#if those people wanna leave comments on social media posts are they kicking down your door and making you read them?

[cafecitoeddie]

❤️

[unwrittenlibrary]

i don’t wanna do this (i don’t wanna lose this)

eighteen plus blog minors dni

summary -> it’s all fake, every piece of it scripted and perfected for the camera, even the upcoming break-up you pretend doesn’t break your heart.

words -> 2.5k

warnings -> fake relationship, use of name (bucky calls the reader by her character’s name, lucia, once) nickname uses (baby, sweetheart) co-workers/friends to lovers, no smut, not beta’d

notes -> this is for the lovely maera’s ( @ambrosiase ) hotel indigo writing challenge i absolutely love this idea mae and am so appreciative that you created this challenge, it really pushed me out of my comfort zone and i got to explore an entirely new au.  

room & service -> business meets pleasure with celebrity bucky barnes -> bucky and reader are co-stars in a fake relationship in a hotel for their final comic-con together.

— ➶ —

Bucky has been doing interviews with Sam all day today. 

You’ve been working together for six seasons and have both been to too many comic-cons to count. Every single one of them you and Bucky had been paired up to do interviews and photo-ops together. 

A scripted piece of a scripted relationship. Agreed upon when your characters romance began to pick up popularity and designed to look perfect until the end.

Tomorrow an article with be released ‘leaking’ the details of your perfect break-up too. A source close to the both of you will comment that wrapping of the show and being forced to go long distance just wasn’t working for you two. The writer will supply photos of today, the two of you avoiding sitting near one another and not speaking. They’ll write that their source confirmed this convention is actually the first time you’ve seen each other in months. 

Even more articles have already been planted periodically questioning whether the two of you were still together, generating buzz around the show and what happens between your characters. It’s a brilliant job, honestly.

Except, you and Bucky had been in a fake relationship for so long, it had begun to feel real. This distance between you two felt purposeful in a way that hurt you more than it ever should have. 

Your assistant is supposed to go through your instagram soon and begin archiving posts and pieces of your fake life with Bucky. He’s been glaringly absent from your social media recently and it makes your heart ache at the idea of him being nonexistent.

Your fans have noticed too. You read comment after comment all asking the same thing; What happened to you and Bucky? 

“Oh, Lucia! My dear, Lucia.” You bite down a grin at the sound of Bucky’s voice through your door. His words were filtered by the wall between you and a little slurred from the drinks he had no doubt consumed at the hotel bar. “Open the door, please.” 

You lock your phone and lay it on the bed beside you. “I’m busy, Bucky! Go bother Sam.” You call back despite already walking towards the door. 

“Bother Sam? On our last night together?” You can see Bucky smile teasingly though the peephole. Despite his joking tone the words hurt. “Four years together and this is how things end? Through a hotel room door?” 

His fist comes up to bang against the door and a hand comes up to his heart. He’s putting on a show for you, fully away of your eye watching carefully through the peephole. “How much have you had to drink, Bucky Barnes?” You ask as the door remains closed. 

Bucky holds his fingers up in a pinch too small to be true. “Not much.” When his hand falls back to his side he smiles up at the peephole. “Let me in, sweetheart. I’ve missed you.” 

You melt, becoming putty in his hand as you quickly move to unlatch the door. “I’ve missed you too.” You admit to him, face to face, as you lean against the door jam. 

A smirk replaces Bucky’s sweet smile as his hands reach out to grip your hips. “This break-up is tough on me, baby.” He pushes you into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. “One more night. One last time. You and me.” 

“Shut up!” You force his hands off of you and turn towards the mini bar in your room. “You’re such a dweeb. I’m glad we’re breaking up.” You pull out the miniature bottle of wine and twist the top off. 

Bucky’s hand slams across his chest as he falls against the wall in dramatic fashion. “You’re… Glad? My frail heart can’t take it,” he falls to his knees, “Please. Tell my mother, I loved her.”

You watch, unamused, as Bucky falls to the floor in front of you. “You’re obnoxious.” A beaming smile breaks out onto Bucky’s face that makes you grin.

“I was serious, about missing you.” Bucky moves to sit up with his back against the edge of your bed. You move to sit beside him on the floor. “These junkets and photos just aren’t the same without you by my side, cracking jokes in my ear.”

You rest your head against his shoulder. “Me too. I love Wanda, but it’s just not the same.” You admit quietly.

There’s so much that you want to say to him. What if this wasn’t fake? What if we didn’t go through with the break-up plan? “Did they send you our social media plan?” Bucky asks quietly.

“Yeah,” You swallow thickly, “I have my assistant going through my account for me soon. We’re supposed to start untagging and deleting photos of each other this week.”

Bucky snorts. “How fucking sweet. Four years together and they have us untag each other to confirm a break up.” His fingers tap against his thigh as the two of you sit on the carpeted floor together.

“Has it really been four years?” You ask quietly. It’s more of a question to yourself, but Bucky answers it with a nod anyways.

“My longest relationship ever and it was fake.” Bucky’s awkward laugh makes the air tense as he stares down at his hands. “I’ve wasted so much of my life. So many chances gone.”

You know the words aren’t said with ill intent, but that doesn’t stop the crack from forming in your heart. You can’t fathom the idea of all your time together, fake or not, being a waste.

Your eyes cut away from him in embarrassment. “Was it really all a waste?” You ask quietly. The words are unintentional, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re out in the air.

“What?” You can feel his eyes settle on you in an attempt to read your face or body language, but a career in acting comes in handy. Your back is ramrod straight and your face turned away perfectly to hide the emotions in your eyes. “It was fake when we could have had something real with people we actually cared about.”

It’s a knife to your broken heart. “People we actually care about?”

“You know, like, other girls and guys who we wanted to pursue but couldn’t because of the contract.” Bucky reaches out to wrap a hand around yours, but you pull away. “I don’t understand what’s wrong here.”

You shake your head, the regret of your words settling over you. “Nothing. I’m just… It’s been a long day.” You use the edge of the bed to help you stand while Bucky remains on the floor, watching you in confusion. “I’m tired, you should go.”

“Woah. What’s this one-eighty?” Bucky stands too and follows you as you move around to gather your toothbrush and skincare. “Two seconds ago we were joking about a fake break-up and now you’re all quiet and weird? You expect me to just leave?”

“Please.” You plead. The last thing you want to do is dump all your feelings out to Bucky, on the last day you two were officially contracted to each other, and make him feel guilty for feeling free. “I just need to be alone, Buck.”

You move to push past him towards your bathroom, but Bucky’s hand wraps around your wrist. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t do this closing yourself off thing.”

“I’m not.” You say stubbornly. “I’m tired.” You try again to move past him, but his grip only tightens as he forces you to actually face him. “Buck-“

“You can tell me, you know?” He says quietly as his grip slackens. Your eyes meet his, pools of blue staring back at you with something akin to hurt. “You can trust me. We’re best friends, right? You’re my-“

“You don’t have to lie to me, Bucky. Pretend to care. You can go back to the bar and…” You pull your hand from him and cross your arms over your chest. “And tomorrow we can start being with people we actually care about.”

Bucky’s eyes squeeze shut as his own words are repeated back and left out in the open between you two. “That’s not what I…”

“What did you mean then?” You cut him off. You want to sound angry, but your tone is sad and tired. “Enlighten me, please.”

“I just meant… I meant we could date who we wanted to date, I didn’t mean for it to sound so awful.” He answers quietly. “I care about you a lot. We’ve been friends for over half a decade, of course I care about you.”

You swallow thickly. “What if I don’t want to date anyone else?” You force yourself to ask. If not now, then when? Ten years from now at a reunion of your show? You couldn’t live with this what if.

“What?” Bucky’s hand falls from your wrist as he takes a step back like your words have burned him.

You push through the thundering of your heart and ringing in your ears to ask, “haven’t you ever thought about it? I mean, four years of just us, all those dates and premieres, was it really all just work for you?”

“I don’t know… I mean…” Bucky rubs a hand over his jaw as you stare at him expectantly. “Have you?”

“I asked the question I think that would imply…” You trail off as his answer weighs down on your mind. It feels like a no. No. No. No. It’s on repeat in your mind as you move to sit down on your bed. “After a while the dates and photos and sappy posts didn’t feel all that forced anymore.” You admit quietly.

Bucky paces silently in front of you. You’re unsure of what’s going through his mind as he does it and it’s all you can do to not tap anxiously as you watch.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He finally asks when he finally pauses in front of you. You look up at him unsure of what to say. “I mean… When did you start…” He trails off like he doesn’t want the answer.

You look down at your hands in your lap. Despite your worries in telling Bucky you guess you had never truly thought of this conversation ending up this way. All these questions felt like Bucky preparing for a gentle rejection.

“I don’t know. After our second anniversary?” You keep your answer to him vague despite you being fully aware of when you started seeing Bucky differently. “That post you wrote for me that day. All the ones after. All of those words were fake?”

Your mind drifts to his words that day. The sweet and short caption had made butterflies erupt as you scrolled through the photos he had posted with it. Despite you both being required to post something, the photos he had chosen had been entirely genuine.

Pictures the two of you had taken together on set, selfies during your fake dates, and even a sweet set of photo booth pictures from your first premiere together.

You had stared at the post far too long as emotions rushed through you. Your heart raced at the idea of Bucky taking his time to pick photos that meant something to the both of you.

“I think that..” You shake your head in an attempt to rid yourself of the painful reminders. “I think you should go.” You stand up suddenly, your hands pushing gently at his chest.

Bucky’s eyes widen as his hands come up grip your arms in an attempt to stop you. “Woah. Let’s talk about this. I’m just trying to figure everything out.”

“Figure it out? What is there to figure out, Bucky?” You cry out, shoving harder. “If you don’t know how you feel then you should figure it out on your own.” You move past him to open the door.

Bucky follows after you hastily. “Sweetheart, wait, please. I just need a moment.” You grip his forearms tightly using Bucky’s own momentum against him as you guide him to the hallway outside your room. “I wasn’t expecting this. We have articles and photos and interviews planned about a break-up tomorrow.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything, Bucky.” The two of you are back where your night began. Opposite sides of the door as you stare, unsure of what to say. “Let’s just pretend this never happened, okay? The article will be published and we’ll confirm it and life will move on.”

The door slams shut in his face without warning, not giving him a chance to say anything else. You stare blankly at the ugly, green shade its painted in silence as you remind yourself; It was all fake. A script you had been given and followed to a tee. One you had gotten too caught up in.

You’re feelings don’t change the ending.

There’s a slow knock on your door. You suck in a breath as you move to open it an apology on the tip of your tongue.

“Bucky.” You’re cut off as his hands come up to rest on your cheeks and he pulls you towards him. Anything you had to say dissipates as his lips meet yours in a bruising kiss.

Your hands come up to grip his t-shirt tightly as you kiss him back your tongue slipping into his mouth while he pulls you flush against his body.

An arm wraps around your waist and Bucky pushes you back into your room, his foot kicking your door closed harshly.

The back of your knees hit the edge of your bed and you finally pull away to look at Bucky, but he speaks before you can say anything.

“Of course I’ve thought about it.” He breathes out. His eyes are wide with nerves and his cheeks flushed red. The sight of it mixed with his kiss makes your heart pound. “I’ve thought about kissing you for real, not in a room filled with crew and cameras. About what it would be like to be on a date where paparazzi hasn’t been tipped off. Baby,” his hands rest on your cheeks again as he forces your eyes to meet his, “I’ve thought about it all. What it would be like to be with you, to really be with you in every way. Sometimes it’s all I think about when we’re together.”

You take pause, your eyes widening and hands freezing in place as you listen to what he’s saying. “Why didn’t you say anything then? Why’d you just pace and ask me all those questions?”

“Because I’m an idiot.” He smiles brightly when you giggle. “Because I couldn’t believe you actually felt the same way. I was in shock.” He presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

You smile up at him softly. “What do we do about the article tomorrow?” You whisper your question.

You feel giddy with excitement as Bucky’s hands land on your hips to hold you in place, flush against him. “We deny it.”

“What about our managers?” Your smile doesn’t fade even as stress over the situation arises. “And…And our separate interviews tomorrow?”

“What are they gonna do? Fire us?” Bucky smiles. “We’ll tell them all about how in love we still are. That the source in the article was a dud and we’ve just been private recently as the show wraps.”

“We will?” You ask quietly. Your heart racing at his words. “You want to say all that?”

Bucky nods his head. “I do.”

You don’t say anything else he leans in for another kiss, you could worry tomorrow.

Bonus -> The Next Day

liked by buckybarnes, samwilson and 134,759 others

yourinstagram the final season of our show premieres this weekend and we’re so excited for you all to see how it ends. the first photo is from tonight and the second from our first season! the past six years has brought me so much joy and i’m so grateful for everything this show has given me. most importantly though, i’m thankful for you, bucky barnes. my adrian to my lucia. my best friend. my lover. thanks for making this show so fun.

View all 15,398 comments

samwilson we made a great show. love you guys.

buckyfan thought y’all were a pr stunt lmao

yourinstagram apparently you’re not supposed to really fall in love for those to work…

buckybarnes i am most grateful for you. you made work worth it every god damn day.

yourfan my favorite couple on and off the screen.

— ➶ —

notes -> this is my first ever time joining a writing challenge, it really pushed me to work through block and focus on this instead of letting is die out like i have with other projects despite liking them so much!

(hoping you guys don’t hate the extra instagram idea, i just felt it fit in!)

hopefully you enjoyed and if you did, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[storiesforallfandoms]

like i’m gonna lose you ~ machine gun kelly

part one

word count: 2276

request?: kind of?

description: after a painful reconnection, he decides to prove to her that he will do anything to get her back

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing

based (partially) on this song

masterlist

As he promised, the news of Colson and Megan’s “breakup” came a few days after our discussion. The news broke first on an few online tabloids, then Colson took to his social media to “confirm the rumors��.

“We’re just not right for one another,” he wrote in his post. “I still love Megan as a friend, and we’re going to stay in each other’s life. We both want our privacy during this time.”

Strangely enough, the conversation we had plus the actual confirmation that the fake relationship was over gave me a better sense of closure than our actual breakup had. I knew why Colson had ended things, and I knew that what he had with Megan wasn’t real and that it was over for good now. It was better than thinking he had suddenly stopped loving me after all those years.

Even with that closure, though, I stayed true to my word. Colson unblocked me and re-followed me on all his social media, and let me know he had unblocked my number from his phone by sending me a text. But I wouldn’t budge on trying to get back together with him. With the closure I had, I was starting to feel like I could move on from our breakup and be somewhat happy again.

It was hard to completely move on, though, when Colson was still trying to reach out to me constantly. He respected my boundaries and would stop whenever I asked him to, but it also didn’t take too long before he would message me again. Part of me wanted to block him back - it would’ve been beyond satisfying to reverse the roles on him and leave him blocked and heartbroken without explanation. But I was also enjoying getting to talk to him again, even if I knew it would lead to more heartbreak eventually.

The day I arrived home from work to find him sat on my doorstep, I felt something snap inside of me. The built up anger and sadness from the past year was finally bubbling over, and I had the exact person who had caused it all sat on my doorstep.

I got out of my car and slammed the door so hard I was shocked the windows didn’t shatter. “Colson, you can’t just fucking show up on my doorstep unannounced. This is borderline stalking now.”

“I want to talk like adults but you just keep brushing me off,” he retorted. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“Respect my fucking boundaries maybe? Realize that if I’m telling you that I don’t want to talk to you or see you that I actually fucking mean it?”

He stood from the doorstep and shoved his hands in his pocket. “I know that you mean it.”

I glared at him as I tried to shove past him to get through my door. He moved to stand in my way again, which just made me feel even more angry.

“If you know that I mean it,” I hissed, “then leave me the fuck alone Colson. You’ve hurt me enough, I don’t want to see you anymore.”

“I know I hurt you,” he said. “And I know that there’s nothing I can do to fix that, but please, let me try at least.”

“You did try, and I turned you down, remember? Now fuck off.”

I managed to push him out of my way in order to get into the house. He stood on my doorstep watching me for some time, and I knew that meant he wasn’t going away. No matter how hard I wanted to let him go, I knew my heart wasn’t going to let me. I sighed heavily and turned to face him.

“This is your last chance,” I told him. “You can come in and we can talk like adults, but just know that whatever decision I make after this is my final decision. No more of this harassing me and showing up on my doorstep. If I tell you to leave and you show up again I will call the cops on you, and I have a feeling that’s the last thing your manager wants.”

Colson nodded and followed me into my house.

I watched as he looked around, taking in the familiar place that he once called a second home. Very little had changed since we broke up, except for the fact that I got rid of all the pictures I had of the two of us. I was sure he had noticed that.

“Your place was always so much cozier than mine,” he commented.

“It’s cause it’s smaller,” I told him. “Your place is good for all the people you have over, but when it’s just you and Casie it’s far too big.”

“It is,” he agreed. “I would prefer to live in a place like this.”

“You could’ve,” I found myself muttering. Unfortunately, I said it a little too loud and Colson caught the comment. His face changed then, a sad wave washing over him.

“I should’ve,” he said. “God, I’m a fucking idiot.”

“We’ve been over that.”

He followed me to the kitchen and sat down at my table. Despite it only being early evening, I decided this moment called for a glass of wine. I poured myself one, and decided to mix Colson a drink with the liquor I knew he liked most.

“Saying I didn’t mean to hurt you is the stupidest thing ever,” he said after taking a giant gulp from the glass. “Of course I was going to hurt you. I broke up with you out of nowhere and then just ghosted you for a year. I guess...I thought that would be easier. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t love you enough to fight for you over my career.”

“I’m glad you realize how shitty and stupid that idea you had was. I wish you would’ve told me from the start what the plan was. I wouldn’t have been as hurt if you had.”

“I know...I know.”

I took a sip of my wine and immediately wished it was something stronger, something that would get me fucked up within minutes of drinking it.

I was mentally kicking myself for letting him back in again. That time at the coffee shop hurt enough and that was an accidental encounter we had. But to actually bring him into my home when I was finally starting to move on? I must really like to be hurt, because it seemed as though I was constantly trying to hurt myself lately.

“What would you have said if I had told you?” he asked. “Truthfully.”

I took a moment to think the situation over, to try and decide how I would’ve reacted if he had told me from the beginning instead of just breaking my heart.

“I still would’ve been hurt,” I admitted. “Not by you but by your manager. He knew about us, and even though we never went public with the relationship, my friends and family know. It wouldn’t exactly have been as easy to explain the whole publicity stunt relationship thing to any of them. I’d probably try to come up with a better solution, and if that didn’t work then...I’d just have to accept it.”

“Would you have stayed with me?”

I was shocked by his question. “Of course I would’ve. Everything between you and Megan was fake, there were no real feelings. Sure, seeing the pictures and everything would’ve hurt, but at the end of the day it would be me you were holding and kissing and actually loving. I probably could’ve been friends with Megan instead of hating her guts.”

Colson looked down at his glass, which was now almost empty. “I thought you would’ve broken up with me if I told you the truth.”

“You don’t know me that well, obviously,” I said. “Colson, there were ways around this. You didn’t have to break my heart.”

I could see that his eyes were starting to become more wet with tears. He was trying to hide them, but once his eyes starting welling up, his nose and his cheeks became flush and I could see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to swallow his tears.

“I fucking hate him, man,” he finally said, his voice cracking slightly. “He’s supposed to help me with my career, not put my career first over my own life and my happiness. And I hate myself too for thinking the best way to deal with this was to break up with you completely.”

I sat back in my chair, unsure of what to do. I wanted to comfort him, of course, but I didn’t want him to think that crying was going to get him off the hook. I was glad he was feeling my pain, but fuck did I ever hate to see Colson cry.

“I hated you, too,” I admitted. “I slandered your name to anyone who would listen. Eventually my friends got sick of hearing the name Colson Baker come out of my mouth, but they all knew how hurt I was.”

“Do you still hate me?”

I shook my head. “No. I never truly hated you. I just wanted to hate you, because hating you was easier than still being in love with you and watching you fall in love with someone else.”

He started to reach for my hands, but pulled away just as quickly. He sat back in his own chair, putting as much space between the two of us as possible. “There could never be anyone else. You’re my one and only, (Y/N), you always have been.”

I let the silence wash over the two of us. I wanted to let his words hang over us, to try and digest them and decide how I felt in that moment.

“I had a dream while you were on tour,” I said after a moment. “Well, a nightmare really. We had fallen asleep watching TV on the couch, and when I woke up I couldn’t find you. You weren’t in the house, you weren’t answering your phone, none of your friends or Casie knew where you were. I began to panic. I went driving and drove the entirety of Cleveland looking for you, but I couldn’t find you. Around the end of the dream, I was screaming your name and I could hear you calling back to me, but the more I ran to find you the further away you got. I eventually woke up drenched in sweat and crying because I thought it was real.”

“That was the night you called me,” he said. “I remember I was having a bad night mentally and all I wanted was to have you on the tour bus with me, in my arms. Then you called, and I thought it was like...a sign or something. Something good.”

I couldn’t help but smile at this. “I never told you because I thought it was a stupid nightmare, and I didn’t wanna be one of those girlfriends that calls in need of constant reassurance about their relationship.”

“I would’ve reassured you no matter how many times you called me.”

I looked down at my own glass, nearly empty as well.

“Can we ever go back from this?” Colson asked. “Can we try to start over after what happened?”

“How do you start over after spending five years with someone?” I asked. “We were basically married, how do you just go back to square one after that?”

“Well...you try and gain that trust back, then you try and get things back to how they were before,” he explained. “I don’t expect it to happen overnight, but I can’t be without you anymore (Y/N). It’s driving me crazy, you drive me crazy.”

I felt tears stinging my eyes, and I realized in that moment that Colson was now freely crying in front of me. God, we were both just messes. I wished none of this had ever happened.

“You really hurt me,” I said, my voice just barley a whisper.

“I know,” he said. “I know I did. I don’t expect you to ever forget that. I don’t deserve to be forgiven, I know that.”

“I’ll never forget it,” I confirmed. “But knowing the reasoning makes it easier to forgive.”

When he reached for my hand this time, I met him halfway.

“It won’t be easy,” I told him. “You know that, right? I’m not going to come running into your arms again after a few nights. You have to work for this, Colson.”

“I know,” he repeated. “I’ll do anything, (Y/N).”

Despite my better judgement, I sat forward and looked into his eyes. God, I loved those beautiful blue eyes more than anything in this world.

“You can start by kissing me.”

He nearly jumped over the table at this. He took my face in his hands and pressed my lips against his. I had missed this feeling so much; the pure passion that came with every kiss. I put a hand behind his neck to keep him close. I never wanted to let go ever again.

He pulled away first and rested his forehead against mine. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”

“I don’t want to hear those words out of your mouth ever again,” I told him. “We’re forgetting this, remember?”

He smiled. “Okay, then how about these words: I love you.”

I couldn’t help but smile back. The magic words I had longed to hear for so long, they sounded so right coming from his lips. “I love you, too.”

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 11

here’s the next update, everyone! sometimes i wish i could update this more frequently than i do, but the writing has been slow going because of a) other pieces i'm working on and b) work kicking back into high gear 😣 but i really appreciate your patience all the same.

it's looking like this first part of the story will be about 24 or 25 chapters, plus a sequel somewhere in the pipeline. i'm actually really excited for it, but i have some questions about it for you that’d help me guide how i want to get it out! if you could leave a comment with your thoughts, i'd be super appreciative.

would you prefer the sequel to be from Marinette's point of view? or a mix of Marinette and Luka?

if you'd like a mix, would you like a retelling of Chronicles from Marinette's point of view, too, to balance it all out? 

do you like the narrative format? or should i try my hand at making it look more like a social media AU? or a mix of both?

thank you so so much! your feedback will really help me figure out what i want to do going forward 💙🎶💖

damn, uh. i wasn’t expecting you all to like that so much. i guess i just needed to give it a little more time to sink in.

it’s only a work in progress, but hey. here’s hoping you’ll like it when it’s all done. thanks for giving it a chance @itsdjbubbles

Marinette was looking at a billboard of Adrien Agreste back then. He’s not so stupid that he didn’t notice. And it wasn’t that typical Celebrity Crush Stare, either. He knew what those looked like. He’d worn them, sometimes even daydreamed about someone looking at him like that from an audience pit. This was different. This was… wistful. The kind that said something could have been, but never was.

Did Marinette… know Adrien Agreste? Like, personally? She had mentioned getting a letter of recommendation from his father, after all. Had she done some kind of special work? Or entered some contest? Maybe she’d only gotten a handful of passing glances when she had the distinguished honor of weaving through the halls of the illustrious Agreste mansion. (Luka didn’t actually know if it could be called “illustrious;” it simply looked that way from the outside, and it wasn’t as though any of the Agrestes had deigned to order food from his job, so it wasn’t as though he could just waltz in and find out.)

Something was there. And Luka didn’t need to find out what that something was. But he wanted to. Curiosity hadn’t killed him yet—

“Ow!”

Across the ping pong table, Juleka fans herself with her paddle, eyeing the ball that smacked him in the face as it rolls away. “Game, set, and match,” she says with a deadpan expression. “Should’ve known thinking about Bakery Girl wouldn’t help you win.”

“I wasn’t thinking about her,” Luka insists to no avail.

“Liar.”

He relents, rolls his eyes, picks up the ping pong ball. “One more.”

“Nah.” Juleka sets her paddle down and starts to cut through the greenhouse area on the Liberty. “It’s no fun winning when you’re all distracted. Even you letting me win is more fun than that.”

Defeated, Luka picks up the ping pong ball—the only victory, considering how many of them they’ve lost to the Seine—and goes after her. She was right to fan herself; it’s way too hot to function on deck, so he ties his hoodie around his waist and wrestles his hair into a short ponytail. Sure, it’s due for a cut and a dye, and sure, Juleka would pounce on the opportunity if he asked, but there are more important things to worry about than his hair. And it surprises him to even think that. “Honestly, I… didn’t think you wanted to bring her up again.”

To an untrained eye, Juleka wouldn’t have frozen or flinched, but he knows his sister better than that. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s my God-given right as your younger sibling to rib you about any and every crush you have.”

“Do you even believe in God?”

“Only when you make me ride on the back of your bike.”

Touché. Luka stifles a faint laugh and sinks to the couch. Twenty-one years on this boat, and he’s never thought to question why there’s an entire vintage furniture set in a greenhouse. But then, he’s never been one to question his own mother—even if she’s made it a point time after time after time to question authority at every corner. At least it’s cooler with the glass to protect them, and Juleka looks so unfazed in all that black that she has to be stronger than that pathetic thing America calls an army.

“Hey,” he says after a moment. “Do you wanna talk about it?” He doesn’t bank on her saying yes, but these days, everything feels like it’s worth a shot. Even if he ends up kicking himself after. If he can survive winking at Marinette Dupain-Cheng and then having a full-blown conversation with her after, he can probably do literally anything else.

It doesn’t surprise him that Juleka shakes her head, but at least he doesn’t feel like kicking himself after all.

“Is it…” He pauses to gather his words; he’s pretty sure Juleka’s one of the only people he could do that for. “Is it one of those things that you want to forget ever happened? You know?” He knows. There are plenty of things he wants to forget, too.

“Nah,” Juleka finally says. “It’s more like… I don’t think it’s my thing to tell.”

Luka isn’t exactly sure what that’s supposed to mean; the only thing it tells him is not to ask her any more questions—that he should go to Marinette with them instead. And he’s not even sure that that’s the best idea. It might take a few more napoleons. A few more deliveries.

He decides to change the subject. “So I started talking to this guy.”

Juleka cocks her head and folds herself up on the armchair. “Huh. That was fast.”

“No, I mean…” He rolls his eyes. “He could get us a gig.”

This time, her expression shifts from sardonic to wary. He has to wonder if anyone else can see these little differences, besides him and Rose. “How do you know he’s legit?”

“I think a couple thousand followers and some DJ sets are pretty legit.”

“How do you know he doesn’t want something from you?”

“Well…” Luka holds his breath in his lungs. She has a point. A couple of points, actually. Sure, they’ve been private messaging back and forth for a few days now, but he still, admittedly, doesn’t know a whole lot about this Bubbles guy. Most of the content they post goes right to Soundcloud, as if the account is automatically linked to post every time a new song or clip goes up. And admittedly, the music is pretty good. Hell, he’s only seen that one silhouette, and that’s the closest he’s gotten to a photo. For all they both know, Bubbles could up and swindle them out of their own guitars. And it’s not like he’s actively trying to compare himself to Adrien Agreste, but he at least wants to keep one of the reasons that might make Marinette want to keep talking to him. It’s not as though all he has to do is exist and have his face plastered all over half of Paris.

It’s just…

It’s just that Luka’s wound his way around the internet enough times to know when kindness is just too kind. He’s been around the block with people who try to get to know him after one song or one close-to-tasteful selfie, only for him to find out exactly what they want from him. He’s gotten on with enough people who ended up blocking him or posting vague, passive aggressive things that he thought he knew—and then definitely knew—were about him. And if Bubbles really was on the Champ de Mars that afternoon, then there was nothing in that park that told him to be scared. Not a single suspicious note.

“I don’t,” he confesses. “Not totally. But I want to believe him.”

“Do you want to believe him?” Juleka asks. “Or are you looking for a reason to impress her?”

For a flicker of a moment—long enough for only his sister to have the eye to notice—Luka can feel his expression go sour. If his guitar weren’t safely downstairs, he’d be holding it close for his own security. Instead, he gets to his feet with a sudden rush of energy, and he makes for the watering can. The plants are looking a little dry. Or maybe he’s just looking for something to do. Something to need him for a bit. “Music’s been around for me before I even knew she existed,” he says, quiet enough for the rug and the upholstery and the leaves to absorb before anyone else does. “And it’ll be there for me till I’m dead and buried. It’s my guarantee, Jules, and I should at least pay it back for everything it’s done for me.”

“That’s not a no.”  At least she lets the silence hit before she says it.

Luka sets the watering can down, shuffles his way out of the greenhouse and back into the sun. “Yeah, well. Maybe I’m not totally opposed to it being a yes.”

What is his music, he thinks, if he doesn’t share it with anyone? Just another one-way conversation? Hasn’t he had enough of those?

Behind him, Juleka catches up and takes him by the wrist. “Come on,” she says with a conceding sigh. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

She flicks his little ponytail. “You need a re-up,” she says simply. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

So he puts his time in Juleka’s hands, and he’s never quite sure how long it takes, but he doesn’t mind her taking care of him while he tries—and fails—to forget about Adrien Agreste, and while he gives his messages with Bubbles another go. He even dares to post a picture—not of himself, but of his sneakers, cluttered with designs and as loud as the personality he sometimes wishes he had. The personality that only barely pokes through when Bubbles says something about a set and a club and a real, actual date and time.

look, ma. no vans. and no dollars. and no dates.

[blackmissfrizzle]

Good Girl

Pairing: Chris Evans x black!reader

Summary: The reader acts up at a party and a Chris decides to do something about.

Warnings: Smut of course 😏

A/N: Apparently I have a thing about writing Chris in secret relationships. This fic was inspired by the photo below 👇🏿

Oh shit, you were fucked! He stood there angry in his all white linen suit with his drink in his hand.

You should’ve known better not to piss him off like that, but when the party started you were in a petty mood. Chris and you had some little argument that you couldn’t even remembered what it was about before your party and being your petty little self, you decided to make him jealous.

There was a bunch of celebrities at your pool party and you spent most of your time twerking on Drake. To everyone else that was normal, but to Chris you were crossing a line. No one knew that you two were a couple, because as a renowned club owner you didn’t want to get involve with any celebrity and it’s also fun to sneak around at events.

“Y/N/N, where’s somewhere quiet I can go? My agent won’t stop calling me?” His fake niceness had you scared. There was no way you were gonna fall for that.

“Anywhere upstairs is fine. But fair warning, if you end up in my room, don’t judge me.” You turned back to continue your conversation with your friends, but Chris wasn’t easily deterred.

“How about you be my guide and that won’t happen?” His smile was inviting, but you had to be strong.

As you were trying to say no, Megan was standing behind him, mimicking the cowgirl position, mouthing to you to “Tap that.”

To get Megan to stop and knowing you’d be in even more trouble if you told Chris no, you escorted him upstairs.

Chris had to restrain himself walking up the stairs behind you. All his attention was on the curve of your ass and how it was eating up your bikini bottoms.

“Walking slow won’t stop your punishment. In fact, the longer you make me wait, the harsher it’ll be.” Chris informed you, catching onto your reason for going up the stairs so slow.

Wanting to get it over with, you ran up the rest of the way up to your room. Once you were inside, Chris didn’t say a word. He just stared at you while rolling up his sleeves.

“You can’t spank me this time. The marks would show and I’m not covering up. This bikini is too cute.” You tried to establish some semblance of dominance.

Still Chris didn’t say a word. He just quirked an eyebrow that said, “Oh really?” Chris gently pushed you to your knees, pulling out his hardened length.

You already knew the punishment and assumed the position, hands on your thighs and mouth open. Chris pushed his stiffened dick in your mouth and begun to throat fuck you.

Thanks to all your training, you were able to fit him all the way in your mouth, but he was still brutal with his thrusts and you loved it. “Since you wanna act like a slut, I’m gonna treat you like one.” Chris grunted above you.

His strokes reminded you of how he treats your pussy, rough and methodical. You had to dig your nails into your thighs to stop them from dipping inside your bikini bottoms; you didn’t need to get into anymore trouble with Chris.

Chris’ eyes dipped down to you and he darkly chuckled at your struggle. He pulled out of your mouth with an audible pop and leaned towards your face, gripping the sides tightly. “Awww, look at the little slut. Me fucking your throat made your tight little pussy wet, huh? You want me to fuck that pussy, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy,” you whimpered.

He spit in your mouth and shoved his thumb inside for you to suck. “Well, who am I to deny my baby girl? Get on the bed.”

Quickly, you jumped to your feet and laid on the bed. Not too long after, Chris stripped down and joined you on the bed. You didn’t get to admire the work of an art he calls a body, because he flipped you over on your stomach. With his teeth he untied your bikini and pulled it off.

Once you were completely naked, he ordered you to arch your back. Chris wasted no time and slammed into you, almost causing you to cum right at that moment.

Gripping the back of your neck, Chris grunted in your ear, “Don’t you dare fucking cum until I say you can.”

A muffled ‘yes sir’ escaped your lips and Chris resumed his pace. By the way he was fucking you, you could tell this was all about his pleasure, but you were still enjoying it. Subconsciously, Chris always assured you were pleased when you were in trouble with him, that’s why you were always being a brat.

“Can I- cann can I- can I please cum?” You begged through Chris’s masterful strokes.

“Hell no! Only good girls who know who they belong to can cum. Did you really think I let you cum after you shaking your ass on another man in front of me? Oh sweetheart, that’s adorable,” Chris taunted.

Aware that he was running low on time before your party guests would be curious about where you and Chris was at, he began chasing his release. The sound of you begging him over and over again pushed him over the edge, making him paint your walls with his nut.

All he wanted to do is bask in his post-nut afterglow and cuddle with you, but y’all had a party to get and your punishment still wasn’t over. So, regretfully he got up and went to get a towel to clean you up.

After he made sure you were good, he got dressed again and came to sloppily kiss you, taking your breath away. “Get dressed and be downstairs in five minutes. If you’re not, you’ll get a repeat of what just happened all night long.” He threatened with a squeeze of your neck before walking back downstairs.

Hurriedly, you put your bikini back on, which was torture because it rubbed against your sensitive clit. You spent your last minute looking for one more piece of clothing before heading back outside. Luckily, you found it in the nick of time, because you knew Chris would be timing you and if you were even a second late, he would make good on his promise.

Chris’ eyes lit up when he saw you. He had to fight the smirk on his face when he noticed you in a swimsuit sarong. Even without him saying anything, he knew he had an influence on you.

Desperately, you wanted to curl up next to him and hang on his arm, but you couldn’t. So, you settled for the next best thing: randomly popping up in conversations he had. Chris was social so, he talked to various groups of people and you being the hostess gave you the perfect opportunity to suddenly appear in those groups.

It was becoming so frequent that Meg began to notice, but she kept her mouth quiet until you started to pretend to be sick. “Bitch, ain’t nothing wrong with you. You just trying to get rid of everyone so you can have Chris all to yourself.”

“How’d you know?” You whispered.

Meg scrunched up her face and laughed at you, pulling you away from the rest of your guests. “Girl, you’ve been near him since he’d broke your back upstairs. Who knew Captain America was so nasty?”

Your jaw dropped at her revelation. “Your secret is safe with me. I’m just mad you ain’t tell me sooner. How long y’all two been together?”

“A couple of months.”

“Well, I guess I understand why y’all keeping it a secret. Don’t want the media all in your business.”

“Exactly! And the sneaking around makes the sex so much better.” Both you and Megan laughed so loud at your joke that y’all made people look at y’all to see what was so funny.

“Since, you figured us out can you do me a huge favor?” You asked with puppy dog eyes and a pout.

Your friend laughed at you because she already knew what the favor was. “Start telling people you don’t feel well and get them the hell up out your house?” Enthusiastically you shook your head yes. “Girl, I got you. Go lay on a lounge chair and I’ll start clearing out.”

Thankful that you had a great friend in Megan, you laid on the chair, appearing sick.

“Alright y’all, now y’all don’t have to go home but you got to get the hell up out of here! My bestie don’t feel good and y’all gots to go!” You had to hold back your smile after listening to Meg’s announcement.

Everyone understood and started to file out. Some would stop by to tell you to feel better and walk off, but one person decided to sit in the chair next to you, blocking the sun. “You’re something else. You know that right?”

Cracking one eye open you peeked at your boyfriend and smiled at him. “How else am I gonna get you alone? And I really do feel sick.”

Chris laid his hand against your forehead. “Huh, you don’t have a fever. What kind of sickness is this?”

“It’s perpetual horiness and can only be cured by penetration from the patient’s boyfriend.”

The way the two of you were seated had other’s view of what you were doing blocked. Grabbing his hand, you slipped it in your bottoms for him to feel how horny he left you. “See daddy, you got me all wet. You just gonna let your baby girl suffer like this?”

He couldn’t resist you or himself anymore. Chris had to see you cum, and it was going to be because of him. “No, I won’t. Lay back and let daddy take care of you.” Chris ordered, just before he started fingering you.

His fingers were hitting the right spot, making you quiver so hard you leaned into Chris, gripped his forearm and cover your mouth with it to quiet your moans.

Both of you were too caught up in chasing your pleasure that you didn’t notice Sebastian and Anthony approach you.

“Oh wow, you don’t look or sound too hot Y/N,” Anthony commented, mistaking your moan of pleasure for one of pain.

Instead of letting you talk, Chris responded. “Yeah that’s why I’m gotta stay back and make her some of my mom’s famous tomato soup.”

Sebastian winced at the mention of Chris taking care of you. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad thing. One time I got sick on set and Chris went total mother hen on me. So, don’t be surprised when your ready to kick him out.”

Just to ensure you didn’t let a moan slip out, you offered them a small smile. The boys talked a little bit more with Chris before finally leaving.

Once they were out of earshot you punched Chris in his shoulder. “Did you really have to keep fingering me while you talked to them?”

“C’mon don’t pretend like you didn’t like it,” Chris smirked at you. “I bet that turned you on even more.”

You hid your face in the crook of his arm because you didn’t want him to know that he was right. Something about him fucking you while talking to his friends turned you on.

When you didn’t respond to him, Chris moved his fingers faster and started circling your clit. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train and this time you actually bit into his arm to stop you from screaming out in ecstasy.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful when you cum. Daddy’s gonna take care if you all night, ok?” Chris pushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Alright, the house is cleared out and I’m about to head out. Have fun, you nasties,” Megan announced.

You and Chris both thanked Megan and told her goodbye. As soon as you heard the door closed Chris picked you up and ran up the stairs.

He threw you on the bed and began to strip. “You’re gonna be a good girl from now on? Cause daddy doesn’t like punishing you.”

Licking your lips, you crawled off the bed and help Chris take off his pants. “Yes, daddy. I’ll be good.”

Chris cupped your cheek and kissed you deeply. “Good. Now get naked and get that pretty ass in the bed, so daddy can take care of you properly.”

This time you eagerly followed Chris’ instructions, knowing being a good girl would get you exactly what you wanted.

Tags: @chaneajoyyy @chrisevansbabymama @titty-teetee @cocooned-butterfly @twistedcharismaaa @soufcakmistress

[awhiskeyriver]

Hi friend!! Hope you are safe, and hope you get some insp to write again❤️ Maybe the scene right after their first kiss? Love you❤️

An anon also requested the scene post-finding out about the bet and losing the football game and so these two sort of coincide together. Hopefully this fits your request friend! Love you too!<3

+++

The locker room lacked the natural cheer and comradery it usually held on game day. Win or lose, we were a pretty solid team and typically good sports, but it felt different this time.

   Our winning streak of the season was officially over. To make it worse, we’d lost on our own turf.

   “We’re still doing better than last season.” Finnick tried to keep spirits up, but among us there was the overall stench of defeat.

   I stripped off my jersey and threw it into the hamper, eager to shower and change so I could go back to the apartment. The weight of the loss was resting on my shoulders. I knew I was at the heart of the problem that translated onto the field today.

   All anyone could talk about this morning was the party last night. Specifically, the video that was being shared all over Instagram from it, starring Katniss Everdeen and I.

   After her friend walked in on Katniss and I...and everything happened...I left the party with the excuse to the guys that I wasn’t feeling well. It wasn’t a lie, I felt like I was moments away from puking. They let me go without protest, not wanting to be responsible for me being sick at the game, and I’d driven home, turned my phone off and gone straight to bed.

   It wasn’t uncommon for me to leave my phone off on game days. It was easier to keep focused, tune out the needless distraction of text messages and social media, so I hadn’t found out about the video until some of my teammates showed me in the locker room.

   Thirty minutes before kick off.

   The horrible timing had a rippled effect, causing me to play my worst game of the season and give people even more reasons to talk.

   “Mellark.”

   Coach’s dominating voice vibrated off the walls, making his presence known before he was visible. I cringed inwardly, muscles tight. Hearing your name called fresh after a lose was never good.

   I ran a hand over my sweaty scalp as he came into view.

   “Yes, Coach?”

   “My office in ten.”

    My stomach knotted. Really not good. 

    If coach saw skepticism in my eyes, he ignored it. Everyone waited until he’d left the locker room to resume talking. I tossed my helmet into its shelf, right above the slot where my last name was scripted in gold-plated font.

    Finnick, who’s bench was beside mine wrapped a towel around his waist before turning towards me.

    “What’s that about?”

    “No idea.”

    “You don’t think it’s…” he trailed off, but the unspoken words clung to the air. I met his concerned frown with one of my own, hoping, praying Coach wasn’t calling me up to his office to discuss that.

    “It’s probably just about the sack I didn’t block,” I muttered, just in time for Cato to chime in.

    “Which one?”

    I ignored him, debating if it was worth it to just go up and talk to coach now and shower back at the apartment alone. Quickly, I ruled the idea out. Couldn’t go up to his office smelling.

    “Maybe he’s calling you up to discuss the fact that this is a men’s football team and you, apparently, have a pussy.”

     He went to smack my crotch but I grabbed his hand, shoving him away before he had the opportunity.

    “That would explain why you can’t seem to keep your hands off of him,” Finnick retorted cooly, earning a disgusted grunt from Cato.

    “Dude, not cool.”

    Finnick shrugged.

    “I’m just saying maybe if he had a set of balls, hot girls would actually want to fuck him instead of just pretending to for money.”

    I could feel Finnick gearing up for a retort, but held a hand out to stop him. Last thing I needed was someone else fighting my battles for me. What would that prove other than the fact that Cato was right? But, there was no point in getting into it with someone like him. He was trying to get a rise out of me so he could laugh and make more jokes when I reacted. Like, tell me to get my estrogen levels checked or ask if I was PMSing. Idiot.

    I showered quickly and changed into street clothes before heading up to coach’s office. Nerves twisted my stomach as I approached his ajar door and gave it a quick knock.

    “Come in.”

    His face was buried into his computer, typing furiously with half-squinted eyes that focused hard on his task. His desk was littered with football knick-knacks and sticky notes. Behind him were plaques in numerical order for awards the team had won over the years and he had a cabinet off to the side of the office that hosted an array of trophies.

    I pulled a chair out from the other side of his desk and sat down, waiting. After hours of being on the field, it felt nice to sit for a moment.

    He finished whatever he was typing and took a deep breath before pulling his glasses off his face.

    “You know why you’re here, kid?”

    I wracked my brain, mulling over all the possible reasons. I decided to test the waters by trying out the easiest.

    “Because I missed the tackle in the third quarter? I think I figured out my mistake. If I just--”

    “I didn’t call you up here to talk football, Mellark.”

     My frown deepened.

    “Oh?”

    Coach sighed, folding his hands together. “Were you at a party last night?”

    Shit. Shit. Immediately I knew where this was going and it was no place I wanted to be. Already, I could feel my skin flushing with embarrassment...made worse by the fact that the guys had basically guessed this conversation down in the locker room.

    If it were possible to dissolve into the floor, now would be a great time to do it.

    I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and ran my sweaty hands down the length of my pants.

    Coach seemed just as awkward as I felt. He scrubbed a hand over his bristled jaw line as we regarded each other silently.

    “The party,” he finally continued. “Anything happen? Any sort of...altercations?”

    I suppressed a groan, wishing he would just come out and say it so I didn’t have to.

    “Not really.”

    “Not really?” he parroted, looking skeptical. I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable. “You’re sticking with that answer? Because I’ve heard otherwise. In fact, lots of people around campus have.”

    I swallowed. There was no way to deny it.

     “You...wanna talk about it?”

    It being the video, undoubtedly.

    It was far from the first time I’d been made fun of. Middle school had basically been hell; I stood several inches above everyone else and was twice as wide, which made for a host of comments and jokes at my expense. High school had been a little better, by then I was playing football and was able to deflect most of the jokes being made at me to those being made with me. 

    But College had been the best change of pace. Away from all the people I’d grown up with and knew too well in Virginia. I supposed it had been too much to wish the fluidity of my past two years could last.

    “Not especially,” I sighed, in answer to Coach’s question.

    “Okay.” He cleared his throat. “Just so you know, that kind of behavior isn’t permitted on campus, and technically that party was on campus. If you were wanting to press charges--”

    Charges? This was getting out of control.

    “What? No,” I said quickly with a wave of my hand. “I don’t want to do anything. I just...want this to not be happening.”

    It was like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

    Coach nodded in agreement.

    “Well...if you change your mind or need to talk about it all--”

     “I don’t.”

    “Right. But if you do...”

    I nodded, staring down at my lap, waiting with growing impatience for him to dismiss me.

    “That’s all, then.”

    I stood up in an instant and gathered my bag, heading for the door.

    “Mellark,” he called, bringing me up short. I paused, but didn’t turn to look. “Don’t get stupid and start eating salads and shit. Can’t have you dropping weight in the middle of the season.”

[asphalt-cocktail]

For the Sake of Content- Chapter 6

Chapter 6: $2 Beers and Ghosts

Summary: After walking in on your long-term boyfriend, Harrison, cheating on you and then losing your job the following day; your find yourself broke, jobless, and single for the first time in a long while. In order to make ends meet, your best friend since college, Freddie, suggests you start soliciting explicit photos of yourself, not only to help boost your confidence but to help pay the rent for his band mate’s apartment you just moved into.

A/N: Welcome to the chapter that has finally forced me to change the warnings. I hope you all enjoy it; it’s super long and a I’m pretty proud of the chapter overall! Thank you for all of your kind words and messages, asks, likes, reblogs, everything because I seriously love seeing all of those things in my notifications they all make me super happy! I haven’t started the next chapter so I am super behind but I am hopefully going to get started sometime this weekend. Since school started back up I will go back down to a once a week posting schedule unless I can squeeze in more!

Pairing: Roger Taylor x F!Reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of sex work, smut, angst, fluff, some friendly banter between roger and reader, alcohol, cigarettes i think?, not proof read

Word Count: 6.2k back on my bullshit

18+ if you are a minor do NOT interact with this post. This is fictitious content and I own nothing.

A week had passed, and you and Roger still hadn’t had sex, but you did note that he was still actively watching your premium snapchat story which was an interesting observation.

Today, like most days, was spent lounging in your room while mindlessly scrolling through your social media feed with Netflix just making noise in the background.

“[Y/N]!” Roger’s distant and muffled voice almost blended in with the episode of Bob’s Burgers you had playing in the background.

“What!” You called back hopefully loud enough for him to hear.

Your call either went unheard or he chose to ignore it to get you out of the confines of your room. You groaned and pulled yourself from your bed, clad in only a pair of panties and an old faded tee-shirt and made your way down the hall.

You stopped mid step and noted the bathroom door ajar, “[Y/N]!” Roger’s call rang against your ears and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m right here, you daft asshole.” You snapped, pushing the bathroom door open and taking in the scene.

Roger was very obviously dying his hair, you didn’t know why but decided to not ask questions. Pieces of Roger’s hair were clipped and tied up, he had around half of his hair dyed, “Can you help me with the back?” His voice sounded close to a pleading whine, but you found that that was just how he asked for things.

You looked at the bottle in his gloved hands and frowned, “Don’t I get a pair of gloves?” you asked, your eyes narrowing and arms crossing over your chest.

Roger let out a soft sigh from his pouty mouth and rolled his eyes, “It’s just bleach.” He mumbled.

You scoffed, “Just bleach! You trying to have my skin melt off?” You grabbed the box of hair dye and tipped it upside down, directions and the packets of shampoo and conditioner tumbled out onto the counter, “Give me your gloves, why do you even need to bleach your hair? Aren’t you blond enough?” You frowned taking Roger’s wrist in your own and slipped his glove off before putting it on your hand and frowning at the residual moisture that coated the inside before Roger handed you the second one.

Once your hands were properly covered you grabbed the bottle and started squirting the liquid into his hair, saturating his natural dirty blonde roots. “You never answered my question.” You pressed, kneading your fingers into his scalp.

“What? Oh, about the bleaching?” Roger asked, his wide blue eyes peering at you through the mirror. He shrugged absent mindedly and licked his lips, “Dunno, I just like it better.”

You hummed in response, the answer didn’t satisfy you at all but you pushed the gnawing feeling in your gut aside and focused on coating Roger’s darker locks with the pungent smelling liquid, “You should really get ammonia free stuff,” You mumbled scraping your fingers lightly against his scalp. You couldn’t ignore the visible shutter that ran through Roger as he reacted to the pressure your fingers provided.

There was a moment of tension filled silence in the room before Roger broke it, slicing through it with a knife “So, why were you kicked out your old place?” He asked, suddenly the room was filled with more tension, welding it back up tight.

You swallowed thickly and let out a sigh “Well, I was sort of… I mean I offered to leave, I wasn’t kicked out.” You mumbled trying to find your words to best explain the situation, “I… uh… I walked in on my ex cheating on me.” You felt a sudden surge of suppressed emotions threaten to break through the wall you had built up. You let out a bitter laugh at the memory if it, “He told me I was boring,” the cursed word dripped off your tongue like poison.

Roger could sense the resentment, “Sorry,” He said softly, avoiding your gaze in the mirror “I shouldn’t have asked.”

You shrugged, “It’s fine, bound to come up.” Your melancholy hung in the air uncomfortably, “I’m finished.” You said giving his head a light pat before tossing the gloves and bottle of bleach onto the counter, “If you need me, you know where to find me.” You said throwing him a quick smile and slinking back into your room.

Between the time you entered your room and now, you ended up falling asleep. The pounding on your bedroom door woke you up, your throat and sinuses felt gummy from the dry air that consumed your apartment; Jesus, you and Roger really needed to invest in a humidifier. “What!” You croaked, pulling your blanket like a hood around your ears to shield yourself from the intruder.

Roger barged in “Put your boots on, we’re going out!” He said throwing the blanket off your sleepy form, “You know, those heeled ones that Freddie likes.”

You groaned, “I don’t wanna go out, Rog, I want to sleep.” You protested, curling into your body and shielding your eyes from the light he turned on.

“Shut up, you’re just sulking.” Roger said bluntly while throwing your closet open and looking through your clothes, “Christ, Fred was right, you have a drab wardrobe.” He frowned before he pulled out several articles of clothing and threw them on your tee shirt clad body, “Come on, I told you we’re going out.”

You sat up and frowned at Roger, “I don’t want to go out,” You protested, looking down at what you assumed would be a tacky outfit he picked out for you. You couldn’t help but allow a smile to creep along your features while watching him frantically buzzing around your room.

Roger sat on the bed, forcing himself next to you and playfully leaned into you, knocking your shoulder with his, “Come on, I want to show off my touch up.” Roger said running his hand through his freshly dyed and washed locks.

A laugh bubbled out of you and you flopped back onto the bed with your arms spread out like a starfish, “Fine, I’ll go out.” You said, “Get out so I can change.” You said playfully shoving him.

Within the hour you found yourself with Roger in the back of a too crowded bar clutching $2 beers. You were pressed uncomfortably close to each other and breathing recycled sweaty air, but Roger was in his element. He mingled with the other patrons that frequented the dingey space while you hovered close behind him, averting your gaze from the strangers because you simply did not want to put forward the effort that was required for meet new people.

It wasn’t a surprise when you noticed several girls approaching Roger, hooking their arms around his waist, and whispering suggestive comments into his ear. But, to your surprise he politely put his hand up and rejected their advances, which in turn earned you a glare from the women.

“Roger if one more woman looks at me like that, I’m going to throw hands.” You muttered, crossing your arms over your chest.

Roger grinned at you, “Feeling jealous?” He asked quirking his head at you with a boyish grin plastered on his face.

You grinned, “No, you didn’t pay those girls $65 to see their nudes.”

Roger gaped at you, his face flushing to the tips of his ears before he broke out into a fit of laughter that you couldn’t help but join.

Your fleet of laughter was cut short when your stomach knotted up and a feeling of nausea washed over you. “Rog,” You whispered digging your elbow into his side.

“Ow,” He mumbled, still trying to curb the little chuckles that left his mouth, “What?” He asked following your gaze.

You reached down and gripped his hand tightly in your own, your palms were coated with a layer of nervous sweat “That’s him.” You whispered nudging your head towards your infamous ex, Harrison.

Roger scoffed, “Him?” he shook his head, shaking his hand from yours and wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you flush against him, “That’s the guy that said YOU were boring?” You shivered feeling Roger’s thumb rubbing at the small sliver of exposed skin, “He looks like a bloody accountant. Should we go over?”

The devilish glint in his eye should have made you uneasy; however, much to your surprise you found it had the exact opposite effect, but stilled allowed your intrusive thoughts get the best of you. “I don’t know Rog,” You shifted, looking down at your feet.

Roger’s face softened, “Come on, it’ll be fun, we can make fun of him.” Roger said in a sing-song tone and leaning into you.

Your face flushed with heat and you averted his gaze to try and hide the smile that was threatening to crack the surface, “Fine.” You mumbled.

Roger grinned and pulled you by your waist through the crowd in the direction of Harrison, but suddenly stopped, “Go over there, I’m going to get a refill,” He said pulling away, letting his hand drag across the swell of your ass, “Just follow my lead.”

You don’t know why, but for some wild reason you trusted what Roger said, giving him a curt not before watching him leave for the bar. You approached your ex and your stomach began knotting up with nerves. Maybe trusting Roger and following his lead was a mistake?

You inhaled deeply before tapping his shoulder lightly, “Harrison!” You said greeting the man with a fake smile once he turned and faced you.

Harrison’s eyes locked at you, wide with shock and he drank in your figure “[Y/N] …” He said trailing off, “Wow, you- you look great.” A small smile played on his lips, “How have you been?”

You felt your stomach clench both with sentimentality and a weird tinge of nausea, “I’ve been fine, how have you been?” You asked, suddenly very focused on your can of beer

“Oh well, you know,” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“No, I don’t know,” You answered, clenching your jaw after you spoke from pure frustration, the nerve of this asshole.

Harrison let out a deep sigh, “It’s been okay, I miss you around the house.” He sounded… sad, you almost caught yourself caring for a brief moment.

That moment left your head as soon as Roger walked up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and quickly butted into the conversation, “Who is this, love?” he asked, his hands firmly gripping you  as he buried his face into your neck. Humming affectionately, Roger buried his face into the crook of your neck and smirked before he began to lick and suck on your soft skin.

You clutched Roger’s wrist tightly, “Rog, this is-uh,” Your mind was nearly wiped blank when you felt his hands begin rubbing up and down your sides and inching forward, threatening to caress the underside of your breasts. Your eyes fluttered and you fought to keep them open, “Oh right- sorry,” you said, suddenly remembering Harrison standing right in front of you. You tapped Roger’s wrist lightly and he pulled away from your neck for a moment, “Rog this is my ex; Harrison, you know the one I walked in on cheating on me.” You added the last bit and secretly hoped it hurt him as much as it hurt you.

Harrison pursed his lips and reached his hand out for Roger to shake, but was ignored, “Is this your…?” He trailed off, leaving the question open for you to answer.

“Roger?” You purposefully ignored finishing his sentence with a fulfilling answer, “He’s in Fred’s band.”

Harrison scrunched his nose up, he never liked Freddie and therefore didn’t like anyone he associated with, “Right, well I’m hope whatever this is goes well.” He said motioning between you and Roger.

Roger grinned up at Harrison, flashing his dazzlingly straight teeth “It’s going great, mate.” He answered, “I don’t know why you’d ever call her boring, you ever feel that little thing she does with her tongue where she- ow!” You quickly pinched Roger’s forearm, causing him to jump.

“Are you still with that girl you fucked in our bed?” You didn’t know why you asked, you really didn’t want to hear the answer to the question.

Harrison was uncomfortable; Good, you thought, Fucking prick. “Yeah, actually I am. She’s in the toilet right now.” He said nodding his head towards the bathroom.

You glanced over at Roger and noticed the frown on his face, “Right,” Roger mumbled, abruptly nuzzling his nose into the side of your cheek, his skin was soft, and he smelled like high end cologne and beer. The scent was surprisingly comforting, and you felt yourself relax into the grip he firmly held. You turned your head to face him and made eye contact. You locked eyes with his, despite the dimly lit bar Roger’s eyes seemed brighter than ever and they darted from your eyes, to your lips, and back up to your eyes before he leaned in.

Your lips touched and you let out a sigh, feeling his soft lips against yours. Your hands came up and lightly rested on his cheek. His mouth molded against yours and it was as if every movement he made was well thought out and had a purpose. Roger’s tongue swiped across your bottom lip and you sighed, opening your mouth and allowing his tongue to rub against yours, he tasted like cheap beer and Marlboro Red cigarettes; a taste that was somehow only unique to Roger.

Roger pulled back and he smirked at you with kiss swollen lips when he heard Harrison clearing his throat, reminding the two of you that he was still present, “We’ll we’re going to leave and have hot passionate sex back at our apartment, so have a good night I suppose.” He flashed a cheeky grin and waved at Harrison before pulling you through the crowd with him.

When you arrived at the apartment you crossed your arms over your chest, flicking the light on and looked at your neck in the hallway mirror “What the fuck, Rog,” You hissed, craning your neck to get a view of the big obvious mark he left on your neck.

Roger grinned, approaching you from behind and wrapping his arms around your waist, just like he did in the bar, “What? Think it made him jealous?” He asked, his hands rubbing against your sides and tummy caused you to shiver.

You turned, looking over at him and hummed, “What you mean you hanging all over me like a horny teenager?” You couldn’t help but laugh, “I don’t know, but I thought it was funny.”

And I want you to kiss me again

You silently cursed your intrusive though and the throbbing between your legs you had been able to ignore since your brief kiss at the bar. Roger’s eyes looked hazy and glazed over, “Yeah?” He asked, his voice slightly breathy. It made your stomach clench and suddenly the air felt hot and you tugged at the collar of your shirt and shifted your stance, trying to do anything to prevent you from being awkward in this situation.

When you shifted you felt Roger’s body go ridged while his light breaths hitched in his throat, “What did you think was funny?” His voice was unsteady and soft, almost like he didn’t trust how his tone would hold in your shared apartment.

You looked at him in the hallway mirror, “Did you see his face after we kissed?” You couldn’t help but bring it up, the memory playing in your brain while you turned around to face Roger, your hands resting lightly on his hips.

A small laugh bubbled out from him and he looked down at you through his thick eyelashes, “What if… What if we did it again?” he asked with a boyish grin splayed across his face.

You felt heat crawling up the back of your neck and spreading across your cheeks and the tips of your ears, “Like kiss again?” you swallowed thickly and found yourself breathing heavier, “Yeah, that… that would be alright.”

Roger inhaled deeply “I’m going to kiss you, okay?” He asked, cupping your face softly in one hand and keeping the other firmly planted on your hips. You nodded, your eyes searching his face for any sign of emotion; for once he wasn’t the smooth rumored philanderer that ate your Golden Grahams and changed his outfit three times a day; he was just Roger, a nervous and wide-eyed man about to kiss his roommate in their dark apartment.

He slowly tipped your chin up and licked his lips nervously before he finally closed the gap. It was even more electrifying than the first kiss you shared in the bar. The darkness of your apartment swallowed the two of you whole like an abyss and the impossible silence caused your light pants and gasps to hammer against your ears. Your hands reached up and you ran your fingers through Roger’s messy long hair and let out a soft moan as he sucked on your lower lip, dragging his teeth across it as he pulled away.

Roger stepped back, lightly pushing you by your hips against the wall and rested one of his hands by the side of your head while he began to kiss along your jaw and trailed down to your neck, lightly sucking and biting at the mark he left earlier and leaving a trail of new ones in his wake. His knee pushed itself between your thighs and you jumped at the sudden pressure between your legs before you pressed down, grinding hard against him.

Your head tilted back against the wall and gripped Roger’s shoulder tightly while he gripped your hips and held you firmly against his leg, smirking against your neck when he felt you wantonly moving your hips against him. Roger’s hands rubbed along your sides, tugging on your shirt and sliding it up with his hands. His fingers felt cold and rough against the smooth skin of your stomach and the two of you briefly pulled away for him to pull your shirt over your head and toss it to the floor. Thankfully, Roger’s shirt already had most of the buttons undone, so your fingers fumbled with the remaining three and slid them down his shoulders.

You pulled away for a moment and rested your hands on his chest feeling his heart hammering against your fingers. Roger’s lips were red and swollen and his eyes were glazed over and held a dark glint behind them, “Are…um… are we going to fuck?” You asked, bashfully averting your gaze.

Roger’s thumb caressed your cheek and then traced over your bottom lip while his other held the small of your back, “If you want to, we can.” He had a small, soft smile spread across his soft features.

You couldn’t stifle the surge of deviant energy that bubbled through you, “You did say you wanted to see me bouncing on your cock.” You walked your fingers up his chest as you spoke before you traced your finger along his collarbone causing him to shiver.

Roger hummed, the rumble of his chest lightly vibrating against your fingers, “True,” He pointed out, “But, I have a feeling, Harrison wasn’t a very skilled lover” His tone was playful and light, but his words sent a contrasting shiver down your spine.

Your fingers couldn’t help but trace the top of his jeans with light feathery touches. You smiled feeling his stomach twitch against your touch before you let out a small huff of laughter, “What gave that away?” You quipped.

Roger leaned down, trailing wet mouthy kissed along your jaw and neck, sucking and dragging his teeth along the sensitive parts, “Could tell just by seeing that starched white shirt and shoes.”  

“A starched white shirt told you all that?” You mumbled, leaning your head back against the wall and fumbling with the buttons on his pants.

You felt Roger swallowing thickly as you let out a breathy sigh and ground against his leg once again. Roger’s hands ran over your clothed breasts, his thumbs flicking over the hardness of your nipples before he kneaded them in his hands, “Bet he was one of those guys who could only get you off with his mouth.” He huffed out, “I’m not though, so good thing for you.” His confidence resurfacing once again.

You shifted and palmed him toughly through the tightness of his jeans and he hissed in response before he continued kissing down your neck and buried his face between the valley of your breasts, “Prove it then.” You tried to sound intimidating, but your words morphed into a breathy sigh.

You could feel Roger smirking against the skin of your breasts before he sank down to his knees, tugging on your pants and sliding them down your legs, “I’m going to make you come with my mouth and then after I’m going to take you to my room and make you come again from my cock.” His tone was matter of fact as he nuzzled his face against your cotton panties, inhaling the natural scent of your arousal.

You looked down between your legs at Roger and your hips bucked, feeling his fingers pushing your thighs apart, he kissed along the plush skin, sucking and lightly biting as he trailed his way back up to your core. He rubbed you through your panties and you swallowed thickly, closing your eyes and resting your head back. You felt your heart hammering against your chest with anticipation and Roger’s hands tugged your panties down your legs and helped you step out of them before lifting on of your legs over his shoulder.

Roger’s finger swiped between your folds and you sharply inhaled at the feeling; Christ, it’s been way too long since someone has touched you. “Jesus, [Y/N] you’re already soaked.” Roger grinned and used his thumb to rub harsh circles around your clit before inserting two long fingers into your core. He pumped them in and out at a deliberately slow pace while his thumb worked against your clit at an equally agonizing rhythm. His mouth continued to lick and kiss your thighs, each time getting dangerously to your core and then trailing back down. Your legs practically trembled as you laced your fingers in his hair, desperately searching for something to anchor yourself onto.

“Rog, please,” You whined, dragging your bottom lip through your teeth and lightly bucking your hips against his hand.

He didn’t respond but answered by moving his fingers ever so slightly fasts and hooking them against your tight walls, “You hear that,” Roger’s voice sounded rough and your lust foggy brain could barely make out the lewd squelching noises that came between your legs, “You’re so wet for me, love.” He practically panted his words out.

You clenched around his fingers; your mind going blank from his fingers scissoring against your velvety walls and let out a breathy sigh while lacing your fingers through his hair. It was soft, but still stiff from the product he put in and the recent bleaching, but you didn’t care. “Please,” You whined.

Roger looked up at you and smirked, “Please what, love?” He teased.

You eyebrows furrowed and you nearly sobbed in frustration, “Touch me more,” You said wiggling your hips in hopes for him to finally burry his face between your thighs. Roger grinned triumphantly, you could feel it against the soft skin of your thighs as he once again began to kiss and lick the skin at the sides.

With each kiss he inched closer and closer to your dripping core, still moving his fingers deliberately slow. When he finally reached your core you gasped, feeling his hot breath against your entrance. “Roger,” You let your head fall back against the wall, eyes deliriously looking up at the ceiling.

He finally buried his face between your legs and flatly laid his tongue against you, dragging it across. Your knees would have buckled if it weren’t for Roger holding you tightly by the outside of your thighs and pressing hard against you.

Your skin felt like it was on fire and your chest heaved as Roger’s tongue expertly explored every sweet inch your body had to offer. Your soft breathy moans echoed off the dark apartment walls. They provided to the ever-burning fire between you and Roger.

You roughly gripped a fist full of Roger’s hair and your back arched. His tongue flicked against your swollen clit. Harrison had never made you feel like this and he would have never though of taking you in the hallway. But you couldn’t focus on Harrison right now, your mind was only filled with thoughts of pleasure from Roger harshly sucking on your clit and pumping his fingers in and out of your wet hold.

“Fuck, Roger” You rolled your hips against his face and peaked down just in time to see his cheeks hollow as he sucked particularly hard, relishing the taste of your juices. Roger’s eyes locked with yours. They were dilated and uncharacteristically dark. Your forehead had little speckles of sweat that began to paste your hair to your skin and your mouth hung slightly ajar.

Your head rolled back, and your eyebrows scrunched together before groaning. Roger flatly licked at your cunt and you ground against his tongue, applying just the right amount of pressure. He gripped your hips tightly to still your movements. You lost yourself. Digging one hand into your hair while keeping the other’s in Roger’s, you clenched around his fingers and let out a loud sob.

His pulled his mouth away and began to move his fingers excruciatingly slow, curving and brushing against your walls as they pulsated around his fingers. He watched your chest heave and your legs began to shake as he prolonged and teased you through your climax.

Your head laid slack, tilted against your shoulder, and your eyes struggled to focus as they opened. Roger was still kneeling on the floor, looking up at you with a smug smile on his face “Should we move this to the bedroom then?” He asked, there was something about Roger’s confidence that made your skin feel hotter than it already did.

You nodded your head before you spoke, “Yeah,” Your voice was hoarse

Roger slowly stood up and laced his fingers with your own. They were still damp from your moisture, but you didn’t mind, “My room,” He said squeezing your hand in his own before pulling you to his room.

He shut the door out of habit. The two of you stood facing each other in silence, your eyes locked in a sexually charged stare off before you wrapped your arms around his hips, pulled him flush against you, locking his lips with yours once more for a needy kiss. His hands cupped your face and he began to push you back until your knees hit the back of his bed. You sat down facing, your eyes parallel with his belt buckle and boldly palmed the straining bulge in his jeans. Roger’s sharply inhaled and watched you as you tugged at his belt loop and opened it, tracing his erection.

Roger grunted and his hips lightly bucked against your hand before you finally reached up and unzipped his jeans, sliding them down his legs and watching them pool around his ankles. You kissed at his exposed chest and left little kitten licks near where the band of his briefs and his skin met. You liked feeling his stomach twitch against your mouth and hearing his shaky breaths.

Your mouth finally traveled over his briefs, licking and mouthing him through the cotton before you pulled them down and helped him out of them. You tightly gripped him in your hand, feeling the heat and weight as you gave him a few strokes and went in, licking him from base to tip.

A shiver ran through Roger’s body and he ran a hand through his hair “Fuck” He grunted feeling your wet tongue swirling around his head.

You wrapped your mouth around his cock, taking him in and bobbing your head, the whiney moan that left Roger’s mouth rang like bells in your ears and you hummed against him.

His hands buried themselves in your hair and tugged at your roots as he began to push your head down. He wanted to see how far you could go. To his surprise you made it far before you gagged, “Fuck, you look so good like this,” Roger mumbled and his mouth hung open when he felt himself probing and rubbing against the inside your cheek, “Oh, shit, we got to stop.” He sounded lightly panicked and pulled away from you.

You looked up at him, your face adorned with a coy smile. Roger gripped your hands in his. His grip was shaky, and his palms were sweaty. He pulled you up and his hand came up and rested itself on your cheek, lightly rubbing under your eye and he pulled you softly against his lips. His mouth moved against yours and his tongue traced your bottom lip.  You opened it and moaned feeling his tongue rubbing against yours and began to play with the short hairs at the back of Roger neck, “Bed?” Roger asked pulling away from you.

You swallowed thickly and nodded your head, crawling on the bed and laying against Roger’s plush pillows. Your level of nakedness suddenly flooded your brain. You felt self-conscious. Nervous even. Your hands came up and covered your expose chest while you pressed your leg’s together.

You looked at Roger, your face flushed. The camera you saw him on previously did not do him justice. His skin was stained with splotches of red and his lips were slightly swollen from kissing.

“You’re staring.” Roger smirked and straddled your body.

You spread your legs, allowing him to settle between them, “Sorry.” You mumbled feeling your face begin to heat up with embarrassment. Roger reached over to his nightstand and pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom, “Lube?” You questioned.

Roger looked at your curious gaze, “Lube makes everything better, trust me.” He said carefully tearing the foil package and preparing himself.

He looked up at you, “Ready?” He asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

You inhaled deeply and nodded your head, “Yeah,” You answered.

Roger’s slick fingers easily glided between your wet folds and he stuck his fingers into you briefly, lubing your entrance for good measure. Roger knelt between your legs and rubbed his painfully hard cock between your folds, teasing you, and hissing at the warmth. He pushed in, securely holding his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyebrows furrowed with concentration.

It was truly a sight to behold.

You stared at him your mouth hanging ever so slightly ajar, letting out a shaky breath as he stretched you.

Whatever thoughts you had about Harrison at this moment were now gone. Your mind quickly replaced them with fuzzy TV static and a feeling of bliss spread from your ears to the tips of your toes.

Roger let out a strained groan as he bottomed out into your wet cunt. He sat for a moment, allowing the two of you to gather yourselves. His stagnant body caused a knot of frustration to twist itself in your gut, “Fuck, Roger, please move.” You whined wiggling your hips.

He swallowed thickly and gripped your hips in his hands, pulling out until just the tip remained inside you and then thrusting back in forcefully. Roger’s eyes didn’t leave your body. Every snap of his hips had you twisting and contorting, tugging at the bedsheets, and filling the room with sinful sounds. It caused every nerve of his to stand on end.

“Ah,” You gasped, arching your back, “Fuck, Roger.” You practically purred his name before hooking your arms under his and pulling him forcefully against you. You sighed, feeling your bodies stick together, slick with sweat and frantically kissed along Roger’s jaw.

His scruff tickled against your mouth and cheek. Roger’s hips slapped against yours rhythmically and he buried your face into your shoulder. His soft breathy moans and whines filled your ears. They were sounds you wouldn’t soon forget. “Harder” Your whispered into his ear, dragging your tongue along the shell.

He shuttered and sat back up, pulling out for a brief moment and flipping you onto your stomach. You let out a surprised yelp when you felt him pull your hips up, so your ass was in the air. He quickly stuffed himself back inside you and pulled your hips against his, meeting his thrusts.

Roger’s hand slipped into your hair, holding your face sideways and pushing it into the mattress while his hands griped the soft skin of your thighs and hips impossibly hard.

Christ, was he trying to fuck you through his bed?

The way you bounced and jerked up Roger’s mattress was enough of an answer. Roger leaned over, pressing his back against you and moving his arm around your body to fondle your breasts. You sharply inhaled, feeling his calloused fingers pinching and twisting your nipples between his fingers. Your back arched into his touch and against his chest. “That feel good, baby?” He growled into your ear/

You looked up at him, your eyes hooded and heavy with lust. You brain couldn’t form words.

His hand harshly gripped your ass before winding up and smacking it, “I said, does it feel good?” He said thrusting and emphasizing his words.

The stinging on your hind end cleared the fog for a moment, “Fuck, yes.” You hissed, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he angled his hips just perfect, hitting the spot inside you that made your toes curl.

Roger’s hand lifted your head up, forcing your back to arch as he continued to drill into you, hitting your spot several times. Your legs shook and you cried out. Your throat was sore. “Please, please, please.” You chanted in rhythm with his movements.

Roger let go of your head, and let it slump down to the mattress, “Please what?” He asked, kneading your ass in his hands. His hips staggered, he was beginning to lose rhythm.

“P-please, I…” you let out a harsh gasp when Roger’s pace slowed and his hand reached around, slowly grinding his fingers on your clit. The knot in your stomach was beginning to tighten “I… can I come, please?” Your words fell out like a prayer.

Roger smirked and began to pick up his pace once again, “Louder,” he ordered, his tone sending shivers down your spine.

“I wanna come so bad, p-please?” You sobbed out, feeling tears beginning to prick the edges of your eyes. Your stomach clenched and you squeezed your eyes shut.

Roger’s fingers messily moved back and forth on your clit, flicking the swollen nub, “I don’t know,” He purred into your ear, “It doesn’t sound like you want it bad enough.”

You could feel him grinning against your skin and your walls fluttered hesitantly around him, “Fucking Christ, Roger,” you practically yelled, “I want to come so fucking bad, please let me come.” You begged.

Roger cursed feeling your walls threatening to clench around him, “Fuck,” He cursed, digging his fingers into your hips, “Come on, baby, come for me.” He said thrusting into you and groaning as your walls pulsated around him, clenching his cock as he came.

The whine that left his lips as he slowly worked you through your climax was simply sinful.

You let your body go slack, muscles feeling tense and weak, as though you just had your very life force fucked out of you.

Roger laid on top of you, the weight of his body making you feel warm and secure as his arms surrounded you. You laid like that for a moment, listening to the sound of your breathing before Roger pulled out, tied the condom, and tossed it into the garbage can.

The side of the bed dipped as Roger climbed back onto it. You didn’t turn to look at him, you were simply too exhausted.

His hands came up, rubbing your shoulders and arms, soothing the ache that had begin to settle in them. “You good, love?” He asked, laying on his side and facing you. His fingers now traced aimlessly soft patterns on your back.

You let out a deep sigh, “Yeah,” You sounded drunk with left over pleasure as you turned and gave him a sleepy smile, “Great”

Roger couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh seeing your lazy smile. His hand brushed some of your damp hair from your face. The lull in silence wasn’t awkward, but it also wasn’t comfortable. You brain ran through a series of questions, unable to think of what to say or do next. You slid out of Roger’s bed and glanced on the floor, noting how your clothes became lost and mixed in his. That was a problem for later.

Roger sat up and looked at you with a confused expression, “Where are you going?” He quipped.

You stopped and turned towards your roommate, “I’m- uh- I’m going to clean up.” You said and pointed at your legs, “I’m covered in lube.” You tried to bite back a smile.

Roger watched you leave his bedroom and couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride seeing your legs wobble as you walked.

[amydancepants-peralta]

(all I wanna do) is grow old with you

A probably-too-long Peraltiago soulmate AU where your body stops ageing until you’ve met the one you’re destined to spend the rest of your life with.  Inspired by this post, and encouraged by @fezzle because her mind is amazing and we both fell down the rabbit hole on this one 😅

You can find the rest on AO3, because it’s waay too long to post on Tumblr. 🍕 

(all I wanna do) is grow old with you

Amy’s breath fogs up the glass of the mirror she’s facing as she lets out a heavy sigh, eyes taking one more scrutinising look over her appearance.  Same olive coloured skin, same dark brown hair.  Same smile, same shrug of her shoulders.  Once again, nothing had changed.

She had been five years old when her mother had explained the Rule of Life as they knew it - that once you reached your 30th birthday, your body simply stopped ageing, and the only way to kick it back into gear, was to meet your soulmate.  

To a young and idealistic Amy, it had seemed like the Ultimate Romantic Notion - that you couldn’t possibly grow old until you’d found the right person to grow old with.  And in her early twenties, when appearances and vanities paid more value than they should, she had been in no hurry to find The One.  Until she’d reached her Age Limit of 30, and realised that beauty lay within those who had found their other half.  Wrinkles and streaks of grey in heads of hair were enviable, not feared.  The lucky ones would walk the streets with pride, unable to bridle their joy as they gripped their partner’s hand with their own. 

Watching her family and friends grow older while she remained stagnant never seemed to get easier for Amy.  Standing in the sidelines as the next phase of their life would begin, she couldn’t deny that it stung a little when her youngest of brothers, Luis, had salt and pepper flecks of colour in his previously jet black hair at the last Santiago family gathering.  Or that her best friend Kylie now tried her best to conceal the crows feet that had begun to appear around her eyes, sunglasses framing her face whenever she and Amy met up for lunch.  

Try as they might to hide the changes in their appearance - which she knew was out of love for her, to not rub in that they had found what she hadn’t - the only thing that the people surrounding her couldn’t conceal was the overwhelming exuberance that radiated from each and every one of them.  That sense of completion - the elation that finally, the rest of their life can begin.

 Amy turns her head in profile one last time, a discerning eye tracing her hairline before giving up with a shake of her head.  Last night she had been on a date with a man named Gabe (a match from an online dating app that she’s definitely going to delete), and at the end of the night she honestly had felt as though things could be … kind of promising.  He was handsome, with similar interests to her, and while he spoke about investment banking maybe a little more than Amy would have liked, he certainly seemed like a worthy option when it came to her soulmate.  And so, with the freshly risen daylight’s sunbeams streaking through the windows of her apartment, and her alarm buzzing incessantly beside her, Amy had jumped out of bed, making a beeline for the mirror.

However, it would appear Gabe was not a match.  Her appearance had not changed in the slightest.  And today was just going to be another day, like all the others, without Amy knowing her soulmate.  

She gets ready for work with the clocklike precision that only a life uninterrupted can bring, casting one last downcast glance at her reflection as she turns to leave.  Perhaps the universe had a point - Gabe was definitely not the one for her.  But … he had to be out there, somewhere.  

*

It’s another ten hours before Amy is shuffling into her apartment again, finally home after what can only be described as a less than mediocre day.  

As a detective for the 99th precinct, she and her partner Rosa had developed a finely tuned friendship that had resulted in an impressively high arrest rate.  And today, they had been given the case of a jewellery store robbery - a robbery that had unfortunately turned rather high profile, as one of Brooklyn’s most well known residents, a celebrity chef named Cadi Nicholls, had been robbed in broad daylight, from the inside of a jewellery store.

Ms Nicholls had, despite several requests from various officers, been overly vocal about her ‘traumatic’ experience on social media, and in an effort to have the case closed before things turned ridiculous, Captain Holt had put his best two detectives on the case.

They had been so confident they would catch the thief.  Until they watched the security footage.

The perp appeared as if from nowhere, sliding Nicholls' diamond tennis bracelet right off her wrist without her even knowing, before yanking the sapphire ring she had just purchased out of her hand and running like hell.

Frustratingly (or conveniently, depending on who’s perspective you looked at it from), the security cameras outside had been out of order for days leading up to the robbery, so when it came to the getaway car the two women had absolutely no clues.  

Instead, they had spent the entire day interviewing countless witnesses, knocking on apartment door after apartment door until they tracked them all down.  All of which felt like a reprieve after finally escaping their interview with the chef herself; an hour long ordeal that she had insisted on live-streaming to her ‘concerned followers’.  

By late afternoon they had returned to the precinct, feet throbbing in protest, spreading out the case file over Amy’s desk as they re-examined all of the information.  The witness statements had been vague at best, and until they found a different camera that might have caught the getaway car they were officially out of leads.  

Exhausted, she had been on her way to Rosa’s desk to see if her partner wanted to get a drink of commiseration after their shift ended, when she noticed something that stopped her in her tracks.  Rosa Diaz was not a vain woman by any means, but right at that moment she had ducked her head down on the monitor, carefully shifting the strands of her hair into a specific position.  And as she moved them into place, Amy saw what Rosa had been trying to hide.

She had greys.  Only a few, and still ashy enough that it wasn’t immediately noticeable.

But she had greys.  Which meant that she was ageing.  Which also meant that she had found her soulmate.  

Her partner had looked up, eyes turning apologetic as she noticed Amy watching her, and began to explain.  “Her name is Jocelyn.  I didn’t expect to - ”  Amy raised her hand, halting the conversation as she plastered a smile onto her face.  

“It’s fine, Rosa.  Great, actually.  I’m really happy for you.”  

And she was happy.  Honestly.  Detective Diaz was a hard nut to crack, but underneath the leather-bound exterior was a kind, caring soul who genuinely deserved the best.  And obviously, this Jocelyn was it for her.  So Amy was happy for her partner.  

And also a little bit jealous.  Kinda defeated.  And almost certain that her soulmate simply didn’t exist.    

But mainly, happy.  

Now that she is home, Amy dumps her bag onto its respective hook, kicking off her shoes near the doorway and shedding her blazer before heading towards the kitchen.  She’s desperate for a glass of wine to take the edge off her less than average day, and had a Bordeaux stashed away in her cupboard laying in wait for the night that she could finally raise a toast to the person she is meant to spend the rest of her life with.  Clearly, that was never going to happen to her (and tonight was as good a night as any to enjoy a glass of red), and once she finally yanks out the cork with her cheap corkscrew, she abandons the tool on the counter, sauntering over to her couch with the bottle in one, and a glass in the other.

*

Less than an hour later, Amy has changed into her cosiest clothes and is perched on the couch, tipping the bottle upside down and frowning as no more wine seems to come out.  

Damnit.  Somebody’s been drinking my wine.  She cranes her neck, surveying the room with narrowed eyes as she searches for suspects, only to come up dry.  

Clearly, the perp has already fled the scene.

Her stomach growls as it protests at the lack of food - and abundance of wine - it had been given.  With only a slightly steady hand, Amy pulls out her phone from it’s position amongst the couch cushions, opening up a webpage to search for delicious food near me + quick delivery.  She had only moved into this apartment three months ago, after saving her hard earned money for far too long, and was still slightly unfamiliar (and yes, perhaps a little too drunk) to know what takeout options were nearby.  

The swirling symbol of a loading webpage disappears in a blink, the flashing logo of Sal’s Pizza taking its place.  She nods enthusiastically, because pizza is great and she doesn’t eat it enough, scrolling her way through the options before settling on the perfect combination and adding to cart.  

When this story gets told in the years to come, Amy will blame the empty bottle of wine for making her do this, but in the comment section of the order, she remembers a meme that her niece had recently shown her and types: send your cutest delivery boy.  Giggling loudly, she presses send before another thought could be made, and as the digital countdown comes onto her screen she stumbles into the kitchen, in search of another bottle.  

*

Jake Peralta rolls his shoulders against the stainless steel panels attached to the kitchen wall, legs feeling heavy as they dangle off the counter he’s perched on.  

It was nearly at the end of his shift at Sal’s Pizza, and the later hours of the evening always seemed to drag, but he’s thankful for a moment of peace.  

Sharing the delivery role with two other guys that he only knew as Scully and Hitchcock, he had spent the better part of the dinner rush covering their jobs as well as his own, both men claiming that they had gotten lost in the supposedly complicated streets of Brooklyn before returning to the restaurant several hours later, the pizza sauce stains still obvious on their chins.  Jake’s responding eye roll had been poorly concealed, and he had retreated to the familiar company of his buddy Charles, the chef, in the kitchen before he ended up saying something regretful.

That in itself had turned out to be a risky move, having to instead listen to Charles talk on and on (and on) about his recently discovered soulmate, Genevieve.  

And he’s happy for his best friend - really, he is.  But every single mention of their chance encounter, sparked by mixing up their specially ordered local delicacies at their nearby deli (his octopus ring pâté, hers rare eyeball soup, both horrifying) was just another reminder that Jake himself was no step closer to finding his.  Not that he’s even sure he wants to find his, but … still.

(Also, he was one more TMI conversation about their subsequent love making from taking the handle of both spatulas in the utensil jar and jamming them into his ears.)

The computer in the corner lets out an obnoxious ding! as an online order comes through, the attached printer grunting as it spits out a faded version for the chef.  Jake shuffles along the counter, butt squeaking against the steel as he rips the paper free, sneakers hitting the tiled floor with a slap as he slides it into place.  “Chet’s up, Charles.”

“It’s a chit, Jake.”  Charles looks up from his position on the counter opposite, hands concealed as he kneads out a heavy pile of dough.  “Do me a favour, read it out for me?  I’m a little tied up here.  Not as much as Genevieve was tied up last night, but still - ”

“One large deep pan, extra cheese, extra salsa!”  Jake cries out quickly, desperate to drown out the sound of whatever Charles was about to describe.  His friend nods in response, dusting off the extra flour from his hands as he heads over to another bench, the process of putting together a Sals Pizza so familiar it has become second nature.  

He glances back up at Jake, right hand mixing in the hot sauce.  “Any special requests on it?”

Right.  The special requests option, a relatively new addition, had been the catalyst for some truly strange demands.  After the horrifying command last week for the delivery boy to sing out the ingredients like a show tune upon arrival, Jake had been doing his best to avoid ‘special requests’ altogether.  With a hesitant glance, he narrows his eyes at the bottom of the receipt before letting out a laugh.  “Charles my good man, I believe I have been summoned.”

“Huh?”

Jake pulls the receipt off it’s holder with a flick of his wrist, brandishing it high in the air as he turns towards his friend with a smile.  “Says so right here.  Send your cutest delivery boy.  Clearly, that’s me.  I’m adorable.”

His friend gasps, spinning around to read the chit himself before turning to Jake in glee.  “Jakey!  This isn’t just any order.  This is fate!”

Tipping his head to the side, Jake scratches the side of his cheek as he studies Charles’ reaction.  “Fate has come in the form of a deep pan pizza?  Honestly, I’m not surprised … but I think I always imagined it would be meat supreme?”

Charles’ hands freeze on top of the pie, a few shards of grated cheese slipping from his fingers as he shakes his head at Jake.  “No, silly.  The person who’s ordered the pizza is your fate.  Not the pizza itself.  Your soulmate is on the other end of this delivery.  I’m sure of it.”

“Oh come on.  That’s ridiculous.  You don’t even know if this is for a person, or a company, or even some kind of robot that’s managed to gain sentience ..”

The chef’s head appears suddenly over Jake’s shoulder, peering at the details printed along the bottom of the receipt before giving him a solid side-eye.  “Says right here, Amy Santiago.  Sounds like a pretty great name for a soulmate, if you ask me.”

Rolling his eyes, Jake walks towards the oven, picking up the pizza peel from it’s holding place and lifting the next order into the grill.  “I keep telling you, Charles.  Not everybody is going to end up with their soulmate.  The whole thing is flawed.  It didn’t exactly work out for my parents, did it?”

“You’ve just gotta have faith, Jake!  The universe has greater plans than you or I could ever imagine, and sometimes you just have to let the signs guide the way.”  Charles countered, ripping the receipt from the order holder and shoving it into Jake’s shirt pocket, pointing towards the oven once his hand is free.  “Order will be up in eight minutes, Mr. Cutest Delivery Boy.  Don’t be late, destiny is waiting.”

It’s close to twenty minutes later before Jake is standing in the hallway of an unfamiliar apartment building, double checking the address on the receipt before raising his hand to knock (people are very willing to accept pizza when it is delivered, even if they haven’t ordered any - a fact he had to learn the hard way).  The pizza box in his hand keeps sending wafts of deliciousness in his direction, reminding himself that he’d unintentionally skipped dinner this evening, and he makes a deal with his stomach to fill up after this delivery.  

There’s a muffled sound of the Jeopardy theme song playing through the doorway when Jake knocks, and he hears the clank of glass against a surface before the door begins to swing open.  Twenty bucks says this is some nerdy professor, Jake thinks to himself, drawing on his biggest smile, ready to play the role of Cutest Delivery Boy to a tee.  

And then, his heart stops in his chest.

The woman that answers the door is crazy beautiful.  Beautifully warm toned skin with the most expressive eyes, her dark hair scraping her shoulders as she opens the door a little wider.  

“Heyyyyy, the pizza guy is here!”  The mystery woman smiles, leaning heavily against her doorframe as she gasps, pointing.  “And he brought PIZZA!”

If this was what nerdy professors looked like, I DEFINITELY would have paid more attention in class, Jake thinks to himself as he continues to smile, handing over the pizza to the woman’s outstretched hands.  “One deep pan, extra cheese, extra salsa.”  His voice switches into automatic pilot, reciting the line that had been forced into his memory, hands landing on his hips in the signature pose as he forces a too-wide smile onto his face.  “I hope we managed to fulfil your special request, ma’am, and it’s a good evening now that you’ve got a Sal’s Pizza.”

Her dark eyes blink dazedly for a moment before a deep blush rushes over her cheeks.  “Oh right, my uh … special request.”  They travel down Jake’s frame before heading upwards again, holding his gaze until she bites her lip.  “Yeah, I’d say you did, Pizza Guy.”

Now it’s Jake’s turn to blush, sweaty hands dropping from his waist and dangling uselessly by his side.  He’s always been a connoisseur of the Art of Flirtation, but tonight he finds himself more than a little tongue tied.  Inconveniently, Charles’ voice creeps into Jake’s mind.  Your soulmate is on the other end of this delivery.  She giggles at his obviously embarrassed reaction, shoulders bouncing as a squeaky hiccup escapes. 

Shuffling his feet, Jake’s brain switches into overdrive as he frantically tries to think of the perfect pickup line to make, but before anything incredible can be formed he begins to really take in his client’s appearance.  Her glazed over eyes, the vice like grip of her hand on the doorframe …. “Uhh, I’m always up for a bit of flattery, but … I think you might be a little intoxicated.  Do you know how much you’ve had to drink?” he asks, brows furrowing slightly as he watches the woman sway.

She shrugs, turning the movement into a dorky little side-to-side boogie as the ads begin playing on the TV in the background, an annoyingly catchy song about paper towels taking centre stage.  “Only a couple of glasses.”

Jake looks past her, taking in the incriminating evidence of two empty wine bottles sitting on the table next to the couch.  “Just a couple, huh?”

She follows his gaze, swinging her head back to him as a giggle escapes.  “Well, I mean … the bottles are made of glass, right?”

He can’t help but laugh, nodding at her observation.  “Yes.  Yes, they are.”

“See?” She laughs along with him, holding onto the pizza box with one hand as she begins stepping backwards, moving her feet into what he thinks is an attempt at the moonwalk.  Her feet, which may actually both be left, are dangerously close to tripping over each other, and just as he reaches out a hand in warning the two lefts connect - pizza box flying out of her hands as her arms begin to flail about, desperately searching for something to grab onto as she begins to fall.

Jake’s feet can’t move fast enough, and she hits her head on a small side table, landing on the ground with a thud before he can get to her.  She stays still, head twisted to the side and moaning loudly as he kneels down on the ground, paying special attention to her extremities in case she’s actually hurt herself.  “Are you okay, ma’am?” he asks.  Her receipt is still in his pocket, and he really wants to grab it out right now to remember her name, but it’s way too late for that now.  Damn my goldfish memory!  

“I’m … I’m fine.”  She swings out an arm, letting it slap against the hardwood floor near Jake’s crouched position as she turns to look at him.  “The floor is just a little spinny, that’s all.”

He stifles a grin as he looks at her determined face, already knowing that there was no point in explaining to this woman that the floor was, in fact, not spinning (or ‘spinny’, as it were).  Instead, he responds with “Yeah, spinny floors are the worst.”

She smiles at him, and his heart skips a beat just like the first time, and he kinda really wants to know her name.  “He gets it!  Thisguygetsit.” She slurs, pointing an intoxicated finger at Jake.  And he knows that she’s drunk … and he knows that she probably doesn’t have any idea what she’s saying … but tiny little butterflies begin to flutter in Jake’s stomach, gaining traction the longer she lays there, pointing her finger at him.  She’s adorable, he thinks to himself.

But, she might also be injured, and so he offers her a hand up, pretending not to notice the tingling sensation when her palm meets his.  She groans as he helps her up, right hand clapping onto her scalp, wrinkling her face and looking at him accusingly.  “How did I end up on the floor, anyway?” 

Jake grins at the woman, pointing with his free hand towards the discarded pizza box, explaining - “You were dancing away with the pizza, and tripped over your two left feet.”

Her eyes look at the box warily, looking to Jake, then back to the pizza.  “That makes sense.  I am left handed, after all.”  She nods, a movement quickly thwarted as her head obviously throbs in protest.  

Jake’s eyebrows knit together as he watches her clutch her hand to her head, and as she moves towards the couch, he clears his throat.  “Uhh, listen - I’m no expert, but I think you might be in danger of having a concussion.  Is there somebody else here, who can watch over you tonight?”

The woman’s head drops as she shakes her head slightly.  “No.  I live alone.  All alone.”  Realising the gravity of what she’s just said to this stranger, her head shoots up quickly, and Jake pretends not to notice her reactive wince.  “But I’m a cop.  A badass cop, in fact.  And I could kick your butt from here to next Sunday, Pizza Guy, so don’t you go trying anything.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender.  “Whoa there, officer.  My intentions are honourable, I swear.  I just think you might have hurt yourself a little bit, and you shouldn’t go to sleep until someone has made sure you’re okay.”  Pausing, Jake lowers his hands a little as the woman’s gaze turns less accusing.  “Is there somebody you can call?”

She shrugs.  “Rosa, I guess.”  Picking up an empty bottle, she shakes it, willing more wine to appear.  “Yeah.  Call Rosa.  Tell her to bring booze.”  She giggles, her face dropping just as quickly.  “Probably won’t come, though.  Too busy with her soulmate or whatever.”

There’s an odd mix of sadness and hope that comes from this woman speaking of her friend’s soulmate.  It was hard not to hear her bitterness, and Jake could feel himself beginning to reconsider his own opinions.  If someone as sweet as this woman is hasn’t found her match, maybe this whole soulmate thing wasn’t as ridiculous as it seems.  Clearing his throat, he twists his mouth to the side slightly before speaking.  “I’m sure if she knows you’re hurt, she’ll come over.”

Another shrug, the light from a nearby lamp catching onto her hair and making it shimmer a little.  You’re falling, Peralta.  “Maybe.”

He waits for a pause, and she looks up at him expectantly.  “Um, I … I don’t have Rosa’s number.” His tone is apologetic, which is crazy, because if anything it would’ve been weirder if he had known this Rosa’s number.  He wipes a hand across his face, trying to push some sense into his brain, and as he rubs his eyes the woman begins fishing around her couch cushions, pulling up throw pillows until she thrusts her phone into the air in triumph.  

“I do!  I have Rosa’s number.”  She unlocks the screen, handing the device over to Jake without hesitation.  He takes grip of it, watching with confused eyes as the woman shouts an answer to the game show host still on her screen before grabbing the remote control on the coffee table, fumbling at buttons until the TV switches to mute.  Turning her attention back to Jake, the woman’s eyes light up when she realises he’s still holding her phone in his hand.  “Hey!  I’ve got a great idea.  Let’s call Rosa!”  

If this had been anybody else, Jake is pretty sure by now he would have given up and left this crazy client to their own devices.  But there was something so wholesome about her vulnerability, so open to the complete stranger that he was, that he really wanted to make sure she had someone take watch over her tonight.  So with a grin taking over his face, he scrolls through her contacts until he finds (thankfully, only one) titled Rosa, pressing the call button before handing the phone back to the giggling beauty covered in crumpled sweats on the couch. 

She takes it from him with a smile, a surprised gasp escaping when the line connects and she calls out “Heyyyyy, Rosa!”

His heart squeezes a little as her face crumples into confusion, shaking her head in a futile response to the voice on the other end of the phone.  This woman is adorable.

“Whaaat? Noooo I’m not mad I’m not - I just got pizza and hit my head with it and now Pizza Guy thinks I shouldn’t go to bed and I know you can fix it so canyoufixitRosa?”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Jake takes a quick glance around the room while the conversation continues.  It was a stark contrast to his own hole in the wall apartment, to say the least.  But oddly, he felt comfortable here, with the warm coloured tone painted on the walls, plush couches with ample throw pillows and the sweet smell of vanilla coming from … well, coming from somewhere. 

“Honestly, I’m fone - I mean, I’m fine.  It’s just … this pizza has stars on it and the couch won’t stop spinning and okay maybe I hurt myself?”  Jake watches as she drops her head into her free hand, voice lowering slightly as she mumbles, “Bring Joss .. Joz … Jocelyn over too if you want.  You totally should.  I’m fine.  Really.”

As though suddenly remembering Jake’s presence, the woman looks up and gives him a thumbs up, smiling in victory.  “You’re the besssst, Rosa!  I totally owe yo-” stopping abruptly, she looks at the phone in her hand with another giggle.  “She hung up.”

He laughs along with her, watching as she flips open the lid to the pizza box and digs out a slice, taking a step back towards the doorway, suddenly very aware that he’s been standing in a relative strangers living room for longer than normal.  “Well, as long as somebody is coming, I should leave you to enjoy your pizza ma’am.”  

Her hand pauses mid-way from her mouth, several ropes of cheese forming a bridge between pie and human as she turns her attention towards Jake.  The words are masked by a mouth full of pizza, but he makes out the words thank you, Pizza Guy! as he turns to leave.

And even though there is still a part of Jake that thinks this whole ‘waiting for your soulmate before your life can begin’ is a little ridiculous, he still sits in his car near the front of the woman’s apartment, waiting until a leather clad figure with dark curly hair appears, stomping up the staircase and slamming her finger on the same apartment number that he had half an hour ago before being buzzed into the building.  He tells himself that he’s just being a good person, making sure that a patron of his employer was safe, but there’s a tiny part of him that already knows that he cares more for this mysterious woman than he should.  

** this thing is 16k long, so find the rest on AO3! **

[infjabberwocky]

imagine if she was on something...

ARCHIVE FROM SEPTEMBER 8, 2019

Having just turned 50, I decided to reflect on my life.

Why am I unemployed. Why do none of my old friends speak to me?

Why do I get angry at people for the slightest misstep that I perceive to be an attack against me?

Why have I been unable to hold onto any relationship whether it is romantic or platonic.

Why do I constantly feel attacked and insulted when there is no real attack or insult.

Why do I feel superior to everyone on the planet one moment and then start bawling because I feel like a worthless piece of shit, horrible person the next.

Why do I dwell for weeks on something that happened 30 years ago? Why do I beat myself up over something I did as a kid? Why do I beat myself up over nearly everything I do or say?

Why does someone bumping into me at the grocery store and not apologizing send me into a suicidal frenzy? A frenzy of self-loathing and tears and dread and believing that I have nothing but bad luck and that the universe must hate me.

I chain smoke and talk to myself while I plan my own demise. How dare someone give me a dirty look. How dare someone question my Twitter post. How dare someone not value my opinion.

So, I asked some acquaintances what they liked and disliked about me so I could, hopefully, change.

Their answers were not kind. They weren’t mean, but something about what they said shocked me because I never really viewed myself as what they described. I often view myself as better than most. Nicer than most. More polite than most. A better friend than most. Turns out, I’m none of that. I’m just a narcissist who overreacts to just about everything in (mostly) silent self-deprecation. Let me backtrack to the early 70s. I’m around 5 or 6. I’m across the street at my best friends apartment. We lived in Navy Housing. I run back to my house to grab something and run back, only I can’t remember what apartment she lives in. I’d been there 100 times, but I couldn’t remember. By the way, I have an enormous dent in the back of my skull that no one would tell me about. Anyway, I can’t remember what apartment, so I just start opening random doors. A large naked man saw me, laughed and invited me in. I panic, run out of the building, into my room and crawl under the covers where I stayed for days. I didn’t eat and spoke to no one. In fact, I was so mortified that I never saw my best friend, again. Seriously. And that’s how my brain has worked ever since.

The internet gave me the chance to whine to everyone. Any chance I got, I’d whine about my terrible life. My lack of friends. My lack of romance. How no one liked me because I was ugly. I valued myself based on my looks. No one is ever attracted to me. I’m too ugly to live. I should just kill myself and put everyone out of their misery by having me gone.

I drank. A lot. It either soothed me or heightened my insecurities like waking up to a flashlight in my face.

I’ve been told to seek therapy thousands of times, even by my employer, but was either too embarrassed or assumed that I knew better than any doctor. I am, after all, smarter than everyone…until I remember that I’m actually dumber than everyone. I wish that I had kept a journal. However, I’m pretty sure that it would just be a lot of nonsensical writings blaming everyone and everything for my behavior. Someone was mean to me. Someone didn’t appreciate all of the things I did for them. Someone thought I was ugly and fat. Someone didn’t like my hair. Someone molested me. Someone didn’t love me. Someone didn’t pay attention to me. Someone lied to me. Someone avoided me. Now I’m in the introspection phase. I’m trying to put my behavior and lack of motivation together like a massive jigsaw puzzle. Want to come with me? Put your seatbelt on. Better grab a crash helmet, too, because this may get bumpy.

So, in 2013 I had reached the tipping point of being miserable at work. I was a radio personality at a very popular radio station in southern California. I had worked there since 1989. My original goal was to be a DJ, but took any job I was offered just to keep my foot in the door. I started out answering phones for the jocks. I…I’m having trouble describing myself at this time because I was young and don’t know if I was just reckless or knee-deep into a mental disorder. In any event, I was hard-working, yet lazy. I chatted with listeners more than I worked. I was threatened with being fired weekly, but for some reason, never was. My behavior would change for a few days and when things cooled down, I’d go right back to doing what I was told not to. I assumed that I was so beloved, that I’d go far in no time. That didn’t happen. Around this time, I started drinking. I’d take a sippy cup full of King Cobra in the car with me to drink on the way to work or school. Eventually, I was kicked out of college for lack of attendance and poor grades and that just confirmed that I was stupid. I would take a break from school, make up an excuse, petition and be allowed to re-enroll. This happened over and over. I’d make friends, have sex with most of them and never speak to them again. I’d fall in love. I’d fall out of love after they’d do something insignificant that annoyed me. I struggled financially. I went to my parents for money constantly. I stole money from my parents. I’ve never done drugs, only smoked pot a few times but drank a ton of beer I needed it to survive. I was outrageously promiscuous. Always looking for someone to love me, even if it was only for a few hours. When they didn’t love me back, they were banished from my life. I was like this for decades. I could go into story after story and example after example of my lazy, destructive, self-loathing, whiny behavior but it will just trigger me and if you are relating to anything I’m writing, it may trigger you, too. Let’s just avoid that for now. I will add, however, that I chose friends who talked down to me. Who talked shit about me to our peers. Who paid attention to me in negative, judgmental ways. I hated my friends but begged them to like me. I would make friends who were truly nice to me and end up hating them over some minor infraction like using my hairbrush or playfully making fun of me. Nerves were always touched, or should I say torched. I’d plan to kill myself only AFTER I did something to make them regret hurting me. I’ll show them. I’ll show all of them, right? When I was younger, I’d keep my anger and bitterness internalized. When I started drinking, it came out for the world to see. When I got older, I’d internalize it again and when social media became popular, I’d write it for the world to see. Every gripe. Every perceived slight. Every comment was an insult. Every suggestion was a jab at me. Every joke was really an opinion of my faults. See how my brain works? I always assumed I had raging PMS even though my self-loathing and anger was constant. Then, I thought I had raging ADD, which may or may not be true, but probably not the cause of my suicidal tendencies.

After I became a parent, I was so afraid of fucking my kid up that I drank more thinking it would help. Obviously, it made things a gazillion times worse. I was a functioning alcoholic. I was drunk nearly all day, every day. I hid it. At least, I assumed I did. I was an awful human being, so I doubt I hid it well. Here’s the thing, though. I thought I was funny. I was named Class Clown in high school. People at the radio station seemed to like me. The listeners liked me. I got good ratings. Everyone loved me. I think. I became obsessed with sex. I watched porn at work constantly. I got in trouble at work constantly. I eventually became a DJ after 12 years. I slept with anyone who asked. I came to work drunk and left even drunker. I had sex at work, after work before work. I was a terrible mother. Not abusive, but only thought of myself. Everything was an inconvenience to me. I divorced. I slept around more. I liked unavailable men. I hated everyone. I loathed myself. I resented everyone. I was constantly struggling financially. I never felt in control of anything. Not my surroundings, not my brain, not my body, not my career, not my choices. I always felt as if I was being pulled by someone else’s strings, but nobody was there except me. I used to fly off the handle over the smallest incidents. I mean teeny. My poor kid. The shit he had to go through watching me lose my fucking mind over dead batteries in the remote. Jesus Christ if I could go back in time. I assumed my outbursts were because of my drinking. Then I assumed they were because I was a failure at everything and feeling sorry for myself. Then, after 26 years, I finally got fired. Oh. My. God. Wanna talk about a trigger? Thing is. I quit drinking. I quit cold turkey. A few years earlier, three family members died months apart so I was still dealing with packing up their house and I just didn’t have time to drink. No time for hangovers. I also decided to alienate myself from EVERYONE. I didn’t have a job, I was worthless. I lost my only sense of identity. Being that girl on the radio. Turns out that those who no longer HAD to talk to me, didn’t. I lost all of my ‘friends’ and that’s something that pissed me off immensely up until a few days ago. I harbored resentment for YEARS. So, I get fired. Get my real estate license for CA, realize that I’m terrible at math and have horrific dyslexia and decided to LEAVE CA and move to Colorado to live with my mother who I hadn’t seen in 10 years.  There’s so much that happens in between this but honestly, my brain is going 5,000 mph so I’ll have to come back to it later. I mean, up until a few hours ago, I thought I was the nicest person on earth. I never kill bugs, I put them outside. I feed stray cats. I picked dead animals up in the rod and pay for their cremation. I pull furniture out of the road so cars don’t run over it. But maybe I’m not nice. Maybe I’m just seeking validation. Maybe I just wrote that so you’d think I was amazing. Yes, I had an unloving mother (still do) who either ignored me completely or verbally abused me. When I told her that a close family member was sexually abusing me, she became furious with me and said that she’d speak to him about it. Nothing ever changed. I digress. I moved to Colorado and have made no friends, cannot find work and am broker than a mother fucker. I take surveys for spending money. I have a car that has a broken computer and am unmotivated to do anything but whine and cry and contemplate suicide. None of my former colleges speak to me. They claim to be afraid of my wrath. Although, I must admit that there were times that I loved being intimidating. I loved that people were afraid of me. Maybe because I was bullied severely in junior high. I don’t know. So, like I said…and I’m sorry that this is all over the place…I decided to figure out what my major malfunction really was rather than blame everyone else for my woes. I started watching tarot videos and they were all on point (there were a few times in my life that I believed I was a sorcerer and could control everything though magic, but that’s for another time). These videos were mostly ‘pick a card’ or Virgo specific and they were all nail on head. One video would lead me to another, to another, and so on. Then, I started watching videos about having an unloving, neglectful mother. Then I started looking up how to commit suicide. Then I started looking up videos on how to change my personality. Then, I had a meltdown. I was waiting to make a left turn when I noticed the older female driver behind me waving her arms and screaming (presumably at me). I have a Jeep and it’s hard for a car to see what I see. As I waited for the two cars in front of me to turn so I could make mine, I couldn’t stop watching her flipping me off and flailing about in frustration over my lack of movement and it triggered me HARD. I came home and cried and planned my suicide and cried some more and begged God to kill me over this stranger who was in the wrong lane, freaking out over me abiding by traffic laws. Then I dawned on me that there may be something going on in my brain that is making me behave like this. This constant all or nothing overreaction. The, either you love me or you hate my guts thing. The anxiety, the depression, the whining, the negativity, the self-loathing, the hatred of every living person on the planet. I’ve even hated my own kid for weeks because he said something to me that hurt my feelings. Can you imagine? He’s 25 and still lives with me, but that’s also another story. Just like the fact I live with my narcissistic, unloving mother who makes me want to slit my throat. All for another time.  I was so exhausted living in my own world of believing that everything inconvenient that happens to me is bad luck. Someone didn’t smile at me, bad luck I’d better burn the shirt I’m wearing. Do I sound crazy? Yes. Do I know what to do about it having zero income? No. Going back to my mother for a second, she just triggered me. I’m trying to self-soothe as I type this. She does this thing where if she needs help or wants me to do something for her, she screams. Like, a scream you’d make when you catch someone breaking into your car. Screams. So, I always end up running downstairs only to discover that she dropped something or her TV remote doesn’t work. She refers to me as, ‘someone’ and ‘anyone’. Never by my name. Waiting for my heart stop racing…you’d think I’d be used to this. Her behavior is my biggest trigger. I had a boss who reminded me of her. A boss who actually called me a cunt once for posting on my Facebook that ‘d be better off dead. Called me a cunt. To my face. For everyone to hear. Now, I’m glad she fired me. How much more of THAT could I have taken? Oh, wait. I’m still taking it, but this time I’m not getting paid. My goal is to get out of here and never return.

I’m going to assume that I’m mentally ill. I haven’t been in a relationship since 2007. I haven’t had sex since 2011 because I’m afraid ghosts are watching me. I haven’t had a drink since 2014 and I haven’t had a face to face conversation with another human being since 2015. What has happened to me? Am I mentally ill? It has to be more than depression. It has to be more than bipolar. Nothing brings me joy. I’m paranoid. I used to be fun and creative and now I hate myself even more than ever, yet I admire myself. I want to die yet I want to see if something good will happen. I want to be loved yet I don’t want to go through the trouble. I’m not hungry yet I’ll eat junk food until I can’t put on my pants. I can’t even masturbate because I feel like it’s going to bring me bad luck. The thing is, I am fully aware of how insane this sounds. I’m aware that this is not normal, I just can’t stop myself. I’ve learned to hold in my verbal abuse because I avoid confrontation like the plague now. I’ve always kind of avoided it, but booze made it easier. Now, I’ll apologize for things I’m not even sorry for. Things I didn’t even do wrong just to avoid ANY conflict. I’m even avoiding social media. Some girl came after me on NextDoor last week and I actually put a hose in my tailpipe. Over some stranger. On fucking NextDoor. The blessing is that no one will ever read this. No one likes me and no one reads my blogs and fuck if I’m going to advertise this. I need help. I believe if I can fix whatever is going on in my brain, I can function like a 50-year-old adult, find work, maybe even love and live adequately ever after. I guess you’re going to judge me, now. It will trigger me and I’ll cry and probably try to kill myself, but you’ll think I’m looking for sympathy or being melodramatic. I’m not looking for sympathy for the devil, just a little tenderness. Yes, I realize that this looks like just a massive blog of bitching, moaning and complaining but I’m trying to show how my mind works, not whine. Well, whine a little. It’s really all I’ve got right now.

Until my next manic meltdown…

[fanficsaremylifeline]

Spider-Man In Love?

On AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215213

*****

TMZ

Spider-Man in love?

Spider-Man has repeatedly been seen by a reliable source swinging through town with a so far unidentified woman, looking more than comfortable.

So far Spider-Man not yet commented on his relationship.

.-.-.-.-.

Flash @lightningman

[picture of Spider-Man and MJ] Knew you wouldn't keep your woman, @peteparkour... Guess she does prefer a real man after all...

.

Peter @peteparkour

Yo, @webhead, you better stay away from my woman, or else...

.

The Real Spider-ManTM @webhead

@peteparkour or else... what?

.

Peter @peteparkour

@webhead or I'll come for you

.

The Real Spider-ManTM @webhead

@peteparkour how adorable, you really think you have a chance?

[gif of Spider-Man lifting and tossing a car]

.

Peter @peteparkour

@webhead Dude, I ain’t scared of you

.

The Real Spider-Man @webhead

@peteparkour right and the earth is flat

.

TMZ

Alleged affair turns into Twitter-feud

After Spider-Man has been seen with Ironman intern Peter Parker's girlfriend, he and Spider-Man have been engaged in a heated online feud. As far as our sources go, the altercation has remained refined to social media.

.

Well, that went a little out of hand. At first, Peter thought it would be funny to mess around with the gossip, but he just got lost in the fun of it all. Only around the 23rd tweet, he remembered that it was maybe not the best idea, but by then it was too late.

.

MJ <3: you’re a freaking idiot

Peter: an adorable one tho, right?

MJ <3: jury’s still out…

MJ <3: Stark disinherit you yet?

Peter: on the way to the compound right now, I’m a little worried, not gonna lie

MJ <3: you deserve it. Idiot.

Peter: love you, too :*

.

“Hey guys…” By the way everybody stared at Peter as he shuffled into the common room, it was more than an educated guess that they were very aware of what happened.

“Peter, I… I don’t even know what to say.” Pepper sat by the table, just shaking her head. “Thank you so much for this very unnecessary and completely crazy PR nightmare.”

“I’m really sorry.” Very aware that his face was deep red, he let his head drop. “I just thought it’d be fun, and that way people wouldn’t think that I’m Spidey.”

“I get it. But threatening yourself to fight you with the help of the Avengers behind you?”

“It may have slipped away from me a little bit there…”

“No kidding.”

“And that’s why I don’t have a Twitter”, Bruce shrugged.

“No, that’s why you don’t have a secret identity”, Peter clarified and turned back to Pepper. “I’m really so, so sorry! Really.”

“I know you are. Please, just keep your two personalities away from each other. At least until this is sorted.”

“Promise”, he nodded eagerly. “Thanks for not, I don’t know, screaming or deleting my twitter.”

“You haven’t talked to Tony yet, have you?”, Clint snickered.

“I have not. Is he very mad?”

“He doesn’t know yet. He’s been cooped up in his lab all day long and you’ll go down there now and tell him.” Pepper’s tone didn’t leave any room for discussion and wearily, Peter nodded and made for the door and the lab.

“Hey Pete, you’re late”, he was greeted. “So get in here, we’ve got work to do!” Mr Stark appeared from behind Mark 18 and as soon as he saw Peter, his face dropped. “What did you do, kid?”

“What? Who says I did anything?”, Peter tried to defend himself.

“Is this how you want to play this?” Tony walked up to him, put his hands on Peter’s shoulders. It wasn’t an intimidating gesture, it was actually reassuring, trustworthy.

“I may have started a Twitter feud. With myself”, he added, looking down.

“Oh Peter.” Tony just broke out in laughter. “You… I can’t believe you. Actually, I can believe it really well.” He got his phone out and started scrolling. “Oh, this is fantastic!”, he chuckled and started reading aloud:

.

Peter @peteparkour

@webhead you don't need to hang with my girlfriend just 'cause @iamironman likes me better than you...

.

The Real Spider-ManTM @webhead

@peteparkour [gif of clueless: AS IF!]

.

Peter @peteparkour

@webhead please, you know it's true, I know it's true, @iamironman knows it's true, hell all the avengers know it's true

.

The Real Spider-Man @webhead

@peteparkour yeah? Wanna put that to the test?

.

Peter @peteparkour

@webhead sure, cause I have the entirety of the Avengers on my side

.

The Real Spider-ManTM @webhead

@peteparkour no, you don't!

.

Peter @peteparkour

@webhead yes, I do!

.

The Real Spider-Man @webhead

@peteparkour no, you don't!

.

“Ok, alright”, Peter interrupted his mentor. “I got it.”

“What does your paramour have to say about that?”, Tony asked, as he put his phone away and his expression went from amused to almost scolding.

“She says I'm an idiot and that I would deserve you disinheriting me...”

“Smart girl, I know why I like her. I'm not quite sure why she likes you, though...”

“Aw, Mr Stark that's mean”, Peter pouted and crossed his arms. “You know that since you like me more than Spidey...”

“Thin ice, underoos...” Tony shook his head and leaned against the table. “Does Pep know yet?”

“Yeah... I really owe her.”

“Majorly”, Tony agreed with him. “You're gonna stay off twitter until either of us gives you the ok”, he decided. “And maybe less of Spidey dating Peter's girlfriend.”

“Promise. I'm really sorry.”

“I know you are. FRI, is Pepper still in the common room?”

“She is”, the AI answered.

“Good. Peter, you're with me, we're gonna publish one official statement and then we'll let it blow over.”

That was probably the best idea and Pepper agreed.

“It's sweet, how Tony always pretends to be that macho man, but instead never does anything without his love's permission”, Clint snickered.

“That has nothing to do with love”, Pepper commented drily, as she typed out a tweet. “He's just no longer allowed to tweet from the official accounts.”

“Oh that's so much better!” Hawkeye almost fell off his stool, he was wheezing so hard. Peter would have liked to join the animated laughter, but if he did, Tony would definitely kick him out for good. “Whatcha do?”, Clint laughed, “post nude pics?”

“I did not and you will never know”, Tony shot back, blushing in embarrassment.

“And it's posted.” Pepper's announcement stopped Clint from probing any more questions out of Mr Stark, which was a bit of a shame since Peter was way to curious about what he had done.

.

The Avengers (verified) @officialavengers

In regard to the current feud-rumours, we can officially state that SI intern Peter Parker and Spider-Man have made amends, since the claims were incorrect and made up by tabloid magazines.

Both Spider-Man and Mr Parker are sorry about the stir they have created.

.

“This is pretty damn formal for twitter”, Tony remarked with an impressed nod.

And that was it. Life went on, at least in the real world. Twitter wasn't done yet; something especially Tony learned since his inbox filled up with people asking his true opinion on the Peter-Spidey matter...

.

You Know Who I Am (verified) @iamironman

To answer all the questions asking whether I like @peteparkour better than @webhead I can only say it doesn't look too good for either right now...

.

Peter @peteparkour

replying to @iamironman

I'm sorry Mr Stark :(

.

The Real Spider-Man @webhead

replying to @iamironman

I'm really sorry too!!!

.

You Know Who I Am (verified) @iamironman

@webhead @peteparkour those apologies need to go to the fantastic @theCEO and all I can say is that if you ever again make trouble for my wonderful, amazing, beautiful, perfect-in-every-way fiancée, I'll put both your asses out on the street.

.

Pepper Potts (verified) @theCEO

replying to @iamironman

perfect-in-every-way? what did you do, honey?

.

You Know Who I Am (verified) @iamironman

replying to @theCEO

Nothing! I just love my stunningly awe-inspiring bride-to-be <3 <3 <3

.

Pepper Potts (verified) @theCEO

replying to @iamironman

ok, I'm officially worried and on my way back home

.

Pepper Potts (verified) @theCEO

[picture of a beautifully lain table with delicious looking food]

To make up for all the trouble, Spider-Man and Peter have outdone themselves to make this perfect dinner for me and the lovely Michelle :)

[ofstormsandwolves]

The Slayers

Faith/Buffy, Willow, Xander, Giles, Cordelia

Modern AU

Part of Sunnydale 2019

Read on AO3 (currently trialling putting fic up without people needing an account to read)

Buffy didn't make the Sunnydale varsity cheer squad in her sophomore year. But she's determined she'll make it in her junior year...

Buffy Summers was quietly confident. Today was the day of the cheerleading tryouts and she was almost certain she was going to secure her place this year.

Last year, she had only made first alternate, and Cordelia Chase hadn’t stopped rubbing it in. To make matters worse, the one time Cordelia was out sick, Buffy had been struck down by the same bug a day before the big game. Not only had Amy Madison taken her place (and had freaked out halfway through the routine because apparently she had only gone in for cheerleading because her mom had forced her), but Buffy had had to be taken home by Giles. She’d been so sick that he had quite literally carried her from the school, and while Willow and Xander had been quite sweet about it, Buffy was fully aware that she had looked ridiculous.

This year, however, she wasn’t going to be first alternate. She was going to make the squad, proper. And she was going to make sure Cordelia Chase realised what a threat she was.

Tryouts were at lunch, and Buffy beamed proudly as Willow, Xander, and Faith snuck in to watch her audition from the bleachers. She had nailed the routine, as had several others, although there were one or two who had stumbled or slipped.

“You were wicked good, babe,” Faith told her once the tryouts were over, pressing a kiss to Buffy’s cheek.

Buffy flushed. “I don’t know about that,” Buffy responded modestly, “but let’s just say I’m quietly confident.”

Willow and Xander were beaming proudly as the four of them headed out of the gym, but suddenly Cordelia Chase was in front of them, sneering down at Buffy.

“I wouldn’t be so confident if I were you, Buffy,” she told her coldly. “Everyone knows they’ll choose me over you any day.”

“And is there a reason you can’t both be on the team?” Xander asked with a raised eyebrow.

Beside him, Willow nodded seriously. “It doesn’t have to be you versus Buffy, Cordelia. Besides, you and Buffy worked well together on that history project you did. You make a good team.”

Willow knew she’d said the wrong thing even before she’d finished speaking. Buffy and Cordelia- and even Faith- were staring at her incredulously.

“This is the varsity cheer squad, Willow,” Cordelia bit out. “Not some silly school project.”

And with that, she swept out of the gym and down the corridor, leaving a confused Willow blinking after her.

 “Well as long as you tried your best,” Giles said when Buffy told him about the cheer tryouts.

Buffy blinked at her step-father for a moment before responding with a deadpan “right”.

“You seriously don’t get all this high school stuff, do you, G?” Faith asked from where she lounged on her back in the middle of the library table.

Xander was sat on a chair, munching on some chips, while Willow got started on some homework they’d been given during second period. She did, of course, have to work around Faith’s body. Buffy perched on the counter while Giles was busy scanning returned library books.

“I admit, I don’t quite understand the appeal of cheerleading, but I’ll support Buffy in whatever she does, Faith,” Giles responded calmly. “Even if I don’t really understand her fascination in it.”

Faith pushed herself up onto her elbows, eyes glinting mischievously. “Whatever she does?”

Both Buffy and Giles stiffened, eyeing Faith warily. “Yes,” Giles responded slowly.

Faith smirked. “Including burning down a school gym?”

Buffy sighed as her girlfriend smirked. “And there’s the punchline,” she muttered.

Giles was busy opening and closing his mouth like a fish, clearly trying to come up with an appropriate response to Faith’s taunt.

“I... Well, that’s, that’s different. I... That is to say, Joyce and I, we always supported Buffy, and the blame for that, ah, misdemeanour wasn’t exactly solely on Buffy’s shoulders-”

“G, relax,” Faith told him, smirk softening to a more genuine smile. “It was a joke.”

Buffy arched an eyebrow at her girlfriend. “But you’re never gonna let me forget that happened, are you?” she asked wryly.

Her words brought Faith’s smirk back out full force. “Course not, B. Here I thought I was the wild one in our relationship, and then I find out you were kicked out of your old school for burning half the school down! I just wish there’d been photos. Would’ve made a wicked cool Instagram post.”

At that, Giles gave Faith a disapproving look. “Faith,” he warned, “please don’t burn the school down for the sake of a social media post.”

Rather than giving an answer, Faith just grinned mischievously.

 The results of the cheer tryouts went up two days later, in the courtyard at lunchtime. Buffy tried to play it cool all through the first few lessons of the day, before jumping up the moment the bell rang for lunchtime. She was out the classroom and down the corridor before Willow had even finished packing her books away.

Thankfully, Buffy was one of the first people to make it to the notice board, and she frantically scanned the tryouts list for her name. Her heart was thudding in her chest, she felt a little sick with nerves, as she hurriedly glanced through the list.

Her heart thumped harder.

She read the list again. And again.

“Hey, babe,”

Buffy jumped as she heard Faith’s voice, looking round to see her girlfriend to her left, a worried frown on the brunette’s face. Unable to say anything, Buffy just blinked. Faith frowned deeper, then turned to look down the cheerleading list.

“Oh.”

Buffy sniffed, and said nothing. Faith responded to her lack of comment or reaction by lacing Buffy’s fingers through hers and hauling her through the crowd amassing around the notice board. Halfway across the courtyard they bumped into Xander and Willow.

“Buff!” Willow chirped, eyes wide and excited. “How did you get on?”

Buffy blinked at her friend, and Faith shook her head quickly, trying to convey to the other two that questions probably weren’t a good idea right now.

“Sorry, Buff,” Xander told his friend sympathetically.

Faith huffed. “We’re heading to the library. Either come with and keep your mouth shut, or go hang out somewhere else for a bit.”

Faith tugged Buffy along with her again, and Willow and Xander fell into step behind them.

 When they reached the library, Giles took one look at Buffy’s pale, wide-eyed face and held his arms open for a hug. Almost immediately, she let go of Faith’s hand to practically barrel into her step-dad.

“I take it the, ah, the cheer tryouts didn’t go as well as hoped?” Giles asked Faith over Buffy’s head.

Faith shook her head, jamming her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket. “Didn’t make the team. Obviously they had idiots picking the team this year.”

“Quite,” Giles responded as Buffy pulled away. “I might be biased, but I think they made rather a large mistake not putting you on the team.”

Buffy smiled up at Giles with watery eyes. “You have to say that, you’re my step-dad.”

“Hence my bias,” he smiled back.

“On the plus side,” Xander piped up, “you won’t have to spend hours at a time learning routines with Cordelia and Harmony.”

Willow nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. You don’t even like anyone in the squad. You wouldn’t have had anyone to hang out with.”

Buffy considered this. “That’s true,” she said, though she didn’t quite sound convinced.

Faith made her way across the library then, and she slung an arm around Buffy’s shoulder. “Forget about them, B. We’ll start our own squad. The Sunnydale Slayers.” Faith grinned.

“You don’t do cheerleading, Faith,” Buffy reminded her girlfriend with a roll of her eyes.

“No,” Faith conceded with a shrug, “but I’d be pretty good at throwing you in the air and catching you. Besides, it’s a good excuse to man-handle your butt in public.”

Buffy flushed red at that, while Willow and Xander became remarkably interested in the wall, and Giles coughed awkwardly behind Faith.

“Yes, well,” Giles said as he polished his glasses. “Perhaps the four of you should go grab some lunch from the cafeteria, before lessons start again.”

As the four of them left the library, Faith kept her arm slung around Buffy’s shoulders.

“I’m serious about the cheer squad, B.” Faith grinned down at her girlfriend. “Can’t promise me or Harris will be as good as you, but I’d be tempted to try just to see the look on Cor’s face.”

Behind them, Willow cleared her throat purposefully. “Not really sure I’m cheerleader material, Faith.”

Xander nodded furiously. “Yeah, I second that. For me, I mean. Not Will.”

Faith glanced pointedly over her shoulder at the two of them. “Says who? This is our squad, we decide who makes the team, yeah?” She flashed them a grin.

Buffy giggled a little. “I’m 99% sure you’re joking,” she told her girlfriend, “but there’s one percent of me that’s a little worried you’re gonna get us all wearing matching tracksuits and stuff.”

“Nah,” Faith dismissed easily. “No matching tracksuits.” Then she grinned wickedly. “I just wanna see you in one of those short, cute cheerleading skirts.”

As Buffy flushed red for the second time in five minutes, Xander and Willow groaned and Faith let out a laugh.

[cringeater]

imagine if she was on something...

Having just turned 50, I decided to reflect on my life.

Why am I unemployed. Why do none of my old friends speak to me?

Why do I get angry at people for the slightest misstep that I perceive to be an attack against me?

Why have I been unable to hold onto any relationship whether it is romantic or platonic.

Why do I constantly feel attacked and insulted when there is no real attack or insult.

Why do I feel superior to everyone on the planet one moment and then start bawling because I feel like a worthless piece of shit, horrible person the next.

Why do I dwell for weeks on something that happened 30 years ago? Why do I beat myself up over something I did as a kid? Why do I beat myself up over nearly everything I do or say?

Why does someone bumping into me at the grocery store and not apologizing send me into a suicidal frenzy? A frenzy of self-loathing and tears and dread and believing that I have nothing but bad luck and that the universe must hate me.

I chain smoke and talk to myself while I plan my own demise. How dare someone give me a dirty look. How dare someone question my Twitter post. How dare someone not value my opinion.

So, I asked some acquaintances what they liked and disliked about me so I could, hopefully, change.

Their answers were not kind. They weren’t mean, but something about what they said shocked me because I never really viewed myself as what they described. I often view myself as better than most. Nicer than most. More polite than most. A better friend than most. Turns out, I’m none of that. I’m just a narcissist who overreacts to just about everything in (mostly) silent self-deprecation. Let me backtrack to the early 70s. I’m around 5 or 6. I’m across the street at my best friends apartment. We lived in Navy Housing. I run back to my house to grab something and run back, only I can’t remember what apartment she lives in. I’d been there 100 times, but I couldn’t remember. By the way, I have an enormous dent in the back of my skull that no one would tell me about. Anyway, I can’t remember what apartment, so I just start opening random doors. A large naked man saw me, laughed and invited me in. I panic, run out of the building, into my room and crawl under the covers where I stayed for days. I didn’t eat and spoke to no one. In fact, I was so mortified that I never saw my best friend, again. Seriously. And that’s how my brain has worked ever since. 

The internet gave me the chance to whine to everyone. Any chance I got, I’d whine about my terrible life. My lack of friends. My lack of romance. How no one liked me because I was ugly. I valued myself based on my looks. No one is ever attracted to me. I’m too ugly to live. I should just kill myself and put everyone out of their misery by having me gone.

I drank. A lot. It either soothed me or heightened my insecurities like waking up to a flashlight in my face.

I’ve been told to seek therapy thousands of times, even by my employer, but was either too embarrassed or assumed that I knew better than any doctor. I am, after all, smarter than everyone…until I remember that I’m actually dumber than everyone. I wish that I had kept a journal. However, I’m pretty sure that it would just be a lot of nonsensical writings blaming everyone and everything for my behavior. Someone was mean to me. Someone didn’t appreciate all of the things I did for them. Someone thought I was ugly and fat. Someone didn’t like my hair. Someone molested me. Someone didn’t love me. Someone didn’t pay attention to me. Someone lied to me. Someone avoided me. Now I’m in the introspection phase. I’m trying to put my behavior and lack of motivation together like a massive jigsaw puzzle. Want to come with me? Put your seatbelt on. Better grab a crash helmet, too, because this may get bumpy.

So, in 2013 I had reached the tipping point of being miserable at work. I was a radio personality at a very popular radio station in southern California. I had worked there since 1989. My original goal was to be a DJ, but took any job I was offered just to keep my foot in the door. I started out answering phones for the jocks. I…I’m having trouble describing myself at this time because I was young and don’t know if I was just reckless or knee-deep into a mental disorder. In any event, I was hard-working, yet lazy. I chatted with listeners more than I worked. I was threatened with being fired weekly, but for some reason, never was. My behavior would change for a few days and when things cooled down, I’d go right back to doing what I was told not to. I assumed that I was so beloved, that I’d go far in no time. That didn’t happen. Around this time, I started drinking. I’d take a sippy cup full of King Cobra in the car with me to drink on the way to work or school. Eventually, I was kicked out of college for lack of attendance and poor grades and that just confirmed that I was stupid. I would take a break from school, make up an excuse, petition and be allowed to re-enroll. This happened over and over. I’d make friends, have sex with most of them and never speak to them again. I’d fall in love. I’d fall out of love after they’d do something insignificant that annoyed me. I struggled financially. I went to my parents for money constantly. I stole money from my parents. I’ve never done drugs, only smoked pot a few times but drank a ton of beer I needed it to survive. I was outrageously promiscuous. Always looking for someone to love me, even if it was only for a few hours. When they didn’t love me back, they were banished from my life. I was like this for decades. I could go into story after story and example after example of my lazy, destructive, self-loathing, whiny behavior but it will just trigger me and if you are relating to anything I’m writing, it may trigger you, too. Let’s just avoid that for now. I will add, however, that I chose friends who talked down to me. Who talked shit about me to our peers. Who paid attention to me in negative, judgmental ways. I hated my friends but begged them to like me. I would make friends who were truly nice to me and end up hating them over some minor infraction like using my hairbrush or playfully making fun of me. Nerves were always touched, or should I say torched. I’d plan to kill myself only AFTER I did something to make them regret hurting me. I’ll show them. I’ll show all of them, right? When I was younger, I’d keep my anger and bitterness internalized. When I started drinking, it came out for the world to see. When I got older, I’d internalize it again and when social media became popular, I’d write it for the world to see. Every gripe. Every perceived slight. Every comment was an insult. Every suggestion was a jab at me. Every joke was really an opinion of my faults. See how my brain works? I always assumed I had raging PMS even though my self-loathing and anger was constant. Then, I thought I had raging ADD, which may or may not be true, but probably not the cause of my suicidal tendencies.

After I became a parent, I was so afraid of fucking my kid up that I drank more thinking it would help. Obviously, it made things a gazillion times worse. I was a functioning alcoholic. I was drunk nearly all day, every day. I hid it. At least, I assumed I did. I was an awful human being, so I doubt I hid it well. Here’s the thing, though. I thought I was funny. I was named Class Clown in high school. People at the radio station seemed to like me. The listeners liked me. I got good ratings. Everyone loved me. I think. I became obsessed with sex. I watched porn at work constantly. I got in trouble at work constantly. I eventually became a DJ after 12 years. I slept with anyone who asked. I came to work drunk and left even drunker. I had sex at work, after work before work. I was a terrible mother. Not abusive, but only thought of myself. Everything was an inconvenience to me. I divorced. I slept around more. I liked unavailable men. I hated everyone. I loathed myself. I resented everyone. I was constantly struggling financially. I never felt in control of anything. Not my surroundings, not my brain, not my body, not my career, not my choices. I always felt as if I was being pulled by someone else’s strings, but nobody was there except me. I used to fly off the handle over the smallest incidents. I mean teeny. My poor kid. The shit he had to go through watching me lose my fucking mind over dead batteries in the remote. Jesus Christ if I could go back in time. I assumed my outbursts were because of my drinking. Then I assumed they were because I was a failure at everything and feeling sorry for myself. Then, after 26 years, I finally got fired. Oh. My. God. Wanna talk about a trigger? Thing is. I quit drinking. I quit cold turkey. A few years earlier, three family members died months apart so I was still dealing with packing up their house and I just didn’t have time to drink. No time for hangovers. I also decided to alienate myself from EVERYONE. I didn’t have a job, I was worthless. I lost my only sense of identity. Being that girl on the radio. Turns out that those who no longer HAD to talk to me, didn’t. I lost all of my ‘friends’ and that’s something that pissed me off immensely up until a few days ago. I harbored resentment for YEARS. So, I get fired. Get my real estate license for CA, realize that I’m terrible at math and have horrific dyslexia and decided to LEAVE CA and move to Colorado to live with my mother who I hadn’t seen in 10 years.  There’s so much that happens in between this but honestly, my brain is going 5,000 mph so I’ll have to come back to it later. I mean, up until a few hours ago, I thought I was the nicest person on earth. I never kill bugs, I put them outside. I feed stray cats. I picked dead animals up in the rod and pay for their cremation. I pull furniture out of the road so cars don’t run over it. But maybe I’m not nice. Maybe I’m just seeking validation. Maybe I just wrote that so you’d think I was amazing. Yes, I had an unloving mother (still do) who either ignored me completely or verbally abused me. When I told her that a close family member was sexually abusing me, she became furious with me and said that she’d speak to him about it. Nothing ever changed. I digress. I moved to Colorado and have made no friends, cannot find work and am broker than a mother fucker. I take surveys for spending money. I have a car that has a broken computer and am unmotivated to do anything but whine and cry and contemplate suicide. None of my former colleges speak to me. They claim to be afraid of my wrath. Although, I must admit that there were times that I loved being intimidating. I loved that people were afraid of me. Maybe because I was bullied severely in junior high. I don’t know. So, like I said…and I’m sorry that this is all over the place…I decided to figure out what my major malfunction really was rather than blame everyone else for my woes. I started watching tarot videos and they were all on point (there were a few times in my life that I believed I was a sorcerer and could control everything though magic, but that’s for another time). These videos were mostly ‘pick a card’ or Virgo specific and they were all nail on head. One video would lead me to another, to another, and so on. Then, I started watching videos about having an unloving, neglectful mother. Then I started looking up how to commit suicide. Then I started looking up videos on how to change my personality. Then, I had a meltdown. I was waiting to make a left turn when I noticed the older female driver behind me waving her arms and screaming (presumably at me). I have a Jeep and it’s hard for a car to see what I see. As I waited for the two cars in front of me to turn so I could make mine, I couldn’t stop watching her flipping me off and flailing about in frustration over my lack of movement and it triggered me HARD. I came home and cried and planned my suicide and cried some more and begged God to kill me over this stranger who was in the wrong lane, freaking out over me abiding by traffic laws. Then I dawned on me that there may be something going on in my brain that is making me behave like this. This constant all or nothing overreaction. The, either you love me or you hate my guts thing. The anxiety, the depression, the whining, the negativity, the self-loathing, the hatred of every living person on the planet. I’ve even hated my own kid for weeks because he said something to me that hurt my feelings. Can you imagine? He’s 25 and still lives with me, but that’s also another story. Just like the fact I live with my narcissistic, unloving mother who makes me want to slit my throat. All for another time.  I was so exhausted living in my own world of believing that everything inconvenient that happens to me is bad luck. Someone didn’t smile at me, bad luck I’d better burn the shirt I’m wearing. Do I sound crazy? Yes. Do I know what to do about it having zero income? No. Going back to my mother for a second, she just triggered me. I’m trying to self-soothe as I type this. She does this thing where if she needs help or wants me to do something for her, she screams. Like, a scream you’d make when you catch someone breaking into your car. Screams. So, I always end up running downstairs only to discover that she dropped something or her TV remote doesn’t work. She refers to me as, ‘someone’ and ‘anyone’. Never by my name. Waiting for my heart stop racing…you’d think I’d be used to this. Her behavior is my biggest trigger. I had a boss who reminded me of her. A boss who actually called me a cunt once for posting on my Facebook that ‘d be better off dead. Called me a cunt. To my face. For everyone to hear. Now, I’m glad she fired me. How much more of THAT could I have taken? Oh, wait. I’m still taking it, but this time I’m not getting paid. My goal is to get out of here and never return. 

I’m going to assume that I’m mentally ill. I haven’t been in a relationship since 2007. I haven’t had sex since 2011 because I’m afraid ghosts are watching me. I haven’t had a drink since 2014 and I haven’t had a face to face conversation with another human being since 2015. What has happened to me? Am I mentally ill? It has to be more than depression. It has to be more than bipolar. Nothing brings me joy. I’m paranoid. I used to be fun and creative and now I hate myself even more than ever, yet I admire myself. I want to die yet I want to see if something good will happen. I want to be loved yet I don’t want to go through the trouble. I’m not hungry yet I’ll eat junk food until I can’t put on my pants. I can’t even masturbate because I feel like it’s going to bring me bad luck. The thing is, I am fully aware of how insane this sounds. I’m aware that this is not normal, I just can’t stop myself. I’ve learned to hold in my verbal abuse because I avoid confrontation like the plague now. I’ve always kind of avoided it, but booze made it easier. Now, I’ll apologize for things I’m not even sorry for. Things I didn’t even do wrong just to avoid ANY conflict. I’m even avoiding social media. Some girl came after me on NextDoor last week and I actually put a hose in my tailpipe. Over some stranger. On fucking NextDoor. The blessing is that no one will ever read this. No one likes me and no one reads my blogs and fuck if I’m going to advertise this. I need help. I believe if I can fix whatever is going on in my brain, I can function like a 50-year-old adult, find work, maybe even love and live adequately ever after. I guess you’re going to judge me, now. It will trigger me and I’ll cry and probably try to kill myself, but you’ll think I’m looking for sympathy or being melodramatic. I’m not looking for sympathy for the devil, just a little tenderness. Yes, I realize that this looks like just a massive blog of bitching, moaning and complaining but I’m trying to show how my mind works, not whine. Well, whine a little. It’s really all I’ve got right now.

Until my next manic meltdown…

[madmadmilk]

thank u 2018

incredibly late, but it’s something she’s still working at :)

i just need wanna say thank you to every single one of you. followers or not, mutuals or not, notifications on or not. vocal friend or quiet reader. casual anon or frequent asker. you just gotta know that you’ve greatly shaped my online experience in 2018. (in a good way, honestly)

idk if i’m just painfully positive or just down for anything but w o w. i never expected to connect to people or express myself in full on the internet/tumblr. i was just never really great at the social media thing-- or keeping up with messages thing-- or finishing anything i started. (all of those are arguably still true) so.... being here is just ??

i think i started this blog in late february, kinda out of boredom and the feeling of “oh i can do that too, and i can do it better.” (not that it was ever an actual competition, but i always feel like if you think you wanna change something.... do it. make it your own and do it for yourself) nah, i didn’t expect to like get any attention. i just wanted a lil anonymous space to share things i like. lol wrote some fics that are “eh” but helped me explore my feelings and flesh out my piece of the world. it’s pretty cool, and it kept me occupied from being a lonely lump holed up in my room. tumblr saved me in a lot of ways--

happy (tumblr) things in 2018:

- abrupt and undying love and lust for t*m h*lland

- made a weird blog with a weird username and lots of weird tags to go with it

- made online friends (??) < but i’m bad at keeping up so............ see below>

- made lots of art >:)

- wrote lots of things and POSTED them... and people liked it??? (i’m pretty sure i’ve written more than 100K for (1) whole idiot man)

- accidentally tricked people into following me lol

- .... inspired...??? other?? people????????? ??? (please confirm or deny)

- my inbox is always... popping

- lol made it into a buzzfeed post my gOd

- every comment, ask, reblog, or like received made my heart go ***

- pretty sure tom and/or haz has seen the blog but it’s aight

things to keep in mind for 2019:

- i wanna be better at talking to people, remembering names and usernames and being more prompt with replies :V 

- rekindle passion for writing and drawing–– find time, make time, give time

- sleep better and more

- move out end of 2019/early 2020 & maintain a job 

- lol reach 10K followers by february so we can celebrate 1 year on the blog with something crazy

- get a real haircut

- better maintain physical health

- be cooler than 2013 jacky

- and love lots

so thank u guys for being here and hanging out when you do :) i know i disappear a lot and this or that but i really appreciate the little things you leave me!!!! this is a dumb lil blog but it’s a happy space for me, and it makes me warm to know that some of you think of it that way too !! so lets walk into 2019 ready to kick names and take some ass. i’ll always be here when u need me

stay warm and cozy into 2019

or else

>:)

love always,

madmadmilk 🌹

[crappyfics]

Cherry Bomb [Part 2]

Rockstar!au / Chanyeol x Reader

Word count: 1 933

Pervious part / Masterlist

“What do you mean by ‘bandmates’? You’ve never told us about your acquaintance and we’ve been in the dark all this time!” Kyung was furiously yelling at me in the parking lot a few blocks away from my apartment building. There was no one with us, not even the rest of the band. They were all gone to their homes and even took Somi with them not to witness the discussion that was about to go down. 

“It is not like we’re friends anyway. We used to be in the same band a few years ago, but that was it.” I explain myself but he clearly didn’t think this was good enough explanation. 

“The way he talked to you tonight didn’t seem like you were just bandmates, Y/N!” He laughed unamused and brought his hand up to his hair pushing it back trying to calm down his nerves. It wasn’t the first time I saw him having a crisis but this time I did not exactly know the reason why he was freaking out. I could guess it was only because I was one of Park Chanyeol’s ‘old friends’, but it felt more like Kyung did not like it when the rockstar took me to the back door for a private conversation. 

If it was already complicated to explain how things were between Chanyeol and me in the past, it was even worst to try and explain what Kyung and I are in the present. I don’t know, it was some kind of weird open relationship that wasn’t ever serious or anything but we tended to ask for a commitment from each other. Our complicated relationship was only a stupid way of being together without ever letting our personal lives affect the band, which was our business. We never meant to go into deep, we never meant to fall for each other, but it was too late to go back when we always found ourselves tangled in the sheets and sharing dreams before going to bed. 

We liked to lie to ourselves too. We pretended that we were fine the way we were, that it really did not affect our band, that regardless of what would happen between us, we would remain professional. But Zack and Jin knew how close we were and how this crazy ass relationship was toxic. If only we assumed each other and tried to keep a balance without hiding and pretending to even our bandmates and friends that we were nothing, things would go much better. 

Me knowing Chanyeol and hiding it from everyone could be a parcel of our argument tonight, but to Kyung the big deal was when I left to speak to the big guy in a more private place because I used to be that close with him. 

“We only talked, Kyung.” 

“What about?” 

“I never hide anything from you, but this time please don’t ask me that.”

“And why not? We’ve been struggling for so long to have stupid gigs around town meanwhile all along you knew someone in the industry. You simply hid it from us that you had a passageway to the industry much easier than what we've been trying to do. I- I don’t get it! And now you can’t tell me what you and Park fucking Chanyeol were talking about?”

“It is strictly personal. I really hoped you could understand that.”

“No, I can’t, Y/N. I can’t! You wanna know why? Because now you’re not hiding things from the band, you are hiding from me and that doesn’t bother me, it infuriates me!”

“Chanyeol and I used to be friends. That’s all, Kyung! We barely still know each other. Telling you that I had a stupid garage band with him wouldn’t change a single thing because HE kicked me out of it!” his wide eyes now watched me surprised by the revelation. Who would ever think that me, a nobody, was once in a band with the biggest rock star in Asia and managed to get kicked out of the project? Oh well, nobody, not even Kyung saw that coming. “He would never help us get there, he would never do anything for me. He never did! Instead, he would steal our songs and make them his own!”

Pause.

It was cold outside but all the yelling heated our bodies. It felt like the thick coat of tension in the air was enough to warm us up. Kyung kept staring at me still agape not really knowing what to say. Me, on the other hand, I did know what I wanted and it was to go home. I couldn’t allow Chanyeol to destroy my career once again, especially now that he had nothing to do with it. I was tired from the concert and the fighting, I just wanted to stay alone, to go home and be by myself. I wasn’t mad at Kyung. I understood his point, or at least I tried. I just didn’t want to open up more than I’ve already done that night. It was enough for me to deal with the memory of Park Chanyeol alone. I didn’t wanna risk having other people reminding me of the guy at times. It was always better keeping it a secret.

“I wanna go home.”

I entered the car and Kyung followed me going to the driver’s seat and silently starting the car. The only sound we could hear was from the engines of the vehicle, we were both silent not really knowing how to approach each other at that point. I wanted to say I was fine and that we should forget about tonight, but I couldn’t forget the memory of Chanyeol’s tall figure towering me when we were both alone by the back door of the venue where the music was muffled and we could hear each other's strange feelings. 

Kyung kissed me goodnight before I left the car, but it wasn’t his affection I was craving tonight. I just hoped it all went away just like Chanyeol did and would do once again. 

I could hear the kettle on the stove dramatically announce that the water was boiling. I got up from the couch and ran to the kitchen to pour myself a generous mug of tea. It wasn’t any great medicine, no. But it sure would help me organize my thoughts better, maybe intercalate ideas between sips. I thought that it all would be weird once the band met again for rehearsal, but afraid of the truth, I stuck with the doubt. I avoided meeting the boys only limiting our conversations to quick and objective text messages.

The only one who caught me home with no difficulty was Somi. But knowing that I wasn’t on my 100%, she also avoided talking about my band's last gig. She did not really have a filter for social interactions, but she had a lot of respect for me and my personal space. Knowing that, I had no problem being at home with her because I knew she wouldn’t push my buttons. Not so soon. 

On cue, I saw my best friend come out of her room and join me at the kitchen table. 

“What’s up?”

“Been trying to finish my homework but I guess I’ll leave it for tomorrow.”

I only nod and shift on my chair giving her space to come and sit beside me. She poured herself some tea and silently we drank from our cups. School was Somi’s life. She woke up early in the morning every day to go to class and she came home late at night. She spent most of her day studying and if not, she would be at work trying to make enough to pay the bills. She would go out with her friends sometimes, but most of those times it was to watch my shows. But she was an ordinary girl. She had an ordinary life and that was amazing. Somi was very down to earth meanwhile I tried to believe I was as responsible as she was. I liked to believe that being a musician was my destiny, that I had a talent for no other thing in this world. But when your band is not very successful, and your talent is not well recognized by big labels, that’s when you have to question yourself and your life decisions. My tea was almost over but I still had no many thoughts I had to go through. I put my cup down. Maybe I should go back to school. Making music was not making much money, at least if I got a job as a waitress and went back to school I might have had a chance to succeed. 

"He asked me what I was doing,” I spoke up making Somi look up at me and try to understand the randomness of the conversation. She stared at me silently. “Chanyeol. He asked me what I was doing playing at a club.”

“What does that even mean?”

“He thinks it’s pathetic.” I moved to drink some more of my tea but I stopped midway remembering there was no more in the cup. I put it down once again. If a sigh could last 4 minutes, that was what Somi would hear from me in the kitchen. “Before that night, the last time I saw Chanyeol was in the garage of his parents’ house. It was after a show in a club. Back then he didn’t think it was pathetic.”

“Why did he even took you to the back door that night? To fucking mock you? What’s wrong with that guy?”

“I wish I knew.”

Ever since my last show, Cherry Bomb got quite popular around town. There were videos all over the internet, and on twitter, we gained so many followers. It had never happened after our show, but last time Zack checked, Byun Baekhyun, one of the Byun siblings, had posted a video of us on Instagram and things got crazy online. 

I wasn’t very fond of the virtual world but I could not deny its power. Zack was doing his best on updating all our social media accounts but things got a little weird and scandalous when rumors started popping out on our feed. Some comments on videos and photos were about “that girl and Chanyeol secretly talking in the back exit door of The Cave.” It was absurd. If they only knew Chanyeol was not being a flirt, these rumors wouldn't have spread so fast like that. 

As if I liked the martyr, when I heard from my bandmates that people were talking about me and the rockstar, I started accessing our accounts just for the sake of knowing what they were saying. Countless comments, countless lies, but also countless pictures taken of us talking so close to each other that from another angle it would look like something else. I was drowning in so much toxicity from the abusive posts, but I could not help myself from seeing them. It was all pretty stupid in the beginning until thousands of notification started appearing on our account.

@Park_CY Old friends reuniting. Fun times!

"OLD FRIENDS!” He literally said that! He called ourselves old friends for the entire internet to see. This was NOT what Park Chanyeol would ever tweet. ‘Old friends’ was not what we seemed to be that night. He called me pathetic, he mocked me, he was not friendly at all. Something was up and I had to find out as soon as possible before it was too late to protect my bandmates. 

Bridge chapter

[atc74]

If You Could Only See

Written for: Me

Pairing: Rob x Me (Robelina)

Warnings: self-doubt, brief mentions of poor body image, fluff

Word Count: 2536 (with lyrics)

Catch up on Say It Like That

I have had this idea rolling around in my head for some time now and how Rob and the boys (well, everyone, really) would react in this situation. I used the song If You Could Only See by Tonic, one of my faves. Thank you to @hannahindie for being an amazingly supportive beta and to @iwantthedean for being the best cheerleader and supporter ever. Love ya both!

Photo credit to my amazing friend @mandileaphotography who takes the most beautiful pictures and fully supports the rabbit hole I have fallen in, mostly because she fuels the fire with pics like this.  

I lay on our king sized bed, alone. The fading sun lit up our bedroom just enough to set off the sparkle in the brand new diamond ring on my left hand. Rob was gone at another convention weekend and I missed him so damn much when he was gone. We knew this wasn’t going to be easy when got together, but, as the reality set in, I didn’t think it was going to be this hard.

“Fuck it!” I pulled myself from the bed and started packing a bag. What good was five weeks vacation if you never really used it? My fiance, the love of my life, was only a plane ride away and I was going to be with him come hell or high water. I sent my boss a text and finished packing. I booked the next flight leaving for Vancouver in just three hours. It was a red eye, but I would be there when he woke up in the morning. I couldn’t wait to wake up to him every morning for the rest of our lives.

Sitting in a near empty terminal at the airport, I pulled out my phone. My guilty pleasure was scrolling through my camera roll just to see his bright shining face. When I ran out of pics to gaze longingly at, I switched over to his Insta. He always posted the most ridiculous pics of the two of us together, or his angry face, which was still adorable. I stopped at the most recent picture of us he had posted. Jensen had captured the moment he popped the question the previous weekend in Minneapolis. I had my arms wrapped around his neck and his smile was so big, despite the tears in his eyes. My heart swelled just thinking about that moment again.

I was happy, but some of the comments caught my attention. I knew I shouldn’t let it get to me, but it did. I was in a low place after my first marriage fell apart and it took a long time to gain that confidence back. Funny how only a couple comments can kick it to the curb in a fraction of a second.

I quickly shook those thoughts from my cluttered mind as my flight was called. I grabbed my carry on and made my way to the gate. Just a few more hours and I would be back in his arms and everything would be okay. Vancouver was two hours behind, so I texted Rob as I settled into my seat.

The Captain came on and I turned my phone off. I wasn’t a nervous flyer, but I couldn’t wait to get to Vancouver and see my love. In a little over three hours I would be landing and prayed that Customs would be smooth and expedient.

~*~

The plane touched down ten minutes early, according to the Captain, and as soon as we were allowed, I turned my phone back on. There was one text from Rob, saying that he was heading out with Rich and the boys, but would call me when he got back to his room, around one in the morning. I checked the time and realized that if I could clear Customs quickly, I would likely be able to meet him at his room. I quickly texted him back and confirmed I would still be up.

Then I texted Rich and filled him on my plan. He said he had it taken care of a couple minutes later. Customs wasn’t busy this time of night and before I knew it I was in a cab on my way to the hotel. I confirmed my “name” with the front desk and they handed me a key. I found the elevator and cursed the damn thing for going so slow. It was already half past twelve. Luckily there was no one else on the lift and I made it to the tenth floor and down the hall to Rob’s room. I let myself in and freshened up. Eight minutes later, I was naked and in his bed, the sheet draped what I hoped was alluringly, over my body. The minutes ticked by and then I heard a commotion in the hall. They were back. Please God, don’t let him invite anyone in, I thought to myself and held my breath.

“Are you guys sure you don’t want to come in for one more?”I heard him call down the hall, but they turned him down. I breathed a sigh of relief as I heard him enter the room and the door click shut. He must have been pouring himself a nightcap, because it took too long for him to reach the bedroom. Rob flipped the light on and his eyes landed on me. It took a moment for him to register what he was seeing, but I saw it when it did. He crossed the room in just a few strides and set his beer on the nightstand.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his breath shaky as he pulled me into his arms.

“I couldn’t stand being apart this soon after our engagement. I want to be with you, so I flew out and got here as quick as I could,” I held him as tight as he was holding me. I buried my face in his neck and breathed him in, a familiar comfort settling over me.

“Well, now that you are here...what am I going to do with you?” he asked, a sly smile on his face.

“Whatever you like, Mr. Benedict,” I responded coyly, letting the sheet fall from my frame. I had always been a little heavy, but Rob worshipped my body and made me feel like his queen.

“Oh, I like the sound of that Future-Mrs. Benedict,” he laughed and jumped into the bed next to me and I wasted no time stripping him of his signature black button down and black jeans. I was lost to him the moment he walked in and we spent the next few hours wandering aimlessly, exploring each other with only one destination in mind.

~*~

I sat in the green room, waiting for Rob and Rich to finish their opening on Friday morning. Out of habit, I checked my social media. Olivia was staying with my brother for the weekend and I knew my sister-in-law would post new pictures as they enjoyed the beautiful weather and I was right. Clicking the heart, I moved on when I got a new notification from the post Rob made that morning as we enjoyed waffles and strawberries in bed.

The comments were rolling in and the burn of fresh tears stung my eyes. I was better than this. I wasn’t going to let the haters hate. I worked damn hard to change my body and own thoughts about it. Rob helped with that since we started dating and there wasn’t a day that went by when he didn’t tell me how beautiful I was. It was different hearing it from people you didn’t even know.

I quickly wiped the tears away when I heard them introduce the first guest. I pulled myself together and plastered a smile on my face just in time for them to enter the green room.

“Babe, what’s wrong? Have you been crying?” Rob took the seat next to me, taking my hands in his, looking into my eyes. Damn for falling for such an observant and amazing man.

“Yeah, just looking at some pics of Liv that my sister-in-law posted. I miss my girl,” I sniffed, trying to cover my lie. I hated lying to him, but there was no reason we should both be down.

“I know, but we’ll be home soon,” he pulled me into his arms and I felt better already. He and Liv were all I really needed.

~*~

“Hey, Ang! How’s tricks?” Jensen surprised me in the green room, while everyone was doing a sound check.

“Hey Jens! How are you? He hugged me tightly, lifting me off the ground.

“Wanna talk about it?” he looked right through me. Damnit! What was it with all of these men and their powers of observation?!

“Not really,” I looked down at my feet, but he refused to let it go. He pulled me to the loveseat and turned to look at me.

“Is this about the comments on Rob’s Insta post this morning? They’re wrong and we both know it. So does Rob, ya know,” his voice was filled with concern.

“I know, but it still stings a bit,” I looked up at him, fresh tears shining in my eyes. He leaned forward to wipe them away before placing a gentle kiss to my forehead.

“I know. But we always have your back, Darlin’. Don’t you forget that,” he hugged me once more before everyone returned to the green room.

“Hey Ackles! Hands off my girl!” Rob yelled across the room.

“Can you blame me? Have you seen this ginger beauty?!” He turned to me with a wink and walked away, pulling Rob with him. They talked for a few moments before Rob joined me.

“Do you know how much I love you?” he looked at me, with such love and adoration in his eyes that I couldn’t help but tear up again.

“More than all the grains of sand on all the beaches in all of the world?” I smiled up at him.

“Even more than that and more and more each day,” he pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was soft and tender and I melted into him.

~*~

“Hey ‘Couver! How we doin’ tonight?” Jensen’s voice boomed through the hotel ballroom. I stood off to the side with Jared, his arm draped casually across my shoulders. Jensen’s greeting was met with whoops and hollers.

“So some of you may know my friends, Rob and Angelina, just got engaged right?” he asked the crowd and received applause and whistles in response. My smile grew as Jared looked down at me, a smile on his own face. Rich stepped up beside me, pecking me on the cheek.

“We got you, Sugar,” he whispered before joining Jensen and the band on stage.

“Well, and I am not saying it was any of you, but there was some hate thrown around at Rob’s fiance this morning. If it was you, and you know who you are, there’s the door,” he threw his arm up and pointed at the exit. “This family is about love and acceptance and we always have your back, but that means you have to have ours too, and our significant others. There is no room for hate here. Hey Robby, you got something you wanna say?”

The band started playing a familiar song, one of my favorites and I felt myself get choked up as Rob started singing. Jared moved behind me and wrapped me in a bear hug, swaying us gently to the music.

If you could only see the way she loves me

Then maybe you would understand

Why I feel this way about our love

And what I must do

If you could only see how blue her eyes can be when she says

When she says she loves me

Well you got your reasons

And you got your lies

And you got your manipulations

They cut me down to size

Sayin' you love but you don't

You give your love but you won't

If you could only see the way she loves me

Then maybe you would understand

Why I feel this way about our love

And what I must do

If you could only see how blue her eyes can be when she says

When she says she loves me

Seems the road less traveled

Shows happiness unraveled

And you got to take a little dirt

To keep what you love

That's what you gotta do

Sayin' you love but you don't

You give your love but you won't

You're stretching out your arms to something that's just not there

Sayin' you love where you stand

Give your heart when you can

If you could only see the way she loves me

Then maybe you would understand

Why I feel this way about our love

And what I must do

If you could only see how blue her eyes can be when she says

When she says she loves me

Sayin' you love but you don't

You give your love but you won't

Sayin' you love where you stand

Give your heart when you can

If you could only see the way she loves me

Then maybe you would understand

Why I feel this way about our love

And what I must do

If you could only see how blue her eyes can be when she says

When she says she loves me

The song ended to full applause and a standing ovation. Rob walked over to me, releasing me from Jared and pulled me into a hug, kissing me soundly. As he pulled away, he grabbed my hand leading me back to the stage with him. With Rob on one side and Jensen on the other, I felt so loved. That was until we were joined by Rich and Jared. Then Misha, Kim, Brianna, David, Adam, Ruth stood beside us. Even Chris, Billy, Stephen and Mike set down their instruments and filled in the circle. My heart had never been fuller. With my hand tightly in Rob’s, I stepped up to the microphone.

“Thank you family,” I bowed, Rob still next to me and we walked of the stage hand in hand surrounded by our friends and family.

~*~

“Hey Baby, I need you to come with me to photo ops,” Rob told me that morning as we dressed.

“Why? I really have no desire to watch women put their hands on what’s mine all day. Knowing it happens and watching it are two different things,” I told him as I finished applying my mascara. I fluffed my hair one more time and walked out into the bedroom. I had chosen my SPN Love shirt covered by a white and blue flannel. Rob was also wearing a black and gray flannel and we laughed together at our coordinating plaids.

“No, you don’t have to stay. Schmelke just wants a picture since we didn’t get one in Minneapolis last weekend,” he told me.

“Well, I suppose I can handle having him take a picture of us, but then I am going to the gold panel,” I grinned as he rolled his eyes.

~*~

“Thanks guys! I got it and it looks fabulous,” Chris shouted over the music and I left Rob’s embrace to look at the shots he had taken, but he quickly passed the camera off to his assistant. “You better get out of here before they let the masses in!”

I was sitting in Jared and Jensen’s Gold panel when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I looked at the notification; it was a new email from Chris. I opened the attachment and a smile broke out across my face. I immediately saved it and posted it to my Insta.

The Whole Enchilada Tags - join the fiesta here: @sis-tafics​  @holyfuckloueh​ @gh0stgurl​ @hobby27​  @bethbabybaby​ @anspgene​ @paintrider13-blog​ @cyrilconnelly​ @chelsea072498​ @just-another-busy-fangirl​ @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms​ @d-s-winchester​ @roxyspearing​ @heyitscam99​ @iwantthedean​ @jpadjackles​ @mogaruke​ @smoothdogsgirl​ @x-waywardaf-x​ @myoutletforfanfiction​ @growningupgeek​ @spnbaby-67​ @wonderange​ @emoryhemsworth​ @crispychrissy​ @impalaimagining​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @docharleythegeekqueen​ @katymacsupernatural​ @hennessy0274-blog​ @esoltis280​ @shaelyn102​ @charliebradbury1104​ @pinknerdpanda​ @hannahindie​ @wingedcatninja​ @highfunctioning-sociopath​ @speakinvain​  @evansrogerskitten​ @percussiongirl2017​ @blacktithe7​ @winchesterprincessbride​ @theoriginalvicki​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @sweetpeamoose​ @mamaredd123​ @sandlee44​ @mottergirl99​ @meeshw777​ @squirrel-moose-winchester​ @milkymilky-cocopuff​ @meganwinchester1999​ @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​ @grace-for-sale​ @4401lnc​  @countrygal17a​ @tina8009​ @andkatiethings​ @nanie5​ 

Rob Worshipers: @natasha-cole​ @ellen-reincarnated1967​ @a-queen-and-her-throne​ @shanghai88​

[thisisthestoryofanotherus]

Sad Song-Michael Clifford

I heard this song and knew I had to put it in something…gotta love We The Kings…This is the Mikey version of the 4/4 where management makes you pr date one of the guys….so ya….enjoy!

You were in desperate need of new guitar picks. You were hopeless at being able to keep anything, honestly if your head wasn’t attached to your body you might loose it. You headed to your favorite music store, to get some new picks and see what new guitars they had. You were eyeing this Yamaha acoustic guitar, when you heard a familiar melody. Someone was playing on one of the pianos. It was “Sad Song” by We The Kings, one of your favorites…actually one you used to listen to quite often after you broke up with someone very special to you. Whoever was playing was good. Really good. You decided to find this mystery player. You headed to where the pianos, where a boy with longer blond hair in a red flannel shirt was playing. You were standing behind him, so you couldn’t see his face. But when he started singing, you instantly knew who this boy was.

“You and I, We’re like fireworks and symphonies exploding in the sky.

With you, I’m alive, Like all the missing pieces of my heart, they finally collide.

So stop time right here in the moonlight, ‘Cause I don’t ever wanna close my eyes.”

He sang in a deep, raspy voice. Then he proceeded to sing the chorus.

“Without you, I feel broke. Like I’m half of a whole.

Without you, I’ve got no hand to hold.

Without you, I feel torn. Like a sail in a storm.

Without you, I’m just a sad song. I’m just a sad song…”

He continued to play, and the sight of this boy who used to mean so much of you pulled at your heart. He hadn’t noticed you were there, so it made it easy for you to join in on the next part.

“With you I fall. It’s like I’m leaving all my past in silhouettes upon the wall.

With you I’m a beautiful mess. It’s like we’re standing hand in hand with all our fears upon the edge.

So stop time right here in the moonlight, 'Cause I don’t ever wanna close my eyes.”

He didn’t stop playing, and you saw him smile even before he looked at you. He knew your voice just as well as you knew his, and would recognize it anywhere. You finished the rest of the song together.

“Without you, I feel broke. Like I’m half of a whole.

Without you, I’ve got no hand to hold.

Without you, I feel torn. Like a sail in a storm.

Without you, I’m just a sad song.

You’re the perfect melody, The only harmony I wanna hear.

You’re my favorite part of me,

With you standing next to me, I’ve got nothing to fear.”

“Without you, I feel broke. Like I’m half of a whole.”

“Without you, I’ve got no hand to hold.”

“Without you, I feel torn. Like a sail in a storm.

Without you, I’m just a sad song.

Without you, I feel broke. Like I’m half of a whole.

Without you, I’ve got no hand to hold.

Without you, I feel torn. Like a sail in a storm.

Without you, I’m just a sad song. I’m just a sad song…”

Despite the years apart, you still knew each other well, especially when it came to music. This was probably the best cover the two of you had ever done together. When you finished, there was applause filling the shop.

“Looks like the audience loves us Y/n” The blond boy said.

“They always have Michael” You smiled.

“How’ve you been? It’s been what?”

“Too long. I’m doing good. I’m guessing you are too, from the way your band has took off”

“Yes. It’s been amazing,”

“How are the guys?”

“They’re great. They’d love to see you…I’d like to spend some time with you too…”

“Michael-”

“Just dinner or something?”

“Sorry…I just can't…”

“Y/n…”

“Look Michael. It took me a long time to get over you…I understand why we had to break things off, I mean you had so many people expecting things from you, and management thought I’d be a distraction…but that doesn’t mean that years later, you can just walk into my life again Michael”

“I’m sorry…” Michael said, a pained expression on his face.

“I know Mikey” You said, tears in your eyes. “Take care of yourself ok?”

Before you could turn to go, he pulled your arm to bring you into a tight embrace. You stayed like that for awhile, wrapped in his arms. It felt so nice, brought back so many good memories. But then you pulled away, kissing his cheek.

“Bye Mikey”

“Bye Y/n”

Then you left the store, refusing to loo back. So much for the guitar picks.

…..

Later when you got home, you opened twitter, needing a distraction so you wouldn’t dwell on what just happened.

However the internet was cruel.

As soon as you opened the app you saw that you had gotten over 100 new followers. You were flattered, but knew something had to be up. Sure enough, all over your feed there was a video of you and Michael singing. There were even pictures of you guys hugging and you kissing his cheek. Of course this was all the 5sos fam was talking about.

Who is she?

Oh my gosh its Y/n! Remember when they used to date?

So cute!

Think they’re back together?

These were some of many comments you read. Weird how some fans literally knew everything, you just hoped they were just really old fans who were there from the beginning.

So that was why so many people were following you, and why you were tagged by all these people.

So much for forgetting what happened. You turned off your phone and decided to call it a night, even if it was only 8. You didn’t want to deal with anything now.

…..

The next morning you were woken up by the sound of your phone ringing. You weren’t able to resist last night, and scrolled though everything everyone was saying about you, luckily mostly nice things.

“Hello?” You said groggily. You looked at the clock. 7:30. Who calls so early?

“Miss Y/n?”

“Yes…who is this?”

“My name is Joan. I’m part of the 5sos management?”

This woke you up.

“What? Um…what do you guys want with me?”

“We’d like you to come down and meet with us. We’ll send you the address. Be here in one hour. Believe me, you should come” Then she hung up.

What the hell? Sure enough you received a text message with an address seconds later.

Feeling as though you had no choice, you quickly got dressed and headed down to meet with that goddamn management that you still couldn’t bring yourself to particularly like.

…..

The address was one of those fancy hotels that held a lot of business meetings. Sure enough, the room given to you was a conference room. There was a lady already there, who you were assuming was Joan, and another man you didn’t recognize. Of course management would change, maybe this was a good thing.

“Y/n. So glad you could make it. I’m Joan.” Joan said, standing up to shake your hand then leading you to the table.

“Hello. My name is Mark.” The man shook your hand.

“Hi…so what is this about?” You asked.

“All will be explained in just a bit Y/n. We’re waiting on one more person” Mark smiled.

“Yes and in the meantime, tell us about your former relationship with Michael?” Joan asked calmly, as if she was asking about the weather and not something very personal.

“Me and Michael? Um…we dated for about a year. Then his band started to take off. And people not to different from you thought it would be a good idea for us to break things off. End of story”

Before they could answer, the door burst open and Michael came running in.

“Sorry I’m late! I was-Y/n? What are you doing here?”

“That’s what I’m waiting to find out”

“Michael. Finally. Aright now that we have the both of you together, I’ll get straight to the point. We want the both of you to date”

“Isn’t that our decision” You said while Michael said “Woah”

“For PR purposes of course. We don’t expect you guys to be in a committed relationship based off our request. Listen it will be great for the  both of you. You both used to date before, so news of you guys getting back together will be huge. Already, those pictures from yesterday are all over the place. It will give you both some positive attention. Y/n, you are releasing an album soon are you not? This could give you the perfect opportunity to  gets some publicity-”

“Wait, you’re trying to bribe her? That’s ridiculous! I mean she’d-” Michael practically yelled, but you interrupted him.

“Might just agree. I’m not as famous as you Mikey, and my music is going well, but any attention is kind of needed right now…”

“Very good Y/n-” You also cut Joan off

“Of course I would need to know what exactly this whole "PR relationship” entitle? What do you expect us to do?“

"Everything will be set up of course. Paparazzi sent to the restaurant, they take a few photos. Then of course you guys post some things on social media, make it seem as though you guys are dating. That’s really all there is to it” Mark said.

“So do we have an agreement?” Joan added

You looked at Michael.

“You’re not actually considering this are you?” Michael asked you, completely frazzled.

“Well you wanted to do dinner right? And how bad could it be? I really need this Mikey…”

Michael sighed. “Fine. For you.”

You gave him a hug and he held you tightly.

“Alright. We’ll let you guys know the time and place of your guy’s 'first date’” Joan smiled, seeming pleased.

…..

“Laser tag?” You asked Michael. When they said date, you expected dinner, maybe even a movie, but laser tag? That was the last thing you’d think of

“They may have gave me a say into what we do…” Michael grinned

“You don’t say?” You laughed

“Alright, ready for some fun?” Michael asked while buckling you into one of those heavy jackets.

“I don’t know, ready to get your ass kicked?” You teased

“You wish” Michael said, giving you a wink.

Several hours later, he had two games on you. You couldn’t believe this. And of course, Michael didn’t let you forget it.

“Not so easy to beat am I?” Michael laughed.

“Whatever Mikey…fuck you”

“Why so salty?”

“Shut up. You won, got it. End of story, may we move on?”

“Well I won, so I get a prize don’t I?”

“Prize? What on earth could you-”

You were interrupted when he suddenly smashed his lips against yours, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you close to him as he continued to kiss you so tenderly and passionately…

“That” He said when you both had pulled away. “I think that’s reward enough. I’m starved, you want some pizza?”

You just smiled, grabbing his hand, as you headed towards the food court.

______________ 

Author’s Note: That was long and ended terribly, I’m sorry. Nevertheless hope you liked it!! -Lydia