#but I can’t stop thinking about her when I drive past cars with no bumper

[the-butterfree-effect]

Karlach is like if a girl had a check engine light

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #karlach #someone has probably made this joke #but I can’t stop thinking about her when I drive past cars with no bumper

[lilyrizzy]

slightly delayed day 4 of the 12 days of maxiel advent calendar! for @catofthecanals289 from our alzheimers universe! set in the same universe as this and this.

“Daniel, you have to, of course, aim higher.”

It’s as though the words snap everything back into focus while Daniel tries to remember anything getting blurred in the first place. 

In front of him, rows of red-nosed clowns topped with frizzy orange hair stare down at him. Them, he’s not alone. There’s something heavy in his hand. A baseball, he realises. He looks between it and the lines and lines of manic grins, and then Max’s face. His voice is full of laughter, so Daniel must be okay.

“What-“ Daniel begins, but it’s too embarrassing to ask what am I meant to be doing. Max just told him.

Max steps closer to him, his smile already flickering at Daniel’s obvious hesitation.

“Daniel?” He asks, cautious in a way Daniel doesn’t like. He doesn’t want Max to stop smiling.

The flashing lights of the arcade dance at the periphery of his vision, red, yellow, blue and then red again, as a mechanical imitation of circus music plays in a loop. A cheery voice reminds him over and over to down the clown.

“Sweetheart.” The word sounds like a question again, but at the same time unfamiliar. Wrong. “Schatje,” Max says then, and that’s- That’s better.

I love you, Daniel thinks, an electric shock of realisation that is as manic as their surroundings, like maybe it’s being felt for the first time. Then, the settle of it into the familiar warm weight in his chest tells him the truth; I’ve been loving you for a long time.

Wherever they are, he’s safe here.

Daniel turns back to the clowns, noticing now how they aren’t real and are just faces painted onto bowling pins. He does what Max told him to, and throws the ball higher.

To the applause of strobe lights and chiptune, he wins.

Throwing his hands into the air, he lets out a noise of delight in time with Max’s behind him. Ki ki ki, aye, a corner of his brain echoes, but he can’t make the words trip onto his tongue.

“Good job,” Max tells him, his hands a warm weight on Daniel’s waist. A champagne fizz fills Daniel’s belly like it’s maybe been a long time since he’s been touched there, but- No. That can’t be right, because Max loves him too.

I love you, also, he always says. Daniel wishes he would say it now. He can see that it’s true in the softness of Max’s eyes as he pulls him in to kiss him congratulations. Daniel wishes--

--

--Daniel’s hands are twisted into soft purple fur. At first he thinks it’s a jumper, but then his fingertips catch on the crinkled material of the horn, and it’s obvious what it is. A unicorn. For his sister’s baby, maybe.

As he searches the murky waters of his head for her name, his eyes catch on the landscape flying past him. Too vast and green to be Monaco, the car moving too fast. Monaco is the orange glow of car break lights, sitting bumper to bumper and swearing under his breath. He’s not the one driving now, but he doesn’t know who is either.

“Daniel?” The man says his name when Daniel glances at him, so it can’t be a stranger.

“Where are we going?” Daniel asks, cuddling the unicorn a little closer. It feels nice under his palms.

“Back to the ranch,” the man says. His eyes are very blue and pretty, but thinking that makes Daniel’s stomach twist. He shouldn’t- He has somebody who wouldn’t like him thinking that about somebody else, he’s sure.

Daniel nods. They’re on the left side of the road, so-

“I need to get ready for the race,” he says, with more confidence than he feels, but that must be why they are in Australia. The Grand Prix. Except, the weather outside the window doesn’t look quite like autumn. Looking down at himself, he realises he’s not wearing anything with the Red Bull logo, which means he’s probably late. “Christian is going to kill me if I miss practice.”

The man’s face does something complicated that Daniel doesn’t understand. Daniel is about to ask for his phone to call someone- Laura, he thinks his assistants name is maybe- when the man speaks again, his voice softer than before.

“The race has already happened, don’t worry,” he promises, but his voice is shaky. “I’m taking you home to get some rest.”

“Very good,” he says again, which is a little unhelpful, but then he adds sounding a little more genuine, “Everyone is very proud of you.”

“Oh,” Daniel says, feeling a little stupid, but also relieved. No one can be angry at him if it’s his time off. Unless he fucked up on track. Clearing his throat, he asks, “Did you watch it? How did I do?”

He watches the man’s hands tighten on the steering wheel for a moment, his eyes fixed firmly on the road.

Happy butterflies beat their wings inside Daniel, flying between his stomach and his chest. He made people proud.

“Gangster,” Daniel says with a grin, and because he can’t resist being cheeky, “did I beat Max?”

But saying his name out loud as the butterflies wilt to lead weights at the bottom of his belly. Daniel is pretty sure Max should be here, so where is he? The guy spoke about the ranch, and the ranch means family time, which means Max time. Max is- Max is-

Daniel turns to look at the back seat, but it’s empty. He tries to remember when he last saw Max, but where his face used to be there is only a fuzzy outline framed with a Red Bull cap. He touches a hand to his head and finds only his own curls under his fingertips.

“Where’s my boyfriend?” He asks the man again, his voice high now with panic. “My boyfriend, Max, where is-“ Then he breaks off to swear, because no one is supposed to know. Max might be angry that he told this man.

“Easy easy,” the man soothes, his nice blue eyes back on Daniel as his hand makes an awkward jerk forwards, and then backwards again, as though he was going to try to touch him. “Easy, Daniel, it’s okay, I promise. Max will-“ He breaks off to smooth his face into a gentle smile. He really is so pretty. “Max will be at the ranch. I’m taking you to him now.”

Daniel studies the man’s face for a moment. He seems nice, and Max loves Daniel, and Christian is proud of him today, so they wouldn’t let him get into a car with someone they didn’t trust to look after him. Besides, something in this man’s face has Daniel trusting him.  His mouth is kind. There’s a mark just above his top lip.

“Have we met before?” Daniel asks, surprising himself with the question. When the man’s smile turns sad again, Daniel tries to laugh apologetically. “Sorry if that’s a dick question mate, when you’re famous it’s- It’s easy to lose track.”

Strangely that gets the man to laugh. Daniel can’t help but join in as the sound tugs at the loose threads of his mind. Sunshine streaming through tall windows, the glitter of the sea just beyond them. Chasing a spotty cat down a hallway.

“That’s okay,” the man says, “I have driven you lots of places before, do not worry.”

His words are the final piece Daniel needs for his hammering heart to slow. Pitifully, he finds himself lifting the plushie to his face to press his cheek against its softness. It’s even nicer than when it was against his hands. He’s going to-

“I’m going to give this to Max,” he says, words muffled a little. “He- I- I think he’ll pretend it’s silly, but secretly love it. He’s a little shit like that.”

Max will like it, Daniel is sure. Max will like that Daniel was thinking about him.

#alzheimers au #i thought this sucked but on reread I actually quite like it #fic #max/daniel

[lilaccrxsh]

Fight and Fall in Love - 1986!Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x F!Reader (18+)

Description: You and Pete Mitchell had mutual friends in the Bradshaw's, but whenever you were together all you would do is argue and rile the other person up. That was until Carole decided something had to be done...

Content warnings: unprotected sex, enemies to lovers, arguing, “there was only one bed”, 100% self-indulgence from the author

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: Honestly guys, this was just incredibly self-indulgent. Unfortunately, young TC/1986!Mav is literally my perfect type so I'm blaming everything on that. *posts this and runs*

Thank you to @unmistakablyunknown for being my beta and removing my dyslexia from the google doc <3

You had known Carole Bradshaw before she even became Carole Bradshaw. You’d been friends since middle school, growing up and facing all of the adventures life throws at you together. When she met Nick, or “Goose”, you were her maid of honour at their wedding. Carole was really one of your closest friends.

“Have you decided what you want to do for your birthday?” Goose was sitting with his arm around his wife, her smaller body curled into the side of him on the sofa. Bradley was asleep upstairs, so the house was silent and dark apart from the talking and images from the tiny television. 

“I think I just want something nice and small. Maybe just have friends over for dinner. Bradley can be involved then too.” Carole replied. 

“I like the sound of that. Who would you want to come?”

“I was thinking… just Y/N and Mav.” 

Goose peered down at Goose, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. 

“Why? I thought you wanted your birthday to be ‘nice’.” 

Carole laughed softly. “It will be. We need to get those two together in the same room so they can finally get over themselves.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“It’s so obvious that they’re attracted to each other.” Carole said plainly, “Whenever we all meet they can’t stop looking at the other constantly. They clearly like each other, they just don’t know what to do about it.” 

“Y/N and Mav!?”

“Yup.”

“But all they do is argue with each other?”

“Exactly.”

Carole just watched her husband as the penny dropped for him. 

“Oh…” 

“Uh-huh, so I think it’s only fair if we give them a little nudge, don’t you think?” 

“You’re the boss, honey.” Goose pressed a kiss to her hairline. “What did you have in mind?” 

~~~

You pulled onto the Bradshaw’s drive just as the roar of a motorbike engine cut off behind you. You didn’t even need to look in your rear view mirror to know who had just parked their bike right behind your bumper. 

For a moment you considered not even leaving your car. If this wasn’t for Carole’s birthday, you might have done. It would have been easy to just reverse back onto the road, even if you did take out the motorbike in the process. You didn’t dislike the sound of that. The only downside was damage to your car.

There was no point sitting there behind the wheel any longer. You grabbed your overnight bag off the passenger seat and climbed out. Standing before you was the one person you were hoping not to see tonight. 

Pete Mitchell looked exactly the same as the last time you’d met. Aviators covered his eyes, making his expression unreadable, his dark hair was still cut short for the navy, and he was wearing that patch-covered bomber jacket that was at least one size too big for him. Light washed jeans, a white T-shirt and that bomber jacket - was that all he ever wore? 

There was an awkward moment before anyone spoke. You just stood staring at each other. 

“No one told me you were coming.” Pete’s tone was neutral, apart from an underlying hint of annoyance. 

“No one told me you were coming.” You repeated. 

Again another moment of silence. You were the one to break it, slamming your car door closed and locking it. You stalked past him, marching up to the front door. Pete reached your side as you knocked on the door. You purposely stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge his presence. 

When Carole opened the door, she seemed shocked but strangely delighted, to see you two standing together on her doorstep. You were welcomed inside, it was nice to be back at the Bradshaw’s again. 

Soon you found yourself standing in the hallway conjoining the living room and kitchen. Carole was busy going back and forth. 

“Why didn’t you say he was coming?” You hissed at her, stepping aside so she could walk past you with a bowl. 

“Would you have still come?” Carole raised her eyebrows at you, a twinkle in her eyes. 

“Yes, because I love you, but I would have liked a bit of warning.”

“Oh come on, Y/N. Maverick isn’t that bad. He’s really great if you get to know him.”

“I think I already know enough…” Everytime you and Pete Mitchell were in the vicinity of each other it didn’t end wonderfully. One of you would end up taunting the other, resulting in a battle of wit and cynicism. No-one ever seemed to win. The residing dislike just seemed to continue to the next meeting. 

The man in question was too distracted at the moment to bother that you were standing in the doorway. He was crouched down, sitting back on his heels to fiddle around with little Bradley’s toy trains. The kid laughed as Pete imitated the sound of a train starting off, pushing it along the carpet as if it was chasing the engine Bradley was holding. 

“How can you dislike him, Y/N?” Carole was smiling widely, enjoying her husband’s best friend having a beautiful relationship with their son. You opted not to answer her. At that minute, you couldn’t conjugate a proper retort. In front of you was a side to Pete Mitchell that you hadn’t seen before - fun-loving and carefree. He’d always seemed put-out and on the offensive with you in the past. You wondered what it would be like to have a nice and pleasant conversation with him for once…

You only realised you’d been lost in thought, transfixed on the sight before you when Carole nudged your arm. She wore a knowing smile. 

“Help me with dinner?” 

~~~

The plan Carole had concocted involved you, Pete, and her guest bedroom. Her one guest room.  

So when the two of you were led into the guest room, the door closed behind you, you found yourselves on the same side… of one double bed. 

“This isn’t going to work.”

“I’m actually going to agree with you.”

Pete was the first to move from the doorway, scoping out the rest of the room and analysing the bed. There was no couch or anything alike. 

“Pete look, I’m not exactly delighted by this either.” 

He ignored what you’d said, instead rounding on you and asking a completely different question. 

"Why do you always call me 'Pete'? No one calls me that."

"Because that's your name, idiot. I'm not one of your flying buddies so why would I call you anything else."

Pete just shrugged, but the hard set of his jaw didn’t relax. Did he want you to call him Maverick? It seemed an odd way of showing so. 

"It's the night before Carole's birthday, are you really going to make a fuss?" 

He huffed, but conceded, dramatically throwing his bag onto the floor near the door. 

"I want the left side." Pete stalked over to the bed before flopping down on top of the covers, spreading out his legs the length of the bed and putting his hands behind his head. He pushed his aviators down over his eyes and then was silent. 

You stood, also still and silent, wondering whether or not you would be able to survive the night. But as you had said, both you and Pete were here for a reason and you both cared enough to not cause a scene. 

"I'm going to the bathroom." You told him, collecting your wash bag and sleepwear from your backpack. You received only an uncaring grunt from the man who you were meant to share a bed with tonight. 

You spent a decent amount of time out of the room in the hope that when you returned, Pete would have changed and maybe, if you were lucky, be asleep. 

Luck was not completely on your side. 

He had changed, or well, removed items of clothing. His bomber jacket and white t-shirt were laying in a heap by his bag. The only thing Pete was wearing when you re-entered the room were loose shorts. He was still lounged out on top of the covers, giving you no other choice than to stare at his incredibly well-sculpted torso. 

"Is that really what you're going to sleep in?"

It seemed Pete hadn't noticed your presence, as he jumped slightly when you spoke to him. He looked down his own body through the dark lenses of the aviators. Confusion covered his features as you could see the furrow of his forehead. When he let out a quick laugh, turning completely to you while smirking, did you realise you'd made a mistake. By commenting, you'd shown you cared in some capacity.

"Why? Too distracting for you, sweetheart?" Pete's grin was huge. 

Yes. 

"No."

"Sure." With that he took the aviators off, placing them carefully on the nightstand. 

You were still standing by the closed door, making no effort to join him. 

"Are you going to stand there all night? Some of us actually want to sleep."

"Has anyone ever told you you're an asshole?"

"Yes, frequently." 

Now he'd got rid of the glasses, you could feel his eyes following you as you circled the bed. He was still sporting that smug smirk. You cursed yourself for letting him get under your skin, and for showing him that he had done. 

You hesitated, hand resting on the covers, reluctant to pull them back and crawl under them. With Pete still lying on top of them, there would be no accidental touching. The sheets were crisp against your legs, part of you wished you’d packed longer pants to sleep in - not shorts. You lay on your back, not wanting to face Pete, or even turn away from him. You’d turned the ceiling light off before you came over, now the only light was from the lamp next to Pete. 

“Do you want me to turn this off?” He asked, as if he could read your thoughts. He still hadn’t moved. You hummed a response indicating that you did want him to. In the dark, maybe you could pretend he wasn’t there. 

Pete reached for the switch, and the two of you were plunged into darkness. Neither person spoke for a minute or two after that. Once your eyes had adjusted to the darkness, you could see the slow rise and fall of Pete’s chest as he breathed. You couldn’t believe what was happening. You were lying next to the man who you’d been at odds with for years… and he wasn’t wearing much at all. 

You would be lying to yourself if you hadn’t thought at least once that Pete Mitchell was incredibly attractive. All of the times you’d been out with Carole and Goose, be it at a bar or just somewhere with Bradley in tow, Pete would have a chorus of females giving him attention. Through all of the petty comments you’d throw at each other, there was always a tiny part of you that wanted him to ignore them. Ignore them and continue bickering over whatever stupid thing was causing an feud that day. Could you even go as far to say you enjoyed fighting with him?

This might have been the longest time you two had been in the same room without a negative snipe. 

“That’s actually too cold.” Pete suddenly whined, shuffling the duvet from under him so you both were covered. You lay still, unable to move as you felt his knee bump against your left leg. Once he was settled, silence fell over the room again. You weren’t tired. The amount of adrenaline pumping through you would make sleep impossible. 

“Pete?” You’d spoken before you even realised what you were doing. Pete seemed as surprised as you. 

“Yes, Y/N?”

"I have a question."

"Ok..."

"Do you always wear the dog tag?"

You asked because a sliver of light was reflecting from the metal around his neck. 

There was a pause before Pete answered. "Yeah. It's who I am." 

You wanted to roll your eyes but in a way, it was sweet. And then you wanted to roll your eyes at the fact you thought something associated with Pete Mitchell was sweet. 

Instead of rolling your eyes, you actually rolled onto your side. Your arms were held to your chest. You were facing Pete now, but in the darkness of the room you could only see an outline of his features. It was unfair how good his side profile looked. 

“Can I ask you something else?” 

You felt the covers shift, the mattress moving under you as Pete mirrored your previous action. He was dangerously close now, lying on his side facing you. His body warmth was keeping the air beneath the duvet cosy. You wished you could see his eyes, you wanted to see how he was looking at you in the darkness.

“Go ahead.” 

Your breath caught in your throat. This wasn’t the Pete Mitchell you knew. In a single second his whole demeanour had altered. He was now soft and tender, encouraging this conversation that was the first of its kind.   

“What is flying like?” 

This brought a light laugh from the man lying opposite you, but it wasn’t malicious. 

“It’s the best feeling anyone could ever experience.”

“The best, huh?”

“Ok, maybe the second best.” 

This time you laughed together. It was unbelievably strange. How had you been arguing before, yet now you couldn’t think of anywhere you would rather be. But unlike the silence this afternoon out on the driveway, it was comfortable. You just wanted to lie there, perfectly content. 

You heard Pete take a deep breath before speaking, almost in a whisper, “I want you to know, Y/N, that I’m sorry, for how I’ve spoken to you in the past.”

You bit down hard on your lip. 

“I’m sorry too. It’s all water under the bridge now.” 

“In truth…” Pete started to say something but he trailed off. 

“Yeah?” You prompted him, your heart beating fiercely in your chest. 

“I…” He couldn’t seem to say whatever he wanted to. After he had failed the second time, he decided actions might be better than words. You felt  the pad of his thumb touch your jaw. 

When you didn’t flinch, Pete brought his hand to rest. His palm cupping your jaw, his thumb gracing your cheek. You couldn’t help but relax into him, humming in content. When Pete heard you, his hand left your face and moved to the small of your back, bringing you across the sheet to him. The only thing between you was the thin fabric of your top. The one thing better than seeing Pete’s naked chest, was being pressed up against it. 

“Is this ok?” 

You were barely audible as you whispered a “yes”. Every part of your skin that was touching Pete’s felt like it was on fire, and every part that wasn’t, was still burning with an unbelievable intensity. 

“God you’re so beautiful, Y/N. You don’t know how hard it’s been to be around you and not be able to tell you that.”

He was tracing your face, his thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, fingertips nestling into your hair behind your ear. When you felt his lips on your forehead you sank into him, pushing your hips against his, wrapping your right leg over him. Pete kissed your forehead, both your cheeks, your jaw… and then your lips.

Your lips were barely touching at first, gracing each other in another attempt to gain consent. You’d be damned if you waited another second to kiss Pete Mitchell. You hadn’t realised for how long you’d wanted him in this way. The all consuming need to be needed, wanted, loved by him. 

When you kissed, it was impossible not to react. Your leg linked around his became wrapped around his waist. His hand came to squeeze your thigh, holding your bare skin against the muscles of his back. 

In a split second, Pete was on top of you. 

"Are we really doing this?"

"Yes we are."

You wanted to touch him. You wanted him to touch you, everywhere. It didn’t matter where his hands were, or how his weight felt on top of you, it was never enough. It would never be enough. Your own hands were grasping at his back, feeling the lean muscles tense and relax under your fingertips. 

“Tell me what you want, Y/N.” Pete didn’t stop kissing you, moving down your neck and collarbones. 

“I need you, Pete. Anything. Fuck me. Just touch me.” You were moaning incoherent thoughts as he sucked on one specific place under your ear. Pete’s low laugh against your skin when straight to your core. 

“As you wish, sweetheart.” 

Your hips rose completely off the bed as you felt his hand breach the waistline of your shorts. You were sensitive, all of Pete’s previous exploration of your frame had done its job. Pete found your clit, delicately circling it as you mewled under him. Your hips bucked again, uncontrollably and with force. 

“Careful, baby.” Pete cooed, steading your waist by shifting his weight. Pete’s intention was to turn you on enough that he could fuck you easily, but it would seem he didn’t have to do anything more. You were writhing already, and when he put one finger inside of you, you could do nothing but stifle an inaudible sound into his shoulder. 

Pete was in awe of your reaction. How responsive you were to him was even more of a turn-on than he could ever imagine. He helped you remove your shirt, and then take your shorts down over your legs. He threw the items out of bed. 

“You need to get these off, now.” You ordered, claiming some control over your own actions. Pete helped you fumble with his shorts, and soon neither of you were wearing anything. 

“Please?” In any other situation you would be embarrassed by how desperate you sounded. But this time, you didn’t care. 

The feeling of Pete inside you was intoxicating. Your legs were wrapped around his back, your arms around his neck. There was no possible way you could be any closer to each other. The way he continued to kiss you made up for all the times you hadn’t been with each other. With every peck, moan, movement, the tension that had built up between you two disappeared. 

“Y/N…” 

You loved how Pete said your name. It was becoming impossible to think straight. All your thoughts were centred on the feeling at your core, the mounting pressure that wasn’t ceasing. 

"Maverick…"

Pete’s call sign fell from your lips instinctively. Through the darkness you heard him gasp, followed by a filthy moan before he thrust into you again, hard. 

Your face was sheltered in the crook of Pete’s neck, so any sound you made was muffled. It was becoming very difficult to not cry out. You were so close too, it wouldn’t be long before you would come. 

“Fuck, Y/N, you-” But whatever Pete was going to say was overshadowed by the beginning of your orgasm. You began shuddering against him, moaning pitifully as you hit your peak. Simultaneously, it became too much for Pete. You both rode out your highs together, unable to pull away. 

You felt empty when Pete rolled off you, but you weren’t without contact for long. Pete lay on his back, you curled into his side, hand resting above his heart. He was holding your hand, your fingers intertwined on his chest. 

All that was heard throughout the room was the sound of heavy breathing. It was a few minutes before either of you were able to speak. 

“You called me Maverick.” He breathed.

"I did." The sultry tones in your own voice were a shock even to you. You leant forwards, taking the soft skin of his ear in your teeth. "Now, show me again why that's your call sign." 

~~~

The next morning, you and Pete walked into the Bradshaw’s kitchen together. Pete’s arm was around your waist, his hand resting on your hip bone. It felt so natural, you wished you’d done this before. 

Goose made an inhuman noise, pointing excitedly like a child at you and Pete. He was flitting between gaping at his two best friends and looking astonished at his wife. Carole was just smiling incessantly. 

What you and Pete didn’t know was that you'd unknowingly given Carole the best birthday present she could want. 

Masterlist

#lilaccrxsh #top gun #top gun fic #top gun x reader #pete maverick mitchell #maverick x reader #pete mitchell x reader

[icallhimjoey]

Only Temporary

♥ ♥          Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Joe needs a temporary living space, and you happen to have a spare room to let. One plus one equals two, baby.

CW / disclaimer: rpf (don’t read if this makes you uncomfy), fem!reader, swearing (lots), so far fluff only

Author’s note: this is the second part out of five. I'll maybe add onto the summary as the story grows, if it needs it. It's looking to be another slow burn (because I love those the most). We'll see! (rewrittern 14 nov 2023)

Wordcount: 5.1K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Big sigh.

It was always the same fucking issue. You contemplated why you even had a car to begin with at this point.

And yours sucked too, didn't seem to want to work when it had you behind its wheel for whatever reason. 

Had you mentioned life being shit already?

You slowed down and idled along the tree-lined pavement. Leaning over your steering-wheel, top teeth tucked into your bottom lip, your eyes darted from side to side in your usual routine of looking for a parking space. 

Coming back from visiting family, it was just past two in the afternoon, and you didn’t hold out much hope. 

In all the years you’d lived in your flat, you’d never parked right outside it. It was always the same story, bumper-to-bumper all the way down your street.

You flung yourself back into your seat. 

Shit.

You had to circle the block, probably about a dozen more times too, and then you’d probably still end up parking about a mile away, anyway. 

You tried focusing on the positives. It would get your step count up, burn some extra cal-

Oh my God! 

You almost missed a Range Rover pulling out of a parking space and you very nearly drove straight into it. You slammed the breaks and came to an abrupt halt. You looked up at the windscreen of the Range Rover and mouthed “Sorry,” at the driver.

It was him. 

Your neighbour.

For a moment, you weren’t quite sure what to do, so you just sat there as he nodded a curt response, swerved around you, and roared off down the street. 

Smooth.

You looked in your rear-view mirror and watched the grey swirls of fumes around his exhaust, listening to the noise of the engine as he accelerated away. 

Typical. 

You’d done it again. 

Bumped into him like a complete idiot. 

Depressed, you slumped over your steering-wheel and rested your forehead on the badge in the centre. You closed your eyes and replayed the last scene torturously in your head, the look he gave you as he drove off and- wait...

Hang on a fucking minute. 

If he had just left, that meant… 

There, where the Range Rover had just been parked, right opposite your flat, you saw what any resident of your street would describe as a modern-day miracle. 

A parking space.  *

“Do you think you have time for a quick trip to Zara? Help me buy something to wear for my date tomorrow?” your flight attendant friend had only just landed and had to make most of her time at home before she’d be jetting off again. 

Only getting so many chances to see her, you’d given her a key ages ago so she could let herself in if you were still getting wine at the corner shop. Because when she was over, it was always wine o’clock, no matter the time of day.  

“Afraid I’m busy later,” you knew a quick trip to Zara wasn't really a thing, as it would always lead to more visits to more shops and you didn’t have the time for it today.

“Too busy for Zara?” you friend was incredulous. “But there’s a sale on.”

“I know, but my new flatmate’s moving in today,” you explained. 

“Ooh?" She immediately perked up. "Tell me more.” Folding her arms, she primed herself for more information.

“He saw the room on Saturday and was going to move in yesterday, but he had work? I don’t think he had work, but... it was... something, I don't know.” 

“It’s a he?” your friend raised her eyebrows with interest. 

“You can’t- do not test-drive my flatmate,” you warned her, stopping her in her tracks. 

She looked at you indignantly. 

“The thought never even crossed my mind.” 

Now it was your turn to raise your eyebrows.

“Okay, fine, it crossed. But now it’s crossed back again,” she protested, waving her glass of wine around. “So, what’s he like?”

“He’s…” you had to think of a second. “He’s got brown eyes... um... shit, that’s all I know about him.” You confessed, realising you told him not to leave the toilet seat up, but hadn’t asked him anything about himself. 

“I guess I’ll find out later,”

“Do you need me as a chaperone? Your personal sidekick?”

“I’ll be fine, thanks,” you did a mental time-check. Maybe if your friend would leave in an hour, you still had time to blow-dry your hair straight. 

You caught yourself. 

Jesus.

This wasn’t a date.

“Is that really safe?” warned your friend. “He could be a murderer.”

What she really meant was, he could be a single murderer. 

“I doubt it. He seemed really nice,” you said, having seen right through her concerned-friend act. “Eddie liked him.”  

Your friend gasped and looked around to see if she could spot him. Eddie disliked your best friend with fierce passion. 

“That fucking bitch of a cat,” she started, but steered back within a second. “I think I should stay. Safety in numbers and all that.” She persevered.  

“Yea but also, two’s a company, three’s a crowd,” you added.

“Well, it’s up to you. If you want to risk being chopped up into little bits and pieces, and placed into Tupperware boxes in your fridge... there's no lock on your bedroom door, you know,” 

Sigh.

Fine.

You gave in.

“All right, all right. You can stay for dinner. He’ll be moving in soon after.” 

Her face split into a huge grin and she stretched out both arms, hands with wiggly fingers, which you reached for and you let her giddily grab your arm.  

“But please, no making a fuss,” you warned.

“A fuss? Me?” she instantly let go of you and clutched her ample chest, looking at you in hurt astonishment. 

“Trust me, you won’t even know I’m here still.”  

That evening, you watched as you best friend sucked in her stomach and reached for a bottle of wine, showing you her underwear as she leant forward. 

“Any more wine?” her underwear had a little diamond heart on it, and you had the urge to twang it, like a catapult. 

“It’s Joseph, right?” she pouted, her lips slick with lipgloss.

“Joe. It’s um... yea, it's just Joe,” 

“If you insist. Any more wine, just Joe?”

The three of you were outside in the garden. It was one of those warm summer evenings when there wasn’t a breath of wind. The air was scented with a cocktail of jasmine, lavender and the sausages from your next-door neighbour’s barbecue - wouldn't a barbecue be fucking great to have? - and you had music playing on the little portable speaker balanced on the window ledge. You even lit a bunch of little tea lights and placed them around the shrubbery, which took forever as they kept going out and burning your fingers. It was worth the effort though, they really transformed your garden.

You glanced around and felt a glow of pleasure. In retrospect, you didn’t know why you’d been so nervous. Everything had turned out just fine.

Well, not everything. 

As your eyes rested on your friend, who was wiggling around the table with her bum still stuck out, you felt a lump of irritation in your throat and flicked your eyes over her shoulder, all shimmery with body glitter, and watched as Joe lit another cigarette.

He had turned up with his things – a rucksack and a book bag – a couple of hours ago. When he had dumped both on his bed, he’d kicked off his shoes and dug out a packet of camel blues from his jacket. 

He did mention something about another piece of luggage coming in later, as he had to take public transport and didn’t want to struggle on his way over. 

He could take two trips. 

From where? 

You weren’t sure.

“Mind if I have a smoke outside?” he had asked, padding barefoot into the back garden. 

“Please, make yourself at home,” you’d called after him somewhat redundantly as he’d already stretched out on a sun-lounger with Eddie purring in his lap.

Well, you couldn’t just leave him there, could you? 

As his landlady, weren’t you supposed to be grandly welcoming him into your home and make him feel at ease? 

But your ability to make small talk had completely abandoned you, so you hovered around for a bit, fiddled with things that didn’t need fiddling with, made a comment on the smell of barbecue being the best smell there was, to which Joe agreed, and then thanked your best friend for tottering in and taking over.

She had stepped out with two bottles of Pinot Grigio and a corkscrew, and had taken control of the conversation in full flight attendant mode. 

“So, what brings you over?” she was now asking flirtily. “Business, or pleasure?” 

“Business,” Joe answered in such a way that either he hadn’t noticed you best friend was flirting, or if he had, he was politely ignoring it. 

“But before I bore you with any details, you’ll have to excuse me a moment,” he turned to you and asked where the bathroom was. A question you knew was only asked to be polite; your flat was small, and he’d seen where the bathroom was. 

“Second on the left,” your friend chimed in before you could answer. 

As soon as Joe had disappeared, you turned to your friend. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” you hissed furiously. 

“Breaking the ice,” she simply said, all wide-eyed and innocent. 

It didn’t fool you for a minute. 

“Breaking the ice is asking someone about the weather,” you gasped. “What happened to, ‘trust me, you won’t even know I’m here still’?”

Taking a slug of wine, she sloshed it around her mouth for a moment, swallowed, then looked at you sheepishly. 

“Okay, I’ll admit I’ve been a bit flirty.” 

“A bit?” 

Lies.

“Oh, come on. I just thought in case my date for tomorrow doesn’t work out, you know. It’s always good to have a plan B.” 

“My flatmate’s your plan B?” you said indignantly, feeling suddenly protective of Joe, possessive even. 

“Well, why not? You don’t fancy him.”

True. But–

“Oh, shit. You don’t, do you?” her face froze. “I didn’t know! If I had thought for a moment–”

“No, of course I don’t.” you protested hotly. “It’s just…” you trailed off sighing. 

You didn’t know the end to the sentence you’d started. 

Then, your friend leant over and squeezed your hand and said, "I know. I’m sorry," in understanding. "Maybe I have come on a bit strong."

“A bit strong?” you grinned ruefully. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring your aromatherapy oil.”

“Who says I didn’t?” she laughed, and despite yourself, you couldn’t help but join in.

It was about an hour and a half later when you said goodbye to your friend at the door. 

She was drunk, and her Uber was waiting so she had to scurry to keep her rating up. 

The rest of the night had been fine, apart from the embarrassing questions your friend had thrown into the group. It had taught you that all three of you were single, which was nice to know, but outwardly asking the last time anyone had gotten laid wasn’t the best way to have gone about it, you thought. 

Your friend telling Joe about your neighbour that you had feelings for but had yet to have a decent conversation with wasn’t fantastic either. You'd immediately denied everything of course, said your friend was drunk and didn't know what she was on about, but the flush of your cheeks had given you away entirely. 

Luckily, Joe had been a real gentleman about it and hadn’t pressed it any further. 

Back in the garden you saw Joe was gathering up the glasses and empty bottles. When he stepped inside and placed everything down on the kitchen counter, you hovered in the kitchen for a moment.

“Night then,” you said eventually. 

“Yea, night.” 

Another pause. 

“You can use the bathroom first, if you like,” you offered politely. 

“No, it’s okay, you go ahead. Ladies first.” he replied, equally polite.

“No, please, you’re the guest.”  

“Honestly, it’s fine.” 

Backwards and forwards it went, like tennis, until finally you won, and he disappeared into the bathroom with his toothbrush. 

You went into your bedroom and started to undress, pulling off your T-shirt and jeans and tugging on your old tartan pajamas. When you turned to the mirror you saw that the elastic had perished at the waistband, so your butt looked all baggy as if you were wearing a nappy. 

You froze at the sight of yourself. 

There was no way you were going to be wearing those ever again. 

Stripping them off and chucking them onto the floor, you yanked open your drawers, searching for another pair of pajamas you knew were in there, but you could only find the top. 

Were you going to be walking around in your bare legs with your thighs out for Joe to see? 

Was this the type of flatmate you were going to be?

Next door you could hear taps being turned on and off, teeth being brushed, the toilet flushing, a plug being pulled out and the basin draining. Any minute now it was going to be your turn, and you were going to have to make it from your bedroom to the bathroom without being seen.

When you heard the lock turn, you waited a second and pressed your cheek against your doorframe to peer through the crack. You could see a letterbox of light, floorboards, and your fern, which... shit, that desperately needed watering.  

No sign of Joe. 

Good.

With a flush of relief, you eased open your door and tiptoed bravely into the hall, bare thighs out and all. 

This was your flat, after all. 

You could have your thighs out a second.

Especially if no one was actually going to see them.

Turning into the bathroom, you shrieked. 

“Oh, sorry. Did I scare you?”

Joe was still in there.  

“Jesus Christ, yes – I mean, no – no, it’s okay,” clutching your chest, you tried to catch your breath. Which is when it dawned on you that Joe was naked but for a pair of checkered boxers. 

Not that you meant to look.

“Oh, by the way, you never did say why you were visiting,” you blurted, in an attempt at casual chit-chat as you reached for your toothbrush. 

You caught yourself eyeing Joe in the mirror, which wasn’t difficult to do when he was just standing there still, all naked flesh and muscle. 

Joe saw you look. 

Shit. 

Eyes straight ahead. 

Stop staring. 

Your eyes shot down where you saw Eddie, twirling around Joe’s legs, tail up high, waiting and wishing for some attention. 

You and me both, you thought.

“I didn’t?” Joe wrung out a facecloth you hadn’t noticed he was holding. Just like you hadn’t noticed that the bathroom was spotless. 

No toilet seat left up, no soggy towel on the floor and or bristles on the soap. Huh.

“I’m here for my job, we’re on location for a bit, and it’s near here,”

“Oh, really?” you said vaguely, throwing him your best smile of approval. 

Love a man with a job, you know, especially now that you didn’t have one. 

You then reached for the toothpaste and noticed that the top was screwed on properly. Overcome with the warm glow of satisfaction, you knew you’d made the right decision of having Joe move in. You were going to get on great. 

“What kind of job?” 

Picking up his clothes as he walked out of the bathroom, Joe then went and spoiled it all by telling you something you really didn’t want to hear. 

“I’m an actor.” 

Well...

Shit.

A few days later you were stood in the hallway and watched Joe rehearse lines in his bedroom through the gap in the door, script in hand and all. 

You clamped your hands over your mouth to suppress a groan. 

Maybe it wasn't entirely fair to Joe, but your ex-boyfriend had been an actor, and everything about it had been awful. 

The cockiness. 

The dramatics. 

The impossible work hours, and the selfishness that came with them. 

“I know it's your birthday, and you've had this trip planned for months, but I've been invited to an award show, I'm going to have to cancel.” 

Okay, asshole. 

Add the climbing up social ladders you weren’t interested in and the feigned importance over people with bad personalities. 

And the namedropping? 

Ugh. 

Just, that whole world? 

So pretentious and absolutely awful. 

A floorboard beneath your feet creaked. Shit. He was going to come out of his bedroom and catch you there. Spying. 

You weren’t spying, though. 

You just got home from shopping with your best friend and happened to be walking past, you thought frantically as you dove into the bathroom to avoid being caught. 

You locked the door and turned on the taps. 

So, you hated actors. 

But you didn’t hate Joe. 

On the contrary, he was a really nice guy and he even put the top on the toothpaste, you reminded yourself with satisfaction as you eyed it on the sink. 

“Hello?” There was a polite knock on the door, and Joe’s voice. “Are you in there?” 

“Yes,” you replied, startled. “Sorry, are you waiting? I won’t be a minute!” Worried your cover was about to be blown, you clanked around with the soap-dish to add a bit of realism.

“No, it’s fine, take your time. But when you’re finished, come outside to the garden.”

“The garden?” you mouthed at your reflection, wondering what Joe was up to.

“I’ve got a surprise,” Joe then added. 

You took a few more minutes to fix up your hair and make-up, might as well, since you were in there, before emerging tentatively and padding down the hallway barefoot. 

You were racking your brain for a possible answer as to what the surprise could be, so you could be prepared for it when, suddenly, a funny smell distracted you...

You sniffed the air curiously as you walked into the kitchen. 

It was almost as if something was burning. 

As the idea struck, you hurried to glance through the patio doors into the back garden. 

It was full of smoke. 

Oh, shit. 

Panic set in. 

Your house was on fire! 

Did you remember to pay the household insurance? You knew it was on your list of things to do. 

Frantically, you started looking around the kitchen. 

You need something like– something like a jug. 

A large glass jug of lilies sat in the middle of the table, so you grabbed it, dumped the flowers in the sink and dashed outside, water slopping over the edge. 

Grey smoke was billowing from behind the glass of the opened patio doors.

Shit, shit, shit.

Vaulting over the step, you spun ‘round the side, your fingers slipping on the wet glass as you swung it back with all your might. 

Only there weren’t any flames. 

Just Joe. 

“Tah dah!” He threw him arms wide and grinned as he saw you, but it was too late. 

Like a pendulum, the vase had swung, which meant it also had to swing back.

Suddenly everything was happening at once, but it was as if someone had slowed the time right down and you were watching it on film. The water swooshing out of the vase, soaring through the air like a huge wave, every droplet magnified as Joe’s face came into shot and began its journey through a remarkable range of emotions – from happiness, to confusion, to open-mouthed shock as the water eventually hit him square in the face. 

And then, you were back in normal time. 

You saw Eddie scurry away, wet tail and all.

Joe, totally drenched, was standing there, dripping, blinking, gasping. 

Still handsome, you thought.

“Um… what the fuck?” 

“Oh, shit,” you muttered as you watched him wipe his wet face and hair with his apron. 

Apron? 

Joe was wearing your frilly apron over a white shirt. And he was holding tongs in one hand and a packet of sausages in the other, standing in front of a shiny metal object that looked suspiciously like…  

“A barbecue?” you blurted.

“It’s a housewarming gift – well, for my housewarming. I thought you might like it, seeing as you mentioned you liked the smell...” 

As he was speaking, you glanced down at his feet and noticed he was now standing in a puddle of water.  

“But if I’d known I was going to get that reaction, I might have stuck with a scented candle.” Joe scrunched his nose.

“Shit,” was all you could muster. 

Joe tipped his head and shook it like a dog, spraying you with drops of water. Not on purpose, you reasoned, stepping back so he didn’t drench you in the process.

“I’m so sorry, I thought something was burning.”

“It was the sausages,” Joe paused and looked at your facial expression.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” and the embarrassment on his face only made yours grow deeper. 

“No! No, it was a great idea!” you protested. “I mean, it is a great idea. I love the barbecue, and I love sausages.”

Enthusiastically you grabbed a fork and leant over him to pluck a charred object from the grill. For a moment your bravery wavered, but then you smiled cheerily at Joe in a bid to save the situation. 

He smiled back interestedly. 

Backed into a corner, unwilling to lose face, you forced yourself to take a bite.

“Mmmh,” 

Joe watched you with what you could swear was a glimmer of amusement. 

“I wasn’t sure how long to cook them.” He confessed.

“Mmmh, mmh,” you continued as you began to chew. 

Shit. 

Pain shot through a back molar as you bit down hard on a tough bit. This wasn’t what sausages were meant to taste like.

“Yea? Is it good?” 

“Delicious,” you replied, covering your mouth, and swallowing with great difficulty. 

Free of your penance, you breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived.

“Great, have another,” with the tongs Joe popped a few more onto a plate and held it out to you. “There’s plenty.” 

“Erm, no, thanks. I’m fine for now.” 

But he insisted. 

“Oh, come on, it’s my treat.”

Treat? This was torture. 

“Eat it.” Joe then said, a whole lot more stern than you were used of him. You weren't sure if you were at the stage of friendship for that tone of voice to be acceptable. 

You struggled to smile as you took the plate, wondering if there was a way to distract him so you could quickly hide the sausages in the shrubbery.  

“Great, thanks,” you stammered, at which point, Joe burst into laughter. A loud belly laugh, making him throw his head back first before bending over, followed by a loud snort as he took a breath. 

You were astonished.

“That face,” he doubled up, his hand slapping himself in the chest as he laughed. 

“That careful bite,” Joe mimicked you, and you tried not to smile, but it was impossible. 

“You bastard,” you muttered, mouth twitching. 

“Can you blame me? You threw a big vase of foul-smelling water at me!” 

You started giggling at the memory. 

“I guess that just about makes us even,” Joe held out his hand for you to high-five. 

Feebly you brought your hand up and then down against his. 

“For now,” you couldn’t help adding.   

—–

The Taglisted: @ghostinthebackofyourhead​ @kiwisa​ @jasminearondottir​ @josephquinned​ @cancankiki​ @sidthedollface2​ @dylanmunson​ @munsonsgirl71​ @alana4610​ @emmamooney​ @xomunson​ @sadbitchfangirl​ @jssmth5​ @nobody-000​ @thatonefan-girl​ @paola-carter​ @eddiemunsonfuxks​ @figmentofquinn​ @haylaansmi​  @thewondernanazombie​ @hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere​ @munsonmunster​ - add yourself  

[divine-knight-hand]

Imagine Breaking Into A Theme Park With Wanda

Wanda Masterlist || Full Masterlist || Read on AO3

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader

Notes: Since I have nothing going on right now (and by that I mean I have everything going on right now, so my usual stuff is going to be a while), here’s the first part of my not-so-secret project from the past few days. Enjoy!

Content Warnings: Nothing much. This piece is pretty fluffy!

Word Count: 1,882

Dividers by @transbro

Wanda shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as a soft nighttime breeze swept over us, ruffling our hair. "Are you sure we should be doing this?"

"Don't worry about it." I chuckled as I grabbed the bolt cutters from my belt.

I wore a black long-sleeved shirt tucked into equally dark jeans. I thought the outfit was fitting for our latest adventure. Wanda differed, with her blood-red corset and matching jacket. God, she’s beautiful in that corset…

"This place is honestly begging to be broken into with a flimsy chain like this." I got to work cutting the chain, but the task was proving harder than I would've expected.

It was one o’clock in the morning. The local theme park was closed, and would remain that way until seven. That gave me six hours to unveil my plan for us... if I could get this lock open.

"If you insist on going in," Wanda softly patted my shoulder, sending sparks under my skin and butterflies into my stomach. "Let me help. I can speed this up without breaking anything."

I stepped back as she waved her arms in one fluid motion. Her use of magic always came with graceful movements. She’d trained with her skills for years, so watching her perform a spell was like watching a dancer perform their trademark routine. Red magic surrounded her hands and the padlock, until it clicked open and fell to the ground. She delicately pulled the chain from the gate and turned back to face me with a soft smile that made my heart pound.

"You amaze me every time." I grinned at her display of magic.

Wanda’s delicate smile widened into a grin of her own as I slowly pulled the gates open and grabbed her hand to lead her inside. Despite the darkness of the park, we easily made our way around under the bright moonlight.

I eagerly looked to Wanda. "You choose our first adventure."

"Oh!" A look of surprise crossed her face before she scrambled to think of an idea. "Okay. How about... bumper cars?"

"Let’s go!" I took her hand and she giggled as we ran like children toward the bumper cars.

Once we got there, she frowned at the lifelessness of the attraction. "Right. The park is closed. They won't run."

"Oh, Wanda." I felt a new confidence swell inside me. "You need to have more faith in me. Get in and watch the magic that I can work for you ."

Wanda playfully rolled her eyes at me before taking a seat in a nearby red car. I sat in front of the control panel, flipping switches and pressing buttons. Suddenly, all the lights of the ride simultaneously switched on as light-hearted carnival music filled the formerly still air of the park. Wanda's squeal of surprise refocused my gaze to the now moving red car. She swerved around each empty car, moving around the track like a professional race car driver… That was, until she started driving into the unoccupied cars, her body violently jerking with each crash. She fell into a fit of laughter each time she recovered before turning and hitting another car, restarting the cycle. I thought it was probably as fun for me to watch as it was for her to actually experience.

After a few minutes, I shut the ride off, and Wanda’s car slowed to a stop. I turned out the lights and approached her vehicle, holding her hand as I helped her out.

"That was so much fun!" She breathed. “I can’t believe you actually did that!”

"Believe it, Maximoff." I couldn't help how much I was smiling.

Wanda was absolutely adorable when she was overjoyed. When she smiled, her happiness was always pure. It was one of those smiles that made everyone who saw it want to smile, too. It was genuine. It was lively.

"Wanna try to find a snack around here?" I suggested.

"I highly doubt anyone’s leaving food here overnight." Wanda skeptically eyed me.

"Then let me spin us some cotton candy." I held her hand in mine and led her to the storage area where the park kept their extra carts and supplies.

There were no locks on this door, so I easily yanked it open and led Wanda to the cotton candy cart. Luckily for us, all the materials were there. I poured some sugar into the bowl and watched it puff to life as it spun. Wanda observed the process in silent curiosity. Once I was satisfied with how the sugar turned out, I spun it onto a thin paper cone and held it out to her before using the rest of it to make one for myself.

"Alright, now I’m dying to know, how do you know how to do all of this?" Wanda asked before taking a delicate bite out of her treat.

"I part-timed at this place about a year or two ago for some pocket change." I explained. "Once you learn how to do things here, you don't forget. It's like riding a bike."

"I don't know how to ride a bike." Wanda frowned.

"Me neither. It's just a popular expression, so I rolled with it." We both erupted into a booming laughter that echoed around the empty park.

Wanda calmed down first to ask. "So, what are we doing next?"

I mischievously grinned at her. "We're going up."

Before she could ask what I meant, I grabbed her free hand and quickly led her to the park’s ferris wheel, which was where I was intending to unveil my big plan for the night.

"Hop in." I winked at her.

She warmly smiled before turning and elegantly taking a seat in the gondola level with the platform. I ran through another button and lever sequence, causing the lights on the ferris wheel to blink to life. As the wheel began to slowly turn, I quickly left the controls and dashed for the wheel.

I climbed up one of the support poles before leaping onto the gondola, next to Wanda. She let out a shocked cry as it violently swung on impact before breaking into a nervous laughter, "Oh my god! That was dangerous!"

"Then don't try it at home." I smirked, my remark sending Wanda into another fit of laughter.

Once our gondola reached the top, the ferris wheel stopped, and all the lights went out. Wanda let out a shocked gasp as we were plummeted into sudden darkness. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw the ocean of stars hanging over us, and the full moon gave Wanda’s face a pale glow.

“What happened?" She fearfully looked to me for answers.

"Don't worry," I reassured her. "It’s okay. I just wanted the perfect setting to make a confession."

"A confession?" Wanda repeated.

"Well, yeah," I felt a blush creeping into my face, and momentarily hoped that the darkness around us would hide my redness. 

I took a deep breath, "Wanda, we've been living in the tower together for a while now. I've gotten to know you and the team a lot, and I want you to know that getting to know you was what excited me the most about my time with you guys."

"Aww." Wanda warmly smiled. "I really enjoyed getting to know you, too. You mean so much to me."

“Thank you, Wanda.” Her words made me feel warm inside. "There's something else I wanted to tell you, too." 

“Oh.” Wanda breathed. “What is it?”

 "Well..." I took a deep breath. "I wanted to tell you something very important."

"Which is?" A look of deep confusion and concern played on Wanda's face when I didn’t immediately answer. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Sorry." I willed my heart to slow down so I could finally get the words out. Of course, that didn't work, so I just went for it, "Wanda, I wanted to tell you how I felt about you. I was really nervous- well- I'm still really nervous. Let me just…” I grabbed her hands and held them in mine. “Wanda Maximoff... I'm in love with you."

Wanda's face stayed the same. There were no traces of shock, joy, or even reciprocation. She just stared at me. This was a mistake. She hates me now. Why did I ever think this was a good idea?

Wanda softly calling my name pulled me out of my thoughts. I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest. "I feel the same way." Her signature warm smile played at her lips, "I love you, too."

"Really?" I was in utter disbelief. Did that really just happen?

"Yes, really." Wanda giggled, "I loved getting to know you. I love your excitement, your smile, the sparkles in your eyes when you're laughing." She softly rested her hand on top of mine, "I love you."

At that moment, I was suddenly very aware of Wanda's body next to mine. Her brown hair cascaded down the sides of her face. Her full lips were plush and pink. Her hazel eyes watched me with that warm curiosity that I saw when I was making us cotton candy.

That night, she wasn't as sad as I'd typically see her back at the tower. She laughed and smiled that joyous smile I loved to see. She was genuine and lively. Now, she was happy, and she was right next to me.

"Wanda?" I nervously started. "C- Can I- I mean- May I kiss you?"

Wanda didn't respond. Her eyes just fluttered closed and her plush lips parted ever so slightly. My breath hitched as a strand of hair fell into her face and she leaned closer to me.

Summoning my courage, I softly tucked it behind her ear before leaning in to kiss her back. We started off softly, innocently letting our lips meet, but we grew eager, allowing our tongues to slip against each other and learn the new spaces of each others' mouths.

Wanda wrapped her arms around my neck, and I boldly wrapped my arms around her body to pull her closer. I wanted to learn every part of the woman I grew to love during my time at the Avengers tower.

We stayed in each other’s warm embrace for a while before a loud Whoosh! sounded nearby. Wanda's hair blew into our faces before we turned to look at Tony, who flew next to our gondola in his suit.

His helmet retracted to reveal his smug look. "I see you hit it off with Little Witch, over here. Care for a ride down?"

“I told you to stop calling me that.” Wanda muttered. Tony didn’t even seem to hear her.

"No." I scowled. "And if you don't get your ‘genius billionaire playboy’ self out of here, I won’t hesitate to kick your ass.”

Tony winced at my threat. "Alright, alright. Message received. Consider me gone."

His helmet returned over his head and he noisily disappeared into the night sky, propelled by the rockets in his suit. The gondola rocked at his sudden movement.

I rolled my eyes. "Moment ruined."

Wanda softly chuckled as she cupped my face in my hands. "Any moment with you is perfect, detka." She warmly smiled before leaning in to kiss me again.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fluff #fluff #wanda fluff #fluff fanfic #wanda x reader

[ms0milk]

teaching 1A how to drive

| standard shenanigans

a/n: spoiler alert they're absolutely uninsurable

Kirishima

god bless this boy

and god save his passengers

him and the brake pedal?

codependent

“okay, okay kirishima–ah! okay! that’s– oof, alright.”

he’s just so nervous that he wont be able to stop in time if something runs into the road!

so he stops a little extra just to be safe

on the freeway

in the middle of the street

when he thinks the green light will turn “any minute now”

for birds flying literal feet above you

“the sky is their domain Y/n! Why do they swoop so low?!”

“Kiri you absolutely cannot stop here!”

he could barely pull away from the school lot in his first few lessons without sending you into the dashboard

for someone so adept at hitting the breaks, you’d pray think he also drives slowly

you would obviously be very wrong

shamefully so

he's also too nervous to even listen to music at first

what if it played too loudly for him to see the road??

readers who drive u know what i mean

when u turn down the volume to see where tf you’re going better

he only agreed to let you teach him to drive at all so that he could be a well rounded hero!

what-- was he supposed to uber to the scene??

his quirk was hardening not apparition

the best he can manage is a brisk jog towards the crime

he decided quickly that familiarizing himself with public transportation was also a good idea

Bakugou

roughly around the start of second year, Bakugou chilled out a considerable amount

everywhere except behind the wheel of your beat up old car

saved up all his angst just in case someone ever offered to teach him to drive apparently

from start to finish the lessons lean towards the chaotic

“jesus your legs are short– how the fuck does the seat even go up this far?”

crack

well it won’t anymore

when you think he’s not looking, you rub the dashboard and whisper “i’m so sorry baby”

will never admit he likes to look at his reflection in the mirrors

thinks he looks real cool driving you around-- even in such a dumpy car

secretly named her Gravedigger

after the monster truck

he’s actually pretty decent when you’re the only car on the road

“it’s not hard as long as you’ve got half a brain in your head”

downplays how nervous he is when you suggest practicing merging onto the freeway in your fifth lesson

it’s usually irritating how naturally talented he is at everything

but for the past few weeks it proved to be a fucking blessing

however

he’s gonna be the number one hero right??

so he’s not about to lose to some shiny prius “revving” its engine beside you on an otherwise peaceful Saturday evening

“you wanna fucking tango?”

“kats, that’s an electric car how the fuck would they be revving us?”

obviously that old woman was challenging him to a race

she was but

you gaslit girlbossed the situation just enough to convince him not to follow her up a private driveway

Uraraka

oi mami mami!

you don’t know what it is that does it–

maybe it’s a mom-friend quality

maybe it's her mindful conservation of fuel

but when Uraraka sits behind the faded leather steering wheel

she gets like ♾️ time hotter

thats 901838749812931% for those in the back

even the first time you convinced her to take the car for a spin, before she even cared about getting her license

she made u & that beat up thing her little bitches

“okay Y/n, you promise you’ll tell me if I’m going to hit the curb right?”

you stood on the sidewalk and nodded dumbly as she sized up her very first parallel parking spot

but then she did the thing

nnng

the holding-the-back-of-the-passenger-seat and-turning-the-wheel-with-one-hand as-she-backs-up-thing

“Y/n? Am I–”

bonk

and you will cherish that dent in your bumper forever

Todoroki

was literally meant to be a chauffeur

you can’t even feel the car accelerating or coming to a stop and somehow you always get to where you’re going early?

three days in and you’re begging him to teach you how to drive

must’ve got big dick lessons from Uraraka because he palms the wheel like its nothing so he can keep one free hand full of more important things

your hand

namely snacks

accidentally kneed the horn the first time you taught him how to adjust the seat and now he has a weird obsession with it

it gives him a spike of serotonin

a noisy button

big fan

will honk at squirrels crossing the road

beep!

“Shoto no!”

“I have the right of way.”

“You can’t honk at traffic cops!”

likes to make a convenience store run before hitting the road every single time

can’t learn to drive without a yerb duh

quickly memorizes your gas station order

your weekly todoroki field trips are honestly the best

gets off on charging his dad’s credit card to fill up your tank whenever you drive together as repayment for your lessons

Deku

too responsible to get anywhere on time

he’s stopping at every yellow light

stopping at every railroad crossing

obeying the speed limit to the mile

he’s also:

losing your car keys

locking your car keys in the car when you teach him on how to pump gas for the first time

accidentally snapping your car keys in the ignition when the wheel gets stuck after parking

flushing the new keys you just got cut down the rest stop toilet

he also also

crafted a meticulously organized playlist that is a combination of both of your favorite cruise songs as a thank you gift for all of your help getting his license

always offers to DD after a party so you feel safe letting loose

stocked your car with water bottles

always gets out of the car last so he can whisper “thank you” into the steering wheel without you seeing

Denki

what happens when a car gets struck by lightning?

denki owes you 80$ for a new car battery that’s what

prefers so, so

so so

so

so much

to just take the subway

when he found out he needed a license to score an internship at his ideal agency after graduation, he came to you in tears

“Y/n, they don’t understand! Lives will be extinguished!”

“Kami don’t be dramatic, everyone feels that way when they first start driving. I’ll help you, It’s seriously no biggie”

holy fucking gigantic biggie

five minutes behind the wheel of your sweet, hard working baby

and he’s already mixed up the brake and the gas pedals twice

the car’s too fragile to be hitting so many mailboxes

a crossing guard’s nightmare

is not above closing his eyes when he gets extra nervous

driving down a narrow road or in bad weather

“it would be cheaper to just buy a new car and total it whenever i need to get somewhere” he whined at his pile of traffic violations

bonus round!

- ̗̀ Mina

absolutely lost cause

do not carpool

do not insure

❥ Asui

stops the car for every animal she sees

even if it’s like

in a field all the way away from the road

“just in case”

needs to sit on a phonebook to see over the dash

has an orgasmic house mix playlist to sooth her rookie driver jitters

- ̗̀ Sero

made a literal blood oath not to teach him

when he complains about not being able to “just get up and go wherever [he] likes”

Jiro and Momo stare you down before you can offer to help

they flash you their bandaged hands as a reminder

blood oath

❥ Iida

too impatient

will abandon the car in traffic if he thinks he can run somewhere faster

generally not a huge fan of cars

will not let you listen to catchy music while he’s behind the wheel in case:

“the singalong causes an unfortunate accident”

-5/10, very ominous student

50000/10 very fun to race

#sfw #i want to post more frequently! #i am limp in the clutches of writers block #and also avoiding finishing an emotional rengoku fic #mha #hcs #mha hcs #kirishima #bakugou #uraraka #todoroki #deku #denki #mina #sero #asui #iida

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Special Order

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, fingering, breeding and mentions of forced pregnancy.

This is dark!Lee Bodecker and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Based on this drabble request: Lee Bodecker + “Why are you crying?” + breeding/forced pregnancy + y/n is a waitress and the sheriff is obsessed with her, and what better way to make her his 4ever than put some babies on her.

“He’s here again,” Mandy said as you loaded up your tray.

You didn’t need to ask who, you heard his gruff response as he came in and was seated in his usual booth. He was always alone but insisted on a whole family-sized table to himself. You sighed and gave Mandy a look.

“I’ll just get this taken care of then see to him,” you promised as you turned carefully.

“Good, ‘cause I ain’t dealin’ with him no more and he won’t deal with no one but you,” she whined and put a ticket in the window.

“Yeah, I know,” you made yourself smile, “stubborn man that one.”

“I ain’t know why he prefers you,” Selma said as she loaded the coffee machine, “probably ‘cause none of us got the patience for that.”

“Patience,” you scoffed, “not what I would call it.”

You swept over to the family of five and set out the plates one at a time. You finished up at the table and replaced your tray on the stack. You looked at the sheriff and he stared back expectantly. He did that, just watched until you came over.

You went over with a sickly sweet smile and took out your notepad. You tapped your stubby pencil on the paper.

“And what are we gettin’ today, sheriff?” you asked in your sugary tone.

“Ah, now don’t be usin’ that voice with me, honey,” Sheriff Bodecker said as he fiddled with the menu.

“You need to start treatin’ the other girls nice,” you retorted.

“I don’t like the other girls,” he read his menu and frowned, “I never tried the… onion dip.”

“Uh huh,” you said unimpressed, “well, I’ll just warn you, sheriff, I can’t and I won’t stop Mandy from spitting in between the bread.”

He frowned at you and put the menu down. “I’m sorry, it’s not that I’m tryna be rude, honey--”

“What did I tell you about callin’ me that? I’ll overlook it once or twice but I’m not one to put up with your gull, you know that,” you lowered your brows at him.

“I’m not tryna be rude, miss,” he corrected himself, “I’m only… I only prefer you is all.”

“Sure, sure, is it my sunny smile or my breezy demeanour,” you teased, “the onion dip then?”

“Club sandwich, extra bacon… miss,” he folded up the menu, “please and thank you.”

“I’ll have Mandy bring it right over,” you said, “now you don’t make me come back, I got other customers.”

👮

When the diner closed, you took your usual route home. Your tips were tucked deep in your old purse and your scuffed soles padded on the pavement, then the dirt path that trailed off to the old country house. You lived with your ma on her father’s ancient farm, your pops long dead.

As you turned up the hill that led to the long drive, a flash of lights stopped you in your tracks. You looked up at the distant house, a single window lit by the old oil lamp your ma still used. You sighed and turned to face the cruiser parked in the shadows of the beech tree.

You recognized the silhouette as he stood straight behind the driver’s door. The sheriff fixed his hat as he came around and looked you over in the early twilight. He didn’t spend much time in town, often riding around the county and only stopping by to sit down at Sal’s and terrorise the waitresses.

“Sheriff,” you greeted, “whatcha doin’ around here?”

“Whatcha think?” Bodecker asked as he leaned against the hood, his large stomach sticking out from his open leather jacket.

“My ma’s waiting on me, I brought her leftovers from the diner,” you waved the paper bag.

“They already cold,” he lit a smoke and flicked it, “I wanna see ya.”

“Now, sheriff, we had our time--”

“I always thought I tip you well considerin’ the mouth on ya,” he took a long draw on the cigarette, “ain’t you?”

“Of course, sheriff, but I’m not on the clock right now and ma be expectin’ me,” you said.

He took another drag and threw the half-smoked stick away. He stood straight and reached to his holster. He unsnapped the small strap but made no move to free the pistol. You took a step back, terrified, and swallowed.

“Sheriff,” you said cautiously.

“Honey, please, you know I don’t be wantin’ to hurt you now,” he ran his thumb along the butt of the gun, “so you come put down those scraps and let me get a good look.”

You stared at his hand on his pistol. You took a deep breath and stepped closer. You set paper bag on the hood of his car and he slid your purse from your other arm. He tossed it beside the leftovers and trailed his fingers down your arm.

“I always thought that was a nice colour on ya,” he grabbed your wrist and pulled you against him, your ankles twisted and you collided with his round stomach.

“Thank you,” you looked past him as you smelled the bacon still on his breath.

“Look real nice, honey,” he undid the top button of your dress and you flinched, biting down as you stared at the beech bark. He groped your chest and you closed your eyes. When you opened them, they were wet. “Why are you crying?”

“Can I go now?” your voice wobbled despite your effort to hide your distress.

“We ain’t even started, honey,” he undid another button, and another, and exposed your cleavage above your brassiere “Look at you.”

“Please, sheriff, I want to go home,” you caught his hand and he grabbed your jaw. You choked on your fear as he turned you and pushed you against the bumper.

“You’ll be home soon enough,” he snarled, “you put your hand down my pants and make me let you go.”

You shook your head in disgust. You looked him in the face, all the light drained from his eyes as his jowls lined with malice. He squeezed your jaw and you cried out in pain. You reached to his belt blindly and fumbled to undo the buckle. You felt how hard he was through his pants as you pushed down his fly.

“You’re hurtin’ me,” you whispered as you pushed beneath his briefs.

“I could do a lot worse,” he threatened, “ah that’s it, honey.”

You wrapped your fingers around his dick. He was thick and hard against your palm. You stroked him and he shuddered as he leaned against you. His hand slipped down to play with your chest again. He had you pinned to the car as you kept your wrist moving in the confines of his pants.

He groaned and trembled as he urged you faster and you obeyed, turning your head to look at the farmhouse just up the rise. He grabbed your face again and leaned in. His hot breath grazed your lips and he pressed his mouth to your cheek.

He edged you back onto the car and stepped between your knees. Your skirt rode up as he forced your legs wide around him. You pushed on his chest with your free hand and he flung you onto your back with a vicious shove.

You sprawled across the hood, your bags falling to the ground as he grabbed your hips. He ripped your hand from inside his pants and rolled his briefs under his dick. You kicked out as he reached under your skirt and wrestled off your underwear. You cried out as he ripped them free of one ankle.

“No, please, don’t do this. Sheriff, please--”

“You can keep callin’ me sheriff,” he purred as he bent over you again and searched for your entrance with his fingers.

“How long’s it been?” he asked as he caught his tip and poked it along your hole, “Two years, you think I’ll wait forever.”

“I don’t-- Get off of me,” you sank your nails into his leather jacket desperately, “get--”

You gulped as he sank into you all at once. It hurt and sent a pang up your spine. Your wet eyes began to leak as you realised you couldn’t stop him. He thrust and sent another agonizing bolt through you.

“Two years, honey, you think we got time left?” he rutted between ragged pants, “‘bout time you get a baby on ya.”

“Wha-- oh, please--” you gasped as he kept you pinned to the cold hood of the car.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of ya,” he rasped, “you ain’t gotta keep pourin’ coffee.”

“Stop,” you whispered and closed your eyes, “please..”

Your pleas fizzled and you let him get on, praying it would end. He fucked you harder with each thrust, fueled by your pathetic cries and the sound of him inside of you. He cradled your head as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His breath singed your skin as he spasmed and spilled inside of you.

When he stopped, you couldn’t move. He pulled out of you with a grunt and his cum dripped from your cunt. You nearly slipped down the hood and barely got your feet under you before you could crumple. You rubbed your fingers through the sticky cum on your thigh and refused to look at him.

“Look at the mess you made of me, honey,” he purred, “the mess I made of you.”

You wiped his cum on your skirt, revolted by the cooling slickness. You pulled your dress straight and left your underwear in the dirt. You glanced at him but he didn’t make a move, only watched you with delight as his hands rested on his open belt.

Numb and unsure, you turned and grabbed up your purse and grease-stained paper bag from the ground. He chuckled and you heard his belt clink. You stumbled through the dirt as he let you go.

“I be seein’ you tomorrow,” he called after you, “I’ll make sure to take a long lunch.”

👮👮👮

Please reblog and like! Let me know what you think.

#dark lee bodecker #lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #dark!lee bodecker #The Devil All The Time #request #drabble #dark fic #dark!fic #fic #dark drabble

[shakey-hands]

please please can we get fukuzawa awkwardly having to tell ranpo he’s dating reader and the two of them start fighting and reader is subjected to it??? 😍����

haha yeah. first ask that imma answer, let me know if you guys want more. my asks are open for any (except mineta gross) mha, ouran, or bungo characters :)

{this one is gonna be done with she/her pronouns but if you ask for gender neutral or he/him or any other pronouns, i can do it}

---

The clock struck two when Y/N looked at her phone, leg bouncing up and down in a way that always annoyed the people around her. Great. It was thirty minutes past their meeting time and her boyfriend still had not shown up with what she understood was his adopted son.

It had been a good plan. Meet on neutral territory, gas up (what Y/N assumed was) a teenage boy with a sweets addiction, and then break the news. Y/N was not sure why they needed to go through such lengthy troubles to inform her boyfriend’s son that they were dating. He was at least old enough to understand what dating was. And from what she had heard from Kunikida, Fukuzawa’s son had a very prominent dating life of his own. But Y/N trusted her boyfriend, no matter how many times he looked off into the distance with quiet wisdom that felt vague.

Y/N sipped her tea, realizing that caffeine would only worsen her anxiety. It didn’t matter how many times Fukuzawa and Kunikida tried to tell her that the meeting wouldn’t be a big deal and that the son would love her, she wasn’t so sure. He was working at the Armed Detective Agency and was good at what he did. At least those were Kunikida’s words as Y/N and him were quietly reading in the same room as they did on Saturday nights. While Y/N appreciated Kunikida for his straight forward/driven personality, he did not fare well in comforting her.

Which brought her to her boyfriend. His solid, piercing eyes would always soften as she talked about her day over their dinner dates and he would brush the back of his hand on her cheek in the moments they were alone with one another. While Y/N rarely noticed because she herself was too infatuated with him, Fukuzawa cared deeply for her after seven months of dating. Their last hurdle was introducing Y/N to Ranpo. Fukuzawa was not at all worried since Y/N had a knack for making sweets and made people feel as if they were special when she smiled at them. There was never a shortage of praise around her.

Y/N checked her phone again, hoping that an apology text would come through and she would not be left in the dark. That however was proving difficult. Fukuzawa was driving with Ranpo eating cotton candy in the passenger seat. He had to be bribed away from the sweets table Dazai had set up for some ungodly known reason to mess with Atsushi. It was embarrassing how long it took for Kunikida to pry Ranpo’s little grubby hands away from the snacks and then another amount of time for Fukuzawa to get Ranpo to put on his seatbelt.

It made Fukuzawa nervous that he was so late. He knew Y/N would be understanding, it was part of the reason he enjoyed her company so much. Knowing her, she would probably be bouncing her knee and staring down at the table, overthinking things. He, of course, was right.

As Fukuzawa was pulling into the parking lot, he spotted his girlfriend’s car. It was pristine, as always, and had a small cat paw sticker on the back left bumper. He smiled inwardly, realizing that he had been waiting for this. There was a future with Y/N and Fukuzawa couldn’t wait.

Ranpo still had yet to get out of the car, his glasses dangling from his shirt pocket and a light dusting of sugar crystals on his lips. He was pouting, of course. Kunikida did not pack enough snacks for the car ride, meaning Ranpo did not have the mental energy to get out of the car and go into whatever flop coffee shop the president insisted they go into. People were so stupid and Ranpo already just finished a case that was so obvious. The local police really needed to be more useful.

“Get out of the car,” Fukuzawa said, getting more and more agitated.

“No,” Ranpo said.

“Let’s go. I promise there will be sweets inside the shop.”

“So? There were sweets at the agency.”

Fukuzawa rolled his eyes, knowing Ranpo would sit in the car out of stubbornness. “Ranpo-”

“Yukichi?” A soft voice called out from the entrance of the cafe.

Fukuzawa turned to see Y/N standing right outside. She had a to-go cup of something hot in her hands, jacket sleeves pulled over her hands to stop the warmth from burning her skin. Even though it was overcast and windy, Y/N still seemed to have a certain glow about her that always took Fukuzawa’s breath away. She waved timidly, not knowing why he was awkwardly standing behind his parked car with a weird defensive stance. He nodded over to her, giving her a genuine smile before turning his head back to the car and glaring.

“Is everything okay?”

Y/N began to approach her boyfriend. The only other time she had seen her boyfriend have this stance was when she had bumped into some eyebrowless pale emo kid in an accident at the mall. Fukuzawa seemed to pick the weird fights, but she just smiled through it. His eyes held a certain annoyance the Y/N had not seen before. Her eyebrows furrowed as she took a step off the curb. Fukuzawa held out his hand, motioning her to not get closer. Y/N paused, unsure about his demeanor.

“Ranpo, don’t make me ask again.” Fukuzawa’s voice held a bass to it that Y/N had never heard before. She could only assume it was his dad voice that he has never had to use with her.

The window rolled down on the old car for just a crack. “I don’t remember a question being asked.”

The voice was whiny and slightly muffled, as if the speaker had sweets in his mouth. Fukuzawa rolled his eyes and put his hand on the glass. Y/N was slightly shocked by her boyfriend, but decided to let him do his thing. She was not a parent and the closest time she had ever been was when she had a babysitting gig decades ago when she was a teen. While she was interested in a family, she had neither the time nor mental capacity to follow through. So she stepped back onto the curb and took a sip of her tea, relishing in the warmth it provided.

“Ranpo, if you don’t get out of the damned car, there will be no sweets at the agency for a year.”

A clear threat had been made.

The door slammed into the car next to it, causing a dent that Fukuzawa watched form. Out from the passenger seat, a short man with a slight pout crawled out of the car. Definitely not the young teenager Y/N had been expecting. He was only slightly taller than Y/N and wore a cape. In fact, he looked like a full grown adult, maybe only ten years younger than Y/N. Her face said it all, though neither men were looking at her. They just stared one another down before Fukuzawa remembered his loving girlfriend stood awkwardly behind him. He motioned for her to come over.

Ranpo did not look impressed as he looked her up and down. Y/N looked too ordinary to know Fukuzawa in her jeans and plain jacket combo. Her shoes were dirty from all the yard work she had done throughout the years. As she got closer, Ranpo watched closely as Fukuzawa gently touched the small of her back before wrapping his arm around her waist. While Ranpo had never seen the President act like this, he did not care.

“Ranpo, I would like you to meet-”

Ranpo yawned loudly. “She’s way too old for me. Almost to hag status.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. She began to stumble over her words, not knowing how to respond. Fukuzawa’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. He couldn’t believe that Ranpo would even think he was trying to set them up. Ranpo made a disgusted face.

“No offense lady, but you don’t even look fun. Like all you do is sit in the dark and contemplate the excitement of frostingless yellow cake.”

How do you respond to that?

Y/N looked down, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. She was suddenly thankful for the sudden gust of wind that burned her cheeks, a sign that snow was rolling in. Who insults like that? The little sniffle that Y/N let out set Fukuzawa back into the present instead of the daydream he had slipped into where Ranpo got his ass beat.

“You can’t talk to her like that,” Fukuzawa said sternly. “And she’s not here for you.”

“Obviously. She could never handle the Greatest Detective.”

“No!” Fukuzawa said, tightening his grip on her waist. “I wanted you two to meet because we’ve been dating for a while and I thought it was finally time for you two to meet.”

Ranpo suddenly scoffed dramatically. Once. Twice. Three times. “And here I thought we agreed never to keep secrets! And all this time you’ve been giving your praise to someone else!”

Fukuzawa looked at the small man incredulously. “I’m allowed to date, Ranpo.”

“Not really!” Ranpo exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air. Those who were passing by continuously glanced, wondering why they were arguing so loudly in a public space. “How gross is that! You’re like centuries old!”

“Look, I just thought you’d want to be in the know. If I had known you’d throw a tantrum, I would have just waited until after we were married.”

In that moment, Ranpo and Y/N spoke simultaneously:

“Tantrum?!”

“Married!?”

“Oh I’ll show you a tantrum!”

Ranpo pushed the old car to make it move back and forth in its parked place before beginning to punch the glass. There was no real power behind his throws, so there were soft thumps being emitted. Next he started to kick the tires, also without power behind his movements. He truly had transformed into a toddler, making the people walking by walk a little faster. He came off as some random crazy person on the street rather than an acclaimed detective.

Fukuzawa didn’t know where to look until a warm soft hand held his cheek, guiding his eyes towards Y/N’s. She smiled softly, ignoring Ranpo as he began to get physical. Her smile caused a chain reaction in Fukuzawa’s heart, making him resist the urge to get down on one knee at that very instance. He did have the ring adding weight to his pocket. She kissed his forehead, making him awkwardly bend down as she chuckled against his skin.

“You want to marry me?”

Fukuzawa blushed slightly. “In due time, of course.”

She chuckled again and nodded. “Of course.”

“I’m not calling her mom!”

#bungo stray dogs #fukuzawa yukichi #fukuzawa x reader #ranpo

[missjoolee]

And I can't wait to get on the road again

There is a music festival up near Sacramento that they got tickets to, so they leave early in the morning with the idea to check in at their motel before they head for the festival. Between Julie, Flynn, and Willie, Flynn is the "morning person", so she picks the other two up with a gift of coffee and starts up her epic road trip playlist as they hop onto I-5 North. Willie called shotgun so Julie is in the back seat, eyes glazed over, absentmindedly nodding along to the music as she waits for the caffeine to kick in.

Shortly after they leave the city proper, traffic thins out and Julie is enjoying the scenic landscape that is so different from the city, when a beat up station wagon begins passing them on the left. Not paying much attention to it, she suddenly locks eyes with a brunette in a beanie in their backseat. He smiles and it’s so beautiful that she can’t help smiling back. Then, the wagon has pulled passed, successfully breaking her out of the moment, and she gets pulled back into conversation with Flynn and Willie.

About an hour later a familiar station wagon begins passing them again. Julie is looking at it confused, when she makes eye contact with the same guy in a beanie as before and he he mouths what looks like “bathroom” while pointing towards the front seats. She mouths back “oh” and a sheepish grin takes over his face, biting his bottom lip. It’s kind of adorable so she, again, returns the grin and then throws him a small wave goodbye as his car pulls all the way passed them again. She barely sees his sheepish expression morph into one of radiant joy. It's a good look on him and she can't help but wonder what it'd be like to have a smile like that directed at her on a regular basis.

They have been on the road for two and half hours when that same station wagon, creeping past on their left, draws Julie's attention back outside. The moment their eyes meet this time, she is raising an eyebrow, fake judgement clear. He's apparently prepared for their interaction, lifting up a bag of chips and a Gatorade. "Snacks." he mouths at her. She shakes her head at him in amusement when he drops the snacks and starts miming at her and mouthing something else at the same time. First he points at Julie ("you"), then he waves his hands around his head, spinning his fingers in tight circles as their moment together draws to an end. She's  disappointed that he wasn't able to finish his thought when she sees him turn forward. Next thing she knows, the wagon stops passing them and drifts back so that she can see the guy again, now keeping speed with them instead. Julie lets out a laugh at him as he shoots her a smug look, ignoring Flynn's questioning tone from the driver's seat. He starts miming again and it's only because Julie was forced to play charades with her dad for years that she is able to figure out what this guy is trying to say. "Your hair is beautiful." Oh. Heat rises to her cheeks and she says "thank you", grin softening. A honk from behind them alerts them that another car has pulled up behind them and doesn't appreciate their blocking the fast lane. The station wagon begins speeding up again. They share a wave goodbye and Julie spends the next half hour with a goofy grin on her face.

It's been four hours since they left LA, and Flynn's playlist has picked up in energy. Sandstorm by Darude comes on and Flynn's sedan becomes a nightclub, the bass loud and all three of them dancing in their seats. Julie dances her hands all around to the melody when movement in her peripheral draws her attention to the window. A laugh is startled out of her when she sees the whole occupancy of the station wagon dancing along with them. It's obvious that they don't know what song they are dancing to, because they are all dancing to different beats.. The moment he clocks Julie's delight at their antics, Beanie's smile gets bigger and he tries to mimic her hand movements. This time, the wagon doesn't slow down but they keep dancing together until they have passed and are merging back into the right lane. In Flynn's car, the dance party continues. This is definitely turning into one of the most memorable road trips Julie has been on.

They make their own stop at a rest area 30 minutes later for a bathroom break. They use this time to switch up the seating order and Willie takes the wheel. The problem is, his driving is so erratic that Flynn can’t be in the front when he drives because she will otherwise spend all her time stressed out grabbing at the “oh shit” handle whilst trying to push on the imaginary breaks. This means Julie gets a turn at being in the front.  With Willie's lead foot, it isn’t long before she sees a familiar station wagon up ahead. Then Willie is throwing on the indicator lights and moving into the passing lane and it’s now their turn to pass the other vehicle. There is a cute Blonde at the wheel and it looks like he's shouting something before Brunette Guy is leaning across the back seat, a look of wonder on his face, to look out the window at them. Julie has just enough time to throw up a peace sign with her fingers, stick her tongue out at them, and see his responding huff of a laugh, before their sedan has pulled passed and the distance between them grows at a rate that Julie knows it will be the last they see of them.

They make it to their motel, quickly check in, and drop off their overnight bags. They don't waste time as the doors open in an hour and there is sure to be a line for parking. Once in line, they roll the windows down and Julie enjoys the sunlight and breeze as their excitement for the festival grows. They've abandoned the road trip playlist by now and are playing their favorite songs they hope to hear later today from that big stage. They creep closer to the parking entrance until finally they have a pink paper to put on the dash and are being directed by people in yellow vests with orange batons to the next available parking spot. They take a few minutes to apply sun screen before getting out of the car. Julie stretches her arms above her head, glad she'll be out of the car for a while, when she hears a shout behind her that draws her attention.

"Hey, Luke! It's your Backseat Beauty!"

Julie turns and her eyes immediately catch on a station wagon further down the line of cars that she's become quite acquainted with today. Looking around, her eyes eventually land on three guys, one in a familiar beanie, squabbling a few cars away. Beanie guy has a different brunette in a headlock and is giving him a noogie, while the Blonde chastises them both. Leaning against the back bumper, Julie giggles at the sight, the sound grabbing their attention and Beanie drops his friend as they approach Flynn's car. He smiles down at her.

"Hey."

"Hi", she smiles back.

"I'm Luke, by the way." His expression turns slightly unsure, hand creeping up to the back of his neck. It's completely endearing and Julie's smile softens as she offers her hand to shake.

"Julie."

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

This idea came to me while on my own road trip last weekend where there was a lady with really beautiful hair in a car we passed and I got to wondering how I might have told her. Then the Jukebox part of the brain quickly laid claim and here we are. While the dancing hands to Sandstorm is something my friends and I have done since high school, it definitely got me thinking about a scene from @pearlcaddy‘s Wizarding World of Food Service series and really, I’ll take any opportunity to hype that au.

#I made a thing! #joolee attempts writing #Juke #jukebox #jatp #julie and the phantoms #this wasn't meant to be 1300 words #ideas went a bit wild and at one point an fm adapter tried to force it's way in #but i managed to prune down the shenanigans

[spicycreativity]

Good Omens but Make It Moceit (unfinished)

I said I would do it and I tried very, very hard but it's not looking like I'm going to be able to finish because ✨mental health reasons✨

Here's what I have so far (about 8k words)

EDEN

It is a little-known theological fact that the invention of the hypothetical coincided nearly perfectly with the invention of the thunderstorm, the latter being a rather effable invention of God, all things considered, and the former springing forth from the troubled mind of Phaedaël, the angel of the Eastern gate. The first drops of rain pattered to the ground and he curved one wing upward to protect his head. Addressing his companion, he said, "I'm sorry, but I don't think I should be talking to you."

"Oh, and what a shame," cooed the serpent, who hadn't yet chosen a name, "and here I was so hoping you'd wring the details out of me."

"Oh," said the angel, considering this. He shifted uncomfortably, and made a face like he'd just been forced to swallow something bitter. "Well… What did you say to her?"

"Don't patronize me," said the serpent. He paused. "I don't suppose you could enlighten me, angel, on what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil?"

"They broke the rules," said the angel firmly.

"I don't suppose it matters that the rule was arbitrary?" The angel drew in a breath to reply, but the serpent cut him off, looking him up and down suddenly as though seeing him for the first time. A sly smile tugged at his lips. "Lose something?"

"No!" said the angel, far too quickly.

"Oh, come on. Lying doesn't become an angel."

"It's not a lie!" the angel insisted.

"Well, then. Please do tell me what happened to that flaming sword of yours."

The rain began to fall in earnest. A thunderclap sounded overhead. The angel said, "What if you had an opportunity to help someone--"

"What if?" repeated the serpent incredulously.

"What if," persisted the angel, "someone could benefit from something you were supposed to have, but weren't really using?"

The serpent began to laugh. "Don't tell me you gave it--" he gestured into the distance-- "to them?" A few more hysterical cackles escaped his chest, but he swallowed the rest down at the anguished look on the angel's face. "Oh, relax. If you did it, it can't have been bad, can it? Angels don't do bad."

"And demons don't do good?" the angel looked at the serpent with uncertainty.

"Oh, yes," purred the serpent, "we're wicked to the core."

The angel went silent, considering this.

The thunder roared, the rain came down harder, the serpent remained, and the angel very gently lifted his other wing to keep his companion dry.

Who, after all, prayed for the Devil?

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

God (God)

Logan (Patton's overseer)

Satan (A Fallen Angel; The Fallen Angel, one might say)

Remus (Janus' overseer)

Janus (An angel who did not so much fall as back away muttering "I'm really going to do it this time; no one try to stop me")

Roman (a lover)

Virgil (an Antichrist)

Dog (hellhound, hellraiser, and sleeping partner)

21 YEARS AGO

In the Valendale Regional Military Cemetery lurked a demon.

Well, he lurked as best as he was able, given that the ambiance was all off for lurking. He had fudged the timing a little, being unaccustomed to the nature of the passage of time on Earth, and had accidentally arrived just in time to witness a beautiful sunrise over Florida's eastern coast. Half the sky was a magnificent golden ocean with waves of orange and pink. The military cemetery had also been a mistake, though this one bothered him less. While he had been hoping for something a little more ancient and decrepit, he soon began to console himself by playing hopscotch on the clean, flat grave markers, delighting in the muddy bootprints he left behind him.

Besides, he liked the way 'military cemetery' rolled off the tongue.

When he inevitably got bored of desecrating graves, he threw himself down in the grass and began to look for worms and bugs with which he might decorate his uniform.

This was Remus, a Duke of Hell.

He found a worm and began to speak to it, watching it writhe around in his palm. "I'm so bored."

He spent a good few seconds coming up with a voice to use to represent the worm, then asked himself in a high-pitched squeak, "Why's that, your

Grace?"

Remus cupped the worm in his hands and rolled over, nearly kicking the basket he'd brought with him. This bothered him less than it rightfully should have, considering what was inside. He only gave a blithe "Oops!" and returned his attention to the worm. "That little subordinate of mine is making me wait!"

The worm said, "You should punish him!"

"Good idea!" Remus exclaimed, stroking the worm with his fingertip. "What do you think, should I spank him? Make him kiss my boots? Or--" He cut himself off, having just caught sight of flashing red and blue lights in the near distance. Sirens had been echoing on and off throughout the night, but they were very near now. "There's my bitch!" he said with undisguised affection. He put the worm in his pocket and stood up.

The Interstate Highway System was ostensibly developed under the command of United States President Dwight D Eisenhower in order to facilitate the movement of personal use vehicles, public transportation vehicles, and self-propelled field artillery across the country. This project, as anyone who has ever attempted to traverse the Interstate Highway System can tell you, was a catastrophic failure. The criss-crossing network of freeways, highways, turnpikes, and byways is frequently backed up with bumper-to-bumper traffic.

What most hapless travelers of the Interstate Highway System do not know is that the cloverleaf interchange, one of the most commonly-used interchanges in city planning, is also the exact same shape as the sigil det in the written language of the Church of the Black Clock. Written correctly, it means "black fire upon my enemies, devour their souls!" (Note: Written incorrectly, it reads "kneel, gay men.") Every day, commuters slow traffic via their own ill-wishes on fellow drivers, granted life by the sigil. (It is a known fact that every driver on the freeway considers every other driver on the freeway an enemy).

It was one of Janus' most diabolical achievements. He was quite proud of himself, not only in the end result but in his methods. While a lesser demon might have had to go to the trouble of hands-on work: hacking computers, making bribes, and, Satan-forbid, possibly even sneaking out at night to move marker pegs by hand, all Janus had had to do was talk. He was quite good at getting people to do his bidding once he got his foot in the door.

Something Janus had inexplicably failed to account for was the fact that he, too, would occasionally need to use the freeway system. Such was the curse of Janus' great evil deeds: more often than not, they slalomed between his legs like a wily terrier and bit him squarely on the ass.

The irony snuck up on him sometimes.

Janus had dark hair and high cheekbones. His eyes and tongue were really only unusual if you looked at them twice, and he had a tendency to hiss when he forgot himself. He looked far too young, far too handsome, and far too svelte for the 1957 Cadillac Deville he was driving, bearing no resemblance at all to the sort of wealthy, elderly man who deals in classic cars.

He checked his watch, which also seemed too old for him, and glanced at the rearview mirror. Normally he enjoyed the minor thrill of having cops on his tail, but his exit was coming up and he did have someplace to be.

What he did next lacked imagination, but it got the job done: With one complicated hand gesture, he turned both officers into pigs and gently glided their cars to the shoulder. Then he turned on his blinker and took his exit.

Remus watched the police lights disappear  with impassivity, bouncing on his toes. When Janus finally emerged through the wrought iron gates, having bent reality to get past them, he raised his arms and shouted, "Hail Satan!"

Janus acknowledged this with two lifted fingers. "So sorry I'm late," he said, bringing his hand smoothly upward to tip his hat, "it's just that I don't value your time in comparison to mine." The sarcastic inflection was so light the words could very well be sincere. But of course Janus always meant every word of what he'd said. (Now that's

sarcastic inflection)!

Remus gave a feral grin. Janus was his favorite subordinate. "Wanna see my worm?"

Millennia of acquaintanceship had freed Janus from the notion that he needed to be polite to Remus. The demon was as twisted as they came and nearly immune to flattery. "As much as I'd love to, shouldn't we get this over with?"

"Yeah, yeah." Remus looked around. "Hm, now where did I put the basket?"

The basket was currently sitting atop the headstone for a General T. Pratchett. Janus spied it first and indicated it to Remus with a flicker of his yellow irises, careful not to let a trace of his hesitancy show on his face. He didn't even let himself hesitate when Remus, who had hopscotched over to the basket and then back over to Janus, thrust it out to him.

"So this is really it," Janus murmured, wrapping both gloved hands around the handle of the basket. Then he began to work. "What a high honor."

"So they say," Remus said.

"Remus, be honest with me." Brief pause, just enough for Remus to wonder at the weight in Janus' voice. "Did you pull some strings to ensure I was the one who got this task? Do I owe you a favor?"

"Are you about to thank me?" Remus asked, tilting his head. Addressing the worm in his breast pocket, he said, "Listen up, this should be good."

"So you did?"

"Of course not."

Here it was. After a few seconds of rallying, his ace: "So why me?"

"You've been in the field the longest." Remus' grin widened to an impossible degree and he grabbed Janus by the lapels of his immaculate suit jacket, coming nose to nose. "Some of us think you're getting soft."

Janus smiled back, the unblinking predator's grin of a snake about to strike, and hefted the basket. "We'll see about that." And he extricated his lapels from Remus' grasp and turned to leave.

"You didn't say hi to my worm!" Remus called after him. Janus did not reply. Remus fished the worm out of his pocket. "How rude."

"The nerve of some demons," agreed the worm.

The Cadillac's speedometer hit 110. Janus fumbled for the volume knob with a shaking hand. The radio was permanently set to 98.5 The Jukebox, which only ever seemed to play Queen.

"Shit," Janus muttered as majestic panned harmonies began to emanate from his speakers. "Shit-shit-shit. Why now? Why me?"

BECAUSE, came the harmonic vocals, YOU'VE EARNED IT.

Janus bit down on his tongue to keep from swearing. Communication via electronics had been another one of his ideas, hoping he'd be issued a BlackBerry or a Nokia. But no. Instead, upper management just cut into whatever he was listening to at the time and twisted it. "Thank you very much, my lord," he said, working very very hard to instill his voice with the proper amount of unctuous ooze.

THIS IS IMPORTANT, JANUS.

"Yes, my lord."

THIS IS THE BIG ONE.

"Yes, my lord."

AND YOU UNDERSTAND, JANUS, THAT IF THIS GOES WRONG, EVERYONE INVOLVED WILL BE PUNISHED. EVEN YOU. ESPECIALLY YOU.

"I understand."

GOOD. YOUR INSTRUCTIONS.

And suddenly, he just knew. A new Queen song began to play on 98.5 The Jukebox, and Janus hissed and slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel. "What was the point of all that, then?" he demanded of Freddie Mercury.

Freddie Mercury replied, "Don't stop me now! 'Cause I'm havin' a good time!"

Janus rolled his eyes and changed lanes without signaling. He had been instructed to head straight to a hospital on the edge of town. It was technically in an unincorporated community called Misty, but for all intents and purposes, Misty was Valendale. If he kept up this pace (the needle of the speedometer now closer to 130), he could be there in five minutes. Joy.

It had all been going so well, too. He'd really hit his stride in the 21st century, and now here was Hell pulling the rug out from under his shiny Armani brogues. Armageddon. What a nightmare.

In the Publix baking aisle, two angels stood side by side. One of them was Phaedaël, who had lately adopted the name 'Patton,' feeling it suited his corporation.

The other had been christened 'Loirea' once upon a time. As Heaven began to

modernize, Loirea had been the first among the angels to adapt to the changes being made. He had even taken on the name 'Logan' as a show of good faith. 

Both of the angels were human-shaped, having discovered early on that it's much easier to get things done when you have limbs as opposed to flaming wheels of eyes and animal heads poking out at odd angles.

Both wore glasses. Patton's glasses were round, wire-rimmed things, of the sort usually found on kindly old librarians and stern but fair headmasters of all-boy's boarding schools. Logan's glasses were made of shiny black plastic and looked like they could draw blood if strategically applied to a sufficiently tender area.

Patton was, at the moment, holding a bag a semolina flour under one arm and awkwardly attempting to explain himself. "It's called 'cooking.' It's actually really clever, you take ingredients and combine them--"

"Why?" Logan interrupted 

"Oh, uh, well," Patton hesitated, shamefaced, "it makes food."

"Eating," Logan said in such a forceful tone of dismissal that three boxes of brownie mix turned to ash behind him. "I don't understand why you waste your time."

"It helps me blend in," Patton said with a sheepish smile. Everything from his shoes to his shirt was a shade of white or blue; he'd never been comfortable dealing in gray areas.

"I see." Logan adjusted his tie. "Well, I'll let you get back to it in a moment. I just came to pass on a message: Our intel has given us reason to believe that Armageddon is underway."

"Oh," said Patton vaguely, staring at a bag of something labeled 'pasta flour.' "Oh!"

"We'd like for you to keep an eye on Janus. He's a demon; he's on a similar mission to yours."

"I, uh," Patton swallowed hard, staring right through the pasta flour, "I've heard of him."

"Good." Logan put his hand on Patton's shoulder and looked him dead in the eye. "Patton."

"Y-yes?"

"When I say 'keep an eye on' I mean I want you to watch him. It's a figure of speech."

Patton nodded, forcing his mouth to curve into a pale imitation of a smile. Logan nodded back and vanished.

"Well," Patton said to the pasta flour, "fiddlesticks."

Brother Emile Analogical had been raised a Satanist. There is no such thing as an orthodox Satanist, but if there was, that would be the kind of Satanism that Brother Emile's parents had practiced. He had graduated with unspectacular grades, joined the Paralleling Order of Saint Botild, and promptly moved from Nebraska to Florida: more specifically, to the unincorporated community of Misty in the greater Valendale area. The climate had taken some getting used to, not to mention the long, black robes he had to wear, but he had survived the transition and found himself a good fit for the Paralleling Order.

Note: Saint Botild Comminalitus of Malmö was reputed to have been martyred in the middle of the fifth century, for reasons unclear. It is said that the Lord granted him the power to draw parallels and connections between topics; his last words are reported to have been "This reminds me of that one story about Loptr, when he--" Then his assailants lit the pyre.

At the moment, Brother Emile was thinking about the tall, dark figure stalking down the hallways at him holding a basket, likening him to a Scooby-Doo villain, the way the shadows seemed to stick to him.

"Jinkies!" said Brother Emile once the figure was in earshot.

Janus raised an eyebrow at him over the tops of his sunglasses. "Hello."

Unphased by the cold greeting, Brother Emile pointed to the basket. "Is that the fairly odd baby?" he asked in a high-pitched coo that indicated he already suspected the answer.

"No," said Janus, rolling his eyes. "It's a basket of kittens I saved from drowning. Aren't you wondering why I'm all wet?"

"You're," Brother Emile started, and Janus braced himself, fearing the last frayed thread of his patience might snap if the sentence ended with the word 'dry,' "a Mister Grumpy Gills, aren't you?'

Janus thrust the basket at Brother Emile and did not dignify him with any answer more notable than a slight thinning of

his lips.

Brother Emile drew back the blankets and began to babble at the sleeping Antichrist. Janus took the opportunity to flee.

"Look at you," Brother Emile said happily. "Sleeping in a pic-a-nic basket, huh, Boo-boo?"

After a few more moments of cooing, babytalk, and Boomerang references, he remembered himself and found a wheeled bassinet for the baby Antichrist. 

There is a game, common among carnies and street magicians in which a ball is hidden under cups and shuffled around. Unbeknownst to himself, the two sets of new parents, and all the friars at St Botild's, Brother Emile Analogical was about to become a mark.

And Hell had had nothing to do with it.

same rate, and good and evil had a knack for balancing themselves out in the grand scheme of things. And this left Janus and Patton free to pursue other passions, which somehow resulted in the two of them spending a great deal of time in each other's company.

silence. "It's not even that I disagree with you," he said apologetically. "It's just, well, you know, I'm not allowed to disobey."

his hazelnut hot chocolate. "What's a shame?"

Janus nodded. "Roman Dowling."

Roman was about to turn 21, and lived his life according to the belief that everyone over the age of 30 was, in some degree, an 'elder').

wanna do that."

"Roman!"

people; every social interaction, no matter how minor, always kept his body as tense as wire.

#sanders sides #moceit #this is a pastiche meaning it's not my usual writing style #basically i deliberately wrote in the style of pratchett/gaiman #just in case you were wondering lmao #anyway you can bug me about finishing it if the urge strikes you; i'm not one of those people who gets mad about stuff like that #it certainly won't hurt #i really do want to finish but at the moment im not really in a place where i feel like i can make art #spicypost #spicywrites #i guess i'll throw in some character tags #janus sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders

[jimlingss]

Speaking of AUs and plots, OC damages someones car by accident and instead of money they want to be paid back in dates.

Anonymous said: For the request: “I can make you a deal you can’t refuse.”

↳ Auto Date Claim

2.3k || 100% Light Fluff || Kim Seokjin

Seokjin grips the steering wheel.

He blows through the yellow light even though he should’ve stopped but there’s no time to waste, not when the last thing he wants is to be late for the meeting. Everything has to be perfect.

Which is what makes this phone call the worst.

“I’m not coming.”

“What?!” Jin looks to the display screen where there’s Jisoo’s name as if he can telepathically send her his exasperated expression. “Why not?!” 

“You know why. I don’t want to be a doll that’s supposed to sit there silently, Seokjin. I’m done.”

“No. Please. You know how important this meeting is to me. You can’t be doing this—”

“Oh, yes I can.”

She hangs up. Seokjin groans, the urge to slam his forehead against the steering wheel overwhelming. But he resists and when he gets to the next red light, he frantically calls Yoongi.

The dial tone rings over his car speakers and then the man picks up. Yoongi is calm by nature and there’s little that can faze him. But now, his voice pitches up every so slightly. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you on your way to meeting the Jeon’s?”

“Yeah, but Jisoo just called to tell me she’s not coming.”

“Oh shit.”

Family. Marriage. Commitment. They’re essential pillars for the Jeon’s who’ve been married for fifty years. They’re old school, the epitome of tradition. The plan was for Jin to look like a family man too, to add to his own integrity and to show that he shares the Jeon’s company values. And everything matters when it comes to the contract they’ve been trying to sign for the past year. A minuscule detail like this could tip the scales and make the Jeon’s sign with the competitor instead.

“Is Irene there?” Jin asks as he drives. “Maybe she can come instead.”

“She’s already running an errand for Hoseok. Just...make something up. Maybe you can say—”

At the exact same time, as Seokjin stops for a red light, the entire car jolts forward without warning. He nearly slams his head on the wheel — this time, unintentionally. 

What the fuc—

“Yoongi, wait. I just got rear-ended.”

“What?!”

As if things couldn’t get worse today. Jin undoes his seat belt and climbs out of the car. The perpetrator of the accident also gets out and he looks at you who’s completely wide-eyed.

“I’m so sorry!” you screech in horror. “I was just singing to this new album and looking around, I’ve never driven on this street before and I wasn’t paying attention, I’m so so sorry.”

You come to look at the damage at his bumper and a gasp tears from your throat. It’s a Maserati.

You don’t know much about cars, but even you’re aware this is a luxury vehicle imported from somewhere in Europe. Germany. France. Italy. One of those fancy countries where you haven’t even dreamed of traveling to. You don’t know much but one thing’s certain — you’re so fucked.

As you’re losing your mind, Seokjin taps his foot and checks his watch. 

His eyes bulge when he realizes the hour’s almost up. “Do you have your insurance information?” he blurts, interrupting your internal meltdown.

“I-Insurance?” You deflate all at once. “I don’t.”

Seokjin sighs and glances over his shoulder. The Hwagae Hotel where the meeting was taking place was so close that he could practically see the entrance door from here.

There’s no more time to waste.

“I’m heading to the Hwagae Hotel.” He points down the street. “Do you want to talk about it there?”

You nod dejectedly and get back into your car to follow him into the hotel’s parking lot before you slow down traffic any more than you already have. Getting more angry drivers on your back is the last thing you need at the moment. At the same time, your mind scrambles for solutions. But it comes up empty.

God fucking dammit. You shouldn’t have been cheap. You should’ve just gone hungry for an entire week to get the car insurance. Why on earth did you think you didn’t need it?!

By the time you get out of your car again, you’re on the verge of tears.

You eye the expensive, sleek black car. Then your eyes stray to the stranger.

“I...I don’t have much money I can give you.”

Jin glances at his watch and then at you. He finally gets a good look at you. Or rather, he notices your simple skirt and blouse ensemble. In an instant, a light bulb flickers in his brain.

“You don’t need to pay if you follow me.” His head nudges towards the hotel and your eyes become rounded at the suggestion. You gawk at the door of the hotel and back at him within seconds, entirely horrified. Seokjin quickly clarifies, “I have a business brunch inside and I need a partner to go with. You don’t need to do anything. You can just stay silent and eat.”

Seokjin watches as you look at the car and then his crisp suit before you’re slowly coming to nod. “A-Alright.”

He turns on his heel and struts into the hotel lobby without waiting for you.

Seokjin wouldn’t necessarily call himself a spontaneous person, but when push comes to shove and it’s the last moment, he’s good at coming up with fixes. He prides himself on it, having been the person who jumped in at the last second to repair things on more than one occasion. 

Podium mic not working at the charity banquet? He ran to the nearby mall and bought a portable karaoke microphone at a booth. The client has a pollen allergy he didn’t know about? He threw the flowers on the table out the window when she turned around. The handouts for the shareholder meeting were forgotten? He announced they were going paperless. 

The point is: Seokjin will do whatever it takes. Even if his methods are unconventional.

He enters the lavish hotel restaurant, already finding the couple by the windows. He brushes past the hostess with a sparkling smile and peeks over his shoulder to make sure you’re still following after him.

“Seokjin!”

They’re an old couple in professional garb. The man is in a gray suit while the woman is in a modest navy dress. He doesn’t miss the Louis Vuitton purse next to her wine glass filled with water.

“It’s good to see you, Mr. Jeon. You as well, Mrs. Jeon.” 

He shakes their hands and at once, Mrs. Jeon looks at you with her brows raised. “And who is this?”

“This is my partner….”

“Y/N,” you fill in for him, realizing he doesn’t even know your name. You’ve been through your fair share of meetings, so you smile and shake their hands with ease. 

As strange as the situation is, you’re just relieved he wasn’t lying about it. You had the impression he wasn’t, but you were ready to hightail it out of here if he brought you into a hotel room.

“I didn’t know you had a partner, Seokjin,” the older man notes, impressed and curious.

Jin laughs. “Well, I’m glad you know now.” 

Everyone takes their seats and the waiter comes by to fill your glasses of water and ask if anyone wants a particular drink. Once he’s sauntered away, the woman across from you makes conversation. “What do you do, Y/N?”

So much for having to do nothing. “I’m an intern at JML.”

“Oh, I have a friend’s niece who works there. Are you looking to become an accountant then?” her husband asks.

“Hopefully.” You smile before lifting the glass of water to your lips.

“That’s so nice,” Mrs. Jeon sighs. “You young-ins should work and develop a career while you still have the chance. Heaven knows things become so much more difficult once you start a family.”

Family? It’s a foreign concept to hear considering it’s not a subject even in the realm of your concern. You manage to stiffly nod.

“How did you two meet?”

You almost spit out your water.

Seokjin reaches over to pat your back as you wheeze. “Are you alright...darling?”

You wipe your mouth with the tablecloth napkin. What was this guy’s name again? Seokho? No that wasn’t it. It had a J in it. Seok...ju? No….

“Seokjin, I’m fine.”

Mrs. Jeon watches the interaction through rose-coloured glasses and smiles knowingly. “My apologies if it’s an intrusive question. I just adore a good love story.”

“Actually, it’s a funny story.” Jin smiles as a sweat bead practically rolls down his face. “Y/N here rear-ended my car when I was on my way to a meeting and that’s how we got to know each other.”

He looks at you and starts to laugh. After a delayed moment, you join in and inwardly cringe at how awkward it sounds. Yet the old couple doesn’t notice.

“How long have you been together?” Mr. Jeon asks with a warm smile, hands threaded on the table.

You look at him and his laughter dies down. “T-Thr-Two years! Yes, two years.”

“Well isn’t that sweet,” she swoons to her husband who nods in approval. “Are you going to get married soon? It’s not good to let a young woman wait too long.”

If you didn’t choke before, you might again. This time from your own saliva.

Mr. Jeon hums. “Yes, I personally don’t think one should wait long if they know it’s the right person.”

“That’s right.”

“Well that’s good news,” Seokjin interjects before you get the chance and he suddenly blurts, “Because we’re already married.”

Your head whirls to him, neck nearly breaking from the whiplash. You gawk at his profile.

Mrs. Jeon gasps in amazement. Mr. Jeon appears intrigued.

As the proclamation leaves his lips, it’s already too late to take it back. Seokjin isn’t spontaneous. He’s just good at quick fixes, too good that they become permanent fixes.

The point is: Seokjin’s an absolute idiot sometimes.

“Really?! Where’s the ring?” 

“We’re getting it fixed at the moment. Y/N lost a bit of weight so it kept slipping off her fingers.”

He turns to you and you stare at him incredulously before deadpanning, “Right.”

“When did you get married?” Mr. Jeon asks.

“Recently,” Seokjin lies without batting a single lash. It’s not hard to pitch an idea or an outlandish one at that when he used to work as a door-to-door salesman during his teenage years and then a car salesman during his college years. 

Seokjin’s entire career has been built on convincing others.

“So you’re newlyweds then.”

You give him a look. Jin smiles. 

“Yes. We are.”

By the end of brunch, you know more about Kim Seokjin than you ever intended to know — case in point, you’re now aware of his last name. You know he’s three years older than you are, that he’s been working at his company for four, and he’s pretty high up on the corporate ladder but is still continuing to climb it. You even know about the possible contract between his company and the Jeon’s, and the open plot of land on Hwarang avenue that would apparently be the perfect location to expand the Golden Resort and turn it into a franchise.

You’re sure he knows way more about you than he’d like to know too.

“I’ll be honest, I was unsure if I wanted to sign with your company, Seokjin. But you’ve shown me you have a lot of integrity and a strong work ethic. I think our values are compatible as well.” Mr. Jeon shakes hands with Seokjin. “You’ll get a call from my office soon and I think you’ll like what you’ll hear.”

“Thank you so much, sir.”

“You’re a lovely couple,” Mrs. Jeon adds on as she looks at the pair of you standing next to one another. “I look forward to seeing you again soon, Y/N.”

“Y-Yes…”

The two of them bid their final farewells and Mr. Jeon lifts his hand to the valet across the lot. Mrs. Jeon hangs off his arm as their Cadillac is driven up to the door. They get in soon after.

It’s silent between you and Seokjin.

“So…..we’re married, huh?”

“I’m sorry.” He turns to you with a heavy sigh. “It was a really important client I have to sign with and they really value family and relationships.”

You nod. It doesn’t really matter now — what’s important is that it’s over. But one thing isn’t. “About your car….”

The both of you walk across the lot to his vehicle and he finally has the time to get a good look at the damage.

There’s a clear dent in his back bumper and a scratch. But luckily, there doesn’t seem to be much anywhere else.

“It’s a ninety nine thousand dollar car.”

You wheeze. “Pardon?”

“I don’t know how much the damage will be, but it might cost a bit.”

Oh my god.

Seokjin suddenly turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I can make you a deal you can’t refuse. I know you don’t have the means to pay for the damage, so you won’t have to. But in exchange, accompany me to business brunches or galas. It won’t be often and it’ll be similar to what you just experienced. You won’t have to say much and you can even eat for free.”

There’s a drawn out pause. You blink at him owlishly.

“I accidentally told him you were my wife and if you weren’t there from now on, it’ll look suspicious,” Seokjin explains. “It’ll be just for a little while. Maybe half a year? I’ll figure something out after that. How does it sound?”

You know you don’t have much of a choice.

You don’t have insurance and you don’t have money to pay out of pocket. If anything, the offer is generous and Seokjin seems trustworthy — especially considering you’ve gotten to know him in the past hour.

For all those reasons, maybe that’s why you nod. “I can do that.”

He smiles and you brace yourself for a whirlwind.

#bts fanfic #jin fanfic #jin reader insert #jin fluff #bts fluff #bts scenario #jin scenario #bts drabble #jin drabble #Anonymous #Jimlings

[ladykissingfish]

Driving with the Akatsuki

Itachi

Driving with this guy is ... nerve-wracking, to say the very least. It’s not as though he’s a reckless automobile operator; he observes all the laws of traffic, the radio is at a reasonable volume ((he’s the type to listen to podcasts rather than music)), he follows the speed limits, he actually slows down at a yellow light — but it’s the near-misses that are daunting. The just barely stopping in time before hitting the old lady crossing the street. The running up on the curb while parking. And then there was that incident with the tree — Itachi legally has to wear glasses when driving, but his passengers often wonder whether the glasses actually HELP him. Even with them on, he squints A LOT. And only someone with nerves of absolute steel, like Kisame or Kakuzu, will be in a car with him at night. However he is with driving, one thing he’s not blind in, is his car’s cleanliness. Will make passengers wipe feet before getting in, and after everyone is gone he’ll carefully scour the seats to remove even the faintest trace of lint or gum wrappers or any disturbance at all. Can be a bit of a “mom” driver; a holdover from his teenage years of constantly having to chauffeur around his younger brother and his brother’s rambunctious friends.

Kakuzu

Anyone getting into a vehicle with Kakuzu is in for a surprise. 91 years old? Surely he drives slow and steady, like a typical little old man, right? WRONG. Kakuzu is a goddamn speed-demon. He barrels down streets, he flies through intersections. Not many know this about him, but he was very much into drag-racing as a (much) young(er) man, and his current proclivity for quickness is a holdover from those days. Luck always seems to be on his side, as he’s gotten caught/received speeding tickets far less than he deserves. To make matters scarier, Kakuzu’s radio system has been broken for two years (and of course he’s too cheap to get it fixed), and the back left window doesn’t roll up to the top; so the only sound his passengers will hear is the wind rushing past the glass and Kakuzu’s deep, sinister chuckles as he sees other drivers (and pedestrians) scramble to get out of his way. Also, unless you’re a CLOSE-close friend, don’t expect a ride from him unless you have gas money.

Deidara

In all honesty, the blonde prefers to be the passenger rather than the driver, even in his own car. He gets his best inspirations for future art pieces when he’s traveling around, and it’s hard to pick up a sketch book when you need to be paying attention to the road. When he does have to be behind the wheel himself, he’s a fairly average driver. His passengers are always at risk of a case of auditory whiplash, as Deidara’s (loudly played) music tastes switch from one extreme to the other; and the guy isn’t exactly shy about singing along to his favorites. He’s also one of those eat-on-the-go guys, and his backseat will almost always be buried under a myriad of candy wrappers, empty plastic soda bottles and discarded burger wrappers. In the summer he prefers the wild and free feeling of having all the windows down, rather than turning the AC on, and he’ll have to remember to firmly tie up his long hair and keep it from blowing in his eyes or else everyone in the car will be taking an unscheduled trip into the nearest tree.

Zetsu

His car always has that calm, natural, “special plant” scent to it. The kind of smell that causes a panic when Zetsu sees a police officer anywhere in the area. A very relaxed driver; seat almost all the way back, one hand barely on the steering wheel. Obeys the speed limit but can put the pedal to the metal when in a hurry. Likes to listen to mostly reggae or jazz, and taps his fingers on he dashboard along to the beat. Water-bottle hoarder; has at least 1000 plastic water bottles, in varying staging of fullness, all over the front and back seats. The type to keep driving around the block until the song ends. Also the type to have really deep conversations with his passengers, and drive them out to really far away and scenic locations.

Hidan

If you have somewhere important to go, and need a ride, it’s best not to ask Hidan. He is the sort who always insists he knows a shortcut or a quicker route to every destination ... and ends up hopelessly lost. Can’t read a map to save his life and for some reason won’t trust a car’s gps system to guide him ((has some pretty crazy conspiracy theories about the voice behind the system)). Easily distracted by any and everything (both inside and outside of car), which makes being his passenger a bit daunting. Like Kakuzu, is a very fast driver, but infinitely more cautious as he has a LOT of tickets wracked up and isn’t looking to add more.

Really loves Led Zeppelin and Johnny Cash; has a visor full of those CD’s and will play those rather than listen to the radio. Also has a butt-load of swear word laden and inappropriate humor bumper stickers.

Pein

Who needs a car when motorcycles exist? This guy has a classic hog that he keeps in mint condition, that he rides around wherever he goes. Every year he’ll try and convince his close friends to ditch their boring cars for something more sublime, only to be met sure emphatic No’s each time. Is very protective over his baby and will go ballistic over even the tiniest nick or scrape. Drives at a normal speed when by himself, but will drive just a bit faster when carting around a friend (especially if it’s a female friend). Doesn’t really like to wear a helmet himself but will insist on any passengers putting one on. Prefers the quiet of the open road but if in a musical mood it’s always 80’s hair bands; a lot of Def Leppard, Quiet Riot, Van Halen. Can do a variety of tricks on his bike but doesn’t do them often as he doesn’t like to “mess up” his baby any more than necessary.

Sasori

Absolutely 100% HATES driving. Has massive anxiety anytime he has to get behind the wheel, almost to the point where he’d need to take a sedative just to relax. Drives slower than the slowest driver you can think of. Yellow light? Slow down. Green light? Still slow down. Will drive himself to and from work, but any other time would prefer being a passenger in someone else’s car ((in which case he becomes the worst backseat driver in history)), or simply taking the bus. Doesn’t like giving rides to others but if he must, it’ll be a very tense, silent drive (forget about him turning on the radio and ‘breaking his concentration’), and he’ll freak out if a passenger takes their seatbelt off before the car comes to a complete stop. Also has a hyper-awareness to anything that might possibly be wrong with his car; if that check engine light comes on you can bet he’ll be at the mechanic in a heartbeat. Also the type who feels “uncomfortable” if gas tank is below 3/4 full.

Konan

The type who’s always heading somewhere/running errands, and will ask if you need a ride. Very neat and organized car, and always suspiciously shiny (as if she visits the carwash every other day). Seems to know absolutely everybody; is always waving at or honking to people in other cars. Keeps the radio volume down when she has passengers, but when alone she loves to sing at the top of her lungs to 90’s boy bands (her rendition of I Want It That Way by The Backstreet Boys is American-Idol worthy). Is always prepared for anything, especially in the winter; in her trunk is a shovel, an extra blanket, water bottles and protein bars, even emergency flares. May be pretty and delicate but definitely knows her way around a car; can change a tire or check the oil with the best of them.

Kisame

Has very long legs, so needs a car or truck that provides him ample room to stretch. A very relaxed and mellow driver, always puts whoever’s with him immediately at ease. Doesn’t use air fresheners in his car but inside always smells like whatever his cologne is, which is always yummy. Gets a lot of fast-food but always keeps the bags and wrappers stored neatly in a little garbage bag that he empties out daily. Will let his passengers do pretty much anything in his car EXCEPT smoke; he can’t stand the smell of tobacco. Isn’t really a Point A to Point B driver; will always think of other places to stop or visit en-route to his destination. Big fan of Musical music; his all-time favorite cd is the soundtrack to Grease. Also (when by himself) is a car-emoter; Kisame doesn’t let most people see anything but his cheerful side. Bring alone in his car is the only time he’ll cry, or scream, or express anger regarding events or people.

Obito

The type of driver who very often spaces out and “forgets” that he’s driving. Prefers traveling more with animals than with people; most likely to take his dog on a weeklong broad trip. Has been a smoker since his teenage years but is trying to quit, so in his car is the only place he “allows” himself a cigarette (but only when he’s completely alone). Almost started a fire once when he threw a still-lit cigarette out the window, but it flew into the backseat instead. Drives fairly slow unless he’s in a hurry for something (but even then his foot doesn’t press the gas pedal THAT much harder). His musical tastes depend on his mood but whatever he ends up listening to is always car-shakingly loud. Seems to have a new (and interesting) trinket hanging from his rear-view mirror every week. The kind who drives around for several days with his gas tank close to/touching on E because ”he knows his car, it’s fine”.

#the akatsuki #driving #vroom vroom #deidara #sasori #obito uchiha #itachi uchiha #zetsu #pein #konan #kakuzu #kisame #hidan

[lovehugsandcandy]

the stories we tell (and the stories we live) (Coltx MC, RoD)

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length: ~2400 words

Rating/Warnings: N*FW (Not explicit but it’s there. And swearing.)

Summary: Colt’s story isn’t his own until it is.

.

When Colt thinks of stories, he thinks of the stories of his youth, hazy memories of sitting on his father’s lap and listening to tales of Kanekos past. He thinks of scenes from movies, car chases and explosions before the guaranteed victory, ending scenes and credits rolling with the hero beating the odds and riding off victorious into the sunset.

And then he gets older. 

And learns that stories are myths, hiding lies and false promises, wrapped in the guise of happy endings that will never happen.

Not to him.

And when he thinks of stories, he tries not to think of his own.

And when he does, when he thinks of the story of Colt and crew and the Kaneko name, he can’t of the beginning. 

It hurts too much to remember a time when he was a welcome fixture at the shop, when Pop greeted him with a smile, sometimes even a pat to his head. This was before, before those hands became angry and harsh, before the smiles turned to glares, before the words turned hateful and vicious, echoing the nightmares that creep into his sleep, shocking him awake in a cold sweat.

There are other stories, 

He steals his first car when he’s 11. It’s the first time he’s ever driven as well, the tips of his toes only able to graze the pedals when he leans against the steering wheel. It’s a massive effort to peer over the dash, to not press his scrawny chest on the horn, but he manages, denting only the bumper against an unlucky mailbox. But when he pulls into the garage, his father is more shocked than awed and his mother furious.

So he first leaves California when he’s 12, hustled onto his first airplane, deposited in an unfamiliar city with scabs lining his knuckles and a bruise blooming on his jawline, the first transition of many marking the flow between scenery and characters.

He’s first suspended when he’s 13. Everyone at this new school is despicable, but he’ll be damned if some upperclassman is going to throw slurs at him amidst a crowded hallway. He’s sent home, his opponent sent for stitches, and his mother spends five of her limited vacation days making his confinement as miserable as possible.

He first has sex in the dingy bathroom of a dive bar that obviously doesn’t care about liquor laws.

It’s a story he never tells. 

Stories are prideful things, lies portraying overcome odds and vanquished enemies until a triumphant, crescendoed victory. Curtains close on dreams attained.

His story has never gone like that and this memory is no different.

He’s 14, sipping something amber and toxic from a rocks glass because it makes him look cool, sitting alone as his knees knock against the stool because he hates everyone. His feet don’t even touch the ground yet, but it doesn’t seem to matter to the bartender, who keeps sliding booze across the slick bar top as long as the cash keeps coming from Colt’s pocket.

And apparently it doesn’t matter to the girl across the bar, all blond hair and glossy lips, pendant necklace dangling heavy above a low-cut shirt. She bats a heavy mascara gaze over her wineglass and it takes an embarrassingly long time before he recognizes the fire behind gaze.

His heart is racing when she perches on the stool next to him, and it’s with fumbling hands and drunken kisses that they weave a messy path to the bathroom.

Once they’re done, she buttons her jeans and smirks at him, waltzing out of the bathroom without a second glance.

It feels like a fitting end to his childhood, thrown from LA to end up staggering into the Bronx streets; his jeans are still unzipped but no one’s around to care as he turns the key in the empty apartment and sinks into freshly washed sheets.

If the saga of his childhood has ended (beginning as a worthy heir before being cast aside, thousands of miles away, lost boy and discarded son), then the story of his adulthood is beginning. Stories have beginnings and middles and ends, protagonists and supporting characters,  events when second matter, where every step taken leads towards a goal, an achievement of some sort.

He hasn’t achieved anything.

Not yet.

His mom gets off work at 3am, footsteps light as she makes her way to the adjoining bedroom. Once the light snores start, he creeps out of bed to spew stomach acid into the toilet, lights off, stifling the shameful hacking and choking.

He slips back into bed, mouthwash still tingling on his tongue, but sleep doesn’t come that night.

It doesn’t feel like a fortuitous beginning.

~~~~~

And then it doesn’t get better.

The fights continue.

He comes home weekly with bruised knuckles and wounded pride, counting the days until he can free himself from the cast of characters around him.

Every teacher treats him like an adversary, every stupid social clique shuns him, and it’s fucking bullshit but he doesn’t need anyone, none of these assholes at this fucking school. It’s him against the world, at least until he can get back to LA, back to the home and the legacy that belongs to him.

His mother wants everything from him. They’re alone, the two of them, and he falls into the role of trusted confidant and then wayward son and finally complete stranger; none of the roles he tries satisfy anyone in this fracturing family of two.

The girls want one thing from him and it’s so simple, so easy, and the best part is that he doesn’t have to think, just for a moment.

His dad wants nothing from him, and his teeth dig into his bottom lip so his sobs don’t echo through the thin apartment walls.

~~~~~

Stories come in chapters and his next one takes him to LA. It’s inevitable that he ends up here, speeding aimlessly through the crowded streets, ending up on the outskirts of a crowd that should part for him like the seas.

The first time he sees her, she looks like a baby hawk. Not that he’s ever seen a baby hawk, mind you, but her eyes peer sharply around the lot even though her steps are stuttering and small.

He would never have guessed that she would be more than a supporting character in his fateful return, but soon, she becomes everything. His mind is consumed with their future, ruling LA as a team, owning the next stage of the Kaneko legacy. Her insightful mind and sharp wit are both challenging and refreshing; it feels like he’s met his match.

His story is finally beginning.

But the pyre in front of him is actually the conclusion. Flames lick at his eyebrows as he drives by, staring into the wreckage for something, anything; her arms around his waist are the only thing keeping him upright.

And if his father’s explosion is the end, then the blaze at the garage is the epilogue, the wreckage a fitting end to the Kaneko legacy.

~~~~~

It takes years, four to be exact, before he’s comfortable taking a brief vacation. Building up the fledgling crew has been challenging and painstaking, but, brick by brittle brick, he has finally created a crew worthy of the Kaneko name. 

So he heads to New York. 

Colt cares about two people in the world and the irony of them being in the same city at the same time feels a little like choreographed coincidence and a little like fate.

He starts with his mother. She’s moved to Manhattan, and he needs to Google the route, feet almost taking him into the gritty streets he knows intimately well. He recalibrates off the train, unfamiliar buildings flying by as he crosses the East River and straight into her new setting and her new life. They walk through the tree-lined streets; she lives in Soho now and every step is strange. She leads him through farmers’ markets and points out breakfast joints, each one a reminder of how far away he is. As they amble, she speaks of her job before turning the conversation to Pop; his every reply is halting, pain and truth veiled through clipped words and terse responses, his hands buried in his pockets and shoulders hunched to his ears.

For two people who share a bloodline and a language, they’re incomprehensible to each other. Colt realizes, with sickening clarity, how much better his mom’s life is now, now that he’s gone and vanished across the country.

She holds him close outside her new apartment building (this one doesn’t have bars on the first-floor windows) and her eyes well with a sadness she can’t name (or won’t, Colt thinks bitterly, shifting on his heels in her embrace). Her hands linger on his shoulders, and she presses a lipstick kiss into his cheek; he furiously wipes it off as he strides to the subway.

His palms flash pomegranate pink as he swipes his pass.

Langston is eighteen stops uptown. It takes thirty minutes on the A train, and he’s wasting away every second, an eternity spent watching subway tiles and grim faces blur past.

He blends in with the crowd, rowdy college kids streaming into her dorm, and he sneaks up the stairs and raps lightly on the door. They barely talk but he’s immediately understood, her hands gentle under his jaw, up his shoulder blades, then insistent up his sides, gripping his forearms, tugging his hair.

She curls against him, the slide of her skin both foreign and reminiscent, and shakes her head. “I can’t believe you just showed up here. You’re lucky seniors get singles.”

“I can’t believe you let me in.”

“You thought I wouldn’t?”

“I guess I was cautiously optimistic.” He craned his neck to drop a kiss on the top of her head. “Guess I was right.”

She grabs his hand, tracing up and down each finger as if she were relearning every knuckle, every tiny scar. When her inspection is complete, she stills. “I waited for you.”

“What do you mean?” 

“For years I thought…” She trails off, and he wonders if they thought the same, that the other would reach out, bridge the miles and the trauma; he’s lost in the past until she curls over him and then there’s no time for thinking anymore.

They emerge the next morning, blinking away the sun, and she pulls him through her haunts, dragging him to the coffee shop where they know her order, her favorite path through the park.

She drags him with glee through the tourist traps and side haunts; they have beers at tiny dive bars, eat pretzels from rickety carts, and walk city blocks until his feet and cheeks hurt, hand in hand.

She glows here, radiantly beautiful, and he realizes that maybe she as well has been bolstered by his absence.

Even though it’s not Colt’s borough of choice, it’s hard not to feel comfortable as she pulls him down the packed streets, weaving through crowds with the same agility with which she wove through highway car chases. 

She’s at home here as she is behind the wheel, and something in his chest tightens. 

She belongs here, vibrant as the surrounding city, crafting her own story.

~~~~~

He needs to get back. 

Empires don’t build themselves.

He doesn’t tell her but, apparently, he doesn’t have to. It’s achingly slow as he slides into her, savoring every moment to remember when he’s back home, alone. She rolls her hips against his and it’s almost painful, blinding light flashing patterns behind his eyelids as she takes her pleasure from him, quivering above him until he can’t stand it, flipping her over in one fierce motion to bury himself, again and again, world dissolving with her squeal of pleasure in his ears and his teeth in her shoulder.

“I can’t ask you to come with me.”

She starts, head jerking off his shoulder, and he can’t bring himself to look into her eyes. Instead, he focuses on the assignments scrawled on her whiteboard, each one a reminder of a goal to attain, and the graduation cap askew on her desk, a reminder of the path she had chosen, her story told in the golden tassels dangling to the floor.

“You don’t need to ask.”

This time, it’s him jerking up, head spinning to face her. “What do you…?”

“I was coming anyway.” She settles back against him, and he counts the puffs of breath against his skin as reassurance that this is real. “I told you… I waited for you. I had a go bag packed for two years,” he feels her lips tug into a rueful smile against him as she continues, “a backpack stuffed in my closet with clothes and stuff, just in case you asked, just in case you called.”

“I called. Once.”

“Wha… when?”

“February of your sophomore year.” His hand slides up her back to tangle in her hair. “From a payphone in Torrance. It rang once, and I hung up. I couldn’t… I thought better of it. I couldn’t mess it up for you.”

“You don’t mess anything up for me. You help me be great. We’re gonna be great together.”

He springs two thousand bucks for an additional plane ticket and upgrades to first class. She points out the NY landmarks as they climb into the air and then curls against him as she dozes. They land at LAX, falling into bed in the loft at the shop, and, the next day, she climbs aboard the back of his bike, arms warm around him as they pull over to the cliff.

This isn’t a story.

Stories have heroes and villains and everything is tied up nearly at the end, when the evil is vanquished and the hero gets the girl and the sun rises on a brand new day when everyone lives happily ever after.

This isn’t a story.

It’s real life and real life has real people, all their virtues and flaws, hopes and dreams, and there are no storybook saviors riding in to save the day --- at least not in Colt’s life.

There’s only him and this girl and the sun setting brilliantly beneath the ocean below, lighting the cresting waves in purples and blues, and this isn’t the end, not at all.

.

Tags:

Perma

@leelee10898, @client-327, @brightpinkpeppercorn, @choicesarehard, @burnsoslow, @zaffrenotes, @kat-tia801, @desiree-pow-35-1986, @ritachacha

ROD

@omgjasminesimone, @mskaneko, @alyssalauren

Colt x MC

@flowerpowell, @shondideaira-blog @isometimesplaychoices @romewritingshop

#colt kaneko #playchoices fanfiction #colt x mc #rodaw #amy writes #n*fw

[sevlgi]

believe

requested: no

group: blackpink

pairing: jisoo x fem!reader

genre: fluff

contents: guardian angel!jisoo, near death instances, unlucky reader. [22/33].

warnings: none

synopsis: You’ve never believed in guardian angels, but that just might change when you’re saved from certain death 3 times in one week.

a/n: idk if I’ve ever seen anyone do a similar au... tell me if you have! also i’m actually hella proud of this one lmao

word count: 1.8k

Do guardian angels exist?

Well, that’s a subjective question, and there really isn’t a yes or no answer... But if yours does, they’re doing the shittiest job of the century.

The amount of times you’ve been hurt in the past, both physically and emotionally, is stupidly high. You’ve always had an aptitude for getting injured, stories of broken bones and gashes making up basically half of your entire life. Your friends and family pride themselves on having a fully loaded arsenal of embarrassing tales, practically making it a rite of passage to visit the hospital with you. And don’t even mention the heartbreaks- those just seem to follow you wherever you go.

When you move to a different city for what must be the 10th time, you vow that it’s going to be different, no matter how obvious it is that it won’t. You vow that there aren’t going to be any incidents that land you in the hospital, nor any relationships that just end in chaos.

Suffice to say, all of that goes haywire on your first day in town.

Without a car to drive you to work or any friends to hitchhike off of, you take the subway, line #224 to Solace Building. There just so happens to be a new girl group song you’re obsessed with, blasting on the highest possible volume in your earbuds, when you’re shoved from the back right into the subway tracks. “Fu-”

Time slows down as you start to fall, the dusty railways coming too close to your face for comfort before a warm hand wraps around yours, the socket of your arm straining to carry your entire weight as you’re jerked back sharply.

You collide with a warm body, soft curves lessening the impact and delicate, impossibly strong hands steadying you on either side of your waist. By all logic, you should’ve knocked your savior over, should be sprawled on the ground right now with dirty palms and a heat-flushed face. “Are you okay?”

When you step back sharply, you’re met with the sight of the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your life. Her heart-shaped smile and delicate features are framed with cascading brown hair, and she has ethereally flawless porcelain skin. She’s the kind of beautiful that makes the plainest outfit look designer, that could make you believe sea glass to be pure diamond. “Uh. Y-yeah. I’m good.”

“I’m glad,” she chuckles, smiling even wider and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Maybe she doesn’t realize the effect she has on you, humming as she dusts something invisible off your bag. “You should be more careful, Y/N, wouldn’t want someone as pretty as you being killed by a train.”

If it was anyone else, the words would sound creepy, especially with the added factor of the girl knowing your name. “How-- how do you know who I am?”

She juts her lips at the card hanging off your bag, your name written in big, bold letters. “Nametag. Y/N Y/L/N, employee in Solace Building?”

To hide the heat in your cheeks, you look to the floor and stutter out, “Well. Since you know my name, uh, isn’t it fitting that I know yours?”

It’s not nearly as smooth as you’d like it to be-- usually, the natural flirt in you would’ve made an appearance-- but the petite brunette extends a hand, tipped with gentle pink nails. “Jisoo. Kim Jisoo, if that’s helpful at all.”

Your next words are interrupted by your train arriving; when Jisoo doesn’t follow you on, you turn to look at her with your eyebrow quirked. “Are you...?”

“Not my train,” she smiles, shaking her head, even though it’s the only one arriving for hours where she stands. “Good to meet you, Y/N. Stay out of trouble!”

It’s an odd way to end a first meeting, but you don’t think much of it as you grab the nearest seat and pull out your phone to search her up. K-I-M J-I-S-O-O, you type, eyes scanning the screen fervently as the train starts.

Plenty of people show up-- after all, Kim Jisoo is not a rare name-- but none of the dozens of profiles you click through are the beautiful girl who saved your life. It’s too late when you look back out the window towards the station, the only thing you see becoming brick wall.

The next time you almost die, you’re just walking to the coffee shop across from your apartment.

The activity should be safe, considering that not many people in the area own cars. At first, you think you are safe, crossing the silent street with no problem and receiving your usual order just fine; you’re on your way back to your lonely little apartment when you hear the screeching of car tires on the road.

“Watch out!” someone screams, but you’re frozen in the middle of the crosswalk. You forget how there wasn’t a single car in the street when you were crossing as you stare at the grill coming close. The car doesn’t stop or slow down, and you scrunch your eyes shut with your arms raised up, just waiting for the impact.

It never comes. When you hesitantly open your eyes again, you find a familiar figure standing in front of you, the force of her hand having knocked your coffee onto your blouse. The car bumper is pressing into her bare leg, which is miraculously clean of a scratch or bruise, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she turns to grin at you.

“Sorry, I ruined your coffee,” Jisoo frowns, her hand coming up to almost touch the steaming stain on your chest. You stare at her mutely, following obediently when she grabs your wrist and pulls you back to the coffee shop. “Can I buy you another one?” she offers, plucking a napkin off a street-side table.

“Kim Jisoo?” you say disbelievingly, not even feeling it as she dabs the coffee away. “You again?”

“Me again,” she confirms, pulling some more napkins out of her purse with a smile on her face. “I hope you’re not disappointed; after all, I just saved you from dying. Again.”

“No, that’s not...” Taking a deep breath, you smile too, wrapping your fingers around her hand to gently brush her off. “It’s okay. I’m glad to see you, actually-- I searched for your profile to thank you, but I couldn’t find anything.”

Jisoo shrugs, opening the door to the coffee shop for you. “Oh, I’m not really on social media. If you wanted my number, you could’ve just asked.”

You laugh lightly, tossing the crushed cup in your hand into the trash. Of course it’s odd that she isn’t on social media in the 21st century-- with her face, you’d expect Jisoo to be a major influencer. “Then I’ll ask for it. Later.”

“Of course. Order what you want, I owe you one after all that,” she offers, plucking a couple loose 20 dollar bills out of her purse.

Once again, you’re faced with another weird habit of hers, but you order anyway and thank her after she pays. Before you can say anything else, though, she gets a text and frowns at her phone. “Oh, sorry, I have to go. Catch you next time?”

“Sure,” you answer, forgetting to tell her that she still forgot to give you her number. You stand dumbly on the sidewalk and watch her go, taking a deep breath and looking both ways before you set off towards your apartment for the second time that day.

Maybe next time?

The third, and hopefully last time, is the absolute weirdest of all. 

You seem to have a thing for being knocked into ditches-- this time, a group of teenagers barrels into you while you’re walking by the side of the only river in your entire city. You open your mouth to tell them off, but before you can, an especially hard shove from an stocky little boy pushes you right into the water.

Luckily, the fall isn’t high, so you don’t hit the water with much force, but the boats cruising along and the recently terrible weather stir the current strong enough to pull you right under. In the icy water, you feel your fingers let go of the phone in your hand, your lungs slowly being crushed by the pressure of your surroundings.

It’s hard to tell how much time passes while you’re in the water. From what your doctors have told you, trauma is difficult to remember clearly for a while, but you vaguely feel hands linking in front of your chest and forearms bracing under your armpits to drag you out of the water.

The heat of the summer sun warms the stone under your back and you can hear whispers sounding around you as you flop onto the floor. Hands push hard on your breastbone, once, twice-

After maybe 30 pushes, fingers pinch your nose, and soft lips meet yours. It feels more like a kiss than CPR, no air really being blown into your mouth, but nonetheless, you feel water leaving your lungs, and you open your eyes in shock, coughing out loud.

To your (somewhat) shock, it’s the same girl hovering over you. Jisoo’s skirt is wet at her knees where she kneels beside you, her hands still hovering over your chest. She must’ve been the one giving CPR, then. Sitting up, you hack violently until most of the water’s out of your lungs, the other girl waving away all of the spectators. “How’re you feeling?” she asks, once you’re alone on the sidewalk.

Your hands move faster than your brain, pulling her forward by the nape of her neck until you kiss again, something about her tasting familiar in a way you can’t quite place. “Who are you?” you breathe once you’ve pulled away, searching her warm eyes for an answer.

She smiles again, handing you your miraculously dry phone instead of answering. It should be waterlogged and dead, but nothing seems to make sense when concered with Kim Jisoo. “How about you take me for dinner or something before asking the serious questions? Soup should be good to warm you up.”

Hand clasping in hers, you’re pulled to your feet with strength that doesn’t match her petite stature. You barely remember that you look like an almost-drowned rat, your lips purple with cold and your hair stringy with icy water. “Sure. Soup. But you need to answer me first.”

She exhales, hitching her bag higher up on her arm. “I’d say I’m your guardian angel, but you wouldn’t believe that, would you?”

“I wouldn’t,” you answer, eyes narrowing as you follow her down the street. “But maybe you can convince me. Over soup.”

#blackpink #blackpink x reader #blackpink imagines #blackpink scenarios #blackpink reactions #blackpink jisoo #blackpink kim jisoo #kim jisoo #jisoo x reader #jisoo #jisoo imagines #jisoo scenarios #blackpink in your area #blackpink is the revolution #girl group imagines #girl group scenarios #girl group reactions #blackpink drabbles #blackpink fluff #blackpink icons

[ratisnotcrying]

Juno Steel and how to pretend you’re fine

Summary: Juno hasn’t had a bad day in a long time. Okay, maybe he has, but not a bad-bad day, not a self-sacrifice-and-gun-fights bad day, not a what-if-I-crash-my-car bad day. He especially hadn’t had an I-need-to-hurt-myself-and-I-don’t-care-who-I-take-with-me kind of bad day.Except today. Today felt like all of those wrapped into one and multiplied by a thousand.

Prompt: “What if I just crash this car and make it all stop?” from prompt-dealer (i think)

Pairings: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel 

Warnings: canon typical suicidal thoughts/ suicidal tendancies, mentions of car crashes, intrusive thoughts, previous minor character death

Word count: 1.6K

A/N: this is cross posted on ao3 - please lmk if i need to add any tags 

~~~

Juno hasn’t had a bad day in a long time. Okay, maybe he has, but not a bad-bad day, not a self-sacrifice-and-gun-fights bad day, not a what-if-I-crash-my-car bad day. He especially hadn’t had an I-need-to-hurt-myself-and-I-don’t-care-who-I-take-with-me kind of bad day. 

Except today. Today felt like all of those wrapped into one and multiplied by a thousand. 

The old Juno would have given in. He would have entertained the idea for all of no time at all and then dived in head first with his eyes wide open. Juno-now (he wasn’t a new Juno, he was just… now, here) still entertained the idea, hell, he might even wonder why he wanted to do whatever it was. But he wouldn’t do it. Probably. 

He definitely wouldn't hurt someone else, no matter what he did. 

~~~

It had started after the last job, which had gone quite spectacularly wrong. 

Juno and Peter hadn’t gone in expecting an easy job - stealing a painting off the wall of a crowded ballroom was obviously going to be difficult - but that had gone off without a hitch, had gone off easier than the last time they did such a heist. No, the real issue came when a different thief had tried to steal a vase and gotten caught. It wasn’t even a nice vase, definitely not nice enough to die over. 

It had turned into a messy hostage situation, Juno’s HCPD training and his own career as professional hostage kicking in as he tried desperately to find a way to get everyone out. 

You can’t save everyone, Juno.

Three civilians and the thief had wound up dead, and more injured than Juno’s guilt ridden brain could count, and by the time he and Peter were back on the Carte Blanche, Juno could barely speak for the shock of what had happened. Neither Buddy nor Peter said anything when Peter debriefed with no input from Juno. 

Buddy did, however, decide to put off selling the painting for a little while, giving everyone some time to relax. This is where Juno’s bad day had started. 

~~~

In the timeless limbo between jobs, it was easy to lose yourself: Rita in her streams with Jet; Buddy and Vespa in their wedding plans, and Peter and Juno in each other. Juno couldn’t help the feeling he was losing himself alone. 

He knows he should have said something to Peter, or Rita, or even Vespa if he was desperate, but he was too busy trying to convince himself had it under control. 

His mind had been racing in loose circles, chasing empty thoughts and half-memories of every time Juno had fucked up, every time he had let someone die, every time he had almost let someone die. 

Benten. Yasmin. Alessandra. 

His head felt heavy with it, weighing him down into a feeling he thought he had long forgotten, numbing him so he couldn’t feel his way out. All he could find in the mess was the handy how-to he had written himself. 

How to pretend your fine when you absolutely, totally are - by Juno Steel

~~~

He had been doing a good job, if he did say so himself. Even if he and the rest of the ship knew that was a lie. 

Rita had been hovering more, not smothering him, just letting him know she was there; Jet never mentioned when Juno came and sat silently with him for a few hours, handing him tools when he asked. Buddy had outright told him that if he wanted to talk then she would always have time, ‘always, darling, just say the word’. Even Vespa had been a little nicer - their typically aggressive banter becoming more like a strangely aggressive therapy. 

And Peter. Peter was Juno’s anchor. He always was. 

But he could only pretend for so long.

~~~

Tonight, Juno wanted to drive - being inside was not helping, and so, from one moment to the next, Juno found himself behind the wheel, Peter in the passenger seat. It was late and Juno couldn't remember what planet they were on anymore. 

The car’s single head light shone dimly on the road in front of them and Juno stared blankly through the windshield, muscle memory alone stopping him from crashing. 

He used to do this, he used to drive for hours, let his numbness fill the car till he forgot he was driving and drifted mentally, drifted physically… 

He wanted to drift today. He wanted to feel weightless. 

The repetitive splashing rounds of the wheels sent Juno spiralling again, an endless list of people he had failed circling through his mind over and over and over again and goddammit he couldn't think, couldn't breathe, he needed it to stop, even if just for a second.

“What if I just crash this car and make it all stop?”

~~~

Peter had noticed the shift in Juno immediately after the job. He had seen his smiles become more strained, his eyes were hazy and unfocussed, movements slowed - as if he was drifting away, moving through a time Peter wasn’t quite in. 

He stayed close to Juno, and when Juno suggested a drive, Peter thought maybe this could be a good time to talk to him. But Juno had said nothing. They had been driving for hours. The suns had set and Juno didn’t seem to be heading home anytime soon, so Peter was about to speak, about to ask Juno what he could do. 

“What if I just crash this car and make it all stop?”

Peter was silent for a second, not quite sure he had heard Juno properly. Juno didn’t even seem aware that he had spoken aloud, nor did he seem to remember Peter was even there. He’s almost certain that the car was speeding up. 

“Juno, can you pull over please, love?”

The car swerved slightly, Juno startled at Peter’s voice, and Peter reached out and grabbed the wheel, pulling them back onto the road, “Juno, you need to pull over.”

The car slowed and, after what felt like a lifetime, came to a stop, a small cloud of dust flying up from under the wheels. 

“I- I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I should be fine.” Juno’s hands were gripped tightly on the wheel in a way that could have only been painful.

“Why don’t we get some fresh air, and then we can talk?”

Slowly, even slower than in the past week, Juno climbed out of the car and sat with Peter on the bonnet, staring up at the sky. 

“I should be fine,” he said again, “I’ve been fine and now… and now I'm not fine!” Juno choked on a sob. God, he hated being vulnerable. 

Peter considered this for a moment, “I know this is going to sound cliche, dear, but you don’t have to be okay. You’re allowed to be sad and angry, and-”

“But I am always angry, Nureyev. Always. I am angry at myself because I keep letting people get hurt and get dead. I’m angry at my mom and I’m angry at every goddamn person I meet and I don’t even know why half the time. There’s just- there’s just rage, and I can control it, better than I could before, but I dont- I dont know if I want to anymore. I just want to let go.”

“Why can’t you let it out, Juno?”

“I’ve done that before. Blind rage is how you get got,” Juno very carefully didn’t look at Peter when he said, “Letting go is how… letting go is how I nearly got myself. I’ve come so close to leaving this place, finally getting some damned rest. I don’t know what kept me here.”

Peter tried not to be too shocked at the almost wistful tone Juno used - they could talk about that another day, for now Peter just prompted, “You’re still here?”

Juno laughed humourlessly, “Yeah, that’s because I always got stupid lucky, and one day that’s gonna bite me in the ass. It was always other people getting got, never me,” He laid back against the windscreen, legs kicking softly at the bumper, “God, I’ve killed so many people.”

“Did you, though? Did you kill them all or did you blame yourself for not being able to do the impossible? Did you blame yourself for not being able to save every single person you met - a task which, I might add, is quite impossible, love.”

He shook his head and kept staring at the stars, looking for answers in the constellations. Peter laid next to him. 

It was a few minutes before Juno broke the silence, “Can we stay here a little while, before we go back?”

Peter would’ve stayed there all night if that’s what Juno needed. 

“Would you tell me a story, Juno? Maybe about someone you saved?” 

Reluctantly, Juno began to tell Peter about an eccentric real estate lawyer and her exploding, tuna-brick-loving cat, absently tracing patterns on the back of Peter’s hand. 

They laid there for almost an hour, but the cool night was interrupted by Peter’s comms beeping twice, signifying a message. 

Is everything okay darling? You’ve been gone a while.

As good as it can be right now. We’ll be back soon. 

“Who’s that?” Juno mumbled sleepily, his gaze shifting to Peter. 

“It was Buddy. Perhaps we should head back to the Carte Blanche.”

Juno nodded, sliding off the car but stopping short halfway to the driverside. 

“Would you like me to drive, dear?.”

Juno looked like he wanted to protest, like he wanted to tell Peter that he wouldn’t actually crash, but instead he just nodded and tossed the keys over the car. 

~~~

Peter knew that they would have to talk properly, they had to talk about Juno trusting him and the rest of their family; they would definitely have to talk about Juno’s allusions to his… more self destructive tendencies. For now, though, Juno dozing on his shoulder, the night road leading them home, would be enough to put both of their minds at rest for the night.

#the penumbra podcast #the penumbra spoilers #a bit #canon typical suicidal thoughts #intrusive thoughts #car crash #mention #car accident #junoverse #juno steel #peter nureyev #lmk if i need to tag anything else

[lilacsandwhiskey]

Can you do a Liam rescuing a Riley from a flat tire on the highway?

A Nice Thank You

Pairing: Liam Rhys x Riley Brooks

A string of curse words fall out of Riley’s mouth as her cal begins rolling lopsided to the side of the highway. When she’s far away off the road, she just sits for a minute, taking a breather before slapping their steering wheel. “Of course this would happen today, why wouldn’t it?”

Riley pulls her phone out, mentally slapping herself because she should’ve listened all those times her dad tried to teach her basic things about the car - like changing a freaking tire. “Should I google it?” She asks herself, not wanting to face the embarrassment from calling her dad to rescue her and hear him say “told you so” repeatedly.

She lets out a deep sigh before carefully stepping out of her car, cars flying past her with no remorse. She’d probably do the same thing, she can’t blame them. It was early in the morning, everyone was probably doing the same thing she was doing - heading to work.

Meanwhile, Liam is toddling along the highway, ranting about how he doesn’t understand why Americans drive on this side of the road, to his best friend who was miles away. Liam had promised he’d be there with Drake while he visited his mom this year, but unfortunately duty called and Liam had to catch a flight later than him, only a few hours, but still.

“Can you just pay attention to the road and not kill yourself in the process? Just hurry and get here.” Drake pleads, knowing that Drake’s family had probably already sent him over the edge several times in just the short few hours he’d been there. “Fine, fine.” Liam hangs up the phone, focusing on the road in front of him. He’s in the very right lane, cruising so that he doesn’t have to deal with the rush and bumper to bumper highway road rage.

He noticed multiple people slowing down but not stopping, and as he begins inching up towards the reason for the braking, he glances at the clock, knowing he really didn’t have the time to stop but no one else seemed to be.

From the looks, it was a woman with dark brown hair, and she was scrolling frantically on her phone, staring down at a spare tire. That’s when Liam saw the one that had been torn to shreds. He hesitated before putting on his flashers and maneuvering himself onto the side of the road.

Riley turned quickly, hair smacking her in the face as she heard gravel crunching behind her over the frantic cars of the freeway. A nice black car had pulled in behind her, and her immediate thought was “please don’t murder me.” She wanted to refuse help because she was stubborn but she couldn’t for the life of her figure this quite out.

Just then, a blonde hair blued eyed man steps out, dressed up in a button down, chinos, and nice dress shoes. “You need help?” He calls out from behind his door. “I think I got it!” She calls back. Liam doesn’t buy it as she pressed her hand to her cheek, scrolling frantically before letting out a loud groan.

Liam is careful to approach, but it’s obvious this girl needs help. As he inches up, he can’t help but notice - are all girls from Texas this pretty? “Hey, I can help if you don’t mind.” Liam offers once again.

Riley feels and looks defeated. She takes a step back, looking at the man next to her. “Are you going to murder me?” This question makes Liam stop in his tracks. “What? No. What makes you think that?” “Sure sounds like something a murderer would say.” Riley responds, looking as serious as a heart attack. She finally cracks, a small laugh escaping her lips. “I’m only kidding.” Liam lets out a breath, shaking his head with a laugh.

Riley shows him her spare and the emergency items she has in her trunk. Liam nods, taking everything out and gets to work immediately and effortlessly. It was a funny thing - for someone so royal to know how to actually do these things. Drake actually taught him one day when his truck broke down on the side of the road when they were teenagers. It’s happened a few times since then with both of them cruising, but of course - Liam had never really been in the situation himself. He’d need to think his best friend when he got there.

Riley felt bad, watching such a well dressed man on his hands and knees working to fix her car. “I’m really sorry you’re stuck here doing this. I’m sure you had more important things to do today than help me out this morning.” Liam looks up at Riley, giving her a smile, sweat beads covering his forehead. “Nothing more important than getting a pretty girl back on the road today.”

Riley feels herself blush. “Is this how you’re going to lure me in to kill me? By looking that good and complimenting me?” Liam just laughs, keeping his work steady. “I’m Riley, by the way.” Riley offers. Liam picks himself off of the ground. “I’m Liam. And your tire is on. I just would get you a new one soon, that one won’t last long with these speeds.” “How can I pay you?” Riley is pulling out her wallet. “No need! Just a thank you will do.” Liam says, holding up his hand.

Riley looks at the man, feeling a little too confident for her own good. “How about dinner?” “Hm?” “How about I owe you a dinner?” Riley repeats. Liam smiles. “I think that’d be a rather nice thank you. I may take you up on it.”

#the royal romance #choices trr #liam rhys trr #liam rhys