#i mean i did make /so/ many custom tiles for this

[cheollipop]

move

navi | taglist

pairing: pole dancer!choi san x club owner!reader (fem)

w.c.: 3.3k

tags: smut, ft. pimp!woo

song rec: 'move' by taemin

with his toned thighs wrapped around the pole, sweat glistening under the changing lights, you felt the urge to wipe the cocky smirk off the new hire's lips. but little did you know, choi san loved performing for a crowd.

warnings: this —in white— is san's outfit for reference (except tighter, cheaper-looking and with a different chain), mentioned mxm, reader has one drink but everything is consensual, switch!san (shorty give me whip-whiplash), mean!reader, she's a badass though, public sex, unprotected sex (👎), san has a nipple piercing, some nipple play (m), multiple orgasms (m), multiple creampies, some edging, overstimulation, a hint of breeding/impreg kink, voyeurism/exhibitionism, degradation, so much dirty talk, nicknames (sannie, pretty boy; miss, darling), I think that's all (?)

A/N: this is for my lovely, pretty, gorgeous, insanely kind, amazing, genius, and beautiful alyssa (@kitten4sannie) <3 I'm sorry this took over a month to get to ;; I really hope the wait was worth it though!! happy reading~ ^^

nsfw under the cut—minors dni!! 🔞

Scrunching your nose at the rancid odour of sewage, your heeled boots clacked against the pavement leading to the guarded club entrance, digging into your coat pocket and fishing out a stack of bills to lay gently in front of the homeless man’s sleeping bag. You passed by him every night, his yellow grin a stark contrast to his surroundings—fetid air driving everyone in the area to hold their breath, disease-ridden rodents and pretentious high school dropouts with one too many stacks of their daddy’s money crawling around in the vicinity.

You walked past the burly guard at the front, watching his ninety-degree bow from the corner of your eye as you stepped into the club. It wasn’t the best area to run such business, but you got enough loyal customers—mostly rich men lying to their wives—to pay the bills. You supposed you should be thankful to your father for that, the wretched bastard leaving his only daughter to run this shithole.

You walked down the short hallway and into wide room, blues and purples illuminating the shiny tile and peeling walls as you carried yourself to the bar near the entrance. The rusted stool creaked as you rested your body weight down on it, ignoring the young bartender as she scrambled to make your usual drink, drops of expensive liquor flying over the bench before she dropped a decorated glass in front of you. Giving her a tight-lipped smile, you wrapped your fingers around the cup and allowed the bitterness to sink into your taste buds.

Sitting sideways at the bar, forearm flat on the surface with the drink loosely held in your hand, you focused your eyes on the man to your left, moving his body around the pole anchored in the middle of the room. Cheap, glittery fabric pressed into the skin of his toned chest, stretching around his biceps until a peak of his warm skin tone shone through the white. His thighs wrapped around the pole, the muscles bulging as he held himself up and rolled his body around the metal rod, a dainty belly chain loose around his narrow waist, head rolled backwards to stretch out the column of his freckled throat. You could tell he was trying to show off his rounded backside, but his movements carried a certain stiffness that made you scoff. The customers spread out on the seats surrounding the stage—a mix of older, unhappily married men, and younger, broke college students who couldn’t afford a fancier club—didn’t seem to mind as much, taking in his lousy attempt of an arch and the prominent bulge pressing against the thin material of his shimmering bottoms, ogling eyes zeroing in on the metal bar piercing his nipple as it occasionally brushed against the pole.

He lowered himself down onto the LED flooring on his tiptoes, maintaining the graceful stance as the song came to an end, feline eyes flitting upwards to bore into yours. He oozed confidence, the air around him almost unbreachable, and for a reason you couldn’t place your finger on, the cocky curl of his lips irked you, your eyebrow twitching in irritation at the shameless show of brashness.

Veiny arms circled your shoulders, a familiar rasp in your ear, “that’s the new hire I was telling you about. Pretty neat, don’t you think?” His dark brown locks tickled your temple, curved nose nuzzling into your hair.

You hummed in agreement, “Mm, good job, Woo. He’s pretty.”

“And tight, ‘tried him out myself,” you could hear the smirk in his voice, proud of his take on a job interview.

You reached back to smack his shoulder, a faint smile on your lips. “He’s a little too confident for someone who can’t even arch properly, though,” you critiqued, narrowing your eyes at the man now bent over in front of the small crowd, thick fingers wrapped around the pole while he attempted to move his stiff muscles.

“He’s not that bad,” Wooyoung rolled his eyes, tracing over the man’s plump ass with his eyes as he played back the events from the previous night in his mind, the throaty moans and whimpers still fresh in his ears.

“Even you can do a better job than him, and that’s saying a lot.”

Two fingers pinched your upper arm through the blazer covering it, Wooyoung’s unamused huff blowing over the shell of your ear. “If you’re so displeased by his performance, why don’t you teach him how to do it yourself?” He pushed back the image of the man’s narrow waist and puckered hole, replacing it with the memory of the private show you’d put on for him the week before.

While Wooyoung was too busy fighting off the sudden tightness in his pants, you contemplated his words—despite knowing he’d spoken them humorously. Tightening your hand around your drink, you brought it up to your lips and gulped down the rest of it, pushing Wooyoung off you and standing up. He scrambled to find his footing, caught off guard by your brassy stride towards the center of the room, aiming towards the occupied chair right across the stage.

With a hand on the college freshman’s shoulder, you pulled him off the worn-down leather, sitting down in his place and watching him scurry away with a hand halfway down his pants. Redirecting your attention towards the handsome man in front of you, his gaze instantly locked with yours, and something in his eyes gave away that he knew who you were. His hips swayed with more finesse—still not up to your standards—and his expression contorted to mimic a state of ecstasy. He was trying to impress you.

You watched for a few seconds, until he bent down lower, the pathetic arch of his spine pushing the words off your tongue, “Choi San, was it?” your voice cut through the music. “It seems like Wooyoung may have spoken too highly of you. I’m a little disappointed,” you took pleasure in the slow erasure of his cocky smirk, his movements faltering as he took in your words, hints of discontent evident in your tone. “Stand up straight, pretty boy.” You leaned forward in your seat, resting your elbows over your thighs as you watched him hesitantly part from the pole to straighten up.  A smirk—a sign of power, perhaps—found its way onto your lips, “why don’t you grind on that pole for me? Since you seem so confident in yourself.”

Red tinted the shell of his ears, and you wondered how a few words could have affected a man like him so easily, as though he wasn’t standing in a room full of people ogling at his body, two pieces of glimmering fabric hiding him from their deviant gaze.

You could almost see the thoughts churning in his pretty head, dubiously reaching for the pole once again, standing behind it and beginning his decent into a full squat. Firm muscle bulged out of his thighs, oiled, tan skin reflecting the moving lights shining over his figure, his clothed bulge trapped between the metal and his abdomen. His hands remained above his head as he sunk lower, the cropped material of his shirt riding up to reveal more of his flushed chest. You watched him wordlessly, eying the deliberate brush of his nipple piercing over the pole, a muted ‘clink’ drowned under the music. Your eyes moved back to his face, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and his eyebrows drawn in, and when you trailed down his body, your lips only curled further: his half-hard length pressing against the scratchy fabric, a wet patch spreading through the material and shimmering alongside the glitter. You may be starting to understand Wooyoung’s strange infatuation with the man.

You pushed off the creaky leather, smoothing down your suit before taking a few steps onto the round LED flooring, standing next to the crouched man and watching him twist his head to look up at you.

It was known rule everywhere that the dancers were not to be touched, and you figured your next move would probably be setting a bad example in front of your customers, but your clientele consisted mostly of regulars, people who knew you to be the boss. People who knew you made the rules.

You reached down to grab his face, fingers digging into his jaw and angling it further upwards, “you’re too stiff.” Your lips curved at his attempt at pushing away, nose scrunched up in defiance.

“’m not stiff,” he retorted weakly, words muffled through the tight squeeze of your fingers around his face.

“What’s the matter, Sannie, did Youngie fuck you too hard last night? Can’t even arch your back properly?” You gave his head a firm shake with every rhetorical question, pouting your lips in faux sympathy. His cheeks heated up under your touch, the pretty pink bleeding down his neck and chest as your aired out his nightly endeavors.

“I can arch my back-”

“My club is gonna run out of business if you keep running your mouth instead of doing your job properly, pretty boy. My old man would be rolling in his grave if that ever happened. We don’t want that now, do we?” You watched panic seep into his features when you spoke your next words, “how will you pay off your debt then, hm?”

“I-I’ll learn how to do it, please just-” his fingers release around the pole and wrap around your calves instead, his knees falling to the floor by your feet while he pleaded. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

His touch wasn’t unpleasant, rough fingertips brushing over your clothed skin, squeezing gently while he squirmed under you. Your fingers eased around his jaw but didn’t let go, pleased to have a man of his stature in the palm of your hand, yours to maneuver and handle however you wished. “And what will you do until then? Learning takes time, and we’re short-staffed, you know.”

A dangerous glimmer lit up San’s dark eyes, a sense of danger churning in your gut. Skilled hands slid up your legs, past your knees and thighs to settle on the curve of your hips, nuzzling his face into your palm before speaking. For a reason you couldn’t exactly pinpoint, you allowed him to do as he pleased, as though you suddenly had your own personal, human-sized cat, brimming with affection it didn’t know how to express. Siren eyes blinked up at you, a smile loaded with playfulness and mischief directed at you.

“I’ll just make sure to put on a performance they’ll never forget.”

--

Antsy hands pushed open your unbuttoned blouse to slide over the heated skin, your dress pants tossed and abandoned over the chair you’d been sitting in, lace panties dangling off the ankle resting on San’s shoulder. His glitzy top scratched against your skin, forming a blister you were too busy to care about as San’s body pressed against yours with his belly chain forming indents into your navel, his cock pounding into you to the steady beat of the music blasting through the decrepit speakers, a distant whirring disrupting the audio.

You slapped his hand off your chest, a warning look in your eyes and a pathetically despondent one in his, reaching for your hand and guiding it to his own chest, a silent ‘touch me instead.’ It was fascinating how quickly San’s cocky persona vanished once he got his dick wet, his face contorting—eyebrows furrowed and his eyes lidded—while you pulled on his piercing, rolling his nipple under your thumb and reveling in the tight moans rolling off his tongue.

“Fuck, ‘m close,” he mumbled, readjusting on his knees, the tight material of his bottoms low on his thighs restricting the movement.

“Already?” you teased, sucking in a sudden breath at the new angle, his cock curving into your g-spot through his relentless thrusts, his previous rhythm lost in his overflowing lust. “What a waste of a pretty cock, can’t even last long enough to make me cum.”

You noted the rose bleeding into his ears once again, his hips stuttering and a throaty moan leaving his lips as he emptied inside you, his hot seed spreading warmth through your lower belly. You laughed as he lowered himself onto you, hovering over your torso while he rolled his hips into your cunt, riding out his orgasm with airy moans and tightly-shut eyes. Paper bills fluttered in the air, some sticking to the sweat beaded on San’s back while the majority landed around your tangled bodies.

You were about to get up, words of beration forming on your tongue, but San took a few breaths and drove his cock further into you, grinding his length between your dripping walls until it chubbed up once again. It caught you off guard, his eagerness to perform, to prove himself to you, to fuck you dumb in front of all your customers.

The slow pace he adopted wasn’t enough, but the deliberate drag of his cock over your g-spot nearly sent you spiraling, the leg perched up on his shoulder shaking with every thrust. “Ngh, do you like being watched, pretty boy?”

San’s bashfulness was nowhere to be found, replaced with a pleased smile and a quick nod to his head, “Mm, I do,” his fingers kneaded the flesh of your thigh, his other hand pushing down your right leg to further open you up for him, driving his cock into you twice before leaning down to whisper in your ear, “what about you, Miss? You’re the same, aren’t you? I can feel your cunt squeezing around me every time you look at the perverts watching us.”

Your limbs felt heavy, something in your stomach convulsing at his words. “Watch your mouth-”

Calloused fingers slipped under you to tangle in the hair at your nape, tugging sharply until your neck craned at the force, your next words dying on your tongue as he began pistoning his cock into your needy cunt, a broken cry ripping through your chest as his cockhead pressed into your sweet spot repeatedly.

“You want them to watch how I’m gonna fuck you full? I’ll give you all I have, Miss, every last drop, until you’re all swollen with my cum,” he rambled, soft lips pressed against your temple while he hammered into you, sending you barreling towards the edge.

A tingle spread through your limbs, the edges of your vision darkening, and you prepared to freefall into a numbing orgasm, but San’s hips suddenly slowed to a languid grind, his lips stretching menacingly against your skin.

“No- fuck, I was so close-”

San interrupted your complaints, “tell me you want it.”

Your eyebrow twitched in annoyance. It was as though he was holding your orgasm for ransom. “Don’t be a fucking asshole, I’m still your boss-”

“-and I’m the one fucking you stupid,” he retorted, that vexing smirk on his face once again, and you wanted to punch it away. You’d assume abusing an employee would bring bad rep to your club, though, and you couldn’t afford to lose any customers. So you settled on glaring at him, attempting to roll your hips but huffing when San’s hands anchored you down to the floor.

“C’mon, just say you want it. I’ll give you whatever you want, Miss.” He lowered his voice down to a whisper, “all of it, just for you.”

The deep baritone of his voice, the words flowing smoothly off his tongue, warm hands splayed over your hips, occasionally squeezing at the flesh at the end of every sentence, his musky perfume mixed in with the tangy scent of his sweat engulfing your senses. Your walls pulsed around his cock, sitting  thick and heavy inside you while you squirmed under him, the skin of your cheeks heated under his gaze as he awaited the words he wanted to hear. After a few minutes of his relentless stare-down, cat-like eyes boring into yours with incessant demand, you gave in, muttering the words under your breath and breaking eye contact.

Just when you thought you could breathe again, his deep chuckle echoed in your ear, the pleasant sound preferable over the music playing in the background, but his words sent a wave of cold sweat seeping out of your pores, “No, no. Say it louder for me, darling.”

You huffed in exasperation, the smell of alcohol swimming in the air between you. Shutting your eyes to relieve yourself of the sight of San's sharp jawline and arched eyebrow, you missed the way his gaze flitted upwards to meet with Wooyoung’s—the man now sat in the chair to the left of the stage, palming at the obvious tent in his pants.

San gave a harsh thrust to egg you on, the shot of pleasure shooting up your spine at the gesture enough to push the words off your tongue, “just fucking give me your cum already, ‘want it all inside,” you slurred, voice breathy with hints of desperation.

San didn’t waste any time before picking up his pace, pounding into your heat with urgent want, as though he was a starved man at a banquet. It was as though he’d lit your nerves on fire, the pleasure so intense your mind went numb, nails digging into San’s biceps as he pulled moan after moan out of you. “Hnnngh! L-like that, yeah-”

There was no build-up to your orgasm, and you found yourself tumbling down a steep cliff into a valley of ecstasy, lips forming an ‘o’ while San guided you through it. With your back arched off the ground, your blouse damp and stuck to your slick back, you clung to the fluid drag of San’s throbbing cock between your fluttering walls, the sound of skin-on-skin following the beat vibrating through the speakers.

San’s fingers dented your skin with enough force to promise blossoming bruises, his breath laboured as he began to chase his own high after you’d ridden out yours, fucking into you like a madman, “’m almost there, Miss, ‘gonna make sure you’re nice and full of me,” He groaned near your ear, the sound melting away the tinges of overstimulation jolting you away from him, his tight grip keeping you in place to buck his hips into your used hole. “So full you might get pregnant- ngh!”

Driven to completion by his own words, San’s throaty moans drowned out the melody strumming in the background, spurts of hot cum adding to the white painting your walls as he milked himself of every last drop. It seemed like you were the one who had fucked him stupid, barely-coherent, babbled praise flowing into your ear as he tucked his head into the crook of your neck.

Your knee dug into your chest, and you stared at the lace still hanging off your ankle where it sat on San’s shoulder, pins and needles pricking at your muscles from the prolonged position. But you didn’t complain, simply basking in the afterglow while San’s chest rose and fell into yours. You could see the flutter of paper bills in your peripherals—more than you’d ever seen before on a slow, Thursday night—barely any of them reaching you as the men tossing them had their dominant hands preoccupied. Your eyes moved sideways, meeting Wooyoung’s, already staring back at you with a knowing smirk on his pouty lips.

Through the thick haze of the orgasm still clouding your mind, your muscles twitching with its remnants as San’s cock spasmed pathetically between your flooded walls, two loads streaming out of your stretched cunt, you realised just how much Choi San enjoyed performing for a crowd.

And just how much you could profit off that.

reblogs/feedback are greatly appreciated!! ^^ apply for my tag list here (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

[felassan]

Ive heard that we'll be able to load our previous dai world state but maybe it said something in a different way and I misunderstood. We get to "make choices" but we can't load it exactly? What does that mean for the inquisitor? (I want to see my little guy lol) or maybe I'm just confused, I'm sorry

hello! ◕‿◕ All good! We will see the Inquisitor in the game. Worldstates will not be loaded directly, as in from save files or The Keep anything. They said that during the character creation process, we will "be able to customize [our] Inquisitor from the last game's story and make a few key decisions that will impact how DA:TV begins". [source, two] There won’t be any way to carry the Inquisitor's appearance 'data' over from DA:I into the game [source: the Discord] (because the tech is too different) so it sounds like it will be a case of re-creating them from scratch in DA:TV's new CC. For the world state, DA:TV will not use the Keep [source]. DA:TV will not read saves from DA:O, DAII or DA:I [source], because the technology is very different and they wanted this to be in the client. How we will 'tell' the game what our choices were will look a little different this time. They said:

"In an interview with IGN, Dragon Age: The Veilguard Game Director Corinne Busche says the ability to import your choices is “fully integrated into the character creator this time around.” “What’s not lost on us is that it’s been 10 years since existing players have played. They might not remember [what they did in previous games],” Busche explains. “They might need that refresher and we don’t want new players to feel like they’re missing out on those decisions. So in the character creator, I like to call it last time on Dragon Age, but you can go into your past adventures and it, actually through tarot cards, tells you what the context was and what decision you want to make.” Busche also confirms that The Veilguard players won’t have to link to their accounts for this option, as you’ll be able to play the game fully offline." [source]

This is just speculation on my part, but what I imagine is like - you know how in the start of DA:I, you select the Inquisitor's race and class from tarot cards? Something like that, but for certain choices we made in our past adventures instead, and for less choices than there are in the Keep (which has sooo many choices and tiles), so maybe mostly just major ones? the way it's described reminds me somewhat of Mass Effect Genesis, only instead of a 'comic' style, it's with tarot cards. (/end speculation ^^) I hope this helped. :>

[urbigsockssmell]

Monster - Chapter 2.

Male! Wendigo x Female! Reader

Summary: In your last moments before death, you make a deal with the Devil himself. To provide it with as much food as you can from your butcher job to save your life and the lives of everyone around you. Even if it knows the amount of food you can give it still won't be enough, it goes along with your plan for whatever reason of curiosity it has.

DISCLAIMER!!! YOU CAN ONLY CONTINUE READING THIS BOOK ON WATTPAD AND AO3 UNDER @UrBigSocksSmell AND THE BOOK IS CALLED "Monster" UPDATES WON'T BE HAPPENING HERE ON TUMBLR ONLY THERE!!!

No real trigger warnings here if you dont count paranoia, some form of anxiety atacks mentioned and stalking I suppose.

"No, Mom, boyfriends don't come out of thin air." You scolded her over the phone while bits of bread crumbs spilled from your mouth and onto the already dirty tile floor.

"But what about Charles? He's single, right? Or maybe--" You cut her off, having swallowed the bite of food before she could talk any more nonsense.

"Mom, stop trying to hook me up with Charles. How many times do I have to tell you that he's only just a friend to me?" You were getting severely annoyed and angry at her as so many times you have before when having this sort of conversation.

"Fine, fine, but just know I said that about Martha when we were just friends." She put an emphasis enclosure on her last words and you guessed she did quotation marks as well. You had to roll your eyes in your chair at her comment while taking another bite.

It wasn't uncommon for her to all of a sudden mention a boyfriend when she called you on your lunch break and it was starting to get immensely annoying. You were sitting in your shop, far back where the meat was served and the people couldn't see you, eating a baloney sandwich from the market down the street while talking to your mother over the phone. Today wasn't good but wasn't bad either. It was good on the part of how many few customers there were and that you were finally able to relax from some non-specific person in mind. But it was bad when it came to how boring it was at work and how the outside felt like walking straight into a tornado.

"Now that you mentioned Martha, how is she?" You tried switching up the conversation from that embarrassing topic.

She chuckled before responding and it sent a sort of vibrating sound through the telephone. "She's doing well. She said that there's an action movie she heard about that she'd love to see with you. It was something called like 'Battle of the Manticores' or some shit like that." A light chuckle was heard from you at her cursing.

You got up from your chair, it making a squeaky sound on the floor that you cringed at, and were about to go and throw the plastic the sandwich was wrapped in while still having some food substance in your mouth.

"Y-Y/N?" Her sudden call-out made you perk up while walking and make a light 'mmh' sound for her to continue. "I've, umm, I've h-heard what happened at the town's square..." Her voice was low and nervous and the jittery tone she had before vanished as the tension slowly thickened. You stopped in your tracks and had to swallow down the lump in your throat and not just from the meat and bread that was in your mouth.

It's been a couple of days, maybe about a week since that.. incident. News had spread about it, everyone talked around and even articles were written of it possibly being a serial killer on the loose. It was clearly a cash grab at twisting the frightening truth but there still could've been a possibility. There could even be a possibility of another corpse hiding around yet to be discovered.

You've recovered since then. I mean, it wasn't anything that serious, just a dead scary-looking animal that made people vomit at just the look of it. Instead, everyone including you, was worried about what had caused it and if they posed a threat to the town. Who could've mauled down that corpse in such a disturbing and vicious way? Just a normal animal from the forest everyone's dramatizing to monetize? A psychotic human?..A monster? And if it had done that much bloodthirsty harm to just one animal, possibly and most likely more, what would it do to the entire town?

Nobody knew and it was the cause of all the nightmares you had ever since. Nightmares that made you face death itself. It just didn't help that even outside, in your already sleep-deprecated life, did the presence of death feel real. Even now when you were having a private conversation with your mother did the feeling of watchful white eyes of death on you every second never disappear.

In your desperate attempt to try and forget about it, you never mentioned it once to anyone, and for your mother to suddenly bring it up made every emotion you felt at that moment crawl back and shiver up your spine.

"H-Honey? You still there?" Your mother caught on to how quiet you had become. She could've never known how much all of the color you had on your face drained down and made you pale as a ghost.

"Where did you hear about it?" Your tone only thickened not only the tension but also the fear and worry in your mother.

"A-a friend of mine told me... " You continued walking while holding all your focus on her words and gripping the black Nokia phone tight with both of your hands. "She said that there was an animal eaten alive down at the town's square and that nobody knew where it came from and how it was caused." At the end of her sentence, you were about to throw the peace of plastic in the bin when you realized your coworker had forgotten to throw out the trash. At any different moment in time, you would've rolled your eyes at him in annoyance and groaned out at the newfound chore. This moment was different, it felt... unusual like something wrong was going to happen. It was something you had done so many times before but now that all the fear was back lashing on your trembling bones, it felt like something different had to happen.

"I was wondering what you have to say about it." Your footsteps echoed around the room on the tile floor and made you feel cautious about everything. It was only to go and throw out the trash your forgetful coworker left but now it almost felt.. unsafe.

"I-It was probably nothing. Just some animals killing other animals like nature made it be like." That was true, at least it was the truth you wanted to believe in and have been telling yourself for the entire week.

"You're probably right but.." The breeze of a chilly wind on your face made you feel cold when you opened the door to the back alleyway.

The alleyway was huge, it had graffiti around the brick walls, burned-out cigarettes and syringes probably used for drugs decorating the musty concrete floor. It was a very hidden and creepy place, near Rushell's dark forest, far where the sun didn't hit, and behind all the shops. It just wasn't fun that even within such a closed space, the tornado-like wind still had to torment you. One of the reasons why you didn't like visiting the place was how dark it was. You always feared something being in there, either a creep or something from the forest like a.. monster. There was some form of light, it being the street light towering over you and the various lights from the buildings, but even that didn't help in uncovering the white eyes lurking in the shadows.

"I don't know, I'm just worried about you, honey." You could barely make out her voice from the annoying and loud wind that made your hair run all over the place and roughly hold the Nokia phone with both hands. You opened the green and rusty dumpster as quickly as possible and threw the rubbish directly into it. It smelled horrible when you opened it as if accompanied by all of the cats and raccoons that ran away from the outburst of sound was a terrified skunk. You still felt the feel of how dirty the dumpster was even when you turned around and were ready to go back to where you came from.

"What do you think it is?"

That sudden question from your mother wasn't the only thing that made you pale in your tracks and taste a familiar bitter taste in your mouth.

It was almost nostalgic. To feel the same feeling you felt back then, minutes before, and again now. That same horror in your eyes, that same paleness in your face, and that same shiver hugging your spine. It wasn't anything that bloody and gory looking this time but it almost made you drop your phone into pieces. It was.. inhumane. No human or animal you knew existed could've done the havoc that was caused on the metal door of the butcher shop. There were claw marks ingrained on it and ripping the rusty metal like something was trying to get in. They were huge and reminded you of something only dinosaurs could make, huge as in whatever caused it could grab your entire face in just one of its hands. You feared touching the door handle now, scared of whatever caused it to jump out at you when you opened it. The damage done couldn't have been made by a cat or a raccoon, just the marks alone were twice their size, big, and the being..  could probably chew them up with just one bite... Was it ..trying to get in and eat--

"What do you think it is?" Your mother repeated herself.

It was a pause for a breath of air that felt like it lasted forever when you gathered your thoughts.

"I don't know.."

***

I must announce that this book hit over a 100 reads on Ao3 within A FUCKING WEEK!? I am in shook. W. T. F. Thank you all for reading this book, I am thankful that you clicked on my work out of all the books out there. (Totally didn't steal Chad Chad's outro) Please leave any sort of feedback, as a beginner author it will help me graciously. And please tell me if the build up and paranoia is accecutaed goodly.

I will probably be updating this book on a schedule weekly. It took me a week to write this chapter, with the amount of editing a had to do so I'm thinking of posting a new chapter every Friday or Saturday. I am not that busy at the moment with school and outside activities so it works out perfectly for me. Or I'll make it so I update every ten days like I saw someone posting on Wattpad do I don't know. It's still just an idea and I need to seriously do a lot more research on Wendigos so I can get as accurate as possible.

Have a lovely day, you deserve it because you made mine by just living and reading my display.

[pens-and-paperbacks]

"Nobody wants to work! Everyone is so lazy! No one has any work ethic!"

That's all a lie and I'm sorry you've been made to believe that. The truth is people are applying and many people have great work ethic or can be easily taught but the jobs they're forced into are so trash that if they had the choice, why would they ever actually apply there? Why would they want to work there?

My current workplace, a gas station, is sitting on at least a dozen applications but my boss won't hire any of them because, "they're welfare fodder, they've only kept a job for six months or less." We're finally hiring someone in now because, "they looked put together and have a nice looking car," but only because one of my coworkers is leaving, having out in a notice a month ago which my boss hasn't forgiven her for and is spiteful about. All of this doesn't even touch the HUGE mouse problem we had for MONTHS, the heavily leaking ceiling with a huge hole over its door, or the mold that's just everywhere throughout the fridges and the ceiling tiles. And even THAT doesn't touch on the surprising amount of racist and homophobic comments I hear from customers (or employees/my boss sometimes) here and there.

At another job I worked from the stores opening, through orientation, and watched everyone that had miraculously lasted the first two years leave because two of my managers had an affair, lied about it to everyone, fired someone over seeing their text messages and kept messing up our supply orders. When my actual boss finally stepped in he was so out of touch with what actually needed to be done in the store that it caused worse problems. I also heard at some point, when people had to take on second jobs, that this boss was flat out doing everything he could to get rid of people because, " they were making another job their priority instead of this one."

The second job I had to take during the one mentioned just above (because I was one of those people not getting enough hours) was flat out a horrible, toxic work environment. Everyone had a bad attitude, did not want to be there and even if it seemed like they were having a good day, one wrong work or work slip up made their mood flip on a dime. I had to flat out ask to not be put on the schedule with one of the employees because they were that mean to me, and I can get along with anyone so that's saying something. The labor cost they had was absolutely ridiculous there (meaning they could only keep so many people on at a time to afford being there, possibly only two even during a lunch or dinner rush with a fully packed drive through and lobby) and when one manager decided, "I have to send my help home and work by myself for an hour, otherwise I'm gonna get yelled at about the labor cost," and singlehandedly handled one of those lunch rushes on their own. They were written up for it. They left that morning after signing that paper because, despite not being allowed to be there on your own as an employee, our boss was adamant about labor costs and could have covered for her or not told anyone. If she hadn't have some what she did, she would have actually been yelled at. It was an incredibly disrespectful move done in the name of corporate.

The one job that paid me well did so because they appreciated my work and everyone else kept leaving. I saw three raises in three months because I was essentially THE kitchen manager. That was great. Thing was, even though the people I worked with and for were good to me, it was a bowling alley/restaurant/arcade/bar where you were expected to prep, cook, take reservations, set people up on lanes via computer, serve people if your manager was busy, do light maintenance on the bowling machines and arcade machines, keep up with dishes and get the end of the day cleaning done which sometimes meant vacuuming the carpet across all eighteen lanes of customer seating and cleaning the tables/chairs stationed there too. All of that, despite the raises, was done for minimum wage starting and the place was almost always packed. I'd often get asked to stay because they kept a few employees that while good at their job they just missed shifts constantly because they knew they could, since this job had on-call shifts too. There were nights my husband picked me up that I was so sore and overworked that I would get in the car and just start sobbing. I wouldn't stop for ten minutes or more, either until we were mostly home or we got something to eat since I was normally too hungry to keep crying.

The very first job I ever got was at a pizza place. Over all it was the most laid back, despite being run by one of the Mafia families in town (of which there are a few but tbf they're very low key). The problem there was that the boss was a fucking scumbag who thought that in his case the Mafia status made him a big shot. It didn't. On a side note, his self important scumbag attitude made the other families in the area see him for the joke he was. He would make passes at the waitresses in exchange for streak dinners and money, only ever hire girls who were cute/pretty as waitresses so he could have a chance at doing so with someone cute/pretty. When we had a lot of money coming in he would spend it on improving the bar that was attached to the restaurant, as in getting new flat screen tvs or new glasses, some trivial thing that he didn't actually need. Not the kitchen ware that needed fixing, which at one point caused me to get a third degree burn because someone ended up running into my arm with boiling hot lasagna out of an oven we didn't normally use. There was also a point where I had to deliver a pizza to him, which he ordered drunkenly and over the phone while he was in the bar only twenty feet away, but when I went to deliver it to him and grab a jug of wine I needed for the restaurant, his grandson (very politely) had to stop me from doing so because his grandfather was doing something with a woman in the backroom of the bar in the middle of the day.

Currently, I have to move out of my house and in with friends a state away with my husband because even with two people working nearly 40 hours each at a minimum wage job still isn't enough to live and thrive off of. It's nothing we can make an actual life off of. We have to leave our house behind for a season, get new jobs and save money in this new place, just so we can afford to come back and fix up and sell our house/land. Our combined income is about $30,000 flat, in a small town where everything was just affordable enough to get by. It isn't anymore.

I sent out five job applications in one month only to hear back from one with a no, the others ghosted me completely until just the other day, literally the month after.

"No one wants to work! Everyone is lazy! No one is applying!"

You don't know how bad it is and has been even before COVID. Add inflation onto the long list of fucked up, unprofessional or flat out cruel things that can be done or said in many workplaces, which you have to deal or else your fired, on top a work chore/task sheet that probably keeps you overworked and exhausted the entire week/month/year and I ask you-

Would you want to work?

[ponds-of-ink]

Short FNAF 3 AU One-Shot: “Trying to Negotiate”

Got inspired by this reply to one of my posts so much, that I had to write something.

And, to be clear, the name I am using for one of the characters is a code name. It’s not the actual name of said character.

Staticky rambles pierced one of Patty’s eardrums. If she wasn’t driving, then she would have fussed at this surfer man to calm down. Just because she was older than a lot of the staff in this horror attraction did not mean that he could yell so loudly. Not only was it hurting her hearing, but it was also clearly going to ensure him losing his voice for a week. A shame that this had to bother one of the most laidback people she’s ever met.

Thankfully, the sight of her car pulling into the parking lot seemed to calm him down. She waved at the disheveled man before pulling into one of the main empty spaces. Once settled in, she hung up her phone and exited the vehicle. “Nothing’s caught fire, which is a good start,” she noted as she walked up to him. “I guess the only concern now is this whole animatronic business.”

The man nodded rapidly, then pointed to the front of the building. “They’re in the first room to your right,” he explained with a tremor not befitting his casual tone. “I guess you’ll talk to that bot while I get something for Mike?”

“That sounds like a good start,” Patty agreed calmly. “I was a great negotiator, as far as my husband was concerned. I got us out of many... risky situations. I’m sure this is no different. Goodbye for now, Mr. ‘Dude’.”

Confident in her abilities, she strolled to the door and shoved it open. The mustiness of the air made her cough into her sleeve, but no one took advantage of the sound. In fact, whatever noise was there before she arrived plummeted into silence. When she opened her eyes, there was a dark, narrow hall with a wide-open door lighting her way. Her heart thumped. This was just like one of those newer horror movies from the 80s. Which meant, as she got closer to the “danger room”, her internal monologue shifted from rehearsing her ‘let the boy go’ speech to excitedly wondering about what terrifying monster could be lurking behind that opening. The obvious answer was a haunted animatronic, yes, but what kind was it? A custom-made one fit for this attraction? A retrofitted one covered in mold and grime from all the years of entertaining folks both young and old? Or, miracles of miracles, was it a suit she helped tailor for?

The sound of something scraping the linoleum tiles jolted her out of her speculation. Half-thankful for the reminder, she peered into the office. She let out a gasp straight away, alerting the attention of the man crouching on the desk. “Mrs. Thomas, what are you doing here!?” he cried out. “You could get hurt!”

“I appreciate your politeness, Mike, but you can just call me ‘Patty’,” Patty scoffed as she properly entered into the room. “Same goes for your ‘friend’, if he ever decides to join us. Now, how’s about I get you down before you hurt yourself?”

Reluctantly, Mike gave her his arm and gingerly jumps off the table. On instinct, Patty grabbed him tight and spun him back down to earth. Both looked at each other with wide eyes. “Sorry,” Patty apologized simply. “That was a move I learned in my younger years. A bit of choreography from the silver screen.”

Mike opened his mouth to ask something, then stops. He looked past her shoulder. The scraping started again, making his blood run cold. “How’s about we trade stories outside?” he asked her with a wide, shaky grin. “I talk about my night of peril while you regale me with your years of stardom. What could be better than that?”

Patty crossed her arms and turned away. “A chance to talk with this ‘monster’ you’ve been fighting, for one thing,” she huffed. “I drove all this way to see what everyone’s been afraid of, and I’m not going until I do.” She opened one eye, then looked back at Mike. “Not that you don’t matter, of course,” she added sheepishly. “I just mean that, now that I know you’re as safe as you can be—“

Three light taps on the desk alerted both Mike and Patty. Mike put a hand to his face and walked a few steps away while Patty gawked at the source of the noise. A towering, rabbit-like monster of mucky faux-fur and gnarled reddish bits sat in a buckling office chair. Its glowing white eyes met hers, then glanced back at the current state of the chair. Though doing its best to remain intimidating, the nervous posture it took after getting out of that seat was definitely noticeable. Thankfully, it did little to change the fact that this was a marred and “zombified” version of a rabbit she once knew. A very dangerous one when cornered, most likely.

Needless to say, Patty’s heart was thumping. “So, you’re the one who’s been messing with Mike?” she asked, brushing back a strand of loose hair as she stepped forward.

The rabbit tilted its head one way, then the other. Then, its good ear raised along with its eyelids. It nodded rapidly, as if her voice had now fully interested him.

“And you’ve also got a reputation of wrecking cameras and causing havoc, correct?”

The rabbit drew himself up proudly. That was him, all right.

Patty’s face flushed. “W-Well, as much as I’d like to congratulate you for being a very nice addition to the scare factor of this place,” she stammered out, using the other side of the desk for support, “I’m afraid I can’t let you keep toying with this poor boy.”

A roll of the eyes from the rabbit. Oh, please. What could she possibly say to convince him? He was Springtrap! The immortal fusion of man, “rabbit”, and machine! Sure, it hurt to move anything other than his eyes most of the time, but what did that matter? He was free to haunt this place whenever he could! He could even reach over and smack the back of her head to prove himself, if he wanted to! Why, he could—

“..Which is why I’m going to take his place, if the manager will let me.”

Why, he could practically let his soul fly out of this robotic body just to simulate the absolutely overwhelming sensation she just gave him.

Fortunately for him, Mike took the words right out of his mouth. “I’m sorry!?” he exclaimed, thrusting his hands from his head to the ground. “Did you seriously just volunteer to work my shift!?”

Patty shot a stern glare at Mike. “I said exactly what I meant,” she replied solemnly. “Let me put it this way: you get to recover from all the madcap things this rabbit’s done to you, I finally get to experience what it’s like to be in a proper horror movie, and Mr. Bonnie here will get to have a new playmate.”

“His name’s ‘Springtrap’, but that’s besides the point,” Mike grumbled, fighting the urge to ram his head into the nearby wall. “Patty, you have no idea who you’re up against. He can climb through vents that go straight to this office, he can outsmart any trick you try with that audio system, or he could even skip all that and try some new tactic I’m not even aware of!”

“Mr. Schmidt, are you warning me or convincing me even more?” Patty asked in a straightforward tone. “Because it honestly sounds like you’re doing the latter.”

Springtrap, meanwhile, had given up looking intimidating and settled for burying his head in his hands. She did not just imply that she wanted to be plagued by his stupid antics for six hours straight. All while sitting in a chair due to some dumb protocol and repairing the faulty systems, no less. There was no way a woman of her age (along with her gracefully-aged figure and beauty, which he definitely wasn’t afraid of tarnishing) could withstand that for a five nights, let alone full week. It would be downright disgraceful for everyone involved.

However, as his throat dared not let him articulate any of these thoughts, Springtrap just lowered his hands and firmly shook his head.

Patty sighed and lowered her head. “Is there any way I can prove to you that I’m capable?” she asked the rabbit dismally. “Because I’m not going to accept your terms until I know that I’m not cut out for this.”

Springtrap slumped. His ears drooped. Well, she did come this far. And she has stayed in this room for more than a few minutes now. His eyes scanned the room for anything that could be of good use. Out of habit, he scratched the back of his padded head. His eyelids raised. Wait a minute. Of.. course...?

Timidly, he waved his hand in front of Patty’s face. Then, when he had got her attention, he pointed to the side of his head.

“Do you want me to lift that mask up for you?” Patty asked, more curious than anything.

Springtrap nodded hesitantly. This was either going to end with her dying of fright or him actually running away in fear for once. He could feel it. However, as this was the only way to prove her courage, he tried to brush away his fear as he leaned towards her.

Patty returned his anxious movements with a gentle smile. “I’m sure what’s underneath is nothing as bad as some of the effects in that one The Immortal and The Restless special,” she joked as she lightly undid the clasps around the seam of his jaw. “Honestly, what were they—?”

Stunned silence cut her question off. Instead of a metal plate with glass eyes and uneven teeth that was typically under the robot heads, her eyes were met with a more appalling sight. A muddy reddish skull (or was it a death’s head?) with two pale eyes shared the same gaping expression of terror. The eyes darted from her to the surrounding area, as if trying to distract itself from the sheer vulnerability it just put itself in. The hollow yet frantic breathing confirmed this idea, causing Patty to flick the mask back into place. Wordlessly, she redid the clasps and retreated a step.

Springtrap also backed away from the desk. His mind reeled as he turned away from her. How... How was she not dead? Better yet, how was she not running out the door while screaming for dear life? Yes, she clearly had a thrill for anything horrific like vampires or the more traditional ghosts. But he was nothing like that. He was much, much worse.

And yet, there she was. Tiptoeing towards him as if she was the one who scared him and not the other way around. “I should probably leave you here to recover,” he could hear her say gently. “Sorry about being so intrusive, by the by. I had no idea–“

Springtrap put a finger to her lips, then tilted his head towards Mike. Never mind the apologies. It was all his fault anyway.

[companionwolf]

Toy Soldiers Ch 5

The sun is rising, and the Commander is back in the city.

But I’m not alone this time, they think, gingerly brushing a hand against the front pant pocket they’ve tucked Central into as they climb through a broken front window of a shop.The glass cuts at their hands; they pause to wrap them in bandages, breaths heavy beneath the gas mask.

It’s a local grocery store, autumnal leaves blown in and scattered across dirty white tiles. The Commander treads lightly down the aisles, checking dates on cans, pocketing what looks remotely edible.

Does it ever annoy you?

Central’s voice in their head makes them start. “God, don’t scare me like that.” They shake their head, but it’s affectionate. “Anyway, what do you mean, ‘annoy’?”

Having to eat, he elaborates. Drink. Bathe. Relieve yourself. All those human things.

“It can be,” they admit, pawing through long rotted vegetables.

Central is quiet again then, as the Commander shimmies they way back out the broken front window. Then: I wish I could feel those things. Hunger. Cold. Even pain. Maybe I’d feel more like a person.

“Some people have trouble feeling them, and they’re still people,” says the Commander.

Right, but they’re still--

“You might not be human, but you’re a person, regardless of what you experience,” they say. They push open the door of another shop-- a toy shop this time, and their hands run over the stuffed animals, but they don’t actually stop until they reach the dolls.

“See any clothes you like?”

Feels weird to just…take it, Central says.

“I don’t think these ones are alive,” they say. “Are they?”

A sense of a head nodding no.

“I’m gonna take…this, and these, and that,” they say, grabbing a bed sized just bigger than Central, a tiny bookshelf, and a miniature couch, tucking them away into the backpack. “Just let me know if you see anything you want.”

They’re almost out of the doll aisle when Central says-- that one.

“Hm?”

The one with the little robot, he says. She’s alive in there.

The Commander’s gaze drifts to the end of the shelf. In a neat little box is a doll in a silly sci-fi looking uniform, with a little cubic robot miniature, hand painted with the name ROV-R. Her eyes stare up at them, and they give her a little wave, “Hi, there.” They press a hand to the box, but don’t pick up anything. “You’re sure she’s awake?”

I’m positive, Central says.

“OK, she can come home with us,” they say, taking the box in their hands as they sit and pull out a pocket knife. With a few swift cuts they’ve got the box open and gently pull the engineer out, smoothing down her hair. The robot miniature comes out a moment later.

The Commander tries again: “Hello?”

Nhh -- what? Who are--

“I’m your human,” says the Commander. From their pocket, Central laughs. You can’t just declare that, he says,

“But you said that to me,” they answer.

He laughs again. Because you are! But that’s a choice the object makes, not the other way around.

“Ohhh,” says the Commander.

They pull Central from their pocket, hold the two dolls a few inches from each other, looking sort of at each other and sort of at them. “I’m the Commander, and this is Central.”

Hey, Commander, says the engineer. Hi, Central. I’m Shen. The toy pauses. There haven't been many customers here for a long time. Did something happen? I fell asleep after so long…

“Yeah, uh, a lot’s happened,” the Commander says.

Aliens, Central summarizes, and transmits a scowl.

Ah, says Shen. Aliens.

“...Do you know what an alien is?”

I think so, she answers. Space people, right?

The Commander nods. “We’re bringing you back home-- you cool with that?”

Shen considers for a moment. Yeah, she says finally, I’m cool with that.

Later, when they’re leaving a yarn shop, the Commander trips, loses their gas mask in the fall, bashes their face against the concrete. And for just a moment, they forget--

“Shit!”

The sound echoes off the empty buildings, and they realize what they;ve done only after the word has burst from their lips.

To their credit, Central and Shen also yelp, but the zombies can't hear the dolls; it doesn't matter if they scream. The human staggers to their feet, hurriedly picks up and puts the gas mask back on, swallows and tastes blood. There’s rustling in the shadows, and then--

The horde is upon them, and the Commander runs.

They run, cutting through back alleys, clambering over cars, but the swarm behind them just seems to get bigger and bigger, and faster, too. They’re panting beneath the mask, sweat in their eyes, wishing they’d brought a weapon, cursing that they didn’t.

They’ve gotten complacent, relaxed-- too much so, to stop bringing a weapon during these city runs. They have an old gun that they managed to scavenge from somewhere a while ago, but they don’t usually carry it around. They’d gotten so used to not needing one, to being so careful that the zombies never noticed them anyway.

You’re almost there!

How many of these damn things are there?

“Too many,” huffs the Commander from under the mask as they barrel around a corner. The dashers behind them don’t let up, and there's nothing but the side of an apartment ahead of them. They frantically glance up and down at the building, looking for a way out or over or--

Over the fence? offers Central.

“Fuck it, sure,” they say, and heave their way up the chain link, feels the backs of their heels kick against the head of a zombie as they throw themeleves over, landing hard on the pavement.

They lay there for a minute, catching their breath, ignoring Central’s panicked voice in their head.

“Give me a minute,” they manage to pant.

After what feels like an eternity, the Commander hefts to their feet and continues on.

[caitlin-scstudyabroad]

Post 7 : Lisbon

This week my sister came to visit me for an entire week during her spring vacation! We planned to travel to Lisbon, Portugal for the weekend, and spend the remainder of the week in Barcelona. We went 4 of my other friends that are also studying abroad in Barcelona. We stayed at Hostel WOT, which was an interesting hostel fit with a huge ball pit for the guests to play in!

This hostel was in a great location and was only a 10-15 minute walk from the city center. We spent the first day exploring the hilly paths of Lisbon, many of which were filled with cool trinket shops and unique cafes and squares. My main food mission on this trip was to find the best Pastel de Nata in all of Lisbon. Pastel de Nata are custard filled pastries that are native to Portugal and they are now one of my favorite desserts. Another aspect of Lisbon that intrigued me was their transportation system; they have overground cable cars that run around the city. 

We found many markets filled with tasty treats and tapas - similar to Barcelona. We finished the day with a sunset boat cruise which was one of the highlights of this trip. It even had a fabulous DJ, setting the ambiance for the duration of the ride.

One of the various things I love about Lisbon is how beautiful it is. They have an abundance of unique streets lined with authentic tiles on the exterior of practically every building. One of my favorite streets was called “Roa Verde” which in English means Green Street. It was decorated with interesting green decor and tiny restaurants and shops. 

The most famous street is … Pink Street! One of the coolest streets I have ever seen with rainbow umbrellas overlooking the entire street. At night it becomes even more crowded with people hopping from restaurant to restaurant grabbing tapas, drinks, or mingling with other people. It is the perfect place to go if you want to meet new people- everyone is so friendly and kind.

But, this trip seemed to good to be true - and disaster struck! Sunday was (supposed to be) our final day in Lisbon. With our flight taking off at 7 am, and a 4 am wake up call, we arrived the airport early and awaited our flight. We then received an email that our flight had been delayed due to “weather.” With a clear sky outside, we patiently waited in the airport for a Vueling email to update us on our flight. Until the flashing red letters spelled out “CANCELLED” on the airport screen. We tried to find a customer service ticket desk, but there was none inside our terminal. We had to leave the terminal and go the Vueling desk - which simply did not exist. While frantically trying to find the imaginary desk, we received an email saying that our flight had been rescheduled to 7:20 pm that day. With our stress relieved, and the time reading 6:30 am, we headed back to the streets of Lisbon! We sat down for breakfast, and planned our unexpected 12 additional hours in Lisbon. With some food in our body, we went to check in for our 7:20pm flight, and realized that they had scheduled the flight out of …. Seville, Spain, instead of Lisbon, Portugal. 

Our stress levels returned to an all time high, as Seville was a four and half hour Uber ride costing $400 or a 7 hour bus ride. Chaos began to brew as we tried calling Vueling customer service, which again - did not exist. We then, traveled back to the Lisbon Airport to figure out what to do because we simply could not make it to Seville in time. Luckily, we went to a different agency and they helped us get on the next flight back to Barcelona at 11 pm that evening. We then went back to Pink Street (AGAIN) for a nice dinner, it was only 2 pm and we still had nine hours left to kill.

Although it was a hectic day, we made the most of it. Traveling to pink street a total of 4 times in one trip. This will definitely be trip I never forget!

[biglisbonnews]

What Does It Mean to Trademark a Color? It is easy to see why Jardin Majorelle in Marrakesh is one of Morocco’s iconic tourist attractions. The lush garden, cactus-dotted landscape, bamboo arches, lily ponds, and, most of all, its signature blue buildings make it feel like an oasis in the heart of Marrakesh, a desert city of reds and browns. Most people might describe the paint as a striking cobalt or aquamarine but legally, it is known as Majorelle blue and trademarked under this brand name with the Moroccan Office of Industrial and Commercial Property. This raises an interesting question about how and why an entity has the rights over a color that has long been a part of Morocco’s heritage. The story of Jardin Majorelle starts with the celebrated French painter Jacques Majorelle who lived a large part of his life in Morocco back when it was a French protectorate. He bought a plot of land in Marrakesh, and in the 1930s he started building the landscaped garden and house using Moorish and Cubist architecture. Majorelle was inspired by the vibrant shades of aquamarine blue prevalent in Morocco, be it intricate floor tiles, window edges of a kasbah, or turbans won by Amazigh men. Toward the end of his life, Majorelle sold the estate when he fell into financial distress. Fashion designer Yves Saint-Laurent and his partner Pierre Bergé later bought and restored it. Today, Foundation Jardin Majorelle manages the space and opens it to the public. (Foundation Jardin Majorelle did not respond to requests for comment on this article.) Majorelle’s link to the house is obvious. After all, he envisioned and designed it. But his name is also synonymous with the shade of blue because he very savvily trademarked it before his death in 1962. Specifically, Majorelle blue is 37.65% red, 31.37% green and 86.27% blue. Majorelle is neither the first nor the last person to trademark a color, and intellectual property laws facilitate this. Corporations for example, are known to trademark colors to increase their brand recognition. Tiffany blue or Target red are instantly recognizable because the companies standardized the shade globally and made it a legal asset. It is important to note that this does not mean they created or own the color. Others are free to use it, as long as it is for different goods or services. Similarly, since Majorelle blue is trademarked in Morocco, the commercial impact there is clear cut. Jardin Majorelle is the only place that sells this shade of blue acrylic paint, labeled Majorelle Blue. Trademark rights are protected country by country, so a paint company in another country could sell a vibrant aquamarine paint labeled “Majorelle blue” to cash in on public interest. However, entities prefer to play it safe and offer near matches instead. For example, United Kingdom-based Bristol Paints directs customers to its Ultramarine Blue, which it calls a “very acceptable alternative to Majorelle Blue.” The response from locals, particularly artists, are more nuanced. Many agree that Majorelle’s reputation as a talented artist and association with Morocco has increased global interest in Moroccan culture. The issue comes from the trademark, because it ensures Majorelle’s name and legacy is forever linked to the color blue, above other local artists, designers, or Indigenous communities. This is contentious because the color blue—particularly indigo and ultramarine—features heavily in Moroccan culture. “Indigo is the dominant color in many cities such as Chefchaouen, Asilah, and Tetouan,” says Younes Laassouli, a Moroccan painter and digital artist. “Almost all ancient ports in Morocco have blue doors, windows, and even boats. It can also be found in tiles, rugs, and kaftans.” This partly explains why many Moroccan artists use blue shades in their artworks. “Personally, I believe that it is impossible for me to achieve the correct values and shades in my portraits unless I use blue, like cobalt and Prussian,” Laassouli says. The trademark on Majorelle blue might have limited people’s access to this particular shade of blue paint, but they have other means for creating color. For example, the plant Indigofera tinctoria is widely available in Morocco and is used to create affordable indigo dye or powder. There is no need to rely on the supply in Jardin Majorelle. As artist Najoua El Hitmi explains, “I paint and do industrial art and sculptures. If I want a particular shade of blue, I experiment and add different pigments.” Yet, the question is more than who can access or mix blue paints. It’s about who gets to lay claim on colors. Samir Ghoudrani’s family home is walking distance from Jardin Majorelle, but he only recently found out about the trademark and Majorelle’s deep association with the ultramarine color. “I understand if as an artist, you want to own the painting that you drew. But this is like wanting to own the colors. Imagine a singer who wants to own not just a song, but the sound.” Moroccan visual artist Zakaria Ramhani has similar views. “Majorelle blue is an appropriation of ultramarine. I also find it quite weird that someone thinks they have a right over a color. Colors are in nature, for the eyes that can see it,” he says. He concedes that the Majorelle estate is a valuable tourist attraction for Morocco but notes, “Majorelle was protected by colonization and I don't believe he gave any attention to my culture. He painted as an Orientalist and focused on his own ‘blue.’” https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/jardin-marjorelle-trademark-color

[kingcrow01]

No YOU don't understand how excited I was when I saw your reblog!!!! YOU DREW THEM!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHH!!!! Like I was overjoyed at the reblog but then I saw the art?? I had to sit down so I could kick my feet in joy, I'm so serious. AND HOW DID YOU DRAW THEM SO QUICKLY WHAT,, also when I saw it out of the corner of my eyes I thought that you had drawn the background and my face literally became surprised pikachu lmao.

When Toothache is performing their slow song you can't even hear the lyrics because Makki and Mickey are basically larping a huge rock concert and gassing each other up 😭 At some venues Mickey's been kicked out of before, when she shows up the door man just points at her and says "NO." and she has a big grin on her face because she's about to do all she can to sweet talk her way through that door. And she does, because she's so friendly and knows so many people, somehow even the performing band

Mickey was based on the design from Cat Cafe Manager, but I think he's the type to work a new job every 2 weeks because he keeps on quitting or getting fired. With the Cafe he was probably neglecting his job responsibilities (waiting on customers, cleaning messes) and treated it like a hangout spot, befriending customers and making all the cats flock to him with cat treats he bought, which our company policy clearly states is not allowed, Mickey!!

Mickey looking at the cashier checking him out with just a can of tuna, cigarettes, and strawberry frosting in her basket:

Oh no ma'am I don't usually live like this. I'm on a temporary diet. It's called poor

YES adding on to them interacting in the grocery store; When he spots Makki, Mickey throws him a big grin and two devil horns hands, and a singular, "Yo." Lost as he is in difficult (and important!)culinary choices, Makki keeps on mumbling, "Roasted fish or crab... fish or crab..." A lack of boundaries has her reaching an arm around his shoulder and leaning in.

"Hm, chips? Ooh, get the octopus ones. I like the little mascot guy. Actually, if you get that one can I have the bag? I wanna' cut him out and put him in my phone case."

Makki, still with his chin on his hand, nodded along seriously. That was a good point. If he doesn't like them, he can get the fish next week anyways.

"Deal."

He sets the chips on top of the mountain of soup cans. There is too much soup; the bag lands on the tile floor. In the patchy lighting reflecting off the laminated bag, one could almost imagine the octopus was shedding a tear. There is too much soup.

They blink down at the bag, and laugh. "What's with the soup? Apocalypses not till next month." Mickey picks it up and fits it on top of her stack of bribery-- she means cat treats.

Makki whips his head around. She may have miscalculated.

"It is?" He shouted, suddenly way too close. The ajumeoni at the counter peaks her head into the aisle and shushes them. "What kind? Is it-- not zombies, right?" He continued, whispering harshly. "Because, I played The Last of Us at my friends house once, and it was so hard. I mean, his controller had a broken button, but still, if it's zombies I'm dying, okay? Is it zombies?"

Both of them stared wide eyed at the other for very different reasons, until Mickey broke the silence with a big grin.

"Oh my god, are you serious? You're serious. Okay, no, I was just kidding. No apocalypse. You just have a lot of soup, you weirdo."

Makki blinked, and took a step back. "Well, you know, it could happen. And when it does, you won't be ready." And side eyed her like he'd won an argument, the gremlin.

"Uh huh. Well, having a mosh pit full of zombies would be pretty metal. Or like, if I'm killing zombies with an axe, you have to be there to play sick background music for me. Boom, there's your next album. You guys can be beating zombies with your guitars on the cover. I would put that on my wall."

"We're still not a metal band, you know." Makki rolled his eyes.

Mickey sighed forlornly. "I was born in the wrong decade. And town. And social class. Some of the greats are still playing, you know? If Van Halen performed in my backyard, I still wouldn't be able to afford tickets."

"You don't have a backyard." He mumbled.

"Fuck off."

A lady pushed between them, her basket rattling. It was absolutely filled with soup cans. Makki gasped and pointed at it cartoonishly, Mickey already looking up at the ceiling, exasperatingly praying to a god he doesn't believe in.

"It's real! It's happening! Shit, I gotta' get home and prepare! First save water, then nail my windows shut, get a horse and carrots for the horse, batteries, a..." His muttering got quieter as he sped towards the counter, Mickey internally groaning and accepting he was going to have to spend his afternoon wrestling plywood and nails out of his sort-of friends arms.

"Toothache, where are you when your guitarist starts plotting farm animal theft? This man needs a babysitter..."

I hope my interpretation of Makki was close enough to accurate, though I may have just butchered his character. 😅Also, that was really fun. Y'all are onto something about writing being a fun hobby huh

finished character sheet of my oc makki!

when I tell you this drawing took me 16 hours to finish- so fun (/s) and totally didn't face plant into my bed when I was finally done😭

[citree]

Me: I miss doing digital art, but i have all this schoolwork to do... i should really focus on that instead...

Me: How about doing neither and making a Pokemon fan-game instead 

[preciouslandmermaid]

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby (carmy x f!reader) -- Part 4

Note: [eyeball emoji] Ya’ll better have some water bottles ‘cause this one is SPICY. But then it gets angsty again LMAO.

Pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

Content: 18+. Smut. MDNI

Warnings/Tags: foul language, banter/rivalry, slow burn, denial of feelings, protected sex, injury occurrence (minor burn), praise kink.

Chapter Synopsis: It’s been two weeks since your Ratatouille-Moment after trying Marcus’ cake and deciding to open your own bakery. You’ve returned to Chicago and to help a friend cater a birthday party. Your halfway through your work when Richie asks you what you’re doing at his daughter’s birthday.

Passion comes in many flavors, but you didn’t think it would taste so sweet.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

(Read on Ao3)

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

And I’m thinking – I can take this dude. He’s tall but—"

“How tall?” Fak cut in and asked while hunched over, twisting a wrench along the pipe beneath the bathroom sink. “As tall as Conor Murphy?” He asked, referencing a player on the Chicago Blackhawks, who was notably over six feet.

Richie crouched beside Fak near the toolbox, “I don’t fucking know. I didn’t measure him. He was like as tall as me, dude.”

“You’re not that tall.” Fak said. He grunted with force before the nut finally came loose and clattered onto the white tiles.

He scoffed. “Fuck you. I’m six one.”

“Can you pass the flashlight? Thanks.” Fak peered into the pipe and checking for why it was clogged, “That’s like average.”

“Whatever, man. You didn’t see him. Anyway, as I was saying, I was about to clock this dude – right? Now, I’m not trying to white knight, okay? And before you get on my ass, I know what that term means. But it wasn’t about that.”

“What was it about then?” Fak encouraged, laughter in his voice, now fully invested in the story of the ‘douche from New York’ who visited with the ‘hot piece of ass from across the street’.

“I should’ve—” Richie mimicked punching someone while biting his lip.

“Because like you don’t come into MY house, right? You don’t come into my fucking house and start bossing people around - bossing my customers around and shit. He was asking questions and it’s like dude--order your fucking sandwich and leave. I’m not fucking Wikipedia for Sandwiches. I don’t need to fucking tell you what we make our giardiniera with.” Richie ranted.

He scoffed, then mimicked the Douche From New York, “Is it organic giardiniera?” He rolled his eyes, passing Fak a thin piece of wire at his request. “Like fuck off.”

Fak laughed, delighted. “He really said that?”

“He said that!”

“Wait. Why did you try to fight him?”

“I already told you. Because he was being a fucking—a fucking dick!” Richie gestured aggressively with his hand, “and I didn’t try to fight him. He left before I could throw down.”

Carmy stepped into the tight customer bathroom, “We good in here?”

“Yeah,” Fak tugged on the serrated, thin wire that was used to clean hair and other gunk out of pipes. The wire slid from the mouth of the pipe with a sucking, wet sound, and a wadded reddish-pink clump plopped onto the tile like the worlds’ most dejected jellyfish. Everyone stared for a second as comprehension dawned.

“What the fuck is that? Dude – “ Richie gawked, “is that a fucking tampon?”

Fak picked it up by the string with a gloved hand. “Yes, Richie. Yes it is.”

“Great.” Carmy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fak – uh – c-can you just put up a sign that says don’t put shit down the sink, please?”

“On it.”

“Thank you.”

“Who puts a fucking tampon in the sink? There’s a trash right fucking here.” Richie shook his head in disbelief and Fak giggled.

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

You stepped off the plane and into the terminal while scrolling through your phone and dragging your rolling suitcase behind you. Your phone vibrated incessantly as airplane mode was turned off and service was back on.

It had been two weeks since you were in Chicago.

After your epiphany, you bought the first ticket back to Cincinnati and strolled through your favorite neighborhoods. You went to bakeries and grocery stores and cafes. You talked to owners, pastry chefs, and waiters. You talked to their customers when the opportunity revealed itself. You visited your friends. They offered their perspectives and gentle, unwavering support. You slept on their couches and air mattresses and in guest bedrooms. After a week in Cincinnati, you booked a flight to Washington DC to experience a bakery that won several local and international awards. You took a rental car to New York City where you spent the last few days repeating the same process of talking to pastry chefs, tasting food, and taking notes. Your notebook was ready to split at the seams.

Your brain was fogged with jetlag. Your stomach sloshed with coffee and half a granola bar. You had about a hundred things to do. Yet you still felt excited. It was good to be back in the city. Tim called you earlier this morning and informed you that the refrigerated cases you ordered (for displaying cakes) were installed. You shoved your suitcase into the backseat of the taxi and checked the time on your phone screen.

“Where to Miss?” The driver asked.

“Uh…shit. Let me check.” You pulled up the text from your friend, Margot, “50 East Walton St.”

You checked and replied to emails while the driver pulled away from the curb and merged onto the highway. Margot’s sister-in-law, Delilah, owned a bakery called ‘Sweet Sensations’ and after hearing about your business plan—Margot made the call to have you shadow with them. It would hopefully give you the hands-on experience you craved.

You generously tipped the driver and pulled your suitcase out from the back. Ordinarily, you’d go home first. But Delilah said they were catering a party today and if you could get here ASAP then that would be ideal. You were always up for a challenge.

Delilah greeted you at the back where deliveries were accepted. She was a tall, willowy woman with pale-blonde hair tucked beneath a hairnet. She wore pink cat-eyeglasses over her friendly brown eyes.

“I honestly thought you were kidding when you told me you were on the way.” She said, smiling warmly. “Did you have a nice flight?”

You exchanged pleasantries and small talk with her before getting down to business. She offered for you to lock your suitcase in her office and gave you a uniform to borrow. The uniform involved a bright pink t-shirt with the bakeries’ name written in flowing, white script that glittered under the fluorescent lights and a baseball cap with a  cupcake on it. She provided you with a white apron that covered your lap. And after a quick once-over, she deemed your shoes safe and acceptable. The clothes fit, but they felt a bit like trying on your parent’s shoes as a kid. Awkward, out of place, too big and gawky. You tugged on the hem of the shirt.

“Now, we’re doing a six-year old’s birthday party. The cupcakes are already made so it’s just a matter of delivering them and helping to set up.” Delilah explained. “We’re a team so just ask any of us for help or any questions.”

“I really appreciate the help, Delilah.” You said earnestly. “Especially considering our professional relationship going forward.” You had big plans to include delivery in your bakery as well, but you wanted it to expand beyond the 713-area code. You held a personal goal of delivery services nationwide.

Delilah smiled wider, “There’s always more birthdays happening year after year. I think we’ll survive another sweet shop on the street.” She said with a playful wink. You found her ease and confidence to be calming and charming. You’re not sure when the thorn was pulled from your side at the thought of other restaurants and bakeries around you. Logistically, they were your competition. They were a threat to your profits and livelihood. It just didn’t stress you out as much anymore.

“Actually, I do have one question.”

“Mhm?”

You gestured to your outfit and the pastel-pink palette of the kitchen, the front of house, and nodded toward the lined up pink delivery vans.

“How much do you love the color pink?”

Delilah laughed brightly. “Oh, well, it’s only my favorite - can’t you tell?”

You smiled, “I mean…it’s only a little obvious.”

“Subtly never came easily to me.” She shrugged, “I figured I may as well embrace it.”

Your chest warmed. In some situations, you were about as graceful as a shovel to the face. It was nice to know there were others in the world as blunt as you were.

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

Delilah left you alone to arrange the cupcakes on the serving table. They were meant to be arranged on a three-tiered platter. It wasn’t too hard. The only tricky part was not getting frosting on your gloves. The cupcakes were incredibly delicate. It was counter intuitive, you thought, to have such fancy cupcakes at a children’s party. They were just going to smush them into the grass or something.

“No fucking way!” A familiar voice announced from behind you.

You spun with a cupcake in hand and met Richie’s bright blue gaze.

“What are you doing here?” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his tracksuit pants. He was wearing a Beef T-shirt which made you wonder if he called out of work today to be here. Wait, why was he here? Nevermind. It simply didn’t matter. Richie could go to whatever birthday parties he wanted to go to. You idly hoped The Beef wouldn’t suffer too much without him working the front of house. Then again, your mouth twisted humorously, maybe Richie’s absence would be an improvement.

You looked pointedly at the cupcake in your hand. “Setting up.” You turned back to your work and tried vainly to ignore Richie. See, something you learned about Richie was that he loved the sound of his own voice. You couldn’t just turn away and expect him to stop talking.

“I can’t believe you’re catering Eva’s birthday.” He said, chuckling, “Small world, huh? Small world.”

You carefully picked up a cupcake and gingerly placed it on the platter. They were frosted in a twisted two-tone of lavender and light pink with silver sprinkles. At least, this batch was. The second tier was light blue and dark purple frosting with dark chocolate. The final tier was a gluten-free option with white vanilla frosting.

“So, what happened with your spot? You’re not doing that or what?” You heard a telltale click of a lighter behind you.

“I’m helping Delilah.” You said in a reserved tone. “My spot is fine.”

“So, you and Carmy?” He queried with obvious interest. You wished you could throw a cupcake at him. Once my bakery is up and running, I will make a cupcake, and I will smash a cupcake into Richie’s face just to see what happens. You swiped your frosting-tinged fingers onto the front of your apron and shot Richie your coldest glare.

“Don’t you have something better to do than to gossip?” It was a weak retort, but you couldn’t help it. Your mind ruptured on the very real possibility that Carmy told people about you and about what happened between you. And why wouldn’t he? Guys talked about their casual sexual encounters all the time. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t a secret. You needed to get your head back into the game. You huffed and returned to the cupcakes.

“Hah! I knew something was going on!” He snapped his fingers. “He’s been different since meeting you. I fucking knew it. I knew it.”

“Nothing is going on.” You said firmly.

“Oh yeah? Then why’s he such a little bitch baby?” Richie asked. It was probably a rhetorical question. You bent over to reach for another cupcake out of the container and whipped your head to look at Richie – he was smoking and looking smug. The urge to throw a cupcake was astronomical.

“Wow! And here I was convinced that the role of bitch baby was your position.”

“Hey.” He pointed two fingers at you while holding his cigarette between them, “You don’t know shit about my positions.”

You snorted. “I’m sure it’s nothing fancier than missionary with the lights off.”

“Whoa!” Richie shouted, throwing his hands in the air, “I’ll have you know—”

“Nope!” You interrupted. “I absolutely don’t want to know!”

Richie barreled on, “that people call me insatiable, okay? Yeah?” He said, raising both eyebrows and pointing at you again.

You pressed the palms of your hands over your ears, not caring if you got leftover frosting on your face or in your hair. It was a small price to pay for the relief of deafening Richie’s sex-escapades.

“I can’t hear you!”

“Yes, you can! I know that you can!” He said, stepping closer to you, and the smoke from his cigarette swirled between you in whorls of gray like frosting pushed from a piping nozzle.

“I can’t!” You lied, shouting over him. “No one wants to hear it, Richie!”

“Oh, they fucking hear it, alright? The whole neighborhood hears it.”

Despite his height, you didn’t feel overwhelmed, nervous, or cornered. It was like arguing with a string bean. There was nothing threatening about him. You laughed incredulously, which unfortunately revealed you could hear him, and Richie’s eyes brightened.

“Aha! I knew you could fucking hear me.”

“I can hear you but I’m not listening.” You clarified.

“You guys okay over here?” Delilah asked with a tight-lipped smile. You and Richie looked at her in tandem.

“Yup.” He said.

“Yeah.” You said.

You noticed Carmy walking toward the table and your heart plummeted to your toes. Fuck. You hadn’t seen or spoken to him for two whole weeks. You thought and hoped that time and distance would lessen the visceral effect he had on you. Unfortunately, it did not. His dark hair was messily curled around his face, a patchwork jacket covering his frame, and a giftbag dangled loosely from his long fingertips. A surge of heat flooded your face at the memory of those capable, confident hands.

Jesus Christ. Get it together. You are working at a kid’s party. God! You mentally berated yourself. I should’ve fucked some random stranger while I was in Cincinnati then I wouldn’t be dealing with this.

You risked a glance at Richie. He wore a self-satisfied grin on his stupid fucking face. Your heat-flooded face clearly betrayed you.

“Shut up.” You hissed at him.

“I didn’t say shit.” He quipped.

“I can read minds.”

Richie blew a raspberry with his mouth, “Pfft.” He then waved an arm over his head, “Cousin! You made it!”

You focused every iota of brainpower and hand-eye coordination on the delicate, delicious cupcakes. You weren’t ignoring Carmy. You were just busy with your work. You were staying on your side of the street.

Carmy and Richie spoke briefly before an obvious - “Hey,” from Carmy was sent your way. You spared a quick glance over your shoulder.

“Hey.” Once your back was turned to them, you closed your eyes and pressed your lips together with a soft, harsh exhale through your nose. It shouldn’t feel this weird. You wanted so badly to turn around and engage him in conversation, ask about The Beef, check-in with the random bullshit of his life because you…cared…a little bit. You squashed the desire with a heeled boot. There was nothing in the Rulebook of Professionals that said you couldn’t engage in small talk. However, your own Rulebook of Not Getting Involved specifically stated ‘keep your distance’.

“Where you been? Haven’t seen you around.” Carmy said with a sniff.

Delilah, bless her heart, unintentionally saved you. She said your name in that chipper, bright tone of hers and walked to you with quick, determined strides.

“I need a favor.” She said.

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“Our box of gluten free cupcakes – well – they’re currently all over the driveway.” Delilah cringed. “I was hoping you could go inside and whip another batch? Normally, I’d have Stacy do it – but she was stung by a bee and so Katherine and Ryan are rushing her to the emergency room.”

“Oh shit!” Richie brought a fist to his mouth, “Is she allergic?”

Delilah sighed with relief, sparing a quick appraising glance at Richie. “No, thankfully. But it stung her eye.”

“Gnarly.” Richie blanched.

You pulled your gloves off your hands and tossed them in the small trash bin by the table. “No problem.”

“The recipe is inside in the—”

“--Pink binder.”

“Pink binder. Yes! Exactly.” Delilah looked immensely relieved. “I’ll finish up out here. I already spoke to Tiffany, and she said it was OK if we used her kitchen.”

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

You measured out the gluten-free flour into a glass measuring cup. You peered at the recipe to ensure you hadn’t misremembered the digits. It was quieter inside. Some of the children and their parents started to arrive and you could see Eva, Richie’s daughter, running around with an iridescent birthday hat. You watched Richie chase after his daughter and cackle boisterously. You smirked to yourself and rolled your eyes. While working, you wore the ‘Sweet Sensations’ pastel pink baseball cap backward to keep your hair out of your face and food.

Carmy leaned against the doorframe in the kitchen and the sight of him nearly startled you. Your heart did a funny, excited leap.

“Isn’t there a rule about creeping up on people when they’re in kitchens?” You said with feigned annoyance.

“I – I uh didn’t creep.” He stepped into the kitchen proper and looked over your spread-out supplies and ingredients. “How’s it going?”

“I don’t need a sous Chef it that’s what you’re asking.” You said while hand whisking the batter. If being cold and distant didn’t work to send him away, then maybe you could try being more of a bitch. You assumed it had a fifty-fifty chance of working.

He gestured lazily with one hand at the air between your bodies, “I t-t-thought we moved past this.”

“There’s nothing to move past, Carmy. We’re good.”

“We’re good?”

“Yeah.” You drank in the sight of him in stolen, quick glances, and felt your chest constrict each time. Your hands faintly trembled while holding the large, metal mixing bowl aloft and sectioning the batter into the small cupcake tins.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You scraped the last of the batter with the rubber spatula and held the bowl aloft to shield yourself so Carmy couldn’t see your face. You wanted to talk to him. That was the problem. You wanted to vent to someone who actually would understand. Carmy owned a restaurant. He knew intimately about the stress and heartache of trying to make something good and worthwhile. You wanted to bitch about Tim and his workers who were dragging their feet about the hot water sink. You wanted to talk about your staffing issues and desperation to find people who actually loved the work. You wanted to tell him about your adventures in Cincinnati, and DC, and New York, and the wonderful pastries you ate and the amazing people you talked to.

The faint smell of smoke singed your nostrils and your blood turned to ice.

“FUCK!” You dropped the mixing bowl with a loud, metallic clang. It hit the edge of your baking tray and sent a splatter of cupcake batter into the air, hitting the ceiling and dropping in wet globs onto the countertop. You yanked the oven door open and coughed at the pluming exhale of fine, black smoke. You were vaguely aware that Carmy was beside you and you stared – dejected – at the burned cupcakes. Their puffy little tops were charred beyond recognition and looked like miniature Mount Dooms.

You snatched a kitchen towel from the counter because it was closest. You didn’t have time to get an oven mitten. You realized your mistake about a second later. Your fingertips flared with pain and the pan clattered noisily as you tossed it forcefully onto the stove. The kitchen towel, riddled with holes, laid on the ground near your feet. The fire alarm chirped – shrill and relentless.

“Fuck. Ow!” You rapidly shook your hand and brought your burning fingertips into your mouth. It didn’t help, of course, because your fingers burned with pain and the interior of your mouth was warm. Carmy slid behind you, his hand trailed against your lower back, and he flipped the faucet on.

“Here, come here.”

In a daze of pain and frustration, you thrust your burned fingers under the rush of cool water and your shoulders slumped. Carmy’s large hand scooped behind yours, his thumb pressed into your palm, and gently maneuvered your hand beneath the stream of water. You clenched your jaw. You fucked up cupcakes.

“You know, I went to fucking Stanford. I graduated in the top 3% of my class. Everyone and their fucking richer-than-God uncle wanted to hire me.” You babbled and swallowing back the painful, sharp stab of disappointment and embarrassment. “But I can’t bake a single fucking tray of fucking cupcakes without setting off the fire alarm.”

“Shit happens.” Carmy said calmly, still carefully holding your hand, as water flowed through your fingers and pooled around his thumb in the soft well of your palm.

“Yeah, right.” You murmured derisively.

“The night I won Food & Wine’s Best New Chef; I started a fryer fire. I nearly burned the place down.” He admitted softly. You peered at him out of the corner of your eye. He lifted his gaze from the sink, from your hands, and looked at you. His eyes were honest and sincere.

“I remember thinking that if I don’t do anything…then this place would go down and all my anxiety with it.”

You inhaled sharply and your fingers twitched in his hand.

“Shit…” You whispered. It was another layer to the Carmy-cake that you absolutely didn’t want to discover and devour. Why couldn’t he just be a simple, arrogant egomaniac like the rest of the chefs you knew? It would make everything so much easier.  

Carmy weakly chuckled, “Yeah, shit.” He cleared his throat, eyes on the sink again, and you could feel the pad of his calloused thumb sliding up your palm. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his profile. His large, handsome nose. His long eyelashes framing his sky-blue eyes. The way his hair curled around his ears. The moles on his fair skin. His thumb reached your middle finger and you let him move it with the light pressure of his fingers pressing into your knuckles.

“How’s it feel?” He asked.

“I’m considering amputation.” You joked with a brief smile.

His lips quirked in a lop-sided smile. His eyes fluttered to yours again. You were suddenly aware of your shoulder pressed into Carmy’s warm chest. His body crowded around yours, solid and secure, and the sound of screaming children outside deafened to a low roar. He blinked languidly and you watched awe-struck as his gaze dropped to your mouth. An intense, tingling sensation spread from the center of your chest and melted across your skin like hot butter.

You quickly pulled your hand from the water and wiped the water droplets off on your apron. You cleared your throat and hurriedly started to clean up the mess left behind by the knocked-over cupcake pan of wet ingredients.

“You should go celebrate.” You said offhandedly, your pulse erratic in your jaw, and your ears burning with heat. The sponge gushed with soapy water as you cleaned the countertop in wide, circular motions. You could feel Carmy’s gaze burning into the back of your head. Carmy should be out in the yard with Richie throwing glowsticks at children or whatever. Besides, you didn’t want Richie giving you shit and saying something like ‘Hey, yo! Were you fucking my cousin in my ex-wife’s house? That’s a fucking power move dude.’

He wordlessly grabbed the pan out at the sink and used a fork to pluck the failed cupcakes out of their tin and into the trash.

“Yeah, I’ll pass.” He said as the fork tines scraped against metal, “I’m good here.”

You wrinkled your nose. “You’re not getting paid to do this, you know.”

His eyes flicked up toward you, “I know.”

“Then…” Your tongue swiped across your lower lip, “Why stay?”

He shrugged and his eyes dropped to the pan, “I like being in the kitchen.”

You shook your head and bit the inside of your cheek. Part of you wanted to probe for more information, but that would break the rule of Not Getting Involved. You scrubbed the countertop clean of sticky cake batter with a furrowed, determined brow. You avoided looking at Carmy even after he finished cleaning out the wrecked pan and started wiping batter from the floor. Together, you fell into a strangely comfortable silence of monotonous work.

“You gonna try to make it again?” Carmy asked while drying his hands and jutting his chin toward the open pink recipe binder.

“I’d rather be fucked by the standing mixer.” You replied nonchalantly and Carmy laughed. It was a warm, fleeting sound. Your eyes widened and soap bubbles squeezed through your fingers. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, but you could see his faint smile lines and light flooding his eyes.

“That’s a vicious mental image.” He said, rubbing his lips together, and pressing down his smile. You caught yourself biting your lip to stop yourself from grinning. You turned your face away and began unlacing your apron.

“Yeah, well, I just speak from the heart, you know?” You balled the apron between your fists, “I gotta talk to Delilah. Um...thanks for helping me clean up.”

Carmy lifted one shoulder in a half shrug, “Yeah, it’s no problem.”

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

After hearing about your kitchen catastrophe, Delilah asked you to drive to Sweet Sensations and pick up their on-hand gluten-free cupcakes. However, their frosting was caramel and not vanilla, and consequently Delilah gave Tiffany a discount on her order for the inconvenience. You had to admit you were impressed by Delilah’s efficiency and cleverness. She rolled with every punch that was thrown her way.

Once the cupcakes were delivered, you and Delilah left the boisterous party. You sank into the passenger seat with your feet up on the dashboard with a loud, tired sigh. You didn’t have time to say farewell to Richie or Carmy, but you doubted they’d take it personally. You were working. It wasn’t a social visit.

“You did great today.” Delilah said.

“I nearly burned down the client’s house.” You said tongue-in-cheek.

“Crazier things have happened.” She said sympathetically, “Last week, Ryan accidentally drove the van over a client’s sprinkler system, and it caused a minor flood.”

You laughed quietly. “Yikes.”

“That’s just this business,” She said with a smile, “You can have two wedding cakes prepared, one for the client, another for back-up, and then suddenly your power goes out and your calling every 7-11 to see how much ice they have.”

“Sounds like chaos.”

“It is.”

You sidelong squinted at her, “Everything in your tone implies you love it.”

Delilah favored you with another bright smile, “Oh, that’s because I do.”

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

You sketched another idea in your notebook while watching The Great British Bake-Off then reached out to the remote and clicked pause. You pressed your lips together.

“Fucking…cupcakes…”

You tossed the blanket off your lap and grabbed your keys. You weren’t going to be outdone by fucking cupcakes.

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

Your phone was dusted with flour as you scrolled through a recipe. Your first batch was horrendous. You must’ve measured the flour to baking soda ratio incorrectly because they came out hard and inedible. The second batch was too dry. Whatever. Practice makes perfect and who cared if it was after 9PM? You were confident in this third batch. You slid them into the oven, double-checked the temperature and time, before pulling the oven mittens off your hands.

A text from your mom came through on your screen: ‘But why are you baking there and not at home?’ She included an emoji of a face with a question mark floating above their head.

You replied with one hand while shrugging on your zip-up sweater, ‘I need to know how these ovens function. They’re different than the ones at home and I need to be familiar with my own space.’

You pushed your front door closed and sat on the concrete stoop. You pulled your crushed cigarette pack from your pocket and lit one while gazing across the street. The streetlamps washed the asphalt in hues of orange. You could faintly see the kitchen lights from the interior of the Beef glowing out into the empty sidewalk.

You noticed Carmy throw two black bags of trash out into the dumpster. You smiled around the filter of your cigarette and looked back down at your phone. You had no reason to talk to him or interrupt his workflow. You were going to stay on your side of the street. You belonged here, frantically making cupcakes to prove a point in sweatpants and an overly large Sanford red t-shirt. You scrolled through and read an article about a French pastry called a ‘Mille-feuille’. It sounded cool. You doubted your own skill set could succeed in making one of those but that didn’t mean you couldn’t serve them.

Your eyes instinctively caught movement above your brow. Your heart stuttered. Carmy was halfway across the street and walking toward you. What could he possibly want?

“Need to bum a smoke? Or a light?” You asked loudly and wiggled your pack above your head when he was close enough to hear you. “Or are you here to tell me I should focus on – I don’t know – fancy steaks instead of pastries?”

“Smoke.” He said, “Richie and Tina already left and they’re the only other smokers.”

You clicked your tongue and held out your cigarette out to him. “You’re lucky I’m a generous soul.”

“Mhm.” He nodded while inhaling, the tiny ember faintly illuminated his face, and reflected in the dark pupils of his eyes. “Can I chill here?”

“Sure.”

You were going to stay on the side of your street, but you had no rules about Carmy coming over to your side. It was uncharted waters. You could tell him to fuck off and leave, you supposed, but you selfishly didn’t want to. His shoulder rested against yours in the small space.

The moon shone in pale light above the skyline. It was the witching hour. A time for secrets and shared smoke-breaks with carcinogenic smiles. Carmy exhaled smoke through his nose and passed the cigarette back to you. Your fingertips touched. Your eyes met. And you knew you were going to break a few rules tonight.

“Your hair is covered in flour.” He brushed his hand along the top of your head, flour scattered like snowflakes between you, and he rubbed his forefinger and thumb together. His mouth curved to a slight smile and his eyes gleamed with humor.

“When the bag opened it went—Poof!” You explained.

You flicked the building ash off the top of the cigarette and watched it drift across the sidewalk in flecks of gray and white. You didn’t imagine that moment in the kitchen. Carmy wanted to kiss you. You wanted to kiss him, too, but that was beside the point. You took another slow drag and licked your lips before the smoke left your lungs. You glanced furtively at Carmy. He seemed lost in thought with his wrists resting on his knees and hands limp.

“Do you want to fuck again?” You asked candidly.

Carmy looked at you. His jaw went slack, and his forehead creased. “S-s-seriously?”

Rejection was a scorpion sting on your heart. You snubbed the cigarette out on the concrete below you. You wanted to put your hood up and storm off. You should’ve kept your big, dumb mouth shut. You could’ve had a nice little smoke break, kept it professional, but now you revealed your secret, desperate truth and you couldn’t un-ask the question.  

“I’ll take that as a no. Forget it.” You spat and quickly covered your hurt with deflection. Before you got up, or turned away, Carmy grabbed your chin between his fingers. It wasn’t a bruising grip, but it was strong and firm.

He held you in place and his knees touched yours when he shifted in closer. The shadowed walls and rumbling sounds of Chicago melted away like ice cream during a summertime heatwave. He leaned in and his nose bumped into yours. You shuddered, every nerve-ending coming to life, as you opened your mouth beneath his. Your heart fluttered at the soft press of his mouth. His tongue slowly slid into your mouth, and he hungrily drank in the soft, quiet moans that slipped free from your throat. Your palms slid along his chest and curled around his shoulders. You liked the discreet solidness of Carmy’s shoulders and arms.

“Stop – please stop putting words in my mouth. I hate that shit.” He muttered against your mouth in a huff of warm air.

“Noted.” You whispered before chasing his mouth with yours. You drew his lower lip between your teeth and smiled faintly at his sharp intake of breath. The intoxicating power-trip of making this capable, confident man whimper into your mouth made you dizzy. Carmy’s arm encircled your waist, pulling and drawing you impossibly closer. He smelled like fucking giardiniera and sweat and cigarette smoke. You wanted to drown in it. His tongue flicked across your upper lip, kissing you with a slow, torturous sweetness that made your core throb.

“In the kitchen,” He said, between one kiss and the next, “We say ‘heard’ when we want to communicate understanding.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Yeah, fuck off. I’m not doing that.” You said, keeping your tone light and playful.

Carmy’s lips smiled against yours, his hand left your chin and slid across your neck in a tantalizing, teasing touch before he cupped the nape of your neck. Your fingertips ghosted across the hollow dip of his throat, and you pushed one hand through the neck hole of his t-shirt to touch the warm, soft skin of his collarbones. His golden chain faintly scraped against the pads of your fingers. Any lingering trepidation about breaking your own rules dissolved when Carmy stammered your name. A pulse of blood rushed between your thighs.

“You’re so needy for me.” You teased, letting your head drift to the side as Carmy’s mouth skirted across your jaw and kissed your flushed skin. You wondered if he’d give you another hickey on your neck. You wouldn’t mind it…as long as you could give him a matching one. You doubted he had the time for girlfriends, but Richie’s joking words lingered in the back of your mind. Why would he assume you and Carmy were sleeping together if Carmy didn’t already have a reputation?

“I’m needy?” He taunted while pushing his hand beneath your large shirt. His thumbnail scraped across the underside of your breast, and you hissed, your back arching toward him. “Hm?” Your mind went blank.

A cheerful, and repetitive ringtone blared out of your pocket. Carmy pulled away from you as if he’d been struck by lightning. You pulled your phone out of your pocket with an annoyed, grumpy huff and pressed ‘Stop’ on the timer screen. You couldn’t believe you were getting cockblocked by cupcakes. Fucking cupcakes!

You got to your feet and offered a hand to Carmy, “You comin’ inside or what?” Despite your casual tone, you mentally cringed at the fear of rejection breathing coldly down your neck. He kissed you, but that didn’t mean he wanted to continue. Anyone could change their mind at any second and you wouldn’t hold it against him. You’d just nurse the bruised ego over a drink later.

You noticed him glance at your four bandaged fingers (the middle three and your thumb), before gingerly taking your hand and standing. The sense of relief was swift and dizzying. You rewarded him with a tumultuous smile.

“You’re welcome to try the cupcakes once they cool.” You said before pulling the glass door open and locking it behind you. You didn’t bother with a tour. You made a direct line to the kitchen, slipped oven mitts on both hands, and pulled the cupcakes from the oven with hurried purpose. You flipped the switch to turn the oven off. No reason to burn the place while you were getting dicked down. As you tugged the mittens off your hands, you glanced back at Carmy, who was looking at your kitchen with open admiration and awe.

“You really pulled out all the stops.” He said in quiet reverence. “It’s beautiful.” And you could tell from his tone that he wasn’t fucking with you. It was genuine. Your heartbeat quickened and you wanted to curse him for making a simple compliment illicit such a response beneath your skin. Two weeks ago, if Carmy had been in your kitchen, you would’ve dragged him out by the back of the shirt and told him to stop spying on you.

You weren’t going to bother for modesty. You weren’t modest or humble when it came to this project.

“It is, isn’t it?” You replied smugly. Carmy finally drew his eyes away from the equipment and shook his head in disbelief. You scooped a spoon into your vanilla buttercream frosting and tried an experimental lick. Carmy was watching you. You pointedly sucked the spoon clean with heavily lidded eyes and a small smirk. You noticed his eyes narrow and how he shifted his weight. Interesting. You released the spoon from your mouth with a soft ‘pop’ and smiled.

You brightened with an idea. “Hey, will you try this?”

He closed the short distance between you, “You want my professional opinion?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.” You shrugged. A knot of nervousness twisted inside your stomach. You watched him bring the spoon to his mouth and slowly pull it from his lips, a bit of frosting catching on the corner of his mouth. Your scalp prickled with awareness. It took every ounce of your self-control not to lick the leftover frosting off his mouth. He pressed his lips together, eyes cast heavenward, the nodded. Your breath snagged in your throat when he finally gave his answer.

“Too much vanilla extract.” He said. “Consistency is good, though. A-and I can tell you added lemon zest which brightens it.”

“M’kay, that’s enough America’s Top Chef or whatever.” You teased, grabbing the front of his shirt, and dragging him forward.

“You asked m-mprh.” You sealed your mouth over his. The spoon clattered onto the countertop and Carmy’s hands cradled your face. You could taste the frosting on his tongue, and it tasted so much better than when you licked it off the spoon. You walked backward, clinging to him, guiding him toward your office. Kissing Carmy was a bit like dancing. You had to let him lead from time to time and allow yourself to be pulled along by the pure, raw sensations. You were aware of his hands, roaming, squeezing, and grabbing you, and his mouth – sweet-laced with lingering icing – engaged in a playful, give and take of nibbling bites and breathless moans.

Your ass hit the edge of your wooden desk and you broke the kiss to tug your shirt over your head. Carmy’s hands covered your breasts, kneading them, and you thanked the preemptive laziness that made you forgo a bra this evening. His warm, wet mouth traveled down the column of your throat. You whined a little and squirmed. You wanted more than this. You grabbed Carmy’s wrist and tugged his hand, bringing it between your legs.

“Like I said…” He rasped, breath hot against your neck, “Needy.”

“Carmy…” Did you sound a little desperate? Maybe. Your skin flushed with heated desire and echoes of recollection of how he made you feel the first time. His mouth left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your chest and to your stomach. His hands caught the waistband of your sweatpants and he knelt on the carpeted floor before you. You blinked, as if a stunned daze, and held onto the edge of your desk as Carmy pulled your sweatpants and underwear off of you. You swallowed, eyes-wide, at the stark difference of your naked body before him. You clamped your thighs together and Carmy gently held the back of your knees.

His face looked quizzically up at you.

“You gotta take off your clothes too.” You shrugged, “It’s only fair.”

“I was plannin’ on it.” He gave you that slight, almost boyish smile again. He leaned back on his haunches and peeled the t-shirt off himself. Not confined to a dark car backseat, you can see every line of him, every muscle, his strong shoulders, and dip of his clavicle. His golden chain glinted softly in the warm, intimate light of your desk lamp. His hair mussed around his face from your fingers constantly running through it. His chest heaved softly with labored, quiet breath and you realized you were going to think of this – Carmy kneeling on the ground before you – every single time you walked in this room.

His rough hands caressed up the length of your legs, along your thighs, and you slowly parted for him. He dropped a singular soft kiss to your inner thigh and your body tensed. But it wasn’t anticipation. His tongue flicked across your swollen clit, and you gasped and froze. You couldn’t let him go down on you. You’d be at his mercy, within his grasp and control, his selfless actions bringing you to the peak without any ‘reward’ for him. Yes, yes, you knew it was fucked up to think of sex as transactional and as a powerplay – but you’d unpack that in therapy later.

“Wait.” You tugged gently on the back of his head, and he looked up at you from between your thighs. “I don’t…can we…not do that?”

“Yeah, yeah – yeah – of course.” He stood up, and your throat tightened at the absolute tenderness in his gaze. His hands came to rest on your waist, thumbs moving in slow, soothing back-and-forth touch across your warm skin. “You okay?”

“I’m good. It’s just not something I’m comfortable with right now.” You blinked rapidly in surprise of your own blunt honesty.

“Okay.” One of Carmy’s hands slipped between your legs and you gripped his shoulders tightly, your body trembling in anticipation. “This okay?” He asked softly.

You leaned back into your desk and spread your knees for him. You sighed happily with a slow nod, drawing your lower lip between your teeth. This was familiar. This was good. Through lidded eyes, you reached for the waistband of Carmy’s pants and palmed his cock while he touched you. His fingers were quick, deft, drawing moans and whimpers from your mouth with practiced ease. Like he memorized what you liked last time and applied it to this time. His mouth found yours again and you pulled down the zipper of his pants while his thumb drew tight, firm circles against your clit. Your fingers stumbled and you hiccupped a sharp, surprised gasp.

“Yeah?” He murmured against your lips before slipping his tongue into your mouth.

“Yeah.” You jolted, hips canting into his hand, as you raked your nails down his chest. You pressed your face into his, nose squished against his cheek, and panted until each breath was a moan. You trembled and your orgasm hit you with syrupy sweetness, slow and unfurling, pulling a guttural, embarrassingly loud cry from your lips. You dropped backward onto your desk, your spine hitting an open notebook, and released a satisfied sigh. You looked down and saw Carmy pulling his cock free from his boxers. Your body hummed with pleasure and delight.

“I have condoms in my bag.” You said, pointing to your backpack hanging on the wall. “Front pocket.”

“Not because I expected this to happen.” You clarified quickly, “It’s just good to have things on hand. There’s Advil in there, too. Because I’m prepared for anything.”

“You’re a boy scout.” Carmy chuckled softly and you tried to not think about how the sound of it made your body fizzle like being dropped into a glass of champagne.

“Exactly!” You gave him a mock salute.

He returned to his place between your legs, and you pushed the notebook out and away from underneath you. It clattered to the floor and spilled open with pages of notes. He peered up at you through his sweaty, curled hair and you bit your lip and smiled. You wrapped your legs loosely around his hips and dragged your hands across his muscled chest in admiration.

You were rewarded with the blissful sight of Carmy’s eyes rolling back into his head as he slid into you. Your eyes shuttered closed and the world whited-out into noise and feeling. Your back arched and Carmy leaned over you, his lips covered the side of your neck, and your hips bucked in response to his teeth meeting your skin.

“Are you—fuck, fuck, fuck” You lost coherent thought for a moment as Carmy thrust into you in earnest. “—are you giving me another hickey?” You gasped, fingers tangling into his hair. “You ass-asshole.”

“You want it somewhere else?” The tip of his nose grazed the soft spot of skin behind your ear.

“Please.”

He dragged his mouth to your collarbone and your hardened nipples rubbed against his damp, sweaty chest. You clung to the back of Carmy’s head as his tongue laved over the spot just below your collarbone and dangerously close to your heart. He drew the delicate, pliant skin between his teeth and sucked hard, making you see stars, and your thighs clenched around his hips. The desk groaned beneath your combined weight and a cup of pens clattered to the floor.

“You feel so good,” He breathed, “better than I remember.” Your walls fluttered around him at the compliment and Carmy looked up from your chest, meeting your eyes, “I felt that.”

“Shut up.” You lightly slapped his shoulder and turned your face away.

“So, you don’t want me to tell – to tell you about how amazing – fuck – how amazing you feel?” He said, adjusting his position so he wasn’t leaning over you, and was standing instead. He drew your thighs away from his hips and rested them on his chest, so your ankles were at his shoulders. You groaned at the sudden change in depth and tightness and your hands splayed across the polished wood.

“You’re drenched.” He panted, his face red, “and taking me so well. God – you’re incredible.” You couldn’t control it. Your body responded to his words, core tightening, your walls pulsing around him at the praise. You slipped your hand between your thighs, finding your slick and swollen clit, and your fingertip occasionally brushed against his shaft while you touched yourself in quick, needy motions.

“Fuck. F-fuck. That’s so hot.” Carmy moaned. He followed your lead, responding to the nonverbal cues of your body, and the very-verbal cues of your mouth repeatedly gasping his name. It was as if someone disconnected your brain and your mouth. You were only able to say one thing and it was ‘Carmy’ followed by ‘Yes’. Your body coiled and goosebumps erupted across your skin. Your muscled tensed, your walls spasmed around Carmy’s cock, and sent an avalanche of pleasure in a quaking release.

Carmy released a strangled noise, his thrust erratic and shaking the desk beneath you, and you knew—you knew based on the bright pink color of his cheeks and neck and the deep furrow to his brow that he was about to finish. He slammed into you in one powerful, final thrust, burying himself as deep as he could go, and cursed loudly and a sheen of perspiration glistened off his body.

He collapsed on top of you and caught his weight with his elbows. His face rested in the crook of your neck and his heavy, labored breath blew across your sweaty skin. You closed your eyes, relaxed and secure under the weight of him, and felt him gradually grow soft inside of you. You languidly lifted a hand and carded your fingers through his long hair. You laid like this, completely devoid of conversation or coherent thought, for several minutes with the sweat rapidly cooling off your bodies. Carmy’s thudding heartbeat reverberated against your skin.

Carmy wrapped his fingers around your wrist and pulled your hand away from his head, he held your hand in the air, and your fingertips naturally curled forward. The bandages were surprisingly intact given all the sweat and bodily fluids. Though, now that you were thinking about it, the skin beneath the bandage started to throb with pain. His thumb stroked your inner wrist.

“How’s the burn?”

You pulled your hand away and wiped the sweat from your forehead. “Manageable.” You wiggled underneath him, aware of the intimacy of the moment, and internally panicking. Your plan to be Professional with a capital ‘P’ might be totally fucked, but you still had to retain some distance. He wasn’t your boyfriend. You weren’t dating. Hell, you didn’t even know if you were exclusively sleeping with each other or if this would happen a third time.

“Stop squishing me.”

He smiled into the hollow of your throat and climbed off you. You snatched your t-shirt off the ground and pulled it over your head, grateful for how it covered your body, and reached just above your knee. You ran both hands through hair and finger-combed through the sex-snarls while Carmy pulled up his pants.

You held up a finger, “I don’t want to do the weird after sex talk.”

“I’m not familiar.” He said whilst pulling his white t-shirt over his head. You pursed your lips. Someone shouldn’t look sexy while getting dressed but somehow Carmy managed it. Ridiculous.

“You know, when people have sex and then they act weird, and awkward, and can’t make eye contact.” You said, folding your arms over your chest, and avoiding eye contact. Your desk was foggy with body heat, sweat, and the edge glistened from where your bodies were joined. You might have to buy a new desk. How were you ever going to get work done in here now?

“Okay.”

“Great!” You forced cheerfulness into your voice. “My offer still stands about the cupcakes. Feel free to grab one on your way out.” You said before stepping into your sweatpants and pulling them over your hips with a satisfied smile at the ache in your abdomen.

Carmy muttered your name.

“Is this…” He rubbed his nostril with his knuckles, “I mean – are we going to keep doing this?” He asked, his blue eyes imploring, and your heart flinched. You looked away and at the calendar on the wall. June, June, June. All your plans, all your projects, and ambitions. Everything you were so hungry for. You didn’t have time for anything serious and you weren’t equipped for serious relationships. Casual and random suited your lifestyle fine, thank you. You were sure Carmen could understand that. You were career people.

“This is the after sex talk I was hoping to avoid.” You said with a weak, flat laugh.

Carmy was quiet. You suspected – and hoped - he would drop the topic and walk away.

“You can’t just avoid things because they’re uncomfortable.” He said and stepped into your field of vision, and you were forced to face him – face this. You sighed and nodded with your lips pressed in a firm, hard line.

“I don’t have the time or energy for a relationship.” You admitted.

“Neither do I.”

You inhaled deeply. You knew what you had to do—the only proper, professional choice. It was time to rip off the band-aid. You needed distance, professionalism, and mutual respect. You couldn’t have that if you were crawling into his lap and letting him fuck you so hard you forgot your own name. And it wasn’t just the sex. It was everything else. It was looking for him in a crowded room, it was holding hands through a panic attack, it was sharing cigarettes and bashful smiles. All of it was distraction. All of it was too dangerous for you like standing close to an open flame.

“Normally in a situation like this, I’d suggest we become fuck buddies and blow off steam together.” You began, “However, I can’t – I can’t commit to that either. I need to…I need…”

You licked your lips with your heart pounding in your ear.

“You need to focus on your own shit.” Carmy guessed. You nodded, thankful for his understanding, and his empathy.

“Yeah.” Your lips quirked up in a weak, rueful smile. “I assume you’re in a similar situation.”

“No, no, yeah, yeah. I am.” He nodded, “Obviously. The whole restaurant and my brother and everything…yeah.” He rubbed his forehead with his hand. You had the wild, stupid desire to brush the hair out of his face and press a kiss to his nose. (Which is EXACTLY the reason why you needed to stop sleeping with him starting yesterday). You were getting too close, too eager, and vulnerable with him. It blurred too many lines.

You rocked back and forth on your heels and tried for humor, “So, we can settle for friends who have seen each other naked?”

Carmy exhaled shortly and harshly through his nose. It was almost a laugh.

“Alright.”

“Cool.” You swallowed, hoping for an exit sign on this conversation before you asked him to come over because your resolve was dissolving faster than sand underwater at the sight of him. “Get home safe, okay?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, you too.”

Carmy left the room, and a lingering sense of longing permeated the air with you as its source. You plunged your face into your hands and sighed heavily. You could do this. You couldn’t afford distractions, or more responsibilities, or messy feelings and neither could he.

“Grow up and get over it, right grandpa?” You muttered to yourself, repeating his most commonly used phrase whenever something went wrong.

< Part Five >

[prophetic-hijinks]

A Royal Pain in the Ass

Small content warning for infertility, orphans, and a shitty little kid I love with all my heart.

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

Elena’s yawn echoed as she walked through the halls of the orphanage, her footsteps practiced in dancing over every divot of tile that had sunk a little too low due to the scampering of thousands of feet over the decades. Yes, she came to know the character of this building well over the life she spent in it.

She was not a morning person, at all. Her late nights made waking up before 9 absolute hell. But without fail, every Sabbath she’d wake up for Sunday Mass. Then make her way to the orphanage where Mother Superior would make use of her act of service by sending her to the kitchens to help feed the kids, help mend torn knees on clothing, or, her absolute favorite, sing and play with them. Listening to their happy babbles, excitedly cooing over a lost tooth, playing pretend that the floor is lava.

Elena loved children. She wanted nothing more than to have as many as she could. To be a mother and switch lounge songs for lullabies. But after 15 years of marriage and not a single hint of pregnancy. By God’s will being a biological mother was not in her cards, and until she married again, adopting was out of the question. The stain of her divorce was too much for an Orphanage to bear. So she will have to forgo a child of her own, born or found, and instead settle with helping to raise hundreds over the two decades since she left these halls as a resident.

Her chores were done, and the kids were all getting ready to head outside for their free time. She was eager to join them. But as her custom, Elena made sure to walk through the wing with the children's rooms. Searching for the newcomers to this sad place, those in mourning not sure of their place in the world. The Nuns were good, wonderful women. But for a newly orphaned child, they could be imposing in their black and white habits, and restrictive schedules necessary to keep the chaos of dozens of children in check.

She used to fear them but as an adult. She knew them to be not only the salt of the earth but also her closest confidantes. And for each new failed relationship she relayed to them, she was sure it was solidifying their decision to abstain from men altogether.

‘They might be onto something”, she thought ruthfully. Elena was a hopeless romantic, and an optimist; but she was freshly alone again. Pablo, Her latest partner, didn’t like that the sexy siren he invented in his head was not that woman off the stage. His insistent, crude, and determined hands refused to match her pace, so she tossed him to the curb. She was obviously not a virgin, and she didn’t see sex out of marriage to be the worst sin one could do. But as it stood, her cheating ex-husband was her first, last, and only man she had ever been with. She needed someone worth breaking the last of her distrustful walls down, instead, they were all determined to make them taller, brick by brick.

She shook these self-centered thoughts away. She was supposed to be performing her acts of service to others. She continued her steps, looking into each room with their two perfectly made beds looking for lonely hearts.

The sound of a lifted mattress and creaky springs broke through the quiet hall. Usually, a kid trying to hide something secret from the Nuns. It was the best hiding spot in the rooms, but best didn’t mean useful. They will find it. They always did.

Elena made sure to make her steps louder, so as not to embarrass whoever was hiding something in that clandestine space. And for good measure, she made sure to knock on the door before turning her head to pass the threshold, to give the kid some extra time. There her eyes fell upon Tito, sitting on the bed pretending like he was reading his comic book in his lap all the while. Tito, like her, was orphaned at 12. That tender age where you feel the severance of a childhood you will never have back so keenly, and the fear of the beginnings of adulthood without a parent to guide you. Also, not an age likely to be adopted. No matter how much you practiced singing and being charming.

Tito was a handful, and a little goblin of a child. But that just made her all the more protective of him. She always wanted to defend the misunderstood, and protect the vulnerable. Everyone deserved a second chance, and children several dozen.

“Hola Senora Elena, you are looking radiant this morning”

“Thank you, Tito. We missed you at Service today. May I ask where you were?”

“I was working, came into a nice windfall of money”.

“Oh Lord,” she chuckled, “who did you hustle?”. Elena said, careful to keep the judgment from her voice. Tito was a master of deflection, and quite clever with his words. He could easily shut down the conversation before she could see how he was really doing. But if she could deal with a crowd of rowdy drunks and turn them into quiet pussycats with just a guitar, she could handle him.

“Elena, you wound me,” he said while bringing his hand to his chest in fake pain, “I run a legitimate small business”.

“Uh-huh,” Elena replied, with a raised brow and a smile. He usually would delight in telling her how much he made if only to scandalize her. So whatever he did, it was more than pocket change. After a pause, Elena allowed her face to ease into her true emotion, concerned over his self-destructive ways. Tito is 14 now, not too long before his mischief will be seen as criminal, where she can’t help him.

Tito reciprocated in kind with his cocky, upturned chin and heavily lidded eyes where he tried to give off an air of apathy. He did hate to see Elena go into concern mode, her big brown eyes softening and showing an adult's real attempt to understand and empathize. He hated that, no one knew what his life was like. She was a good one, one of the few things he didn't lie about to the man this morning. and she may be the least insufferable person he knew. But she still was an adult. He was ready for whatever insipid pep talk she had. But instead, she surprised him.

“You’re growing so much, and your slacks are too short. Do you need a new pair?”

Tito was ready to hit that one back with a crude “If you want to get into my pants that much Elena, just ask.” That would shut her down. But he couldn't. He could shoot that back at a sanctimonious Sister, but not to Elena.

Instead, he relaxed his shoulders, dropped his chin down, and replied, “yes please, Senora Elena.”

She pulled out a small measuring tape from her pocket. Tito sometimes saw her buying fabric scraps at the mercantile market for the pretty dresses she made herself. She wasn’t poor anymore and could afford to buy yards fresh from the bolt. But the habits of poverty were sometimes hard to break.

Pulling the tape, Elena instructed him to stand and as she measured his leg and arms, She decided to catch him off guard. “You are a royal pain in the ass, you know that?”

Elena, full of surprises Tito thought. “Such language Elena, and in front of Dad”. Tito joked laughing, hooking his thumb towards the Crucifix on the wall.

She ignored him. “But I know you’re a good kid”, she added as she wrote down his measurements. She stood up.

“You see the world as dog eat dog. I get it, you were dealt a terrible hand. And this place can feel suffocating”, she gestured to the austere room. “But I wish you would let other people in. Mother Superior, Father Pablo. Let them see the smart, resourceful, and good young man I know you are.”

Tito didn’t see himself as good by any means, only idiots were good. But he decided Elena was the exception, and sometimes he wanted to prove her right.

“I’ll try. No promises… But I’ll try”

“Bueno”. She smiled as she got up to leave. “You should have a new set of clothes by next Sunday. I would love to give them to you before service, but if need be, I will just leave them on your bed.”

Elena turned to leave and decided to make a wild guess, it wasn’t a simple fashion magazine hidden in his bed.

“And if you could, return whatever you stole from under that mattress.”

“You saw that!” Tito was shocked. He thought he heard her coming a mile away. He hoped she didn't see what was on it, the sight of the dude's creepy fantasy life with her and more particular, the two babies would crush her.

“Oh, yes. I see all.”, Elena joked waving her fingers like a mystical fortune teller with a wavering "whoooo", before disappearing from the doorway.

“What a dork,” Tito chortled to himself.

[skysometric]

dev commentary time! as we start going through the remixes it's important to keep in mind how much of a technical marvel these have always been, both in old and new versions of the engine... in ways that frequently made it a headache to work with them.

current versions of the red coins are a fully custom object – collecting one does all of the work behind the scenes to adjust the timer, spawn the flashing time indicator, and count both how many and which ones have been collected. they can be collected in all the ways a regular coin can – such as being bumped from below – and they can also be "precollected" when restarting from a checkpoint. there's even dynamic red coins set up to fly around or fall in from the top of the screen!

new "single-object" red coin on the left, old hacky nonsense on the right.

suffice to say, all of that was practically impossible in old versions of Mari0. the old red coins were a much different beast; they were in fact regular coin tiles with a custom graphic and a region trigger attached to several stage entities that would adjust the timer and track collection. there was no way to make the coins move from their spot, and no way to "precollect" them from checkpoints – meaning no checkpoints in remixes AT ALL.

worse still, those old red coins were very challenging just to add to the level in the first place. let's say i placed one already and i wanted to move it later; there's no way to just "move" the coin and the entities attached, so i'd have to delete it completely and replace each component in the new location.

on top of that, the size of the coin's hitbox is less than one tile, and the region trigger couldn't be made that small in the editor... so when i was ready to "lock in" the red coins, i would open the level in a text editor and manually adjust the size of the region triggers. yes, really. (pictured on the right is how i got "bumping" the coins below the bricks to work – the region trigger extends below the brick!)

the little orange squares over the top of the red coin show the size of the region trigger. it's tiny.

anyway, you get the point by now. the old red coins were inflexible – hard to place, hard to replace, and hard to find good places for. but i was ambitious enough that i did all that work anyway... i finished HALF of the remixes in the old version! and Applesauce Autumn is probably the best of those early attempts, because it has the least changes of them all.

most of what i did to patch up this level (besides smooth out the enemies a bit) was add things that i wanted to do in the original but couldn't, like… pre-placed Koopa shells. can you believe something that simple was impossible in older versions of Mari0???

also pictured is a star that was removed due to being too hard to reach.

adding red coin bits was also a pretty major change – those weren't possible in old versions either. the old red coin location was just floating over these bricks, just out of reach for anything but a running jump. really mean for being the first remix!

there also wasn't a koopa shell here originally. i like how the shell bounces around after it's kicked, meaning the floor here is never truly safe~

finally there's the two coins between the pipes, which had their times adjusted. in the new version, both give 20 time. in the old version, the first gives 30... and the second gives 10, which was purposefully not enough time to reach the next coin.

no old version needed, the difference is just numbers.

why did i do this? i wanted the player to puzzle out why the first one was giving way too much time and the second wasn't giving enough, with the eventual solution being to grab the one on the right first and double back for the one on the left. i wanted the player to discover this early on in the remixes... because i intended to pull a similar stunt in several remixes!!

suffice to say this did NOT survive into the final release. it's purposefully obtuse, it adds nothing to the level, and it's impossible to tell this is happening on your first time through because the coins aren't marked.

a recurring theme throughout these remixes is going to be how much more mean they used to be, because when i first made the remixes, i did not intend for anyone but the most hardcore challengers to tackle them. these weren't supposed to be for casual players; that's what the main levels were for. besides, it's not like i could add checkpoints or anything...

well, thank god i eventually could, because that got me to rethink practically all of the remixes.

Applesauce Autumn (A-1) | Retrush

Welcome back to familiar plains of bricks and pipes... with a seasonal shift! This first Red Coin Remix is crawling with Spinies, all lined up for a good old shell combo. Just watch where you kick those things!

[y0ung-4ever]

Comfort

Pairing: Johnny Depp x reader

Description: You have a tough day at work and Johnny is there to comfort you.

Warnings: Self-doubt, Johnny being the emotional support we all need

Rating: -

Notes: Everyone, it is okay to make mistakes over and over! It always gets worse before it gets better. I promise.

Recently I got a brand new job as a barista at the local coffee shop close to me and Johnny’s apartment. I don’t really need to work, but I wanted to because lately my anxiety has been getting bad. I can always tell because when I’m just sitting around doing nothing or watching a movie or a YouTube video, I’m always shaking my leg or biting my nails. And if it’s not my nails then it’s the inside of my cheek or my lip. And I notice that when I’m on my phone and I see pictures of girls with beautifully done nails and when I look down at mine, they are bitten down and not flattering at all.

So what better way of keeping your mind busy than getting a job!

In all honesty when I was first being trained, it seemed like a whole lot to remember and I was overwhelmed. But I kept telling myself that I was going to get through it. That it was worth it because it was going to help me.

It was a Friday, and it’s one of the busiest days at the coffee shop. I came into work prepared and ready to take on the day. Reassured that all I had to do was prepare the drink the customer wanted and that would be it.

But I guess the day had other plans because it was halfway through my shift and a lot of people started to pile in and order a lot at once. I was freaking out and I made one of the drinks wrong. My coworkers said it was okay to start all over again, so I grabbed another cup and began doing so- when I fumbled and dropped the cup spilling all the coffee everywhere. That caused everyone to stare and that caused me to go into a breakdown. So I ran into the back, took off my apron, and got in my car and drove home. I somehow kept myself from crying on the way home until I walked into our apartment. I let my tears fall and my legs went with them. I was hoping that Johnny was home so that this state of panic I was in would soon be over. But sadly he wasn’t. He was filming today and I forgot that.

After an hour or so of crying on the floor, I picked myself up and went to the bathroom. Starting the water but not getting in. I just wanted to cry until I couldn’t anymore. I just kept looking at myself in the mirror. Calling myself a screw up. I screwed up everything. I’m probably going to get fired now because of what I did. Leaving work in the middle of my shift all because I messed up a drink. I was so stupidly sensitive. Saying all of these things out loud made me realize that it was actually true. Which made me cry even more. And me being overly sensitive and noticing it made me cry even more. I was a mess. How could Johnny love me?

Knock knock

I didn’t even care. He was going to notice the sounds of sobbing over the running water, and he was even going to notice the smudges of mascara on the floor downstairs. He paid attention to all of those details when coming home and knowing something is wrong.

As the door opened I didn’t even look up. I didn’t want to look into those beautiful brown eyes because I knew they were filled with sadness. I knew that they also had a hint of disappointment. Just like mine.

“Honey..”

He ran over to accompany me on the white tiled floor of the bathroom.

He lifted my chin up and I tried so hard not to look into those eyes but it’s like they are magnetic. And as I caved in. As I looked into those orbs of so many feelings. I cried even harder. There wasn’t even a hint of disappointment. It just wasn’t there. I was wrong. But not about me. I was right about everything I said about me.

“Honey, what happened? Shhh..just talk to me, sweetheart. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to feel the way you are feeling. Just let it all out.”

He was hugging me and rubbing up and down my back. I felt helpless..but also loved. A weird combination really..

“I-I screwed up again, Johnny. Again. I can’t do anything right!”

I screamed and sobbed as I relived those moments at the coffee shop.

He shushed me and wiped my tears away with his thumbs. He turned around and grabbed some toilet paper and dabbed my nose with it.

“My baby. Do you know why you mess up? Why do you make mistakes everyday?”

I kind of look down in disbelief at his words.

“I-I knew y-you were disap-ppointed.”

He shook his head and pinched my arm. He tapped my nose. He ran his fingers through my hair and held my hands. Proving that I was indeed human.

“Because you are a human being. It is in our nature to screw things up. You know what? I have been acting for a long time. And I still mess up alll the time! Hard to believe right? But I do. I mean it could just be because I’m so deviously handsome that I have to make up for my good looks by messing up my lines all the time. Just to balance things out. You know?”

I laughed at his cockiness.

“And if we were all good at everything and never made mistakes then I would seriously be worried about the human race. Like could you imagine everyone being perfect? The world would be so boring and lose all of this colorful diversity! And that would be so…”

“Depressing?”

“Sure! Depressing.”

I stopped crying and looked up at Johnny with a small smile.

“Oh my gosh- I’m sorry I’m going to need to call 911 because your smile is too pure for this world. You are at least going to get life in prison.”

I laughed and jumped into a hug. He laughed with me and we just sat there together. Hugging and enjoying each other.

“Johnny..?”

“Hmm?”

“Can we watch a Disney movie? And eat ice cream?”

“Ohhh, Tangled and Cookies n’ Cream?”

[spinster-sisters]

Criminal. khj

TW: Violence kinda, weapons kinda, illegal stuff obviously, exhibitionism, marking, posesiveness, gang? au? possibly, I honestly dont know what this is.

WC: 6k

I normally dont do summaries but I got a funny one:

You and your boyfriend escape a bank robbery.

-

The toe of your shoe clicks against the marble floor as you tap your foot. Across the room, high up on the wall there is an analog clock ticking down the seconds. It’s getting late, and the bank teller couldn’t be going any slower. Only two people ahead of you now.

You check your phone for the fifth time in the past 10 minutes, no update. Must not be running as late as you thought. You shift your weight to your other foot only to start taping once again. Ok sure, you weren’t late, it doesn’t mean you like how long this damn lady is taking.

The line moves up as the teller begins helping the next person. You attempt to swallow your impatience as best you can, pulling out your phone again to quickly slide between apps, but the longer you stand there the louder the ticking of the clock seems to echo around the room.

Looking away from your device, you take another look around the room. Nothing has changed since you came in. In between the doors and the lines, there was a seating area filled with two uncomfortable-looking couches facing each other and a coffee table between them. There were still 3 tellers sitting at their desks, 10 customers in line counting you. Two in the first line, three in the second, yourself, and two others in the last. About as busy as you would expect at this time of day. But the waiting still sucked.

Finally, you hear the teller ask “is there anything else I can help you with?” And you know that soon it will be your turn at the window. Pulling out your phone again you shoot a quick text.

[ it’s my turn next, hopefully, I’ll be out of here soon ]

1:24pm

Just as the woman in front of you steps away a notification dings on your phone.

[ See you soon ;) ]

1:25pm

You sighed at your boyfriend's message, thinking the winky face was a bit on the nose for your taste. But Hongjoong liked to tease.

Dropping your phone back into your pocket, you look up just as the teller motions you forward. The click of your shoe against the tile seems almost deafening in the quiet room as you step forward, trying to mask the small smile Hongjoong’s message had given you.

“what can I help you with today?” The lady at the counter-question with subdued chirpiness. Clearly, she has had a long day, already ready for it to be over. The thought made you wince.

“Hi, there seems to be a problem with the direct deposit on my account. My last paycheck didn’t go in.” You start, placing both hands on the counter.

The teller nods, with mock understanding, clearly just an impulse for years of customer service. Somewhere outside several car doors slam, but no one inside seems to notice the sound.

“Could I have the number of the account?” The teller asks, placing both hands on the keyboard and frowning at the screen, prepared to type whatever comes out of your mouth. You don’t have time to say it.

All the lights on the monitor suddenly shut off. The woman helping you looks taken aback for a second, looking over to her coworkers only to see them doing the same. The hairs on the back of your neck shoot up as nerves build in your stomach.

The next thing happens so quickly you barely register it. The glass door slides open and a metal canister flies into the room. Acting on instinct your hands fly to your ears, your eyes screwed shut, and you drop to your knees. Even with your ears covered it does little to silence the ear-splitting bang that rips through the room. It sends the rest of the room's inhabitants to the floor seconds after you, either from shock or from the disorienting mix of light and sound that came from the small device.

Flashbang.

Your heart jumps up to your throat. You open your eyes but did not let your hands drop just yet. The ring was still sounding in the room, but the blinding light had gone. Just as the last of the ringing fizzled out the doors slid open again.

A group of masked figures took confident strides into the room. Your eyes searched the street behind them, looking for anyone who might notice what’s going on. There was no one. Your stomach dropped again. The others in the room finally seemed to be regaining their hearing and sight, only to shriek when the men came into view. Swallowing your nerves you do a headcount of the patrons. Three tellers, ten customers including yourself. All adults, no children. That was good, children would cause problems.

After assessing the situation and taking a few deep breaths, you look over to the group of men who were starting to spread out around the room. The more you looked at them the more frightening they appeared. Each of the men were were dressed head to toe in black with a mask covering the bottom half of their faces, but even as you sized them up you avoided looking at their eyes, drawing attention to yourself now would be stupid.

Every one of them carried a gun. But as they fanned out across the room only one had it pointed. The same one that spoke.

“Anyone not on the ground better get that way. We don’t have all day.” The voice that spoke was calm but had a clear edge. The tones meaning ran clear in your ears as much as everyone else’s, calm does not mean forgiving. You kept your head down, trying your best to sink into the shadows trying to avoid drawing attention to yourself, that’s what people always said to do right?

You heard a few thuds as the few people in the room who remained standing dropped to the floor. None of the other patrons or staff said a word. Thank god, fighting would make this much more difficult.

“Great, now I want everyone’s hands on the ground in front of them. Try to call anyone and one of us will put a new hole in your head, so why don’t we make this easy and nobody make a sound.” The voice continued in that same tone. Your eyes shot up to make sure everyone was following orders as you placed your own hands on the cold tile next to your bare knees, they were already getting stiff and you hoped this would be over quickly.

A few of the men began walking through the people on the floor, hands on their guns but not drawn, checking just as you did that everyone was behaving. As one of the taller ones drifted toward your spot you stared at the same tile a few feet ahead of you, matching the other patrons around you.

You heard the heavy thuds of footsteps as they paused in front of you, just for a moment. You felt the gaze burn into the top of your skull as you stared forward, holding your breath.

“You don’t look nearly scared enough.” The new voice spoke, completely nonchalant. The next moment, a heavy leather boot pressed down onto your hand, crushing it against the tile. You winced and let out a small cry as pain shot up your arm. It stung as he dug his foot harder onto your hand. Both hands started to shake as the pain built, the knot that had formed in your chest from the moment the flash-bang fell through the air tightened till your breath became choked and shaky. Suddenly the pressure was gone.

“Much better,” the voice all but giggled before moving on.

You took a heaving breath as soon as the boots left your field of vision. You felt sweat start to form on your brow bone. You looked up again. A few terrified faces of other patrons looked at you with fear, clearly expecting that the man was going to blow your head off.

The man who spoke first stepped forward and motioned to the middle teller who was watching petrified from behind his desk, head barely peeking over the edge.

“You,” he started again, taking long strides across the room, walking within a few feet from you on your right side to the opening that led behind the counter, “Why don’t you show me to the safe?” He asked, voice still disconcertingly cordial. The teller gapped for a moment, and the man tilted his head expectantly. The teller stumbled to his feet, eyes not moving from the shiny gun trained on him. He did little more than gesture vaguely for the man to follow him before they both disappeared behind the doors that lead to the back of the bank, 2 of the other men followed behind him.

The room was stiff with tension. For the patrons at least. All of you seemed to be holding your breath, but the men could not seem calmer. Their postures were relaxed, many of them had their arms crossed over their chest or were leaning against furniture. None of them even had their weapons drawn, but they were still visible. Enough to keep everyone shaking with fear with their heads down. It was bizarre but effective for the time being.

Your head was absolutely swimming. Trying to keep notice of the positions of everyone in the room, taking shooting glances around for a few seconds at a time, checking the faces of your fellow hostages. Everyone knows in situations like this it’s best to just comply, you sure fucking hoped the others knew that as well. You tried to lead by example anyway. And then there were the men. You didn’t dare look any one of them in the eye, knowing what kind of consequences that would bring. But you tried to keep tabs on them. They weren’t moving much in the few minutes since the three men disappeared with the teller, but any slight movement they gave was noteworthy into your mind. You had to keep things under control.

The minutes ticked on in almost complete silence, save for the one man who was humming of all things. How could they possibly be relaxed right now you did not know. The sound was harsh against your ears for how gentle it was, it kept distracting you from your thoughts.

The thought in question was a dangerous one. Your back was beginning to ache from being hunched over and your palms were sweating uncomfortably against the marble. From where you sat against the furthest teller window you were blocked from the direct view of every robber by either furniture or walls. What you wanted to do was risky, any slight movement on their behaves would land you in their line of sight. That was an opportunity for anyone who could take it.

You need to text Hongjoong. He needed to know what was going on. You watched the men carefully for the next few minutes, looking for any sign that they might start looking around, but they all seemed perfectly content in their places. With a shaking hand, you slowly began reaching into your pocket. You managed to pull the device out without anyone noticing, but as you slid it into your lap and under your shirt one of the other patrons saw, and their eyes shot wide open. Shit.

They looked at you with frantic, pleading eyes that screamed call for help. They were looking too obvious. You swallowed and shook your head, trying to get them to look away, but they didn’t.

“Heads down,” a deep voice called. Both you and the other patron snapped your eyes to the floor, but after listening for a few seconds it didn’t sound like anyone was moving toward you. You were still blocked from view. With a shaky breath, you slowly pulled the phone out. Unlocking it silently, you pressed on the messages app.

“Well, what’s this?”

Dread shot through you. The man had reappeared from the back, slinking quietly to your side somehow without you noticing. Your head shot up to look at him as he stood, barely 5 feet away from you staring down at your phone. The entire room's attention was now on you. You felt your blood freeze in your veins as the eyes above the mask narrowed into a glare. You didn’t even move to hide the phone, you didn’t move to do anything. You just sat there, staring dumbly back into his eyes. You heard the distant sounds of fear from the hostages and soft chuckles from the men.

The bag he had slung over his shoulder was tossed to the nearest member of his crew, the two that had followed him into the back of the back reappeared, took one look at the scene, one shaking his head before they both carried on out the door with the three bags.

A hand shot into your hair, grabbing it by the roots and pulling you to your feet. Your scalp burned, the pain was so sharp and sudden your eyes screwed shut and you lost Yoruba balance. Disoriented, you let out a shriek at the pain and if it weren’t for the grip on your head you would have fallen right back down. The phone was ripped from your hand. The man slid his hand from your hair to grasp the back of your neck firmly as he looked over the screen. When your eyes opened he was scrolling through the messages from half a moment before laughing a full and wicked laugh.

“Texting your boyfriend? How cute.” He all but cackled. He observed your face, your eyes hard and pricked with tears, and he giggled again. Shoving your phone into his pocket, he motioned to the others before pulling you towards the door. You stumbled over your legs multiple times, letting out cries and hisses as you went but doing little to resist.

The other hostages, let out distraught sobs but you blocked them out, their sympathy would do nothing for you now.

You were pulled out of the building at the same moment the sound of engines roared to life. In one quick glacé you saw that the street was still deserted.

Your back was slammed against the wall of the bank, just out of view of those inside and the barrel of the man's gun was trained on you. You shut your eyes tight.

You heard a bang. And the wailing cries of the hostages inside.

Then familiar lips crashed onto yours. It wasn’t really a kiss, more of a peck. The man's lips moved against yours for only a few seconds, so little you had no time to react before they were gone.

You opened your eyes. His mask was pulled back up, and he had taken a step back. His gun was already holstered at his side.

You didn’t have to see the bottom half of the man's face to know he was smirking. You pushed yourself off the wall and glared at him. At that moment two cars pulled out of the parking lot, one stopping directly in front of you. With a huff you pushed past the man who you could almost guarantee was still grinning.

Opening the door you slid into the backseat against the far window and crossed your arms over your chest. Seconds later the man got in and closed the door. And you were off.

“Come on your not actually mad are you,” he giggled, pulling down his mask.

“You damn near pulled my hair out Hongjoong! Of course, I’m mad!” You spat. You heard the two in the front seat chuckle.

“Oh don’t think you're off the hook Yunho. What the fuck was that? Since when was breaking my hand apart of the plan?” You hollered, kicking your foot against his seat. This only lead to more giggling. You resiliently stared forward, not looking at to boyfriend. He didn’t seem bothered by this in the slightest. Hongjoong slid across the back seat to wrap an arm over your shoulder that even in your rage you didn’t have the heart to shake off.

“But it’s not like I was lying! You looked way too calm. If any of them had looked at you it would have been obvious something was up.” Yunho defended, gesturing with the hand, not on the steering wheel.

“Come on, darling. You know we have to make it believable. I can’t have my best spy get their cover blown because I’m too gentle with you.” The arm around your shoulder tightened, urging you to look at him. Finally, you turned to him, smiling at you so brightly you’d think you were on a friendly road trip.

“Besides, I thought you liked it when I pulled your hair?” Hongjoong said with a cheeky wink. At that Wooyoung howled with laughter from the front seat. You blushed crimson and promptly reached your foot over to kick his seat as well.

“Oh shut up. You were going overboard and you know it.” You grumbled with much less enthusiasm. Hongjoong smiles softly at your pout before leaning back in his seat, giving you a bit more space. Comfortable silence lasted only a few minutes as you drove on before Hongjoong spoke up again.

“Why did you pull your phone out anyway? That was dumb, even if you are on our side.” He asked, fingers rubbing circles comfortingly against your shoulder. You sighed.

“Because the rest of the boys fucked up.” You replied plainly, but still easing into your boyfriend's touch. Both Yunho and Wooyoung made offended noises from the front seat, but you carried on.

“The way they were positioned was wrong. There were blind spots, several actually. You’re just lucky I was the only person in one. I figured I should let you know in case it became a problem.” You continued.

“Hmm,” Hongjoong muttered. While he heard the sound of your voice, you doubted he was listening, as his hand instead taken to playing with your fingers in your lap.

“Isn’t the whole idea of having someone undercover on the inside, so they can tell us where the blind spots are?” Wooyoung asked from the front seat, still clearly offended at your statement.

“I told Yeosang, it’s not my fault you guys planned to take him in the safe this time instead of keeping him in the lobby like always.”You shot back. But even that was half-hearted. Your body really did ache after being hunched on the hard ground for 10 minutes without moving, and the comforting touch of your boyfriend's hands made you melt into the seat, all the tension and worrying about ways it could go wrong eased off your body in waves.

You all could talk about how it went and what needed to be tweaked next time later, right now you just wanted to rest. Hongjoong pulled you against his chest by your shoulder sensing your quick drop in energy.

Just as you were about to doze off a thought popped into your head.

“Hongjoong?”

You could feel the hum he gave in response against your cheek, telling you to continue.

“Are you sure you should have pretended to shoot me? I mean, best case scenario local police add murder onto our rap list. Worst, they find out you have a man on the inside. Either one is bad.” You murmur into his chest. Your group had never killed before as there had never been any need to, and it wasn’t something that any of you really wanted to do.

“That’s only a problem if they catch us.” He replied. Sounding, as always, perfectly certain of himself.

-

Living like this had its pros and cons, much like anything else. The main con being having to drive long ways away for jobs, just as a way to keep yourself safe. Which sometimes meant pulling over on the side of the road at any ditch or shitty motel for the night before getting back to your homes.

As your vehicles pulled into a run-down motel about a mile off the main highway, Hongjoong and Seonghwa had gone into the lobby parading as drunk college students on a road trip to rent the rooms for the night. Needless to say, it had been a long day, the other boys meandered to their rooms and probably fell asleep the moment their heads hit the pillows. But not you.

You had been patiently waiting on the hood of the car you arrived in, for the moment Hongjoong got back. And when he did reappear and the others disappeared, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to go lay down as quickly as they did.

As the crunch of their footsteps on gravel faded till they were indoors, you turned your head upwards to the sky. It was late at night and in the middle of nowhere like this, you could see millions more stars than in your home. Hongjoong kept his place, leaning on the car hood next to where you sat, looking up as well but not at the infinite sky like you. No, he was watching your face.

You don’t know exactly how long you sat there, looking up at the sky but you know your neck had begun to ache when Hongjoong finally pulled himself onto the hood of the car next to you. You naturally came to rest your head on his shoulder, still looking up at the stars, but now in your peripheral vision, you could still see Hongjoong studying your expression carefully.

“Something on your mind?” You ask in a quiet voice, still looking up. Hongjoong stirred, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. You tear your gaze from the stars to look at him. The moon cast a pearly light on his face that in your eyes made him glow.

“Sometimes I think I ruined you,” though his words were serious the giggle he gave at the end showed he had no real remorse. You still scoffed.

“I was a criminal long before I meet you Kim Hongjoong, don’t go thinking you

drastically changed the course of my life.” You reply in a dry tone, even if he was joking, it was still a point you wanted to drive home. He had no reason to be guilty with how you turned out, you were probably safer with him and the others than where you were before. He laughed at you again.

Hongjoong laughed at everything. And his laugh was one of the best things about him. Looking at him now, it gets harder and harder to imagine what your life would have been like without him.

“Babe, you were a petty thief, I turned you into a serial bank robber. I consider that pretty drastic.” He shot back, reaching up to pretend to fix your hair.

“If it wasn’t you, it would have been somebody else, and between us? I’m glad it was you.” Your words came out slightly more sentimental than you had anticipated and when Hongjoong fell silent next to you, you promptly blushed and turned back to the stars.

You and Hongjoong very rarely spoke about stuff like this. Even if neither of you would ever admit it, the truth of living life like this is that all it takes is one day, one mistake, for the family you created and the life you live to come crashing down around you. The span of a few minutes could be the difference between running off into the sunset and quite literally never seeing each other again. And after the slight hiccup, you had today that only you had noticed at first, that thought was at the forefront of your mind.

So basically you liked to live in the moment.

It was quiet for a few minutes, him watching you and you watching the sky. There was a very slight breeze in the air, but the summer air was made it more of a gentle cool wind than an uncomfortable chill.

“It’s getting late, you should go to sleep,” Hongjoong muttered. Quieter than his usual quip.

“I slept in the car.” You replied easily. Which was true, and while that nap had been anything but restful with the constant bumps in the road, he didn’t need to know that.

“Oh well, here I was trying to get you in bed but I guess you don’t want to.” He sighed, regaining some of the playfulness from earlier while running a teasing hand up your spine. It gave you shivers, but you had no desire to give in to him so easily.

“Who says we need a bed?” You ask matter of factly. Turning to give him the same wink he had laid on you earlier in the day. Jobs like the one you did today always put you on edge, no matter how many times you did it. Unlike the rest of them, it took you hours to fully relax and admit safety enough to let your guard down. You would never call Hongjoong carefree, but he did have a habit of trying to jump you the moment you were a safe distance away. Hongjoong leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“Are you asking me to take you on the hood of this car? Because trust me, darling, I would.” Shivers his your spine once again, but you weren’t quite down bantering yet. You turned your head away from him to look at the beat-up old motel and the deserted parking lot you sat in. Motioning to it all you replied.

“Is this the most romantic place you could find?” You ask, each word oozing with how unimpressed you were by the scenery. At that Hongjoong placed a finger under your chin and tilted your head up to look at the millions of shining stars once again. You could feel his next words before they came.

“I don’t know, I think I did a pretty good job.”

It’s true, looking straight up and nowhere else gave the impression that you were sitting on the top of a mountain, the entire world below you and nothing but heaven above. Cheesy, but effective.

Hongjoong accurately assumed your silence meant he had won. Pushing you by your shoulder till your back hit the cool metal, your eyes stayed trained on the sky above. Your legs hung over the front of the car, pushed up only slightly till you lay with most of your body on the hood. Hongjoong’s moonlight face still hung in your peripheral, hanging over you slightly.

You stared straight into the sky as Hongjoong slung his body over yours, trapping your hips to the metal with his own.

“Please tell me you're not going to be super dramatic about this?” You as with your last dreg of defiance. He smirked at you.

“Babe, this is going to be the most dramatic moment of your life.”

And with that, Hongjoong leaned down over you, connecting your lips with a heated kiss. Your arms automatically slung around his neck, pulling him closer. Your breath hitched almost immediately, feeling all strength leave your body as you melted into the kiss. Hongjoong took time to switch between a long slow-paced drag of his lips across yours, to nipping and sucking gently at your bottom lip as he pleased. The air no longer seemed like a necessity, when staying like this forever got more and more appealing.

Running his lips down to your jaw you almost rolled your eyes when you felt Hongjoong suck a rather impressively sized hickey right onto the underside of your jaw. It would perfectly match the fading ones that dotted your collar bones and the base of your neck, though the placement of this one would be much more visible.

Hongjoong’s hand took hold of your waist, slipping his fingers under the hem of your shirt and pushing it to bunch up over your chest, exposing you to the cool night air. He hadn’t removed it completely, but nonetheless he leaned back to admire. The ghost of a smirk wormed its way onto his lips as he ran his soft fingertips along the marks he gave you.

Staring at the ones lower on your stomach, trailing up your body with feather light touches. Your eyes screwed shut when he brushed over the ones on your breast. The bra you had been wearing today was nothing special, if not a little plain, but you could barely stand the heat of his gaze as it traveled up your body along with his hand.

Eventually, he reached the newest addition to the collection of purple splotches on your body. Cupping your cheek with his hand he urged your eyes open.

“I go through all this work to get you out under the stars and here you are with your eyes closed. That’s rude of you.” He stated with an exaggerated frown.

“It’s rude to tease,” you tried to sound as playful as him, but it came out as more of a whine. He giggled at you and carried on.

“I’m not teasing, I’m admiring. Now let me continue or you’ll get nothing.” He replies sternly. The mood suddenly shifting as the sparkle in his eye shifted to a darker hungrier look. You gulped slightly before letting your head fall back against the metal to stare up at the sky again. You felt Hongjoong’s mouth on your body again. His warm lips giving new life to some of the more faded marks on your chest. The cool air suddenly felt incredibly hot as your boyfriend's hands ran up and down your sides, occasionally stopping to squeeze whatever flesh he could grasp. Each time pulled another sound past your lips, although you did your best to muffle them.

“You look so pretty like this baby,” he remarked, barely pulling away, “I want to hear how pretty you sound too.”

It wasn’t spoken like a command, but you took it as one. Letting your mouth hang open in a moan when Hongjoong took one of your breasts in his palm, kneeling it slightly before pulling your bra down just enough to free it. He wasted no time in dragging his tongue over your nipple, then sweeping back down to suck a mark directly on the underside of your boob.

Your legs clenched together as he worked, the small amount of friction it gave in your shorts only served to drive you to more extremes when you rolled your hips against his. You groaned startlingly loud at that, the sensation of his hard dick pressing against your core even through the denim of both your pants pulled wetness from your core quicker than you would ever care to admit.

Hongjoong pulled away with a laugh, sitting up straight to look down at your already keening expression.

“Calm down baby, we have all night. No need to rush.” He chuckled at you. Despite his words, he took almost immediate action, running his hands up your bare thighs till his fingers hook on the waistband of your shorts. He pulled them down, but only just enough. Slipping his hand between your legs to cup your heat, while palming himself over his jeans. You whined again and clamped your legs around his hand, holding it in place. Despite your body’s subconscious efforts, he slid his finger over your cunt through your damp underwear.

Under any other circumstances, it would have been incredibly embarrassing how wet he made you from just touches to your body, but at the moment all you could think about was how desperately you wanted him to continue.

“Your soaking wet already, it feels like cheating with how quickly your body reacts to me.” He mutters, pressing two fingers against your hole, with nothing but a thin scrap of fabric keeping them from pushing inside you.

“Hongjoong, please fuck me. I’m begging you.” You groan, rolling your hips against his hand repeatedly. He broke out in a wide smile.

“I like the sound of you begging. Do it again for me.” He commands, voice laced with honey. You took a shuddering breath, turning your eyes to meet his with a pleading look.

“Please, I need you to fuck me.” You beg with all the desperation you have.

“Oh course baby, all you had to do was ask.” He lilts, tilting his head to the side with a sickly sweet smile.

Hongjoong pulled his hand from your core, which left an unhappy feeling in your stomach. But he used said hand to assist in pulling his dick free of his pants which spurred your legs even further apart. Your hands had been hanging uselessly at your side since this all began but as he leaned over your body once again, staring straight down into your wanton face, your hands flung themselves behind his shoulder to hang off of him.

Hongjoong pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, running it through your folds twice, watching as your face shifted from bliss to desperation each time he almost slipped in. And of course, he laughed. But that was the last bit of torture he gave you before sinking into your cunt.

Your synchronized groans sounded throughout the empty parking lot when he finally filled you to the hilt. And with his own patients starting to run as thin as yours he wasted no time in pulling out and thrusting again.

Your back arched more each time he pushed into you, feeling him stretching your walls and brush against the most sensitive spots inside you made your toes curl. And as he began to build pace his deep pants and groans rang in your ears.

He was doing anything but going fast. Long hard and deep thrusts shook your body in a steady rhythm. Your nails dig into his shoulders through his shirt and your mouth hung open as he fucked into you.

“Come on baby, you're not that far gone already are you?” His voice carried a teasing tone, but his own breath had gone shaky. You both stared into each other’s faces, watching each other’s expressions shift with bliss at every thrust. You were moaning and whining freely now. Words have failed you.

You felt the muscles on Hongjoong’s shoulder strain beneath your fingers, and with your orgasm fast approaching your nails practically clawed down his back. Hongjoong hissed above you, but the action did nothing but spur him on.

“Your gonna cum baby? Gonna cum already on my cock? How desperate you must be, to let a criminal have his way with you like this.” He growled the words down at you. His words shot to your core, making you clench around him, with a whine you forced words past your lips.

“I don’t care, just want you.” The words were barely a whisper. But the effect was the same. With a ringing cry, you came undone underneath him. You shook and threw your head back, staring directly into the stars above you. Your body moved of its own accord, but that was all beyond you. The only thing you could think about was the look on Hongjoong’s stunning face as he came hovering above you.

You both basked in the feeling of waves of pleasure rolling over your bodies. Continuing to grind against each other subconsciously as you rode it out.

The cool air returned with a nip. Hongjoong had all but collapsed above you. As you came back to reality the cold metal of the car suddenly felt so comfortable you could fall asleep right there. You felt your eyes being to drift shut.

“Oh no baby, I’m taking you to bed for real this time.” Hongjoong chuckled, pulling himself up to look down at you again. He gave a small smile at your pout.

“Your pretty cute for a dangerous criminal.”

You gathered up the last of your strength to hit him on the shoulder.

-

and this my friends is why I dont make a habit of writing longer things, they just get away from me.

I meant for this to be a short hot sexy lil thing and it turned into this long ass sappy thing

[hajimine]

BETWEEN THE NOTES — SEMI EITA x GN!READER

synopsis: for as long as you can remember, you and Semi Eita have always hated each other—but a couple of tender glances and one too many bottles of beer later, you find out that maybe you were looking at it the wrong way this whole time.

genre: fluff, (kinda) enemies to lovers, musician!au, mutual pining but they’re both idiots, jealousy, etc.

warnings: alcohol + intoxication (nothing bad happens), slight suggestive themes, vulgar language, kinda fast paced?

wc: ~2.5k

to: @archivednikes happy birthday shawdy <3

special thanks to: @rintaroll for beta-ing & telling me a lil bit about how bands work and stuff bc idk shit lol :,)

“Semi, get your ass moving,” you huff. “You’re gonna make me late.”

He gives you a smug look and raises a slitted eyebrow. “Did something crawl up your ass and died? What’s up with you?”

You exhale heavily through your nose and stare at him, unimpressed.

“We gotta catch the afternoon train if you wanna reach the venue in time for our gig. This is a really good opportunity for me, don’t you dare mess it up.” you say, gathering the last of your things for the trip.

There is a tingling sensation crawling down your spine, as if someone is staring at you. You look over your shoulder curiously, opening your mouth to utter another snarky remark to get your partner to stop gawking around and get ready.

But the intensity behind his gaze caught you by surprise.

Those hazel eyes of his—ones that are usually sharp and cold—held a sort of softness in them as he looks at you. When you caught him staring, his gaze did not falter one bit.

You couldn’t stop your eyes from traveling down the perfect slope of his nose, continuing down to his pouty lips.

As much as you hate him, you can’t deny that Semi Eita is an attractive man. Heck, even the word attractive isn’t enough to express how infuriatingly hot he is.

Your gaze stays on his lips for a second too long. Have they always looked this soft and inviting?

The dry cough from the opposite side of the room is the only thing that managed to break you out of this trance. Semi Eita’s trance.

Your manager stands by the door, tapping her foot on the wooden tiles impatiently.

“Now, lovebirds,” she narrows her eyes, “Save the PDA for tonight, yeah? We’ve got a schedule to follow.”

You roll your eyes at her, cheeks uncomfortably warm. And just like that, the strange yet tender moment you shared with Semi dissipated into thin air.

。。。

You don’t know if you should take pity on the gray-haired singer or if you should laugh at him.

Currently, Semi’s head is bowed down in shame as he gets an earful from his manager in the middle of a crowded train.

You see, the four of you should’ve arrived at the venue by now. Both your managers are very strict about schedules, and they planned to arrive at the bar two hours before the agreed time.

Thankfully, his bandmates have been a little more punctual than him and have successfully boarded the 4pm train. But Mr. Popular right here just had to stop every few minutes to take pictures with every single fan he met on the way to the station.

“It’s half past five now,” his manager whisper-shouts, “Do you know what that means?”

Semi tries to give her an awkward smile to calm her down. It doesn’t work.

“It’s rush hour! What if we won’t reach the bar in time? It could ruin both your careers, do you know that?” she glares at Semi once again, but there is less bite in her voice now.

“I’m sorry,” Semi starts, plastering a charming smile on his face, “I only wanted to be nice to the fans. Wouldn’t make too good of an impression if I just ignored them, no?”

His manager sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, exasperated. She motions for Semi to stop talking with a wave of her hand.

The singer grins, and out of the corner of your eyes, you can sense his sharp gaze on you once more.

You try to ignore it.

。。。

When your group reaches the bar, Semi’s bandmates are almost done preparing themselves for the gig.

The bar is dimly lit and cool, the multitudes of warm overhead lighting being the only source of light in the room. It’s not too busy tonight, you observe. Some people still donned their work clothes, perhaps rushing over to the bar right after a long day at work—mingling around with friends to let loose for a little and enjoy themselves.

“Dude, where were you?” Aito asks, eyebrows turned downwards in a frown.

Semi pats the guitarist on the side of his head, “Relax, we’ve got plenty of time to prepare.”

Aito rolls his eyes, completely used to his bandmate’s antics.

“Whatever,” he huffs. “By the way, are we gonna have a little after party later?”

“Uh,” Semi’s eyes flicker towards you for one second, then back to Aito, “I dunno man, might be too tired to get wasted tonight.”

The guitarist narrows his eyes. He didn’t miss the way Semi’s gaze lingered on you.

“Y/N,” Aito smirks. “You coming to the after party?”

You were listening to their conversation this whole time, finding the whole exchange quite amusing.

“Eh, I don’t see why not,” you smile sweetly, “It’s gonna be even better now that this dude isn’t coming anyways.” You pointed your thumb at the vocalist.

From where he’s standing, you hear Semi scoff.

“Y’know what?” he sneers, “On second thought, I am going. How does that make you feel, huh?”

You shrug, feigning indifference.

“I literally do not care.”

“Piss off.”

Aito throws his head back in laughter, shaking his head as he walks away from the scene, muttering about people being too clueless and dense for their own damn good.

You adjusted your equipment bag on your shoulder, exhaling loudly to try and calm your heart down.

。。。

It is in moments like these that you remember why you decided to go forth with this career path, no matter how rocky it may be.

Adrenaline courses through your veins as you sing the lyrics of you and Semi’s song; every ounce of the jittery nerves you had just a few moments ago long gone.

There’s nobody else in this world that can ever take your place

Some of the customers are listening intently, others just nodding along to the song, and the rest not even listening at all.

You could hear your heartbeat thumping loudly against your chest, the sweat trickling down your forehead and into your eyes making it harder for you to see the crowd.

And when the day’s all done and dusted, all I ever need is to be in your arms again

You whip your head towards Semi, just like the countless times you rehearsed this song together.

“It shows chemistry,” your manager had said, “play it up for the crowd, will ya?”

The butterflies in your stomach flutters about restlessly when you notice that Semi has been looking at you this whole time.

His eyes—sharp and intense—held your gaze, unabashed. Steady. Sure.

Will you stay tonight? ‘Cause baby you’re all that I need, and you’re all that I want.

And in that moment, with your eyes locked on each other, the world seems to stop.

Nothing else matters, Semi’s lopsided smile says, only you.

。。。

The performance flew by in the blink of an eye, and it’s a little past midnight now. As promised, your managers held a little after party in the shared lounge of your penthouse suite.

It’s not as fancy as it sounds, you smile to yourself. There are suspicious stains on the gray carpet, and the furniture smells vaguely of cigarette smoke and sweat.

Bottles of beers have already littered the floor and glass table, and you haven’t even started drinking.

“Duuuude,” Yuuto slurs, “Why are ya so tense for?”

The bassist points at you and Semi, eyelids drooping as he tries his best to keep them open.

“C’mon guys,” Aito clasps his shoulders and massages them roughly, “Relax a little, we did amazing tonight.”

Semi shrugs his friend’s hands away, annoyed. He snatches an unopened bottle of beer from the cooler and opens the cap with his teeth.

You gulp. He hands you the bottle wordlessly before grabbing another one for himself, chugging it down quickly. You mirror his actions, hoping that the alcohol can dull the annoying fluttering in your stomach that refuses to leave ever since the two of you shared that intimate moment on stage.

For fuck’s sake, what’s going on with me?

Your trick works, in a way. Your stomach feels pleasantly warm now, and your breathing has finally evened out. Another unopened bottle of beer lays invitingly on the couch and you reach for it, opting for a bottle opener instead of doing it like Semi.

“Bro,” Yuuto grins at the singer, drool threatening to leave the corner of his mouth, “Did’ya see that blonde chick in the front row? She was hardcore eye-fucking you dude.”

“Ah,” Semi takes another swig of his beer, a cute flush blossoming in his cheeks.

Wait, what. Cute?

“She gave me her number when we were gathering up our stuff.” He runs his hand through his hair.

“You gonna hit her up or what?” Aito teases, smirking.

The singer shrugs, “Maybe, I dunno.”

Your breath hitches, and Aito’s smirk widens. You raise your eyebrows at him, silently telling him to fuck off.

“Where’s Kai?” you hear Semi ask. Come to think of it, you haven’t seen the drummer since after the show was over.

“Oh,” the guitarist laughs, “Fucker left us for some girl he saw in the bar. Might see him tomorrow morning, might not. Who knows?”

The vocalist hums and walks over to where you’re sitting, plopping down on the old couch.

“The managers?” Semi casually drapes his arm on the back of the sofa. You feel yourself tensing as your heart races uncontrollably, and the singer looks over at you with an unreadable expression on his face.

Aito scratches the back of his neck, quickly losing interest in the conversation.

“They decided to sleep in early. Long day, I guess.”

Semi nods and rests his head on the top of the couch, exposing his defined jawline. His eyelashes look so pretty from this angle, they’re long and fluttery and they almost…

Huh?

“Eita, are you gonna hit that blonde girl up or nah?” Aito provokes, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You clench your teeth and reach for yet another bottle—your fourth one this past hour. Or fifth. You don’t bother counting. Semi looks over at you again, but this time his eyes holds a sort of concern in them. You scoff to yourself.

“Uh,” the singer looks at his friend weirdly, “Why are you so insistent on this? I did say maybe didn’t I?”

Aito laughs. You almost recoil in disgust.

“Oh nothing,” he chuckles, “It’s just that she’s really hot and she’s your type so—”

You stand up abruptly, knocking over some empty beer bottles by accident. The regret is immediate. You can feel the acid in your stomach traveling up your esophagus, tickling the back of your throat.

Semi quickly stands up when you clasp a hand over your mouth, trying your best to hold it together.

“Shit,” he mutters, “You okay?”

He rubs tiny circles on the small of your back, an action that’s supposed to be soothing but instead causes tingles to run up and down your spine. You shiver.

Another wave of nausea hits before you could respond, causing your knees to almost give out under you.

“Whoa there, angel,” Semi wraps his arm around your waist, holding you flush to his side to support your weight.

You groan softly as your head spins uncomfortably. Droplets of cold sweat is starting to form on your forehead, adding another layer of discomfort upon you.

“You wanna go to your bedroom?” Semi murmurs close to your ear. You shiver again. At this, Semi thought that you’re freezing so he drapes his leather jacket on your shoulders, holding you close.

You nod weakly as you try to blink the black spots in your vision away.

From somewhere around the room, you hear Aito snicker, “Stay safe!”

You turn your head around to give him a deathly glare, but all you see is a big blob of blurriness.

Dammit.

。。。

Semi takes the key card from your bag and pushes the door open, placing your duffel bag on the floor after

He guides you to the bathroom—with gentleness you rarely see from him—and sets the toilet cover down so you can sit on it while he wets a towel with the running tap water.

“You still feel dizzy?” he asks, voice soft.

You stare at his fingers as he wrings the towel and shakes your head.

Semi holds out the cloth and pats your forehead with it, the coolness allowing you to feel a little more refreshed.

“Do you want me to make you some tea?” he wipes the back of your neck carefully.

Shit. Has he always been this thoughtful?

You shake your head again, telling him that you just want to go to sleep.

He sighs and gives you a half-smile, holding out his arm to help you to the bed.

Semi still has it in him to give you a little but of privacy as you wiggle out of your tight jeans, looking away until you slip under the covers.

He helps you pull the plush white comforter closer to your chest, tucking you in.

Your mind doesn’t feel as hazy as it was a few hours ago, but the leftover alcohol coursing through your veins gave you a sort of boost to your impulses.

“Eita,” you whisper, reaching out towards the singer, “Stay?”

The singer halts in his steps and turns to look at you.

“Uh, I don’t know Y/N,” he starts, “You’re drunk right now.”

“No I’m not,” you say, steady voice proving your point. “Please?”

Semi glances over at the door and sighs. He chewed on his lower lip for a few seconds before sighing again.

“Okay.”

。。。

You’re struggling to open your eyes when you wake up, the harsh sunlight streaming into the room completely unfiltered.

Drunk you completely forgot to close the blinds, it seems.

You groan audibly, wanting to pull the covers above your head to hide yourself from this cruel world.

You freeze. Why can you feel someone’s soft breaths on the crown of your head?

Nervously, you reach out in front of you, eyes still shut closed. Oh no.

You force your eyes open, grimacing from the sudden brightness. Your eyes widen at the sight in front of you. Semi Eita, your supposed nemesis, is sleeping soundly a few inches away from you, arms wrapped around your waist.

What the hell happened last night?

A small squeak leaves your mouth as you fully realize the situation you’re in. The small noise wakes Semi up from his slumber, causing him to slowly open his eyes, squinting at the bright light.

“Morning, angel,” he croaks, voice raspy with sleep.

My god does he look pretty in the morning.

You stay there, frozen and unblinking. All the words at the tip of your tongue seem to disappear from existence.

Semi blinks, sitting up quickly.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he rubs his eyes vigorously, “I should’ve said no when you asked me to stay. Fuck, you were drunk and I—”

You grab the back of his neck and pull him closer to you, a small smile gracing your lips.

Your thumb grazes Semi’s bottom lip, dragging it down every so slightly before releasing it, enjoying the way he seems to unravel under your touch.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?” you murmur, trying to keep your cool as your heart hammers against your chest loudly.

At this, Semi breaks out of his reverie and laughs, “I thought you’d never ask.”

a/n: if you’ve made it this far, please feel free to let me know what you think about this fic! and please REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED mwah <3

© HAJIMINE — all rights reserved. please do not repost, copy, or claim any of my works as your own, thank you.