. Her stylist took the wide rollers out of her hair, letting it tumble down her back in a spill of glamorous waves. 

“You guys are the best,” she gushed to her team, blowing them air kisses so Asterin didn’t scream at her for messing up her makeup. 

Elide tapped one stiletto heel on the floor. “We’ve got to go, Ae.” 

With a final wave to her team, Aelin followed Elide out the door and down the hallway to the elevator. They rode down to the lobby, and the steel doors smoothly opened to reveal the usual handful of paparazzi that followed anywhere the Queen of Action Movies went. Aelin smothered a grimace and ducked her lead like she’d been trained to do, dodging as many camera flashes as possible as Elide led her towards the private side door. She caught a relieved breath as they exited. 

“You’re late,” Rowan muttered as she climbed into the car, its windows darkly tinted for privacy. “According to the schedule, we should have left ten minutes ago.” 

She shot him a glare. “One of the things you need to understand about providing security for a film actress, Rowan, is that we rarely keep to a predetermined schedule.” 

“Too busy taking fucking pictures,” he grumbled. 

“Too busy avoiding cameras, not that you would know.” She yanked the door shut, silently fuming at the audacity of that man. It was hard to tell if he didn’t have previous experience with celebrities, or if he was just an ass.

It was too bad his ridiculous attractiveness didn’t match his behavior, because if it did, Mala knows the things she’d do to him.

The screening of the trailer and the endless stream of red carpet photos went by in a blur of camera flashes and a pasted-on smile, and by the time she had a minute to breathe, Aelin was walking into Rita’s, a club that she and many of her actor peers liked, arm in arm with Dorian. They entered through a side door, a private entrance that led directly into the lounge space, allowing them to avoid most of the greedy paparazzi. 

Inside, the floor was already full of people in their best “Queen of Glass”-inspired  costumes, with the only exception the black-clad security personnel who stood at intervals around the perimeter of the lounge. Aelin herself wore a dress inspired by one of her costumes from the first season of the show—a form-fitting black minidress with a dragon embroidered in gold thread climbing up the back, its jaw opened wide and its tail curling around one hip. She wore gold jewelry to complement the dress, and her lipstick was flame red and smudge-proof. 

“Looking stunning as always,” Dorian said, appearing out of nowhere with a drink in each hand. He wore a white shirt with cobalt-blue embroidery and black leather pants, the shirt open to reveal half his chest, and a fake knife was tucked into his belt. 

She grinned at him. “Thanks, Dor.” Accepting one of the drinks, she took a sip. “Shit, that’s delicious!” 

“Fenrys is bartending.” 

“Makes sense.” She winked at him. “So you’ll be spending as much time as possible at the bar, right?” 

“Shut up.” His face flushed pink, and he elbowed her in the side. 

She laughed, poking him affectionately in the ribs. “You know I won’t tell a soul about your little crush on the bartender.” 

“Two hours.” Rowan’s curt voice cut through Aelin’s good mood. 

She scoffed. “Lighten up, Whitethorn. Rita’s is secure, as you can tell from the guards everywhere, and I’m not some teenager who snuck out of Mommy and Daddy’s house. I’ll let you know when I want to leave.” 

He scowled, and she silently cursed her panties for dampening at the sight. “You can’t be hungover at tomorrow’s events, Aelin.” He glanced at Dorian, who had a drink in each hand. “Neither of you can.” 

“Good thing I don’t plan on drinking more than this, then.” She tugged Dorian into the crowd, leaving Rowan behind. 

That tight-strung asshole was going to ruin her fucking life. 

Sensing her grouchiness, Dorian tugged her towards the side of the room. “Want to go do the photo booth?” He gave her his best big puppy eyes. “Lys and Elide said we should, but also, it would be fun.” 

“Why are you right?” she sighed, shaking the tension from her limbs. “I’m sorry, Dor, talking to that asshat is taking all of my patience.” 

“Too bad he’s so damn hot,” Dorian added, wiggling his eyebrows. 

She rolled her eyes. “I would’ve climbed him like a tree until he opened that stupid mouth of his and started poking his nose in my schedule.” 

He’s been part of the team for less than a day. What did he know about Aelin’s drinking and partying habits? Or Dorian’s, for that matter. 

“Fair.” He led her through the crowd, stopping every other minute to talk to some of the guests, that brilliant smile of his flashing as he posed for casual photos. She grinned right along with him, throwing herself into the joy that meeting her fans always brought her, and they eventually joined the line for the photo booth. 

Rowan cleared his throat beside them, and there went Aelin’s blood pressure again. He folded his arms across his chest, glaring at her and Dorian. “You two decided it’s a good idea to go inside an unrestricted booth where I can’t see you?”

“It’s only closed off by a curtain, and it’s inside a secure location. Plus, your guard dogs probably sniffed it down already.” She glared back at him. 

He refused to move. “It’s not approved, princess.” 

“Oh, for the gods’ sake.” Dorian brushed past Rowan, tugging Aelin with him into the photo booth.  “It’ll take a minute, and you can stand outside with your stopwatch if it makes you less angsty.” He winked at the stoic, brooding man and pulled the curtain shut. 

Aelin huffed as she sat down on the small plastic bench. “Thanks. I don’t know why he’s being so ridiculous; I’ve only known him for eight hours.” She watched as Dorian tapped on the screen opposite them, picking a random handful of poses, and laughed when he flopped down next to her and threw his arm around her shoulders. “What happened to platonic co-stars?” 

He snickered, grinning big at the camera as it flashed. “Hey, we’ve got to make it look good for all the big bad cameras, right?” 

“Damn right!” She jumped into his lap, giggling, as the camera flashed a second time, and they scrambled into two more poses, a tangle of hilarity, until the camera counted down for the last time and he took her face in his hands and plopped a dramatic kiss on her lips as the bright flash exploded in the small booth. 

Dorian positioned his hands just the way she liked it, without covering her face for the camera. Knowing how messy things could get off-set, it relieved her that he was thinking about how the kissing picture would look rather than the picture itself. Aelin would be lying if she said every stage kiss with Dorian had been this mechanic, but the short-lived crush she had on him at the initial stages of their first movie together quickly faded away when she realized she was into the character, not the actor.

And this? Right now, kissing Dorian was work, one piece of the narrative that belongs to Aelin’s favorite and longest-lasting character—her public persona.

Of course, Rowan chose that moment to shove his head through the curtain. 

“Time’s—ah, fuck.” He jerked backwards as suddenly as he’d broken into the booth and awkwardly cleared his throat. “Uh, time’s up.” 

“I think that’s the most un-grumpy I’ve seen him so far,” Dorian whispered into Aelin’s ear, making her snort a laugh and smack him in the shoulder as she collected the two printed photo strips. 

“You’re a little shit,” she chuckled. She pushed aside the curtain and stepped out of the booth, immediately sidling up to Rowan’s side with a wide, innocent smile on her face. “Sorry to scandalize you, big guy.” 

He mumbled something inaudible under his breath. “I’ve seen worse, princess.” 

Aelin turned to leave, but she didn’t sense him following her, so something critical must’ve happened. She half-turned, raising an eyebrow at his parted lips and a look so intense it inflamed her skin with his poorly-concealed irritation. “Something the matter?” 

“What are you wearing?” For the first time that night, he got a proper look at her dress in all its glory, and of course it wasn’t of his liking.

Aelin spinned like an overly excited girl about her dress just to annoy him. “One of my favorite designers made it—do you know the label Maison Sellene? She’s incredible, and she got the dragon design from one of the set designers’ sketches.” 

Rowan’s eyes burned like dragonfire. “It suits you, princess.” 

Her nose wrinkled. “Stop calling me that. I told you, my team is on a first-name basis with each other.”

“Fine, Aelin.” Oh gods, his pronunciation of her name made her shiver. Dorian came back with drinks, and of course he glared at the one she took. “I thought you weren’t drinking?” 

Locking her eyes on his, she took a long sip of it. “It’s nonalcoholic.” He looked skeptical, so she pushed the glass to his lips. “If you don’t believe me, Rowan, try it for yourself.” 

He accepted the drink as if she had poisoned it before handing it to him, sniffed it and squinted his eyes at her, trying to decide if the juice and soda water smell was real or just a deceit for his nose. “Fine,” Rowan said as he handed it back to her, the short word sounding awfully close to a grunt. 

She huffed an impatient sigh and once again turned to leave, heading towards the cluster of women gesturing wildly for her to come dance with them. But she’d barely gone more than a few steps when Dorian hooked his arm through hers and pulled her to the dance floor with him, and she laughed as she looped her arms around his neck. “Are you trying to give Lys high blood pressure?” 

“I would never,” he snickered, winking widely. “Just thought this would be fun.” 

“We’ll see how you feel about that when someone posts a photo of us dancing this close on their Instagram story and the whole internet goes insane.” 

“My kind of fun.” He dipped her backwards, and when he pulled her up, both of them giggling, he swept her into his and planted a stage kiss on her lips. 

Just in time for multiple phone cameras to click. 

She chuckled and pushed him away playfully. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, ok? It’ll only take me a few minutes.” She wove her way across the room, only stopping a few times to chat with people, and she sighed with relief when she noticed that there wasn’t a line outside the ladies’ bathroom.

Once again, an arm banded around her waist. 

This time, though, that arm hauled her to the side, and the door of the janitor’s closet slammed shut behind Aelin as the man all but yanked her into the small, empty, slightly dusty space. 

She was firing Rowan so hard today.

Aelin slapped his hand out of her mouth and spun around before he could react, quickly hitting his groin with her knee. The man groaned, and she used the little time she had to grab a spray bottle—for temporary blindness if necessary—and turn on the feeble light to see who her assaulter was. 

Imagine Aelin’s surprise when she found out that her attacker was Mr. Safety himself.

Still bent due to the damage to his crotch, Rowan wheezed. “Where did you learn these moves, princess?”

Arms folded across her chest, she shot him a glare. “What the hell, Whitethorn? You almost gave me a heart attack! What’re you doing?!”

Rowan’s hand curled loosely in front of his groin, as if anticipating another blow. “I got an alert that there’s an unauthorized person in the room, and my first priority is keeping you safe from potential threats.” 

“What about Dorian?” She snapped. “Is he in less danger than me because he’s a man or something?” 

Her bodyguard opened his mouth to retort, then closed it. “He…has his own security team…” 

Aelin raised a brow. “And you’re in contact with his team? Keeping track of him? Because there’s a potential threat, or so you say.” Every single word was deeply sarcastic. 

“Of course.” Rowan pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed her the screen. Several notifications were stacked up on the screen, notifications of a potential unauthorized guest in the room and brief updates about Aelin’s and Dorian’s safety. 

Some of her irritation faded away. “Fine. You might have given me at least a tiny bit of warning before you grabbed me, though.” 

His jaw clenched. “There’s not always going to be time for me to warn you, princess. The least you could do is understand that.” 

The maleness of that statement, the entitlement of his tone brought her irritation right back. “Remind me again who is employing whom? Your responsibility is my safety, as you’ve said a thousand times. Well, that includes you giving me notice so I don’t think I’m being fucking kidnapped!” Her voice cracked on the final word. 

And damn him, he noticed the crack in her demeanor. 

His stance relaxed, and concern crossed his face. “Did that happen before, Aelin?” 

Aelin’s throat felt too tight as she swallowed scattered flashbacks from a lifetime ago. As always, she forced them all back into their locked box. 

“Didn’t you read my file, Whitethorn?” Aelin knew she was being harsh, but it was a necessary measure. “You should know the answer already.”

Both of them knew that file back to back, and she knew his question went beyond that. Rowan gave her a wary look, reading her deflection far too well, but the last thing she needed was his overprotective ass deciding she was fragile.

His phone pinged, saving her from any response he might have made. He glanced at the screen and sighed softly. “There wasn’t a threat, just someone who forgot their invitation. You can go back out.” 

“About time,” she mumbled. Before he could say anything, do anything else, she pushed open the door and went back to the party, her heels snapping angrily on the floor. He stayed a good distance behind her, trailing her back to the party, and faded into the edge of the crowd, but she felt his eyes on her. 

She shook off the weight of his gaze, plastering a gleaming smile back onto her face. She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the Queen of Action Movies. 

She wouldn’t let her bodyguard distract her.

~~~

TAGS: lmk if you want to be added or removed! maria and i are combining taglists for this fic so you can let her know too :)

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@renxzs

@anarchiii

@fauna-flora11

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

@mysterylilycheeta

[honeyjars-sims]

3.14 It Boy

Johnny walked over to the Production Coordinator’s office. She was sitting at her desk, her blonde hair looped into a messy ponytail. Her desk was covered in an assortment of papers and folders that she was rummaging through.

“Where did I put that? I swear it was here a minute ago," she muttered to herself.

Johnny cleared his throat. “Excuse me, are you Lucy Steel?”

She looked up. “Oh, hi! Yes, I’m Lucy, it’s nice to meet you! Johnny, right?” She gestured to one of the empty chairs sat in front of her desk.

Johnny nodded as he sat down. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“Sorry I couldn’t meet with you earlier, but you know how it is. I can show you around, unless you’ve already seen everything.”

“No, I haven’t made it away from my desk. I got bombarded by Hurricane Lilly.”

Lucy laughed. “She’s a character! Well, we can start in the studio.”

They walked down the corridor and stopped in front of a security door. Lucy swiped her badge. “I’ll give you one of these,” she said. “You can enter the studio at any time as long as the red light isn’t on.” She gestured to the light fixture on top of the door. “Don’t let the talent or directors tell you otherwise.”

They stepped into the studio. Johnny was surprised at how spacious it was. “Wow, it seems so much smaller onscreen.”

“Yeah, we need a lot of space for the equipment.”

They walked past some technical equipment with lots of buttons and lights and stopped at one of the sets. Johnny recognized the blue couch from some of the channel’s videos. The wall behind it was decorated with memorabilia from popular video games. “This is where we film most of our gaming videos.”

She turned to the right and walked towards another set, this one featuring a long table with an tabletop RPG set up. “And that’s our Lairs and Llamas set. We’ll add more sets as we continue to expand the channel, but we’ll need to hire more people first.”

Johnny was taking everything in. It was surreal being somewhere he’d seen on SimTube so many times.

They exited the studio and Lucy showed him a couple of other areas—the editor’s work stations, the production design studio, and the break area. Everywhere they went was bustling with people, most of them happy and engaged in activity.

They made their way back to Lucy’s office. Everything seemed great so far, but Johnny still felt a bit unprepared. “Can I ask a silly question?”

“Ask away.”

“What is it that I’m going to be doing exactly?”

Lucy began to laugh but caught herself. “I’m sorry, go ahead,” she told him.

“All of this is just really new to me,” Johnny explained sheepishly. “I don’t even really understand what you do. Like what is a Production Coordinator?”

“Oh, I wasn’t laughing at you!" Lucy explained apologetically. "It’s just that I asked that same question when I interviewed here a couple of years ago. It reminds me of how lost I was back then.”

"Oh, okay." Johnny let out a small breath of relief.

“So basically," Lucy continued. "I run interference between the Producer and the other departments to make sure everyone has the information and materials they need and everything is on schedule. I’m involved throughout the whole process, from researching ideas for new content to providing feedback on videos in post-production.”

“Wow, that sounds like a lot.”

“It can be. But having you here will be a big help. Your main duties will be delivering messages, keeping inventory of materials, helping with set up, and resolving minor issues during filming. That’ll cut down a lot of the running around I’m doing.”

“So I'll be the go-between for the go-between," Johnny quipped. I guess that’s pretty much what I expected.” He recalled what Lilly told him earlier.

As though she could read his mind, Lucy added, “It won’t be just running errands, though. I’ll need your help with researching ideas and bringing them to life on set. That’s one of the reasons we hired you. Damien called you ‘an innovative thinker.’”

Johnny was flattered. “He said that?”

“He did. That’s quite a big compliment coming from him. If you prove him right, you won’t be stuck as a PA for long.”

Johnny tried to quiet the voice inside his head, the one that was telling him this was all too good to be true. How could a successful CEO see potential in him? Could he really go from doing lines in a dingy bar only a few weeks ago to making a name for himself in the world of digital media production?

If Damien and Lucy could believe in him, maybe he could get there too.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[le-trash-prince]

Em, I came into the whole 'Benz-Garfield are desperate to get paired and/or make KimKenta happen' thing halfway through and I feel like I'm still desperately playing catch-up. Congratulations to them on making Part A happen and good luck with Part B, though! But in the interests of me continuing to play catch-up on this whole fascinating process, do you know if there's a timeline of events or a tiktok folder or *something* out there to help me piece together when all of this properly took off and when Benz in particular decided to go full unhinged with it?

Thanks for your help!

Anon if you weren't watching Pit Babe as it aired, I hope you are prepared for the emotional roller coaster that happens when you are waiting every week to see if Kim and Kenta even get screentime together. I felt like I was watching the last several episodes of Pit Babe on a fever high.

I am actually working on a timeline, but it’s not fully cohesive nor complete yet, since there’s simply so much to sift through on multiple social media platforms, and no platform has a perfect search function. It also doesn’t yet include social media posts where they were simply just… flirting with each other, but all the social media posts on the blog should at least be dated.

If you want to go through things more quickly, the archive page has a tag filter (one of my favorite tumblr features), and you can swap in any tag you like in the url, since the dropdown only lists featured tags.

It’s also hard to pinpoint a single moment when Benz decided to go unhinged with it, since he’s been pushing it from pretty early on. There also aren’t any dedicated translators in BenzGarfield fandom who are fluent in both Thai and English, so we either get machine translations or translations that are few and far between. There's also a lot of old posts that have been deleted, or accounts that have gone private, so even just the act of gathering everything is an effort, let alone organizing it into a big picture.

Here's what I can give as a highlight timeline though.

They met in late 2022 (Love Fest Thailand in November or December I think, I couldn't find pics, but I did just watch an old interview last night where they talk more in depth on their first impressions, which I plan on recording and uploading, but Garfield said something that can be paraphrased to the extent of "Do people this friendly and charming exist in real life?")

Benz was mingling with Change2561 actors, but they officially became coworkers in Feb 2023 when they were both cast in Pit Babe

Boys Journey started filming very shortly after—I don’t have a sharp timeline but the range is sometime from Feb to May. Benz was already going at it in Boys Journey (“BenzGarfield forever” - ep 10), when they ostensibly didn’t know their roles or if they’d be put in an actual ship (they were somewhat rotated around with ppl until later in Boys Journey, when I imagine the staff had chemistry based partnerships in mind)

In March, Garfield said he would choose Benz to flirt with out of all the cast.

By August, Benz was asking Garfield to take his last name 🤷‍♂️ (but Garfield keeps trying to take Benz's first name instead)

There was a lot going on while Pit Babe was filming (Sept-Nov). They were excited about filming the two whole scenes they had together, they tweeted about it the night before, they were improvising what communication between Kenta and Kim might be like, Benz was visiting set even when he didn't have any scenes (albeit likely for the free food, but keeping Garfield company while Charlie fakes his death is a nice bonus)

I haven’t been able to find it again (yet)(thank you YT’s horrible search function) but there was a livestream last year where Benz talked about Kenta calling Kim and inviting him to Thailand, which… never happened, so I can only assume they were at the point of making things up (which actors sometimes do when they need a better grip on a character), and probably explains the really loaded look they gave each other in the elevator, bc to them there had been more interactions between their characters.

The first event they did together (outside of full-cast stuff) was the RealMe sponsorship in September 2023, but it was presented as Garfield & Benz (didn’t stop Benz from once again asking Garfield to take his name). The first time (that I’m aware of) that they had an event with their ship name was the GarfieldBenz x Central Rayong event in December 2023. Filming was completed in November, so they obviously had known for a while that KimKenta weren’t a couple, but that wasn’t going to stop them from bickering over which of their characters would like the other first

In February, they were posting really shippy stuff right before the Pit Babe finale, which felt like queerbaiting at the time, but we didn’t know that Long Beans was being planned (they would begin the physio workshop a month later), so I think this was either a “we’re excited we get to play a ship but can’t say anything yet” or a “staff hasn’t made up their minds on casting us so let’s just show some potential.”

Also at the finale in February, Garfield said he wanted to be Kim's faen.

By the time Long Beans was announced in March and they were officially announced as BenzGarfield, there was no holding back, especially on the KimKenta front. Benz made a fuss during Long Beans presscon about them not getting any screentime together, and during the Changing event in April they talked about going to the writers and begging for KimKenta/KentaKim.

Anytime they're asked about S2, they're vague about it, and I imagine they will be until we see something onscreen (they have to keep me desperate and foaming at the mouth), but they have expressed that they want to continue working as screen partners for a long time. If KimKenta happens I don't think anyone will be happier than those two.

I hope this helps, anon! Trying to capture and organize all of their moments is a daily task, and it sometimes feels like I am Sisyphus.

[lizzyyylmaoooooool]

what think/hope/pray will happen after ep 5 -

first off im running on the assumption that devils minion romantic/long form relationship has already happened in the past. my evidence (not really) for this is that i don’t believe their dynamic works properly with old man daniel because he doesn’t want to be turned anymore, so i can’t see that side of their combative push and pull working. you can argue that the only flashbacks daniel has are of the night in san francisco and nothing else, however he also seems to exclusively have flashbacks of only armand and not louis, which implies to me there is more to him and armand (ignore the fact we still have no idea if the flashbacks are organic or if armand is sending them to him purposely, or that we don’t know if armand knows he’s having them ok thanks). also obviously the whole alice/armand from ep 2. whether you’re a truther or not, you can’t argue that the show wasn’t purposefully setting up armand as a comparison to alice in that scene and others since she’s been brought up a lot this and last season.

anyway, i think the flashback section of ep 5 will end with armand either locking him in the basement or setting off their chase. if non of these, i think it’ll end with framing armand and daniels past relationship as something purely horrifying to current daniel. in the ep preview, he’s only sitting and talking with louis about it without armand present, which i’m assuming is purposeful on daniels part. then i think daniel is gonna step out of the dubai apartment probably from a negative reaction and run into raglan james/whoever the fuck talamasca man claims he is, which is where that whole trailer scene “you fear armand, you should fear the other one” comes from. we kinda have no other scenes from dubai that we can piece together from trailers after that, other than we know daniel goes back to the interview, and we get the scenes like louis throwing shit, books falling on daniel, walls cracking etc.

the final thing i hope and pray happens is in either ep 7 or 8 that no one has seen yet, we get some sort of in your face no context no build up confirmation that armand and daniels relationship was romantic at one point. like i’m thinking either some sort of out of left field flashback, daniel finding his photo in the threesome partner pile or more information on the “paramours” folder on the laptop. like i don’t put it past them at all to leave it on a cliffhanger for next season (pray) where bang we get some sort of explicit confirmation and that’s all we get, and we’re left with daniel being like “what the actual fuck”. the vibe i gather from interviews with cast and crew, i don’t think they’ve adapted a ton of devils minion yet, but they have added something after ep 5 and do plan to carry it on.

obviously this could all be bullshit because the context of why is daniel remembering, is it because of armand, is it natural, was it even armand who whipped his memories, did devils minion even happen properly?? like we still know nothing. so hope ep 5 answers some of those things for us. thank you for entertaining my brain rot because anticipating this ep has consumed my entire week.

preparing to beg for a link on socials again tomorrow like a common whore x

[nalyra-dreaming]

im the "show/books make sense together" person. i want to keep doing it too. and i do love the rolin twist, thats why i said the head tilts werent negative. till now i was fine actually. but you know what got me worried? sam in that autumn interview where he warns "this lestat is not anne's lestat", this is not an adaptation anymore, its "just different". poor guy he wants to stay loyal to her work, but i guess there will be BIG changes. we just create a rolin's folder in our heads? 🤣

((And the irony of it having "Anne Rice's..." over the title^^))

No, but ... essentially? Yes.

Because Hanna Moscovitch not getting it or not (and she really didn't get it, at least not then, like that take is really...) does not change this very simple fact:

THIS IS IT.

THIS is what we'll get. For a very long time.

AMC owns the rights... in perpetuity. They paid big cash for it. And they will milk this content for what it's worth.

It does not make any sense for them to sell it. And it does not make any sense for them to not create from and for it.

I have waited 30 fucking years for another shot at this. This is it. I will enjoy it.

No, I won't like everything. No, I won't support everything of the writer's choices. But in the whole of things? This is brilliant.

And I think Sam has come to the same conclusion, because this is a big, BIG part for him. Like, Lestat is... *gesticulates* ... we haven't even really started with Lestat.

This is it for him, too. He will (in all likelihood) never get the chance to play a character like this again. Not dissing his career here, btw, I hope he goes stellar, with lots of interesting parts, but Lestat? Someone like Lestat? No. Same for Jacob or Assad, or Eric, because these characters are just so multi-faceted and interesting. The same goes for Rolin. He also knows that he will never have this kind of chance again. Has said so on video.

So. Yes. Rolin-subfolder^^. Just like there is an Akasha (and not much else) subfolder of the movie.

Whatever it will be - it will (in all likelihood) be beautiful, and layered, and nuanced, color-conscious and brilliant.

I mean - as long as these stay????... what else can we honestly wish for??

[lethalchiralium]

Diamondback | [1]

a/n: i love this series and i haven’t even finished out the ending yet

warnings: Mentions of cheating, mentions of pregnancy (not reader), mentions of alcohol

summary: Pine, Arizona. You’ve touched down in Phoenix and driven up to a relatively normal sized city, more than ready to see your best friend and grossly underprepared for an interview you got twelve hours ago. It’s hard to tell if you’re ready, but now you have to be. It’s time to chase the light.

You weren’t surprised that the Hotshot Fire Station wasn’t located in town, but on a backroad that was in a patch of sand, surrounded by high mountains. Sand has already contaminated your boots and hair by the time you had exited the airport in Phoenix in the early morning. A manila folder sat in between your hands as you looked at the silver building, nerves dancing up and down your spine. The sun was bearing down on you, something that used to really be your friend. 

Change is good. Change is supposed to be good, right? So why am I nervous? Don’t be nervous. People can see when you’re nervous. Quit it. Quit it!

Swallowing a bit of your nervousness, you moved out of the sun and into the building. You opened the door and walked into what appeared like the front room - it was painted a soft beige, floor made of sealed concrete and decorated with mismatched couches and seats - you could hear the clink of workout equipment down the hall, the smell of air freshener was dull. 

This was so much different than your Firewatch tower in Yellowstone National Park; it was a two day hike to it, there was a babbling brook 50 yards away with a small campsite nearby as well. All you had was your radio, books, and binoculars to keep you company for two to four months out of the year, as well as an old laptop that was connected to very shitty ethernet. You had many years of firewatching under your belt, you had taken classes for fire science and wildfire safety, as well as EMT training just in case one of your fellow fire watchers had a medical emergency. You were well prepared for this job, to be a 141 Hotshot.

The 141 Hotshots were the second municipal hotshot crew to ever be formed and based in Arizona, holding up legacy of the Sandstone Mountain Hotshots, who had perished in a wildfire less than a decade prior - it was said that the Superintendent of the 141 had trained under the Superintendent of the Sandstone Hotshots only a few years before the tragedy, a man who you had read about before even thinking about becoming a Hotshot seven years ago, especially before your fiance forced you into fire watch. Wildfire firefighting work was grueling, you were very fit because of your work as a fire watcher, but this takes it to a whole new level.

“Y/N!”

You had stopped in the middle of the front room, eyes now focused on the sweaty and dirt stained face of your childhood best friend - Alex Keller. The man had been kind enough to lend you a room in his apartment and put in a good word to the well-respected Superintendent he had worked for for almost seven years. It had been a few years since you had seen him; you had only a backpack waiting in your rental car. You instantly opened your arms and let Alex hug you, not bothered by the sweat or dirt on him. 

He patted your back before releasing you, a smile on his mustached face. “I hope that dickhead didn’t cause you any trouble.” 

The dickhead he was talking about was your ex-fiancé, the man you definitely did not want to talk or think about. You rolled your eyes. “Alex, I’m fine.”

He gave a small huff before continuing, “Well? Did you decide?”

You held up your folder, to which the man smiled wider. 

“Good! I know Price is gonna like you.” He patted your shoulder before he nodded back towards the hallway he had come from. “C’mon, I’ll give you a tour.” 

“I don’t need a tour, I need to get to my interview-“ You blubbered before he grabbed your arm, pulling you towards him. “Alex!”

“I’m takin’ you to the interview, dingaling.” He chuckled, your apprehension slipped away and you then began to walk beside him. “So stubborn for no reason.”

“I like to think my stubbornness is a good quality.”

Alex gave you a look, you laughed at him. “Sure.” You opened your mouth to retaliate but he kept talking. “Anyway, I’m goin’ to Farah’s after my shift, you’ll have to fend for yourself. You know where I live, and the code to get in.”

You sighed. “I’ll be fine.”

He patted your back, smile still big. “You always are.” He then looked towards the large equipment you two were walking towards, seeing his fellow Hotshots working out or fixing their gear before he took your arm, stopping you from continuing. You looked to your friend as he spoke, “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s a lot different than just sitting in a tower and just watching a fire.”

“I was a Hotshot for a year, Alex.”

“Yeah, six years ago.”

You were about to retaliate to his argument when you heard your last name be called. You looked around Alex to see a genuinely handsome blond man, standing tall with his hands behind his back. Alex turned to look at the man, a hand then clapped your back. “Y/N, this is Assistant Superintendent Riley.”

Riley had a bored look in his eye, it made your skin bristle a little. He glanced to Alex before going, “Supe’s waitin’ on you, L/N.”

British? You glanced at Alex before he pushed you forwards, you immediately kept walking towards the door Riley was holding open. You nodded to him before walking into the office, watching as the man you were hopefully interviewing with stood.

Damn, what is with having pretty superiors?

“L/N, I’m Superintendent John Price of the 141 Hotshots, and you’ve just met my Assistant, Simon Riley.” 

“British?” You blurted out as you held out your hand.

John chuckled a little before he took your hand with a firm handshake. “Yes, Liverpool. Simon’s from Manchester.” He gestured to the seat across from him as you let go and you instantly sat down, then handed him your manila folder. He took it, settling down in his chair as you heard the office door click. Footsteps behind you instantly told you that Simon intended to stay for the interview, noticing in the corner of your eye that Simon now leaned against the wall, watching you. “So, I heard you were fire watch?” 

Your full attention was on John now, he had settled onto his arms on his desk. You nodded in response. “Six years.”

“Lonely up there.” Simon commented, John gave him a sharp look before gazing back at you.

“Keller said you were a Hotshot before. Why’d you quit?” You stared at John, noticing he hadn’t even opened your folder of qualifying classes and certificates. 

“Fiancé-“ You cut yourself off before continuing. “Ex-fiancé convinced me to do fire watch instead. Said it was less dangerous, which it is.”

There was a twitch in John’s eye. “Then why are you here?”

“For a job-“

“Don’t run around the question. Why would you leave a cushy job that I’m sure pays well in one of the most beautiful National Parks in the world?”

“To be clear, sir,” Your eyes narrowed. “My personal business as to why I decided to change my career so quickly is none of your concern. I can promise it won’t be a problem, I didn’t leave because I was forced or fired.” You glanced to Riley. “And I may have not been on a team for the past few years, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a team player.”

The Superintendent in front of you chuckled, your facial expression didn’t change but your chest tightened.

I’ve done it again. There goes my new job. Rest in peace my independence - I’m gonna have to move in with Mom. 

“You have all of your qualifications?”

A moment of shock stopped you from speaking, but you pushed through it, confusion flooding through your chest. “Uh, yeah. In the folder, fire science, EMT, fire safety training-“

“Where were you a Hotshot?” Simon’s voice made you look over to him, your answer instant, “Diamond Mountain.”

Simon whistled. “Up near Reno?”

You nodded as you looked back to John. “Was tough. No one liked me on the team except the Supe. Said I had potential.”

He had finally opened your file folder, flipping through the papers with almost blatant disregard for any of the information on the printed pages. He closed the folder after only looking through it for fifteen seconds, tossing the file back onto the desk. He settled on his elbows as he leaned forwards. “That Supe gave you flying colors when I called him.” Oh thank you, Breaker, thank you. Best Supe ever. “Said he was disappointed to see you go to fire watch so quickly.” You kept stoic, watching as John stared back. “You’re not gonna quit on me, are you?”

“No sir.”

“Not gonna run off when shit hits the fan? Or use this as a step to get to structure?”

“No sir.”

With one nod, John sat back in his chair.

“The crew’s going on a hike.” He nudged his chin towards the door. “Got running shoes, Firewatch?”

With a smile on your face, you nodded. 

Summers in your fire watch tower were hot and dry - you used to sit at the worn desk, a book you’ve read thousands of times under your fingertips, as you watched over the large fields of brush and the faraway whispers of dense forests in the heart of Yellowstone. The four fans about the small one room cabin were on high, trying to move air around and keep you from overheating. It was nice, calm - even when you were watching a wildfire one year with high distance binoculars. Something about relaxing in the cabin and being over ten thousand feet in the air - it gave you a sense of calm. After years of having to fight to prove yourself, somewhere you can just be yourself was dropped into your lap.

Your heart was in your throat, you supposed sand had lodged into your esophagus by the time the 141 Hotshots had hit the second mile of the ‘hike’. Alex was kind enough to stay behind with you, not saying a word as the jog up a steep terrain was about to throw you into the hands of God. Both Price and Riley were at the head of the single file line, it slithered through the well defined trail like a Western Diamondback Rattlesnake - poised and ready to strike. There was a soft jingle that came from Alex, the sound of his two necklaces, and there was only the chchchchch of shoes against loose gravel and sand. 

You were supposed to be up in that stupid one room cabin in Yellowstone by now, but here you were. Pushing yourself well beyond your now adjusted limits, you didn’t feel the need to entertain Price's statement in your head - you didn’t leave your ‘cushy’ job in Yellowstone for fun; you didn’t even want to go, but there was no way you were staying anywhere near Justin and that oddly sweet southern girl he got pregnant. You quite literally packed up three outfits, a couple pairs of underwear, and only took two pairs of socks and shoes. You had nothing else with you, anger pumped through your veins so intensely, that you wouldn’t dare go get the rest of your belongings without someone to keep you in check. 

“Don’t beat yourself up.” 

You looked to your right, seeing that Alex had slowed to your pace to talk to you. You then gazed back in front of you, seeing the person in front of Alex had a shirt tagged ‘Soap’. What the Hell kind of name is Soap? “I’m not.”

Alex chuckled. “Sure.” His elbow hit your arm, your head whipped to look at him. “It’s okay to be upset.”

You glared at him, eyebrows furrowed as you kept pace. “I don’t want to talk about it.” You pushed yourself further, closing the distance with the Soap Guy by a couple of feet. Alex was instantly at your side again. If you weren’t trying to be on your best behavior, you’d throw a punch directly in his smug face. He was right when he said Justin was bad news, and you were dreading the ‘I told you so’. “Can we do this later?”

Without even looking, you knew Alex gave you the look that he always gave you - you’re lying and I know you are, so I’m gonna wait until you’re not being stupid to talk about it. “I got you a key for my apartment, it’s coming in tomorrow. I didn’t really have time to clear my spare room, though.”

The sun was burning you, you regretted not thinking about sunscreen in that Phoenix airport store, you regretted not having better jogging gear, and you definitely regretted not packing your suitcase. You would have all of your hiking gear, but this job was quite literally a last minute decision you made in an airport bar. But did you regret this?

Your head looked out to the right, watching the scenery slowly change as you jogged behind the line of well-trained or in-training Hotshots. Golden colored brush, tall trees that you observed were pines, and an occasional cactus. You then looked back to Alex, his head faced ahead. He had truly grown into a handsome man, much more confident than that young adult you left in New Orleans six years ago. Sun-kissed skin and obviously gelled hair, a smile that seemed permanent; your best friend had done well for himself, you thought you had done the same. But your life had exploded into a million pieces, cutting into your not so delicate skin. You had to prove yourself, you had to do this to gain control again or everything might fall apart again.

You weren’t quite sure that you would actually regret this change, but anything was better than that one bedroom apartment in the Irish Channel in New Orleans, and with the witch of a woman who called herself your mother.

You turned your head forwards. “I’ll try to get out of your hair as quick as I can.”

“Don’t rush it.”

“Alex-“ You turned to look at him, but realized the group had slowed, you stopped on a dime. 

The blond looked at you, giving you another look but it was one you couldn’t read. His hand settled on your back, pushing you to stand in between him and the stopped Soap Guy. “We’ll chat later.”

The booming voice of John Price made you snap to attention, “This is what we have been assigned to preserve. Take a breath.” You took a breath through your nose, the air tasted nothing like Yellowstone - the air in the valley you stood above was bitter and gritty, but it felt clean. “Then look out onto these thousands of acres of forest, admire it.” Your eyes fluttered as you gazed upon thousands of acres of dense pine trees, fields of brush and grass, and mountains that danced through the landscape. A twinge of guilt trembled through your stomach, guilt that you had left your entire life for an incredibly dangerous job that can get you killed at almost any turn. Your eyes moved from the horizon to the bearded man, watching as he fixed the band on his watch without even a glance to it, his eyes on all of the crew you only had a moment to glance over earlier. You watched his eyes scan every single person’s face before his eyes landed on you, maybe just for a moment too long before he looked to Alex. 

“Breathe it in, because this will be one of the last times that you can look upon this sight without any negativity.”

It was truly a sight that stood before you. Breathing in air you’ve never had the chance to before, seeing the wonders of nature in a different place of America was incredible. Your lungs burned, you hadn’t had a fast-paced and tough hike since you were a Diamond Mountain Hotshot. It was good, you knew it was good for you - your eyes wandered back to Price.

“Because once I’m done with you,” His blue eyes landed upon you again, his voice sharp like a dagger as it sliced the sentiment into your brain. “all you’ll see is fuel.”

Okay, get yourself out of the gutter. He’s your boss, not a fucking treat to dangle in front of yourself! You literally just broke up with Justin, you cannot get the hots for your hot boss! KEEP IT TOGETHER!

He gave you a smirk before he started to jog towards you - then past you, then Riley behind him, and the crew followed. You waited for the Soap Guy to go for you to turn and go, but you noticed in the crew that you weren’t the only female - you didn’t catch that earlier when you went out to get your running shoes from your rental car. The only one who even looked at you gave you a smirk, she had almost black hair cut right at her shoulders, covered in tattoos. She was four people ahead of you, so it shouldn’t be hard to find her and hopefully make a friend out of Tattoo Girl. Your eyes then moved to the bold letters on the shoulders of the Soap Guy. You then saw him look over his shoulder at you.

What the fuck is with all of these guys being pretty?

“Say ye'r th' fresh meat. Alex said a lot o' guid things.” He had a wild mohawk and a charming smile, his fingers pinched the front of his shirt so he could somewhat fan himself.

“Scottish.” You remarked as Soap chuckled, following the person in front of you - you followed too, but he had moved to jog beside you like Alex. “Why do they call you Soap?”

The man looked over onto his back, tsking before giving someone ahead in line an invisible dagger through their chest. “Damn bastard wasn't suppose tae put that on mah shirt.”

Alex elbowed you again, you kept your eyes forwards now. The trail was becoming steep again, but it was easier to descend than to climb earlier. Your lungs were burning, but you were somehow pushing through. Adjusting and all that jazz. This shit is gonna suck with all the weight I have to carry during drills. Hopefully I get used to the heat quickly or else this might actually break me.

The Soap Guy cleared his throat, nudging you with a knuckle, you didn’t spare a moment to look at him. “Top secret!”

“He put Dawn dish soap in the dishwasher one night, and we came back to the station to a floor of bubbles. So his name is Soap.” Alex snickered, a smile grew on your face as Soap audibly deflated.

“So why aren’t you named Bubbles?” You kept your arms close to your chest as the route kept winding around, both men allowing you the worn gravel path as they opted for the sand and patches of grass.

Soap scoffed, “What, so I can be th’ ‘prettiest girl at th’ party’?”

A cackle of laughter came from the man you were following, another man with a nickname written on the back of his shirt - but he was conscious about the sun by wearing what looked like a well loved baseball cap. In big black letters in between his shoulder blades was ‘GAZ’, and Gaz kept cackling like a hyena. Soap took a couple fast strides forwards, immediately tugging Gaz into his sweaty armpit. The man screeched, Soap yelling some Scottish obscenities that you wouldn’t have been able to decipher if you tried. All Alex did was laugh, you watched as Soap now jogged next to Gaz, who was trying to get out of his hold. 

“That’s the Team Leaders for you.”

You spared a look to Alex. “Team Leaders? Them?”

Your friend shrugged. “For as stupid as they act now, they’re amazing in the field.”

“Good to know.” Your legs burned, chest roared in pain. You gazed out onto the landscape, now noticing that the silver dot in the distance was turning into the Fire Station. “I could use a drink.”

“I also feel that you need a drink.”

You reached out and smacked Alex’s arm, snapping at him, “That’s not funny.”

He glanced to you, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “There’s a quiet bar in town, I’ll send you the address.”

By the time you had gotten into your rental car after being dismissed with the rest of the Hotshots, you were exhausted. Lungs hummed with a slight burn, your back splattered with aches. It wasn’t hard to know you needed a stiff drink, especially after changing career paths drastically and uprooting your entire life. 

You ditched going to Alex’s apartment as soon as you realized you really only had three outfits and barely any necessities to last you four days. Instead of going out to the nearest Walmart to get some new underwear and some shampoo that wasn’t Alex’s, you found yourself at the polished dark oak stool of a warmly lit quiet bar. There were barely a handful of souls in the small and cozy bar, it was well decorated and taken care of - yet you haven’t seen a bartender for twenty minutes. At least you were tired enough not to care, just glad you remembered deodorant when you had gotten back to your car. The bar had good air conditioning, softly blowing cool air around the black and gold themed bar. 

Your phone had been off all day, but now it sat in your hands, on and with non-stop notifications. You had instantly put on Do Not Disturb, upset about it. Hundreds of calls from your ex-fiancé, almost a thousand texts, begging for forgiveness, then blaming it on you, then apologizing. Next was the calls from his mother, his three sisters, his brother - all people you had considered family. All were either asking where you were or asking to talk, to have Justin explain. You wouldn’t dare listen to them, wouldn’t dare listen to their defense for a slimy cheater. You wished you could just shove one sentiment down their throats:

He’s a liar, pathetic, mean, and he’s gonna get what’s coming to him. I don’t fucking cater to him anymore. He’s gonna have to learn how to suck the energy out of someone else.

The only message you wanted to read was from Justin’s father, a man you respected deeply and one you knew despised cheating. In your bones, you knew that man would take your side, even if the rest of his family took your ex-fiancé’s. The only reason why you didn’t tap on the message was because a voice had broken you from your focus.

“Thought I told you to go home and rest?”

You looked up in surprise, seeing the familiar face of Simon… behind the bar. Your eyebrows furrowed, “I thought you were a Hotshot?” 

The blond shrugged in his white button up and black vest, resting his tattooed hands on his side of the bar. “Gotta have a year round job, had to pick up a shift for Lucy.”

You didn’t look away from Simon when you turned off your phone. “141 Hotshots aren’t year round?”

“God no.” He shook his head, pulling out a clean glass and a napkin, letting it settle on the bar in front of your folded arms before setting the cold glass in front of you. “We’re only mandatory for 90 consecutive days a year - I still need this cash for gas.”

A nod, you settled your phone in your lap. “Long Island, please.”

His hand was reaching for water, but it had stopped. He gave you a sharp look, a warning. “You almost passed out coming down the trail. My statement still stands,” He took the glass back, pouring water into it from the pitcher he retrieved only a minute ago. “Go home.”

Your phone buzzed in your lap. The pit of despair in your stomach got deeper. “One drink.”

He placed the glass of water in front of you. “Drink it, then go home.”

A straw was set in front of you, but you didn’t move your stare from the blond’s face. “I just moved across the country with the clothes on my back and barely enough money to rent a car.” You moved the glass off of the napkin, setting it a few inches away as you continued, “I’m moving into my best friend’s apartment because my eight year relationship ended ‘cause my fiance had to get his dick wet with another girl for an entire year.”

The stare of your Assistant Superintendent would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t waist deep in misery; his eyebrows furrowed just a little, his lips pressed into a thin line. His hand raised from the bar, grabbing another glass. 

“Not to mention his mistress is pregnant.”

He let out a grunt, moving away from you to grab the liquor. “One drink.”

The buzzing phone on your lap did nothing to deter your small smile. “Thanks, Assistant Supe.”

He turned around, a small chuckle escaped him as he said, “You can just call me Captain like everyone else.”

“Captain Riley,” You smiled, he gave you a glare over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

He turned back around, grabbing his bottle of liquor before returning to his spot from before. He began to make your Long Island Iced Tea, eyes kept on his work as he spoke, “Remember to be at the firehouse at 6am. This is your only drink tonight.” Ice cubes clinked the glass as they were dropped in. “You got a ride home?”

You shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

Simon looked up from his work, meeting your eyes with a sharp gaze. “I’ll take you home.”

A flush ran through your chest, eyebrows raising as you blubbered, “No, I’ll be fine, I promise-”

His hand waved a little. “Just wait for me.”

You smiled at him. “Thanks, Cap.”

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