#lay off the crack cocaine son it's not a good look on you

[jobey-wan-kenobi]

OH, SHOO-BE-DO-WAH! OH! SHOO-BE-DO-WAH!

[crowfootwrites]

Los Guardianes | Part V [Nestor Oceteva x Fem!Reader]

Ok, I promise there's a comedown from all the adrenaline after this! And very soon we will see characters other than Cristóbal lol.

Warnings: mentions of blood, drugs, and domestic violence; police interactions; language | Words: 1,900+

Taglist: @chibsytelford @megapeacelovemusic-blog @broiderie @est1887 @mveggieburger

Part IV of Los Guardianes

As you thundered down the alley, you glanced over at a wailing Cristóbal, splashes of crimson quickly drying across his arms and t-shirt from where you had carried him.

“It’s gonna be ok, Cristóbal, alright? I promise. Just hang tight,” you shouted over the strained whining of the engine. He quieted, shaking violently in his seat, but you turned your attention back towards the road, quickly reaching the end of the alley. You made a sharp right, having no idea where to go, but hoping to find a main street quickly.

Luck appeared to be on your side. You kept your eye on the rearview, but you didn’t see anyone behind you yet. You came up on a main street, mostly empty of traffic, and made a sharp left, immediately flooring the accelerator again. Your eyes flickered to passing signs, looking for anything you recognized.

“Fuck!” you growled, squeezing the steering wheel as you passed a sign for the Sun Bowl, panic rising in your chest as you realized you were in El Paso, Texas. You had no idea how you were going to get all the way back to California without getting caught, either by your kidnappers or by police, although at this point, you would have preferred the police. But you also had plenty of experience with dirty cops, and if your kidnappers had brought you here, of all places, it seemed likely that the police would be in their pockets.

You whipped past a sign for I-10 northbound and made for the onramp, revving the engine to merge into traffic. You darted immediately into the fast lane. Traffic was relatively light, but you hadn’t yet decided if that was good or bad. Your eyes flicked keenly between the road in front of you, your odometer, and the traffic behind you, watching for signs of a tail. It seemed like you were clear for the time being, but you hesitated to get too comfortable. It wouldn’t be long before the shattered back window drew some kind of attention.

Taking stock of your surroundings, you realized you had an almost full tank of gas. You wouldn’t be able to make it all the way back to Santo Padre on one tank, and you had no idea how you were going to pay for another. But you relegated that to the back of your mind, a concern for later. There was a balled-up hoodie in the backseat, and you stared blankly at the rosary swinging from the rearview. The glove compartment was empty.

Your eyes tracked the nearest freeway sign, realizing I-10 would take you into New Mexico. From there, you could head towards Phoenix. You didn’t love the idea of staying on a major freeway for so long, but it was the quickest way to get where you were going. From just south of Phoenix, you could take smaller highways towards home, and that suited you better. But the feeling of being chased propelled you forward; you were constantly pushing the odometer and scanning of your surroundings.

You reached New Mexico without a problem, but without a solid plan in place, you sped through it. As you careened down the highway towards an empty desert horizon, you heard Cristóbal’s breathing begin to calm. There was no chance of your pulse slowing or your body settling; you sat on the edge of the driver's seat, your thighs and core constantly clenched, ready for hell when it came.

Around two hours after you left El Paso, you were rapidly approaching Deming, New Mexico, and by then your brain was shouting at you to stop. You wanted to try to find a gas station to get yourself and Cristóbal cleaned up, in case you did get pulled over. You also wanted to check the trunk. While you had certainly been making good time, a sneaking suspicion nagged at you, one that questioned why no one had come after you or appeared to have reported the car stolen.

On the far edge of Deming, once you had passed through the center of the city, you followed signs for a gas station that looked, from the highway, to be mostly empty, in the middle of an empty stretch of commercial buildings and vacant lots. You guided the car towards the back of the gas station lot, behind the building, where you breathed a sigh of relief that there were bathrooms on the exterior of the building. You pulled into a parking space and only once you had scanned your surroundings did you get out. You went around to the passenger side door and guided Cristóbal out, grabbing the hoodie from the backseat.

The lock on the bathroom door was broken, so you pushed your way in, gagging a little at the stench. The sink was filthy, but the water ran clear, and you quickly rinsed your skin, watching the pink-tinged water swirl down the drain. Flashes of the man you killed flickered behind your eyes whenever you closed them, bile rising in your throat. The gnawing in your stomach reminded you that you hadn’t eaten in almost 24 hours. The adrenaline had kept the hunger at bay, but suddenly you were so hungry you felt nauseous. You helped Cristóbal wash his face and hands, then pulled the hoodie over your soiled shirt, zipping it all the way up.

Back at the car, you popped the trunk and your mouth fell open.

“Oh, fuck,” you groaned. Six bricks of cocaine were packed into the back of the small trunk, along with a duffel bag. You supposed that was why no one had reported the car stolen. It made you feel a little better that the cops wouldn’t necessarily be looking for you, but if you did get pulled over, you’d be fucked. You dug through the duffel bag, finding it full of clothes, and your heart lifted when your fingers skimmed smooth leather. You pulled out a black leather wallet, flipping it over in your hands. There was no ID, but there was a singular twenty dollar bill in it, and that would have to do.

Cash in hand, you tugged Cristóbal into the gas station store with you, grabbing a couple of protein bars and a large bottle of water, wanting to hang on to enough money for gas down the road.

You planned to dispose of the cocaine out in the middle of the desert, so you hightailed it out of Deming. A little less than an hour later, you took a tiny offramp and followed a deserted road past a dilapidated gas station out into the barren desert. You pulled the car off into the dirt, sending a cloud of dust up around you.

“Wait in the car,” you told Cristóbal gently, who nodded at you with wide eyes.

Pulling the sleeves of the hoodie over your hands, you dumped the clothes out of the duffel bag and packed the drugs into it, zipping it up. Careful not to touch anything with your bare hands, you slung it over your shoulder and hauled it towards a thick patch of scrub brush several yards from the road. Dropping the bag behind a clump of brush and prickly pear cacti, you booked it back towards the car, heading immediately back towards the highway.

You were approaching Gila Bend in Arizona as dusk gathered over the skyline. You had already gotten off of I-10 and onto the smaller highway that would take you to Yuma. From there it would be an easy drive to Santo Padre, one you had even made before. You had every intention of driving through the night, desperation fluttering in your heart at the thought of home. You were hungry again, and you could hear Cristóbal’s stomach grumbling from the passenger seat, but you were dangerously low on gas.

Pulling into a small gas station in Gila Bend, you went inside the store to pay, bringing Cristóbal with you. When you came back out, your breath hitched in your throat and you froze. A police officer was standing beside the car, inspecting the shattered back window. Flashbacks flooded your brain and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force them out. Through the rapid swirling in your mind, you felt Cristóbal squeezing your hand hard, the touch pulling you out of your trance. Immediately, your mind went into overdrive, laying out a plan.

You approached the car, schooling your features into a timid expression.

The burly, dark-haired officer looked up curiously at your approach, and you caught the slightest softening in his eyes as he studied you and the child clinging to you. He looked young and green, fresh on the job, and you wanted to use that to your favor.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he said, hands authoritative on his hips.

“Evening,” you murmured, dropping your gaze meekly.

“You know it’s illegal to drive with a busted window?” he asked sternly.

You let all of the stress of the last couple of days pour into your brain, breaking the dam behind your eyes. Tears tumbled freely over your cheeks as you looked back up at him and he startled slightly at the sight.

“I’m so sorry, officer,” you sniffled. “My son and I, w–we came from El Paso, trying to get away from my husband. He smashed it as we were leaving. I’m just trying to get us to California so we can stay with my brother.” Your voice caught on a sob, cracking on the last syllable.

The officer’s stance softened and your heart lifted just slightly. His inexperience was showing.

“Who is this car registered to?” he asked.

Your chest tightened as you prayed he wouldn’t run plates or ask to see documentation. “It’s mine, sir,” you whispered, meeting his eyes with your most sorrowful look. “He just didn’t like that we were leaving.” You hoped that you looked wretched enough to prevent him from asking too many questions.

The officer pursed his lips, his thumb lightly tapping his utility belt. “Where you headed to in California, ma’am?” he asked.

“Palm Desert,” you lied smoothly, letting your lower lip tremble for good measure. “I have family there, sir.”

The officer hesitated as he considered what to do next. “And you’ll be safe there?” he asked. “Does your husband know where you’re headed?”

“Probably, sir. Th–they’re the only family I have. But they’re going to help me file a protective order against him. And... start the divorce process,” you mumbled, shuffling your feet in the dirt. You felt a quick pang in your heart as you said the words, ones that weren’t too far from true in another time.

Perhaps sensing that it was a good time to lay it on thick, Cristóbal tugged on your hand. As you glanced down at him, he reached his arms up and you pulled his weary form into your arms, depositing him on your hip.

The officer studied the pair of you intently, then sighed. “Alright. I’m not going to write you a ticket, but once you get to Palm Desert, you need to get that window fixed, do you understand me?”

You nodded fervently. “Thank you – officer, thank you so much,” you stammered, hugging Cristóbal tight. The officer tipped his hat and turned on his heel, making his way towards his police cruiser. Your body felt limp as the rush wore off yet again. Your mind reeled, pushing the limits of what you could handle without sleep. You needed to get home, and soon.

You slid into the driver’s side seat and slid Cristóbal over, helping him buckle his seatbelt.

Praying for an uneventful last leg of your journey, you pulled away from the fluorescent lights of the gas station, headed yet again towards the moonlit horizon.

Part VI of Los Guardianes

[haydenbarnes]

Terminus | Self Paragraph

TRIGGER WARNING: MURDER

In the half light of the alley, Hayden’s body casts disfigured patterns on the grey walls. The only change in them is his chest rising and falling, and his hands that he hadn’t even realized were shaking so badly. His jaw stung, he could taste the metallic blood that dripped from his nose. His right eye was barely able to stay open but it had to because he couldn’t stop staring. He couldn’t stop himself from staring as the blood matted itself into his hair or leaked out onto the ground. Hayden knew he should be running right now, he should be getting to a car and driving south never stopping for anything but gas. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even move. 

“I’m just going down to the 7/11, Riss, you need anything?” Hayden shouted as he sat on the browning, beat-up, second-hand couch and tied the laces of his boots. Since the fire, Hayden and Marissa had started to put patches over the last few years. They’d talked things out properly and had come to a mutual understanding with each other to let things die; to turn to a new chapter. It was refreshing having his best friend back. But, he was worried about her mental state, and after Scotty’s house party where she had been beaten up by some jumped up ex-business associates son he was worried about her safety too. He knew better than anyone how the past can come to haunt you. 

There was no reply to his question, he furrowed his brow. “Marissa?” He called out as he moved through the apartment towards the room she’d been staying in. His fist rattled the wood before slowly opening the door. “Riss--” he said gently as he put his head through the crack and then saw she wasn’t in. “Weird...”. He was sure he hadn’t heard the door open. Hayden went to the front and sure enough, her keys were gone. Not giving it too much more thought, he grabbed his own set and threw them in his pocket before heading out.

Phone in hand, Hayden texted whilst he was walking into the center of Dayton. Let me know if you want anything in for when you get home, I’ll be at the 7/11 in twenty minutes so you got until then. You good? He pressed send and slid his phone back into his pocket, replacing it with a cigarette and lighter. There was always a sense of satisfaction as his thumb rolled over the metal flint wheel and created a spark first time. It wasn’t as good as that first lung fill from the first drag, but it was a close second. 

For being in California, Dayton had an eery chill this late at night. The wind whipped around Hayden and caused him to pull his jacket tighter around his body as he jogged across the road onto the other sidewalk and turned the corner. He could hear the buzz of life ahead of him in the nightlife district. He looked down at his wrist; 11:09. It was the hour of the night that determined the following seven. Either you were calling it a day and heading home to bed, or you were committing to seeing the sunrise. There were no half measures in Dayton’s scene; all in or all out.

Hayden didn’t want any trouble, and he certainly didn’t want to be roped into staying out any longer than he had intended to be away from home for. He was trying to sober up a little bit, trying to stop taking the edge off every five hours which was the state he had got to before Marissa had moved in. So, he decided to take the back alley route through the club scene, a concrete maze he had worked his way around when escorting bloody, beaten and bruised patrons of The Labyrinth away from the business without drawing any untoward attention. 

He was just getting to the back of the business in question when his attention was taken away from his path by the backdoors flinging open followed by a young man being quite literally thrown out into the alley. “If you show your face in here again, you won’t be able to walk for a month! You’re being watched, dickhead.”. The venomous tones of one of Ainsley’s other henchmen spat before slamming the doors closed. The man stumbled up to his feet and staggered to the doors, smashing his fists on them. 

“I didn’t fucking cheat! Since when is being more clever than the dealer cheating?!” He shouted with pain, panic, and fear clear as day in his voice. 

Hayden sighed and shook his head, dropping his gaze and composing himself as he felt that guilt begin to flood through his body. He could deal with it when he was involved. When he was the one throwing the punches and making the decisions. When the adrenaline was coursing through his veins, causing a better high than any combination of cocaine and heroin. He could deal with it then. But, watching and hearing the aftermath of actions he too committed was almost too much. It pulled at his moral heartstrings. Especially today. The anniversary of his Father getting murdered for mistakes he made. 

“You’ll pay for this!” The guy carried on, clearly on some kind of adrenaline side effect where things were coming out like word vomit. “This whole place will pay for this! I-- I-- I’ll go to the press! Ainsley FUCKING Slater is going to be on every newspaper front page tomorrow!”

Hayden’s eyes flicked open, darkness flooded into his pupils. His chest dropped and his hands curled into fists. His jaw tensed, teeth clenched. Open the fucking doors. Bring him back in. Take him out of my reach. He prayed that if anyone was on the other side of those fire doors that they heard his threats, and would take him in for round two. Please.

“No-one fucks with a Weston and gets away with it!” 

Weston. 

Rage consumed Hayden, it was an amber that constantly burned in the pit of his stomach but the moment he heard that name it was like someone had doused it in oil and sent it blazing. His head snapped up and across to the sound of the voice and sure enough, there he was; Tate Weston, the red-head that beat up his best friend. The little brat who thought he could steal from his place of work. The fucking dead man walking who threatened Ainsley. 

“You think you’re so big and hard, don’t you?” Hayden yelled as came out of the shadows of the joining alleyway into the dimly lit backway of the casino. 

“I don’t think, I know. You think this place can stand up to the power my family has? This place won’t last a press campa--” Smack.

His fist smashed across Tate’s nose, the cracking sound of bone echoed in his ears. The red-head whelped in pain as crimson leaked from his nostrils. Hayden pulled his fist back and plowed it straight into Tate’s stomach like a hitting a train head-on. When Tate coughed, dark purple sprayed out over Hayden’s lower leg and his shoes. He staggered backward, holding a hand in the air like a white flag. “Okay, okay, okay, s-- st--” he coughed again, blood splattering up the side of a trashcan he used for support. “Stop--” Tate shallowly panted as he collected himself. 

Hayden’s hands were shaking as it began to physically hurt to hold himself back. “Is that what Marissa said to you?!” He yelled. “Is that what she begged after you hit her the first time?! What about the second?! What about when she was laying on the floor and you laid your foot into her ribs for good fucking measure!” Hayden’s powerful voice boomed off the metal in the passageway. “I should kill you!” He swallowed, taking another step to Tate. “I should fucking kill you!” 

Tate took a staggered breath before pushing himself up to his feet and squaring up against Hayden. “Yeah? Well th-- then why am I still alive?” He bit back through gritted teeth before making the last wrong decision of his life; fight back. Tate’s arm left his stomach and pulled backward before springing out to the others' cheek, sending Hayden’s head flying right. He staggered on the spot to keep himself from falling and after regaining his balance was able to get another hit on the bartender, cutting up through his jaw and eye socket. 

The darkness completely shrouded Hayden. It consumed and took over him like a deadly virus, attacking every last good morale in his body. His mistakes had already cost his Father his life; was letting this rich kid go free going to ruin another person he cared about? Yes. It was time he took his own action, wasn’t it? He needed to make sure he wouldn’t speak to the press; that he couldn’t speak to the press. The was a primal sound that came from deep within Hayden’s stomach, a growl that took him back to the dark ages. 

He grabbed hold of Tate’s collar. There was a rasp as the material ripped under the pressure of his grip. There was a ringing in Hayden’s head from the blows the ginger had managed, but that was all that was in there. Everything else was silent; focused on the task. There was no moral dilemma, no attempt to hold his thinking to account. He was going kill him. 

Tate must have been able to see that in his eyes because the man suddenly changed his tune. He started begging, but Hayden couldn’t hear what he was saying, it was like he was speaking underwater or through soundproof glass. Hayden pulled his fist back and delivered a strike. Then another, then another until he was pounding at Tate’s face, breaking every socket and bone structure it held. His own knuckles popped at the force, the pain coursing through his arm but never slowing him down until the collar he had been holding onto snapped and Tate’s lifeless body fell to the ground in a heap. Hayden’s foot slammed into his chest before he stumbled backward, eyes open wide.

                                                             Everything stopped.

In the half light of the alley, Hayden’s body casts disfigured patterns on the grey walls. The only change in them is his chest rising and falling, and his hands that he hadn’t even realized were shaking so badly. His jaw stung, he could taste the metallic blood that dripped from his nose. His right eye was barely able to stay open but it had to because he couldn’t stop staring. He couldn’t stop himself from staring as the blood matted itself into his hair or leaked out onto the ground. Hayden knew he should be running right now, he should be getting to a car and driving south never stopping for anything but gas. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even move.

“Move... C’mon... Move...” He finally snapped back to reality, dropping down beside Tate’s face and taking it in his hands. Hayden tried slapping his cheeks, he lifted as much of an eyelid as he could find among all the blood and swelling. There was nothing. No movement, no pupil dilation. Hayden grabbed hold of his arm, his heart smashing against his ribcage as his fingers wrapped around his wrist. “C’mon, c’mon-- you bastard, c’mon,” he muttered as he tried to move his fingers around to find a pulse. 

                                                                   Nothing.

Hayden swallowed but there was nothing but blood to go down. His mouth was dry. His skin faded color and-- Fuck, he was going to be sick. His feet stumbled over themselves as he made his way quickly to a nearby trash can, pushed the lid off and threw up into it. What the fuck had he done? What the fuck was he going to do? He can’t go back to prison. He can’t go back to the East coast ‘cause he’ll end up like fucking Tate. Think. Think... Ainsley... This is her place, right? She could-- she could do something, right? Anything? Dylan... Dylan knew the streets, she knew Dayton, she knew the cops... 

He nodded to himself as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and fumbled over the keys. He pressed Ainsley’s name and put the phone to his ear as the dialing tone came on. He paced. He made the mistake of looking back to the lifeless body and almost threw up again. Fuck. FUCK.  

“Ainsley?” He practically whispered when the woman picked up the phone. “I need you-- I need you to fucking get Dylan, and-- Ainsley, just fucking listen to me! I need you to come to the back of the casino. I-- Ainsley, he’s fucking dead.”  

                                                                                            He’s fucking dead.

[bakingwithdatbitch-blog]

Alright you little shit stains it’s time for the first Episode of Baking With Dat Bitch! I’m your lovely and oh so talented host “Dat Bitch” and today we’ll be making ourselves some delicious fuckin cookies! Peanut Butter No Bake Cookies to be exact! Now I know this recipe by heart so the first thing I have to do is TEAR OUT MY DAMN HEART AND HAVE IT WHISPER UNTO ME ITS DARKEST SECRETS!!

Once that’s done I’ll obviously need to shove it right back in there before I FUCKIN DIE.

With that settled the next thing you need to do is lay everything out in front of you like a good little peon so you can make sure you have everything you need. Like so:

Once you’ve got everything sitting all nice and pretty go wash your raunchy ass hands! You’ve been cough and sneezing in them all day and nobody wants your icky germs you filthy heathen!

A Next you take this dinglehopper:

And scoop yourselves some wonderful horse feed!

*Note: I used the wrong type of oats here. It was all I had at the time, but it made the cookies kind of chewy.

Then you drop all that delicious equine nourishment into a bowl or something. Like this one

OR SOMETHING SIMILAR I DON’T CARE I’M NOT YOUR MOM.

Now the next step has itself a measurement, BUT I DON’T FUCKIN USE IT. WE’RE GUNNA DO SOMETHING ALL US SCIENTISTS OF DELICIOUSNESS CALL “EYEBALLING IT!”

Take a nice big ole’ jar of Nut Paste

And you scoop that shit out with a spoon! As much as you fuckin want! And you plop that wonderful nut paste into your bowl of horse feed!

Then you take a little bit of boring juice

and you dump it on top of that mixture to tone down the kinky party that’s happening in that there bowl! Kink shame that nut paste! AND LIKE ALL GOOD LITTLE BITCHES WE DON’T MEASURE THIS SHIT!

Now once you’ve got everything put in there you need to take a mixing apparatus of some sort and MIX IT BITCH!

MIX IT LIKE YOU’VE NEVER MIXED BEFORE!! YOU DON’T WANT NOTHING TO GET LONELY!!

Alright good. Now that everything is sufficiently mixed I want you to take a nice long look at it.

Does it look like this? If not then I don’t know what you’ve done. How could you? I trusted you. You’ve betrayed me. We were supposed to spend the rest of our lives together, but now you’ve gone and ruined everything with your selfish actions. I hope you’re happy. I’ll never be able to love again.

.

.

.

BUT if it does then congrats! You’ve gone and made yourself an otherkin baby! Now call yourself a babysitter and set your child off to the side because you’re going to need one of these dillywoppers

put it on the stovetop and channel your inner Paula Dean by THROWIN A WHOLE STICK O BUTTER IN THERE

THEN LIGHT IT UP!!!

On low.

After that grab yourself some CRACK- I mean sugar

AND DUMP THAT CRYSTALLINE GOODNESS IN WITH THAT GOLDEN BRICK. Once you got that together dump in some wonderful COW JUICE

and finally some Cocaine!

I mean Cocoa Powder.

Add it ALL in there! Why wait? Who needs to take it slow?! DO IT ALL AT ONCE!!

Lookit that beautiful mess! And you know what we do with messes like this?

MIX IT BITCH!!

Once you’ve got it all mixed and smooth let it come to a nice simmer. It’s gotta have some bubbles, but nowhere near boiling! If it boils YOU’VE DONE FUCKED IT SON.

As soon as it’s all nice and hot take that liquid ambrosia and pull your otherkin baby from daycare. Dump that liquid gold ALL OVER that baby

Aw ye son. Lookit that. It’s looking fiiiiiiiiiiiine. Do one more round of mixing then set that shit off to the side so the oats can cook some. Then you roll you down some wax paper on a flat surface and take that wonderful beautiful mixture

and you scoop it up!

And plop it down onto your wax paper! You’re making yourself some tiny little otherkins out your large one now! Once you’ve got that bowl all emptied let those babies sit for a few minutes!

Once they’ve cooled you take them and distribute them to all the local kids so that they’ll get hooked and start paying you for more!

Alright bitches, that’s it for Baking With Dat Bitch! Thank you all for tuning in and join me next time when I make more shit that looks better in books then it ever will in the pictures I take on my crappy ass phone! Now get the hell outta my house you freeloaders!

[kpopfanfictrash]

The Money

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jongdae

Rating: 18+ (Explicit Sex, Cartel!AU)

Word Count: 8,126

Summary:  It’s 1970′s Florida and the Baekhyun’s cartel has just been broken up by the feds. Still at large is the ninth member of the cartel, known only to federal agents as the Money. Jongdae is the Money and he has one job: keep it safe. Keep it safe, and try to get them the hell out. Part of The Cartel, a multi-author collaboration. 

Contributors: the always wonderful - @baebae-goodnight​ LOOK AT THIS MOODBOARD. 

FBI AND DEA BUST MIAMI’S NUMBER ONE DRUG CARTEL

Publication: Miami Herald, The (FL) Author:  LUCINDA PAGE, Herald Staff Writer Date: September 10th, 1980 Section: LOCAL Page: 1B Word Count: 242

It was in the wee hours of the morning, Miami, FL when Byun Baekhyun, infamous leader of the South Beach Drug Cartel was led away in handcuffs. Taken from his penthouse apartment on Collins Avenue, the drug lord is currently being held in the Miami-Dade County Jail on multiple charges of drug trafficking and money laundering. This arrest comes as the result of a year-long investigation by a special anti-narcotics detective squad within the FBI and DEA. This arrest marks the first of many, necessary steps to reclaim the streets of Miami from the current state of drugs and violence.

Today’s arrest is due to the intel of one, male FBI agent operating undercover within the cartel for the past six months. The arrest of Byun Baekhyun was the final in a series of arrests which occurred over the past forty-eight hours. Also taken into custody were: Kim Junmyeon, ‘The Cleaner;’ Park Chanyeol, ‘The Bruiser;’ Oh Sehun, ‘The Greaser;’ Zhang Yixing, ‘The Eyes;’ Kim Jongin, ‘The Diversion;’ Kim Minseok, ‘The Pimp;’ and Federal Agent, Do Kyungsoo.

Over one billion U.S. dollars of cash and cocaine were found hidden throughout various hiding spots in the Miami area. Still at large is the ninth member of the cartel, known only to federal agents as The Money. Any civilians with information on this individual’s whereabouts should inform their local police immediately. Proceed with caution, as they are presumed to be armed and highly dangerous.

Sweating profusely, Jongdae folds his newspaper delicately in his lap. There’s an ink stain on his right hand and he wipes this casually, trying not to appear like he’s running. Which he is, Jongdae is running from the very article on the front page of that newspaper. At least it’s a relief to see that the Federal Bureau of Investigation still don’t know his name.

Kim Jongdae, the Money of the South Beach Drug Cartel. Jongdae used to be a no one, nobody before meeting Byun Baekhyun. He was one of many analysts on Wall Street, barely made enough to afford his monthly studio rent in New York City. When he met Baekhyun, it was pure coincidence. Jongdae was on vacation, visiting a friend from college who worked in a new bank sprung up along Brickell Avenue.

Jongdae joined his friend hopping from club to club, overwhelmed by the amount of booze, chicks and spending. It was sometime around the third nightclub that he ran into Baekhyun. Jongdae didn’t know it at the time, but Club Medallion was Baekhyun’s personal headquarters, in addition to home of the infamous South Beach Cartel. Jongdae wasn’t aware when he began to barter with the bartender, wasn’t aware when he managed to get him to drop the price for several expensive bottles. He never imagined anyone above him would care, never someone might be watching from above.

Yixing cared, of course and when he overheard this twenty-two year-old kid swindling the pants off half his club – he nearly wet himself laughing. “Baek,” Yixing’s voice cracked over the radio with static. “Get off your ass and go look downstairs. You know how we need a new finance guy?”

That was an understatement. They needed a new finance guy, since the last one attempted to sell out the entire organization. Baekhyun drove that lying, manipulative cunt out to the Everglades himself.  

“Little busy,” Baekhyun grunted. He was in the middle of fucking what was, at the time, just a burgeoning romance. “Call back later.”

Yixing rolled his eyes, waited another minute before Jongdae began scamming an entire Blackjack table. “Boss,” he chuckled, taking a bite from his apple. “Honestly. You’re going to want to see this.”

“For fuck’s sake, you disgruntled wombat,” Baekhyun abruptly pulled out his cock. This, despite the repeated threats he was receiving. “This better be good, or I’m going to stick your shit-poor excuse for a head on the Rickenbacker Causeway.”

“Not your best comeback,” Yixing chewed loudly. “That time you called me a cock-sucking, shit-faced, bastardized train-wreck who’s cum lit the flames of hell. THAT was creative. Anyways, there’s this guy,” Yixing grinned. He was the only one who got to talk to Baekhyun like this – they both knew he was necessary. “He just scammed both the bartender and a bunch of high rollers in what – an hour? Tops. How long do you think he’s been here, Kai?”

Silence from Kai’s radio.

“Kai?” Yixing repeated, then sighed. “Eh, he’s fucking someone – damn! Two someone’s. Anyways, this kid. You’ve got to talk to him.”

Baekhyun was already buttoning his pants, tossing an exaggerated kiss to the most dangerous woman in Miami. “Bye, babe!” he called cheerfully, ignoring the sounds of her heels hitting the door. “Alright,” he grumbled, sauntering down the staircase. “Time to go and make dreams come true.”

That was the first time Jongdae met Baekhyun. The first time they met, Jongdae thought he was going to die. Baekhyun had that look about him, a manic smile and dark eyes gleaming. Then there was the matter of the six-foot giant beside him, his expression unreadable and gaze tight.

“Let’s talk,” Baekhyun shrugged – and before Jongdae knew what was happening, he was being offered a job.

It was the job of a lifetime. An opportunity Jongdae couldn’t pass up – and he didn’t. Barely hesitated, before saying yes. Ever since graduating college, Jongdae had worked as an analyst on Wall Street. Putting in hundred-hour weeks, sleeping on office floors, barely able to pay the rent on an apartment he never saw. One Jongdae shared with three other dudes, all of them crazier than he was.

Most of the week Jongdae lived on cup ramen and apples, occasionally he didn’t eat at all. When Baekhyun dangled this dream before him, gave him the opportunity to escape and make money now – Jongdae jumped. Baekhyun just told him how high. Jongdae didn’t return to New York, just called his roommates from a pay phone and told them he’d wire the last month’s rent. The amount didn’t matter, Baekhyun offered him ten times that much as a signing bonus.

Things quickly spiraled. Within months, Jongdae was living in a penthouse on Brickell Avenue. He was smart with the cartel’s money, more than could be said of the others. This was the advantage of having Jongdae as your man – he understood money. He lived and breathed those large, corporate organizations. I mean hell, most legitimate businesses in New York were Ponzi schemes. What did it matter then, if Jongdae was paid by someone paying taxes or by Baekhyun? Not much. If anything, Baekhyun was the more generous employer. At least he cared about those working for him.

Most other cartels were hotheaded, only cared about the now – not about what happened next. Jongdae thought about everything. He spread out their assets, diversified their funds. Tied them to offshore accounts, random assets and real estate ventures. If the cartel ever got caught, at least their money would be safe.

Which is why it is safe. That’s why the feds are looking for Jongdae; they only found a portion of Baekhyun’s massive empire back in Miami. On the last seat of the bus now, on his way to Middle-of-Nowhere, Alabama, Jongdae closes his eyes. This is Baekhyun’s brilliance, really. To keep Jongdae as far from the others as possible, with only Lay and Chanyeol knowing his face – only Yixing his name.

It’s for his own protection. If any other member got caught, they couldn’t out Jongdae. If they couldn’t explain Jongdae, then the money of the cartel would be safe. Baekhyun might’ve been one arrogant, son-of-a-bitch but he wasn’t dumb. He knew the risks of his operation, he knew he could get out of any jail sentence he was given, with so many people on the inside. What he didn’t have – what he needed Jongdae for – was the guarantee that his money would be waiting.

Jongdae’s fingers tap nervously against his seat. He feels as though he might throw up Or faint. It’s a wonder he hasn’t already, truly. All his friends, all the cartel – gone. When he opens his eyes shakily, Jongdae lets out an exhale.

It’s Kyungsoo’s fault. Jongdae grits his teeth. If he wasn’t such a fucking pussy, if he’d just trusted Baekhyun or maybe asked what the hell was going on – Jongdae rubs at his temples. Goddammit. It started with the mole. Junmyeon knew about the spy for months, knew there was someone within their operations who shouldn’t be trusted. Baekhyun knew it too, being well-versed in everything Junmyeon thought. They were trying to flush out the weasel themselves, though everything went to hell when they discovered the other shit going on below their belts. There was a rogue worker in Minnie’s organization, for one. A shady guy who bought girls and whored them out for profit. Minseok had two very strict rules in his establishments. Number one: everyone who worked for him, worked voluntarily. Second: his employees were extremely well-compensated. Minseok had dealt with enough shit in his life to know that unhappy people talk. Say what you will about Minseok, he wasn’t evil – or stupid. He knew most of his girls were illegals. Knew most wouldn’t get jobs elsewhere, so he offered them less-than-reputable work – but paid them well and treated them decent. It was a good opportunity, until they were able to get on their feet. Then Minseok let them go, usually with a fake ID and social security number. People who love you, are more willing to spy. That was the whole model of Minseok’s operation, so when a certain male worker began to engage in human trafficking – well, Baekhyun went ballistic.

Not even Chanyeol was able to talk him down from the rage. Baekhyun was seething, he grabbed two Uzi submachine guns and left, tires of his Lamborghini Miura screeching when he pulled out of the parking garage. Chanyeol wasn’t sure Baekhyun even made it to the Everglades before he killed the guy. Junmyeon received a terse phone call later on with specific instructions on where to clean his shit up.

The girl Kyungsoo was in love with was one of the ones Baekhyun liberated in his operation. Sure, Jongdae knows there was some sort of negotiation which went down – some front Minseok put up which made Kyungsoo think he owned her or something. Minseok typically only did that with outsiders though, guys he was suspicious of and didn’t want to let in. Better to be feared, than perceived as weak.

It was Kyungsoo’s words which made them suspect something strange going on in the first place. Not that they let him know this, of course. Kyungsoo never found out about any of it, since he never bothered to ask. Jongdae’s lip curls, remembering the way Kyungsoo turned a blind eye when he found out about Taewon. He knew the asshole was undercover in their cartel. Maybe not at first, but eventually he found out – and once he did, what did he do? Nothing.

Jongdae knows this now through bits and pieces, snippets of conversations he overhead on Yixing’s radio. A small laugh crosses his lips, thinking about Kyungsoo being trapped in that prison with the rest of them.

Taewon also worked for the FBI. Taewon was the once-partner of some woman in Kyungsoo’s department until he was sent to the field, undercover. Jongdae actually recognized the name, after the fact. Taewon was low-level in the cartel, someone whose car Sehun worked on. Someone who Junmyeon occasionally called in to help clean up messes. Apparently though, he was much more than that.

It was their own fault, really. Members of the cartel got arrogant. They got cocky, they thought a little roach like Taewon couldn’t wreck their entire operation. All it took was Taewon catching on to Lay and Kai. The shadow twins, the ones making sure all the transactions went smoothly. If any boat came in, Lay saw. If any police were on the roads, Kai circumvented. When Taewon realized who they were, everything went to shit. He broke into Lay’s apartment, stole the coordinates for their next drops.

Jongdae remembers the phone call vividly. Baekhyun was in his apartment at the time, drinking a glass of McKenna, neat. Jongdae’s land line rang – when didn’t Lay know where they were? – and to Jongdae’s surprise, the call was for Baekhyun.

The boss took it out on the balcony, overlooking the blue horizon while his lips tightened with displeasure. The longer Lay spoke, the colder his gaze grew and when Baekhyun finally turned to look at him, Jongdae shivered. The boss threw his glass at the wall, shattering it into a million, tiny pieces before hanging up the phone. “Got to go,” he barked, motioning for Chanyeol to follow. “Some little prick thinks he can mess with us.”

That was the last time Jongdae saw Baekhyun. Taewon took those coordinates he stole and began to stalk Baekhyun’s movements. Jondgae assumes it was sometime during this, he saw Baekhyun’s woman. The dragon, as Jongdae liked to call her, since her father’s cartel was el Monstruo. The monster. Baekhyun was dating the monster’s daughter – a woman who had fire all on her own.

Once Taewon found this out, he went straight to the head of el Monstruo. Taewon gave the man two things that day: photographs of his daughter with Baekhyun, and the coordinates he stole from Lay. Then it was the simple matter of sitting back and letting it happen. El Monstruo arranged a fake shipment, one to set Baekhyun’s people up.

Baekhyun wasn’t at the drop, but others were. Baekhyun’s head waitress from Club Medallion was there. His main distributor for the Miami area was. After several hours in custody, they gave up. It wasn’t long before the feds were knocking down Baekhyun’s door and dragging members out on their asses.

Everyone but Jongdae.

Jongdae still wonders if it was a mistake, the call he got from Chanyeol. All he said to him was, “Run,” but Chanyeol said it with such panic, Jongdae took him seriously. He now wonders if Chanyeol knew. If he got some heads up, a warning to get the hell out – but was too damn stubborn to leave himself. It seems like a very Chanyeol thing to do, if Jongdae is being honest. Go down with the ship because, though Chanyeol loved himself, he loved Baekhyun more. They were blood brothers, sworn to protect one another.

Once again, Jongdae lowers his face to his hands. He feels like a coward. He feels like a traitor, but he knows Chanyeol called him for a reason and that out of all of them, he’s the one who can’t be caught. Jongdae is the one with the money, which means he must be free.    

Baekhyun would happily slit Jongdae’s throat, if he appeared in prison. Thinking this, Jongdae swallows. He likes his throat. Would love to keep it whole and intact. This is why he’s sitting here now, on this bus. Getting the hell out of Dodge.

Metaphorically speaking, of course. Miami is much worse than Dodge City ever was.

The only thing is, once he reaches his destination – Jongdae isn’t sure he’ll be welcomed. It’s been years since he’s laid eyes you. Years, since the day Jongdae packed up and left. He didn’t want you involved in this, in his current lifestyle but now that it’s gone – you’re the only place he wants to be.

The Alabama air is hot, sultry and Jongdae is sweating within two minutes of getting off the bus. The scratchy vinyl of the seat sticks with him, its imprint an itch he can’t scratch while walking down main street. The last he heard, you lived over on Peach. This sounds so cliché, like a bad romantic comedy but then, you’ve always liked things like that. Quaint things, stability. It’s why Jongdae stayed away from you for so long.

The day is humid, though the sky is surprisingly clear. Nothing like Miami, choked with the smog of ships and cigars. Cuban, hand-rolled, nothing like the ones he’ll have to put up with here – Jongdae exhales thinking about it, long and slow. He pulls his glasses from his pocket, sliding them onto the bridge of his nose. In Miami, he usually went without. In Miami, Jongdae preferred not to see.

The walkway to your house is small, slightly off the beaten path. The door is bright blue, which makes Jongdae smile. A pop of color is so like you. The classic Colonial frame, a wrap-around porch with beige shutters – but then, an electric-blue door.

Chrysanthemums sit in buckets and Jongdae stares. First at these, then at the frame. He stands there like that, clenching and unclenching his fists. One second passes, then two. All the way up to sixty, before Jongdae starts over. Finally he exhales, lifting a hand.

Footsteps, the soft rise and fall of feet which sound like socks on wooden floors and when you fling open the door, Jongdae forgets what he had to say. The smile on your face fades.

Jongdae’s heartbeat drowns out everything else. “I – hi,” he breathes, well-aware this isn’t enough.

You don’t speak, only stare.

Jongdae rubs the back of his neck, wondering if he’s going to throw up. “Do you have anything you want to say to me?” he asks, somewhat awkwardly.

“Oh, fuck no,” you groan, then slam the door.

Jongdae drops his hands to his sides. “Ah, Y/N!” he yells, knocking on the door. “Y/N! Come on, don’t be like that! Please – just hear me out. Give me five minutes!”

You don’t respond, though Jongdae doesn’t hear you walk away.

“Please,” he groans, lowering his head to the door. “I know I was an ass. I know I am an ass! I’m sorry I left. Just please – please let me in,” he pleads. “Please, Y/N – you’ve always been the better person here!”

“Well, sure,” you call from the other side. “That’s not hard to do.”

Unwillingly, Jongdae smiles. “I know! Look,” he steps back, raising both hands overhead. Slowly, he sinks one knee towards the ground. “I’m here on bended knee, begging you to let me in.” When you don’t answer, Jongdae exhales. He looks down at the porch and adds softly, “Y/N. I have nowhere else to go.”

There’s a long pause. A moment where Jongdae thinks he’s really fucked up. Thinks he was wrong, that you won’t be able to forgive him but then – the door cracks open.

Jongdae slowly looks. “Was it the ‘please’ that did it?”

You stand framed in your doorway, arms crossed. “Don’t make me shut the door again,” you warn, tilting your head. “Actually, it’s still tempting. I wouldn’t push me, if I were you.”

When he moves to stand, you hold up a hand. “What?” Jongdae asks, wobbling slightly. “You want me to just kneel here?”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “Maybe I do.”

Jongdae rolls his eyes, stands anyways. “Can’t we at least pretend I have some pride?”

“No,” you say simply. Then you leave. “Door’s open,” you call, waving a hand over your shoulder.

Jongdae hovers, then follows. He steps into your foyer, dragging his suitcase behind him. The door is shut hastily, he doesn’t even notice the newspaper fluttering to the ground behind him. Jongdae pushes glasses up his nose. “So,” he clears his throat. “How long have you been here?’

“Don’t make small talk with me, dickwad,” you call back.

Jongdae winces, lowering his suitcase to the ground. He walks down the hallway and when he sees you standing in the kitchen, he freezes. It reminds him too much of an earlier time. A different morning, when you were still in college. You used to wake up early to make him toast, eggs – just that, since you couldn’t cook anything else. Jongdae would laugh when he saw the crisped toast or burnt butter – only you could burn butter – and then he’d wrap his arms around your waist.

Jongdae squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them, he sees you looking his way.

Setting your spatula down, you wipe your palms on your jeans. “Why did you leave?” you ask quietly.

Jongdae is silent for a long moment. “Which time?”

Your gaze darkens, knowing he’s left more than once. “My apartment. Why did you leave my apartment and go to New York?”

Jongdae doesn’t have an answer.

The two of you dated on and off throughout college. There was always this cloud, though. Always this knowledge that the two of you wanted very different futures. Jongdae wanted more than what you had. He grew up in a shit household with an absentee father, drug addict mother. It’s why he never touched an ounce of the cocaine himself, working for Baekhyun. When Jongdae was little he didn’t receive care, love or attention – which saddled him well into his adult years with this awful urge to prove himself.

It’s what drove him to college. It’s what took him to Wall Street. It’s what ultimately, brought Jongdae to Miami. You never wanted that, you just wanted him. Which is why Jongdae left. He was trying to save you from himself, trying to protect you from a gaping hole you couldn’t possibly fill. Jongdae thought money might, thought prestige could.

What he learned though, was that this hole wasn’t something that could be fixed on the outside. Not by you. Not by money either, nor fancy cars or boats or apartment suites. It was something only Jongdae himself could do – and it’s something he’s been trying to work on, lately.

“I don’t know how to explain,” he says and even to his own ears, he sounds defeated. “I was bad for you.”

Slamming your frozen peas onto the counter, you turn to face him. “Bad for me?” you laugh, shaking your head. “What gives you the right to decide that?”

Jongdae’s mouth opens, then he closes it. “I wanted something different than what you did.”

“Oh, yeah?” your eyes narrow, opening the refrigerator. “How’s that worked? Are you happy,” you snort, “because you can buy a fancy suit and shiny suitcase?”

“No.” Jongdae says simply, without any fanfare. “I’m not happy.”

At this, something in your gaze softens and slowly, you shut the fridge. “What are you running from, Jongdae?”

He doesn’t say anything, just swallows.

“Why,” you ask him, expression curious. “Are you here now? Why is your newspaper,” you nod towards the front hall, where the black and white sticks out of his bag, “folded over and over, as though you want to break the contents?”

Jongdae exhales. “God,” he looks away, cracking a smile. “You always were smarter than I was.”

“Again, not hard,” you mutter, before brushing past. You stalk down the hall, feet loud on your wooden floorboards. When you reach his suitcase, you yank the paper free.

Jongdae groans as he follows. “Y/N, wait,” he declares, heart loud. “I can explain.”

You’re frozen though, eyes locked on the headline while slowly, your gaze moves from side to side. “Holy fuck,” you mutter.

Jongdae doesn’t know what to say then, twisting his hands before him. “This is – it’s not what it looks like,” he pleads.

Your eyes lift from the paper to his face. “No,” you whisper, lips pale. “No, no, no, no – Jongdae you are not involved in this.” Shaking the paper, your expression turns furious. “Do not tell me you’re involved in this!”

“Alright,” Jongdae shrugs, grabbing the paper away. “I won’t tell you.”

Letting out a noise of frustration, you punch him in the shoulder. “Fuck you, Jongdae,” you fire. “This isn’t funny.”

“Ow,” Jongdae winces, rubbing the spot. “You’re right – this isn’t funny and it’s why I’m here,” he explains, turning serious. “Listen. I asked for five minutes, right?”

Silently, you nod.

“Alright,” Jongdae continues to look at you. “Give me five minutes. I will explain to you and if you still want to throw me out – you can. Okay?”

After another long moment, you walk past. Sinking onto your couch and looking up at him. “What are you waiting for?” you declare, tapping your watch. “Four minutes, fifty seconds.”

Jongdae moves. Hastily lowering himself onto a chair and nearly falling in the process. “I don’t even know where to start. Ah, shit – don’t get up! Okay,” he grips the armrests tighter. “Baekhyun offered me a job. Finance,” he grins but upon noticing your frown, his smile disappears. “Sorry. I ran the financial operations for his cartel. Look,” Jongdae rubs his forehead. “I’m not saying it was morally sound. I was pulled in by the money, the power, the perks.”

“The women?” you demand, jabbing a finger at his paper. “One of the people arrested was called the pimp.”

“Oh, no,” Jongdae scoots hastily to the edge of the chair – then back, noticing your expression. “I mean, yeah. Minseok’s girls were prostitutes but they worked voluntarily, it – ah,” he shakes his head. “I don’t know what to say, that has nothing to do with this. Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you, though I’m not sorry I left.”

“No?” You stare at him, expression unchanging. “Maybe you should hear then, what happened when you left.”

“Does this count as part of my five minutes?”

“Choke on a dick, Jongdae. When you disappeared,” you continue, as though he hasn’t spoken. “I cried. For days, weeks – I lost track, somewhere along the way. I knew the breakup was coming because you’re right, we wanted completely different things. I grew up moving from house to house, I never really had a home. You grew up in a home, but had no power – that was all you wanted.”

Jongdae looks up, when you hit the nail on the head.

You exhale. “I wasn’t surprised that you left. I was surprised you didn’t even say goodbye,” you admit, cheeks flushed with anger. “You didn’t have the courage, the decency to tell me.”

Jongdae stares back, completely helpless. “I couldn’t.”

“Bullshit,” you scoff, turning away,

“I couldn’t,” Jongdae repeats, well aware he’s getting louder. He stands, pushing a hand angrily through his hair. “Do you know,” he insists, “how long I stood there? How long I watched, stared down at you and tried to convince myself to leave? I had to physically tear myself away, Y/N. Leaving you was the fucking hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

You narrow your eyes. “No,” you whisper. “I didn’t know any of that – because you never told me, Jongdae. You just left,” you exhale, standing abruptly. “You bailed, didn’t even leave a note. Tell me,” you insist, looking at him. “Did you even love me, Kim Jongdae?”

“Yes,” Jongdae whispers. His eyes are dark with things unsaid. “Too much.”

“Then why,“ you start to ask, but he interrupts.

“It was too damn hard,” Jongdae blurts. He pushes himself up, standing inches away from you. “It was too hard to look, too hard to wake you up and explain to your face. I had to go then, while you could still bear to look at me. I had to get out before this hole in me,” he chokes, pressing his hand to his heart, “became a hole in us.”

You’re still staring at him, chest gently rising and falling.

“And you know what,” Jongdae laughs, somewhat manic. “You know what I discovered? After years of trying to make myself happy, I realized the only time I was actually happy was being with you! How’s that for irony,” Jongdae chokes, turning around to face the wall. “I ran away trying to save you – only to realize you were the one saving me.”

There’s complete silence, a sign which Jongdae takes to continue.

“I’m not going to apologize for the Cartel,” he whispers. “Truthfully, I don’t regret that at all. It was the first time in my life I felt important. Baekhyun trusted me, believed in me – he protected me, when the rest of them got caught. What I’m sorry about is what happened before,” Jongdae admits, lowering his head.

He hears you shift behind him, take a half-step closer. “Why did you come here?”

You sound tired and Jongdae looks up, still not turning around. “Because I missed you. Because,” he falters, realizing the truth. “When I had nowhere to be – you were the one place I wanted to go.”

Jongdae listens to the sound of footsteps, the soft noise of you leaving the room. 

“You can stay,” you say simply, and then you’re gone.

The next few weeks pass by slowly. You barely look at Jongdae, barely speak to him if you can help it. Each morning you go to your bookshop. Each evening you return. Always late, always after sunset, having already eaten both lunch and dinner. You eschew the work of your intern in favor of doing inventory yourself, something you haven’t done for years but it’s more appealing than being with Jongdae.

Not because he’s unpleasant, exactly the opposite. The more time you spend with him, the more you remember. It’s true, things are not the same. Jongdae is different and so are you but what’s strange, what’s scary, is that he’s better than before.

Before, he’d have these moments. There were days, weeks at a time where Jongdae would withdraw. He’d stop speaking, grow taciturn and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. All you could do was leave him alone, watch him stand at the ledge and hope he’d step back.

Nothing like that happens now. You keep watching him. Keep waiting for the same, old insecurities to manifest but Jongdae is oddly solid. It’s strange, and you find you don’t understand the cause. Perhaps it’s just that he’s older. Perhaps it’s just that whatever he’s been through, it’s been enough for him to know what he wants.

It’s why it’s better for you to stay away. You can’t help but notice the way Jongdae’s eyes follow you, entering the room. Can’t help but notice the way he doesn’t touch, would never touch, but he looks. The way he catches himself looking and then blushes. Turning quickly so you can’t see – but not before you find yourself wanting to run to him. Wanting to turn to him. Wanting to look at him and face him and talk to him.

He says words which catch you off guard.

You’re walking out the door one day, swinging your purse up and over your shoulder when Jongdae looks up. “What happened to the green purse?” he asks, sounding curious.

“The what?” you ask, stopping at the door.

“You know,” Jongdae lowers his newspaper. It’s not the same one he came with – no, Jongdae hadn’t spoken about the cartel at all since his arrival. “The forest green purse. You wore it a lot with that suede jacket.”

You pause. “You remember that jacket?”

“Remember?” Jongdae ducks his head, sheepish. A strand of hair falls over his glasses. “That’s what I see when I close my eyes,” he admits hesitantly. “You in that jacket, the fall. Laughing at something stupid I’ve said – probably a pun, or worse.”

Looking over, your breath catches. “When… you close your eyes?” you repeat, unsure what else to say.

You think about Jongdae that way, too. You thought about him often, too much, these past years. You hate admitting this – even to yourself. When you close your eyes, you see him. You see Jongdae in that white turtleneck sweater he loved, those black framed glasses while he laughs. He had this brown leather jacket, and sometimes he’s wearing that, too. You can’t ignore this. Can’t ignore the fact that when you close your eyes, when you can choose whatever you want to think about – you think about Jongdae.

“When I close my eyes,” Jongdae explains, his voice hoarse. “I see you.”

You turn to leave, screen door slamming shut behind you.

One week after that, you look up from your breakfast table to find Jongdae readying himself to go. 

“What do you do all day?” you ask, curious.

Jongdae hesitates, one hand on the door. “To the library,” he says. “There’s a phone and I call people, make sure the funds are in order. I move them around often enough they aren’t traceable. I’m still the money guy,” he admits quietly, offering you a smile.

For some reason, you return the gesture. “I guess you are.”

Jongdae hesitates. Then he nods, and leaves.

Another week passes.

You’re making dinner, chopping tomatoes for a pasta sauce. That new Donna Summers song comes on the radio and you start to sing along – well, not really sing so much as hum beneath your breath and occasionally let out a word or two.

The song is nearly over when you realize he’s there. Jongdae’s soft tenor weaves in and out of the radio, and you fall silent. Your fingers close around the top of your spoon, breath slowly coming to a halt. Or maybe you’re still breathing, but time has stopped. Slowed for Jongdae, for the sound of his voice and the feel of his presence.

You don’t turn around. Can’t, since you’re inadvertently thinking about what Jongdae said that first day. He couldn’t say goodbye because waking you, speaking to you would have been impossible. Any gesture would have been enough to make him stay.

If you turn around and look at him now, you’ll let him to stay.

Instead, you just stand there. Facing the window and pretending you can’t hear. Pretending you don’t feel his fingertips, when they wrap around your wrist. When they set your knife gently down on the counter. You can’t hear, can’t hear the shaky inhale of breath he makes. Can’t feel his hands, when he turns you around to face his body.

His arms cage you against the counter, while you close your eyes. “Jongdae,” you breathe, shaking your head.

“Open your eyes,” he asks softly.

You do.

Jongdae kisses you, parting your lips with his. His tongue slides between your teeth, hips pressing forward and when he pulls away, you breathe him in. His hands slide up your body and cup your face, pulling you closer. The touch of his fingertips are light and eager, needy and controlled and when he pulls back from your body – he finds you breathless.

You stand there like that, just listening to him. Hearing the breath he takes, the sound of his heart. When you look up, you find him looking down. “Dae,” you manage, voice cracking.

He just shakes his head, nose brushing yours. “I’m going to bed,” he takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to take advantage of you and I know this is a shock, me being here. I know that I messed up when I left – even if it was the right thing to do.”

You say nothing, because this is true. He hurt you badly, hurt you for a long time. You’re stronger now, but it’s hard to forgive. Harder, to forget.

Jongdae sighs, thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. “Just tell me,” he asks quietly. “Tell me if there’s a chance because if there’s not – I’ll leave tomorrow. I don’t know where I’d go, but I’ll do it. I don’t want to hurt you any further.”

“I,” you pause, licking your lips. When your gaze lifts, the room seems to fade out of view. “Don’t go.”

Jongdae’s gaze softens. “Then I won’t.” He drops both hands from your face. “I’m going to sleep. When you forgive me, tell me. When you forgive me, I’m here – I never left, really,” he confesses, turning softly back around.

Jongdae walks away, doesn’t look back.

He wants to know when you’ll forgive him. The problem, you realize, is that you already have.

Three more weeks, and Jongdae doesn’t try to kiss you again.

He leaves every morning, goes into town and uses the phone. He comes back every night, never asks for food and you assume he’s eating somewhere during the day. At the end of that third week though, you make dinner for him too. Nothing difficult, since you’ve never been that much of a cook. Just enough for him not to starve.

“Thank you,” Jongdae says, when he first notices the plate.

You nod, don’t respond any further and Jongdae retires early to sleep.

Things continue like this until the first weekend of November. It’s unseasonably warm, enough for you not to wear jacket to work. Not many people come into the show that day so you end up closing early, telling your workers to go and get some rest. As you step onto the main street of town, you flip your shop sign from open to closed.

Farther along, Jongdae steps out of the library. You don’t know why, but you hang back. You should call out, should tell him you’re going the same way but somehow, the words stick in your throat. You can’t think of what to say to him, because you want to tell him everything.

Halfway home, the clouds open up. You weren’t looking at the sky, weren’t even paying attention to the weather so as soon as the thunder cracks amidst the rain, you swear. Jongdae hears this and turns, surprised to see you following. When you flush, beginning to run – he follows.

“Hey!” Jongdae calls out, shoes splashing through mud. “Y/N! Wait up!”

You run faster, laughing when the wind whips your face. You feel carefree, reckless and you turn around when you near the house – running backwards to face him. Jongdae’s footsteps are close, gaining on you with each step and when you reach the porch, he crashes into you. Arms wrapping quickly around your waist, pulling you close.

“Hey,” Jongdae whispers, before he opens your mouth with his.

The wood of the porch is coarse, panes of his body wet while you pull him to you. “I forgive you,” you whisper, sliding hands beneath the fabric of his shirt.

Jongdae groans in happiness. “I love you,” he whispers, kissing roughly down your neck.

You nod, head hitting the wood. “I want you,” you admit, hands fumbling with his belt.

“I never stopped wanting you,” Jongdae insists, loosening this to drop onto the ground. His glasses are next, you take these gently and set on the windowsill. Rain drums on the roof overhead, but when Jongdae moves to leave the porch, you shake your head.

“Here,” you murmur, pushing his jeans down. “I want you here.”

Jongdae’s pupils dilate and he nods, hands sliding gently up your thighs. He lifts your skirt above your waist. “My back pocket,” he mumbles, thumbs tracing over damp panties. “There’s a condom.”

You find it quickly, pull it out and rip open the package. Shoving both Jongdae’s pants and boxers to the ground and moaning when you see how hard he is. Jongdae inhales, pressing his lips to your jaw, neck while your hands roll the condom on.

“I’ve thought about this for a long time,” he murmurs, hand sliding between your legs. His finger slips inside, forcing a noise from the back of your throat. “Please Y/N, I just need to fuck you.”

You nod, chest rising and falling when Jongdae wraps both hands around your legs. Picking you up, bracing you against the wall and thrusting inside. His movement is slow, purposeful and you gasp as he fills you. “Faster, Dae,” you whimper, and he nods.

Jongdae pulls back out, sliding in while his hand braces against the wall. One hand wrapping your leg tighter, his hips thrusting forwards. You let out a soft moan, hitting the porch when he kisses your neck.

“God,” Jongdae mumbles, stilling inside you. “You’re so fucking tight. I forgot how tight you were.”

“Maybe it’s just how big you are,” you murmur, catching his ear between your teeth. “You’re so fucking hard, Dae. So big, you fill me right up.”

“Yeah?” he groans, tilting his hips. When he moves again, it’s the perfect angle. Jongdae fucks you harder, hips hitting the wall behind you with each thrust. “I promise later,” he pants, sliding into you with precise, even strokes. “I’ll eat you out and make you come hard – but right now, I just need to be inside you.”

“No,” you gasp, already losing yourself. “I’ll come, just keep doing that.”

Jongdae nods, kissing you again. His tongue tangles with yours as his hands open you further, pulling you higher. He fucks hard, fast while his body slides over your clit.

You’re saying words to him, mostly swears. This mixes with his dirty talk – Jongdae has always been vocal. He talks about your tight, little cunt, how pretty you look full of his cock and you start to lose it. He calls you baby, calls you bitch and then tells you that you fucking own him. That he can and will do anything to be inside you, to be yours. He moves harder, faster and when his hips start to bruise, you feel your walls tighten around him. It’s suddenly too much and you scream out his name, biting down on his shoulder when your orgasm shatters through you.

Afterwards you murmur your affirmation, burying your face in Jongdae’s shoulder and shuddering around him. His legs buckle when he lets go, arms just barely keeping you up. His chest rises and falls. Wet hair falling in your eyes, as he presses his lips to yours over and over again.

“You forgive me?” Jongdae repeats, hardly daring to believe.

You nod, as he slides out of your body. Jongdae ties the condom in a knot, pulls his pants up around his waist.

“I love you,” you whisper, and Jongdae freezes. 

He looks at you then, his gaze bright. “You’re home, for me.”

You don’t respond, just grab his hand and walk inside.

It’s over one year later, there’s a knock at your door.

Jongdae is awake. He makes the two of you breakfast, smiling when you wrap your arms around him. Soon after he became a permanent fixture, he insisted on doing all the cooking. You giggle when he sets your omelet down before you, noticing he’s picked out all the mushrooms.

“It’s not funny,” Jongdae grumbles, collapsing into the seat across from you. “I forgot you hate them.”

Grinning, you’re about to respond when – the knock.

Jongdae suddenly stills. “Were you expecting company?” he asks.

You shake your head no.

His gaze darkens. “Wait here,” Jongdae cautions, before standing.

Buttoning the front of his shirt, Jongdae walks away. He stops at the table, grabs his fully loaded M1911 pistol and sticks this in his belt. You ignore his warning, standing to follow him anyways. When he reaches the entryway and sees you beside him, Jongdae rolls his eyes and opens the door.

Jongdae stiffens. He freezes and though he doesn’t look scared, you can see he’s surprised. You look beyond.

Three women stand in a row on your porch. Women you don’t recognize, though you see immediately why Jongdae is wary. None seem like the kind of person you’d want to meet in a dark alley.

Jongdae leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “The dragon herself,” he smiles, thought the gesture doesn’t meet his eyes. “Come to my humble abode. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Your eyes widen. 

Over the past year, Jongdae has told you pretty much everything about his former life. ‘The dragon,’ is his pet name for the woman Baekhyun was in love with. Her father was the one who arranged the fake drop which got Baekhyun and his entire cartel arrested. Every time you questioned whether this woman was involved, Jongdae just shook his head.

“I don’t think so,” he’d sigh. “For all their faults – which were many – I think they were truly in love.”

The woman tilts her head now. “Dragon?” she laughs, the sound of it sweet. “I like it. Applicable, too – since I’m now the head of el Monstruo cartel.”

Jongdae sucks in his breath. “What about your father?”

She waves a hand, though her gaze is cold. “He betrayed me, I betrayed him. All’s fair in love and war,” she allows, smiling gently.

As you swallow, Jongdae moves in front of you. “What about them?” he asks, nodding at the other two women. “Who are they?”

The woman on the left smiles. “Ah, don’t you recognize me, Dae? I suppose that’s how Lay wanted it. I’m the behind the scenes,” she winks, walking through your front door. “The one who gets the equipment to save your ass.”

Jongdae frowns, following her with his eyes. “And that woman?” he asks, jerking his thumb sideways. “Was someone from the cartel fucking her, too?”

The woman doesn’t smile, gaze flicking up Jongdae’s body. “I don’t let men fuck me, I fuck them,” she arches a brow. “Also – you can call me Detective. I’m the reason you still have balls, Kim Jongdae. Don’t you like having balls? Who do you think tipped Chanyeol off in the first place?”

“Detective?’ Jongdae’s brow furrows. “Why would you tip Chanyeol off, if you’re with the FBI?”

“Reasons,” she folds her arms. “I liked Chanyeol. My former partner kidnapped me the morning after, thinking he was saving me. All of which I’m still kind of pissed about. Who’s the girl?” she asks, gaze sliding to your own. 

You bristle at this. “I’m the girl,” you roll your eyes, “who’s been keeping your money safe this past year.”

The dragon smiles. “Excellent,” she announces, walking inside. “Let’s not waste any more time – Jongdae, we need to talk numbers.”

“Numbers?” Jongdae repeats, allowing her past. “What do you mean?”

The dragon doesn’t respond, gliding into the room. Her gaze traces every surface and you get the feeling she’s cataloging. “Nocti,” the dragon allows, sounding almost bored. “Search for bugs, will you?”

“On it,” Nocti sniffs, wrinkling her nose at your ancient television set. Disappearing into the next room, the detective follows her.

Once they’re gone, the dragon looks at you and Jongdae. “We’re going to break my husband out of jail,” she nods, oddly serene about the whole thing.

When Jongdae gapes, you recognize her words’ significance. Husband. Gaze lowering, you spot the ring on her left hand. Jongdae notices this at the same time you do and his eyes widen, while the woman exhales.

“The wedding was held in secret,” she explains quietly. ‘A month before – well, before.”

Jongdae shakes his head, slightly dazed. “You want to break Baekhyun out of jail? That’s impossible.”

“Not impossible,” the detective re-enters the room.

“Improbable,” Nocti nods, right behind her.

“That’s right,” the dragon allows, looking from Jongdae to you. “We have a plan. I assume you’ve kept the money safe?”

Jongdae nods. “It’s all there.”

“Excellent,” she claps her hands, smile bright. “Let’s get started.”

9:42 AM, Friday, December 15th

A black, Pontiac Grand Prix rolls to a stop at the junction of some random, dusty lane and Everglades Highway. Beside a sign which reads, ‘careful – gators,’ stands Kim Jongdae. He’s wearing a pristine navy suit, hair styled carefully away from his face with your arm looped through his.  

The car comes to a stop, dust rolling from the wheels to settle on the ground. There’s a long moment while the driver scans the horizon and then – the back door opens.

“Thank the fucking lord,” Baekhyun groans stepping outside. He’s dressed immaculately, his suit more expensive-looking than Jongdae’s. “Fuck,” Baekhyun stretches both arms overhead. “Do you know how awful it was, being locked in that car with Chanyeol and the detective for over an hour? She practically de-pantsed him the second he got in.”

Jongdae stifles his grin, saying nothing when Baekhyun walks forward. You should feel nervous about this, should feel sacred to meet this notorious man – instead, all you feel is a vague sense of curiosity. The past month has taught you a newfound perspective on black and white. These people might be powerful, might be ruthless but they would do anything – anything, for the people they love.

This includes you, since you’re one of them now.

Baekhyun exhales. “So,” he whips off glasses, squinting up at the sun. “Who the hell do I have to fuck around here to get a mojito?”

When the second car door opens and a woman steps out, Baekhyun’s lips lift in a smile.

“Welcome home, baby.”

[The Cartel Master List]

[platinumjeon]

Ankle Biter | 06

pairing: taehyung x reader - single dad! au

warnings/genre: major fluff, major angst, smut eventually I’m sure because of my thirsty ass

summary: You swear that your job sucks, except for the guy who keeps coming in every morning to order himself a black coffee, and his kid a strawberry milk and chocolate muffin. When you and Taehyung have an awkward run-in at the cafe thanks to his kid, feelings start to emerge and so do the secrets.

words: 5.7k

playlist | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 07 | epilogue

moodboards: before & after

this chapter contains smut.

Two years prior:

“Hey, Taehyung! You made it.” Shouted a drunken Jimin from across the pounding music of the club. Taehyung responded with a devious smile as he moved through sweaty bodies entangled on the dance floor, jumping up and down at the music and splashing their drinks everywhere. Taehyung had never been comfortable at parties, but they were the best place to pick up supermodels willing to exchange a few favors, and at the moment he could use a pick-me-up.

He sat down next to Namjoon, who was quietly sitting on the bar stool working on a gin and coke while Jimin and Jungkook sat on the other side tipping back vodka shot after vodka shot and laughing their asses off after each one. Taehyung shook his head after a faint smile grew on his face. Jimin and Jungkook were fresh out of college and already insanely successful in the world of business, literal moguls of their own kind and they bathed in it. Taehyung met the two after they came to stay at the hotel, and as Taehyung stood there going through paperwork at the front desk one night the two came in and asked if Taehyung wanted to grab a drink. One drink turned into five, then ten, and that’s the night Jungkook met his girl and his future as a father. Taehyung remembers the day Jungkook called, paralyzed with fatherly fear because the baby dumped on his doorstep after months of a rocky relationship with the baby’s mother. Taehyung just laughed, telling Jungkook that Jungmi was “a minor bump in the road,” and that “if he really didn’t want her he could find her grandparents.” He would take that back if he realized who would be calling within the next year.

Jimin offered the drugs to Taehyung mere weeks before any children came into the picture. Jin stopped coming to the clubs with the others after he found Taehyung, Jimin, Jungkook and Yoongi in the VIP bathroom with rolled dollar bills and their brains higher than Seoul’s summertime clouds. Namjoon strayed but stuck around, and Hoseok didn’t even bother calling after Taehyung’s first bloody nose at a party one night.

He never thought it was wrong. He kept his personal life and hotel apart, until one morning he awoke next to a girl he’d never seen and his doorbell being pressed incessantly by reporters and paparazzi, begging him to give a statement or answer their questions. When Taehyung stepped out of his house with loose shorts that hung on his hips and a shirtless chest, the paparazzi all but went into a frenzy. “Is it true that you’ve been stealing from guests all this time?” One shouted, his camera flashing. Taehyung grimaced at the streak of light that left black dots swimming in his vision as another pap yelled, “One of your maids admitted to being sexually assaulted by another staff member, what are you going to do?”

Taehyung looked out onto the crowd of reporters with big cameras on his lawn, his private lawn, and walked back into his house to slam the door in the reporter’s faces. He ran his fingers through his hair, the first thought popping into his head being, “where did I put my shit?” Shit, as in drugs, was stuffed under the mattress this mysterious girl was laying on, still completely asleep. Her bare back was revealed and it's obvious what Taehyung had done with her last night, but without any remorse he woke her up and shooed her out of his house through the back door and promised to call a cab for her. As soon as he turned around though, calling a cab for the girl slipped his mind completely.

It was two years after that, that Taehyung got the call that changed his entire life.

“Kim Taehyung? Yes, this is Officer Park Hyungsik from the CSPD. Are you aware that your son is currently in the hospital and is being held by DCFS?”

Taehyung had laughed. He laughed. Maybe it was the fact that the euphoria from the cocaine he’d just taken up was all too strong, but Taehyung said, “What are you talking about, I don’t have a kid.”

The officer sighed, continuing, “DNA tests have stated that you are this boy’s father. Are you available to come to Seoul University Hospital and have a chat? Something happened early this morning and we’d like to..enlighten you on it.”

Taehyung hung up with instructions to go to the pediatrics ward of the hospital that afternoon. “The fuck?” He had said aloud, stepping into a business suit usually reserved for the hotel and walking out of his house. He was already itching for another fix, the thing that was once a one time thing had become a full blown addiction, but despite the annoying urges he never wanted to quit. He never thought even once about quitting and getting help, and he drove off towards the hospital in his Maserati with thoughts nowhere near what he should have been thinking about: his kid.

Present:

You stood in front of Taehyung, weary eyes searching his desperate face as he reached out to you. Your legs propelled you backwards, mind racing a hundred miles a minute as his hand kept trying to pull you to him. “Just fucking speak, Taehyung!” You shriek, panic rising in your chest as he moves back to sit against the back of the covered toilet.

Taehyung swallows, “It’s not what it looks like. Y/N, I promise, these happen to me all the time.”

You shake your head. “That’s not what I heard Namjoon saying,” you pause, then lift your hand in air quotes, “using.’” Are you on drugs, Taehyung?” You accuse, your voice going dangerously quiet.

“No, no! No, I’m not, Y/N. You have to believe me,” he says, and you arch your eyebrow. Taehyung sighs. “A long time ago I was and I guess there’s some damage to my nose or some shit because I get these on a weekly basis.”

“What did you use, exactly?”

Taehyung doesn’t meet your eyes as he answers. “Cocaine.” He mumbles, and at his words you move farther back to the edge of the door. His head snaps up and his eyes are glazed over. “Y/N, please, just stop. It was years ago. I haven’t done anything since!”

You tilt your head up, biting your lip. “I’m gonna get going, Taehyung.”

His eyes are on yours the entirety it takes you to back out of the bathroom, letting your hands slide down the wood of the door frame and plunge to your sides before you turned and started to slowly make your way down the hallway. The image of Taehyung’s eyes, blackened like the ash of a drowned fire, echoed through your brain like the sound of a bullet from a machine gun. You couldn’t decipher if he was telling the truth or lying - the one factor that scared you the most and something you always thought you were good at telling about people, but the way he spoke brought down yet another wall in front of the secret personality you knew he was hiding.

Who was he? This man who had overturned your stone heart and allowed flowers to grow amongst the grave of scars left by people who had no regard for anyone but themselves had all but betrayed your trust. A surge of guilt traveled through your spine to the pit that had grown in your stomach, wondering, what about Taeji? The image of the little boy flashed through your head next to the echoing of Taehyung’s words. How could you fight for his father when he could be using something he was teaching Taeji never to even think about?

Then again, you had never been addicted to something...besides Taehyung, your conscious piped, and you clutched the back of your head as a pounding headache ripped through your skull. Space was good, and space was going to have to happen because you couldn’t even picture Taehyung doing what he said. He must’ve been so out of his mind the days he hadn’t contacted you, and at this point that all made a lot more sense than it did before. At the time, you were hurt because you thought he had used you for sex; turns out, you weren’t the only thing he was using.

You stepped through the kitchen and cursed under your breath for having left your purse in the living room. Rounding the same corner Taehyung had on his dash to the bathroom, six pairs of eyes were already on you. Seokjin stepped forward.

“Let me give you a ride home.”

For an actor, you figured Kim Seokjin would have a fortress of expensive cars lined up in rows just like Taehyung, but it was surprising to see him round the bend of the back driveway in a silver pick-up truck. Undoubtedly the latest model, but you opened the door with a heavy heart and jumped into the ash-grey passenger seat. Jin looked up at you with a sincere look in his pretty, almond brown eyes but you cleared your throat, “Jin.”

He turns his head back to the steering wheel, his lips pursed, “Yeah. Um. Sorry.”

It was silent for a few moments as he drove through the moss tree adorned driveway and through the gates, and you could be comfortable in the silence if you hadn’t had so many questions brushing through your mind like the way Taehyung’s lips brushed yours just earlier this morning, his comfort the only thing you seek and the cracking sound you swear your heart makes when you remember that his comfort is also his poison.

Seokjin clears his throat, “Taehyung has been doing it for a long time.”

You purse your lips. “How long?”

“Years. Since before Taeji was even conceived, before Minsoo was ever in the picture. He’s been doing it for so long that nosebleeds are a regular thing because the nerves and veins in his nose are so damaged.” Jin said, and you notice that his grip on the steering wheel had tightened.

“God,” You laugh breathily, “and here I was putting my trust in him. I thought he was perfect. How stupid.”

Suddenly, your body flew forward as Jin slammed on the brake, agitated honking noises coming from behind the truck as cars flew by in protest.

“Y/N, you have to understand something. I’ve never seen him happier and as sober as he is now. Taehyung was a partier and he made mistakes, a lot of fucking stupid mistakes but he is so in love with you. It’s sickening, actually,” Seokjin said, shaking his head.

Of course, here come the tears, you think, every thought in your head completely jumbled into one huge knot of regret and sadness and guilt and love. You loved Taehyung. He had become a deciding factor in your life, a comfort, but he betrayed you like no one else has before. He betrayed your trust in him.

“Tell me something. If he had told you straight-up that he had done cocaine for a period of time before his son came into his life, would you have even given him a second glance?” Seokjin continued, his body now turned to yours as he reached out to hand you a tissue from the glove compartment.

You slowly shook your head.

“I know he loves you. The way he looked at you as you carried Taeji and sat in front of him and spoke to him as if he was your own, damn, I didn’t even know how to carry a baby before the girls came into my life. He sees something in you and dammit, I’m desperate to make you give him another chance because I know you love him too.”

Seokjin was out of breath by the time he finished, and the tears that had traveled down your face turned into sobs that wracked your entire body like volts of electricity, seizing your breathing as if the oxygen in the air wasn’t enough to sustain your throbbing lungs. You were slightly aware of Seokjin’s hand on your back, rubbing up and down and his voice echoing comforting words but the words weren’t Taehyung’s.

Maybe you should have listened; stuck around to let Taehyung explain what happened and give yourself a chance to believe him. But the hurt that still traveled through your veins over the possibility of Taehyung lying to you still stung.

“Y/N, I don’t know what Taehyung does with himself anymore but he’s trying to better himself for his son and you; he hasn’t been to a party in ages. He gave up partying all together once he realized that Taeji was more important than doing lines in the bathroom of a dirty club.”

You nod, unable to get the words out of your shriveling lungs, “Please take me home.”

It wasn’t long before you got the expected pounding on your front door, having rejected every call and ignored every text Taehyung had sent to you over the six, grueling hours that went by. You were drowning in uncertainty, having jumped out of Seokjin’s truck and mumbling a faint goodbye before stumbling into the stairwell of the apartment and having yet another break-down.

Why does he have this effect on you, you have no idea, and as you lay in bed at 7 PM that night listening to Taehyung’s voice puncture your eardrums from outside the front door, all you want is his arms around you.

“What, Taehyung? I’m trying to sleep,” You say, swinging the door open to see his wary face. His eyes aren’t as fiery was they were before, but now a dull, black sea of all the emotion reflecting in your own eyes as it spilled down his cheeks. “Y/N, I’m sorry.” He said, exasperated, but not taking any steps to get closer to you.

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face and opening the door wider for him to step inside, ushering him to sit down on the couch.

“This is the first time I’ve ever been inside your apartment,” Taehyung said meekly, taking a seat on the plush, sea foam green couch. Buying your apartment was the best decision you had ever made to date, the little two-bedroom, two bathroom space on the outskirts of central Gangnam was perfect for you with a cozy, bright interior that made you happy.

You nod, sitting down across from him on the couch and the two of you stare awkwardly at each other for a few beats and finally Taehyung looks up.

“Where should I start?”

“Wherever you want,” You reply, moving to sit back and cross your legs.

“I’m not doing it anymore. I swear, I know if I did I couldn’t - I wouldn’t - I-I,” He stutters, fresh tears pooling in his eyes, and you’re compelled to sit up and move to the spot next to him, allowing an arm to reach over the expanse of his back in comfort.

“I believe you, Taehyung. I just don’t understand why you kept it from me this long.”

He turns his head and sniffs. “You know that you’re the first person I trusted with Taeji in a long time. I’ve never had a nanny for him because I felt like I couldn’t trust them. The day I got that call and went to the hospital I was out of my mind and when I saw Taeji lying in that hospital bed with a fat lip and bruised eyes, I knew I had fucked up. I fucked up because I let Minsoo leave that one day, and I fucked up because I let her go through a pregnancy alone. She was probably so scared, Y/N.” Taehyung quivered.

“I sobered up enough to talk to the cops who had no suspicion whatsoever, and they had me sign a few documents before throwing this little...sickly, terrified two year old at me. I didn’t realize what I had done until the nurse asked if I had brought a car seat in my fucking Maserati,” He said, a tearful chuckle following his words.

“I brought Taeji home and he was crying his eyes out the entire time. He kept asking m-me-” Taehyung said, stopping and choking up again. “He kept asking me where his mom was. God, I won’t ever forget when he’d scream for his mom in his sleep then wake up to me staring over him and trying to calm him down. I hope he never remembers getting into that accident, and he never remembers being scared of me because I was scared of him.

He just turned three, too. I remember I called Jimin and made him come and live with me for a few weeks because I wasn’t sure how to even be a parent. I didn’t know how to hold Taeji, or what to feed him. We went to a restaurant and I ordered him a double cheese burger and then Jimin swooped in with an applesauce pouch and a turkey sandwich cut in fours. I don’t know where I’d be without the seven of them, especially Jimin.

Minsoo’s parents came in the picture two weeks later and brought up the scandal. A maid at the hotel falsely confessed to one of the butler’s assaulting her but the entire staff knew she did it for publicity. Then it landed on me, and I was assumed to have kept the whole thing a secret and how I stole money from the hotel branches. I was arrested and taken to court and...Minsoo’s parents claimed I wasn’t a good parent. I was terrified to tell you about the drugs because then maybe you’d think I wasn’t a good parent, either, and it probably would have convinced me to give Taeji up.”

You were silent, looking at Taehyung with shiny eyes. “I’m sorry,” You whisper, leaning forward to wipe at his wet cheeks. “I’ve never thought of you as a bad parent. You’re better than mine were and there’s only one of you. I grew up without a mom and I think I turned out pretty okay, even though I remember her.” You said quietly, your tone hushed and calm.

Taehyung was something else. The past few weeks had truly been a whirlwind of emotion, but you don’t think you would trade it for anything. In fact, you thought of yourself as extremely lucky to have someone like Taehyung come into your life. Everyone has secrets, and the crumbling, struggling man in front of you is no different.

The love you have for him exceeds any of the love you had for past boyfriends. It began the first night you shared tangled in his bed and surged the next morning when you awoke nose-to-nose, watching his quiet breathing. It grew even bigger when Taeji found the two of you one morning wrapped around each other and jumped all over the place. You never considered yourself a morning person, but if there was one good way to wake up in the morning it would be with Taehyung and his little boy laughing and crawling all over the place.

Taehyung leans into you, his breath ragged and his eyes slowly blinking. You could feel the expanse of his soft lashes lapping against your cheek, and one of your hands reached out to grasp at his until they were locked together like a forbidden chest of treasure.

You moved to push him back gently against the couch and sat on the tops of his thighs, leaning forward to put your forehead against his once again and gently kiss his pretty, pink lips before settling your head against his shoulder and your arms wrapped around his lower waist.

The two of you were as close as you could get, with his own arms coming around to hug your body flush against himself. It was in this moment that two separate beings, living their own lives and brains racing with their own thoughts became one, single heart.

“I love you.”

Taehyung turns his head to look at you at your confession, a look in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. “Really? You do?”

You laugh breathily, “Yeah. I do.”

Taehyung shifts slightly until you’re sitting up again and looking straight at his face. He’s trying really hard to contain a grin, but it breaks out as soon as he says, “I love you, too.”

You awoke the next morning to the sunlight filtering in through the windows and the sounds of birds chirping. It was the beginning of spring, the streets of Seoul were beginning to get brighter and sunnier with each passing day. Cherry blossom trees began to grow their pink leaves, littering the ground beneath them with cheeriness and puncturing the air with the scent of promise.

The day of the trial was the day after today, the weeks having slid by without notice. Just yesterday you told Taehyung that you loved him, and he said the same, but truthfully, you had no idea where it came from. It bubbled up and spilled over from inside of you, and that night the two of you had splurged on each other until the sun started to peek over the horizon, slowly waking the city up for a brand new day. Despite not knowing where your confession came from, you feel it. You feel it as you watch Taehyung sleep, his eyes twitching with dream and his breath coming out in little puffs over your face.

You loved him for him - all his mistakes, his promises, his goals, his successes, his failures. The two of you said those three words a million more times the night before, getting lost in each other but also making sure to be on the quiet side so your neighbours wouldn’t ask if someone was moving in with you.

Your finger traced over his face, making feather-light patterns around his jaw and brushing slightly over his pouted lips. “Good morning,” you whispered, leaning forward to settle yourself closer into his chest. Taehyung hummed, and moved to place a kiss on the top of your head before moving his hand up and down over your back in greeting.

“Good morning to you, too.” He smiled sleepily, eyes still glued shut.

You grinned, pulling backwards and placing a chaste kiss on his lips, whereas he whined and gripped your waist to pull you back to him. You laughed, a surge of warmth filling your chest as his lips were on yours again before it was his turn to move backwards and place a peck on the tip of your nose.

You sit up slightly. “Is Taeji with his grandparents?”

“He’s staying with Jimin because neither sides are allowed to be with him as we meet with lawyers and stuff, and that’s okay with me because this needs to be fair. And I need to keep him.” Taehyung says, looking absolutely determined and ready to fight. It was a refreshing sight compared to how he was just yesterday, breaking down and sobbing as he talked about his past. But now, this image of Taehyung strengthened you.

“Are you nervous about being called to the stand?” Taehyung asked gingerly, his hand reaching out to pull at your arm. You laid back down against the pillow and his arm wrapped around you once again, his lips meeting your neck.

“No,” you said, “even if I was, Taeji is worth the anxiety.”

Taehyung looks up at you with a small smile and a lasting kiss to your jaw before he sits up and runs a hand through his hair like he always does in the morning, a big sigh coming out of his mouth.

“You can head to Jimin’s today, or do whatever you need to do. I have a ton of lawyer meetings and they’re boring.” Taehyung said, standing up and walking into the bathroom. You get up as well, pulling your hair into a ponytail as you trail behind him.

“I can come with, I don’t mind.” You murmur, wrapping him in a hug from behind. Taehyung smiles into the mirror, his toothbrush in his mouth and the foamy mint toothpaste dabbed on the sides of his mouth. His one free hand comes down to rub over yours.

“If you’re sure,” Taehyung says, leaning down and spitting into the sink before standing tall and walking out of the bathroom. He was nervous, you could tell by the way he absentmindedly mumbled to himself and checked his phone a thousand times as the two of you got dressed and began the drive downtown for the first meeting with his lawyers.

Before the two of you got out of the car, Taehyung was a jittering mess. You’ve never seen him in between like this; he was always either happy or sad, never in the middle and in a way it unsettled you. There was reason to be nervous, but the imminent fact that this trial could determine the rest of Taeji’s life - and Taehyung’s - was terrifying.

Your hand settled on his thigh as he was grabbing his folders with shaky hands. He looked incredible in this black suit of his despite the hand that kept running through his hair and the purple under his eyes, and you couldn’t help but wonder what may help him calm down..

A thought struck you, and as he was moving around papers your hand crept further up Taehyung’s thigh. He hardly noticed at first, rambling on about Taeji’s birth certificate and crumbled papers when he finally noticed where you were leaning.

“W-what are you doing?” Taehyung swallowed, his breath hitching in his throat as your hand came to palm him over his tight dress pants, and you grinned and leaned closer to his ear to kiss his neck and whisper, “You need to relax.”

Taehyung stays quiet as you continue to move your hand around, squeezing gently until you could feel how hard he was getting, his arousal coming to life under the calculated movements of your hand. He let out a breathy moan, his eyes squeezing shut then opening wide to watch as your other hand comes around to unbuckle his leather belt. His breath hitches again when you squeeze a little harder, another moan escaping his pretty lips.

Taehyung is bucking upwards, urging you desperately to hurry up and take it up a notch when you tug at his pants and let his member spring forward, immediately smiling evilly up at him through hooded eyelids to find him staring down at you with a dazed expression. “Relax, Taehyung,” You say, one hand curling around his member and the thumb of your other hand running repeatedly across his reddening tip. Taehyung was breathing harder and was bucking into your hands when you finally started to move your hand up and down, swiping your thumb over his slit. He moans loudly, his head falling back against the seat in pleasure. “Faster, baby,” he breathed out, opening his eyes momentarily to look down at you again when you finally place your mouth around his cock. “Fuck,” Taehyung whimpers, “God, this is hot as fuck.”

You swirl your tongue around the tip and let your hand brush along his shaft, eventually wrapping around what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. You hum in agreement to his words, the vibrations making Taehyung’s mouth go dry and his throat erupt in lewd moans of ecstatcy, only encouraging you to continue.

His hand comes around to rest on the back of your head, his fingers twisting fistfuls of your hair until he’s pushing you down on his cock, the sounds of you quiety choking on his length enough to make Taehyung’s eyes close and his hips to involuntarily thrust upwards into your mouth until he’s whining over the sensitivity.

“O-oh my G-god,” He chokes out as you hum and maneuver your hands to run up and down his shaft, gently squeezing as you continue to push his length farther in then back towards the front of your mouth. “Fuck, I’m gonna come - fuck-” Taehyung breathes, and with one last swipe of your tongue over his slit, he releases the hot liquid into your mouth and you choke slightly as it shoots against the back of your throat.

You sit back up, traces of Taehyung’s release evident on the sides of your mouth, but you swipe a finger over each corner and stick your finger in your mouth, eyeing Taehyung as he wearily looks you up and down. “I didn’t know you c-could - God, I w-want to fuck you so hard right now,” He stutters, still breathing hard from his orgasm.

You grin as he pulls his pants back up, inspecting his outfit for any signs of what just happened and then he looks at you with wide eyes, “God,” he muttered, shaking his head as he unlocks the car and begins to get out, gathering up his papers.

“Maybe I should do that more often, it sure does relax you,” You grin, and he shoots you devious little grin before he steps out, and you’re not far behind as the two of you walk into the glass building across the street.

“Mr. Kim, I think the best way to go is to have your closest defendant, Ms. Y/L/N-” The lawyer with thick, round glasses glanced up at you with a small smile, before continuing, “tell the judge exactly what Taeji’s routine is and what your thoughts of Taehyung are. The judge for this case is not tough to sway, but that could go both ways.”

You look over at Taehyung. Your sexual expedition seemed to have calmed his nerves slightly, but he still looked reserved as he turned to you. “Are you alright with that?”

Nodding, he smiles gratefully and places his hand on your thigh under the table, moving his thumb in small circles. You weren’t sure if he was doing this in an attempt to reassure you, or himself.

The lawyer continues, “Your in-laws have only a few defendants, and although we’re not sure who they are or what leverage they have, the more defendants you have, the better chance you have to sway the judge.”

Taehyung had asked all six of his closest friends, including you, to get on the stand and speak about his ability to parent. It was almost comical, how each boy had immediately volunteered to speak for Taehyung, and Jimin even admitted that Taehyung got a little teary-eyed at all the support. You were grateful for his friends, it was obvious that they cared for Taeji just as much as they cared for their own children.

When the lawyer excused himself to take a call, Taehyung turned to you.

“This isn’t too much, right? You’re feeling alright?” He asked, his eyebrows pulling together in concern.

You smile, reaching your hands out to adjust his tie, “I’m doing just fine. Are you?”

Taehyung nods. “I’m beginning to feel a lot more confident. It might be a placebo, but no matter how this goes, I know whatever is ruled will be best for Taeji.”

You shot him a weird look, turning your head. “What is best for Taeji is for him to stay with you, Taehyung..” You trail off.

Taehyung smiles sadly, “Well, yeah, but from an outsider’s perspective and opinion is what matters most here, right?” His smile falters and he looks down, “And maybe they’ll think Taeji is best with his grandparents.”

You’re confused - it’s almost as if Taehyung wants Taeji to go with his grandparents, what is he on about? He’s not as confident as he appears, you conclude, and it seems like Taehyung is trying to be the version of himself where he thinks everything will be alright. “Tae, that’s not how you’re supposed to think.”

“I’m just trying to keep an..open mind about it, okay, Y/N?” He snaps suddenly, standing up and straightening his jacket. “I have another meeting. Are you coming with?”

“Don’t snap at me, I know you’re upset,” You mumble, and stand to grab your purse.

Later that night, you’re lying in Taehyung’s bed staring at the wall. Normally, your head would be under his chin and his arms would be wrapped around you - the two of you were never really enjoyed spooning, because what was the point of sleeping next to each other if you couldn’t see the other person - but tonight, you were facing the window and listening to Taehyung’s breathing.

You knew he was awake. And it was weird, because the two of you were completely separate. It was terrifying, knowing that in a matter of hours things would be decided and it was obvious that Taehyung was a wreck. Apparently, your roadhead excursion wasn’t enough to rid Taehyung of all his nerves, which was understandable, but you wish he would let you scoot closer to him and hold him tight.

“Y/N?” His voice rang out in the darkness, and you turned slightly.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think Taeji will hate me if his grandparents end up winning?”

You turn completely, moving to face him as he does the same. You’re still not touching him at all, and you want to reach out so badly to brush your fingers through his hair and trace shapes on his bare chest but you keep to yourself, unsure how to act around him and his seemingly fragile state of mind.

You didn’t know how to answer him, either, how to assure him that in no way would Taeji ever be able to hate his father, his constant companion, so all you said was, “No way.”

Taehyung turns to you and you can see the outline of his nose in the darkness. “You don’t think so? I would if I were him,” he muttered, turning back to stare at the ceiling.

Your lips are still stuck together apparently, unable to formulate a proper response so you move to place your head on his chest tentatively, slowly, waiting for a possible outburst or reaction but it never comes. Instead, his hand comes around to mess with your hair, and your hand automatically moves to rest on his chest.

“He could never hate his best friend,” You say sleepily, planting a kiss on his shoulder before drifting off with your hand curled around the back of his neck, hanging on him as if your life depended on it.

[omaha-imagines]

Give Up On Me (Maloley)

Request: could you do a nate imagine where you guys get into a fight and then you both end up at the same party. you being a crazy party girl you just let loose and have fun but then nate gets even more mad

master list - wattpad

“Why the fuck was he talking to you?” My boyfriend asked me as we walked into his house.

I furrowed my brows. “It’s his birthday tonight. He invited me.” I placed the groceries onto the counter and slowly put them into the fridge and cabinet.

“Why?”

“Because we’re friends?” I confusingly answered. “What’s so wrong with that?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “I know you know what’s wrong with that.”

I harshly swallowed, exactly knowing what he was talking about.

Last time my ex invited to a party, he tried to kiss me the entire night. Nate obviously noticed and punched him in the face.

Hey, I never said Nate was good at staying calm when he’s jealous.

“Then just come with me. Stay by my side the whole night and I’ll make sure I stay away from my ex.” I negotiated.

“You’re not going.” He said in a tone as if he was finishing up the conversation.

“You can’t tell me what to do.” I told him as I approached him. “I’m not your property, which means I can do and go wherever I want.” I clenched my jaw.

And he did too. “We already went through this.” He whispered.

Nate always did this when he tries his best not to burst out of anger. He just stays quiet and whenever he talks, his voice scary and forced.

“You already went through this.” I said while pointing at his chest. “I don’t ever have a word in every conversation we have.”

His body tensed and I pushed it a little further. “I’m sick and tired of you pushing me around and telling me what to do and what not to do.”

“It’s for your own good.” He calmly said, even though he was anything but calm.

“No, it’s not!” I harshly yelled. “You just do whatever pleases you. I’m fucking done with it! Can’t you for once get off my back and leave me alone! I’m not a kid, I know what-”

“Fine.” He breathed out, trying his best not to yell at me. “Then go.” He walked away from me, going upstairs.

And the door closed with a bang.

***

(Skate’s POV)

“Thanks for letting me be your plus one, Indy.” I told the girl as we waited for the door to open.

“No problem!” She smiled. “I’m still a little confused as to why. You hate Dun.” I clenched my fists at his name. The motherfucker who’s still after my girl.

“Well, a free bar makes me hate him less.” I smirked. She chuckled and shook her head.

The door opened by the son of a bitch himself. “Happy birthday, Dun!” Indy hugged him and handed him a bottle of Jack. 

His smirk dropped quickly when he saw me. “I don’t think you want to see Y/N in the state she is right now.”

I furrowed my brows. “What the fuck did you do to her?”

He ignored my stare and I pushed him out of my way, my only intention to find my girlfriend.

Y/N tends to push her limits when she’s upset and looking for a party. She’d take drugs and mix it with the booze, but last time that didn’t end well.

She ended in the hospital for two days.

She doesn’t remember shit. She doesn’t believe anyone who tells her about the story. She thinks she knows her limits.

But she doesn’t.

“Y/N?” I yelled out. At this point she was wiping her nose with the sleeve of her dress and I scrunched up my face at the cocaine.

She took a body shot from a girl who was laying on the table and they cheered for Y/N. “You’re coming with me.” I could feel my face souring up as I grabbed her.

“Jesus,” she slurred. “I told you to leave me alone, didn’t I?” She yelled in my face.

Right now, I wanted to yell at fucking everyone for letting her do this. They all knew what happened to her.

But I also wanted to yell at my girlfriend. She needs to get her brains out of her ass. I fucking hated this. “Let me go!” She yelled in my ear.

“You’re fucking kidding me!” She laughed, but the humor missing in the laugh. “Can’t you just trust me for one night? Seriously, Nate. This relationship is not gonna work if you keep doing this!”

I furrowed my brows. “What?” I asked.

We stopped in our tracks and I faced her blood shot eyes from the pot she most likely smoked. “Stop being jealous for once!” I don’t think I’ve ever heard her yell so hard. “Learn to trust me with other men!”

“It’s not about Dun or whoever the fuck was at that party!” I yelled back. She backed off a little. “I am less than jealous! I want you to stay away from Dun because he’s a bad influence!”

The streets were so silent, I heard my own echo. “You ended in the hospital because of Dun! Don’t you fucking get that?”

“I didn’t.” She whispered, losing all her strength.

“You did.” I sharply told her. “Remember how Dun said you needed to try coke? Remember how you took twelve shots and downed a bottle of Hennessy after that? Remember the ride to the hospital?”

My voice didn’t lower one bit and at this point I didn’t give any shits. “You’re wrong.” I told her. “I trust you with other guys.” She looked up at me. “I don’t trust you with alcohol.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t! You’re a fucking mess! I always have to drag you home and you always puke all over my house and you pretend you never did.” I could feel my head aching already.

She avoided my gaze and looked everywhere except for me.

I heard her sniff, realizing she was crying. “I don’t mind that you do.” It was time for me to lower my voice. ”I love you, even when you’re throwing up the dinner I made for you.” I softly said.

I cupped her face, making her look at me. “But I don’t want you to be in danger. You were in a coma for two days, Y/N.” I said. Tears slipped through his eyelashes and I pursed my lips.

She needed to hear the truth.

“I was scared I was gonna loose you.” I whispered. “I’m not gonna put myself or anyone else in that position ever again.”

“I remember, Nate.” Her voice cracked and I clenched my jaw. “All of it. I just… thought if I pretend it didn’t happen, the embarrassment won’t be as bad.”

“It’s okay.” I assured.

She cried into my chest and I let her sob silently. “Can you promise me one thing?” My girlfriend asked as she pulled back form me.

“Anything.”

“Please don’t give up on me.”

[ayanacam]

Stand Still

:02

Five months ago...

July 17th, 2022

The nursery was a pale mint blue, accents of gray, white, and yellow surrounding the walls. The furniture was a crisp white wood. A crib and dresser on opposites of the wall, fitting perfectly in the vision Christen had been wanting ever since she had graduated high school and had worked in her friend's mother's baby store. She knew yellow and pale blue was a neutral color, meant for any gender and she had perfectly executed it. Everything was perfect.

Christen's hands caressed her belly, her stomach protruding slightly since she was entering her second trimester. She had gotten around to finally picking a day to go and get checked. She had found out she was two months pregnant, realizing that the stress and "flu" symptoms were actually her pregnancy hormones all out of whack; however, she couldn't have been happier to find that she was expecting. Something she had been wanting with Dallas since their first year of marriage.

Thank god for miracles... Christen thought.

"Baby?" Dallas' voice sliced through her silence.

She turned, her eyes washing over her husband. Blue button down shirt and a simple sweater, pair of dark wash jeans and khaki Clark's covering his feet. He looked delectable and her libido sky rocketed with another glance.

Dallas smiled, knowing. Lately Christen had been insatiable, her hands and mouth everywhere over him within the last few weeks; especially with the fact of painting the nursery. He had been practically naked and what should've been a week paint job, turned into three.

"Alright Mrs. horny," Christen blushed. "Everyone is starting to arrive, come on."

Christen giggled, her hands covering her stomach before she moved towards her significant other.

"You ready to tell them?" Dallas gathered her hands into his.

She nodded, butterflies filling her stomach consistently at the thought of telling her family and friends that they were going to have a child. Everyone had expected them to come back from their honeymoon pregnant, but all that glowed was her tan skin from their vacation in Tahiti.

"Hey," Dallas pulled her into his chest, squeezing her gently. "This is a happy moment. Don't let the years of failed tests reign over the positive one."

He always knew what to say, Christen smiling as she looked down. Her button down baggy shirt covered what she knew was there and it made her happy. For awhile she lived with a baby without someone knowing. She got the bliss of knowing that the baby was just hers and Dallas' for a few months. No constant calls of checking in and overbearing parents, she wasn't quite ready to give it up.

"Alright, come on."

Dallas could see the gears turning inside of her head, eventually going to lead her into regression of the choice to let their closest family and friends know that they were soon to be parents. He placed his lips upon her forehead and interlaced their fingers together. He gently tugged at her, away from the nursery.

They descended the staircase, their family and friends all over the house. Some in the living space or in the kitchen attached. The house was buzzing.

"Hey! It's Christen." Logan yelled.

Everyone joined, a smile lighting her face.

"Hi Logan." She chuckled, walking over to him, embracing him shortly.

"What's going on? How are you?" Logan grinned.

"I'm great," she beamed. "You?"

He nodded, "I could be better but all's well that ends well."

She nodded, "Well if you need to talk, I'm here for you."

"I know." He had a small sad smile. "It's good to see you sis."

"Good to see you too baby bro." She punched his shoulder in playful manner.

Others eventually, one by one and groups, had said hello and began to eat the food Dallas had cooked. For about an hour and a half, everyone socialized, drinks were continuously poured and food consumed.

"Alright, alright, alright!" Dallas exclaimed.

Everyone's chatter had slowly quieted, Christen's nerves slowly building in anticipation.

"So I know you guys are all wondering why we have brought you here, even though we were all together about and week and a half ago for Fourth of July." Dallas chuckled.

Christen's eyes filled with tears as she took her next breath, "I know you guys were expecting us to be pregnant the moment we stepped off the plane from our honeymoon."

"Oh my god," Christen's mother Amelia gasped.

"We've brought you here today, to tell you guys that we are four months pregnant." Dallas smiled, looking down at her stomach, his hand gliding over the material covering it.

Everyone began to yell, cheerfully and loudly. Multiple group hugs and kisses were shared as everyone took in the news. Christen was crying and Dallas was beaming, so proud of what they had created and were now starting.

"Wait wait wait, you mean to tell me for four months I didn't know you were pregnant?" Amelia smacked Dallas' arm.

"Ow, Jesus woman." His hand soothingly rubbed the spot she had hit.

"Christen?" Amelia's gaze landed on her.

"We wanted to be sure we could make it past the first trimester. We didn't want you guys to get your hopes up." Christen guiltily shrugged.

"Well nevertheless, I'm happy for both of you. Congratulations son." Chris, Dallas' father, had clapped his shoulder.

"Thanks pops. Means a lot." Dallas smiled.

For the rest of the night, things had gone smoothly. Questions that were asked, had been answered and the nursery was shown to everyone. For the first time Christen's heart was content fully. As she looked around, everyone in her home was just as ecstatic as she had been when she found out.

Dallas and Christen had eventually ushered everyone out, the last wave and car leaving soon after they announced they had an early morning for a doctors appointment and a La Mas class.

"Thank you." Christen kissed her husbands chest.

"For what?" Dallas looked down at his wife.

"For giving me everything I could've ever possibly wanted." Christen played with the clear buttons.

A small grin graced Dallas' face as he looked at his wife being a slight mush. He knew she hated being one but had her small moments here and there.

He tilted her chin, "Thank you for being everything I've ever wanted."

Tears brimmed the sides of her eyes before Dallas pulled her into a sweet kiss. They stood on their porch, the lights a low glow. They were content and blithe.

Present Day...

January 16th, 2023

It was dimly lit in the interrogation room, a small overhead light swaying over the head of the table. Christen squinted, laying her head onto her forearms; the headache stronger than ever. The pain medication was doing nothing to subdue, her edginess more noticeable than ever as Andrew rubbed the small of her back.

"You okay?" He questioned.

It had been restless nights, ever since the unfortunate scene of events a week ago. It wasn't okay, but at this point she didn't know what that was.

"I'm fine." she responded quietly.

"You sure?" Andrew leaned, matching her eyesight.

"No, but if I'm here I must be." She admitted.

"You know Chris, we can do this another day. We don't need to rush anything. The trial isn't for a few months anyways." Andrew confirmed.

"I don't want to do this later. I don't want to get to a place where I am at least on the verge of being fine and reopen wounds." She fanned her hands around on the table. Her breaths had quickened. Her heart was racing uncontrollably, something she hadn't been able to confine the last few days.

"Christen." Andrew's voice broke.

"What?" Her eyes, filled with salty teardrops, were glassy.

"Do you want to do this another day?" Andrew asked, slowly.

She shook her head, her shoulders slumping forward; her weight resting against the middle of the cracked black table. It seemed like forever before the detective who was handling the case walked in, closing the door behind him. He nodded towards Andrew and opened his mouth as if to try and express his sympathy, but nothing came out. There was nothing that he could say that would make what he was about to say any easier.

"Ms. Collins."

Christen looked up, dried tear stains marking the redness of her cheeks. Her eyes were puffy and besides her cheeks, the rest of her looked sickly and pale. He wasn't about to comment on that though, he knew better not to.

"I won't ask you what you're feeling. I know whatever it is, isn't good and we won't rehash that." A slight pause, a deep breath followed suit. "I came across some information about your late husband. Dallas Collins."

"What information would that be?" Andrew's brows furrowed.

"Dallas Collins had been money laundering for what seems to be like, the past four years. Documentation of the accounts we found offshore and in other banks suspects that he might've taken them over from a person in a higher position who had retired."

Christen's eyes had widened, her hands shaking slightly. Her mind raced as she wondered how she couldn't have known. She had always handled the bills, the taxes, anything that meant paying companies and government officials. Her mind wandered around into the small dark corners of her brain to see if she could scour anything she could remember about anything. If something had been off or if Dallas had ever shown fear about money or people.

"Apart from that, it seems like Dallas was also involving himself into the underground drug trade, selling millions worth of cocaine, heroine, and methamphetamine's. Dallas must have gotten himself into some nasty business with a guy named Grant Valente. Do you know that name by any chance?"

Andrew's mouth was dry. All those accounts he had been handling for Dallas, multiple cards and bank accounts. He should've known. As Andrew looked over to Christen, he realized that Christen was looking even worse than before. She was like a sheet of white, pale as ever and a small sweat had broken over her skin.

"Ms. Collins?"

"No, I don't." Christen blankly answered.

Her mind was reeling, all over again. Dallas showed no fear or concern for anything dangerous lurking around their lives. Everything was always, "I'll handle it" or "It's fine baby, nothing to worry about" with a kiss placed on her lips and something else filled her mind as she was whisked into something romantic. Nothing ever screamed at her, nothing but happiness in what was turning out to be fucked up a world.

"Nothing at all?" the detective questioned softly. "Anything that could be weird. Multiple bank accounts, prepaid cards, late night phone calls, reflection of questions when you asked anything?"

"We had multiple bank accounts. Something about savings and how it would help us with retirement since the health benefits from his job were apparently shit." Christen's head was pounding, her face stuck into a frown.

"Alright that's good, anything else?"

"I never checked his wallet, but I always saw a lot of cards whenever he pulled it out, just from what I could see." Christen's shoulders moved.

"Anymore, can you think of a time he ever seemed to be secretive."

"If Dallas was secretive he had something sweet or romantic planned out. I don't think I've ever seen him being secretive about something like this." She murmured softly.

Her whole world, in which she thought was a good one, was turning out to be something completely different. She had no idea that her late husband was apart of something so dangerous and sickening. Her stomach was turning, bile rising up her throat as she continued to ponder about his late night activities.

"Also, Ms. Collins," the detective knew he was about to officially break her.

"Yes?" Christen looked up, the light too much for her migraine to handle.

"From looking into Dallas's bank accounts, we found some activity we feel you should know about. Dallas, it seems, was leading a double life from the payments we've looked over. Dallas had a wife in New York, Manhattan to be more specific. They had two kids."

Andrew's eyes grew, "Bullshit!"

The detective grew, opening the file that was laid out on the old beaten up table. His fingers skimmed through a few pieces and packets of paper before pulling out a few pictures, Dallas laced within each and every one of them. Andrew had snatched the file, looking over the woman and two kids pictured with Dallas, smiling and happy. Christen broke, officially sobbing into her hands. Andrew was yelling, while officers had made their way into the room to get Andrew off of the detective.

Christen was tapped, her head not registering anything she was hearing in reality. Her mind wasn't set on what was going on now.

"Ms. Collins, can you hear me?" A cop, dressed in blue and black.

She nodded slowly, her eyes resting on the blue ones that crouched in front of her.

She looked around, the room completely destroyed. The table had been flipped and papers were scattered. The small space was wrecked to the fullest. Andrew was being restrained in the corner, Christen finally coming into her senses and hearing his wails to defend her cheating husband. She stood, pushing past the cops holding Andrew gently aside. She stood and looked at her friend of years, her hands softly grasping his face into them.

"It's okay, Andrew. It's okay. You're okay." Christen consoled.

"It's not true Chris, he loved you. Everything in him screamed love for you." Andrew cried.

"I know." Christen lied.

He didn't love her, Christen knew this. If that was the case, he wouldn't have had a double life. He wouldn't have lied and cheated. Wouldn't have given another woman kids before her. Wouldn't have even had another woman. Did the woman know about her? Did she know about her and Angela or what Dallas had been doing for the past few years? Christen sank to the ground with Andrew as he held his head between his hands.

"I can't do this Chris. I didn't know he-"

"I believe you." Her voice broke, there was nothing she could do.

"I'm so sorry." Andrew stared blankly at the cold ground.

Christen shrugged, sitting beside him leaning on his shoulder. She didn't have any fight over her, but something was brewing beneath her skin. Rage, dangerous and threatening. She wanted to know so many unanswered questions. She didn't know if she was strong enough to have them answered or to meet the other woman.

"Ms. Collins, it would be best for you both to leave." Christen looked up, the detective a little disheveled as she saw the pity in his eyes.

She nodded, her hand closing around the width of Andrew's arm. Pulling him out of his small trance of disbelief, he realized he needed to be moving. He saw the detective, his pride coming into play before knocking some sense into his self.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get physical." Andrew hung his head in shame.

"Understandable, you guys led a life that was normal, stable and ordinary. It's a lot to take in in such a short period of time." The detective placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Do me a favor," Andrew looked up, "This is the address to Caroline Davis' house in Manhattan. Give her a visit. Or talk to Christen about it and get her to visit. They're pretty broken as well."

"Did they know about her and Angela?" Andrew interrogated.

The detective's facial expression was all he needed to see to answer the simple question, that yes they did know about her. Andrew sighed and took the slip of paper before he walked over to Christen sitting in the waiting room of the police station. From what Andrew could see, Chris was broken in every sense of the word. Not only had she lost her husband and baby in an ugly fight that was only meant for Dallas. She just found out that her whole life was a lie, yet she was supporting him.

"You ready to go?" Andrew fingering the small piece of paper in his pocket.

She nodded, her throat constricting as she tried to hold herself in the station. She didn't want to be perceived as weak. Of course the situation at hand warranted emotions and breakdowns but that wasn't her, not in the slightest. Andrew escorted her out of the lobby, multiple cameramen and microphones thrust into their face, together and separately.

"Is it true that your husband was apart of a major drug ring?"

Apparently so.

"Are you going to testify against Monica Stratford and Grant Valente?"

With everything in me.

"Is it true your husband had an affair?"

Fuck him.

"Ms. Collins, are you pregnant with your husband's baby?"

No comment.

"Will Angela get justice?"

She hoped.