#finally got the missing piece for my drum kit

[s-cullayy]

I have 2, possibly 3, paintings that are probably done and thanks to my beautiful gorgeous adhd I’m just inventing things to work on bc they’re not ✨perfect✨ like do you hear yourself. I’m driving me crazy. I’ll probably post them just to force myself to be done

[jellyfishdoodler]

I know I dont post fanfics here but I'd like to try? If yall arent into it I can move them to my general shitpoat blog 💛

Drummer Boy

Requested by @vanessasepticeye who wanted a oneshot of Jackie playing the drums to get his emotions/ anger out, similar to Gwen Stacy.

TWs: Angry Jackie, mentions of his dad, mistreatment of drumkit

Word Count: 1,226

A small thought in the back of Jackie's head wants to kick himself for leaving his window unlocked, but right in this exact moment he could not give any less of a shit. Vaulting into his bedroom from the fire escape, Jackie pulls back just enough of his strength to not hurl his patched backpack through the drywall.

A small thought in the back of Jackie's head wants to kick himself for leaving his window unlocked, but right in this exact moment he could not give any less of a shit. Vaulting into his bedroom from the fire escape, Jackie pulls back just enough of his strength to not hurl his patched backpack through the drywall. He tears the blue mask off his face so the elastic no longer digs into his skin, crushing the soft material in his hand as he stalks around the room. He finds his drumsticks on the cluttered desk and trades them for the mask with a pathetic and unsatisfying throw. The piece of fabric flops from the wall to the table without a sound and Jackie can feel a scream burning in his throat, so instead, he stomps towards his lovingly beat-to-shit drum kit. It was half duct tape at this point but it still worked, and it's not like Jackie could afford a new set anyway.

Patrol was an absolute fucking nightmare today. First he had to skip breakfast due to an early call for help across town, then he got chewed out by an old woman for breaking her potted plant and was harassed into buying her a new one- which he then had to stop the plant shop from being robbed by some jackass who thought he was hot shit with a switchblade. He lost the comic book he was saving to read on his lunch break to the sewer drain, got completely soaked by a burst fire hydrant, was sent on a wild goose chase to track down a missing dog in the park where he literally got chased by geese. And to top it all off, when he saved the day and rescued two teenagers from a burning apartment building, he was the one who was blamed for the girl's broken leg, even though it was literally trapped under a solid wood bookshelf before he got there. But the girl's parents just wanted someone to sue so they could make some fucking money back like all of this was a huge inconvenience and not like they almost lost their fucking kids to a fire. 

Jackie worked really hard to keep his composure until he got home. He has many years of customer service under his belt before he got powers and managed to smooth talk his way out of a lawsuit. But that encounter was the final straw for him. Jackie knew being a hero was a thankless job most of the time, hell he understood that those people were just scared for their kids, but everything throughout the day stacked on top of each other and he was left with a gross itchy feeling under his skin. He had to get it out.

Slamming himself down onto the spinning stool, the young man wasted no time taking his frustration out on the drums. Using the double petals on the bass kick to set a fast beat as he practically wailed on the set. He loved the feeling of the vibrations of contact traveling up his arms, it felt like clapping mosquitoes mid-air and off your skin so they dont drink more of your blood.

That same voice in the back of his mind reminded him he's gonna get another noise complaint from Mr. Smith upstairs, but right now Jackie doesn't care. The rapid beats of the snare matched the buzzing feeling rolling from Jackie's core down his arms and to his drumsticks, the crash of the cymbals almost dents the brassy metal as it covers his urge to yell in frustration. 

He focuses on the patterns of his rapid fire set, picking up more pace and forcing himself to go faster.

Faster.

Faster-

Everything abruptly stops when his right stick snaps in half. 

"FUCK!!!"

Panting heavily, Jackie just stares at the now uneven sticks in his white knuckled hands. Everything in the apartment is still and quiet aside from his heavy breathing. In the distance he can hear the neighbor's dog- Patty- barking up a storm down the hallway. 

Jackie finally allows his shoulders to slump down as he unceremoniously lets the drum sticks drop to the floor with a deafening clatter in the now silent room. 

He always hates getting this angry, he knows it's not good for his public image or for his own mental health. Fighting bad guys helps with most of it, but it still sneaks up on him sometimes when he's not paying attention. It scares him.

The hero gently rolls his neck and shoulders, letting air escape from his nose in a silent laugh at a memory flowing into his head.

 If his overall deadbeat dad was good for one thing in his damn life, it was teaching Jackie how to funnel his emotions, primarily anger, through playing the drums. His dad said he was part of a shitty rock band when he was in school and that's where he learned to play. 

One day, Jackie's teacher called his dad and told him about an incident on the playground. Jackie stood up for another kid getting picked on but broke another kid's nose in the process of defending them. That afternoon when he got home, instead of yelling at him like Jackie thought, the man sat Jackie behind the drum kit that sat in front of him today and taught him how to keep a steady rhythm.  

"I had a similar problem to ya, kid." He started when Jackie was getting the hang of it. "Always letting my anger get ahead of me." Neither of them say that he still does sometimes, and he continues, "If you use these to just, yaknow, get what you're feeling out of your system, this way nobody around you gets hurt. You don't… go punching anybody you don't like 'cause you kept it in for so long." Jackie wanted to protest that he was protecting a friend but let his dad keep talking. 

"You exhaust yourself playing these so you don't have the energy to let it boil in your stomach for later. On top of all that, the world gets to hear your heartbeat. It might not be pretty, but they get to hear it go strong and loud even if you can't say what you're feeling in your chest. Even if it's hurting. You use this as a way to help you let shit go. Because at the end of the day, if you let it be, if you let it fester, that pointless rage will rot you from the inside out." 

Jackie does not know what to really say to all that. His dad isn't the best at pep talks but he thinks he gets his meaning. Even if the man is a hypocrite. He just counts the beats in his head.

It's one of, if not the only kind-ish memory Jackie keeps of his father. The man was a dick his entire childhood, but he did give Jackie this one thing that was good.

With that memory of a good Tuesday afternoon nearly 10 years ago gently floating in his chest instead of what was there before, Jackie picks up the busted drumstick and tosses it in the trash. Heading to the bathroom to finally shower away the long day's grime.

Tomorrow is a new day.

[catharusustulatus]

There’s no hairspray in the apocalypse. Steve had only done a partial wash before volunteering at the high school, and after the ash started falling, and the town shook again, a great thrashing, everyone was called to the cabin, and from there it only got scarier and busier. Three days later his hair is flat and curled only at the ends, waking up on Hopper’s old cot with bed head. It’s getting longer again, after his haircut post-Starcourt. He doesn’t know what to do with it.

After a long day of setting traps for demodogs and fearing for his life, sweat pooling in the back of his shirt, he asks Robin if she can put it in a ponytail. It’s not quite long enough but the ends can fit, and she obliges quietly with a tender smile.

The cabin barely has hot water and there’s so many of them he doesn’t push showering for longer than five minutes. He scrubs the dirt and blood off, changes his bandages, puts his now stained blue henley back on. If he’d known this is what he’d be wearing every day, he’d have dressed differently. He’d have packed his toiletries.

A week later they’re patrolling near his neighborhood. Lucas and Nancy are lookouts as he chances finding the spare key to his house; everyone else’s are empty or already swallowed by the growing number of sink holes. His parents won’t care, they haven’t even answered his calls, so he doesn’t feel bad.

He runs through his house, heart beating like a drum, knowing he has little time to salvage what he can. He grabs what he sees; all of the canned food, the cereal, some almost expired milk, the can opener just in case. Two clean kitchen knives. His first aid kit. The extra blankets Robin always uses when she sleeps over. His toothbrush, floss, eye drops, his brush his comb his shampoo oh my god his hairspray. It’s his last can and it’s almost empty but he takes it. He grabs the nail bat, a notebook and pen. He takes the denim vest, pushed far under his bed in shame and sadness. He’s so glad to take it all.

They’re running back to the cabin from where he parked the beemer, Nancy wincing from a sprained wrist - she got blowback from the shotgun, saving their asses after the house raid - and Steve is so thankful it’s not worse. That they have more food to eat. That he has at least one more week of Farrah Fawcett spray.

Another week later and they’ve built a rhythm, as a group. The kids play games and draw in their free time. They all play cards. Joyce tells stories with a flashlight. Argyle is actually a great cook, and he makes their canned food somehow last - and he’s caring too - Steve clocks, quietly, that Argyle always serves himself last. Steve braids everyone’s hair, recalls sports statistics with Hopper, washes the dishes, makes up sequels to movies with Robin, makes peace with Jonathan. He hums pop songs to go to sleep. He cries a lot. He misses Eddie and doesn’t know why it aches so much. He runs out of hairspray.

Nancy half jokingly gives him a headband from her bag but he takes to wearing it to tame the beast. No one’s ever seen his hair so wild, so flat and tall at the same time. He’s vulnerable in a way he’s never been, even as they take to peeing with the door cracked open at night and having heard everyone’s nightmares a dozen times. One night it’s so bad Steve wakes up just to puke in the bathroom sink, and Joyce runs cool water over his neck, kneeling over the bathtub, shivering. His tears are thick and clean down his grimy face in the bathroom mirror. She hugs him for a long time. “What was it this time?” She asks. “My dad.” He tells her. “Mm. Real piece of work.” Her hands soothe his aching neck. She had told him before, how she knew his dad from high school. For some reason, even with all the monsters, his worst fear is still human. He tries to focus on the humans that love him instead.

By the time the apocalypse is over, a final quake ending their fighting, Steve’s hair is longer and can fully fit in a pony tail. He wears the headband to push back his flyaways but also because it’s from Nancy. The shock of survival hits him and he’s on his knees, and then he wakes up somewhere else.

The first shower he takes in the Indianapolis hospital he sobs, hot water beading down his body like a christening. He traces his wounds, his scars, the lack of sleep deep set in his face. He can’t believe he survived. He has no idea what happens next. Every moment is a gift, relief floating in his gut. He shaves his head.

[leftfield-fm]

Blackpool was something else. It was a Scots holiday weekend. The sweltering ballroom was packed with sweating Glaswegians, many of them drunk. Despite a heavy force of security men and policemen - who were not allowed inside the hall and stayed backstage out of sight - there was an atmosphere of impending violence from the moment we took the stage. We began with our usual show, but Brian seemed to enjoy teasing the more demonstrative members of the crowd near the stage. Roy Carr, a musician who preceded us on stage and who later wrote for New Musical Express, asserts that Brian had been attempting to upstage Mick's theatricality. "Someone at the very front of the stage suddenly took exception to Brian's effete posturing," says Roy. "So did his cronies. As Brian nervously bounced closer to the edge of the stage, this gang of sodden louts began a contest to see which one of them could spit on the Stone. Not one of them missed their target."

Keith was livid. He moved over to where Brian was being abused and gave the ringleader a warning between songs. Minutes later, Keith was spat on. Outraged, he retaliated by jamming the heel of his boot down on the knuckles of the spitting troublemaker who had been leaning with his hands and chin resting on the lip of the stage. Nor did he end it there; after taking one step backwards, he plunged the toe of his boot into the lout's nose.

In the ensuing riot, we would have been slaughtered if the stage hadn't been about six feet high. Stu recalled later: "It was very nearly the date on my gravestone. There were no cops, no bouncers, just a couple of old retainers in uniform at each corner of the stage. They had only one final number to do at the end of the second set and I thought: 'They'll be off, if they're lucky.' Then one guy in the front spat at Keith, and Keith kicked him in the head. And that was it. Good night. The whole place erupted. Keith still thought he was God and that he could kick one of these guys and get away with it. The rest of the band had already turned, realizing they'd got to get off the stage. I pushed Keith and said: 'For fuck's sake, get out of here while you're still alive.' And I went off as well."

We were smuggled out of the building over a roof and guided to a back door, where a police van was waiting and they drove us away quickly to the station, where our own car picked us up. But for the police, one of us would almost certainly have been killed. There was a lull in the ballroom for a few seconds when it was thought we would return, then the riot started in earnest. The angry mob of teenagers began breaking up the place. Hundreds of youths stormed the stage. Some were thrown bodily back into the crowd. Amplifiers, drum kits and other equipment worth about £2,000 were kicked off the stage and smashed. Pieces were hurled at policemen and attendants. Red-and-gold curtains had been ripped down, chairs and heavy plush ten-feet-long seating forms wrenched apart, with pieces crashing against stage lighting. Clocks were smashed and a bottle was hurled through the huge chandelier. There was a hail of shoes, bottles, coins and other missiles. Before police and staff could restore order, running fights broke out all over the ballroom. Cymbals went through the air and people thumped each other as all the amplifiers were smashed up. Then there was the most glorious crash of all time: a Steinway grand piano was pushed off stage, smashing into pieces. Charlie hadn't been using his drums that night; he'd borrowed a kit from a guy who was sitting there crying over his lovely Ludwig kit. He got one cymbal back. They didn't steal the drums, they just smashed them. Of the amps, only bits of wood were left and I think we got one loudspeaker chassis without any cone in it. That was all. Everything else was totally mangled. One mob, chanting "Scotland, Scotland!" challenged the police to a fight. During the riot, scores of police reinforcements were called in. Wielding batons, they charged straight into the mob and eventually broke up the riot. Two policemen and about thirty members of the audience had their injuries treated at Blackpool's Victoria Hospital, which resembled a casualty clearing center. One had been hit by a microphone. A number of arrests were made and several youths were hustled into a police van outside. At eleven o'clock, the recorded pop music, which had been played throughout the riot, was switched off as police escorted the last dancers outside.

excerpt from Bill Wyman's memoir, Stone Alone

[shaemeful]

End of Semester Reflection

This semester saw us explore three essential Adobe programs: Illustrator, Photoshop, and InDesign. From this list I was very familiar with Photoshop, had had some experience with InDesign, but had admittedly always avoided using Illustrator because I didn't understand how to use it properly. While I still have much to learn, I can happily report I am now significantly more confident using all three of these programs and no longer fear the dreaded Illustrator.

The biggest problems I encountered with this course involved Illustrator - but that's because I was treating it like Photoshop. The missing piece and the biggest lesson I learnt was that Illustrator layers stack whereas Photoshop layers interact (or at least how my brain interprets it). Once I had this locked in I was able to absolutely smash out my book backgrounds on Illustrator with ease. This program was without a doubt my biggest learning curve, but honestly it was the most satisfying to get right.

Learning the Pathfinder tool was probably the trickiest part and the way I managed to finally wrap my head around it was to sit down and just play around with it. While the buttons do say what they're going to do, until you're familiar its hard to compute what they actually mean. If I could do the semester over again I would have taken more time at the beginning to figure this function out as it was a real fundamental I missed and struggled with as a result.

Because I was sick or away for a large portion of Term One I found myself behind very quickly. When it came to catching up I went through all the material provided to us on Moodle and Teams and did all the steps/documented everything myself, but to make sure I was on the right track I was often checking Timothy Still's (timothystillop1.tumblr.com) for a reference point. I definitely don't think he as even aware I was using him for inspiration, but he had a really solid Tumblr to use as an example so if I ever meet him (or have I? I'm not even sure WHO Tim is) I will have to thank him for getting me through the Tumblr side of this course!

Our final project saw us make a nursery rhyme book for a small child, I chose to personalise mine for my three year old niece, Riley. This was without a doubt my favourite assignment of the semester across all my papers and I think that shows in my final spreads.

I wanted to challenge myself by minimising how much I used Photoshop to create my pages as this was the program I always gravitate towards. While I obviously had to cut my Riley images out and edit them on Photoshop, almost all other media featured on the pages was created in Illustrator. I did take my Illustrator backgrounds into Photoshop to add my Riley images so I could make final adjustments, but all in all I'd say 80% was Illustrator.

With this project I got a little bit excited and did stray away from the brief by adding an additional four pages, but I don't feel like the quality of my work dropped with the extra workload. My goal was to create something I could get printed and bound to give her as a gift, and I am so insanely proud with the work I produced I can't wait to give it to her.

One thing I will be revising before getting it printed is changing some of my supporting images into proper vector drawings. For the sake of time I did rip the pirate ship, the drum kit, and the microphone from the internet - but making them vector drawings that I create will allow for more cohesion across the book.

This course taught me a lot and has really inspired me to continue creating digitally. The skills and tools I have learnt across all three platforms will be things that I take away with me no matter what specific field I end up in - because even if I'm not using them professionally, they will be things I use in my own personal projects.

Thank you for sharing your knowledge with us, Toby!

[theflyingfeeling]

how abouttt detective au?:)

Am I making Aleksi a detective, solely because of this outfit? Why, yes I am 😌🔎

~

It's not like Aleksi has had that many cases during his relatively short career as a detective, so the comparison may not be fair. However, this has got to be one of the strangest ones he has ever encountered.

"So where did you last you see your friend?" he asks the four men standing in front of him, fidgeting with their fingers like schoolboys in trouble.

"Right there!" the one with the bass says and points at an empty stool behind a drum kit.

"And then he just went...poof?" Aleksi looks at them sceptically.

"Of course not," they tell him in an uneven choir, their tones ranging from annoyed to desperate.

"So...how exactly did it happen, then?"

"Well, we were practicing balancing our guitars on our fingers, you know, as you do," the blond one with the curls explains.

"N-naturally." What kind of band is this? A circus one?

"And then one hit Olli's head, so we had to take him to emergency room because he couldn't count my fingers correctly," the taller blond one continues. Indeed, the bassist seems to have stitches on his forehead, near the hairline.

"In Olli's defense, you couldn't count your fingers correctly either even though no one had hit you on the head with a guitar," the one with long dark hair comments.

Aleksi looks between the men like a spectator at Wimbledon. They all seem more than eager to tell the story, and Aleksi's not quite sure which one of them is the most reliable narrator.

"So Tommi drove us there, because Joel has no self-preservation and Niko drives like a grandma and-"

"Excuse me?"

"Just accept it, man," the curly-headed one says to the one apparently called Niko.

"At least I can drive a car, unlike you, who, I quote 'doesn't believe in automobiles'."

"What?" exclaims the one called Joel. "What do you mean you don't believe in cars? What the fuck does that even mean?"

Aleksi has a feeling the men are getting slightly off topic.

"I just think things would be simpler if we still used horse carriages," the curly-head says condescendigly.

"And when have you even been on a hor-"

"Gentlemen!" Aleksi interrupts Joel. "I'm afraid we don't have a moment to waste if you wish you find your friend."

"Yeah, sorry, Porko will shut up now," Niko glances at this..Porko, who sticks out his tongue in the most mature manner.

"We got to the emergency room, and the whole place was packed, and they said we'd have to wait for a couple of hours before they would take Olli in," Joel sighs.

"But we didn't have that much!" Porko cries out. "Olli was already on the verge of losing consciousness. He couldn't even see anymore!"

"Umm, actually," Olli says, scratching the back of his neck, "I had just rubbed my eyes too soon after washing them with disinfectant."

How do these guys survive on a daily basis?

Niko continues recalling the events. "They finally took him in at, like, seven, which was when our reservation at Dine Cellar started."

"It's my birthday, you see" Porko winks at Aleksi.

"Congratulations?" Aleksi mumbles, trying to not blush.

"It was my birthday before it was yours, Mr Centre of the Universe," Joel protests, and Aleksi can't help but think that each piece of information he's gathered from these men is more bizarre than the previous.

Niko shoots a deathly glare at the two squabbling men before going on with the story. "And I had to go with Olli because the nurse thought he was scared of medical operations."

"...When in reality I just felt so bad about ruining the evening, and when I feel bad, I often-" Olli paused to take a shaky breath, "I start crying, and I can't help it." He sniffles. "And look what I've done now! Tommi's gone missing, and who knows if we'll find him alive!"

"Naww, you didn't ruin anything, sweetie," Porko pouts at Olli and hugs him to his chest as he sobs.

"Yes, it was, in fact, your guitar smashing on Olli's head that put us in this situation," Niko says dryly. Aleksi crunches his eyebrows, still none the wiser about how their friend disappeared, seemingly into thin air.

"What about the rest of you? Did you stay at the hospital?"

"No, we were starving, so we drove to the closest McDonald's," Joel answers.

"And Joel threw a temper tantrum because they were out of Happy Meal toys," Porko chuckles, still holding Olli close to him while the man kept cuddling to his side.

"Yeah, first of all, what does that have to do with anything?" That is a reasonable question, finally a man of common sense! "Secondly, have you seen the Venom figurine? It's also a nerf gun, come on, how fucking cool is that?" ...Nevermind.

"Anyway," Porko begins again, "Then Niko called and said they were done with Olli's stitches and that they were ravenous as well, so we ordered more meals to go and returned to the hospital to pick up Niko and Olli."

"Yeah, what took you so long though?" Niko squints his eyes.

"Nothing, we were there perfectly in time, don't you remember," Joel mutters, while Porko sucks on his lips, as if to surpress a laughter.

"Well," he pats Joel on the back, "birthday boy here got really bad heartburn after his burger and fries and wouldn't stop whining about it, so Tommi had to drive by his apartment so that he could get his meds."

The events are still nowhere near the actual occurance Aleksi is supposed to be investigating, but by now he is sort of used to it. He wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if the next plottwist included something as crazy as-

"Yeah, and that fucking huge demon pigeon was back on my balcony again!"

...Sure. Why not.

This time Porko does a much poorer effort in holding back his chuckles. "Oh yeah, I forgot about our dear friend Bob. Tommi had to go up Joel's apartment and shoo it away, otherwise Joel wasn't going to let anyone in a five mile radius sleep that night."

"Did Tommi do this willingly?" Aleksi is beginning to wonder if Tommi had known exactly what he was doing when disappearing off the face of earth; perhaps he had just had enough of his friends' tomfoolery. Aleksi certainly isn't going to judge him for it, if that turned out to be the case.

"As willingly as he does anything for his friends," Porko answers with a longing glint in his eye and a palm cluthing his chest. "He's a good man."

"Yeah, unless you touch his drums or anything in his car," Olli adds, with a tone that revealed he has done both, with less than pleasant consequences.

"Then we were all sorta worn out, so we decided to stop by the liquor store," Joel says. "Then we went to get Niko and Olli from the hospital and came back here."

"With the liquor?" Aleksi asks for confirmation.

"Yes," they reply in unison.

Somehow, Aleksi feels like this is a turning point in his investigation.

"Did Tommi drink a lot?"

"We don't keep count, man," Niko smiles at him sarcastically.

"So it's no use asking how much you guys drank?"

"I mean, see for yourself, if you think it'll be of any help," Porko shurgs and gestures towards a table behind the sofa, filled with empty cans and bottles.

"Right. What's the last thing you remember from last night?"

"You really wanna know?" Porko raises his eyebrow at Aleksi and smirks. It's enough clue for Aleksi that no, perhaps he does not want to know.

Suddenly Olli's eyes grow large. "Oh..oh! Oh no!" he cries out, hiding his face in his palms.

"Do you remember something?" Aleksi inquires.

"I do! Oh no! Oh, Tommi!" he exclaims miserably. They all look at him expectantly, like waiting for an oracle to vocalize a prophecy.

"I remember lying there," he points at the sofa, "and seeing how he got up and climbed to the window and he...he jumped!"

A collective gasp escapes the mouths of his friends.

"Why would he do that?" Porko asks, his voice equally sad as Olli's. "He has so much to live for..."

"You know what, I knew it," Joel nods, his eyes glassy. "I heard the sirens this morning, while y'all were still sleeping. I bet they came for him."

"You mean the sirens at half past five this morning? Yeah, that was Porko wheezing while snoring again," Niko says. "Which means..."

Then they all rush to the window and open it to get a better view at the courtyard opening three storeys below them. Luckily, there's no sign of anyone having smacked down on the concrete.

Truly a curious case, Aleksi has to admit: a drummer sitting on his stool in one moment, vanished in the next. If Aleksi manages to solve the mystery, the union of detectives might finally give him the status of-

His train of thought is interrupted when the door opens and a tall man walks in.

"Tommi!"

"Morning," Tommi(?!) says. "What're you looking at, guys? And who are you?" he asks as he sets down his packback and steps over to the drum kit, already averting his focus on his instrument rather than his four friends with their gaping mouths.

"Where did you disappear last night?" Niko is the first one to ask the million dollar question.

"Home?" Tommi looks at him with side eyes and fixes his cap.

"Through the window?" It's Olli's turn to interrogate him.

"Porko had passed out in front of the door and wouldn't move."

"You could've just dragged me out of your way, you weirdo?"

"I rather used the fire ladder than found out what the sticky stuff you were covered in was."

"But why didn't you answer your phone when we called you this morning?" Joel demands to know.

"Left my phone in the car."

"And where did you leave yourself when we came to rang your doorbell, huh? We were really worried about you, man," Niko's voice almost breaks down.

"Guess I was buying breakfast. Seriously, what the hell is this fuss about, guys, are we gonna play or what? And who is that guy?"

The four men exchange embarrassed looks and, as if by silent agreement, Niko takes the ad about Aleksi's detective services they had taken from a bulletin board a few blocks away, rumbles it and tosses it in the rubbish bin.

"He's Joel's new one-nighter," Porko says, and Aleksi turns to look at him with wide eyes. "Bro, you must have been so drunk to not remember those crystal eyes."

"What?!" Joel whisper-shouts at Porko, who nudges him silent.

"He's staying for breakfast, aren't you?" Porko turns to meet Aleksi's stare.

Well. It's not like Aleksi had anything better to do.

[psychedeliagroove]

Guitar Lessons With Jimmy Page Part 3

It’s been a fat minute… But if you’re reading this after part 1 and 2, thank you. And if you’re new here please go and read part 1 and 2 and then come back here and (hopefully) enjoy part 3.

I love writing these, and I hope you love reading it as much as I loved creating it.

“Shit” I murmured to myself after I messed up my eyeliner for what felt like the hundredth time.

I never was one to spend too much time on my appearance even when my mother used to constantly badger me about how “a lady should always look put together”. I never did find myself listening to her advice, until now.

Finally my hand decided to stay steady as I drew the last wing, completing my eye makeup.

As I reached over to grab the Yardley lip stick sitting patiently on my vanity table I remembered the half-kiss I shared with Jimmy the other day.

The sweet, innocent, and sadly interrupted kiss.

The more I thought about it the more I wondered how far that seemingly innocent almost-kiss would have gone if not for Robert barging through the door and yelling at the top of his lungs.

I let out a giggle as I remembered the almost comical scene from last week.

I was pulled out from my thoughts in a second as my eyes made their way to the clock hanging on my wall. I gasped and hurriedly applied the coral pink lipstick that was in my hand.

Realising I had around 25 minutes to call a taxi and make my way to the gig, I leaped across my bed for the telephone which sat on my bedside table.

A telephone girl with a shrill voice answered the phone. “Hello, where from and where to will you be travelling this evening?” She said in a professional manner.

“From 87 Dover’s Green road to uh…” I grabbed the piece of paper that sat next to the telephone and squinted at the address that I had written down on to it during a phone call I received from Robert the other day.

���…To Ewell college, please!” I replied after making out the words from my messily rushed handwriting.

“Alright dear, your taxi will be arriving shortly, thank you for calling!”

And with that I could hear the click on the other end of the line that signalled the telephone girl had hung up.

I tapped my foot on the soft rug beneath me, already impatient.

“What did she mean by shortly? How shortly is shortly?” I wondered to myself, scared I might miss even a second of the gig.

However I was not let down by the taxi service when I saw the vehicle pull up to the sidewalk outside my window within the span of 7 minutes from the time of the initial phone call.

I grabbed my bag and struggled into my boots before racing out the door, on to the street, and into the taxi.

I stared out the window as the car passed Woodhatch park, then the local diner and then we were on the motorway. I felt my nerves grow the closer the taxi got to Ewell college.

Then they almost went out of control when the taxi driver turned to me and told me in his tired voice “this is your stop ma’am”.

I thanked and payed the man then I hopped out the car.

My heels clicked against the cold hard pavement that lead to the entrance of the college.

With the entrance of the college in view I only realised just how many people were entering, initially I thought that a good chunk of them could just be students but when I heard murmurs of the two names that were familiar to me I realised just how popular Jimmy and Roberts little band was.

With the crowd of college students and teenagers just like me, I made my way into the college, letting the bustling crowd that shifted around me guide me to the location of the gig.

Once inside I was met with a cramped looking stage that had a drum kit and a microphone stand set up atop its hard wooden flooring.

As I looked at the ever growing number of girls and boys in the auditorium, I realised just how many people came to watch the band, far more than I had anticipated.

At this point I couldn’t move an inch within the large crowd, but with strong determination and countless shoulder-shoves followed by apologies, I made my way to the front of the crowd with an up-close view of the small stage in front of me.

To pass the short amount of time before the band came on, some groups in the audience conversed with each other. Another small chunk of the audience gathered around in a corner.

At first I wondered why this group of long haired gals and guys were all huddled around.

That was until I saw the light from a small orange flame protruding from a lighter.

From there it don’t leave much to the imagination.

I leaned against the front of the stage, resting my arms atop the wooden flooring. It didn’t take long for a man that seemed to be the MC to walk onto the stage.

“Good evening everybody!” The man enthusiastically boomed out, his voice filling the rowdy and crowded room.

“It is my great honour to announce tonight’s performance, here in Ewell College, will you all please welcome to the stage, The New Yardbirds!”

Instead of the anticipated applause the crowd mostly went quiet, I looked around the crowd to see what the big deal was and heard murmurs of confusion around me.

“New yardbirds?” A man with a questioning look on his face behind me whispered to his friend to which returned the same confused expression.

“Hang on…. Err, my apologies.” The MC said apologetically as his eyes averted from the audience and to the queue card in his hand.

“Will you please welcome, Led Zeppelin” The man said which, this time round was met with the applause he was looking for.

After the crowds reaction the MC seemed satisfied and with that he walked off stage, and in his replacement three tall, long haired, and rather fashionable men made their way onto the stage.

The three were met with an applause that displayed the crowds excitement.

I spotted Robert instantly just by his golden lion-like mane of hair that tussled around with every movement he made.

Then my eyes met with a man adorning brunette hair that was fairly long but not as long as Roberts’s.

And lastly a man with hair of similar length except a lighter shade walked across the stage.

I looked around the stage for Jimmy, but to no avail.

I stared at the right side of the stage where the three members had walked out of in hopes Jimmy would come out.

And to my delight he did, protruding from the darkness came a tall pencil thin figure adorning a slightly oversized cream button up of crepe fabric and a lengthy satin scarf tied around his neck.

Once the crowd noticed his arrival, they welcomed him on just like they had done for the other three, in a loud and exciting manner.

Among the noises the crowd made for Jimmy, I could hear his name being cheered from all around the audience. I didn’t realise just how big of a name he’d made for himself in the area, he was treated just like any rockstar at a concert.

Sure David had went on and on about his talent, but witnessing the crowds reaction makes him seem more like a celebrity than a local talent.

I watched him as he made adjustments to the strap of his telecaster.

The bright stage lights illuminated his jet black curls and his ivory skin which made it seem almost iridescent.

He looked godly. There was no other description for it.

By now the other members had made their way to their respective spots on stage.

The dark brunette haired man was on the drums, which I thought was quite fitting as he seemed to be the tough type, the light brunette haired man stood on the left side of the stage tuning his bass, and lastly Robert, front and centre, wrapped his hand around the metal microphone stand making adjustments to it to cater to his towering height.

That was as figured. A man as exuberant as Robert just had to be the frontman I thought.

And especially with that loud booming voice I became acquainted with when I had first met him.

The crowd and I waited in anticipation for the four to begin their set, I didn’t know what to expect as a first timer but I knew they had to be good since they had the locally famous guitarist, Jimmy in the band.

Suddenly an explosion erupted from the speakers, except it wasn’t an explosion of noise but an explosion of strategically composed and intricate sounds that were nothing short of electrifying.

The sounds that came from the speakers were from Jimmy and the bassist. Both sounds from their instruments intertwined into one which lead to the crowds eruption of cheers and screams.

Suddenly Roberts vocals came in, just as powerful and loud as the instruments.

Then before I got a chance to breathe it all in, the drums boomed throughout the auditorium. I could feel the vibrations within my own body and I’m sure everyone in the audience could as well.

The four managed to be just as powerful as each other, not anymore and not any less. It was an insane sight to witness.

The set carried on, impressing me song after song and never failing to keep every single individual in the crowd screaming and moving around.

I couldn’t help myself but stare at Jimmy through most of the songs, his face, focused and expressive with every note and chord and yet just as I had imagined it was peaceful. Despite the songs being heavy and upbeat, he had that peaceful expression across his face that I noticed during my previous guitar lesson with him.

I smiled as I reminisced on this.

Then my smile was returned.

While in my thoughts, Jimmy had noticed me in the crowd, gazing at him with wide eyes and with a smile strewn across my face.

Upon realising this my expression turned into a look of surprise to which jimmy chuckle at. With that, his face averted from me and back down to his guitar.

I stood their giggling at myself taking into consideration that I probably looked like an idiot in the eyes of Jimmy.

Unfortunately for both the audience and myself the show seemed to be coming to a close. and once Robert thanked the crowd and went on to bid them all farewell, it was official.

I wasn’t sure how I was going to meet up with Jimmy and Robert for the drinks I was promised, so for now I decided on hanging around the auditorium.

I watched most of the audience members walk out the exit of the room. Chatting about the events they just witnessed with wide smiles as they soon disappeared from my sight.

Like myself, other individuals seemed to be hanging around as-well. Perhaps to meet the band when they eventually come out or to collect themselves after the heavy concert.

I found a place to sit and waited patiently.

I stared at the wooden floor, still in shock, recounting the performance that I had just witnessed.

I had never experienced anything like it despite frequenting many rock and roll concerts.

I felt a subtle ringing in my ears but I didn’t care, it was definitely worth it.

Suddenly a shadow appeared on the spot of floor I was fixed on.

I looked up and there, in all his glory, was a smiley Jimmy, glistening with sweat.

“What did you think about that?” Jimmy said, a smile spread across his face.

I could not find the words to reply, to be honest I don’t even think there are words to describe what I had just witnessed.

I spontaneously stood up from my seat and leaped onto Jimmy, putting both my arms around his neck in a hug.

“Oh Jimmy! It was incredible” I replied finally.

The realisation that I had only ever met Jimmy once before this had set in and attacking him with a hug like I was an old friend probably wasn’t the best thing to do, so I decided to release him, until I felt his warm hands on my lower back, pulling me towards him, returning the hug.

“Im so glad you think so, Y/N” he whispered to me.

It felt like my legs were about to give out at any second after hearing his voice in my ear while he held me in his arms.

I had never grown such a liking to someone like this before. A single, seemingly innocent guitar lesson which lasted around an hour was to blame for everything.

We released each other from our holds which left me with an instant feeling of emptiness, I could see his lips part, about to speak, but instead he was interrupted.

“Get back here Jim! We’re leaving” Robert bellowed in a very Robert fashion.

The two of us turned to where the voice had come from and there, along with the bassist and drummer he stood near the stage.

Robert shifted his face from Jimmy to me.

“Ahh, Y/N, You came! You enjoy the show?”

I was about to respond but before I could Robert spoke again.

“Jimmy bring Y/N along, let’s go!”

Jimmy turned to me and smiled, it was a sort of what-can-ya-do? Smile, I grinned at him and we walked towards the group.

I found myself in a crowded van filled with equipment. Not only was the band and myself here, but what I assumed to be the girlfriends of the two members of the band as well, to which I finally learnt the names of, John Paul Jones - the bassist, and John Bonham - the drummer.

A few roadies who I presume were friends of the band as well also came along for the trip.

The van was filled with conversation and laughter from every individual as the vehicle driven by one of the roadies made its way to a pub the band frequented.

I had never had this much fun in a while, I loved taking peaks at Jimmy’s face every now and then, just to see his eyes wrinkle with laughter and hear his memorable laugh, I did not want this moment to end.

Wow this took a while to post… I’m so sorry for the delay if you happened to be waiting on part 3! Thank you so much for reading I appreciate it so much. I love you.

[natromanxoff]

Queen live at Forest National in Brussels, Belgium - August 24, 1984

Some parts of the Hammer To Fall promo video were filmed during this show - the camera was filming the audience reactions during TYMD, Radio Ga Ga and Hammer To Fall. On the next day 20 fans from the Dutch fan club were invited to come again to the filming of the promo video.

At the gig, the band asked the audience to return the following day for the shoot. However, most likely assuming it was all a joke, the vast majority stayed away; in fact only a dozen fans turned up. Undeterred, the shoot went ahead anyway, with the band's performance that day interspersed with footage shot the previous night.

(x)

This is the first show of The Works tour.

According to the July '89 issue of Record Collector, Queen ran through about 40 songs during rehearsals. This list of songs rehearsed that didn't end up in the setlist comes from someone who worked on the tour:

Great King Rat (longer version), Brighton Rock (full song), I'm In Love With My Car, Sweet Lady, White Man, We Will Rock You (fast), Play The Game, Need Your Loving Tonight, Put Out The Fire, Las Palabras de Amor, Life Is Real (both Freddie solo piano and Freddie/Brian acoustic duet versions)

The keyboardist for this tour (and also the '86 Magic tour) is session musician Spike Edney. He would also lend some vocals to many songs and play rhythm guitar in Hammer To Fall. He and Roger Taylor would form a band called "The Cross" in 1987 which spawned three albums, and he would return to Queen in the 21st century to play on the tours with Paul Rodgers and Adam Lambert.

Spike was recruited in a very informal way by a Queen associate. He went to Munich for their first rehearsal in early August, wound up partying for most of the first night, and missed the first day's rehearsal. It later transpired that everyone else had. He recalls, "The next day, we all managed to get to it eventually, to the first rehearsal, and all the gear was set up. The stage was huge, and I thought "Oh well, here we go then" and we got to the first song , and what I'd forgotten was that they hadn't actually played together for two years. So they said, OK, let's try one of the new songs, I think it was Radio Ga Ga, and we started playing it, and course, I knew it, I'd been studying it for weeks. You know, 1,2,3,4 and we start and we get about a minute into the song and the whole thing collapses. And they all look at each other, you know, very sheepishly, and they say, "Anyone know how it goes?" and I say "well, actually, I know. I know how it goes" and they said "Ah". And so I started showing them the chords and everything and Fred looked at me and said "You don't know the words, do you?" and "Well, yeah I do actually" so then they all came round the piano and we spent the whole day just going through songs, and I thought, "I'm gonna be all right here, this'll be OK"!"

The show started very late, as the band were still doing soundcheck when they were supposed to go on. Apparently over the previous week there were few occasions when all four band members actually showed up for rehearsal. Many songs (likely those listed above) never made the setlist, and soundcheck was an extensive cramming session, particularly for the older material that they hadn't played in years.

Roger Taylor later reflected that this European tour was one of his favourites, and many fans cite the early Works setlist as their favourite ever played by the band. Three medleys are now played, two of which have revived many old songs: Killer Queen, Seven Seas Of Rhye, Keep Yourself Alive, Liar, Stone Cold Crazy and Great King Rat. Staying Power from Hot Space returns to the set, as does Sheer Heart Attack from News Of The World. Only half of Staying Power is played, and it runs into Dragon Attack, followed by an improvisation running into a more compact version of Now I'm Here compared to previous tours.

Many people who attended shows on this tour recall Queen having a very heavy sound, especially on songs like Liar and Stone Cold Crazy. By 1984 they had gained a reputation as being one of the best live rock acts in the business.

Six songs from The Works are performed each night, and the introduction tape is from the album track "Machines". After the heavy G chords are heard on the tape twice, the band walk on stage in the darkness to play the chords the third time, which leads into the brand new "Tear It Up". This is yet another effective opening to a Queen show, something they would perfect time and time again.

I Want To Break Free is performed each night in 1984-85 as the first encore, with Freddie coming on stage sporting a pair of huge plastic breasts under a pink shirt. Part way through the song, he would remove the breasts and twirl them around for a while before finally throwing them into the audience. Some souvenir! As a result of this gag, Another One Bites The Dust has been moved from the encore to be earlier in the set.

This tour showcases an incredible lighting rig and an overall setup mimics the movie Metropolis, from which scenes were used for the promo video of Radio Ga Ga last year. The huge wheels behind the stage (modelled after the ones on The Works album cover) rotate at mostly random times - usually because they are turned manually by various crew members such as Roger's tech Chris "Crystal" Taylor whenever they have a free moment (Freddie Mercury's assistant Peter Freestone told the tale in 2021):

“Yeah, I mean Rio was… amazing. The feeling from that crowd… you know, something like 350,000 people. Oh, you can’t beat that. And when you’re flying in a helicopter over that crowd, it was stunning. But the thing is, I know this sounds really, really stupid but [laughs]… one thing I will always, always remember from that tour was, remember, in the back of the stage you had these wheels that turned every now and then, not constantly but just every now and then. That was because there was… the guy looking after Roger’s drums and me who actually turned those wheels. And there was no set cue or anything that, “Oh, it has to start on this bar, on this song.” No, it was when he wasn’t doing anything and I wasn’t doing anything, we’d say “Ok, let’s go and do it.” And we turned the wheels for a couple of minutes and then left them alone. He had then to do something for Roger and I would just sit there like I always did. And then you’d go back and you’d turn the wheels, like a hamster. We were like hamsters…”

However, a crew member who worked on the tour recalls otherwise: "I do know local crew members were used on the UK shows and certainly (a number of) European gigs. The other thing is that Radio Ga Ga had a set piece with the cogs and lighting, using low ambient lighting and strobes to emphasise mechanical motion of the cogs during the instrumental break. Would Roger Taylor be happy with no one covering him/his kit during a show? Possibly Peter Freestone is remembering production rehearsals when any spare bodies might have been asked to operate the cogs?"

During vocal improvisations on this tour, Freddie would often include bits of "Foolin' Around" and "Living On My Own" from his pending first solo album, which he had been working on during this period.

Freddie now plays a Telecaster for Crazy Little Thing Called Love. It would remain like this through the Magic tour.

The band no longer bring a gong with them on the road. Roger now does a cymbal roll at the end of Bohemian Rhapsody.

A fan recalls hearing the band running through Tear It Up whilst queuing up to enter the venue.

Freddie's voice is in superb shape for this show, but it will quickly weaken as the tour progresses. As incredible as Freddie Mercury was, he certainly did not take care of his voice at times, especially in the mid-80s. After a couple years of heavy smoking, Freddie's voice now sounds a lot deeper and raspier overall.

Before It's A Hard Life, Freddie says, "I think tonight we're gonna do songs from just about every album that we've ever made. You heard some very early stuff from the first album. Right now I think we're gonna do something very new, and we'll see what you think of it."

Freddie does a vocal exchange with the audience before Staying Power, singing "Get Down Make Love" and "Gimme Some Lovin" a few times. The band would improvise bits of the latter a couple times in 1986.

This is the only show on the entire Works tour where Roger plays regular acoustic drums on Another One Bites The Dust (before which Freddie teases the audience with a bit of Mustapha). For the rest of the tour, he'd play electronic drums. He'd also integrate the electronic drum kit into a few other songs, like at the beginning of Hammer To Fall, where one might argue that his sounds don't appropriately complement the guitar to create the intense, heavy sound.

The band sound very tight on this opening night of the tour, with the only exception being the rough transition from Stone Cold Crazy to Great King Rat. The keyboard and guitar solos are integrated together for the first few shows of the tour, during which Brian plays a few bits from Machines. Spike Edney uses his vocoder (a Roland VP-330) for the "machines" and "back to humans" lines heard throughout the tour during this spot (he would use his vocoder for the "radio" lines in Radio Ga Ga as well). After this segment, Brian then gets a few minutes to play on his own as usual.

Parts of the promo video for Hammer To Fall were filmed during this show. Claims from some (even official) sources state that Freddie invited the audience back for (what would actually be "additional") filming the following day aren't true. Here is all that Freddie had to say before the song: "This next song we're gonna use in our next video. So everybody just go mad and maybe later you'll see one of you guys inside the video one day. Oh, just go crazy, take your clothes off. It's called Hammer To Fall." After the song, he simply says, "Good night, you guys!" as that was the last song of the set.

Here is a fan's recollection: "On the night of the gig, there was a camera mounted on an arm that would swing over the front rows of the audience during a few songs. These audience shots were taken during Tie Your Mother Down, Radio Ga Ga, and Hammer To Fall itself. I guess they also had a camera up in the box at the back of the hall [as there are a few shots of both the audience and the band]. I don't remember any cameras onstage during the gig - just the one mounted on the arm."

The Dutch fan club invited only about twenty of its members to attend the video shoot the next day. They were instructed by a roadie to sit quietly on a chair and not to move or approach the band members. After a few hours, Brian came over and had a chat with them, checking to see if they were enjoying themselves and if they were hungry. He then promptly ordered them some take-out!

A minute of Tie Your Mother Down from this show was later broadcast on the Belgian TV station "RTBF" (x) (x). An audience-shot video allegedly exists as well, containing five songs.

After years of speculation, the existence of more footage from this show was proven when bits of it were included in the promo video for Let Me In Your Heart Again in 2014. About 30 seconds of Somebody To Love (largely crowd shots) were seen. There is, however, no accompanying audio. (x)

The first photo is from the autumn 1984 Queen fan club magazine. Brian is seen with a watchful eye over the proceedings. Tour manager Gerry Stickells and his wife are also in the shot.

Pics 2 through 6 were submitted by Alessio Rizzitelli, and the seventh pic was taken by Dave Matkin.

(x)

[ktheist]

05 — show me yours & i’ll show you mine | m

➙ muses. seokjin x college student / gamer!reader ft. best friend! taehyung

➙ genre. best friend’s brother au. university au. working au. fwb au.

➙ word. 1.8k

➙ warnings. mild exhibitionism

➙ index. 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | finale | side story 1 |

➙ synopsis.

“i missed you.”

“i know.”

x

you steal one last glance at seokjin, the smallest of smirk playing on his lips but before it spreads across his face, he’s already burying it in the crook of your neck, biting and suckling on that one spot that gets you clenching your legs together only to be reminded of the man buried to the hilt in between your thighs.

“hey, tae,” you sing the first word, barely managing to get your best friend’s name out without your voice cracking as seokjin starts to move again, tampering with your sanity.

“hey, where you at?” taehyung baritone rings in your left ear where your phone is pressed and seokjin’s exhaled breath drums in the other.

“uh, in class?” your brain shortcircuits - you can barely offer anything tangible than a two worded reply but that probably has something to do with the hand that clasps over your mouth as you feel the moan about to spill off your lips.

“still? i thought you have class till noon and the rest of the day off on thursdays?” the confusion in taehyung’s voice laces around his words - you can almost hear him scratching his head in confusion whilst his brother’s hands rests on the dip of your waist, pulling out and letting a pause lull in between you, that damned smirk gone from seokjin’s face, replaced with a hazed look that couldn’t care less about the little brother who’s on the phone with the woman he’s about to-

“fu-” you whimper against the mouth that crashes against yours, swallowing your moan.

but the kiss was short-lived.

you push away seokjin’s face to force out an awkward laugh, “yeah, so i forgot i had a replacement class.”

“shit, you just knew?” taehyung sounded like he didn’t mind having a whole conversation with you while you were in your fake class.

“i mean,” you breathe out softly when seokjin’s thumb grazes your erected nub, “i think the professor mentioned it some time ago? i don’t know. didn’t care.”

“touche.” the man on the other end replies, you can almost hear him nodding.

“i gotta go, okay?” and with that, you toss your phone to the side.

in hindsight, you should’ve checked if you properly ended the call.

but how can you have a sliver of concern for something else when you’re too rapt in grasping onto the bed sheets as stars dot behind your eyelids. pleasure courses through your veins. back arching, toe curling, heart leaping within your caged chest as moan after moan pours out of your mouth as seokjin takes you higher than any man you’ve had before.

seokjin’s body falls over you a moment later, his strong arms propped on either sides of your head on the bed as he moans. your arms wrap around his body, face buried in the crook of his neck as you tighten yourself around him, goosebumps rising on your skin when his moan turns to a growl as you feel him twitch inside you.

it’s a moment later, once your breathing calms down, do you catch the faint scent of seokjin’s cologne amidst the smell of sweat and sex in the air as seokjin lifts your head with his hand, pushes the pillow away and places your head on his bicep as his free hand wraps around your body. because of your position, you can clearly hear the sound of his heart beating in his chest.

he should be getting off his high but why is his heart racing like crazy?

you snuggle into him, forehead resting against his chest as your cheeks remain hot - you think you’re gonna catch a fever.

x

the weeks pass by in a breeze with taehyung adamantly advocating for you, hoseok, jimin and him to hang out at jeongguk’s place. rather than a place, it’s a studio for one so having five grown adults in the same room isn’t exactly the brightest idea.

neither you nor taehyung brought up what happened three weeks ago. whether he heard you have sex with his brother - you rather not find out. but to say that everything went back to normal would be a pathetic lie.

every time silence lapses over you, there’s a stale air of awkwardness that comes with it. as if you have to sift through your brain for a topic or else you’ll die from suffocation because having a hole open up underneath you and swallow you into oblivion is too good of a fantasy.

but little do you know, that’s only the tip of the iceberg.

“jinnie, you got so much better at cooking!” a high pitched squeal bursts your eardrums as you watch yoo mina stand too close to your man in her delivery of compliments.

“psssh, this is nothing, wait till you taste my special garlic butter potatoes,” seokjin tries to play it cool but the blush on his cheeks is too apparent even to a blind person.

not to mention, she’s using the nickname you gave him. well, his parents started calling him jinnie first and since you’ve been around for a long time, you end up calling him that too but that’s besides the point.

the point is, you’ve found an annoying little thorn stuck inside your flesh and you want her out.

christmas break rolled around and for the first time, the four of you manage to catch a flight back to your hometown at the same time. usually, seokjin and namjoon would have a day off and spend christmas together in seoul since a day is too short of time to be flying back and forth while you and taehyung go back home.

though this year, your parents decide to make an impromptu visit to your grandparents’ two days before you landed and leave you in the kim’s care like a charity basket on someone’s doorstep on christmas eve.

“yo,” taehyung’s baritone drums in your ears all too suddenly, making you flinch, “can you pass me the-”

as if on cue, an earth shattering crack bounces off the walls for the longest moment as silence settles in the room and nothing except the sound of the tv host energetically announcing something about welcoming guests to the show, fills the air.

“...angel,” taehyung ends his words, blinking at the pieces of porcelain angel scattered across the floor near your feet.

“oh shit, sorry,” you say to no one in particular, heart racing as you drop to your knees, attempting to gather the broken pieces in hopes of- “can you ask mrs. kim if you have hot glue?”

“___, don’t touch the glass with your hands-” you can barely make out taehyung’s instructions even though he’s standing on the ladder right next to you.

“maybe i can piece it b- ah,” you hiss, retracting your hand and holding it against your chest as you watch the spot where it stings starts to seep out bleed.

“let me see that,” a large hand slips under yours gently, as if you’d break under the slightest pressure.

the familiar scent of ocean and fresh air hits your nose as a pair of troubled eyebrows bind together, eyes focused on your bleeding finger, “we need to disinfect it,” seokjin turns to the dark haired girl and middle aged woman standing a few feet away, probably giving you space to breathe and recover from your shock, “sorry mom. mina. can you watch the stove for a bit? and - is the first aid kit still under the sink in the bathroom?”

the pain hasn’t registered, but it’ll be a bitch once it does.

mrs. kim smiles that warm, gentle smile that seokjin often wears. like mother like son, “yes, dear, it’s still there. we hadn’t moved it since you left because no one was getting hurt some of them might’ve expired...”

“come on,” seokjin pushes himself up first but he stops mid action as your anguished voice slips out of your mouth, “ow ow ow, jinnie, it hurts so much, i can’t even stand up.”

“wait, let me-” taehyung starts before his voice gets drowned out by his mother’s order to- “oh tae, since you’re not doing anything, go get the gloves and broom from the storage room and clean this up.”

seokjin shakes his head, an amused smile on his lips as his hands slip under your armpits and hoists you up to your feet like he would a child.

“welp, there goes my chance of being carried like a princess,” you sigh, lips puckering into a pout but you don’t expect him to agree to it so casually-

“okay.”

with a shrug and an all too willing smile, one arm wraps around your shoulder as he bends down to hook his other arm under your knees - only to have you grasp a handful of his sleeve in a desperate attempt to stop him from dipping any lower. like a lesser than smooth criminal scared of getting caught.

“i’d reach up and pluck the stars for you if you asked me to, what makes you think i won’t carry you in my arms if that’s what you want me to do?” his face is dangerously close to you as he whispers before standing back up again.

“what if i asked you to stop talking to someone?” cheeks hot, you murmur to yourself, glancing at mina’s frowning face as you and seokjin walk pass the kitchen counter, him with his face too close and you with your overjoyed heartbeat.

 “just kidding!” you grin at the man before skipping a few steps ahead.

x

“no, please! i don’t wanna die!” you lament, leaning your body over the bathtub and away from the man that’s holding the gauze pad soaked in alcohol over the cut.

instead of sighing, clicking his tongue and calling you dramatic like his brother would, seokjin chuckles, “you know, we haven’t had a conversation since forever. what’s your favorite thing about christmas?”

“you’re just asking to distract me and when i’m distracted, you’ll pour the alcohol over the cut and it’ll hurt like hell,” you pout, eyes boring into his in an attempt to scour for admittance but when he doesn’t let up, you let a grin spread across your face, “i’ll let you do that for a kiss.”

but his inquiry isn’t what you expected, “just a kiss?” 

“and a hug,” you nod, opening your arms and offering an innocent smile that barely stays for longer than a second before you feel his arms around your waist, his hand on the back of your head pulling you down to his longing lips.

the kiss lingers a little too long. seokjin pulls away only to breathe out a sigh of relief, as if quenched from the deprivation that almost drove him insane. his hands lock on your back as his face finds home in the crook of your neck. he tends to do that - breathe in the scent of your perfume as if it’s his safe haven.

“i missed you,” his breath is hot against your skin, but nothing could beat the warmth spreading throughout your whole body from just holding him like this.

your heart clenches in your chest. a kiss on top of his head.

“i know.”

x

taglist.  @aretha170 @scalubera @ambersaesthetics @heyjiminnie @hyuck-me @fanfuckingfic @fangurl-ontgeside @bri-mal @waves-and-woods​ (if i missed anyone, please comment below. i haven’t got my shit together after coming back eye-)

note. so i wrote this before christmas, hence the holiday theme for this chapter. but stuff happened and i couldn’t post it. hope yall enjoyed!

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Eleven: Water Under the Bridge (Finale)

a/n: welcome back my loves <3 It’s so weird to think that this is the final chapter of YBMH and I’m definitely having a lot of feelings about it (denial, mostly). I want to say a huge thank you from the very bottom of my heart for sticking with this story and these characters that I love so much. I’ve had the most fun over the past few months talking to some of you and hearing your thoughts; I cherish it more than you’ll ever know. With all of that said, I’m going to miss this era so so much but I would still love to hear from you lovelies, so please feel free to drop by my inbox and let me know what you thought of this series!! Feedback, criticism, all of it is welcome :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai’i!Harry x Original Character (Halani <3)

Warnings: swearing, angst

Word Count: 6.7k

catch up on parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten

January, 2018

A strand of hair tickles Harry’s nose and his eyes flutter open. The faint sound of car horns and traffic outside reminds him of his location when his memory fails. He gently slips out of the bed and tiptoes over to the window, careful not to wake the girl sleeping soundly next to him. A thick layer of snow blankets every building and surface in New York City as far as the eye can see, and the grey sky above signals another storm on its way. 

I’m going to die of hypothermia, Alani shivers, nursing her steaming cup of tea as she walks away from the office window and takes a seat behind her desk. Even after living in the city for a year, she still hadn’t adjusted to the cold weather and feared that she never would. Her boyfriend had joked on numerous occasions that you can take the girl out of the island, but you can’t take the island out of the girl. 

“Vanessa’s on line three,” her assistant calls from the doorway. 

“Thanks,” Alani nods before bringing the phone to her ear. “So, what did you think?”

“It was brilliant,” the editor admits. “Insightful, witty. I think they’ll love it,”

Alani smiles and spins in her seat to face the window again. “St. James has been on my ass about this piece for weeks. I hope it’ll shut him up,”

“It will, trust me. Hey, I gotta go, but I sent the revision notes and we can discuss more later,”

“Great, thank you so much. See you at dinner,”

“Ta-ta.”

Alani reaches for a pen and scribbles a reminder onto a pink post-it note nearby. 

Bloody five-star hotel, you’d think they could afford decent pens.  Harry grumbles to himself, shaking the ballpoint to no avail. 

“Where are you going?”

Harry freezes in his tracks and turns to the brunette stretching out her tired limbs. He has to clear his throat to keep from saying the wrong name. 

“Just a quick walk,” he explains with a tight lipped smile. “Go back to bed.” 

She flashes a wide grin and snuggles back into the covers, but he secretly hopes that she’s gone by the time he returns. 

The snow crunches under Harry’s feet and he digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. He had never been very fond of the cold, but he did have to admit that Central Park looked unbelievably beautiful in the winter. His phone buzzes inside his pocket and he digs it out to read the message. 

Mitch: Me and Sarah are going to Bisous in ten. Meet us?

Harry: See you there. 

********

“French is such a pretentious language,” Maleah scoffs, taking a bite of her pastry. “But I’ll be damned if I have to give up my chocolate croissants,”

Alani chuckles lightly and traces the restaurant’s logo of a red kiss printed on her napkin. Going to Bisous at least once a day had become a tradition during her best friend’s visits. 

“I’ll have to smuggle a real one back for you and then you can tell me if this one’s the real deal,”

“When are you going, again?”

“Next month,”  

Maleah wiggles her brows. “Oooh, Valentine’s Day? Are you taking Mason with you?”

“No,” Alani says casually. “It’s for work,”

“Well, who says you can’t mix business and pleasure?”

“Literally everyone.”

“Okay,” Maleah sighs, patting her full stomach. “Let’s go now before I get sleepy.”

The two friends make their way out of the busy restaurant and Alani’s shoulder brushes someone next to her. 

“Sorry.” she apologizes, making brief eye contact with the other person before doing a double take. 

Mitch purses his lips and turns his head back to the other girl at his arm while Maleah drags Alani out the door. 

********

“I mean, what the hell was that? I could barely keep my drum kit together,” Sarah laughs gently, sipping her coffee. 

“Cause of death: rocking too fucking hard,” Mitch shrugs. “There are worse ways to die,”

Harry stirs his black coffee with a spoon and watches the mini whirlpool grow. “Rob said you could feel it in the balcony, too,”

“I’m surprised you didn’t die,” Mitch pokes. “Mr. defective lungs,”

“Heyyy, I can’t help the asthma thing, alright?”

“Well it’s the last night,” Sarah chimes in. “Are we gonna try to beat the Kiwi record and go for four times in a row?”

Harry shrugs, a soft grin on his lips. “Dunno. Maybe if it feels right,”

“I say we cut out the middleman and just bulldoze MSG ourselves. What difference does it make if the fans tear the house down or if we do?” Mitch suggests. 

“Oh yeah,” Harry nods. “I’m sure Irving would love that.”

“Some food for thought.”

The trio finish their breakfasts and excitedly continue their conversations about the impending show, but the entire time, Mitch is haunted by the knowledge of Alani’s presence in the city. He debates telling Harry, but is suddenly reminded of the intense aftermath of the pair’s falling out. 

********

“Where’s Alani?”

“Don’t fuckin’ say that name to me ever again.” 

Mitch’s brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

And with a simple question, anger had subsided into grief. Mitch still didn’t  know all of the details surrounding their split, but he had pieced together sufficient bits from Jeff and, in part, from the lyrics Harry penned in the following weeks. The slump had lasted through the fall and winter of that year, but as spring rolled around and the album’s release drew closer, Harry pulled himself together enough to promote and tour. It felt good to be on the road, and he found himself revitalized by the energy of those who came to support. Tour itself had been relatively intimate, as he had actively decided to play smaller venues than the sold out stadiums he was accustomed to, but the enthusiasm of the crowds hadn’t changed from his band days. As Harry occupied his attention with music, Hawaii grew smaller and smaller in the back of his mind. Eventually, it dwindled into a dull ache at the center of his chest, felt only on particularly long nights coaxed with a little bit of alcohol in his bloodstream. For now, he tried to focus on his last show at Madison Square Garden. 

********

Alani’s stomach turns. Had she really seen Mitch or had it been a remarkable doppelgänger? She hoped it was the latter, knowing that if he really was in New York City, Harry wasn’t far behind. This was by no means the first time she had been reminded of her summer love turned sour, but it stung just as much every time. The first incident was last April when she turned on the T.V. only to find Harry performing one of his new songs on Saturday Night Live. It had resulted in the loss of her favorite mug as it shattered against the hardwood floor in her apartment. Since that day, Alani had seen his face on countless billboards in Times Square and habitually asked taxi drivers to change the radio station or turn it off entirely. After a while, she had gotten better at dealing with the sinking feeling whenever he was mentioned, it was easier to detach feelings for someone who lived on a screen. Running into Mitch, however, had blasted a hole straight through the fourth wall that Alani had erected,  and she knew that there was absolutely no way she could cope with a similar encounter from Harry. 

“Oh shit,” Maleah gasps softly, looking through the windshield at the hundreds of people lined up on the pavement outside of Madison Square Garden. 

“What?” Alani asks, head still spinning. 

Her best friend immediately turns to her with a nervous smile and shrugs. “Oh it’s nothing. Hey do I have something in my teeth?”

Alani glances out the window behind Maleah and her eyes bulge. “Woah, what’s happening there?”

“Oh it’s probably, like, Lady Gaga or something. Anyways, look at this random text I got the other day.”

But it wasn’t “Lady Gaga or something.” The marquee reads “Harry Styles—SOLD OUT” in bold lettering. Alani retches into her bag. 

********

“Oh, for fucks saaake!” Harry shouts playfully, the sound of his obscenities echoing throughout the large venue. 

Mitch and Adam chuckle beside him and continue setting up their equipment while Sarah offers a comedic “badum-tss” on her drum set. 

“Okay then at that point, stage lights will come down and it’s ‘Meet Me in the Hallway’,” the technical director speaks into his earpiece.

Harry nods and watches the screen behind him roll through the animation that will play during the song. 

“Alright, then it’s—”

“Wait,” Harry interjects over the mic. “Sorry, can we run it?”

“Run ‘Meet Me’?”

“Yeah,”

Mitch tenses listening to the conversation that filters through his own inner ear piece, but he continues fiddling with the strings of his guitar.  

“Running ‘Meet Me’,” the director affirms. “Sarah, stand by.”

Harry’s eyes dart over to Mitch and he nods as a sign to begin. The guitarist clears his throat and strums the opening chords. 

Meet me in the hallway 

“M’gonna go wait in the hall…”

Meet me in the hallway 

“Give you some space to think and then we’ll talk, yeah?”

I just left your bedroom 

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

Give me some morphine 

“I hope you got all the material you wanted.”

Is there any more to do?

“Please don’t go.”

Just let me know and I’ll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I’ll be on the floor, on the floor 

Maybe we’ll work it out

********

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” Maleah offers. “I can catch a return flight tomorrow,”

Alani sits up in her bed and shakes her head. “No, Mi, it’s okay. I’ll be fine,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s probably just a stomach bug or something,”

Maleah gives her friend a tight squeeze and pulls away to read her face. “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll come right back,”

“Thank you,” Alani says, forcing a smile. “I’m so sorry to put a damper on your last day.”

“Nah, there’s nothing to worry about. Feel better soon, Nani.”

The door closes softly and Alani burrows deeper into the covers. She tries to bury the emotion back under a lock and key, but a gentle sob fights its way up her chest. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, she cries, but maybe it was. Just as the sun rises and sets, so had Harry entered and exited her life, and maybe that’s exactly how it was meant to be. After all, Alani had gotten exactly what she wanted, hadn’t she? So why does it still hurt? 

The snow falls gently outside of her window, but the entire scene blurs into shades of white and grey behind her tears. It had snowed just like this on the day she moved to the city. Shortly after the article about Harry had been published by a small gossip site, Alani had contacted the publishers and threatened litigation if they didn’t take it down. Unsurprisingly, they had also been contacted by Columbia Records and thus, the piece was removed that same day. Despite the quick turnaround, Rolling Stone had caught wind of the storm brewing on social media and reached out to Alani a few days later. They had been impressed that the elusive Harry Styles granted her an interview, but they didn’t push the matter much further. Instead, they had offered her one piece of her choosing to prove herself. If the reviews were favorable, she would be given a regular contributor spot, unpaid of course. They would re-evaluate at the beginning of the new quarter and negotiate from there. When January of 2017 rolled around, Alani’s writing was making surprising waves in the Rolling Stone community, so she had been hired on as a junior writer and assistant to the Editor in Chief. The pay wasn’t great, but it was a leap in the right direction. 

Despite everything that had changed in a year, a string of random letters on a building that Alani passed a million times had brought her emotions right back to the day she had tried so hard to forget. Her phone buzzes under the covers and she reaches out a hand to locate it. Her editor’s name appears and she answers it quickly. 

“Hello?”

“Darling, hello! Where are you?”

“Oh my god,” Alani groans. “Vanessa I’m so sorry,”

“Is everything okay?”

Alani sits up and clears her throat. “I have food poisoning,”

“Christ, from where?”

“Bisous,”

Vanessa sighs. “Poor thing. Okay, no worries we’ll just reschedule,”

“I’m so sorry, I’ll make it up to you,”

“No need to be sorry, get some rest and we’ll catch up later!”

The call ends and Alani gawks at the time. 7:30 already?  She slumps back under the covers and sifts through her social media, wincing when she sees several of her friends posting about the line outside of Madison Square Garden. No, Alani decides sternly when the sudden urge to go stirs in the pit of her stomach, absolutely no fucking way. 

********

“10 minutes!”

Harry scans the crowd from the monitor backstage. He pinches his lower lip between his index finger and thumb as the nerves settle in. 

“The house is packed,” Jeff comments with a hand on the singer’s shoulder. “And there’s still a crowd outside,”

“We did it?”

“You did it,”

So why does it still hurt? 

“Thanks for everything,” Harry says, bringing his manager in for a hug. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Jeff pats Harry on the back. “All in a day’s work for the dream team.”

Before heading out, Harry stops one of the crew members and asks if any of the guests on his list have arrived yet. Names are read off, friends from different inner circles over the years, but there’s one name in particular that isn’t called. He offers a thumbs up and a forced grin before making his way to the stage.

It always surprises the technical crew at every venue that Harry has specific lighting requests for the house. Performers had their individual preferences, this wasn’t unusual, but no one made a bigger deal about being able to see the crowd like Harry did. He enjoyed being able to see each person and connect with them, especially when performing an album that was as personal as this one. But in every sea he searched, one face was always missing. Tonight’s audience, much to his disappointment, was no different. 

The crowd cheers as “Sweet Creature” fades out and the lights on stage dim. More than half of the show has already gone by and they’ve reached the point that is always a little harder to get through. Harry takes a swig from his water bottle and clears his throat to fight the lump that forms. He breathes in deeply and “Meet Me in the Hallway” begins, but no matter how hard he tries to focus on the technical aspects of his performance, it’s nearly impossible not to get dragged back into the moment when the song was written. 

“I should go back,” 

“H, I don’t know if that’s such a good—”

“I have to go back.” 

And so he had. After two hours of pacing the airport lounge, Harry had jumped into an Uber and sped back to the hotel. It had taken another agonizing twenty minutes to explain his situation to the front desk workers and retrieve his old room key, but it was no use. He was too late. The bed was still unmade, but there was no sign of Alani save for the faint scent of Baby Honey and a gold necklace tucked away between the sheets. 

The flight back to the mainland had already departed by the time Harry stumbled through the hotel lobby, and there wouldn’t be another one for three more hours. In the meantime, he decided to get some fresh air and clear his mind, hoping all the while that he would find Alani at the edge of the beach waiting to run back into his arms. She never did, and he was left with all the words he wished he had said. 

I walked the streets all day 

Running with the thieves 

‘Cause you left me in the hallway 

Just take my pain away 

Just let me know and I’ll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I’ll be on the floor, on the floor 

Maybe we’ll work it out

********

“Great show,” praises Rob Sheffield, author of one of Harry’s favorite books, Love is a Mix Tape. “Drummer’s incredible,”

Sarah beams and Harry flashes her a grin. “Thanks. It’s Sarah’s band, really. I’m just the frontman,”

“Well she kicked ass. All of you did, and I can tell by the way the floor was shaking that I’m not the only one who thought so.”

“Thank you so much, that means a lot.”

More guests filter in and congratulate Harry and the rest of the band, but while he sincerely appreciates all of the love, he can’t help the way his eyes flicker to the door every once in a while in the hope that someone else will straggle in. He slowly loses that hope when the room empties and the night drags on. 

********

This isn’t ethical, Alani chastises herself, this is wrong on every level and you’re gonna pay. She runs her fingers over the Rolling Stone press badge in her hand and stares at the marquee towering over her. What the fuck are you doing? 

“Excuse me!” Alani calls when she sees an employee slip through a side door. “Hi, I know I’m really late but I’m actually here with Rolling Stone,”

The blonde-haired woman blinks and scans over the badge with an unamused look on her face. 

“Nice try,”

“No, wait,” Alani begs. “I have to get in there, please—”

“You and every other girl within a twenty-five mile radius.”

Alani takes a deep breath and re-groups. “You don’t understand. I really need to get back there, I’m working on an important piece,”

As the struggle continues, another woman in stiletto heels exits through the side door with a clipboard in tow. 

“My name is Alani Hale, see? Please just—”

“Wait,” the woman with the clipboard intervenes. The name sounded strangely familiar, probably from the blacklist, in which case security would need to be notified. “What did you say your name was?”

Alani holds her badge out and swallows hard. “Alani Hale, junior writer for Rolling Stone.”

The woman checks through the blacklist but the name isn’t registered. She does a cursory glance over the V.I.P section and her finger lands on a note that reads “Mahealani ‘Alani’ Hale—Code Carolina: escort backstage and inform Mr. Styles immediately.”

“Follow me, please,”

Alani trails behind, doing her best to keep up with the long strides of the woman with the clipboard.

 “Marta to security, I have a Code Carolina,” she murmurs into her ear piece. “Repeat, I have a Code Carolina.”

Alani’s heart races as they zig-zag through the arena. Did Harry know that she was coming? Had Mitch told him that they saw each other at Bisous? The answer was no, Mitch hadn’t told and Harry didn’t know. He had only hoped. Unbeknownst to Alani, her name was printed on the Madison Square Garden list and on every list of every show in all the countries scheduled. Through Paris and all through Rome, Harry had looked for her face in the crowd and he dreamed that one day his efforts wouldn’t be in vain. 

“Wait here,” Marta instructs, leading Alani to a back room with mirrors, a couple of couches, and a clothing rack. “Someone will be with you shortly.”

Before she can ask any questions, Marta is gone and the sound of her heels echo down the hall. Alani takes a deep breath and her lungs are immediately filled with the familiar scent of vanilla. Her eyes carefully rake over the scene and land on a familiar white shirt hanging on the rack and the words “Enjoy Health, Eat Your Honey.”

“Thief,”

“I meant to return it.”

Alani spins on her heel and Harry stands with his fists shoved deep inside the pockets of his flared pants, eyes cast down at the floor. She tugs on the sleeves of her coat and offers a shy smile. 

“It’s okay, looked better on you anyway.”

A brief silence follows and they size each other up like it’s a gunfight, each waiting to see who will draw first. His hair is longer and curlier, Alani notices, chest and shoulders broader, too. But there’s a familiarity in his creased brow and in the heart shaped curve of his cupid’s bow. Harry does his own inventory; dark, almond shaped eyes, check. Round face, cinnamon skin, check and check. Her long, wavy locks are now shoulder length, but he’d recognize the scent of Baby Honey anywhere. The two are absorbed in their own silent assessments for a moment longer, but Alani quickly gets the urge to flee after she counts too many similarities between this Harry and the one that left her with a broken heart. 

“I should go,” she croaks, taking a step back. “I shouldn’t have come—”

“Why did you?” Harry asks earnestly. 

Alani tugs at a loose thread on her sleeve before crossing her arms. “Saw your name outside and got curious. For a while there, I started to think that maybe I imagined you,”

Harry doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that he had haunted her as much as she had plagued him. He had spent so long believing that he meant nothing to her, but nevertheless, a part of him left room for her return. 

“You did, this is a hologram projection,”

Alani smiles and her shoulders relax at his humor. It really was him. 

“Did you enjoy—”

“I didn’t see the show—” they speak at the same time, eager words overlapping. 

“Oh,” Harry laughs softly. “You didn’t miss much,”

Alani shakes her head and takes a single step forward. “No, that’s not true. I’m sure it was amazing,”

Harry offers a coy grin, the shadow of a dimple on his left cheek. One hand emerges from his pocket and his knuckle brushes against the tip of his nose. Alani catches sight of the silver rose on his finger and she still remembers how it feels under the pad of her thumb. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks softly, pulling her from her reverie. 

“What?”

“Have dinner with me?”

Alani blinks, her throat suddenly dry. “Oh. Well I don’t know, I don’t wanna interrupt—”

“Never an interruption,” Harry assures her. 

She nods and he takes a step back. 

“M’gonna go change,” he explains. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“What, you don’t wear custom Marc Jacobs suits to dinner?” She teases. 

He grins, amused, and continues backing away towards the door before correcting her. “It’s Gucci.”

Alani rolls her eyes and he disappears into the hallway. 

When Harry reemerges in a beanie, puffy coat, and light wash denim jeans, he leads them through a series of tunnels and exits. 

“Where are we going?” Alani asks, bracing herself for the snow outside. 

“It’s a surprise.” he offers and she doesn’t fight him on it.

********

“We’re not eating here?” 

A soft smile falls on Harry’s lips. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed her incessant questioning. 

“No,”  he replies, opening the passenger door with one hand and passing her the bag that contains their dinner. “Too crowded,”

“Oh,” 

It made sense that Harry would want to keep a low profile and avoid any possible paparazzi sightings of the two of them, but it still felt strange to worry about such things after they had lived so carefree in Hawai’i. But that was then, and this was now, things had inevitably changed. 

“D’you wanna play some music?” Harry asks, settling behind the wheel. The parallels between this moment and their first excursion together make her chest tighten. 

“How about,” Alani starts. “Your album? Since I didn’t get to hear it live,”

Harry’s breathing hitches. “Well, I dunno—”

“Please?”

He meets her pleading eyes momentarily and, against his better judgment, agrees. 

“What’s it called?” she questions. 

“It’s just my name,”

“Self-titled, very classy. I like it,”

“I thought about calling it Sign of the Times,” Harry reveals. “But it’s already been done before,”

Alani hums. “Prince,”

“Yeah,” he nods. “But then I also thought about going with ‘Pink,’ because, you know, when in doubt—”

“Go with the pink one,” they say in unison and Alani smiles softly. How had he remembered that?

“And it’s the only true rock ‘n roll color,” she continues. 

Harry beams. “Exactly. But then Jeff suggested that we just go with the name. Simple, but effective,”

“Okay, so now that we’ve got the background,” Alani pokes. “And you’ve sufficiently distracted me, can I listen now?”

He swallows and checks the GPS, still twenty-five minutes to go. 

“How about we hold off,” he suggests. “Just for now so we can listen to the full thing and really soak it in?”

Alani backs off. “Alright, deal.”

She presses shuffle on the playlist of her frequently played songs for the month and immediately regrets doing so. Clearing her throat, she goes to press skip but Harry stops her. 

“S’a good one.” he says gently, so Alani lets Adele fill the awkward space. 

If you’re gonna let me down 

Let me down gently don’t pretend 

That you don’t want me 

Our love ain’t water under the bridge

********

Harry opens the passenger door and Alani steps out, her eyes squinting to make out any recognizable landmarks in their surroundings. They remain a comfortable two feet apart and make their way to the entrance of what appears to be some sort of greenhouse. Alani is filled with more confusion, but she doesn’t ask further questions until they reach the white double doors. 

“What?” Harry questions. “Never been to the New York Botanical Garden?”

Alani’s eyes widen. “The—wait, you—we’re?”

“After you,” he chuckles lightly, opening the doors. 

“Are we even allowed? I mean is it open?”

“I pulled some strings,”

She enters cautiously, immediately met with an archway of blush colored flowers and string lights that takes her breath away. A long, narrow pond in the center reflects the image back and creates a kaleidoscope of pink, green, and golden hues. 

“How did you,” Alani begins, at a complete loss for words. “Who are you?”

Harry nods in the direction of an adjacent hallway. “There’s a ballroom set up for a wedding tomorrow night, but Jim said we could crash as long as we clean up after ourselves,”

“Jim?”

“The director.”

“Of course.” 

Sure enough, round tables with cream colored tablecloth and elaborate floral centerpieces are arranged around the room. A delicate, yet undoubtedly expensive, chandelier twinkles in the center of the room and casts such a warm glow that Alani momentarily forgets about the snow outside. 

“Dig in,” Harry instructs, setting the pasta on the table in front of them. 

Alani sits and gently sheds her winter coat as he does the same. Underneath his jacket, Harry wears a yellow shirt that catches her eye with the words “treat people with kindness” printed in black lettering. She freezes when she spots a gold chain with a sun and moon pendant nestled comfortably between above the words.

“How is everyone?” Alani questions politely to shift her attention. “Mitch, Tom, Jeff,”

“They’re good, yeah,” he nods. “How’re Freddie and your family?”

“They’re fine, and he’s living his blissful little life,”

“Good for him. Miss his cuddles,”

And yours, Harry thinks, but he pulls back. Alani offers a shy laugh and thinks about the elephant in the room yet to be addressed: the break-up. It’s worth discussing, but she sure as hell isn’t going to be the one to bring it up. 

“And how’ve you been?” Harry asks when the silence stretches out for too long. 

Alani chews and ponders the question. “Good. Been working a lot,”

“Where at?”

“Rolling Stone,”

“Really?” he beams. “That’s incredible, congratulations,”

“Thank you,” she replies graciously. 

Harry’s chin rests in his palm and he twirls a noodle around his fork. “So you live here?”

“Yeah, in the Village,”

“Wow. Greenwich Village, a real city-slicker now. Traded Stevie in for the Holland Tunnel?”

A bittersweet smile spreads across Alani’s lips at the memory of her beloved Bronco. “Sadly, yes. And you?”

“Malibu,” Harry divulges. “I hate the cold.”

“It’s not so bad. You can always cuddle up with the giant rats,” she jokes, which makes his nose scrunch.

“I’m just gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” 

“Speaking of pretend,” Alani wiggles her brows. “You were in a movie after all,” 

“I was,” 

“I didn’t watch it, sorry,” 

Harry feigns offense and Alani quickly back pedals. “I don’t like war movies!”

“And you hated my guts.” he teases, though it pains him that there might be some truth to his words. 

Alani shakes her head and fights the urge to reach across the table for his hand. “No, not really. It was kind of the opposite, actually.” 

Harry’s eye wanders to the outside of Alani’s wrist and a faint smile creeps across his face when he spots the black outline of a crescent moon. He wonders if there are any new inked designs that he isn’t aware of. Despite all the time that has elapsed, there is a familiarity in her presence that he hadn’t felt even in the comforts of his California residence. It was like kicking off your shoes in the doorway after a long trip. It was like coming home. 

They finish their meal and continue their light-hearted banter into the night. Harry tells his favorite stories from tour and Alani wishes more than anything that she could have been there. She details the events of her own busy life in New York and the highlights of working for Rolling Stone, one of which being the time that she got to meet Stevie Nicks in the flesh. 

“Did you tell her about your car?” Harry presses enthusiastically. 

“No way,” Alani chuckles, draining the last of her drink. “I wasn’t gonna embarrass myself in front of the Supreme,” 

“I think she would’ve found it flattering,” 

“Naming your child after someone is flattering, not a car,” 

Harry shrugs. “I think it’s cute,” 

“Yeah well,” Alani sighs. “You’re not like most people,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

She mulls it over, studying the familiar sea glass irises that she never thought she’d see again. What had Alani meant by that statement? Truthfully, she didn’t know if she could put it into words, nor had she meant to say them in the first place. But something about Harry always made her feel brave, like she could speak her mind uncensored and he would understand without even trying. 

“I just meant that you’re, you know,” she starts. “Not judgemental. Like, I could tell you that I think I’m part alien and you’d probably try to help me find my home planet,” 

Harry laughs and leans forward with his elbows on the table, an unspoken challenge for Alani to continue her thoughts. 

“You make people feel seen and heard,” she says finally with a wistful look in her eye. “I mean, why do you think all those people lined up to see you tonight?” 

The last part of her statement is a deflection from what she really wants to say, which is that Harry makes her feel seen and heard. Despite all the time and space between them, it was still true and it terrified her. There was only so much bravery that Harry’s presence could evoke. The mood shifts suddenly when Alani’s phone buzzes and the name “Mason” with a pink heart emoji lights up the screen next to her glass of water. Harry hadn’t meant to look and he deeply regrets that he did. 

“You have a boyfriend,” he comments dejectedly, and though he hadn’t meant it to be accusatory, all words carry the sting of judgment when falling on guilty ears. 

“Oh, and I’m sure you’ve stayed celibate this entire time,” Alani bites back. 

Harry’s brow furrows. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”

“I’m sorry, this was a mistake,” she apologizes, standing with her coat. 

“Wait,” he jumps up. “What just happened?”

“I have to go—”

“Just stop for a minute, please,”

Alani stops in her tracks and turns back to face Harry slowly. His jaw is tight and the crease between his eyebrows is deeper than she remembers. 

“I’m sorry,” she begins carefully. “Thank you for tonight, but I really shouldn’t be here—”

Harry’s eyes clamp shut and he runs a frustrated hand through his messy curls.  

“Can you stop acting like you’re doing me a favor by leaving and just talk to me?”

“What do you want me to say?” Alani pushes back. “‘I’m sorry that I saw your name in flashing lights and I got caught trying to spy on you’?”

“Alani—”

“‘I’m sorry that I tried to move on’?”

“Stop apologizing—”

“I’m sorry that I fell in love and fucked it all up because I was afraid and I’m sorry that I betrayed the one person who meant everything to me,”

Silence falls between them and the only sound is the sniffling of Alani’s nose as she tries, and fails, to hold back the emotions that pour over. 

“That’s why I went,” she continues, voice wavering. “Because I’m selfish and I couldn’t stay away. Every single day, I’m reminded of how royally I screwed everything up and it tears me apart, so I went to try to make things right and take some of that pain away. Even though I hurt you and there’s nothing I can ever do to change that,”

Harry swallows hard and his eyes sting, but Alani speaks up again before he can respond. 

“So please,” she begs. “Please, just let me finally do something right by you and let me go,”

He takes a cautious step forward and shakes his head. “I don’t want to,”

They both hold their breaths, anticipating the other person’s next draw. 

“And maybe that makes me selfish too,” Harry adds. “‘Cause I went back that day, back to the hotel,”

Alani blinks. “You did?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Because I wasn’t mad that you published the article, I was scared that it was the only reason you were with me—”

“Harry—”

“But then I realized that I didn’t care,” he laughs dryly. “Because I still loved you, and I figured that having you— having just a little bit of your heart and your attention—was worth it, even if you didn’t really love me back,”

He takes another step forward and the toes of their shoes nearly touch. “And maybe I’m being selfish now by asking you to stay, but you’re not the only one trying to get rid of the pain,”

Alani takes a shallow breath and studies the eagerness in his eyes. The sight makes her chest pound. 

“I’m sorry that I ever made you doubt,” she whispers. “But I meant every word I said, you were everything to me. You were the sun that my life revolved around and I was terrified of losing you because the truth is that I hate the cold, too,”

Harry gently reaches a hand up to her cheek and Alani leans into the warmth of his touch. 

“Can I show you something?”

You and your goddamn surprises. “Yes.”

He leads them down several winding hallways before flicking a light on in the gallery. Alani’s heart stops when she sees it. 

“Not quite as impressive as the real thing,” Harry offers. “But Ms. O’Keeffe did a pretty damn good job,”

An original Georgia O’Keeffe painting of a waterfall, their waterfall, the one that Alani had mentioned all that time ago, is displayed proudly on the wall before them. A replica had hung above the bed they shared on many nights and all at once a faint memory resurfaces. 

“Where did you say the original was?”

“New York Botanical Garden,” 

 “M’gonna take you one day,”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Alani takes a step closer to the artwork and examines the details of the oil on canvas. A few steps behind, Harry is only concerned with her reaction and pays little attention to the piece of art on display. As far as he was concerned, Alani was the only one worth admiring. 

“Do you remember what you told me when I asked why you went to the falls to write?” Alani asks. 

Of course Harry had, but he remains silent to let her continue. 

“You said that you liked going there,” she adds, deliberate. “Because it made you forget about every bad thing that ever happened to you, because none of it was real in comparison to the feeling of standing in front of that waterfall,”

Harry nods gently, but he still doesn’t speak. 

“Do you know what that feeling is called?”

“No,”

“It’s called home,” Alani says softly, turning to face him. “It’s what I felt, what I feel, when I’m with you,”

His breath hitches and he stands frozen as she carefully walks toward him.

“And while we’re making wishes come true,” she smiles delicately. “I never told you what I wished for the day we saw that rainbow,”

“What did you wish for?” Harry searches. 

Alani’s eyes fall to his parted lips. “That you would kiss me.”

His mouth curls at the edges and he releases a long breath. “Think maybe I can deliver on that one, too.”

Harry leans in, ever so slightly, and Alani closes the gap. They had been standing mere inches apart, but the meeting of their lips bridges an entire chasm. Over and over again, like waves against the shore, their mouths collide desperately as they pull each other closer with no intentions of ever letting go. 

********

February 14, 2018

“Comment est le temps?” 

Alani peers up at Harry and shields her eyes from the sun behind his back. “What does that mean?”

He grins softly and kisses the top of her head before taking a seat on the balcony next to her. 

“Means ‘how’s the weather?’,” 

“Oh,” she leans over, lips puckered for a kiss. “Full of perfectly Parisian sunshine,”

“Try sayin’ that ten times fast,”

Alani swipes his pink, heart shaped sunglasses and slips them onto the bridge of her nose with a contented sigh. Ahead, the Eiffel tower stands proudly in the distance and the lenses of her glasses tint the entire scene in a picturesque rosy glow. 

“La Ville de L’amour,” she hums. “Did I say that right?”

“Oui,”

“Hey, you know what I saw on the room service menu?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, what?”

“Piña coladas,” Alani wiggles her brows. “Think they deliver at midnight?”

He chuckles lightly and his hand takes purchase on her knee. “They better,”

“Never had a Parisian piña colada. Sounds romantic, though.”

“Sure does, sweets.”

Alani stands and reaches for Harry’s hand. He accepts and rises to his feet, pulling her close. Below, the sounds of the city serenade them as they gently sway in the chilly breeze. When Harry feels Alani shiver, he hugs  her to his chest and rests his chin comfortably on the top of her head. She feels his steady heartbeat against her cheek and smiles softly, fingertips smoothing up and down his back. 

“Are you ready for Valentine’s Day surprise number one?” he asks, pulling away slightly to meet her eyes. 

She narrows her eyes. “Where are we going?”

Harry pulls back with a mischievous smile, hands still attached to hers, and leads them back inside.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Alani giggles but she doesn’t push. Instead, she happily follows him out of their room, down the hall, and into the bustling streets of Paris. 

We don’t know where we’re going 

But we know where we belong 

And oh we started 

Two hearts in one home 

It’s hard when we argue 

We’re both stubborn 

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature 

Wherever I go, you bring me home 

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road 

You bring me home

[phantom-curve]

Second birthday is such a cool thing to call that! 8 or 35 if you are feeling so inclined.

Thank you! When I was a kid my mom always tried to call it my rebirth-day and I was like no❤️ I went with some Willex whump (with a fluffy end) for this one! Set in the gimme a chance AU, featuring pro-skateboarder Willie and anxious Alex. This is also a bit of a companion piece to the #8 prompt I wrote earlier!

#35: kissing their bruises and scars (Trigger Warning: mentions of injury, mild description of panic attack, and mentions of a car accident. Rated T for language) 

Alex generally tried not to think about worst case scenarios when Willie was competing. If he let himself, it was way too easy to imagine all types of situations that ended with Willie broken and bleeding at the base of a halfpipe while Alex stood helplessly on the sidelines. It didn’t help anything for him to obsess over what could happen, especially because at this point, Alex knew skateboarding was as much a part of Willie as drumming was a part of him.

It was just that ever since Willie had gotten his first sponsorship and moved to the pro circuit six months ago, he had started taking bigger risks. More complex tricks and a lot less hesitation to go big when he was representing the brands that were paying his bills. And that meant longer hours practicing and a higher chance of injury on a daily basis. Alex wanted to be a supportive boyfriend, the kind that would show up at the skate park to cheer and not have a panic attack every time that Willie wiped out, but he wasn’t. He was just an anxious guy in love with a dude who seemed determined to break every single bone in his body.

Things only got worse when Willie started traveling for competitions. He was gone almost every weekend, and Luke had finally convinced the manager at the bar he worked at to let Sunset Curve preform regular Saturday shows, and so, more often than not, Willie would be somewhere else in California flinging his body down an insanely tall ramp with nothing but a helmet and some pads to protect him while Alex was trapped in LA losing himself in the familiar pattern of sticks against drums in an attempt to control his raging anxiety. It had about a 68% success rate. That success rate increased dramatically when Willie called Alex the second he knew his set was ending. It plummeted on the nights Alex didn’t hear from him until much later, or worse, heard from a different skater entirely.

Tonight was unfortunately one of those nights.

When their set ended, Reggie called out the same line he had coined after their first performance, a couple audience members chiming in with him because they actually had a bit of a fan following now, and Alex wasted no time in grabbing his phone from the fanny pack he kept behind his kit during shows. Instead of it lighting up with a picture of his boyfriend’s face, he was met with a series of missed calls and text messages from the guys Willie was rooming with for the weekend. He tried not to panic, tried to breathe in deeply to a count of five, holding it for just as long before exhaling again. It kept the anxiety at bay for as long as it took for him to unlock the phone and read the last missed message.

Don’t worry, bro. They’re gonna airlift him back to LA so you can just meet him at the hospital whenever.

Panic hit full force. What the actual fuck had happened to his boyfriend?! Alex’s fingers were shaking too much for him to open the other messages, his vision going blurry and a distant ringing sounding out in his ears. It took him longer than it should to realize Luke was crouched down in front of him, Reggie hovering just beyond the drum kit.

“You have to breathe, Lex. C’mon, follow me.”

Luke inhaled deeply before letting his breath out in a loud woosh. Alex tried to copy him, but his chest felt too tight, his throat closing in the more he tried to open it. Luke kept talking, his voice low and calm.

“Try again, we can do it together. We just have to breathe, nothing else.”

Alex inhaled with Luke that time, not quite as deeply and not quite as steady, but more air than he had managed to get before. It took several long moments before he was able to match Luke completely, the fog starting to clear from his brain, surroundings snapping back into focus.

“Great, good, just keep breathing, okay? I’m gonna go grab the office keys and we’ll take a minute in there to talk, okay?”

Alex nodded, not exactly wanting Luke to leave but knowing whatever his best friend was saying logically made sense. Reggie slipped into the space Luke had been occupying, breathing in the exact same pattern, and Alex refocused on him. When Reggie stood, Alex copied him, reaching out to grip the back of Reggie’s red flannel as he led them both off of the stage and down the hallway to the office in the back of the bar. Alex dropped onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.

“Lex? Can you tell us what’s going on?”

Reggie’s voice was soft and quiet, like a gentle melody. Alex let it wash over him, knew his boys would be able to help if he could just figure out how to get his mouth to form the words it desperately didn’t want to say out loud. He fought to speak for a few moments before finally just thrusting his phone forward. A hush fell over the room as Luke and Reggie scrolled through the texts and Alex was suddenly grateful that he wouldn’t have to read through them himself. After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes, Luke cleared his throat and spoke.

“Okay, so good news or bad news first?”

“How can there possibly be good news?”

Alex’s throat felt raw and scratchy, the words coming out broken and strangled. Luke and Reggie exchanged a quick glance before Reggie sat next to Alex on the couch. Not touching, but close enough for Alex to feel comforted all the same.

“Willie isn’t dead or dying, so yes, there is good news. Which one do you want first?”

A significant amount of the panic left Alex’s system at the reassurance that his boyfriend was alive and going to stay that way for the time being. It hit him all at once, sending him into Reggie’s side as he let out a cry of relief. Reggie’s hand stroked up and down Alex’s arm, a low hum sounding in the back of his throat. Luke spoke again.

“Okay, so good news is that Willie is probably already back in LA, he’s at the best hospital he can be at, and he’s going to be fine.”

Alex clung to the words like a life raft. Willie was going to be fine. He turned it into a mantra, repeating it over and over again until he felt like he was back in control, no longer on the precipice of drowning. He disentangled himself from Reggie’s arms, took a deep breath, and met Luke’s gaze.

“I’m ready. Gimme the bad news.”

Luke let out a long breath before sitting down on Alex’s other side.

“The guys were in a car accident. They didn’t even make it to the competition. Willie was in the passenger seat and he took the worst hit in the collision. The other guys got taken to a local hospital, but they had to send Willie to Cedars-Sinai because of some special orthopedic department there. Max said they mentioned he would be admitted to the post-trauma floor.”

A car accident. He didn’t even make it to the competition. Alex had considered himself prepared for the worst when it came to Willie and his chosen profession. He had told himself that loving Willie meant accepting the risk that came with skateboarding, especially at the level that Willie did it. He had not once considered the fact that Willie could be hurt in some type of freak accident that had nothing to do with skating. The life raft slipped from his mental fingers, hurtling him back into the sea of despair once again.

“We got this, okay?” Luke was still speaking. “Reg is gonna call an Uber and take you to the hospital, and I’m gonna get Dante and Felix to help pack up stuff here and then come meet you. It’s gonna be okay.”

Luke’s words painted a path for Alex to follow, a way to move forward without having to fight so hard to do so. He nodded, allowed himself to be bundled out of the employee entrance and into the car Reggie had called. Clung to Reggie’s flannel again as they traversed the white hallways of the hospital, eventually making their way to a nurse’s station situated on the post-trauma surgical floor. Alex didn’t even let himself think about what that string of words implied. Not until Reggie nudged him forward to speak with the blonde-haired woman with kind brown eyes sitting behind the welcome desk. He forced himself to clear the lump in his throat and scrape some words together.

“Hi, I’m uh, my name is Alex. Alex Mercer? I’m looking for my boyfriend Willie? William, actually, his name is William Stewart. He was...he was in a car crash.”

The words came out in starts and stops, cracking at the edges as Alex forced them through numb lips. The nurse nodded, her fingers tapping across the keyboard in a sharp staccato.

“He’s out of surgery, but might still be a bit groggy. The limit is one visitor at a time, so your friend will have to wait out here.”

Alex turned to Reggie with a blank stare.

“You got this, Lex. Remember, he’s gonna be fine. I’ll be right here, and Luke is on his way too. Whatever you need, okay? We got you.”

Alex nodded even though the movement itself felt like a lie. The nurse smiled softly at him and for one split moment Alex wished he could call his mom, hear her comforting voice the way he used to when he was a scared little kid. But he had Luke and Reggie now. And Willie, who was alive somewhere in this hospital.

“He’s in room 604, just down the hall.”

Alex forced his feet to move. Forced himself to count the numbers on the wall until he found 604. Forced himself to open the door and enter the room.

Willie looked so small on the bed, his dark hair a mess across the stark white pillowcase, his leg encased in plaster and suspended from some contraption that hung down from the ceiling. He turned his head at the noise of the door opening, eyes half open and soft with sleep or maybe painkillers. The smile on his face was a mere shadow of its normal sunshine.

“Hey, Hotdog.”

Alex wanted to cry. He wanted to scream and curl into a ball and absolutely lose it. But instead, he walked to the side of Willie’s bed and sat down in the chair next to it that seemed to have been waiting just for him.

“Have you been crying? Please tell me you weren’t crying.”

Okay, Willie was definitely on drugs. Because of course, Alex had been crying.

“Yes, I’ve been crying! Are you kidding me?”

Willie winced slightly and Alex was instantly swamped with guilt.

“No, okay, let me try that again.”

He took a deep breath and reached up to brush a few stray hairs away from Willie’s face. There were a number of cuts and bruises marring his skin, a few of them hidden under bandages.

“Hey pretty boy, I’m so glad you’re not dead. I’ve never been more scared than when I saw that text from Max. I thought you cracked your head open on a halfpipe or something, what the hell happened?”

Willie tried to shrug and grimaced, like it hurt. Alex’s hands fluttered uselessly above his boyfriend’s body, unsure where would be safe to touch. He settled for grabbing the hand that Willie offered which was thankfully unmarked, nothing but some leftover scars from catching himself at the skatepark.

“I think our car flipped? There was a lot of crashing and my leg really fuckin hurt. It’s still hurts.”

Willie frowned, clearly addled from the leftover anesthesia and whatever they were giving him for the pain. Alex pulled his hand up to press a series of kisses across Willie’s knuckles, making sure to cover each scar at least once.

“You can’t die on me, Wills. I fucking love you, okay? I know you do insane stunts and regularly let yourself get beat to crap at the skate park, but you can’t fucking die on me in some stupid car accident. I’d lose my goddamn mind without you.”

“You love me?”

Willie’s voice was soft and awed and Alex suddenly realized he hadn’t ever actually said those words out loud before even though they’d been living in his brain for months now. When he looked into Willie’s eyes he saw a hint of wetness there, and his heart melted.

“Yes, I love you, you fucking dork. I’ve been in love with you for months.”

Willie grinned, dopey eyed and pink cheeked.

“Well, I’ve been in love with you for like, ever. So, I win. Gimme a kiss for my prize.”

Alex laughed and rolled his eyes, but obliged, nonetheless. Willie might not remember this interaction, but Alex would never forget it. A look of absolute peace settled onto his boyfriend’s face.

“I knew you’d come. I knew as soon as that car hit us that when I woke up, you’d be here. You’re the best boyfriend ever, that’s why I love you. And you’re so hot. Like, really hot.”

Alex’s cheeks burned, his heart kicking into overdrive.

“C’mere,” Willie nodded his head to the side and tried to shuffle over, like he was inviting Alex to climb in next to him. He made a disgruntled sound when the contraption his leg was in refused to budge, frowning up at the suspension system.

“That’s so lame, what the fuck? I wanna cuddle.”

And Alex, unable to resist even when he knew it would probably be better for Willie if he did, climbed up to wedge his body into the small space between Willie and the guardrails on his bed. He tucked one arm behind Willie’s head, pulling his face into the space between his neck and shoulder. Willie let out a contented sigh, his breath sending shivers down Alex’s spine.

“You smell like you,” Willie whispered, the sound happy and relaxed. “I love you, Lex.”

“I love you, too.” Alex sighed, kissing his way across every single cut and bruise he could reach without moving.

Willie settled into place, his body going lax and soft snores sounding out against Alex’s chest within moments. Alex let his own head fall to rest against the top of Willie’s, finally allowing himself to believe everything would be okay. When the same nurse came to tell him that his other friend had arrived and maybe it would be best to come back in the morning, he accepted it without complaint. She gave him a final moment to say goodnight, Alex taking the time to make sure Willie was tucked in tight before kissing his temple softly.

Willie was going to be okay, and Alex was going to spend the rest of his life making sure he was always the one there to kiss his scrapes and bruises.

Send me prompts for my second birthday!

[randomfandomimagine]

Heal My Heart (Cloud Strife x Reader)

Characters: Cloud Strife

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Tags: Reader Insert, Gender Neutral Reader, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Injury, mentions of blood, sexual/romantic tension

Word Count: 2,2k words

Requested by anon: Hi :) may I request a Cloud Strife ficlet in which Cloud gets hurt in a battle and the reader patches him up and it's all very charged and filled with tension (since Cloud has to be shirtless and all)? Or it can be the other way around and the reader gets hurt and Cloud awkwardly but tenderly tries patching her up and is very conscious of being close/having to touch her body?

A/N: I was really excited about this one, and although I struggled a bit until I fixed some things I wasn’t happy with (big shoutout to the lovely @xionroxas​ for helping me with it!) I now love the result and I hope you do too! 

Your first battle together had been very different from what you imagined. It was a strange point in your relationship with Cloud, past the friendship that used to bind you yet not quite reached the romantic part that you both seemed interested in. Hence, all your encounters were slightly awkward with the romantic tension repressed between you. 

After lots of insisting on your part, Cloud had finally budged and accepted to let you come with him on this encounter. Your arguments, he had to admit, were strong and valid. No matter how capable he was, Cloud wasn’t invincible and as you predicted, he was outnumbered. Luckily, you were there to have his back. Even if he was worried that you would get hurt, which you did.

“Don’t give me the silent treatment now” You scoffed, noticing the tight wrinkle on his brow. “You got hurt too, didn’t you?” 

“I told you it would be dangerous”

“Yeah, and I knew that already”

He still didn’t say a word as you both made your way back. Just the thought of putting up with a silent seething Cloud made you exhausted. Or maybe it was the injury that you were hiding from him even as your ankle and knee throbbed under the fabric of your clothes. 

Comitting to his brooding demeanor, he silently opened the door to his room. You sneaked in before he could close it in your face and leave you to the loneliness of your own room. 

“What are you doing?” He scowled at you as you followed him inside.

“Someone has to patch you up, right?” You tiredly pointed to the tear in his tank top, there where a small amount of blood still seeped through his stomach.

“You’re so stubborn” Cloud only replied, resigning himself. His eyes watched you as you closed the door behind you and went to get the first aid kit.

“Yeah, yeah, like you’re any better” As you faced your back to him, you paused for a moment. A sudden lump formed in your throat and tears stung in your eyes. In all honestly, you hated to feel this harshness between you.

Hanging your head low, you told yourself that he wasn’t the warmest person. Even on your best moments, he had never been openly affectionate... but he could be very sweet and tender when he wanted to. 

When you heard the sound of his sword being leaned against the wall and the springs of the bed complain as he sat on it, you forced yourself back to reality. Clutching the first aid kit in your hands, you turned to him.

It was then when you realized where his wound was. And that you needed better access to it in order to properly treat it. Cloud frowned, staring at you, and you just hoped you weren’t blushing at the words you were about to say.

“Take your shirt off, Soldier” You dryly said, even if your voice shook a bit.

“Ex-Soldier” He corrected as usual, but didn’t move at first. 

Exasperated, you rolled your eyes at him and tilted your head. Cloud sighed and obliged, removing his tank top over his head and carelessly throwing it on top of the bed.

Your breath hitched at the sight of his bare torso and you couldn’t help but to stare. There was a scar on his chest, right above his fresh wound. Despite his pale skin tone, he was slim and his muscles were defined. You gulped, having to remind yourself what you were doing. 

“Any problem?” He asked, noticing your hesitance.

“N-No” You hurried to kneel down in front of him to hide yourself, being careful with your injured leg. “It’s just worse than I thought”

Your hands worked fast as they drenched a piece of gauze in alcohol and quickly applied it to his wound. Cloud groaned in pain at the sudden movement, and his hand flew to yours. He had taken his gloves off at some point, so it made direct contact with your skin. His palm lingered over your hand even as you looked up at him and locked eyes.

“Sorry” You could barely hear your low voice over the drumming of your heart. “I’ll be more careful”

He gravely nodded, slowly letting go of your hand. Immediately you missed his touch, his warmth, the rough texture of his calloused hands. You parted your lips, ready to tell him to do it again, to touch you, to forget the coldness that hung in the air and hold you. Until you remembered that you needed to treat his wound.

Resigned to your metaphorical distance despite your physical closeness, you sighed and carried on with your task. You gingerly pressed the gauze against his stomach. This time he didn’t flinch.

“What is it?” Cloud’s voice broke the heavy silence that had established.

He had noticed your inner turmoil. After all, he knew you as well as you knew him. You took a moment to reply, refusing to voice your genuine thoughts. Instead, you asked something that was starting to weigh down on you.

“Are you still mad at me?” You piped up after several more seconds.

Cloud sighed himself, averting his gaze when you glanced up at him again.

“I was never mad at you” Was his reply, still refusing to look at you.

You knew him far too well to realize what this meant. Angrily picking up a bandage to cover his wound, you shook your head at him.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for this, it was my decision” Even if your tone held anger, your fingers continued to be gentle. “And I’m fine, just a few scratches here and there”

“Right” As soon as you were done patching him up, Cloud tugged at your arm.

Surprised that he was pulling you up, you gasped. He was strong and determined, and effortlessly pulled you to your feet as he stood himself. Mustering all self-control you could, you repressed the grimace that wanted to occupy your expression as you were forced to stand on your injured ankle. Despite your efforts, however, you stumbled forwards a little with a yelp. 

Cloud was quick to hold you by the hips, keeping you in place. You stared at him, surprised that he seemed so ready to catch you. Almost like he knew you would stumble.

“Head rush” You lied, and Cloud frowned in response. Your gazes locked for several seconds.

Feeling closer to him in every way, you opened your mouth to say something. He broke the instantaneous connection. Not saying a word, he moved you so you swapped places with him and carefully shoved you down onto the bed, taking the spot he was sitting in just a moment ago.

“Cloud?” You asked in confusion, watching as he carefully picked up your foot. His grip around your ankle was loose and yet it brought a pang of pain. “Ow!”

“Hurts?” He solely asked, and heat immediately flushed to your face.

“You’re really strong and...” Watching how he delicately propped your leg up on his knee, you interrupted your poor excuse. “What are you doing?”

“You were limping” Going along with his raspy voice, his eyes were severe as he peered at you. It was now your turn to avoid his eyes.

Cloud didn’t say anything else, shielding in the silence as he gently rolled your pants up to reveal your ankle. When his bare fingers delicately traced up your skin, you couldn’t help but shiver. He carefully put pressure in different spots, and although most of them hurt, you never wanted him to stop. The invisible barrier that was always between you had finally broken and his touch was tender and more wonderful than you could ever imagine.

“It’s nothing” He muttered, forcing you to look into his eyes as he stared into yours. “You’ll be fine if you don’t strain it” 

“Thanks, doctor” You joked, standing to your feet once more.

Again, Cloud reached out and held you by the hips when you inevitably stumbled. Your faces were suddenly extremely close, and you could see a faint blush appearing in his cheeks. The heat on yours betrayed the same flush.

When Cloud rearranged his hold on you, however, you yelped out in pain. He gasped before he could ask anything when your hands met again with his. 

“Oh” You breathed in relief, remembering about the mild wound you had nearly forgotten about. “Just a scratch, a bullet grazed me” 

Cloud’s brow furrowed as he frantically moved, carefully sitting you down again and going to take a look at it. His fingers, however, stopped at the hem of your shirt.

“Uh...” He gulped, shyly taking ahold of it. “Can I...?” 

Wrapping your fingers around his hand, you pulled at it and lifted your shirt just enough to reveal your wound. Cloud focused his gaze on it, relaxing his shoulders at the realization that it was nothing grave even if his eyebrows lingered on their frown.

His touch was still gentle as he prepared the gauze and pressed it, drenched in alcohol, against your wound. It smarted, but you refused to complain. Instead, as Cloud treated the superficial injury, you observed him. It was hard to miss how he was careful not to let his fingers touch your skin if he could help it. Nonetheless, his cares were tender as he covered the wound for you. 

You smiled to yourself at his face of concentration, and especially at the reddish tone his face had acquired. It made you remember all the reasons why you had feelings for him, even if you had unknowingly pushed them away after your argument.

“Did I miss something?” Cloud asked, putting everything back on the first aid kit.

“Yes, heal my heart” You replied without thinking, your gaze following him as he stood to his feet. You did the same, holding on to his shoulders to support yourself.

“Y/N...” When you regained that closeness, Cloud moved his head to the side.

“Just play along...” You begged, hoping that he would for once. It was exhausting that every time you tried to make a step forward, he took two steps backwards.

The brief silence that followed made the tension in the air all the more evident. It was not an angry one like before, yet one filled with unspoken words, sweet nothings that were never pronounced. 

“How?” He said after heaving a resigned sigh.

“Give me hope” You wrinkled your forehead, feeling frustrated tears arriving to your eyes. “Say something, anything...”

He didn’t. Cloud stayed quiet as usual. Tense and uncomfortable.

Letting go of him, you dropped your head in defeat. You gave up. Tears started rolling down your eyes. You had been convinced that you were in the same page, that you had feelings for each other despite the walls you both built around them. Maybe you were wrong, maybe you say something where there was nothing. You thought Cloud cared about you, but maybe he was just resigned to your attempts. It was so tiring, and so painful...

“It’s useless...” You whispered to yourself, feeling your shoulders convulsing with sobs. Trying not to let him know, you tried to repress any sounds, although some small strangled noises left your throat as more tears blurred your vision.

Ttwo arms suddenly envelopped you, urgently shoving you against his bare chest so tightly that it made sense that you couldn’t breathe. Utterly shocked, you just stood there, arms by your side, without even realizing you could return the hug. The tears froze in your eyes and the tightness that had arrived to your chest lessened.

“When you screamed and I saw you fall, I was terrified” Cloud whispered, nuzzling your neck. “That what you wanna hear?” 

A nervous yet genuine bout of laughter escaped you. Just then, your arms finally moved and wrapped around him in return. His skin was soft and warm.

“I’ll take it” You replied, relieved that he tore down his walls. At least, some of them.

Cloud chuckled against your ear, and you heart skipped a beat at the wonderful but unexpected sound. Pulling away, you looked up at him.

“Is that a laugh I hear?” 

“No”

His arms left you, but you weren’t going to let him win this time. You smiled, and to your surprise you saw a glimpse of his smile before you put your arms around his waist and hugged him again. 

“We should rest” All the accumulated tension left you as you pressed yourself against his chest. “I think the worry got to your head”

He scoffed, even if his arms returned around your frame.

“The pain got to your head” Was his response, which made you smile. That was the Cloud you knew and loved.

Despite your words, however, none of you moved to get some rest. Instead you stayed there, holding on to each other. You stood there, with your hands leaning over his bare built chest, with his hands resting over your hips in the small bit of skin exposed under the rolled up shirt. You both stood there, claiming something you craved and that you hadn’t allowed yourselves to have. Until now.

-

Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn​ / @anxiouslyreckless​ / @xionroxas​ / @dancewaterdance02​ / @little-faerie-artist​ / @x-joie-x​ / @honeybunhanbin​ / @legallyblindgamer727​ / @goodmorningawfulbye​ / @trunks-kiwi​ / @ron-sparky-speirs​  // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, let me know!! // Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

[ineloqueent]

the weight of the world

Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

gif credit bc i do not have that kind of talent (x)

synopsis: Roger’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders. Or maybe it’s just the drumming.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: ‘self-control’ is not in my vocabulary, and so this is based off of all those times roger has done that thing where he pushes his hand under his shirt and rubs his shoulder because poor bby drums too much okay bye

⭒

Working in catering certainly had its benefits.

For one, it meant that you got to see the members of a very well-known band on a daily basis, greeting them as casually as friends. 

For another thing, it meant that Roger Taylor frequently professed his undying love for you. 

Well, okay, so maybe that wasn’t exactly how he put it, but that was what it sounded like. 

Studio sessions that spanned both days and nights commanded the sort of dedication and attention of the musicians which meant that they frequently forewent the basics of life in order to get something done. For instance, once, when they hadn’t finished until three o’clock in the morning, they had left the studio yawning and slumping, John muttering something about having entirely missed both lunch and dinner. But you’d been there to hand out jam sandwiches, even when every other tech and crew member had gone home for the night. Because in a way, you felt it your duty to take care of the four boys. They really were like teenagers— up at all hours, doing whatever the hell they wanted, forgetting to eat when they weren’t reminded. 

Roger was the worst of all, leaving the studio last and stopping on the kerbside to stare aimlessly into the distance, a jacket slung over one arm as a hand rubbed his other shoulder. He always looked dazed when he left, overly exhausted, from the hunch of his gait to the way his head dropped slightly to his chest when he didn’t pay heed to hold it upright. 

He would stand there and breathe in the crisp night air, and from a distance, you would stand and wait for him to be on his way before you went on yours, because you didn’t entirely trust him to not wander off in the wrong direction, lost in his drowsy haze. 

From afar, you would see him off, a guardian angel standing watch in the shadows for the flaxen-haired musician who would sigh and let the silence carry away his woe. 

And in the morning, when he turned up with a crooked grin and dark sunglasses, and accepted the plate of breakfast you offered to him, you smiled back and pretended you knew nothing of how the world weighed on his shoulders. 

You would enter the studio with the announcement of lunch, and Queen would slowly gather themselves together and file out the door and into the daylight. 

Roger would ruffle your hair and call you his favourite crew member as he passed you, or settle for a wink and a remark about how nice it was to see his best girl. 

When you knocked to bring the intrusion of coffee, Roger would leap up. 

“Sweetheart, you’re a lifesaver!”

You tutted, “It’s just coffee, Roger.”

You handed Freddie and Brian their black coffees, and John his with one sugar, and finally Roger his. 

“Oh, but you remembered my one-and-three-sevenths.” He canted his head to one side and pouted softly, in a manner which more resembled a child than a 36-year-old man. “Thank you.”

You shrugged, repeated yourself. “It’s just coffee.”

Roger only shook his head. 

One incident that stood out to you in particular was the recording of ‘One Vision’, in which Roger and Freddie argued back and forth concerning a certain line and the drum fill to go with it, losing each other repeatedly in the translation from word to rhythm, and vice versa. 

The day had been spent in laughter, but now that night was settling in, the four of them were growing tired and short-tempered. And stressed. 

Roger was stressed, you could tell. 

He was bouncing up and down in his chair, tapping his foot against the pedal of the kick drum even when it wasn’t necessary, and subsequently being scolded by Freddie when he ruined a take because of it. 

Between lapses of thought, he rubbed at his eyes, and kept his sunglasses on even then, slouching and batting away a yawn like a tired kitten helplessly batting at string. 

His favourite habit, it seemed, was to slip his hand into the folds of his shirt to rub at his shoulder, rolling his neck as his fingers found his pulse. Whether he did it purposely or absently, you weren’t sure, but the creases between his eyes made you want to walk over to him and take his hands and demand he leave to get some rest. 

You finally did, on an evening when the others had gone out for a beer but Roger had insisted on staying late in order to finish something he claimed he just couldn’t get down. 

He didn’t notice you leaning against the doorframe with folded arms, until his drumming gave way to a sigh and his usual habit and you wandered over. 

“Your shoulders hurt, don’t they?”

He startled at the sound of your voice, but his easy demeanour returned when he realised your presence. 

He flashed you a smile as brief as the face of a coin catching light, and nodded. 

Then he yawned, sleepily fluttering his eyelashes. “Sorry,” he said. “Awfully tired and not even close to done.”

You glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. “It’s past midnight,” you told him gently. 

“And..?”

“Roger,” you said. “You’ve got to take care of yourself. You can’t just be up at all hours, going without food and rest, because then you’ll be running on empty when it really matters.”

He sighed again, and you eyed him pitifully. 

“And how do I do that?” he asked you then, in a curiously honest manner, peering at you over the drum kit with that tilted head and those big, blue eyes. 

“Let me help,” you murmured. At his nod, you slipped between the wall and the drums to join him behind the fortress of instruments. 

He swivelled on his stool to face you, but you shook your head and walked around behind him. 

Slowly, you pulled his hand away from his chest, laying his fingers on his knee instead. Then you placed your hands on his shoulders and began to apply a gentle pressure.

He hissed through his teeth at the contact, muscles tensing. But when you made so as to pull back, he stopped you, turning his head till the pale stubble of his jaw brushed your hand. 

“Don’t stop,” he said quietly, and his exhale fanned across your skin. 

A tingle skittered along your arms, your own shoulders growing tense as the knots you intended to ease from Roger’s. 

You’d never touched him before, save for a handshake upon initial introduction, where you’d threaded your fingers with his and stared at him a little too deeply for a little too long, when the heat of his skin had briefly become yours.

But now he relaxed beneath your hands as you pushed the heels of your palms into his upper back, working the strain from his muscles with a steady rhythm. It came to the point where he was leaning against you, his back pressed to your torso and thighs as you rubbed his shoulders, and a soft groan escaped his lips. 

“Alright, Rog?” you asked. 

“Mmm,” he murmured. “Your hands are cold.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no.. It's nice,” he said. “You’re nice.” He sat up and turned around, and your hands slipped from his shoulders, reluctantly. He looked up at you. “Why are you so nice to me, Y/N?”

You drew a breath to speak, but then closed your mouth promptly because you did not know what to say. 

His eyes were wide, even behind his sunglasses, and you longed to slip them from his nose so that you might stare into that lovely abyss of blue. 

You glanced down. 

Why were you nice to him? 

Because he knew when a joke would lighten the mood of the room, or when a simple smile was better suited to the situation. Because he was stupidly stubborn and always upheld his morals, even when it lost him no end to points in popularity. Because he knew what to say, and when to say nothing at all. Because his eyes lit up when someone remembered how he liked his coffee; he was touched by the intimacy of how they had memorised a piece of his soul. And memorised a piece of his soul you had, for shards of it came to you when your thoughts wandered or when your head grew empty and your heart more so, plagued by the loneliness inherent to your being. Because he worked harder than anyone you’d ever met before, and though he claimed to have no modesty whatsoever, his humility was as much a part of his being as loneliness was of yours.

“Because you deserve to have people be nice to you.”

He laughed, “But that’s not your job, love. Your job is catering and generally putting up with us and our silliness, but no one said you had to be nice.”

You smiled slowly. “Well, I’ll stop being nice, then.”

Your words were met with silence, and you raised your eyes. 

Roger was gazing up at you.

“I like you being nice to me.” 

His voice had suddenly a gentle husky quality to it, a roughened edge to its highness, and at his unblinking stare, your breath hitched in your throat and a flush of heat spread through you.

Then he dragged you down to him and his lips caught on yours, sending a spark of flame to your skin, the feel of a match struck between your mouths. You were vaguely aware of the gentle pressure of his fingers at your waist, but for all else you were lost, because Roger smelt of soap and rain and ink and earth, and tasted of spun sugar and memories of summertime. 

His kiss was firm, but he yielded to you when you pulled him up to stand, emitting only a faint whine when your lips briefly eluded his. He needn’t have worried; you curled your arms around his neck and nudged him closer, and he held you against him like a tide pulling you out to sea, though you felt more sound in his arms than you ever would have atop the rolling waves. 

His touch was dizzying, and you swayed when he drew back, pressing his soft, wetted lips together as his eyes flicked over you.

“Sorry,” he murmured dazedly, his hands falling away from you. “I— don’t know what came over me—”

You tugged on the open collar of his shirt, bringing him to you so that your noses brushed and your words fluttered across his lips. “It was good, Rog.”

He inhaled sharply, and his breath set your senses alight, hyper-tuned to his movements.

“I like you too,” you whispered, curling your fingers into the baby hairs at the base of his neck.

He leaned into your touch with a contented hum, “That’s the best news I’ve heard all year.”

You smiled against his pretty lips when he kissed you again, intoxicating and bruising, yet comforting and sure. 

Sure, because never in your life had you been surer of anything than the sweetness of his mouth on yours. 

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

*cracks knuckles and wiggles fingers on top of keyboard* 20 and 43 with Michael porfis 👉👈

From Touching List:

20: bandaging/stitching up an injury & 43: giving them a piggy-back ride

(I’m getting to these as I can, but I highly doubt many people still follow me form the 5SOS fandom)

CW: Gender Neutral Reader Insert. Use of mostly you, but no gender specifiers. Small blood mention.

___________________________________________

You knew it was a bad idea. The shoes hasn’t been broken in yet, but they went well with the outfit. Sure it was a festival, but you didn’t suspect that you’d be doing this much walking. While at a refill station for water, Michael noticed you shifting your weight. Done in part to ease the ache in your arches and also because you could feel the blister forming from the shoes. He offered to give you a piggy back ride for a little bit, though you’d be responsible for wearing the backpack to keep all snacks, wallets, phones, keys, first aid kit, and water bottles safe. 

You didn’t want to accept, but after walking towards another stage pretty fair into the festival, you gave in. Michael grinned, when you finally caved and asked for the carry. “To food? It’s been a while since we last ate and I’m starving?” He offered. 

“My heart and gut can’t say no.” You hopped onto his back and he hoisted you up, keeping a secure grip around your legs. It was nice, though Michael was definitely sweating along the back of shirt, and you knew you were sweating too. But pressed into his back, you felt assured. 

Michael wasn’t opposing it either. Feeling your arms loosely around his neck, and your chest pressed into his back, made him feel comforted. Occasionally, you’d laugh at something and your breath would tickle the back of his neck, causing a chill to run down his spine. You’d whisper into his ear and that’s all he could hear--even though guitars and drums were blaring in the open field. All he wanted to do and did so was zero in on your voice, listening to the way the air hissed between your teeth. 

What he hadn’t accounted for were overflowing trashcans. Too busy listening just to the depth of your voice, Michael didn’t catch the bottles in his path. He misstepped, part of his foot catching the lip of a bottle and sending flying just a little. He stumbled a little, his grip tightening around you. He caught his balance fast. “Sorry! You okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I can get down if you need.”

“When we get to the line.” 

“Okay,” you agreed but Michael took another misstep, the bottle seeming to have come back for revenge. Michael, thankfully was able to catch himself on the edge of an empty bench and you were able to slip off with ease. But you saw the way he caught himself, knee digging into the bench and heard the hiss exhaling form his chest. 

Now, you’re here. Kneeling on the grass, gabbing some alcohol pads over his knee and hands. There’s only a small open wound on his hand. But his knee is definitely going to bruise. You instruct for him to hold your cold bottle of water to his knee, though ice would definitely be better--you’re just not sure where to find someone and you don’t want the cut on his palm to get infected either. 

Michael watches you, the way you take the Neosporin and gently dab it over his hand. One hand of yours is curled around his, to keep it open. Your thumb of this free hand, gently brush over his skin. He can’t tell if it’s your attempt to soothe him, or if you’re doing it unconsciously, but he can feel the tingle running through his spine. Not even his throbbing knee seems that bad as you hold his hand this gently. 

“I’m going to put a piece of gauze on it before getting a bandage on it. I’ve got some medical grade tape to hold everything in place,” you instruct. 

And everything you do is preceded by this sort of breakdown. He doesn’t need it, but he’s not really paying attention to it either. Not when your fingers brush over the skin of his forearm, placing the last bit of tape into place. His fingers twitch just a little at the featherlight touch. Your fingers leave his skin and he misses it, but then your fingers are brushing over the tips of his. “Can you still comfortably use that hand? It’s not taped up too tight.”

Your fingers are prompting his to curl up and he allows you to do it before stretching them back out and moving each finger independently. He moves them without a wince. “Fixed me up well, Doc.”

You laugh gently. “I try. You take a breather and I’ll get us some food. But we should find ice soon for your knee.”

It hurts, Michael won’t deny that. But he glances up, watching you toss the bloody wipes and trash into the trash nearby--an emptier one. “You’re okay though right?” he asks once you return. 

“I’m not the fucking one that hit their knee. I’m fine. How are you?”

“I’m alright,” he shrugs. 

“Wanna go home after we eat?” 

Michael knows he should be responding, but his focus is zeroed in on the the way you touch his shoulder, kneading just a little at the muscle. He hums. Then finally the words register. “Sure.”

You nod. “Pick a place--my treat. Then I’ll drive us home.”

“I’ll have to tell the guys, but sure.” He follows it up with a suggestion of what he wants. 

You give another nod, one last squeeze to his shoulder and then head over to get food. Michael looks at the spot you were touching, trying to commit to the memory of your squeeze to memory. 

[malumsmermaid]

Sweet Dream or a Beautiful Nightmare?

Happy Halloween everyone! This is the halloween event fic for the collab discord!

I chose the prompt of “Person A sells their soul to Person B, a crossroads demon,” for Mashton.

Word Count: 4.6k

Pairing: Demon Michael x Ashton

Description: So I made this an alternate timeline. 5SOS is still 5SOS, but, they don’t really take off until after Ashton is already 18, and Ashton joins the band much earlier than Michael does, for the sake of the prompt and my plans.

Warnings: Demons, mentions of death

Event Masterlist        My Masterlist       Buy Me a Ko-Fi

Ashton took a deep breath, giving the book and bag of supplies sitting in his passenger seat an anxious glance. He’d bought the spell book from a local used bookstore months ago, assuring his two friends that it was just as a joke. This week however, curiosity and desperation took over, leading him to dig through his closet until he found the note-laden spell book, still in the bag it was placed in the day it was purchased. 

He steeled himself, grabbing the book and bag and turning off his car, climbing out and taking sure steps towards the intersection of the streets. He grabbed chalk from the plastic bag, trying not to look too long at the other ingredients for the summoning. He set the book next to him on the ground, shivering as it fell open to the exact page he needed. “Okay Ash,” he breathed, “get yourself together and let’s do it, for the boys. Six guitarists in six months is fucking ridiculous.” 

He dug in the cloth bag for the box of chalk, taking a piece out and walking to the center of the intersection. He kneeled on the pavement, focusing on the crossroads he was at mentally as he drew out the symbol illustrated in the spell book. He knew that Luke, Calum and himself had a great fit for their band, the only thing they were lacking in their balance was the right guitarist. He had a feeling that if they didn’t find another guitarist soon, and if this seventh guitarist wasn’t the missing piece they’d been searching for, the two younger boys may lose hope and give up. He maintained focus on his goal as he meticulously followed the instructions laid out in the book.

Everything completed he took a step back, eyes closed as he focused on what he needed. When he opened his eyes again, there was a cloaked figure in front of him, orange glowing eyes showing from beneath a hood. Ashton stood his ground, even with the lit candles flickering out, staring the orange eyes down as he waited for the crossroads demon to speak. Ashton thought he could make out a smirk on the demon’s lips as he sized up the eighteen year old in front of him.

“Was this just some dare from your friends or do you actually need me for something, kid?” The demon’s voice was low, almost bored.

Ashton squared his shoulders, standing up straighter and sticking his chin out, pushing down even the slightest bit of fear. “I truly believe my band has a good chance of making it in our field, we just are failing desperately at finding the right guitarist.”

The demon blinked, “You’re willing to sell your soul to a demon...for a guitarist. Not the success of the band, just the guitarist.”

Ashton nodded, sighing, “We’ve been through six guitarists in as many months. I’m here for the perfect guitarist for our band. The success will follow from that.”

“Are you sure about that?” the demon asked, fingers fiddling with the large sleeves of the cloak. “This is really what you want to sell your soul for, no little extra guarantee that it will actually work out on top of this guitarist?”

Ashton looked at the ground, silent for a moment, before looking up into the glowing eyes through his fringe, “It really is. I think my bandmates may give up if this next guitarist doesn’t work out, and I don’t want that to happen. Besides, if it had been one of their ideas, I would’ve made sure I was the one to do it. They don’t deserve that.”

“And you do?” The demon retorted, though his voice took on a concerned note.

Ashton paused, eyebrows pulling together before shaking his head. He reached his hand across the sigil he’d drawn in the road, “Do we have a deal?”

The demon took in Ashton’s unwavering position, his refusal to back down, convinced that this was the measure he had to take for his friends. “Deal.” The demon responded, grasping Ashton’s hand in his own. “Guitarist lucky number seven will be at your next rehearsal,” he stated before turning around and getting ready to disappear back into the darkness, “Can’t wait to see how this one turns out.” He muttered to himself.

Ashton gathered what remained of his ingredients, taking them to the car and grabbing his thermos full of water, rinsing the chalk off of the roadway before finally getting back in his car and going home.

~~~~~

Two days later Ashton was setting up his drum kit in Luke’s house. He was anxiously tightening a wing nut to a cymbal when the doorbell rang. Luke frowned, putting his guitar down and going to answer the door. Ashton could hear Luke talking to someone and hummed, continuing his set up. Soon Luke returned, another boy following behind him. “This is Michael,” the blonde started, getting both Ashton and Calum’s attention. “He told me that he heard from a friend that we were looking for another guitarist?”

Luke’s blue eyes were questioning, wondering if his other two bandmates had spoken to anyone about the recent opening. Calum looked just as confused as Luke and Ashton whirred through some excuse he could make up. “I uh, may have mentioned it to one of the people at the barbecue I went to after practice the other night. Didn’t think they’d actually know someone looking for a band though, guess I was wrong.”

Luke simply shrugged and nodded, turning back to Michael, still hanging behind him. Ashton caught the guitarist’s eye and...did he just wink at him? No, he had to have imagined it. Michael’s brown hair fell in his face and he crouched on the floor, pulling his guitar out of the case and tuning it, knowing that the band would need to hear him play before anything was decided.

Ashton finished setting up his kit and took a seat in front of the Hemmings’ Christmas tree. Calum was on one side of him, fidgeting with the shoulders of his tank top, Luke on the other looking at Michael. He’d pulled his guitar strap over his shoulder, guitar hanging on his back as he fidgeted with the strands of his hair before stepping up to Calum’s keyboard. He took a deep breath, calming his nerves before he started playing the opening notes to Nightmare by Avenged Sevenfold. He swung his guitar around and began to play. He leaned into the microphone and began singing the lyrics as well and Ashton thought he caught another furtive glance and a smirk from him. 

Luke got to his feet halfway through the song, stopping Michael. “Dude, if you can get along with the three of us as well as you can play guitar, I’d say you’re in. What do you guys think?”

Calum spoke up from his spot, “Yeah, hang out with us some after practice today and same at the next and if we’re all getting along, I’d say it’s going to work out.”

Ashton simply nodded his agreement with the other two boys and got to his feet, going to settle behind his drum set, ready to start practice. Michael was beaming as he moved to the other side of the living room stage, looking at the tabs Luke was showing him for one of the original songs that he wanted to work on today.

~~~~~~~

Michael blended into the group with ease, Ashton and Calum welcoming him in before the first rehearsal with the new guitarist was even over. Ashton brushed off his apprehension about the looks that Michael had been giving him, he was a nice guy and there was no way he could know about the deal the drummer had made. By his third rehearsal, Michael had come up with a name for the group, the other three boys having been struggling with that for a long time, especially with the more pressing issue of keeping a guitarist on the forefront of their minds. 

Soon, 5 Seconds of Summer were posting more videos to Luke’s youtube channel and playing more local shows. With Michael fitting in so well with the group they were now working harder than ever before. After a few months, they finally got a call from a label. They worked out the details with their parents and began touring around the country, and then across the world. 

The years went on and the band’s success continued to grow, multiple albums debuting at number 1 and playing larger and larger venues. During one tour Ashton dyed his hair black, posting a picture in front of a window, captioning it “feeling like a demon again.” Michael was in another room, and he let out a low chuckle when he read the caption, double tapping the photo and carrying on.

It was coming up on ten years since Michael joined the band, ten years since Ashton made a deal with the crossroads demon. He wasn’t really in the mood to celebrate his 28th birthday when it came along, knowing in five months, he would no longer be himself, if he was even still here. They finished recording their sixth album and Ashton went back to Australia for a month, spending time with his family. When he got back to LA in mid-September he began pulling away from his friends, only responding to band related texts immediately, sometimes taking three days to reply to even Calum when he tried to check in. He tried to say that he was working on a second solo album during the lull before they had to start promoting the new record, but he knew that would only hold them off for so long.

By October Ashton’s nightmares of the orange-eyed demon he’d been having from time to time since they met were now nightly. The first week of November he just gave up on sleeping entirely, throat raw from waking up screaming as the cloaked demon dragged him out of bed and down through his bedroom floor into darkness. 

At the end of the week without sleep, Ashton once again found himself spending the whole day sitting on his couch, staring intently at a blank page of his journal. The room grew dark around him as the sun sank in the sky. The last few golden rays travelled through the windows when he recognized the sound of Michael knocking on his door. Before he could get up or even respond to the sound, the door opened, Michael walking straight in. Ashton wearily raised his head, looking at his friend standing in the doorway to the living room. “You look soulless.” Michael said, “Trust me, I would know.”

Ashton shook his head, placing his elbows on his knees and leaning his head on his hands. “What do you need Mike?”

“I know why you’ve been avoiding us, pushing everyone away.”

Ashton let out a dark chuckle. “Sure. Take a guess.” He muttered, keeping his head down.

Michael stepped further into the room, boot stomping on the hardwood. “Ashton. Look at me.”

There was something different to Michael’s voice, and Ashton found himself unable to disobey. He sat up, turning to look at the blonde and gasped. The same glowing orange eyes that had been haunting his nightmares were staring straight at him, coming from Michael’s face. Ashton scrambled backwards until his back was against the far arm of the sofa, the guitar that had been next to him dropping to the floor. Michael frowned, stepping forward, picking up the instrument from the ground, checking it and carefully beginning to tune it again while Ashton searched for words. 

“Y-you!” He choked out, “Get out of Michael!”

The demon sighed, eyes fading back to green as he fiddled with the guitar. He snapped his fingers, turning on some lamps. “Ashton,” he said, voice soft, “I’ve been Michael the whole time, from before you came forth to make the deal to now.”

Ashton shook his head, “So I wasn’t being paranoid about the looks you were giving me when you tried out for the band.”

Michael chuckled, nodding. “I was sort of hoping you’d notice much sooner. I was just drawn in by your confidence that all you needed was a guitarist. And you were right.”

Ashton was still pressed against the arm of the sofa, so Michael stayed where he was, tenderly cradling Ashton’s guitar, letting him set his boundaries, letting him figure out how he felt. Finally, Ashton shifted, actually looking at Michael, no longer pinning himself to the end of the couch. When he spoke, his voice was raw, “It’s just...god, Michael. I’ve trusted you with things I wouldn’t tell anyone else. I’ve been vulnerable with you...I--I’m in fucking love with you.” Ashton’s scoff turned into a disbelieving laugh. “I would fall in love with a demon, makes so much more sense now.”

“Hey now,” Michael said, voice soft as he moved to sit next to Ashton, hand resting on the drummer’s thigh. Ashton didn’t pull away and Michael carried on, “I gave up my original job out of curiosity after we met. The past ten years I’ve spent with you...and the band...I’ve been closer to my old mortal life, old feelings, than I have been in centuries.”

“What do you mean?” Ashton asked, hazel eyes meeting green.

“I mean, I wasn’t always a crossroads demon, if that’s what you’re asking. In my old life I was a travelling minstrel, and one day, I performed the same ceremony you did, summoned the demon who would be my master in order to make a deal.”

Ashton tilted his head, understanding crashing over him and he nodded, curls bouncing. “Did you make the deal you expected me to make? Asking for success and fame?”

Michael chuckled, “No, Ashton, I assumed that’s where you were going because I’ve been a crossroads demon for four hundred years. The number of times I’ve heard that request in the past fifty years alone...it’s not a hard assumption to make.” 

Ashton nodded, quietly waiting to hear Michael’s story. Michael hummed, leaning back into the couch as he began. “It was a festival, celebrating the arrival of spring. We were playing in the market square and a boy caught my eye. I later learned he was the son of the lord and lady of that region and doubted I had much chance. But I had to have him. So, that night, I made a deal and within the next fortnight, I was a regular in his bed. 

His parents knew nothing of the matter and within two years he was married to the daughter of some duchess, but we had an understanding with her. She had little interest in lying with her husband anyway, her heart laid with one of the maids who helped her dress.

Much too soon my time came and I became a demon. I stopped aging, learned my trade, and began my work. I still spent nights with my beloved, but he continued aging, and soon, at least to me, it became clear that he couldn’t keep up with me anymore. I held his hand as he crossed over. He and his wife never had children, even for the sake of appearances, and so their line ended with their deaths. He chose to be reborn, I check in on him once every century, but I always miss when he would be my apparent age. The two times that I caught him in his later years, his soul recognized me for who I was and we had long talks when I came by, but nothing more.”

Ashton stared, nodding as he listened to Michael’s century’s old tale, of who he had been before Ashton was even a thought. “H-have you found him in this century?” He voiced.

Michael chuckled, “Yes, I have. As much as you remind me of him, you aren’t him. No, he’s the man you’ve known as my dad the past few years. Hate that I had to put that sort of spell on him, but I needed a cover. But, like I said, my timing has been off, probably the curse of being a demon, can’t keep up with the man I loved.”

Ashton nodded slowly. “But you know why I can’t tell anyone why I’ve been pulling away. Luke and Calum wouldn’t understand. I...I don’t want to hurt them.”

Michael hummed, pulling Ashton to rest on his chest. “I know, but I have a plan. I’ll get us both out of this. But first you need to get some sleep.”

Ashton wanted to protest, to explain his nightmares, but the warmth of Michael’s body and the song beginning to fill his ears were making his limbs heavy, eyelids drooping.

~~~~~~

Ashton awoke in his dark room, feeling more rested than he had in months. He was dimly aware of the other body in his bed, but opted to continue to lay still, see if sleep would claim him again, unsure how long he had been out. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Michael murmured, shifting to face Ashton.

Ashton didn’t jump, he wasn’t as foggy as he would normally expect upon waking up. He still remembered his conversation with Michael before he’d fallen asleep, and he still felt comforted by Michael’s presence, despite now knowing the truth. “How long was I out?” He hummed, turning to look at Michael’s silhouette.

Michael shifted, picking up his phone to check the time. “So it was like almost 7pm when you fell asleep the other night, then all of yesterday, I cleaned up the house by the way, and now it’s 5am the next day. Thought you were gonna wake up a few times during the day, but you just rolled over after mumbling something.”

Ashton blinked as he tried to take that in. He didn’t think that he’d ever slept that long, even at his most jet-lagged or exhausted following a long tour. “Makes sense, it’s been so long since I’ve gotten any sleep, since I’ve slept without any nightmares.”

Michael nodded, tentatively reaching out. Ashton moved closer, letting Michael place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Looked up tickets, got us a flight home tomorrow afternoon, figured you’d be awake by then. Do you wanna get Luke and Calum together for lunch or dinner today and just have a boy’s night, have a heart to heart?”

“But we can’t really tell them all of it, can we?”

“Up to you, I don’t mind them knowing, my plan includes shrugging off my old job, getting rid of these guys.”

Even knowing the truth, the sight of Michael’s glowing orange eyes still made Ashton flinch. “Let’s just plan getting together today, and decide what we’re going to tell them when we get there. I’m going to go do some yoga, stretch out after being in bed so long.” Ashton got out of bed after Michael nodded, stretching out his back as he walked around the bed. “How about dinner? Then we can come back here and talk more.”

Michael agreed, “I’ll send them a text later to get everything planned, doubt they’d appreciate a 5am text.”

~~~~~~

Ashton ended up deciding against telling Luke and Calum the full story, since it sounded like Michael was planning on no longer being a demon by the end of the week, and he still wasn’t sure he wanted to explain how Michael had really become part of the band, by Ashton making a deal with the demon. They’d been nothing but supportive, reminding him that they’re always there if he needs to talk. Michael was sitting next to him, occasionally giving him gentle touches and reassuring looks as he explained some of what he’d been going through. 

Ashton slept the whole flight back to Australia the next day, only waking during a spot of turbulence to find Michael had rested his head on Ashton’s shoulder, also asleep. Once they’d landed, Michael rented a car and they went to get dinner before checking into the hotel. “Let’s get some rest,” Michael said after he set his bag down, taking a seat on the bed. “Then tomorrow night we’ll go back to where we first met and get this reversed, neither of us will have anything to worry about anymore.”

Ashton nodded, and both men took turns getting ready for bed. There were two beds in the room, but Ashton looked over at Michael anxiously. “Can I sleep next to you? I...I don’t want to be alone in a bed again.”

Michael nodded and Ashton flipped off the lamp by the bed he’d originally claimed, crawling in next to Michael. He moved close to him, scared to be touching him, still not entirely sure where they stood. Michael however, closed the distance after he turned off the lamp, pressing his body closer and throwing an arm over Ashton’s shoulder.

The pair slept soundly through the night, spending the day laying low, having lunch and dinner out at quieter local cafes. As the last rays of sunlight disappeared below the horizon, full moon rising higher in the sky, Michael drove out to the crossroads where Ashton had summoned him just a month shy of ten years ago. He pulled over, reaching into the backseat for the bag he’d brought with him. Ashton followed him to the center of the intersection, watching as Michael began the summoning ceremony Ashton had followed, but in reverse order. The asphalt swallowed up the ingredients as Michael threw them down, the demon chanting in an ancient language as he circled the ground. He traced glowing orange runes into the road. 

Once there was a glowing circle surrounding the runes, Michael stepped back, arms open wide as he continued chanting, Ashton hesitantly stepping forward to stand at his side. Michael fell silent as before them appeared a figure far more terrifying than anything Ashton’s nightmares had conjured. Ashton was petrified, rooted to the spot. Michael gave him a glance before looking back at the entity before them. “Hey Cain, been a minute. Could you do human form, for the sake of my best friend here?”

The figure began to shrink, swirling shadows of dark fog turning to flesh and animal skin clothing, terrifying features morphing to human. “Cain?” Ashton squeaked, “Like Cain and Abel, Cain? Like…”

Michael simply nodded, “Told him about 150 years ago that he owed me a massive favor, now I’m cashing in.”

Cain snorted, now fully human, leaning on a wooden club. “I have existed for millenia, young minstrel, that may as well have been yesterday.”

Michael simply rolled his eyes, carrying on. “Look, you owe me big time and that’s what matters. Ash owes me his soul and his day is coming up, but I don’t want it anymore. I’ve spent the last ten years with Ashton and our bandmates and I’ve been more in touch with my mortal side than I’ve been since my beloved died the first time. After watching him die that first time, and then several times after that, I’m done. I have a new love and I can’t go through that again, watch him age and die. And none of that redemption myth stuff that goes around. I want to be mortal, I want to grow old for the first time in my entire existence, and I want to do that with Ashton.”

Ashton blinked, staring at Michael before he turned to look at Cain, who was deep in thought over Michael’s request. “That definitely is well within your right to request, and fills my debt to you without leaving you in debt to me...well thought out, minstrel.”

Michael’s face remained neutral and Cain held his hands out on either side of him. In his right hand, a scroll with what Ashton recognized as his signature at the bottom, in his left, a glowing ball of light. Cain released the ball of light, which began to float toward Michael as the scroll tore in two and burst into flame. “The deal is complete.” Cain stated, disappearing into shadow as the ball of light reached Michael, floating into his chest.

As soon as the light touched Michael’s chest, he collapsed onto the pavement, Ashton gasping and rushing to his side. Shadows poured from Michael’s eyes, nose, mouth and ears, sinking into the ground. Ashton crouched on the road, holding Michael’s head in his lap as the last of the shadows trickled out and faded away. The blonde’s eyelids slowly fluttered, finally blinking open fully. Ashton stared down at him, an extra glimmer of life showing in Michael’s green eyes that Ashton didn’t think he’d ever seen before. “Ash,” Michael croaked, trying to push himself up, but Ashton firmly pushed his shoulders back down.

“You just got blasted back by that bright thing, you need to chill for a moment.” He stated, hands staying on Michael’s shoulders.

Michael remained still, smiling up at Ashton. “It was my soul, my original soul, the one I signed over,” Michael whispered, “I can feel it.” He paused, then his eyes widened, “Do I look fucking ancient now?” He gasped.

Ashton chuckled, shaking his head, “No, you look like Michael, the same Michael I’ve known for the past ten years, just a little more soul behind your eyes.”

Michael rolled his eyes at the joke before looking up at the stars. “I meant it, when I said I wanted to grow old with you.”

“I know. I do too, I’m glad we have that option now.”

Michael smiled and they sat there quietly until Ashton felt that Michael had recovered, finally getting to their feet and driving back to the hotel. They spent the rest of the week in Australia, Cain’s deal hadn’t undone Michael’s spell on his parents, and both he and Ashton were glad of that, visiting with both their families while they were there. 

Once they were back in LA, Michael began moving his things into Ashton’s house. They had dinner with Luke and Calum, and the other two men could tell that something had changed between their friends, but didn’t push it. They knew that they’d be told when Michael and Ashton were ready.

Months later, Michael and Ashton were in their garden, sitting around the fire pit. They’d told Calum and Luke about their relationship at New Years, to which Luke yelled “Finally!” They’d all laughed and hugged before staring into the sky as fireworks exploded across the city, well ahead of midnight. 

Tonight was the last night of peace before they were set to go back into the studio. Ashton cuddled closer to Michael on the bench, lazily poking at the burning logs with the hook. “Y’know,” he whispered, “I feel like, if we were both human the whole time we’ve known each other, I’d still offer you my soul.”

Michael glanced at him, green eyes wide and eyebrows raised. Ashton giggled, dropping the metal rod to the grass and leaning up and giving Michael a kiss.

“Like in the I’m totally in love with you way, you worry wart.” He said. “I trust you with my heart and every bit of my being. I know that you won’t hurt me.”

Michael hummed, smiling at Ashton, watching the flames dance in his hazel eyes. “You know what?” He said after a couple of minutes, “I’d give you my soul too.” Michael tore his gaze from Ashton for a moment, sticking his skewer into the flames, watching the marshmallow goo that was still stuck to the metal blacken and drip into the fire. “Feels a lot better this way.” He observed, “With my first love I signed over my soul to get it, but to you, I’d give it freely.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be.” Ashton whispered.

Michael nodded, dipping his head for another kiss. “I love you Ashton Irwin.”

“And I you, Michael Clifford.”

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[daddychims]

Offside Pt 11

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

Series Masterlist!

Genre: Smut, Soccer AU, College AU

Pairings: Soccer Player! Jungkook X Sports Trainer! Reader

Word Count: 2k

Other BTS members all make a cameo as well because I’m an OT7 Trash!

You work as a sports trainer, providing basic first aid and injury management for the Hanguk University’s soccer team. Going with your mundane life of caring for the dozen of guys hurting themselves in the soccer game takes a turn when one of the guys catches your eyes. It’s not his breathtakingly good looks or his muscular athletic body usually seducing girls at the campus that catches your eyes. But the action plan in your kit, indicating he is diagnosed with Asthma is what draws your eyes time and time again to the Golden Boy of Hanguk University.

Warning: Slow burn, eventual smut, Taehyung being a freaking tease the whole time, Also Jimin not letting the female MC live for one day, Fuckboy!Jungkook, Asthmatic! Jungkook , mentions of episodes of Asthma, Take your Ventolin kids, Take your medications kids!

You watch the three guys who are standing at three corners of the table, chalking their cues as they have the most intense stare battle of their life. The girl sitting beside you offers you a cigarette which you reject with a forced smile but quickly grab one of the bottles of beer that is sitting idly on the table and press it against your mouth to take a sip.

"So what's the bet of the night," Jimin asks, gaze travelling between the two guys "Don’t tell me you called me here without a bet."

"Of course not Park," Taehyung scoffs "I've got a good one for now. "

You furrow your eyebrows when he shifts his gaze to you, and you immediately choke on your beer staring between him and the two other guys "W-What?" You ask defensively

"The bet's on you, Sugar!" Taehyung offers and Jungkook nods confirming his words

"W-What?" you ask with lost eyes "What do you mean?"

"Whoever wins this game will get to drive you home!" Taehyung declares firmly as he glances back at Jimin

"Ooh creative," Jimin smirks "I like that!"

"Wait no," you quickly stand up to object "Joonie said he'll will be drop me off-" you turn around to have a look at the table where you last seen Jiwoo and Namjoon but your voice trails off as you find out about your bestfriend's betrayal

"They left the place 10 minutes ago," Jungkook states looking at you "While you were too busy …" he points at the table Jimin was grinding on you earlier and your cheeks turn red immediately

"I can get home on my own." you declare 

"Joonie Hyung will probably kill me if he knows I didn’t take you home," Jimin immediately rejects shaking his head "Also where is the fun in that?

"Am I here to entertain you?" You ask in disblief

"We're set," Jimin ignores your question as he looks at the other two

"Hey Hey," You call as you as you walk closer to the table "but I have a condition." The three of them nod in union and you're surprised that for the first time you see them agreeing on something. "You'll drop me at my place," you glance over Taehyung to Jungkook as you add "No funny business," you then bring your eyes to Jimin "No messing around!"

"Can I get a complementary neck massage?" Jimin raises his hand as if he's asking for permission with an excited tone

"Park," you sneer at the guy and he immediately laughs in response

"Fine, " Jimin replies before looking at the two other guys "I'm calling dibs on 10-15."

"That’s not fair," Taehyung pouts "13 is my lucky number!"

"You should work on your speed if you don’t want your things taken!" He smirks before pointing at you 

"Park," You hiss realising the "things" he's mentioning is a metaphore for you "I'm standing right here!"

"Sorry babe," he sends a wink your way "Just trying to teach the kids some life lesson here!"

"You better watch your mouth," Taehyung hisses "before I stick that cue up your ass and teach you a life lesson!"

"Ooh didn’t know you're into toys," Jimin laughs "Is that your way of compensating for your 3 seconds stamina?"

Taehyung is about to jump over the table to throw a punch when Jungkook finally speaks up

"Lets get this over and done with," he glances at Taehyung in an attempt distract the heated guy "1 to 5 or 5 to 10 Tae?"

"1 to 5," Taehyung replies through gritted teeth

"Alright!" Jungkook nods as he sets the small balls in the triangle before lifting the case up, the balls organized in a triangle ready for the game to start

You watch as Taehyung lean over the table, throwing a glare at Jimin across the table before breaking the balls.

"Nice shot!" Jimin compliments with a mischievous smile

Taehyung smirks as he walks away changing his angle, aiming for the number 13 which belongs to Jimin. As the cue hits the ball, it starts dancing around the table but misses its path into a pocket.

"Not so lucky hey," Jimin smirks as he watches Taehyung's defeated expression "What does it even stand for? 13 … 13 seconds?" he pauses as if he discovered something brilliant in his head "Is that the most you lasted boning someone?"

Taehyung clenches his jaw watching Jungkook walk past him, brushing an arm over his shoulder to calm him "Its for the time your dad lasted when he made you!" Taehyung spits back in response 

Jimin's expression immediately hardens and he's about to charge towards the guy when you quickly intervene 

"Hey, Hey," you scold as you knock on the wooden surface of the table "you two stop fighting right now!"

"He started!" Taehyung points at the guy across the table with a pout, as if he's wrongly accused 

“I don’t have all night for you two to fight,” you cross your arms across your chest, putting an end to their pointless banter “Now do you wanna continue playing or should I call Joonie?”

You don’t miss how Jungkook’s lips tug into a faint smile as the two guys pout in union like two kids scolded by their mom

“I guess I’m playing next!” He offers looking at you before leaning down and play his turn

The rest of the game goes on not much different than it started, Taehyung and Jimin constantly bickering while Jungkook silently plays, all his attention on the balls he scores in the holes one after another.

You can’t help but notice his familiar tactic he always uses on the field. Barely wasting any time to bluff or bicker with others but ends up owning the game in the end. And of course, this game is no exception.

“I guess the hiatus affected your skills, Park!”  Taehyung smirks as he high fives Jungkook “Aren’t you losing too often?”

Jimin rolls his eyes at the remark “You speak as if you’re any better, 13 seconds!” " his mocks as he scores another point, crushing Taehyung's ego

You run your finger to your temple giving it a slight massage. It’s a headache to be in the same room as the three guys. They are at each other’s throat whether it is soccer or just playing a stupid game like billiard and they make everything seem like their lives are at stake if they don’t claim the throne. There is always an unnecessary amount of men ego floating in the air for everyone around them including you.  

You watch how Jungkook's slender fingers moved slowly caressing the edge of the table as he watches Taehyung and Jimin play to win over the second and third spot, reassured that he’s scored his throne already like always.

You have to consciously stop yourself from imagining how many girls those fingers may have broken into pieces to build the guy’s reputation as the Hanguk’s golden boy.

“Looks like I won’t be getting any placebo effect tonight!” Jimin finally brings his eyes to you from the game, a bitter smirk tugging on the corner of his lips

You gulp, not losing the double meaning of his words considering earlier he elaborated on how exactly he wanted to squeeze the placebo effect out of you.

“I guess life doesn’t always go your way Park!” Jungkook speaks up this time, as he places his cue on the table and grabs his jacket  looking at you “Ready to go?”

“Y-Yeah!” you stutter, looking at his piercing eyes fixed on you

“I’ll see you next week,” Jimin calls waving at you with a smirk “Save up some of your placebo effect for then,” he warns, his smirk faltering as his demeanour changes to a more stern one “Be a good girl and don’t use it all up yeah?”

“W-What-“ you ask with a confused tone but before you can receive your answer Jungkook grabs your arm and pulls you to the stairs behind himself.

“Bye Sugar!” 

You hear Tae’s voice behind you but Jungkook walks so fast that you don’t even get the chance to turn around and bid him goodbye.

“You don’t have to drop me off,” You finally pause when you’re both outside the building, reaching his car “I can just take a taxi!” you suggest

“Why? Are you disappointed?” He asks, bringing his annoyed eyes to you “Did you want Jimin to drop you off?

“What? No! Of course not-“

“We made a bet, I won, so get in!” He orders before opening the door to his side and getting in the car

You furrow your eyebrows, pulling the handle of the passenger side and getting in the car. You watch as they guy starts the engine and starts driving off the parking while he reaches in the dashboard and grabs a small pen shaped object and presses it against his lips. You heart starts drumming faster in rage as the smoke circles around his face like a halo and you realise, he’s vaping.

“Are you serious?” You blurt out without even thinking  

He glances at you before inhaling deeply on the device and exhaling it out skilfully “What?”

“N-Nothing …” you immediately retract, realising the last time you commented on his smoking habits, things didn’t go very well

“No go on,” he nods “What are you judging me for this time?”

“I said nothing!” You insist lowering the window to avoid inhaling the secondhand smoke

“Now what? Are you so upset that Jimin lost the bet that you don’t wanna talk to me?” He asks and you finally lose you patience

“I’m judging you for that vape,” you snap in rage finally looking at him “and no, I’m actually happy Jimin didn’t win the bet …” you blurt out and his eyes widen, momentarily meeting yours and you immediately regret your words

“Really?” he asks intrigued, puffing a substantial amount of smoke out of his lungs

“Y-Yes, but that’s not important …” you quickly interject “Are you seriously smoking AND vaping? Are you really that desperate for lung cancer?”

“I told you before, my lungs are already fucked, they were since I was like 2,” he replies through gritted teeth “this wouldn’t really make a huge difference anyways.”

“Fine,” you roll your eyes frustrated at his response “Just smoke until you choke and die!”

“As if you care!” he murmurs barely audible, but you immediately pick it up and look at him

“Really? So now I don’t care?”

“Well obviously grinding on Park is much more of a priority for you right now,” he scoffs in rage “considering how you managed to break our promise in like two days!”

“W-What … I did not-“

“Oh right, I should have known you’d play smart,” he nods with a mocking tone “you promised you’d block him but didn’t promise you wouldn’t fuck him!”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, blood boiling from his accusation “I wasn’t planning on fucking anyone! He was only there because Joon brought him along.”

“and that was probably me humping him in a room full of people around,” He scoffs “If only Tae didn’t suggest the game-“ He immediately stops and goes silent, pressing the vape on his lips and inhaling deeply before puffing the air out in frustration “Whatever …” 

You sigh watching him for a few seconds “I don’t really get why you and Tae overact about Park?” you finally break the silence

“I don’t get why you always have to be around him!” he spits back questioning you instead “Is he really worth it? The guys is like barely 4 inches,” he says in an enraged tone “and if he’s sent you dick pics that show otherwise, I have to burst your bubble! there are rumours that he photoshops his dick all the time!”

“What- how …” you stutter, cheeks blushing with every word that he speaks” How is Jimin’s genital coming into this!”

“Because his dick somehow is significant enough for you to break the Hanguk’s code and betray your team!”  

"You're so fucking dramatic, Oh My God!"  You sigh in defeat and look away, hoping this torturous car ride that resembles an interrogation room comes to an end soon 

Meanwhile Jungkook presses his foot on the pedal and speeds up the car, exhibiting his anger in a way other than yelling at you. You finally release a sigh in relief as your house comes to view and you reach to  unbuckle your belt as Jungkook’s car comes to stop. You’re struggling with the clip when a small gasp leaves your throat as he turns over to you and hovers against your body

“Jeon-“

“Look, We had a deal,” he states sternly as he rests his hand on yours stopping your fiddle with the belt “I take my medications until the finals, you stay away from Park Jimin,” his tongue pokes to the corner of his cheek as he stares at you with a disappointed look “You can’t play dirty!”

“W-well if you actually listened to me-”

“Fine, tonight wasn’t your choice, I got it,” he nods in a frustrated tone “but next time you see that punk, you need to turn around and walk the opposite way, Alright?”

You want to agree with his suggestion immediately, its not like you’re dying to hang around SNU’s famous Casanova anyways. but your eyes glaze over the object in his hand and immediately you change your mind “This wasn’t part of the deal,” you mutter in a firm tone

“What?” he furrows his eyebrows looking at you

“If you’re gonna add conditions to our deal, I should add conditions too!”

“What condition?” He asks, a bit taken off guard by your sudden proposition

“No smoking or vaping till the games,” you reply with a stern tone “Or I wont promise I wont be hanging around Park.”

“What- “he scoffs in disbelief

“The medication will be more effective if you stop smoking!” You explain with a serious tone

“That’s what you want in return?” He asks with a lost tone

“Yes!” you nod determined

Jungkook gulps, a tint of amusement colouring his gaze on you. He rests his weight against your body in silence before unclipping your seatbelt and finally pulling away from your seat

“Fine!” he nods, avoiding making any eye contact with you

“Really?” your lips curve into a smile “you said it,” you raise your point finger at him “no going back on this! If I find out you’ve been smoking behind my back, our deal is gone okay?”

He finally glances at you, squinting his eyes as if he’s trying to figure you out “I said fine,” he mutters in a flustered tone “I don’t break my deals like someone!”

“Of course you don’t,” you roll your eyes at his remark “Thanks for the ride!” you turn around to leave his car as you add

“Wait,” he calls, and you turn around but immediately regret as he travels the space between you and cages you between himself and your seat again “This isn’t the only ride you can thank me for, you know!” he flashes a suggestive smirk 

“W-What …”

“If you want, I’ll let you ride me this time,” he traps his bottom lips between his teeth with a seductive smile “You just have to be a good girl and ask for it!”

“J-Jeon,” you speak up, trying to compose yourself against his seductive remarks “I said no funny business!”

“I’m sure it’ll be one hell of a ride,” He murmurs in a husky tone, eyes darkening in lust “Why don’t you give it a try?”

You blink rapidly, hating your drumming heart and the fact that you consider his offer for a second before finally muttering “Thank you for the offer,” you flash a fake smile “But this will be the last ride I ever had with you Jeon!” you then push him aside and open the door as you run towards your house, missing his final words

“We’ll see about that …”

Hey guys!

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, please like and reblog!

Love ya’ll!