#knowing that it got this bad partly because of that one four day trip to some sunny island or something

[leaving-fragments]

why is it an "alt" or extreme thing to do your best to live sustainably, people treat it as a lifestyle choice rather than a necessary consideration

[doomhands-jr]

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 5

Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Rough sex, NoahxOFC, slight degradation, religious trauma Masterlist

Banner by @flowerynerds

______

Early November was among your least favorite times of the year. It wasn’t yet cold enough to snow, but the rain was frigid. Halloween excitement had worn off and there wasn’t much to look forward to until Christmas (Thanksgiving was fine, you supposed, but you were staying on campus while your parents were on a missions trip to Africa).

Your socks had gotten wet on the walk to the worship center. You loathed wet socks, even partially wet socks. They stuck to your toes in the most uncomfortable way, freezing them while the rest of your foot stayed dry. Any time your socks got wet, you’d hyper-focus on the sensation until they either dried out or you changed them, and since you were obligated to spend the morning overseeing community service, they were about to be all you could think about for the next four hours.

All you could think about, that is, until you happened to glance up and spy Noah slouched on a bench near the church entrance. You stopped short, double-checking the time on your phone. 7:46. It was unlike him to be early, let alone fourteen minutes early. 

He hadn’t noticed you approach, too busy staring at his lap. He fidgeted with an object in his hands—something you couldn’t see. You took a deep breath, squared your shoulders, and continued walking.

The day after Halloween, you made a pact with yourself: you would get over Noah Davis. It wasn’t because he was a bad guy or anything. You actually quite liked him and found him to be an overall positive influence.

The problem was that he was too much of an influence. You found yourself second-guessing your morals, wanting to agree with him before you’d fully thought everything through. You wanted to believe everything he said, regardless of whether or not it was true. And you knew it was partly because you wanted so badly to give into his temptation.

Not that giving into temptation was necessarily bad. But you’d grown up listening to and believing everything the men in your life had told you, simply because they were in positions of authority. That hadn’t exactly worked out in your best interests.

Were you going to let another man influence your beliefs just because it would justify chasing the things your body craved? And oh, did it crave.

That wasn’t to say Noah didn’t make a lot of very good points - you were inclined to agree with them, but you had to sort that out slowly and on your own. Without the influence of him or his body pulling you in any one direction.

On top of that, it was inappropriate of you to entertain feelings for him—you were in a supervisor role.

The full truth was that letting go of the idea of him? It hurt. Giving up something you really wanted for something you thought would be better for you in the long run was never easy. But you were determined to do it. God had something better in store for you, you were certain of it. And Noah’s body was simply a distraction—a pitfall for you to avoid. 

And who knew? Perhaps you were doing Noah a favor as well, not giving into him so easily.

The moment Noah noticed you, he stood up, straightening the legs of his jeans. You kept him in your periphery but didn’t look directly at him. Looking at him was too hard. You didn’t want him to know that though, so you did your best to be friendly. “Hey,” you said, greeting him with a friendly wave and glance, noticing your voice came out meeker than you intended.

“Hey,” he replied, and his voice carried a soft, hollow timbre that already had your heart squeezing. This was going to be more difficult than you thought.

You kept your eyes on the ground, allowing him to fall into step beside you, and headed straight for the church doors. Pulling out the key and unlocking them gave you something to focus on that wasn’t him, and for that you were grateful.

“How was your week?” he asked.

“Good. Boring,” you said, eyes scanning along the light blue carpet in front of you as you walked through the foyer. “Yours?”

“Enlightening.”

Enlightening. How were you supposed to ignore that?

“Oh?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you. You still held firm in not looking at him, one glance at his soft smile and your resolve would crumble. You knew it.

And then, in an attempt to seem normal, you glanced. Not directly at him, but in his direction. Enough to catch the soft smile on his face and knowing kindness in his dark eyes. The way his long hair spilled out from underneath his hood.

You dug your nails into your fists as punishment and looked back down at the floor, where your feet guided you to the supply closet at the end of the hall.

“I think I owe you an apology for how I behaved on Saturday,” he said. He stopped in front of the closet and turned to face you head-on. It was getting harder to avoid direct eye contact.

He remained silent, providing you an opportunity to respond, but you couldn’t will your mouth to open and instead settled on offering a quick nod.

“I should have warned you about the crowds. And about the content for some of the music we play... And for agreeing to play that last song.”

“Noah, the whole crowd wanted it,” you reasoned, fiddling with the latch on the supply closet. “I’m just one person.”

“Just,” he interjected, holding a hand up, “let me at least apologize for the way it affected you.”

The tension in your shoulders slackened infinitesimally and you allowed your eyes to travel to his inked hands. His fingers were so long. It ached, how much you wanted to gravitate toward them, feel them caress your face, envelop his thumb in your mouth and have him drag it down your chin…

Catching yourself mid-thought, you looked away again. “I suppose I can allow that.”

He puffed out a short breath, relieved at your acceptance. “It wasn’t cool of me to let you go into that unprepared,” he continued, voice filled with genuine regret. “I wish I would have handled it better.”

You chewed on the outer corner of your lip. The sentiment felt too heavy for the moment, and you needed to end the conversation quickly. “Thank you for saying that.”

“I also want to apologize for what happened after.”      

Your stomach dropped. You’d really rather not talk about that. It wasn’t exactly your proudest moment. You’d fully embarrassed yourself with your overreaction to what happened at the party. But more than that, you’d experienced genuine temptation for the first time in your life, and had only barely made it out of there without completely walking back on all your scruples. Even talking about it meant risking being pulled back down the rabbit hole he was about to apologize for. Either way, you couldn’t help it when, in a moment of weakness, you glanced at his mouth. His smile faded and something more earnest took over his face. His lips parted a millimeter as he sucked a breath in through his teeth and you found yourself mimicking the movement without trying.

“If your beliefs surrounding…” he took another deep breath as he searched for the right word, “…physical intimacy are important to you, I want to do a better job of respecting that. From now on, I’ll be hands-off.” He raised his palms in surrender.

His words wrapped around your body like a rope, compressing, crushing your ribs, and holding you together.

Last summer, when Isaac had ended your kiss, it didn’t surprise you. In fact, it was something you had almost expected him to do. He performed Christianity like it was a Broadway show and he was the principal actor. It was almost a game to him, it seemed. How many points could he earn with God during his time on Earth? How big of a mansion would he be rewarded with in Heaven? How many virgin brides?

You smelled a hint of Isaac’s performance in Noah. But there was something else there underneath. An eagerness to respect you in the way that actually mattered. He wanted to get it right.

“Noah,” you sighed, feeling like he was perhaps taking this apology thing further than he needed to.

“I also want to give you this back,” he said, fishing out your silver ring from his back pocket and holding it out to you. “I’m sorry for removing it in the first place.”

You stared at the silver ring. The symbol of the promise you’d made when you were thirteen and had no idea how anything worked.

Now, for you, it symbolized a lie that had been spoon-fed to you. It symbolized blind obedience to the men in your life and a life you had no control over.

You deflated.

“Keep it.”

Noah’s eyebrows lifted, lips parting in surprise and confusion. “Why?”

You looked anywhere but the ring in front of you, settling on a speck of lint that dusted the shoulder of Noah’s zip-up.

“I just don’t want it anymore. It feels too constricting.”   

Huffing, he stepped forward and grabbed your left wrist, bringing it to his hand. His touch sent warmth cascading down your arm and into the rest of your body.

Slowly, delicately, he slid the ring back onto your finger. The cold metal contrasted starkly with the warmth of his palm. His hand lingered there for a moment, thumb swiping the length of your finger.

It felt oddly reminiscent of a proposal, but in reverse. With this ring, he promised to leave you alone.

Something harsh and sour coated the back of your throat and you swallowed bitterly.

“I want you to have it back anyway,” he said, voice gentle and kind as he let go of your wrist. “If you want to remove it again, that should be your choice.”

You rolled your eyes, twisting the ring back off your finger and holding it out to him in your palm. “I don’t want the responsibility of keeping this. Can you please take it?”

He stepped back from you, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Ugh,” you scoffed and tossed it in the empty mop bucket in the corner of the supply closet, willing it to disappear. You turned back to face him with your hands on your hips. “You know you’re being a little dramatic about this, right?”

Your eyes flicked back up to his face. He looked from you, to the bucket, and back, but stayed silent.

“I allowed you to take it off because I wanted you to, not because I was under some sort of spell. Plus, I should be apologizing for how I left.”

Noah closed his eyes and shook his head firmly. “No way, don’t ever feel bad for setting boundaries. I’m actually glad you left when you felt uncomfortable instead of letting me pressure you into something you didn’t want.”

You shifted your weight from foot to foot. This much respect was new for you—not just from Noah, but from any man in your life.

“I still feel bad,” you confessed, twisting your hands together in front of you.

“Please don’t,” he said, arm reaching out a few inches as if he intended to touch you, but then he thought better of it and pulled back. Your eyes chased his hand as it fell back to his side, wishing he would have followed through. “I was in the wrong, not you.”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked.

A smile played on the corner of his lips. “I suppose you could say I’m turning over a new leaf.”

Inside, you smiled at the throwback to the conversation last month. Outwardly you pouted, rocking on your heels. “I liked the old leaf.”

“Tough,” he said, grinning defiantly. “Get used to this one.”

You crossed your arms and nodded over to the supply closet. “Well, can the new leaf go grab the broom and dustpan so he can get to work?”

“At your service, Angel,” he said, sidestepping you to get into to the closet.

“Angel?” you asked. “What happened to Mary?”

“Mary’s too boring,” he called over his shoulder, digging around the various mops and cleaners. “I like Angel better.”

“Can’t you just use my real name?” you asked.

“No,” he said reemerging from the closet with two brooms and two dustpans in tow. He smiled his full Cheshire-cat grin, lips stretching wide over his too-big teeth in a way that let you know he already won whatever debate you were about to start.

You decided not to press the matter. You also preferred Angel to Mary. At least it didn’t have the virgin connotation.

You waved him off. “Whatever. Just get to work.”

Noah winked and did just that, keeping his head down and minding his business until Nick showed up, six minutes late.

“What are we doing today, boss?” he asked. You pointed over to where Noah was sweeping.

“Aye, aye!” he said with a salute and started toward Noah.

“Actually can you hang back a second?” you said in a low voice. He paused mid-step, turning on his heel and leaning in with his full attention. “I wanted to talk to you.”

He sighed, eyes dropping to the floor. “Look. I know it wasn’t cool of me to sleep with your friend, but you should know—,”

“—I was actually going to thank you,” you cut him off. Nick’s brows pulled together.

“What?” he asked, mouth parting stupidly.

You nodded, fidgeting with the sleeve of your sweater. “She told me about how nervous she was,      about how patient you were with her and how you walked her through the process, and that you insisted on making sure she was sober enough to give consent. Not all guys would do that for a girl they just met. Let alone someone whose first time it was.”

Nick blinked, then released the tension he’d been holding in his jaw, allowing his face to relax into a smile. “Of course. I’m not an asshole. Or, well at least not a complete asshole.”

You chuckled, signaling with your hand for him to join you while you meandered over to the other end of the foyer where Noah was working. “Ava can be pretty reckless at times,” you said, lowering your voice now that Noah was within earshot. “She gets in over her head. I appreciate that she had someone like you who prioritized her comfort and safety.”

“She’s not bad. You have good taste in friends.”

“Thanks,” you said, smiling fondly at the moment of shared appreciation for your friend.

“Now get to work,” you said, when the air got too thick. The last thing you needed was to allow Nick to burrow his way into your heart alongside his friend. 

The workday passed by relatively easy. There were no major philosophical conversations to be had, and no interruptions from unwelcome strangers. The two men worked diligently for the whole session, and when it was time to go, they put their own supplies away.

“Hey,” said Noah while you all made your way out. “I was thinking about something.” He slowed his steps and allowed Nick to pass the two of you.

“Yeah?” you said, matching his pace.

“You’ve seen me in my element. I thought it was only fair if I returned the favor.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“I want to hear you sing.” He said it softly, lisp coming out on the last word and oh. You paused mid-stride to turn to him.

 “Why?”

Noah looked at you as if you’d offended his bloodline, head rearing back in a scoff. “Because I’m curious? And I want to support you the way you supported me?”

“That’s not necessary,” you rushed to assure. The last thing you wanted was to have to perform in front of him. That was a level of vulnerability you weren’t interested in. Especially since he had such an extensive background in music and could easily judge you if you weren’t up to his standards.

“Will you let me do something nice, please?” he said, holding his arms out to the side before letting them drop back to his hips with a slap. “Isn’t the point of this entire community service thing to help me be a better person?”

He’d seen the corner he could back you into before you did. You couldn’t, in good faith, protest something like that without letting your cards show.

“I have a showcase coming up in December,” you said. “Here. At the church.”

Noah tucked his lips between his teeth and smiled in triumph.

“Are you sure you won’t burst into flames the second you step foot in a worship service?” you asked.

“Guess we’ll see,” He said, with a quick shrug of his shoulders. You continued walking down the path leading back into town.

“Isaac’s going to be there,” you said, reluctantly. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” he assured you, making the sign of the cross over his chest and clapping his hands together in prayer. 

You sighed and shook your head. “Good. See that you are.” Without anything better to say, you followed up with “now get out of here.”

Noah huffed out a laugh at your attempt at standoffishness and jogged to catch up with Nick. Your gut twisted at the thought of him coming to watch you sing. Even more so at the idea of the regular churchgoers seeing and potentially interacting with him, but you chose to trust that this would be a good thing. That Noah would keep his word.

Noah in a church. Standing in the middle of a church-going audience. You shook your head, unable to realistically picture it, but that didn’t stop a grin from sneaking up on you whenever you thought about it. 

_______

November came and went in the same way a cloud would—slowly, and easily unnoticed unless you paid special attention.

You and Isaac continued to work together on his project. He brought up passing a collection plate around during the event so the two of you could raise money for charity, which you thought was a great idea.

“That way, we can give back a little,” he said, pinching the cross charm he wore around his neck between two of his fingers and sliding back and forth along its chain. 

“I’d love that,” you said, feeling more energized about the showcase.

You and Isaac sat across from each other at a table in a room off to the side of the main worship area, often used for small group meetings, Bible studies, and Sunday School. Song books and sheets of music littered the table, musty from years of use. You sat doodling swirls in the margins of the notebook in front of you.

“How have we been marketing the event?” he asked, flipping through pages of a hymn book. 

“I made an event page on Facebook,” you said, “and have been posting about it to the campus Facebook page. A few other local groups, too.”

“Good,” he said, nodding, but not looking up from the book in front of him.

“I’ve also been passing out flyers and posting them around campus to drum up some excitement.”

“Excellent,” said Isaac, smiling.

Surprisingly enough, working with Isaac hadn’t been as painful as you’d expected. He remained focused on planning out the logistics of the showcase, appropriately delegating tasks to you as needed, but taking on the bulk of the work himself. 

You liked this Isaac. He was at his best when he had a goal and worked diligently to achieve it. When you’d first developed an interest in him, it was when he was pursuing a leadership role on the worship team. Before then, he’d always been a scrawny, nerdy kid that existed only in the fringes of your memory. You’d seen him in church and at school but hadn’t paid much attention to him.

It wasn’t until your teen years, when he’d grown his hair out and started learning how to play guitar that you’d truly noticed. One day, he’d asked to perform a song in front of the congregation. You couldn’t even remember the song, but you remembered being transfixed by his singing.

That was the beginning of the crush you’d been nursing for over four years. It had largely dissipated, but it still peeked out every once in a while, in moments like this.

He closed the book in his hands, setting it down on the table and straightening out some of the papers in front of him. “How’s the community service going?” he asked without looking at you.

Your warm feelings for him slipped away just as quickly and easily as they had arrived.

Tension flared in your neck, pulling your shoulders up to a defensive position. Aside from that telltale sign, however, you chose to play it cool.

“It’s fine,” you said, joining him in arranging the stack of music sheets in front of you so you had something to focus on aside from him.

“You better get a move on,” he said, setting his stack of papers aside and resting his elbows on the table. He spoke directly to you. “You only have a month left before you never see them again. Not a lot of time to bring people to Christ.”

Truthfully, you’d forgotten all about that. He was right—the job had been handed to you with the specific instructions towitness to these men, but you were starting to think you no longer agreed with that cause.

“Did you talk about Hell?” he continued. “That sometimes works for me.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Why not?” he asked, brows furrowing with confusion. “You have to do something. Their souls are on the line.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this,” you snapped, shifting your chair back from the table and standing. You had some homework you should be getting to, anyway. “Can we drop it?”

“No!” he barked, standing up to be on your level. He splayed his palms on the table, leaning his weight on them and eyes boring a hole into you. Even from across the table, his height was menacing. Not as tall as Noah, but definitely tall. “That’s the whole point of you being there. You have to make sure they know what’s at stake if they keep going down the path they’re on.”

“It’s not that simple,” you said, voice raising in volume.

All this talk of eternal damnation set you on edge. You still hadn’t even figured out where you stood on the issue. How were you supposed to preach to someone who had made up their mind long ago? And who was Isaac to tell you how to talk to them when he’d only briefly encountered them once and made a fool out of himself in the process?

“What’s complicated about it? They repent or they go to Hell,” he stated with a huff, blowing his fringe bangs out of his eyes.

The pressure he was putting on you was familiar—much like the pressure your father had always put on you to “go out and make disciples” but things weren’t as black-and-white as they were when you were a child.

How were you supposed to preach something you weren’t even sure you understood or believed in? Blindly giving into the pressure to convert as many people as you could to a faith you only half-trusted felt more and more like a betrayal of yourself.

Not only that, but in your experience, people simply did not want to hear the gospel preached at them. You’d tried once—when you’d joined a local theater production of Fiddler on the Roof as a stagehand. There was one girl there who you’d made fast friends with—Stephanie.

You spent all summer trying to share the Good News with her. At the end of three long months, she agreed to accept Christ into her heart, allowing you to lead her in The Prayer. It was the defining moment of your adolescence. You’d managed to validate your existence by saving at least one soul.

It wasn’t until the wrap party later that week that you overheard her making fun of you to some of the other cast members, all huddled together in a corner of the theater, that you realized she’d gone through with it as a joke.

There was no explaining that to Isaac, however. He was so caught up in everything he’d been taught that it would take much longer than you had time to explain everything, and that was if he even listened, which he didn’t seem interested in…

…much like the people you were supposed to evangelize to.      

“I have to go,” you said, turning on your heel and walking out of the warmth of the worship center, into the frigid rain. Isaac called after you, but you broke into a jog, heading—well, somewhere.

You didn’t know where you were heading, actually. Your rain boots clunked haphazardly on the sidewalk, splashing through puddles as you ran. You contemplated going back to your dorm, but knew Stevie was home. It didn’t seem like the place to be.

You weren’t interested in any of the usual places on campus, either. The wind and rain bit at your skin, chilling you through the oversized Sherpa-lined hoodie you’d worn.

Your feet guided you to the crossroads that would lead you back to campus, and you turned in the opposite direction, running headlong toward town.

Your breaths grew uneven, whether it was due to the energy you were expending, or the crushing weight of your religious obligations.

You were supposed to lead these men to God, lest their souls be cast into Hell for eternity.

Except, did you believe in Hell anymore?

You weren’t sure. You supposed it could exist, but was it really that easy to wind up serving a permanent sentence for an impermanent crime? For simply getting the theology wrong?

That didn’t seem like something a loving god would do. And if it was, did you really want to devote your life to serving someone like that? Someone who could be so utterly cruel to his creations for making simple mistakes?

You were angry. For the first time, you felt a glimpse of the anger Noah had expressed that night. He was right to feel angry. There were so many contradictions—so much about the church that just felt backwards to you. And whenever you raised legitimate questions, you were always met with the same answer:

God works in mysterious ways. 

It was a mantra the church elders repeated, but it felt more like a cop-out. A common method of spiritual bypassing.

You wiped the rain that had been pelting your face with your sleeve, unsure of how far you’d ran when a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Whoa!”

___________

At no point in his evening did Noah anticipate running into you—figuratively, and certainly not literally. But when he spotted you bounding toward him with a panicked expression, that’s what nearly happened.

Upon further reflection, you were probably aiming to run past him, but in the moment, it looked like you were on track to collide directly into his chest.

“Whoa!” he called out. Your attention snapped from the sidewalk in front of you to his face, and in the process, your left foot miscalculated its landing. It slid out from under you, giving you a half a second to react and catch yourself on a steel signpost. It was a good thing you had quick reflexes, otherwise you’d have planted ass-first into the muddy puddles lining the street.

“Easy,” said Noah, catching you by the elbows and helping you regain your balance. He observed your soaked hoodie, the way your breaths came out staggered, and the rapid rise and fall of your chest as you caught your breath. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, struggling to catch your breath.

Noah blinked at you, eyes narrowing in on your expression. Something was off about the way you looked around you nervously.

“You sure?” he asked again.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You looked up at him, fake smile plastered on your face to better sell the lie, but eyes blown wide as if you’d been trying to outrun a predator. Noah wasn’t buying it.

“You tell me,” he said, observing your footwear.

You looked down at your rain boots and back up to him. “I wanted to go for a run?” you said. It was framed as a question. Half-acknowledging that you’d been caught, but hoping he would drop it anyway.

 “Right.” He humored you for now. He’d get to the bottom of it eventually.

“What are you doing here?” you deflected. Your breathing had begun to slow. You tucked your wet, matted hair behind your ear and looked up at him with curiosity in your eyes. The tension in his chest began to fade the more you relaxed. As if his nervous system was inextricably tied to yours.

“I was about to grab some tea,” he said, nodding towards the small hole-in-the-wall café across the street. Your eyes followed, then dropped to where he still held your elbows, and he released them. “Care to join?”

“Sure,” you said. He nodded and gestured for you to follow him before stuffing his hands in his pockets.

The two of you crossed the street, Noah taking the opportunity to glance backwards to see if he could gather any context clues and opened the door for you when he found none.

He gestured toward the counter, indicating for you to order first, and sidled up behind you, standing protectively close, just in case there was indeed a threat.

“Want to take this to go?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said, placing an order for a decaf cinnamon latte. Gross. Too sweet for his taste. “To go, please.”

Noah placed his own order for a green tea before the barista could give you your total. You looked up at him with a question on your face, and he handed his card over to pay for both orders without pause. Perhaps he could buy some of your time.

The two of you stepped to the side while you waited for your drinks to be made. Noah leaned casually against the counter, putting his height on display and moving just enough into your personal space that you’d have to take notice.

“Why were you running in the rain?” he asked. 

You looked him over, taking note of his new proximity. “Long story.”

“Do you always deflect this much?” he asked.

You smiled sheepishly. “I’ll tell you, just not right here.”

That was enough to put Noah fully at ease. Perhaps it truly was nothing and he’d just read into your body language too much.

Noah caught you glancing over his body out of the corner of his eye. He smiled to himself. He knew he was attractive. At this point, using his attractiveness to his advantage was almost second nature to him. He drummed his fingers against the counter, feeling a slight surge of energy when he saw you studying the tattoos on his hands and trying not to be obvious about it.

Noah knew he could be cocky at times. His own attractiveness became clear to him in high school, when he hit a growth spurt and got his first tattoo. He received much more attention from girls than his friends did, and it increased exponentially the older he got and the more his once-lanky body filled out. By the time he dropped out of high school, well before his sixteenth birthday, he’d lost his virginity and then some. He couldn’t remember what his body count was up to, but he’d guess it was approaching triple digits.

He tried to stay humble about it, knowing that too much attention wasn’t healthy for his ego, but he did, at times, like to indulge.

Like right now. He was aware you were looking at him. He knew he could invite you back to his studio, that you’d probably say yes, and that you were very conflicted about your attraction to him, because this might be the first time you’d wrestled with sexual attraction to someone who wasn’t bound by the same laws of purity as you.

He’d give you time to figure out what you wanted. He wouldn’t outright pressure you the way he had last time. But he also wasn’t going to stop himself from craving you, or from responding the way his body told him to when in pursuit of something he wanted.

He slid his hands across the counter, allowing his weight to drop to his elbows, and leaned towards you. He was tall enough that his face still hovered slightly over yours when he looked you in the eye. 

Many times, people were intimidated by the weight of his full attention on them. They’d step back or break eye contact to diffuse it. You, however, just looked up at him with a question on your face.

Oh, he liked that. He liked you not being intimidated by him.

“So,” he said. A segue into nothing. A great move on his part since he had nothing to say. 

“So,” you mimicked, knowing smile teasing the corner of your mouth upward. A warm, sensation rippled through Noah’s diaphragm. He didn’t smile though. He wasn’t going to break his façade so early. 

“What…,” he began. He looked out the window as if he’d find a cue card with the prompt he’d need. He didn’t. “…do you like to do? For fun?”

A clumsy introduction to a conversation. Possibly the clumsiest he’s ever made.

You licked your lips and nodded to yourself, amused by his attempt. Without his permission, his eyes darted to your lips. He chided himself and looked away, hoping you hadn’t noticed the rookie mistake.

“Angel,” yelled the barista, shaking him from his thoughts. Noah had given them his nickname for you as the name of the order. It went over the way he expected, with you rolling your eyes and begrudgingly offering him a smile. Glee spread into his cheeks and he shot a grin at you before turning to the hand-off plane. 

You grabbed your drinks, handing Noah’s to him and led the way back outside into the rain. Your lead didn’t last long—Noah’s long legs easily overtook you and he had to make a concerted effort to slow his pace so you could keep up.

“I like movies,” you said eventually.

“What?” he asked.

“For fun,” you said. “I like to watch movies.”

Oh. Right. He’d forgotten about that.

“What’s your favorite?” he asked, this question coming out much smoother than the last, and Noah felt like he was back on track. 

“Three-way tie for all of the Lord of the Rings movies.”

Noah stopped short. “Are you serious?” he asked. You nodded.

Without thinking about it, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and gave you an overly dramatic kiss on the top of the head, not worrying for a second about how you’d react. This time, you did get shy, shrinking into yourself and making a noise of protest before he let you go.

The power was back in Noah’s possession for the time being.

“What was that for?” you asked, smoothing out your hair. In the dark street, Noah couldn’t see the flush on your cheeks, but he knew it was there.

“I love Lord of the Rings,” he said. It was true. He’d been an avid fan of the films since grade school, back when he and his friends used to pretend to be the fellowship. Tall and slender with long hair, he’d been cast as the elf of the friend group, though he’d secretly always resonated more with Aragorn.

“Which one is your favorite?” you asked, falling back into step alongside him. Even with his slower pace, you had to take long strides to keep up.

“Return of the King,” said Noah without missing a beat. “I get chills every time the beacons are lit.”

“Did you know that in The Two Towers, when Viggo kicks—,”

“—he breaks his toe,” Noah cut you off. He immediately knew where you were going with it. Everyone with even the most basic appreciation for Lord of the Rings knew. It had become a calling card among fans to know that bit of trivia, but he still took pride in finishing your sentence.

The pride within him swelled tenfold when you smiled as if you’d never been more impressed or pleased with him in your life. He couldn’t help but fall a little bit in love with you.

Which was not good, considering how much harder it would be to restrain himself around you. God, he wanted nothing more than to seduce the religion out of you. He wanted to turn his pockets inside out, use every trick in the book to get you into bed, but he would probably end up embarrassing himself if he did, because his charm didn’t seem to faze you.

He knew it wasn’t a matter of attraction. You showed all the signs of being attracted to him, yet you still had the self-control not to act on it, and that drove him wild.

Had he been wrong about you? He thought the reason you were still a virgin was because your resolve had never been tested, but he’d definitely tested it on Halloween, and you’d resisted.

Which Noah had not expected.

And though he had reacted poorly at the time (which he now found extremely embarrassing), he’s started to like that you shut him down. He’s always appreciated a bit of a chase—a smidge of hard-to-get. It made the game all the more exciting for him. 

But this was different. You weren’t playing a game. You simply existed as yourself, with no agenda he could detect. And maybe the part of him that needed someone to help tame his ego would like you to continue shutting him down, as much as it killed him.

“I play video games,” he said, breaking out of his thoughts when he noticed he’d been silent for too long. “For fun.”

“What games?” you asked, not missing a beat.

“I’ve been playing a lot of Fallout recently.”

If you told him you played Fallout, he would propose to you on the spot.

“I never got into video games,” you said, and Noah breathed a sigh of relief, because he didn’t need to be any more whipped for you. “Where are we going, by the way?”    

“Oh,” he said, halting his steps. “Um, I was thinking of going back to the studio, if you were okay with that.” Nerves in his sides and in his throat tingled uncomfortably. You hesitated, and Noah wondered if the memory of what happened last time dwelled in the back of your mind, like it did his.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” you said after a beat, and picked up your pace once again. Noah exhaled softly, nerves soothed for the time being, and followed. 

That was another thing: whenever he was with you, his nervous system oscillated wildly between feeling completely relaxed and supremely on-edge. The constant spikes in his adrenaline translated into excess energy that built up beneath his skin and all he wanted to do was sigh it into your mouth.

The three-block walk back to the studio was over all too soon. When the two of you arrived, Noah unlocked it like he had last time, and like last time, you sat in the same position on the couch.

Noah decided sit on the other end of the couch, rather than his usual desk chair. He faced you, legs crossed underneath him. 

You turned to mirror his pose.

“So,” he said, this time knowing what he wanted to ask. “Nice night for a jog, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said, clearing your throat and retreating further into your hoodie. 

“Not the best shoes for running, I have to say.” He nodded over to the rainboots that rested by the door in a small puddle.

You chuckled nervously, then worried at your lip. “I needed some air,” you said.

“Why?”

You bounced your knee up and down, collecting your thoughts. There was obviously something eating at you, and it concerned Noah that you were struggling so much to talk about it.

He relaxed his gaze, trying his best to train his face into a neutral, open expression.

“Okay,” you prefaced, exhaling a deep breath and twisting the cuff of your oversized sleeve in your hands. You looked anywhere but him. “So I have been questioning a lot about my faith recently. You know this.”

Noah nodded, stomach rolling with pride and with something slightly sicker and more selfish, knowing he’d been a catalyst of sorts for your questioning. He fought it back down, not allowing his feelings to distract him from listening to you.

“Yeah,” you nodded back at him, pulling your sleeves over your hands and bunching the ends up in your fists. Noah liked you this way. Cozy. Vulnerable. “And some people in the church are starting to notice.”

“Ah,” he said, understanding dawning on him. It was hard to ignore the changes in your behavior and demeanor. You’d become more confident over the last few weeks, less eager to please and more willing to stand up for yourself. He wasn’t surprised the church had caught onto it. The same thing had happened to him when he started deconstructing his beliefs—they saw it as a threat.

“When did you stop believing in Hell?” you asked, shifting the subject slightly.

“Oh,” he said again, feeling rather like a broken record.

You looked up at him, eyes growing wet with tears that threatened to spill over, and Noah began to see just how important this conversation was for you.

You waited patiently while he gathered his thoughts. His thumb traced along a seam in the leg of his jeans, grounding him while he tried to recall long-repressed memories.

“I don’t think there was any one significant moment.” He finally spoke, pausing to sip at his tea, savoring its bitterness. “It was more like I slowly came to understand that it was bullshit.”

“What made you realize?” you asked. Now it was Noah’s turn to carry the weight of your full attention. You hung on his every word, eyes trained on him as if you were looking into his soul and it made it difficult to focus. The collar of his shirt was suddenly too constricting. The room had grown warm. The knot of hair at the nape of his neck was tied too tight.

“My grandparents,” he began, clearing his throat. “They overused the threat of it. So did the church leaders. It started to feel empty after a while.”

You nodded, eager for him to continue speaking. “How long did it take to stop believing once you noticed?”

“Longer than it should have,” he confessed, heaving out a breath. “But in my defense, the stakes were pretty high. Had to figure out if I was willing to wager an eternity of torture on it.” 

You hummed in thought, attention finally lifting off him and drifting to the space between the two of you.

“Noah, I think I’m…,” you began, but didn’t finish the rest of your sentence. He caught the hitch in your breath. The slight shudder in your shoulders.

He was pulled to you, as if there were a thread tugging at him. He needed reach out and touch you, so he did, placing his hand on your knee and rubbing his thumb back and forth. Something in his bones told him to stay quiet and let you figure this out. 

You took a deep breath to steady yourself.

“I’ve never struggled with my faith before,” you began, and Noah nodded to show he was listening. “But now, it’s like I don’t know what to believe. I used to feel so sure. And some things I still feel sure about, but everything around it is like…crumbling.”

Noah watched you deliberately, hoping you felt you had his full attention, save for his right hand, which twirled a frayed thread from a rip in the knee of your jeans. To his surprise and delight, you inched closer to him. He made sure not to let it show. He needed his body language to match your tone—to be open and receptive. To be what you need. 

“I feel like I was lied to,” you continued, voice breaking. “For my whole life, I was told that I had to act a certain way and believe in certain things. Things that I’ve struggled with for a long time. But I still did because I was afraid of ending up in Hell.”

You paused to sniffle. “And now I’m starting to think that it might not all be true, but I’m scared to think that, because what if it is true? And I do go to Hell? I just feel like…like the ground is being washed out from under me.”

Noah’s tongue prodded the inside of his cheek as your voice became watery. You were so close to a breakthrough. He didn’t want to say or do anything that would interrupt it, but he also wanted to cheer you on. 

“I don’t want to become angry and bitter,” you confessed. “But I am angry. And I don’t know at who or what.”

“Are you afraid of being angry?” he asked, hoping it was the right question. This was toeing the edge of his jurisdiction.

“Kind of,” you said. “But it’s more than that. I’m afraid to start questioning, because I’m afraid I’ll abandon my faith altogether. Noah, I don’t know who I am without my faith.”

“Do you want to figure that out?”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy, threatening to spill over.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

Noah could kiss you. He wanted to kiss you, wanted to hold you by your jaw, make you breathe all your worries into his mouth so he could digest them and free you from the confines of your crushing guilt. Whatever suffocating remains you couldn’t exhale, he would swallow whole.

He yearned to crush his body against yours, to card his fingers through your hair and tug at the root, to hear your soft whimpers as he licked along the soft spots of your neck. He wanted the pressure of your thighs wrapped around his hips as he slid home over and over again.

Noah wanted you to take your anger out on him. Wanted you to sink your teeth into his throat, claw your nails down his back, to spit out your unfiltered rage. He wanted you to slap him hard across the face for having the audacity to dream of doing such lewd things to you. 

He didn’t do any of those things, but he did take both your hands in his.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you still believe in God?”

You sniffed and nodded. “I think so.”

“Okay. What do you think he would say if he saw you like this right now? If he loves you like he says he does. Do you think he’d be disappointed?”

You sniffed again, blinking back your tears and shook your head.

“How would he feel?”

“I think,” you began. Noah could practically see the cogs turning in your yead. He willed—almost prayed for—you to come to the right conclusion: one that didn’t end in self-hatred or shame.

“I think…he’d be proud of me,” you said.

Noah squeezed your hands in encouragement, manifesting a breakthrough for you. “Why would he be proud?”

“For having the courage to ask these questions.”

Noah’s dick was known to twitch at odd times. But this, by far, was the weirdest.

“To me,” he said, trying his best to ignore the feeling in his dick and focus on the task at hand, “it seems like you’re notabandoning your faith. You’re realizing that it’s so important that you’re willing to risk going to Hell to make sure you get it right.”

A strangled sob escaped from you and you dove into him, wrapping your arms around his middle and burying your head into his chest.

Noah couldn’t breathe, and not because you held him in a vise grip. He draped his arms across your back, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head and praying to God for the first time since he was fifteen that he wouldn’t get a boner.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered into his chest. “I feel like I’m always crying these days.”

“It’s fine,” he said. You smelled like rain and vanilla and something floral he couldn’t place. He tried his hardest to touch you as lightly as possible because if he gave into even the most innocent of his desires, his hands would be wrapped around your throat and he’d be burying himself in you.

You adjusted, crying into his shoulder now, and he could feel your hot breath steaming across his neck. Yes, he knew you were crying and that wasn’t exactly the sexiest thing in the world (at least in this context), but it took every ounce of self-control he had to not put you through the couch. You were half in his lap. Despite his prayers, he was semi-hard, and if you shifted your weight even an inch, you’d be able to feel.

When your sobs finally slowed and your breathing went back to normal, Noah continued to stroke your back with his palm.

Having you in his arms was like flirting with the devil. A serpent, offering him a bite of fruit he knew was forbidden, lest he be cast out of Eden, but the sight and scent and touch of which proving to be far too sweet to resist.

All too soon though, you were self-aware again, recognizing what you were doing and where you were. You pulled back to look at the tear-stained mess you left and had the loss of your touch not been excruciating, Noah would have been grateful because his self-control was just about spent. 

“Gross,” he said, pulling the fabric of his shirt out and away from his skin. You had snotted on it. 

“Sorry,” you said, laughing and getting up to find a tissue, and Noah was looking at your ass. No other thought ran through his head besides the stern acknowledgement that he was looking at your ass and nothing on this earth would stop him from looking at your ass until you turned back around.

“Feel better?” he asked, eyes flicking up to meet yours. 

You nodded, face all red and splotchy.

“I should go,” you said, and his heart twisted and wrenched away from his ribs, but he agreed because he needed to put his cock in somethingimmediately or he was literally going to die.

“Call me if you need anything,” he said.

“I don’t have your number.”

Noah reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, opening a new contact page and handing it to you. Your fingers brushed over his when you took it and he wondered if it was on purpose.

You tapped the screen a few times and handed it back to him. He opened a new text, typed his name, and pressed send. A few seconds later, your phone pinged.

His heart untwisted a millimeter. He had a tether to you now.

“Thanks,” you said. “For everything.” You stumbled back into your rain boots and walked over to where he was still sat on the couch (he couldn’t stand up without giving himself away by that point), and touched your lips briefly to his cheek bone. His skin burned under the touch and he didn’t even have a chance to respond before you were across the room and out the door.

Noah tipped sideways off the couch and rolled onto the floor, sprawled across the narrow passage between couch and desk.

He took a deep breath, feeling like his heart was about to beat out of his chest, then rolled onto his stomach and did twenty push-ups in a row.

His dick was burning a hole through his jeans and if he didn’t do something immediately, he was going to bash his head into the floor.

He pulled out his phone, with one number in mind.

Noah 9:37 PM: ?

Madison 9:37 PM: ;)

Noah 9:38 PM: 5?

Madison 9:38 PM: ✔️ _________

Noah just about ran the few blocks to Madison’s apartment. He walked in unceremoniously, ignoring her roommates, and took the stairs two at a time all the way up to her room.

She was there, sitting on her bed with a hungry smile twisting on her lips. She wore a sports bra and the shortest shorts Noah’s ever seen, but he barely looked at them.

He kneeled in front of her, grasping her shoulders in his hands.

“What’s your safe word?”

“Candyland.”

Noah nodded.

“That’s the only word you’re allowed to say,” he commanded. Giggling, she fell back on the bed, opening her legs wide for Noah to wedge himself between.

Noah closed his eyes, focusing on breathing in and out through his nose and his hands found the flimsy fabric of Madison’s sports bra. She gave a yelp when he just about ripped it off her, flinging it across the room. He turned his focus to her shorts to do the same.

Once she was rid of her clothes, he ran a finger between her hairless folds to find she was already wet. Madison was always reliably wet.

Even so, he stuck two of his fingers in his mouth, collecting saliva before he plunged them into her, moving them up and down, scissoring them the way he knew she liked. It wasn’t long before she expanded enough to accommodate him.

Fumbling while removing his own clothes, he wasted no time taking his heavy cock out and stroking it. He reached into the familiar top drawer of her nightstand, producing a condom and rolling it onto himself. He cradled his throbbing cock and lined it up with her entrance, glancing up at her to check in, and she nodded.

Noah didn’t go slow. He pushed into her all the way as deep as he could go with a snap of his hips, and once he was fully sheathed, he finally he felt like he could breathe.

He groaned low as he began to thrust inside her. She moaned loudly, draping her arms around him, and the second he registered her touch, he grabbed her arms and pinned them above her head. With one hand, he held them there, while the other crushed her jaw between his fingers.

“I need you to listen to me,” he growled, looking her directly in the eye. “Do not move. Do not make a fucking sound. Any other night you can do what you want but tonight, if we do this, you are a fuck doll. Got it?”

She bit her swollen lower lip and nodded eagerly.

“Open,” he said.

She opened her mouth for him and he spat into it.

“Swallow,” he hissed. 

She closed her mouth around his saliva and swallowed it obediently.

“Good. Now hold still.”

She preened, eyes rolling back into her head and lips dropping open.

Noah relaxed, finally feeling in control for the first time that evening since running into you. He folded Madison’s legs up over her, found purchase on the backs of her thighs, and began his descent into his lowest and most carnal self.

Madison, to her credit, didn’t make a sound. She didn’t move. She braced herself against her headboard and held her position like a dutiful fuck doll.

Noah didn’t make a habit of treating women like objects, and he didn’t like that he was doing it right then. In many ways, he was disgusted with himself, but tried his best to get over it, telling himself the ends justified the means.

He threw his head back and breathed deep, the heavy musty smell of sex permeating through the air, but Noah didn’t care much about that. He pistoned his hips into her, squeezing his eyes shut tight, wishing he was anywhere and anyone else but the depraved man he knew himself to be.

Wanting to feel at least a little better about what he was doing, he took a thumb and rubbed quick circles into Madison’s clit to reward her for letting him use her body like this.

She whimpered. He didn’t care enough to tell her to shut up again. Any sounds from her were just white noise.

God, Noah hated himself. Hated how absolutely weak he was, submitting to his body without even trying to put up a fight.

He never stood a chance, though. How did you do it?

He sighed and picked up his pace, reveling in the tight warmth of cunt.

Had your roles been reversed the other week? Had it been you on your knees in front of him, practically begging him to give himself over to you, he would have done it without question. Had you given him any hint of desire—had you given him even an inch, he would have taken the whole fucking mile and he would have doubled back just to do it again. What made you so much more capable of resisting? 

Madison pulsed around him, and when something splashed against his abdomen with each thrust, he realized Madison had released onto him. She did that sometimes. Whatever. He was used to it. He kept going.

He thought of you masturbating. He thought of you thinking of him while you touched yourself, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your white panties, whining his name while you made a mess of your bedsheets. He thought of you thinking of him tying you down and forcing you, and he could almost cry, he was so hard.

He tried not to think about the fact that he was fucking someone. He wasn’t really. He was using a body to masturbate because he knew it would give him a bigger release than he could get with just his hand.

And fuck, did he need release. He needed control. He needed to defile something beautiful and make it as ugly as he was inside.

Recognizing he wasn’t going to get what he needed in this position, he pulled out, flipped the girl over easily, and pushed back into her with a hard smack to the soft flesh of her ass.

She yelped, but made no other sound, and that was enough for him.

He thought of you coming undone beneath him. Of you weeping with the release of years of pent-up sexual energy. Of your makeup smearing down your face as you cried his name out to the heavens like a prayer for salvation.

He fucked Madison at a punishing pace. She arched her back and whipped her hair around to look over her shoulder at him, and as soon as he noticed, he stared at a random spot about two-thirds of the way up her wall.

Madison gave a choked, strangled sort of sob before everything grew more wet and her pussy began to flutter around him.

Noah would have to finish soon. Madison always got overstimulated if she was forced to keep going.

He gave a low, guttural growl and picked up his pace, needing to get as much energy out of himself as fast as he possibly could. The headboard slammed into the wall over and over, the bed creaked beneath him. Madison was a sobbing, sputtering mess as she tried desperately to keep still and silent for him.

“Just a little more,” he muttered angrily under his breath, picturing you on the brink of orgasm, body tensed up as you began to tip over the edge. “Come on.”

He dug his hands into Madison’s hips, slamming his body into hers and using his full strength to get as deep into her as he possibly could.

His lower abdomen tightened and his balls pulled up with the tell-tale sign of impending climax. He wrenched himself away from her, ripped off the condom, and gave himself a few quick strokes before he spilled himself onto her trembling body. Then he collapsed onto the bed, half on top of her, and curled himself around one of her pillows.

“I’m sorry,” he said, emotions washing over him like a tidal wave. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Madison said, cradling his trembling body into hers. “Noah, that was amazing. Don’t be sorry.”

Noah shook his head, throat closing in as he struggled to breathe. “I have to go.”

“What? Noah, don’t be ridiculous. It’s late. Just stay.” She said—his cum dripping down her shoulder and back as she sat up to look at him.

But Noah was already up, scrambling to pull up his jeans and find the shirt he’d thrown somewhere in his lust.

He all but ran out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door. He ran the several blocks it took to get to his house. He slowed down momentarily as he entered through the front door and past the main living space, but it was only to fend off questions from his roommates.

Once in the safety of his room, he collapsed to the floor, crawled to his bed, and knelt.

“I…,” he began, whispering into his clasped palms. And then he blanked. Because he didn’t know who he was praying to, or what for. All he knew was that he was praying.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually settled on. And that’s all he could find to say for the moment. It wasn’t enough. Taglist: @reyadawn @sundamariis @noahsebastions @cyber-tiny @livingdeceasedgirl @just-randomm-stuff @xxkittenkissesxx @treacheryinblue @flowerynerds @1toreyouapart @badomensls @rain-down-on-me @poisongirl616 Let me know if I missed anyone!

Click here to be added to the taglist! Masterlist

[batsplat]

hi batsplat! i would like to say that you are an absolute pillar of the motogp community on here, like you are truly so so appreciated. both for your knowledge and also for the way you write about things (i think you could write 3000 words on a grocery store trip valentino took in 2003 and still make it super interesting reading)

i was reading your post about your favourite rivalries that didnt include one of the aliens, who would you personally include as part of that list? (versus who is really good but not quite alien status) id also really like to know if (and who) youd count as aliens from the pre-motogp era, and if theres been a difference over time about how often we are seeing aliens or if theyre easier/harder to spot as technical developments have sped up

hope you have a great day!

that's so sweet... thank you that's such an incredible compliment dsdkhfkhfd

about the aliens, the way I use the term is entirely as a historical descriptor, not as a qualitative assessment of any riders. it's a useful shorthand for a specific riders in a specific era, but to me it has limited relevance outside of that era. so to be clear we're talking valentino, casey, dani, jorge and marc - and according to common wisdom this usage originated from colin edwards' 2009 comment:

“But as I’ve said before, I’ve got to be pleased to be finishing next best behind those four guys, or should I say aliens. “They are riding out of this world and to be right behind them means I’m doing the best job I can and that’s about as good as I can hope for at the moment.”

(jorge discusses valentino as an alien in 2007, see here. which might be complete coincidence, but has always made me kind of curious whether the word was floating around in the paddock in some capacity before edwards 'coined' the term)

the thing is, right, it made sense to treat those four (and later -casey +marc) as distinct from the field, because they were winning almost everything. one reason for this was that they were very good, very skilled riders. another was that from 2007-15, only four to six bikes were capable of regularly challenging for wins at any one time. it was a massive field disparity that quite frankly was partly enforced through machinery. that's why it makes sense to include marc in that term: it's not just the fact that he was very good, it's the fact that he was riding a repsol honda that was the best or second best bike by a long way for his first three years in the premier class. in 2016, motogp returned to michelins and introduced new technical regulations - and for all intents and purposes, the alien era ended. it ended when eight different riders won in eight races that season. yes, marc, valentino and jorge were still the top three in the championship... but it's the difference of whether you go into a weekend convinced you know the winner will come from a list of four riders, or if you very much do not know that. between 2008 to 2015, apart from the aliens, a grand total of two riders claimed wins - dovi on a repsol honda in 2009 and ben spies on a factory yamaha in 2011. both of those were wet races (which of course are generally more open than dry ones). so just to reiterate: a greater number of riders won in 2016 alone (9) than in 2008-15 combined (7). (in 2007, a further two different riders won races - capirossi on the championship-winning factory ducati and vermeulen on the suzuki.) yes, obviously the aliens were very good riders, nobody is going to argue with you over that... but those numbers? they're only possible in a specific version of motogp - one that only existed for a few years

honestly, I don't even really use the term 'alien' to describe valentino pre-2006 or marc post-2016. it's just not that useful to me... aliens to me is a 'pack hunter' thing, where even if some of them are injured or are having a bad day or whatever, at least one of them will basically always be there to pick up the pieces. marc and valentino might have dominated the sport as a whole - but not all of their championship seasons were completely dominant, and there's only so much any one athlete can dominate in the sport... you're not going into every single weekend thinking 'oh yeah they're definitely going to win' (yes, yes, there were two times per year where you did very much do that with marc). which is different when you compare it to the aliens as a pack, where you could be confident that ONE of them would end the weekend on the top step of the podium

which is why I just don't apply the alien term to anyone pre-valentino - it's not because I think they were less good or less talented or less anything, it's because for me it's a term that's more about an era than it is about individual riders. you have to treat each era on its own, and I'm not really a big fan of inter-era comparisons. it's just kind of impossible to say whether a rider in the 1970s is more talented than one in the 2020s, whether ago's numbers are more or less impressive than marc's and so on... the sport has just changed in so many ways over the years. of course, in sports you do generally have this upward momentum where each generation is 'better' than the last. sports has gotten more professionalised, there's been massive advances in terms of pedagogy and sports medicine and exercise science and all of those things - all of which already affects how athletes train from childhood onwards. the young aren't more 'talented' in the sense that they were born with an innate superior ability to compete at the sport, but they are more 'talented' in that their ultimate ceiling will be higher as a result of all these gradual changes over time. these things can change quite quickly even (and if other sports is anything to go by, I wouldn't be surprised if the nineties/early noughties brought some big changes in that regard) - so already between, for instance, valentino and marc there'd probably been a real shift in how young talent is being nurtured

(the most blunt illustration of this is that young valentino's lifestyle was completely different from that of young riders today, in terms of how much time he spent training in the gym, sleeping habits, nutrition etc etc. athletes now can't get away with that much deviation any more, and indeed valentino had to massively change his approach in the 2010s to remain competitive - but of course it's different if you haven't been doing this stuff since you were a kid. I think we can safely assume valentino's 2003 supermarket trips looked rather different from marc's 2017 ones)

being good in pro sports may in some ways be harder now than it was in, say, the eighties, and the level of competition you're facing might be higher now - but of course, it would also by extension be unfair to judge those athletes by the standards of today. also, different eras are going to lend themselves to different profiles of rider depending on competitive trends, type of machinery and so on - even very basic stuff like how tall you are might have helped you in a certain era and hindered you in another... so what does that mean for talent? if we're discussing 'talent' at all, how can we possibly treat it as anything other than relative to the era we're discussing? to me, it just makes these comparisons between different generations pretty pointless... or well, I like talking about some of this stuff in a more holistic 'isn't this interesting' kind of way, not a 'this is why xyz is better than xyz' approach... this kind of thing is also why I finds goat debate such a uniquely boring way to spend your time, incidentally

this is a very long way of saying, I don't have a metric by which I judge athletes pre-2000 as 'alien' or 'not alien'! I think you have similarly dominant athletes, though again it is so tough to decide how much of that is down to talent and how much of it is down to bike advantage. if you take doohan's title winning seasons for instance:

yeah, look, sure, you can call him an alien as far as I'm concerned - if I'm watching these races live I will be expecting doohan to win in any given weekend. I'm still kind of missing the pack hunter feel in some of these seasons, so I won't know for certain the winner is going to come from a very short list. like take 1998:

not really one group vs the field, is it? and yeah, even if I consider doohan an 'alien' in some of those seasons, I'm still not going to call him that - because the term was essentially coined in 2009 for a specific group of guys that one other guy was later added onto. the competitive landscape and demands of doohan's era were so different that it feels off to try and go back and label him or any other past riders aliens... they were phenomenally talented, yes, they were great champions, yes, they can be called as good as the aliens, sure - but why wrench the term out of its historical context? is it still an analytically useful concept if you do so, except as a way to generically refer to a rider as 'very talented'?

which is also why I personally don't describe anyone since then as an alien. this doesn't mean I don't think fabio or now pedro aren't as good as those guys were, I just don't think they've been given the opportunity to have that kind of hold over the sport. fabio won five out of eighteen races in 2021 - and he did so on a yamaha that basically only he was able to consistently get a high level of performance out of. which is deeply impressive - but unlike say casey in 2007, he didn't have those other riders to dominate all the other races. eight riders won a race that season! it's just a fundamentally different competitive landscape. personally, I'd be perfectly content if we don't get another alien era. of course 2007-15 isn't all bad, but for good reason most fans' most fondly remembered eras are either 2001-06 or 2017-19... yes, at times one rider was too dominant, but it still felt like more riders had a shot at victory - and most importantly the quality of the racing was generally very high. this kind of domination by a few mega talents on the best machinery can get drab pretty quickly (though of course a lot of the blame for decreased race quality needs to be assigned to the 800cc era 2007-11, not to any of the aliens themselves)

I'd be quite happy to retire the term alien going forwards... except as a useful shorthand for a specific group of guys who have mostly retired. it shouldn't be used as a way to bash the young stars, as if they just can't measure up to the legends of the past. which would be dumb! again, plenty of ways in which motogp is harder now than it ever has been, though the most important thing is that it's just... different. not better, not worse, just different. sure, maybe we'll get another equivalent to the alien era, even though I personally think it's quite unlikely. if it happens, yeah, let's discuss cranking the term out again (and, yes, if you look at the current season and ignore sprints... if this current trend continues then we can have the debate at the end of the season. pecco and jorge despite all their apparent inconsistencies are currently building a pretty solid case for themselves) (now I've said that they're both gonna crash out of assen huh)

that being said! I don't exactly neatly follow this principle myself, because sometimes I do use something like the term 'alien-like talent' to refer to fabio or pedro... obviously, you can argue this is basically the same as calling them aliens in everything but semantics. so what's the criteria there? when do I use this term? I think to me it's just... instant, 'in your face' talent. they arrive to the premier class and they shine basically immediately. valentino got a relatively sedate start to the premier class by alien standards - which is fitting, because he's not really about that blistering raw pace. still, he wasn't far from being a rookie champion, got ten podiums, two wins... not too bad. casey was on a satellite team, but he got pole in his second ever race and came painfully close to winning his third. dani got a podium on debut and fought for the championship for almost the entire season. jorge got pole in his first three races and won his third. marc won the second time out and of course secured the title in his rookie season. compare that to fabio - pole in his fourth ever race on satellite machinery, fighting for wins in his first season. pedro got a podium in his second ever race and is handily outperforming everyone else on that bike

so it's about how quickly these guys pick this stuff up, how quickly they make that step from one level to another - though again, it's important to stress you can't just neatly compare these achievements! valentino's first two seasons were on 500cc bikes, which were notorious for being kind of evil. some of these riders started on satellite bikes (we're not counting valentino here), and there's also plenty of talk about how the bikes have become more complicated to ride now, making pedro's rapid adjustment even more impressive. but in every case, there is just this ability to 'be fast immediately', whatever the circumstances... and it's worth pointing out that even though pecco had a mediocre rookie season, he was incredibly quick in 2019 pre-season testing. jorge martin secured his first pole position and podium at his second race in motogp

speaking of, those two were already a touch older when they joined the premier class. there does generally seem to be something to the idea that in motorcycle racing, if you are not already very fast at a certain age, you will have a quite definitive ceiling... and from valentino onwards, the age by which you need to already have reached that standard of 'very good' seems to have gone down. when we're talking about talent and throwing around the term alien, this feels like another important change to mention - doohan was not winning his titles as a 22 year old! neither was rainey! or schwantz! or lawson! or... actually spencer was very young, yeah. but I think you get the point. I cannot tell you definitively why this changed, but it clearly has changed. in the 21st century, only two riders have won titles when they were older than 26: valentino (29-30) and jorge (28). valentino and marc were both 27 when their dominance over the sport ended (even if valentino secured titles after that point and marc will very probably do so as well). casey was 27 when he retired. (fun fact: pecco bagnaia is currently 27 years old.) so overall it's pretty rare in grand prix motorcycle racing to operate at the top of the premier class for more than a certain number of years - but the precise age window in which you are likely to be at your best does seem to have shifted pretty radically this century. which should demonstrate how hard these things are to compare... like I said, talent is often assessed by how quickly you are good at something - but if we called mick doohan a late bloomer, it would be wildly ahistorical

and yeah, look, this idea of 'you have to be good young or you will have a certain ceiling' is hardly unique to motogp, lots of sports are like that... another measure of this precocity that's perhaps more useful than just 'age' is looking how long it took them to win a title from when they joined the premier class (if they did so at all, of course). it's generally very fast! marc year one, valentino, casey and joan year two, jorge and fabio year three... and, well, pecco and hayden year four. of course, there's exceptions to this 'be fast immediately' rule - athletes who ended up being very good and title contenders who had slightly different paths getting there. the sete's and dovi's of this world - and to a lesser extent hayden too, who unlike those two was only even really a title contender in a single season... but generally speaking, those riders seem more heavily reliant on circumstances playing out just right to have a shot at a title

or perhaps! perhaps it's going to change! especially if you look at repeat champions, pecco does become a bit of an outlier in how he got there this century, doesn't he? compare the numbers he was posting in his rookie season vs valentino, casey, jorge and marc. and in some ways, you can extend this even further and say he's a massive historical outlier in terms of any premier class champions. there was an article about this in late 2022:

and some more about how historically unusual he is:

isn't that great? you don't become premier class champion with that kind of a rookie season, but pecco did! hey, aleix was a serious title threat in that season, which is a far more remarkable story still! and the thing is, right, if you're studying the current era and are labelling some riders aliens but leaving out pecco... then no offence but what's the point? look, who knows, maybe marc and pedro and david alonso are going to dominate the next twenty titles and pecco will have been a weird blip. but isn't there something fun about believing that a bunch of different riders could eventually develop into title threats? wouldn't it be kind of cool if you don't have to just write someone off age 22 any more? I don't know, I think it's a neat development! I hope it sticks around! there'll be plenty of alien-level talents in the future, but personally I wouldn't mind at all if there were no more aliens

[laurelindebear]

Saturday nights have been D&D/TTRPG night for...a long long time now. But at the moment I'm not taking part, and it feels...weird, and sad. My group is still going, but about a month ago, before we went on our trip away, the session ended with something of a falling out and it brought to a head all the problems that have been building up for me for awhile. Rant and just...being sad below.

The group consists of 7-8 people: myself, my husband, his brother (and sometimes sister in law), and four of our friends. Husband and brother in law normally take turns DMing. They're both pretty good DMs, but we use a lot of homebrew and allow a lot of stuff that isn't in the rules, and power creep has become a real thing.

Main problem I have is that at this point, three of the (currently) seven people are actively harming the fun for me. One of the people is husband's oldest friend and they used to be closer but they don't have so much in common now. They have always been annoying (eg calling us on the phone every single day when we first got married, before always-online services). Despite having played TTRPGs for decades, they never remember what their spells or abilities do, whether we're playing, what time we start, etc. They and they alone have trouble with the dice room (somewhat conveniently - we swapped to using a room with dice rollers years ago in part because we simply didn't believe their actual rolls with physical dice (we're playing on voice, not in person) - they're also a habitual liar about pointless things like that. Maybe most annoying is that they are always playing another game at the same time (usually World of Warcraft), and not something that's easy to tab out of, or which only uses half your brain. I level fishing etc while playing a lot, because it's so boring otherwise, but it doesn't take my attention. But because of this, they are only ever half-aware of what's going on, at best. They get bored of their characters before the end of every campaign, without fail, and often have them get killed off/reroll in stupid ways because they think its funny.

Person two is a friend who is just kind of obsessed with finding ways to 'break' and game the system to make their character overpowered. At the end of a previous campaign they decided they were going to one-shot kill the ultimate big bad by summoning a herd of...oxen or something way above the guy's head and dropping them on him for massive damage, because it was funny. It only half-worked, partly because the DM wasn't keen on having the final battle go that way, I think, but you get the idea. This time they're trying a multiclass build specifically to do ludicrous amounts of damage every fight, which works because of the way we handle short and long rests and healing. Then there's the fact that all their characters are super greedy and have to loot everything, even when it's detrimental to the party; and that their go-to special thing to do to anyone they don't like or anyone we need to question is to shove stuff up the person's butthole. (They also enjoy being very cold and evilish and acting without consulting the group.)

Person three is my BIL who I've talked about before. Sometimes we get on ok. But we have very different values and we can clash a lot. He's borderline obsessed with the military and military loyalty, and he's actively proud and defensive of British colonialism. (!!!!) He also is very precious about male gaze, and criticism thereof, to the point of acting very personally offended and harmed by how 'women on television/ in films/ in games can't have big boobs now.' In this campaign he's been very metagamey, where no matter what we encounter (we're jumping between universes) he knows exactly who and what everything is and doesn't hesitate to explain it all to us. He may have encyclopedic knowledge of all TTRPG systems and critters, but his character absolutely wouldn't. He's also very bossy; he gets cross if he feels he's the only one putting forward plans and strategy, but as often as not when anyone does suggest a plan, he immediately jumps in to say how terrible it is and why it won't work - even if it will. He's loud and can be aggressive and I'm pretty shit at assertiveness, although sometimes if my husband is DMing he'll actually tell me, off mic, that my plan/idea is a good one and to keep going with it regardless of BIL's dismissals. In this last campaign especially, he's been obsessive about sex and boobs and everyone in the party getting laid every adventure, when that's really not what most of us are about.

Anyway, the last game I played turned into a mess because we got transported to your typical 'warworld coliseum battle royale' type world run by a super powerful wizard or lich or something. We were fighting some of the guy's minions and doing ok, but Powergamer decided it was too dangerous and taking too long so he tried to attack the big boss, despite hints from the DM (husband) that it wasn't a great plan. As a result we all got Meteor Swarm-ed and Doesn't Pay Attention died (again).

As we were in the process of escaping, I had a wild thought to try to pickpocket the boss, or maybe sneak something from his balcony while he wasn't there - I was playing a rogue and my stealth and sleight of hand were very good. I mention this in just a thinking out loud way, and get screamed at by BIL because 'THIS IS A LEVEL 36 MAGE CASTING LEVEL 18 FIREBALLS, OF COURSE HE'LL BE ABLE TO SEE INVISIBLE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING' etc etc. Somehow when other players do something bonkers and risky - say, diving off a zeppelin into a tower window, telefragging a castle, or using a weird demonic artifact to bring a Mecha Joan of Arc back to life, whose programming is essentially to destroy all humanoid life - it's more likely to be taken as funny, or 'haha it's your funeral but do whatever', but for me, no, I'm an idiot and how dare I even think about doing that random thing? Nevermind that neither his character nor anyone else would know what 'level' the bad guy was because that's not how RP works, characters don't have stat books on them! I lost my temper and just said something like 'ok well I try and I'm dead then, forget it', and left the channel, and I haven't been back.

So now I'm without a group, and...it sucks. My husband is sad, and I'm sad. But I don't want my RP games to be all powergaming and sexual assault and celebrations of colonialism and getting shouted at. It's not fun. And it just wasn't fun...but I wish it were. It so often has been. Maybe it will be again. But right now I feel lost and a little bit alone and it's coming at really the worst possible time, with autumn being a historically very shitty time for me and this year with my stress about politics making me both physically and mentally unwell on the daily.

[vintagemulti]

look baby, it’s a baby

pairings: jake lockley x reader , marc spector x reader , steven grant x reader

desc: three different reactions, one baby. how much better could it get?

warnings: pregnancy, infertility/miscarriage/child loss themes, swearing, sex mentions

a/n: this is a kind of request for @moonboisworld ,, i had already half written this so i know it’s not exactly your request but i hope you enjoy either way!! this had been sitting in my drafts for wayyyy too long

masterlist

it wasn’t like it was for lack of trying. it really, really wasn’t. you could count on one hand the amount of days you went between sex, especially around your more fertile days.

but still, at least once a month, a single line stared back at you. it didn’t hurt so much anymore, not after the years of trying, but there was still a lump in your throat when you swallowed.

it had been four years - four whole years of trying for a baby. you had tried everything, all the positions the websites told you to, every time you were fertile according to flo, hell - even changing your diet. four whole years that you and your husbands had been trying for that longed for baby.

every test you took, every three day late period, every time you were sick in the morning, it all added to the disappointment of that single line on the test. not once had you seen even the faintest trace of a second line.

it hurt - it did. but you couldn’t have asked for someone better to go through it with. marc was the one who would hold you when you cried, he himself being the most anxious to become a father.

jake was there in the physical ways, holding your hand at every doctors appointment and driving you to every health centre, every therapy session - everywhere.

steven put in the work. he read the books, researched every website he could find, did all the shopping - he longed to be a father the most. sure, all three of them couldn’t wait, but deep down for steven the thought of a child just completely overtook him, he was in love with this baby before it was even created.

it wasn’t easy for you, even with them. your parents were… eager, to say the least. every month without a pregnancy reveal that passed, they seemed to only get less patient, your mother dropping hints almost every time you saw her, and you tried to ignore her snide comments about your lack of bump.

she even bought maternity dresses for you.

it was irritating, to be short. but you dealt it with - promising yourself that when you were meant to become parents, you would.

about two years into trying, you realised it might be time to get tested. so you did, and it turned out that both you and your husbands were completely healthy, just painfully unlucky.

so you found yourself in the passenger seat next to jake, once again, on the way to the doctors. it had been about eight weeks since your last visit, you’d certainly been trying since then. you hadn’t taken a test, though, partly because you hoped that a doctor would give good news, partly because the thought of staring a single line made you feel like shit.

but the thing was, your period was due. today. normally, you’d wake up with it, blood staining the sheets, but you’d woken up completely clean. to make matters worse, you’d woke up completely nauseous for the last few weeks.

you hated to admit it gave you hope, but the butterflies in your stomach were flying around faster and faster the closer you got to the doctors.

how unlucky did you have to be? to try for four whole years, and not get pregnant even once. it would have made sense, to be infertile, or to have some kind of condition. but no, you were just fucking unlucky.

with every trip, you prepared for bad news. that you couldn’t have kids, you’d miscarry if you did. that might have been easier to take, but every doctor that looked at you in pity and shook their heads broke you a little more.

jake pulled in to a space, parking immaculate as per usual. it went in a blur - the walk from the car to the waiting room feeling more like muscle memory than a conscious action.

the smell of the waiting room always took you by surprise, you never got used to it. plastic, medical, stuffy air filled your lungs as you found an empty seat, feeling jake sit down next to you.

maybe it was stupid to wear a white dress. maybe, you were hoping that, deep down, the period would never come. the fabric would stay white, and the doctor would deliver fantastic news.

maybe it was just the way the washing cycle lined up.

“y/n grant?” the doctor called, snapping you from your thoughts.

you and jake stood up, him letting you walk in front. he followed behind, hand around your waist.

your doctor smiled at you from her chair, you two sitting across from her. she welcomed you, making small talk as you got comfortable.

“so, how long’s it been?” she asked, facing you two.

“um,” you thought for a moment. “about eight weeks, i think.”

she nodded, “and you’ve been trying since then?”

both you and jake nodded.

“y/n, any periods? abnormal discharge?”

“no,” you breathed. “i was just starting my period the last time we were here, so i’m actually due about now.”

“alright,” she wrote something down. “jake, right?”

he nodded. “morning.”

“have you been feeling alright? anything of note?”

“no, not really.”

she wrote something down again.

“we’re past the point of being awkward, so i’ll just ask it - how many times have you had sex since the last time you were here?”

you looked at each other, counting in your head. eight weeks, three or so times a week… “about twenty, give or take.”

writing something again, she hummed. “and you’ve not been using any protection?”

jake shook his head.

“alright, good. y/n, any sickness lately? in the morning, especially?”

“um,” you trailed the syllable. “a little, actually.”

both the doctor and jake looked at you, both as surprised as each other.

“it’s nothing major, just nausea and headaches.”

she tilted her head. “have you had any, like, fluttering sensations? cravings? backache, or anything?”

you hadn’t realised that until now. you really, truly hadn’t. putting it down to stress or period cravings - you genuinely hadn’t realised it.

the doctor seemed to notice your realisation, prompting you to lie on the all-too-familiar bed behind you. jake squeezed your hand and walked over with you, sitting at your side.

you pulled your dress up, the cool air making goosebumps rise on your skin. the coldness wasn’t helped by the gel the doctor spread on your stomach, it was well known to you, but still never got any longer.

the wait for the ultrasound machine to start up felt like a million years. medical processes you didn’t quite understand dragged on and on and on, your hands going clammy, intertwined with jake’s.

the ultrasound moved around your tummy, looking for the right picture.

when it came on screen, you didn’t know how to react.

a little, bean shaped image stared back. something was floating around, tiny little picture visible on the screen. you didn’t believe it.

“is that…?” you couldn’t even say it.

the doctor smiled. “i think, you might be pregnant.”

jake felt marc come forward, happily allowing the switch. marc leaned forward to the screen, not believing his own eyes. this couldn’t be right?

“oh my god, baby, it’s a baby..” he mumbled, turning back to you.

you lay, completely frozen. there was a baby. your baby, a real, actual baby.

looking back at your husband, you could see steven in his eyes. for the first time in four years, there was a spark. the spark that had been there when you first suggested having children.

“it’s a baby,” you repeated back to him.

“our baby.”

[neverminditsnamjoon]

BTS Cuddling/Showing Affection (HCs)

In honor of Yoongi’s birthday, here is my first writing project for BTS! Massive thank you to @yoongisshadow​ for being my partner in crime, editor/proofreader, and providing some of the gifs!! Go follow her if you’re not already--she’s amazing!

Genre: Tooth-rotting fluff, rated PG

Word Count: ~1800

Jin

If he’s chilling on the couch, he likes when you put your head on his shoulder

That way he can rest his head against yours

Has definitely fallen asleep in this position (more than once)

He tends to sleep with his hands resting on his stomach

If you’re there, he’ll fold one of your hands under his, smiling serenely when you rub your fingers in circles over his tummy

If you’re laying in bed, he prefers to lay against your side, with a single arm thrown over your midsection

Will immediately wake up if you move

He enjoys other forms of cuddling as well

Like letting you rest with your head in his lap

“So you can look up and see my handsome face.”

He also loves hugs a ridiculous amount (have you seen those shoulders?? perfect for Hug!!)

Jin will find any excuse to hug you, and wraps his arms around you until he can literally feel you relax into him

Acts of service are his love language

So you best bet he’s gonna cook for you

If Jin doesn’t bring you food (and feed it to you himself) at least once a day, you get worried

You’re his go-to taste tester, and you get stupidly happy upon hearing Jin call to you from the kitchen, “Honey, come taste this for me.”

He owns a Kiss the Cook apron, and he will definitely enforce it

Yoongi

Yoongi shows affection by giving you nice gifts

Sometimes it’s a coffee, made just the way you like it

Sometimes it’s a $1300 Chanel necklace

There’s no telling lol

Whether it’s a four-dollar coffee or something extravagant, the gift is always presented with a shrug and a nonchalant expression

But when you kiss him and whisper your thanks, he’s all gums

“Bad Boy” doesn’t do PDA, at all. However-

He is known to fall asleep at random, and you usually happen to be sitting next to him when he does

Taehyung has an album on his phone just for pictures of Yoongi snoozing on your shoulder, his mouth open

Tae never posts them for fear of his own life, but he’s sent you a couple

One of them is your lockscreen

When it’s just the two of you, he relaxes a little more

It’s a subtle, quiet vulnerability, but you’ve learned to pick up on it

When he gives you a gummy smile after you’ve had a bad day, you know it means “I care about you”

When he brushes his fingers across your back, you know he’s saying “I love you”

When he asks, “are you cold?”, you know it’s an invitation to curl up into his side

His arm around your shoulder is enough to feel how much he enjoys your presence

You toss and turn in the night, but Yoongi is in the exact same place when you wake

“Of course he’ll be a rock in his next life,” you think to yourself. “He already sleeps like one.”

Hobi

Bangtan’s resident Aquarius isn’t always the best at showing his emotions via physical affection

So Hobi doesn’t do any mushy-gushy affection in public

Mostly, it’s just him always trying to make you laugh

Goofy dances, dumb jokes, and silly faces. Anything to see his girl smile :’)

Every once in a while, he’ll give you a colored drawing he made, giggling a cute amount when he sees you’re excited about it

When he’s really, really tired, Hobi gets cuddly

He loves laying on his back between your legs, with his arms resting on them

If he leans his head back against your chest, he can hear the soft thrum of your heartbeat

This sound lulls him to sleep without fail, and it’s the sole reason he gets enough rest sometimes

When you come home from a rough day at work, he holds his arms open to you and squeezes you tight

For a man who’s an actual wordsmith, he can get mighty tongue-tied around you

So he puts his most intimate confessions in his raps

No one will ever hear them, but he utters them quietly to you when he thinks you’re asleep

He goes beet red one night when you open your eyes and gaze up at him with more love than you thought you could ever feel

“You wrote that for me?”

He can only sputter and chuckle nervously in response, but you kiss him and say, “I love it.”

“I love you,” is his answer, accompanied by his brilliant smile

Namjoon

A very loving and sweet boyfriend, as we all can guess

Even being the leader of one of the biggest bands in the world, Joon manages to be a pillar of emotional support for you

He’s always sure to check in with you between practices and recording sessions, or when he’s away on tour

Has never forgotten a birthday or anniversary, treating you to a lovely dinner and flowers every time

He’s never afraid to show his affection for you wherever you happen to be

Sometimes it’s the weight of an arm slung over your shoulders, and a soft kiss pressed to the side of your head

The boys don’t even make fun of him for being affectionate, partly out of fear and partly out of respect because they can tell he loves you so much

When you’re out and about, it’s hand holding

One of your favorite memories is walking down the street downtown, window shopping and judging people together

You’re not sure how Joon makes hand-holding look and feel so cool, but he does

His love language is definitely words of affirmation, but he still likes getting you little gifts here and there, especially while he’s abroad

He knows better than to buy you anything breakable, for fear that it might not get to you in one piece lol

No matter what, they’re always thoughtful

Insists on being the big spoon all the time

So he can kiss the top of your head and wrap his arms around you to make you feel safe

Joon usually wakes up before you and makes breakfast, but on the rare occasion you get up first, he always comes looking for you

Just imagine a sleepy Namjoon waking up and calling out, “Baby?” when you get up before him :(

Jimin

This boy is constantly kissing you, holding your face with both hands and giggling

And he WILL pout if you’re not constantly kissing him too

Always has his arms around you, hugging you from the back with his chin resting on your shoulder

His favorite thing to do, to make you smile every time, is sweeping you along with him for a dance

Even if you’re not coordinated, he twirls you around the room, singing loudly until he sees you smile

“You’re doing great, baby!”

Jimin showers you with compliments every chance he gets

From your outfit to your hair, to your talents to your glowing personality, he’s got a smooth compliment for it

When you’re relaxing in the evenings together, and Jimin is extra snuggly, he’ll push you over onto the couch and lay on top of you

He thrives on skin-to-skin contact and doesn’t care who sees

Because Jimin is babie, and better yet, he’s YOUR baby

He can fall asleep in any position, as long as you’re snuggled up with him

Hands holding, arms around each other, whatever--it’s all good to Mochi

He prefers to be woken up by you, instead of any of the members, because he can get kisses from you with just a second of puppy dog eyes

Will shamelessly flirt with you regardless of setting, and has definitely made eyes at you while he’s on stage or interviewing

Lots of people have one or two love languages, but Park Jimin has all five

He brings you gifts after every trip, and at this point you have more stuffed animals than you can count

Taehyung

Also constantly kissing your face

Highkey loves it when you play with his hair (the man is basically a golden retriever)

He’s known to nuzzle his face into your neck, especially if he’s sleepy

Physical affection (giving and receiving) is the recipe for his happiness

Arms? Around you. Hands? Holding yours. Happy Tae? Check.

Tae is especially fond of giving you his clothes and accessories

If you look a bit chilly, Taehyung will immediately take off his coat and drape it around your shoulders

He’ll take off his hat or scarf and carefully place it on you, even sometimes giving you his necklaces and earrings

Loves doing activities together, whether it be cooking, video games, or being outside

As long as you’re nearby, Taehyung is having a blast

He’s particularly enthusiastic when it comes to supporting you in your career and passions

When you burst through the door yelling that you’ve gotten a promotion, Tae is all shrieking noises and throwing shoes

If you start a new hobby, Tae has pictures of whatever it is and has definitely shown them to everyone who will look

“Isn’t she great?”

When you’re alone together, he always serenades you

No matter the music you’re jamming to, Taehyung is dancing around you and singing it to you at full volume

When he’s sleepy or feeling down, Tae’s favorite way to snuggle is the two of you laying down facing each other

That way you can run your hands through his hair and he can whisper sweet nothings to you

Jungkook

Enjoys receiving affection more than giving, unless you’re completely alone

If it’s just the two of you, Koo will make grabby hands for you to come sit on his lap while he’s at his computer

He’ll pick up takeout and pat the seat next to him, asking you join him for dinner

His hands are literally always in your hair

Brushing, twirling, stroking

Sings to you ALL. THE. TIME.

Sometimes absentmindedly, but other times he’ll show you a song idea and sing it to you shyly

He laughs and blushes a little when you praise him for it

Koo loves drawing on your arms, if you’ll let him, because it reminds you of him

When you’re around others, he isn’t as lovey-dovey, but you notice a slight pout in his lips if you aren’t giving him enough attention

This can be quickly relieved by bumping your nose into his neck, or squeezing his arm gently

But the best part of Jungkook’s affection for you? The way you know he REALLY cares about you?

Homeboy actually responds to your texts.

I know, I can’t believe it either

Koo has been seen many times pulling his phone out during a break in practice and smiling to himself as he replies to your memes and check-ins

The rest of the guys clown the shit out of him for being so babie with you, but he takes it like a champ

Because you’re his girl, and he loves you so much

[nugnthopkns]

dance me to the end of love (iii)

word count: 4.3k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, potential percy jackson & the olympians spoilers, alcohol consumption, motion sickness and vomiting

series masterpost: here

a/n: this took me a hot sec to finish but here it is! there's a dumb little latin joke in here but that's just because i'm a nerd lmao

Ryan is certainly giving Bette a run for her money in the best friend department.

Magdalene has no intentions of usurping her best friend, but Ryan is quickly becoming the person she talks to most frequently. It started on social media but quickly moved to regular texting, both of them being twenty-five and capable of communicating through more normal channels. The text thread between them isn’t indicative of their newfound friendship – it looks like they’ve been friends since high school. At any given moment at least three conversations are going on, and Magdalene regularly sends him random updates throughout the day. Ryan likes hearing about any interesting artefacts she encounters at work so she keeps mental notes to tell him during their frequent phone calls.

Despite talking to him almost constantly, Magdalene hasn’t seen Ryan since they grabbed lunch at Barn Owl nearly two weeks ago. The lake house trip is a couple days out, and she’s been busy trying to get all her ducks in a row. At work, the current project is coming to an end and Magdalene will be sad to see it go – it’s the first thing she’s been on from start to finish. She’s got a neighbour coming to spend time with Caligula while she’s away so he doesn’t get too upset. Though the days are passing by in a haze as she tries to get ready, Magdalene is excited to get away for a little bit. It’s been a few years since she’s left Denver for more than a night, electing to skip on Bette’s previous vacation invites, and it will be nice to slow down. Life is moving at a comfortable pace, but having some time to pause and breathe will keep Magdalene from feeling too overwhelmed.

Halfway through her last day of work, Magdalene gets a text from Ryan that makes her nearly double over in laughter.

Julius Caesar walks into a bar and says to the bartender “I’ll have a Martinus please!” The bartender replies “Don’t you mean a Martini?” Caesar shakes his head and says “If I wanted double I would have said so.”

It takes her a minute to catch her breath, which piques June’s curiosity. Magdalene recites the joke and her boss rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but does let out a chuckle.

June didn’t think it was funny, but I did. Thank you for making today infinitely better. You riding with us tomorrow?

Magdalene tucks her phone back into her purse, determined to remain focused for the last few hours, and misses the reply telling her that Ryan won’t be riding with Bette, Tyson, and herself, but rather with Cale and his girlfriend to leave enough space for all the gear getting brought. She doesn’t see it until she’s walking across the parking lot to her car and it fills her with a sadness that doesn’t make much sense. He’ll be there for the entire week, so does it matter that he’ll be in a different car for the four hour drive? Magdalene has a sinking suspicion about why she’s upset, but she pushes it down. There’s no space in your life for a relationship right now, she reminds herself as she unlocks the door to her apartment. Caligula is waiting patiently at the door and distracts her thoughts from the handsome man with the kind smile that’s been all she can think about recently.

The cat is incredibly perceptive and knows the regular routine is going to change, making him particularly clingy. He follows Magdalene as she finishes packing, meowing and begging for pets, and she considers bailing on her friends. Caligula has mild separation anxiety and Magdalene doesn’t go away often partly because of it – though another reason is her homebody nature. Only the thought of seeing Ryan keeps her from hanging all her clothes back up.

“Don’t worry little boots,” she coos, “I won’t be gone long. Maria is going to check on you while I’m away, and I’ll be home before you know it.”

It seems ridiculous to speak to her pet as though it’s a child, but Magdalene knows Caligula comprehends what she’s saying. He’s always been smart, and the two of them share a bond that’s hard to explain. She picks him up, puts him in the pocket of her hoodie, and they spend the rest of the night packing and dancing along to the radio.

☼☼☼☼

Bette forgot to mention that the road to the lake house is winding, and Magdalene spends the entire ride with her head between her knees. Motion sickness is something that unfortunately plagues her during journeys longer than a couple of hours and she wishes she would have thought to take anti-nausea medication before leaving the house. Tyson tries to crack a joke about her being a bad passenger, but his girlfriend swats his arm and passes her friend a water bottle with a concerned smile. The two of them speak in hushed tones, almost certainly for Magdalene's benefit, and she does her best not to throw up on the floor of Tyson’s car. After what feels like two decades the vehicle rolls to a stop at the end of a gravel path.

“Mags, we’re here,” Bette says softly, praying that her friend will begin to feel better after stretching her legs and feeling firm ground underneath her.

There’s an unintelligible groan from Magdalene, but she rises out of the car and stumbles into the house. Tyson and Bette insist that she rest and they’ll handle the unloading of the car, so she crawls into one of the empty beds and falls asleep as soon as her head touches the pillow. It’s a dreamless slumber, one fuelled by the pure exhaustion of battling illness while travelling, and when she awakes hours later Magdalene feels oddly refreshed. Her energy level is still relatively low, but she knows that intaking food won’t be an issue.

Padding down the stairs as quiet as possible in an effort to not break the peaceful atmosphere, Magdalene is met with a quiet house. She’s utterly confused – she didn’t sleep long enough to miss dinner and judging by the way the sun is low in the final car full of people should be arriving any minute. For a moment she thinks the group left her in the mountains alone, but then the sound of a trunk closing breaks the silence.

“I fucking told you bro, you should have let me drive!”

Ryan’s voice echoes in Magdalene's ears and her heart skips a beat. She didn’t realize how much she had missed him or how excited she is to see him. Despite everything inside of her saying she should run into his arms Magdalene stays put in the kitchen, running the tap to get a glass of water. She focuses on the mountain on the other end of the lake, framing the setting sun and creating a postcard ready photo. The camera app on her phone is open and angles for the best shot are found. Ryan tumbles through the door a second later, arms filled to the brim with luggage and bags of food.

He drops them the second he sees her, running up behind her and lifting her off the ground. “Mags! Cale almost hit a deer!”

The shock of Ryan’s onslaught of affection catches her off guard, and Magdalene shakes her hand, forcing the picture to turn out as nothing but a blur.

“No hello?” She laughs as Ryan lets her feet touch down on the wooden floor. “It’s the least you could give me after destroying my chance of getting a National Geographic worthy picture.”

He smiles but doesn’t let his hands drop from their perch on her waist. “There’s six more days for you to nail it. I’ll even help if you ask.”

Other bodies enter the house then, causing Magdalene to slink away from Ryan’s touch even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. They’re simply friends, and she doesn’t want Bette to get any ideas. The last thing Magdalene needs on her plate right now is her best friend forcing her to paint a custom denim jacket with Ryan’s number across the back. “I can’t believe you almost hit a deer,” Tyson sighs in disbelief.

“It wasn’t even close,” Cale grumbles, picking up his bags and stomping off to find a place to claim as his own the next couple of days. A petite redhead follows after him, giving a small wave to those in the kitchen before scurrying away. When she asks, Ryan tells Magdalene the girl’s name is Livy, and that she’s Cale’s girlfriend from back home.

Everyone shrugs at his moodiness and disperses. Bette and Tyson stay in the kitchen to make dinner, Ryan goes to claim the final room, and Magdalene slips outside to sit on the patio furniture. The sun has dropped drastically in the past five minutes, causing the air to chill. She wraps her arms tighter around her legs and watches a pair of birds fly over the lake below. It’s so peaceful, a complete one-eighty from the insanity of her life in Denver, and Magdalene thinks about never leaving. She knows it’s impossible, but as she closes her eyes and listens to the quiet laughter of her friends inside the idea seems like a pretty good one.

The sliding door creaks open and Ryan goes through as quietly as possible. He tosses a sweater in Magdalene’s direction as he walks over, plopping down beside her on the small couch.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, slipping the fabric over her head. “I didn’t realize how cold it had actually gotten.”

He smiles in response and shuffles his body a little closer to create extra warmth. Magdalene leans into him, trying to appear casual even though her heart is beating rapidly, and pulls on the strings of the sweater Ryan gave her.

“So, are you excited for this week?”

It’s more awkward than she thought it would be – seeing him in person again, especially since they’ve been texting almost constantly, and the words kind of stick in her throat.

“Honestly? Now that I’m here I am, but I was a little leery about taking time off,” Ryan explains, detailing how he’s trying to improve some aspects of his two-way play and is worried his progress will plateau. Magdalene understands and shares her own worries about taking time off work even if her boss encouraged it.

After catching up quickly and running out of things to say, the pair of them sit in silence watching the sun set until they’re called inside for dinner. It’s nice to just exist, especially with Ryan beside her, and Magdalene feels her heart sink as they separate and he goes to make sure Cale isn’t actually mad at him.

☼☼☼☼

It storms the first two days at the lake house, forcing everyone to stay inside. Tyson complains about how he has less time to drive the boat that came with the property but the others take it in stride. Magdalene spends most of the time reading for pleasure, something she hasn’t been able to do much of the past few years, and Ryan joins her for large chunks of the time. It turns out that he too is an avid reader, and the two of them discuss their favourite novels and series while the other four play board games.

“So you’re telling me you wish Annabeth would have joined the Hunters of Artemis?” Magdalene shrieks in shock, almost knocking the wine out of her glass as her arms flail in disbelief.

“I think it made sense for her to,” Ryan defends.

“But she’s perfect for Percy!”

He sticks to his guns. “I’m not saying she isn’t. I just think that at the time the offer was presented it was the most logical choice. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about what would have happened if she did.”

She ducks her head in defeat because she had imagined it, on many occasions in fact. When reading the series for the first time in middle school Magdalene had desperately hoped Annabeth would choose the Hunters over Camp Half-Blood, gaining the family she herself never was privy to. They return to reading quietly beside each other, occasionally knocking elbows when trying to turn a page.

Tuesday brings sunshine and clear skies, which means Tyson is trying to corral everyone into the boat as soon as they’re up. Magdalene tries her hardest to get out of it but her pleas fall on deaf ears.

“You’ll be fine, stop being such a wimp,” Cale jests. She knows that he’s just anxious to soak up some sun, but the words hurt more than Magdalene would have liked them to.

Livy swats her boyfriend across the chest. “Enough! If she doesn’t want to come she doesn’t have to.” The smaller girl sends her a kind smile before speaking low enough that only Magdalene can hear her. “I know your book is just getting good and you look like the kind of person who needs alone time to function properly. Enjoy yourself.”

Seemingly excused from the day’s festivities, Magdalene gives a sheepish wave before climbing the small hill to the house. Ryan meets her halfway and is appalled when he hears of her plans.

“Nope, I don’t think so. You’re not leaving me alone to be the ultimate third wheel!”

He has her off the ground and over his shoulder in a millisecond, jogging lightly to catch up with the rest of the group. Magdalene’s laugh bounces off the tree lined shore, and she’s too busy having fun shrieking at Ryan to complain about being forced to spend all day on a boat away from her book. Tyson peels away from the dock before she can regret tagging along, and Bette tugs Magdalene to the bow.

The two girls chat quietly, giggling and sipping on the mimosas they made earlier. Magdalene isn’t a huge day drinker, but Bette makes sure there’s more orange juice than champagne to make her feel less guilty. Livy joins them a while later after becoming sick of the boys and their shenanigans. It’s nice to hang out with a group of girls that aren’t competing for the top spot in a class, Magdalene decides, and she revels in the stories they tell of going to hockey games and babysitting the children of players so they can catch a break. Twinges of jealousy creep up at the wonderful family dynamic the Avalanche seem to have, but she stomachs them. She reminds herself that other people deserve to have support systems and excuses herself from the conversation.

Magdalene slides into the free space beside Ryan, and without thinking he wraps an arm around her shoulder. It feels so natural that she wonders if it’s how he greets all his friends, but the looks of shock and Tyson and Cale’s faces say otherwise. After a bit more cruising they find a small bay to anchor in for a while. The sun had climbed to the middle of the sky and is unbearably warm, leaving everyone no choice but to jump into the water to cool off. Magdalene does her best to float peacefully a short distance away from the group but is somehow brought into a splashing war because the teams aren’t equal.

Eventually the constant barrage of water chills her to the bone, and Magdalene swims back to the boat. She watches from the sidelines and cheers for her old teammates with a towel wrapped snugly around her. Ryan breaks from the group too, insisting it isn’t fair to have teams on unequal strength. Once dry, he picks up the baseball cap he brought and places it delicately on Magdalene’s head.

“Your cheeks are starting to go pink and I don’t want you to burn,” he explains, passing her a bottle of sunscreen as well.

“Thanks Ry.”

They muse about the idyllic beauty of the scene in front of them until everyone rejoins them. For reasons unbeknownst to Magdalene Tyson is in a rush to get back to the house, which leads to him driving very fast and a little erratically. The contents of her stomach threaten to come up but she holds them down, tightening her grip on the leather seat. A wave crests and Tyson hits it head on, causing the boat to lurch and rock. Magdalene knows it’s going to happen before it does and leans over the side to save a mess from being created. All the alcohol and food she’d consumed throughout the day is no longer in her body, and heat creeps up the back of her neck. She’s embarrassed – what twenty-five year old gets sea sick?

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice.

She tries to smile but it comes out more like a grimace. “I just, uh, get motion sick really easily.” Bette passes her a water bottle and she drinks it quickly, eager to get the taste out of her mouth.

Ryan lets Magdalene curl into his side the rest of the way home, and rubs comforting circles on her back to ease her discomfort, doing his best to ignore the stares from his friends.

☼☼☼☼

The trip comes to an end much more quickly than Magdalene would have liked. Tomorrow morning they’ll pack up and drive back to Denver, returning to their normal hectic schedules. Cale and Livy are heading back to Alberta for the rest of the summer, and Bette and Tyson will be going for a visit as well. She’s heard Ryan mention going home in passing, which most likely means he doesn’t have plans to stay. Magdalene will be all alone in Colorado, but she’s used to it. The only issue being friends with professional athletes is that they leave. She’s been dealing with the loss since Bette and Tyson got together years ago – having them around as her support system most of the year and then them disappearing for a couple of months.

Not wanting to think about how soon she’ll be alone, Magdalene heads outside and starts a campfire. It’s a skill she picked up as a kid and it has come in handy over the years. The newspaper crinkles under the flame from the lighter, and soon the kindling is burning well. Everyone else is still inside, cleaning up from dinner and preparing for one last night in paradise. She places a few blocks of wood in the fire pit once there’s a good enough flame and curls up in a chair, lost in thought about what comes next. There’s rustling from somewhere behind her but she pays it no mind, assuming it’s a small animal wandering through the forest.

“Can I offer you some company?” a voice says softly, waiting for a response. The movement wasn’t a raccoon but in fact Ryan, and Magdalene gestures at the chair beside her with a smile.

He passes her a glass of white wine, which she takes with an appreciative hum. They sit in silence for a moment, admiring the beauty of the setting sun. “I’m going to miss it,” Ryan sighs, leaning back in his chair and extending his legs.

She nods. “Me too. It’s so quiet up here. Denver gets too loud sometimes.”

“Tell me about it. I’m not just going to miss the lake though, it’s also lounging around and not having to worry about hockey. And you.”

The ending comes out rushed, and Magdalene isn’t sure she heard him correctly. “Me?”

Ryan looks at her like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Yes you. Why wouldn’t I? You’re funny, smart, and catch all of my West Wing references. There’s no one who gets me quite like you, even back home.”

It takes her by surprise. They’ve only known each other for a few months, and only really started associating after the party at Bette and Tyson’s. There has to be somebody who knows him better than she does. When she voices her opinion Ryan just scoffs, saying that people treat him as one-dimensional because he plays hockey. Somehow the conversation shifts to Magdalene, and when she lets it slip she gets lonely in Denver without her friends, Ryan asks the question she’s been dreading.

“So why don’t you get a boyfriend?”

“I can’t just get a boyfriend because my friends are gone,” she laughs, but there’s an edge to it, like she’s unsure of where this will go and how to question the follow ups.

He rolls his eyes. “I know that, but like, I don’t know, wouldn’t it be nice to not be alone all the time?”

It would be, Magdalene thinks, but she just shrugs. “I guess I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I just finished school and for the first time in a long time I can focus on myself.” She leaves out the part where Ryan gives her butterflies and that if he asked she’d probably jump headfirst into a relationship with him.

The topic is dropped then because Tyson comes out of the house screaming about the night is going to be wild because it’s their last together for a while. Magdalene and Ryan share a look of mild panic, but both of them are itching to have fun with friends so they raise their glasses in salute before finishing them in one gulp.

Magdalene drinks more than she should and wakes in the morning with a killer hangover. It seems that no one else is better off though, all stumbling around looking for Advil and coffee like it’s going to be their last meal. Packing up takes a bit longer than expected, but they’re still out before the official checkout time. There’s a bit of discourse on who Magdalene will travel home with. Bette wants her in Tyson’s car, no doubt to talk about how close her and Ryan seem to be, but Cale offers to bring her with them. His reasoning is that Ryan is driving him and Livy directly to the airport, and having the front seat could be good for her motion sickness. It’s ultimately Magdalene’s choice and the idea of having more time with Ryan before he leaves is too enticing to pass up. She bids her other friends goodbye, promising to come over for dinner before they fly out, and climbs into the cab of Cale’s truck.

Once again she’s a less than ideal passenger, but this time it’s because she sleeps the entire way back to Denver. The drinking took it out of her and coupled with the queasiness in her stomach from the winding roads sleep is the only thing that makes sense. So much for extra time with Ryan she thinks as she wakes up in the airport parking lot.

“Sleeping beauty has risen!” Ryan chuckles, “Why don’t you get out and stretch your legs for a sec? We have the parking spot for another fifteen minutes.”

Magdalene does as suggested because truthfully her joints are a little stiff, and finds Cale and Livy grabbing their bags from the back. She hugs them goodbye and wishes them safe travels, which Cale returns with a warning not to get into too much trouble before heading for the entrance. Once both of them are safely inside the confines of the airport, Ryan and Magdalene get back in the vehicle and finish the last leg of the trip.

She directs Ryan to her apartment complex, and he mentions that he’s never been in this area of the city. “That’s because you have no need to be around a bunch of university kids,” she laughs. Once they pull into the parking lot, he offers to help her take up her bag. It’s only a small suitcase Magdalene could definitely handle herself, but she wants him to come up, to prolong her time with him.

Magdalene’s keys jingle in the lock as the door opens. Ryan follows her in and shuts the door carefully, not wanting to disrupt the aura of peace that permeates the space. From what he can tell, the average size apartment is the perfect reflection of Magdalene – packed full of books and plants and feels very put together despite the owner being only twenty-five. After their shoes find a home on the boot rack and the coats they brought for the drive home are hung in the closet she leads Ryan into the living room. There’s a soft purring by his feet, and Ryan looks down to see an animal. He never pegged Magdalene as someone to keep pets.

“Who’s this?” he asks, bending down to pet the small white cat.

“That’s Caligula.”

A puzzled look graces Ryan’s features. “Who?”

“Caligula,” Madalene giggles. “You can call him little boots if you’d like. He’ll respond.” She picks up the animal when it comes to her and scratches gently behind its ear.

“Why would you name your cat something dumb like Caligula, and why does it respond to little boots?”

It’s then the woman realizes that not everyone understands the reference. “Caligula was the third emperor of Rome,” she explains, “But his real name was Gaius. He gained the nickname Caligula as a child and it just stuck. It translates to little boots in Latin.”

Ryan is in awe of Magdalene for what feels like the millionth time. Of course someone as smart as her would have a crazy name for a pet and have the knowledge to back it up. He feels his chest tighten with affection but he wills it away. She isn’t looking for anything right now, he reminds himself. Magdalene’s self-professed inability to reciprocate his feelings is frustrating, but Ryan knows he’d wait forever for her.

☼☼☼☼

additional notes: catch some extra content here!

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy @ricohenrique @lovethepreds @cutiesara23 @hockeyallthetime @stlbluesbrat21 (add yourself to the taglist!)

[aliwritesfic]

The Night Shift Part 6 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

Summary: It's Saturday, your dickhead boyfriend is out of town, an old friend is in town, and it's time to get drunk!

Warnings: Drinking, mention of drug use, crippling self doubt

W/C: 4.3k

Spotify

Part 1 Part 7

Somehow, the week went exceptionally well. You bugged Frankie each day for the photo he promised you, and each time he grinned and told you that good things came to those who waited. On Wednesday you received a call from the vet telling you the kitten was going to be fine, and she would be put up for adoption when she was old enough. You were initially crushed that the kitten wasn’t going to be yours, but told yourself it was good she was bound to go to a good to a family. You couldn’t give the kind of life a cat deserved.

But most of all, you were almost unreasonably excited for the weekend. You bounced with excitement every time you thought about it - hell, even things with Kurt seemed to be going better. He had planned a hunting trip up north with a few of his friends, and would be gone from Thursday til Monday. He had brought you a bunch of flowers when he ‘broke the news’, not your favourite kind but it was the thought that counted. An entire four days to yourself was more than enough incentive for you to almost force him out the door on Thursday afternoon. With a kiss and a packed lunch and a promise to call, he was gone and the apartment was blessedly empty.

Even better, your best friend Sara was in town.

Fifteen minutes after you watched Kurt’s car pull out of the apartments parking lot, watching the window carefully to make sure he didn’t come back, you called her.

“Can we do something on Saturday? Get drunk, do bad things, anything?” You said by way of greeting.

“Oh hell fucking yes, I’ve been waiting for you to be fun again!” Sara said. You knew that was a not so subtle jab at how much you had changed since Kurt entered your life. You ignored it, like you usually did.

“Saturday sound good to you? I work Friday night and I can’t take it off.” More like you didn’t want to take it off.

“Saturday sounds fantastic. There’s a big fight night happening, and I wanna watch some hot sweaty guys pummel each other.” Sara said. “We can get drunk at the same time. Also I can get some molly if you want.”

“I’ll think about it,” you said, not entirely opposed to the idea of spending the night high as shit. Especially if Kurt wasn’t going to be there to yell at you for it.

“Let me know, sooner rather than later so I can sort it out with my guy,” Sara said. “Anyway babe, I’ve gotta jet, I’ve only got five minutes left on my break and I haven’t eaten yet, love ya!”

“Love you too,” you said, meaning it with your whole heart. Out of all the friends you once had, Sara was the only one who had stuck around after you started dating Kurt. At first, you had choked it up to jealousy, convincing yourself all your other friends were envious of your perfect relationship with a perfect guy. Now looking back, you could see what really happened: you had ditched them. Completely and utterly. Kurt had taken up all of your time, convincing you to stay in when you had plans to go out, telling you that the girls you would have trusted your life with only barely put up with you and it was just so obvious to anyone with an outsider's perspective that they didn’t really like you. You were grateful for Sara, more than words could say.

~*~

Saturday came quickly, and before you knew it, Sara was slamming her fist on your door, a bag stuffed with alcohol slung over her shoulder.

“Bitch!” she screamed in greeting when you finally opened the door, still wrapped in your towel from your shower. She was already dressed, in a tight gold 70s style jumpsuit that made her dark brown skin look like it was glowing from the inside out.

“How do you manage to look so good all the time?” You said, stepping aside to let her in.

“Witchcraft,” Sara said, pulling a bottle of prosecco out of her bag and popping it open. “And like, this whole thing took me all day. Why aren’t you ready yet?”

“I’ve been sleeping all day,” you said, plucking the bottle out of Sara’s hand and taking a swig. It was cold and crisp and filled your partly empty stomach. You continued to take small sips as you got ready, occasionally asking Sara for her girly wisdom on what to wear. She picked out your outfit as you applied makeup. It felt almost foreign, using something other than a mascara and brow pencil. The use of colour and shimmers almost felt like breaking some unwritten rule you had created for yourself since dating Kurt.

“What happened to all your fun clothes?” Sara whined, going through your wardrobe. You shrugged, carefully applying bronzer. Honestly, you weren’t sure. Sometimes things just went missing - you didn’t really question it anymore.

“I’m a miracle worker.” Sara declared after almost fifteen minutes of searching. You looked up at her, then at the small bundle of clothing in her arms. She grinned and flung the pile at you. You held up a black pleather skirt that you hadn’t worn in almost a year, and a black body suit that dipped low in the chest.

“Christ,” you muttered.

“What’s wrong with it,” Sara sounded exasperated, like she had been expecting this from you.

“It’s just-” you hesitated. “I’m not going out to get dick, you know? What’s wrong with a pair of jeans?”

Sara rolled her eyes. “What’s wrong with a pair of jeans? I’ll tell you what: everything. You don’t have to have dick as the aim of the night to look cute. You can look cute for yourself. You know just as well as I do that skirt makes your legs and ass look amazing, especially when paired with the shoes I’ve brought for you. Plus, if someone out tonight decides you look cute enough to buy you drinks, then even better! Because free drinks! You don’t have to fuck them as a thank you, you can just turn around and walk away. So, get dressed and stop complaining.”

You considered Sara’s words for a moment. She was right. After you changed, you admired yourself in the mirror. Your ass really did look amazing, and the strappy black heels that Sara had loaned you accentuated your calves magnificently. Sara stood next to you, arm linked through yours, almost a foot taller in her platforms and with her afro teased to the high heavens.

“God, we’re sexy,” she murmured, taking another swig out of the bottle. “You’re absolutely wasted on Kurt.”

You didn’t bother with your usual retorts to that kind of comment. She’s wrong, you’re lucky to have someone to love you like that at all, no one else would want to if they got to know you, you told yourself. It’s what he had told you over and over again, the words searing themselves inside your brain to repeat each time you began to truly doubt with him.

You finished off the prosecco while you waited for the Uber to arrive, enjoying the warm buzz it left you with. Sara whipped out her phone and began to take photos of the two of you. At first, you shied away from the camera, the words Kurt had said once in a throwaway comment, surely not designed to hurt but did anyway, rang in your ears. You don’t look very good in photos, why do you take so many? After that, you would spend hours staring at old photos of yourself, the flaws that were invisible now glaringly obvious.

Tonight though . . . Tonight you felt pretty. You posed for the camera, following Sara’s instructions as best you could. You took photos of each other throughout the entire ride to the venue where the fight night was taking place.

It looked a little shabby on the outside, overgrown hedges snaked up the walls, covering the windows. A smoking area was off to the side, crowded with people. The inside was even more crowded, with bodies pushing up against the horseshoe shaped bar and surrounding the ring. Two women were in the ring, both bloodied and swinging.

“God there is just something so arousing about hot people consensually beating each other up,” Sara said, unable to tear her eyes away from the ring.

“Babe, you’re drooling,” you joked, stepping in line for the bar.

“I can’t help it, I have an overactive salivary gland,” Sara sighed, tearing her eyes away. “At least my dentist says so.” You grinned at her and ordered three vodka sodas each. It was a tradition with the two of you that you would always order three drinks at a time. Less back and forth, you had reasoned. Although, usually as the night progressed, three drinks were downed in the same amount of time it took to drink one, so it really cancelled itself out in the end.

As tradition warranted, you and Sara cheersed and swallowed your first drink in one breath.

Several more fights occurred, the divisions eventually changing from women’s to men’s. Neither you nor Sara paid much attention to the first few fights: “amateur hour” Sara had said to you “I’m waiting for the good stuff.”

The good stuff, it turned out, started almost an hour and 5 drinks after you arrived.

“Next fight, King V Miller!” The announcer shouted into the microphone to the cheer of the crowd. Sara’s head shot up as if she could sense the sudden change, and she grabbed your hand, tugging you closer to the ring.

“Oh, my god look at him,” Sara said, gesturing to the ring. You knew instantly which one she was talking about. He was tall, with shaggy blonde hair and lean muscle corded over his body.

“He’s pretty spry,” you said, and instantly cringed. Spry? Really?

“I wanna fuck him tonight,” Sara said. Then her voice took on a determined edge. “I am going to fuck him tonight.” Manifestation, Sara called it. If you told the universe what you wanted, the universe would deliver.

Apparently.

“I am going to get more drinks,” you told her. She nodded, not tearing her eyes away from the fighter. You went to the considerably less crowded bar- it seemed like everyone was now watching the fights- and leant against its sticky surface.

You shouted your order over the noise of the crowd, and scanned the bar as you waited. Most faces were familiar in the way that you knew when you had seen someone before, but you didn’t know when or where. That was, until you landed on one dazzlingly familiar face, standing almost right next to you.

“Frankie?”

~*~

Frankie startled at the sound of his name. He looked around, expecting to see one of the boys or maybe an old work friend from the mechanics. The last person he expected was you. But there you stood, looking so good that he was momentarily lost for words.

“Frankie!” You said again, with a huge grin on your face this time.

“Hey!” He grinned back, “what’s a girl like you doing in a dump like this?” His tone held a flirty edge, one he wouldn’t dare have used if he hadn’t already had several bourbon and colas.

“Oh you know, I plan on accosting the winner tonight of all their prize money and taking off into the night, never to be heard from again,” you accepted three drinks from the bartender as you spoke. “What about you?”

“My friend Benny is fighting tonight. He’s actually up right now, the blonde one.”

Your jaw dropped. “No way! My friend wants to fuck your friend.” You pointed your chin towards a tall black woman, dressed like she had wandered out of Studio 54. “Is he single? Can we play wingpeople?”

“He is, we can.” Frankie nodded confidently. Maybe it was the alcohol controlling his brain, but any excuse to spend time with you seemed like a good excuse. “How should we do this?”

“Does your friend Billy-”

“Benny.”

“Benny stick around after the fights?”

“Yeah, he gets free drinks,” Frankie said. You nodded approvingly, taking a sip of one of your own drinks. Frankie watched amazed as you somehow held the two others in one hand, your fingers curling around the hard plastic cups.

“How do you do that?” He asked.

“Do what?”

“Hold your stuff like that,” he gestured to your fingers. You looked down, confused.

“Whatta’ya mean?”

“With your fingers.”

“Oh! Um, I dunno, I just do.” You shrugged and placed the now empty up on a random table, and started on the next drink. It occurred to Frankie that you were well on your way to being very, very drunk.

The crowd cheered loudly as Benny knocked out the other guy with a bloody grin. Frankie whistled his support and Benny caught his eye, saluting tiredly. Santi also caught his attention, and even across the room Frankie could see the wicked grin form on his face. Frankie looked away quickly, not willing to give the bastard any ideas.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Frankie asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

“Some stupid place doing some stupid hunting,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “Fuck him anyway he never lets me do anything fun.”

“What do you mean ‘lets you’?” Frankie said, his brow furrowing.

“I mean, he’s a controlling dickhead!” You said, then slapped a hand over your mouth. “Don’t tell him I just said that! Please!”

“I won’t, I promise,” Frankie said.

“Just forget I said anything,” your voice had taken on an almost desperate edge.

“It’s forgotten,” Frankie lied. He didn’t know how, but he was going to bring it up later. The idea of your boyfriend ‘not letting’ you do something had taken root in his brain, and somehow it made him furious. He took a deep breath, counting slowly to calm himself down.

“Who’s that guy who keeps making faces at you?” You asked, gesturing across the bar. Frankie sighed.

“Santi.” Frankie rolled his eyes at his old friend and waved him over. His curly hair friend bounded over, flashing you with a brilliant white smile.

“Well, hello there,” he said, winking at you. “Santiago Garcia, but you can call me whatever you like.”

You smiled sheepishly and gave him your name, “I work with Frankie.” Santiago’s grin widened at this piece of information, and Frankie groaned internally.

“You’re the girl Frankie told me about.”

“Chatting shit, I’m sure,” you laughed, but Frankie didn’t miss the questioning glance you sent his way when you spoke.

“Santiago was the one who took that photo I told you about,” Frankie said quickly, not wanting you to get the wrong idea. You nodded and leant over towards Santi.

“He keeps promising to show me but he’s yet to deliver,” you said, winking at Frankie. His stomach jumped, breath caught in his throat. He knew you were joking but he couldn’t help but feel like he had disappointed you somehow.

“That’s my fault,” Santi said, “I keep meaning to get him a copy but since he’s sleeping all day I haven’t been able to.” You nodded and turned to Frankie.

“I should go find my Sara before I lose her for the night,” you said, looking at Frankie. “Come find me - I mean, us later? With your Benny?”

“Yeah, of course,” Frankie said, watching as you disappeared into the crowd. The urge to grab you and kiss you grew with every second, but he restrained himself. He wasn’t that kind of guy, and no amount of drinks would make him think it would be a good idea to do that to someone. Let alone you.

~*~

Frankie’s head was cloudy with alcohol, he couldn’t stop thinking about how good your ass looked in that tiny skirt, how he wanted to plant his face directly in your chest.

“Fucking hell, get a grip,” Santiago said, shaking his friend by the shoulder. They were back in the locker rooms, Benny was buzzing with his win. He and Will were going their post match ritual of smacking each other on the back and releasing loud “woo”’s.

“I’m fine,” Frankie insisted, and Santi scoffed.

“You’re full of shit,” he said. “Ironhead, tell this idiot he’s full of shit!”

“You’re full of shit, Fish!” Will said automatically. “But what’s he full of shit for?”

“He’s in denial about pining for the chick he works with,” Santi said. “Look at the poor bastard, it’s written on his face.”

“Fish, you’ve never been good at keeping a straight face when it comes to emotional crap,” Benny said. “All other stuff, you’re great. Just not when it comes to matters of the heart. Or the dick.”

“You should’ve seen the way he was looking at her,” Santi laughed. “And the way she was looking at him, making bedroom eyes at each other.”

Frankie rolled his eyes, ignoring how the last comment made his heart leap. “You’re all stupid, she’s just a work friend saying hi. Nothing more.”

“Full of shit!” Benny cackles. “Look at his blush!” Frankie groaned. They were right about him at least. He had it bad for you.

But that didn’t matter. You had a boyfriend, and even if everything Frankie found out about the guy made him resent him a little more, he couldn’t change that one important fact. And he wasn’t stupid enough to ruin the beginings of his friendship with you over a stupid fucking crush. He just wasn’t.

Benny showered, singing You Belong With Me and switching out the pronouns as he did. The man was an unashamed Swiftie, claiming that she had a song for every situation. Frankie pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep swig of his beer. Will sat beside him and nudged him gently.

“What are you gonna do?” he asked.

Frankie frowned. “What? I’m not gonna ‘do’ anything. She has a boyfriend, end of story.”

“Sorry to hear that man,” Will said, sounding sincere. He knew Frankie wasn’t the type of guy to wreck someone else's relationship for purely selfish reasons. “You’re a good man.”

Frankie wished he wasn’t.

Benny changed into his regular clothes quickly, and said something about needing a drink. The four of them left the locker room and made their way to the bar, and Frankie couldn’t help but look around for you. When he couldn’t see you, he bit back the slight disappointment that sank in his stomach. Benny brought a round for the group and they found an empty table to sit at. The employees of the bar were dismantling the ring to make room for a dance floor. Loud, thumping music started playing and within moments the floor was packed with bodies.

“Frankie! And Frankie’s friends!” Frankie looked around at the sound of your voice, which was high with excitement. You bounded over, clutching the hand of the friend you had pointed out earlier. You introduced yourself and your friend Sara to the group and pulled up a chair for you and Sara each. Frankie didn’t miss how you placed Sara’s chair next to Benny, or how Benny was staring at Sara with his mouth slightly open. He also noticed with a slight pang how you sat yourself between Will and Santi, directly across from him.

What he didn’t was how much you kept looking at him. Lucky for him, Santi and Will noticed plenty.

You and Sara spent a few hours with the group, until a not so inconspicuous Benny and Sara both disappeared, Sara throwing a wink towards you as she left. Will left not long after, saying that his bed was calling his name. Santi stayed a little longer, flirting with you much to Frankie’s annoyance. To his credit, he didn’t show you the catfish photo. Frankie wanted to show you that one himself, when you were both sober.

“I better head out,” Santi said as it rolled past three in the morning. “I’ve gotta babysit Lee tomorrow, and you know how hyper he is.” He turned to you and kissed your hand. “It was the deepest pleasure meeting you, don’t be a stranger. Frankie.” Santi raised an eyebrow and shot him a meaningful look.

“Good night,” he said a little forcefully, shoving Santi towards the door, mainly to get him to stop flirting with you. He knew the flirting was just incentive to spur him into some kind of action with you, but it wasn’t going to work.

“Your friends are nice,” you said, struggling to connect the straw of your drink with your mouth.

“They’re assholes most of the time. They’re just nice to beautiful women.” Frankie regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Shit! Now she thinks I think she’s beautiful. She is! But she doesn’t need to know I think that! Frankie finished off his drink to avoid looking at you.

“I’m attractive til they get to know me,” you said with a snort.

“What makes you think that?” Frankie asked, confused as to how that could work.

“I don’t think,” you said, “I know. It’s a fact. One that cannot be argued.”

Frankie was about to argue with you about this when you turned away, stumbling as you did. She’s super fucking drunk, Frankie thought, grabbing your arms to steady you. Your skin was so much softer than he anticipated, sending a jolt through him. He let go quickly, mouth going dry as you beamed up at him.

“You saved me!” You declared, then finished your drink quickly, emitting a small burp. “To thank you, I must give you a token of my gratitude. I know! A drink! Three drinks for the kind sir! And three for me!”

“Jesus, how much have you had?” Frankie asked, laughing.

“Only a little bit,” you shrugged and thought for a moment. “Maybe like, a dozen vodka sodas and some shots and also half a bottle of prosecco. And also a teeny tiny bit of molly, but that was hours ago, so it’s basically gone.”

“Maybe I should walk you home,” Frankie suggested gently, amazed that you were still upright let alone getting served. You shrugged.

“I can just get an Uber or something, it’s fine.”

“No, no, don’t waste your money, let me walk you.”

You looked up at him with slightly unfocused eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

The cold air outside hit the both of you like a wall. Stars scattered across a moonless sky, leaving Frankie wonderstruck for a moment, until he noticed the goosebumps on your arms. Without a second thought, Frankie took off his jacket and placed it gently around your shoulders. You looked up at him, a surprised look on your face.

“Frankie, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so, I have this friend, right? And she’s been dating this guy for years now. They live together, no kids or anything. But she told me a little while ago that she’s been feeling . . . trapped.”

“Trapped?”

“Yeah. Like, she doesn’t think she loves her boyfriend anymore. At least, not in a way that she should. And he’s so mean to her, too. He doesn’t hit her or anything, but he’s also not super nice to her, and-and she doesn’t always know what she did to deserve it. She doesn’t know what to do.”

“Can she leave?” Frankie suspected you weren't talking about a friend, but he didn’t press beyond what you were willing to tell him.

“Not easily, I don’t think. She doesn’t have enough money for her own place and- and she’s afraid.” Your face flushed.

“What’s she afraid of?”

“Being alone. Unloved. She doesn’t have any family or anything and her boyfriend is the closest she has to that. So um, if she was your friend, what would you say to her?”

Frankie was thoughtful for several moments. He didn’t want to fuck this up. If his suspicions were correct, you were talking about yourself. “Well, first of all I would tell her that her boyfriend is a massive dick, even if he doesn’t hit her, boyfriends shouldn’t make their girlfriends feel like shit. I would tell her to talk to her friends, ask for their help. I would also tell her that being alone doesn’t have to mean lonely, and it certainly doesn’t mean that she’s going to be unloved.”

You nodded thoughtfully at this. Frankie took this as a good sign. “She can’t know for sure what her life will be like, but my guess is that it will be better if she chooses to leave this asshole.”

The rest of the walk was spent in silence. Frankie knew you were thinking about what he said. He too, was lost in thought. Trying to figure out a plan to help you in any way he could. All too soon, you arrived at your apartment building.

“Thanks for this,” you said, taking off the jacket and handing it to him. Frankie nodded.

“You needed it more than me,” he said simply. “I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow?”

You nodded, and then as if you weren’t entirely sure if what you were about to do was a good idea, you wrapped your arms around him. Frankie stiffened for a moment before hugging you back, holding you to him tightly, breathing in your scent of perfume, sweat, and alcohol. You were warm and soft and everything in him was screaming don’t let go.

“Thank you,” you whispered in his ear, and he knew you weren’t talking about the jacket.

Taglist: Taglist: @hnt-escape @sharkbait77 @1800-fight-me @annathewitch @darnitdraco @frankiecatfish @punkerthanpascal @nakhudanyx @gracie7209

[joontier]

Subliminal in Scrubs | V2; report xiv 

pairings: dr. jeon jungkook x female reader

chapter rating: NC-17 | genre: humor, workplace relationships

warnings: none to note

word count: 2.4k

g/n: Send me your thoughts?

[taglist]:  @nottodayjjk @ditttiii @zeharilisharaban @btsbunny07 @turquoiseandplaidinautumn @aamxxrii @codeinebelle @btsmakesmehappy @stargukkie @moonchild1​ @starbear019​​

Subliminal in Scrubs (the records) |  navi. | m.list

“Do you really have to leave me?” you drag the words out as you chew your dinner, one you insisted on having inside Ayoung’s apartment on her last day. You even add a cute little pout afterwards, hoping that Ayoung might reconsider her moving last minute. 

“_________, that was literally the third time you asked me tonight. One more and I think I might change my mind.” 

You sit up straighter, an expectant look on your face. “Really?” 

“I’m afraid not, __________. I’m even surprised you kept asking when you literally helped me pack the last of my stuff. Shouldn’t you have been doing the opposite if you wanted me to stay?” 

You let out a rather unattractive burp and a pretty loud one at that, then you sigh again for the nth time tonight, knowing it’s going to be a while before you find another neighbor that is as unbothered by your poor table etiquette as Ayoung. 

Speaking of neighbors, a coworker’s face pops into your mind and you’re suddenly reminded of your embarrassing encounter with Jungkook just the other day in the very corridor just a door away from where you were seated. “By the way...that guy you brought over the other day…” 

“Oh him?” 

You brace yourself for the bad news, tilting your head towards Ayoung while you wait for her response. “Yeah, I don’t think he’ll be moving in anytime soon.” 

“Oh,” comes your reply, shockingly nonchalant enough to mask the joy of not having Jungkook as your neighbor. Giddy, you prod her on, wanting to hear the rest of the story. “Shame though, he was such a hottie.” 

“How did you even meet him in the first place?” 

“Just last week I went to a cafe to study and partly cure a hangover from the previous night, I checked the post I uploaded for new possible tenants and Jungkook...that’s his name by the way...he was one of the first who sent a message about wanting to see the apartment in person, so we agreed to meet up on a later date.” Ayoung pauses for a moment, stacking a box on top of another. 

“But just a few moments later while I was reading, this boy came up to me and asked if I was...well me and he told me he was Jungkook. Eventually, he asked if I was free because he mentioned that he had nothing else to do that day and he would’ve appreciated it if he got to see the place and have a drink at the same time.” 

There’s a funny look on her face and you raise a brow questioningly. “Have you ever seen a man more attractive in just sweats?” Oh Christ. 

“I mean, most guys would look like a hobo in those, plus he’s probably dumb for just walking around in sweats with only 25 degrees outside but damn.... You know only truly hot men can pull off looks like that. And he surely was packing.” Shocked to the core, you stare at her with your mouth hanging open, not wanting to believe all of these were coming from your sweet sweet Ayoung. Especially not when they’re about Jungkook. 

“So I thought, why not right? I guess the hot chocolate I made wasn’t the only thing that was warm that night…” A suggestive smirk graces her lips and you scoot farther away from her, absolutely scandalized. 

Much to your chagrin, your mind betrays you with rather raunchy images. Goosebumps line the skin on your arms as the embarrassment comes back to you in waves. “Gosh Jungkook, that little fucker.” 

Ayoung creases her brows. “You know Jungkook?” 

Crap. Ayoung wasn’t supposed to end up knowing this. 

“Yeah I know him. Sort of.” 

“Oh, too bad. It would have been great if he moved in so you won’t have to deal with a total stranger for a neighbor. Where do you know Jungkook from?” 

You contemplate for a moment, wanting to weigh if it would be of any benefit having to tell the story of how you met Jungkook. Ultimately, you ended up sharing a brief background, missing out on a few vital points aka Jungkook being a total prick. 

You help Ayoung bring down the rest of her stuff to the lobby, wanting to see her off. “I wanted to bring you to your new apartment but I’ve got an early shift tomorrow, and being late won’t be a good record this early in my job.” 

“It’s alright, silly.” Ayoung leans in for a hug. “We’ll see each other again soon, yeah?” 

“You’re making it sound like I’m moving overseas, stop it!” 

You wait until she gets inside the cab she booked, waving at the car’s rear until it fully disappears from your sight. 

The next day you wake up freezing your ass off, even with you wrapped in a duvet burrito. You take a peek outside your window, grunting as a blanket of snow envelops everything in sight. Everything is white, and the gray trails on the road are the only thing that distinguishes the street from the sidewalk. 

You do your morning routine fairly quickly, spending the rest of your spare time watching people outside your window while you finish your coffee. As a motorbike moves along the length of the street in front of your building, you silently wish the driver a safe trip, hoping he or she didn’t have to use such a vehicle in this weather. 

You take another sip and Jimin instantly enters your scrambled thoughts, remembering how he mentioned he uses a scooter to and from work. There’s a side of you that is assured the Jimin is responsible enough to know how risky it is to use a scooter during the winter. 

The other half of your brain, though, isn’t convinced. Quickly, you set your mug aside, replacing it with your phone and dialing Jimin’s number. He answers after three rings. “_________?” 

“Hey Jimin, I know it’s too early for me to be calling you but I was wondering if you were going to use your scooter on your way to work today?” 

“I was--” 

“Because if you were planning to, don’t. It’s snowing really hard outside and I’m worried you’ll be taking your friend’s scooter on the slippery road….Would you mind if I’ll offer you a ride?” 

You know you were risking a lot, with your own car - your very own Camry which you don’t even trust. It has aged gracefully, and was clearly nearing its end but you knew four wheels was better than two in this snow. 

“I don’t...but I also wouldn’t want you to come all the way here to pick me up when I can just take the subway? Or the bus maybe…” 

“Would you rather pick one that asks for a fare or a free ride?” 

“You’re not exactly giving me a choice here, _________.”

“Great! ‘Cause I’m already on my way to pick you up.” 

“Thank you for the ride, sunbaenim.” Jungkook pulls on the handbrake before setting his hands on the Porsche’s steering wheel for the last time.

‘Someday’, he says to himself, someday he’ll get a car of his own. Someday. 

“Thank you for also letting me drive your car…” 

“She’s a beaut isn’t she?” the younger doctor nods, wanting to rub his palms over the dashboard in fascination, but then he wouldn’t have wanted the senior resident to think he was some sort of lunatic. 

Jungkook decides to keep his hands on his lap instead. 

“You live around the area?” 

“Yeah, just a few blocks from the garage…” 

“Really? Which apartment do you live in? I’m quite familiar with the area.” 

Jungkook is hesitant to mention the name of the building knowing that the apartment complex he stays at most likely has a reputation because it’s the cheapest he could find around the area. 

Before the intern opens his mouth to reply, Seokjin’s phone rings just on time, the sound startling the latter. He opens the car door and alights from the vehicle to get more reception. Jungkook grabs his bag from the back and follows after shortly. Seokjin points to his phone, mouthing that Jungkook doesn’t need to wait for him, so the intern bows to his senior in gratitude, before heading off to the main building. 

As he passes a vending machine, he remembers he wasn’t able to bring his jug with him today so he approaches the machine, scanning other options he could take with his water. He comes across a small carton of banana milk and a thought crosses his mind, a smirk playing on his lips as he adds the beverage to his purchase. 

Jungkook hurries to the on-call room, hoping his tiny plan will fall into place. 

“Thanks for the ride, ________. I owe you so much already. You’re too kind.” 

You wave Jimin off, expressing your worry and how you thought you wouldn’t be able to handle your conscience if you didn’t ask about his mode of transportation to work today. Jimin gives you a warm smile in return. 

“You’re a good friend, _________.” Jimin leans over the center console and gives you an awkward side hug, catching you completely off guard. 

“Woops! Sorry! I didn’t… wasn’t…” Jimin has his hands waving around in the air as he tries to apologize for hugging you out of the blue. “It’s fine, Jimin,” you laugh as you put a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. “It’s fine. You don’t have to worry about it.”

Tilting your head outside, you tell him that you both should get going and that you’ll be heading to the toilet first to get changed. While Jimin heads to the surgery department, you make your way to the parking lot’s toilets, bumping into the one and only banana-milk-thief Jeon Jungkook. 

“Hi _________, good morning!” He chirps, the uncharacteristically wide smile on his face throwing you off for a moment. 

At least somebody woke up on the right side of the bed today. Jungkook chuckles, and you realize you weren’t supposed to say that out loud, but you’re somewhat proud that you did, making your sentiments towards the guy as clear as day. 

“Bit rich coming from you miss grumpypants.” 

Your mouth falls open. “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me, darling. See ya later....grumpy.” Before Jungkook leaves, he manages to give you a quick noogie, definitely messing up what’s left of the quick messy bun you made before leaving your apartment. 

Taking in a deep, long breath, you calm your nerves down, deciding today wasn’t going to be the day Jungkook was gonna get to you. 

After your brief encounter at the parking lot, Jungkook heads quickly to the on-call room and looks for a place inconspicuous but visible enough for you to see. He plucks a sticky note from a stack from the shelf just above the table and grabs his pen from his chest pocket. 

Jungkook folds the yellow square into half and writes your name on it, just in case nobody would dare take a carton of milk for someone named after a dwarf from Snow White.  He then sticks the note on the moist packaging, hopeful that the slight sheen of water will help stick the paper onto the carton.

Recognizing Jimin’s voice from the door, Jungkook quickly hides his peace offering behind the files on the table, and pretends he’s reading the patient’s charts before Jimin nears where he’s standing. You and Soomin enter the room shortly afterwards. 

“Just in time!” Namjoon says, adjusting the large frame of his glasses. “Right, as you may already know from the orientation, I’m Kim Namjoon, resident, and specializing in neuro. I’ll be guiding you all throughout admissions and reports this morning while I am waiting for my Chiari decompression scheduled in a few hours.” 

Namjoon gathers the rest of the surgical interns before proceeding to the wards to do rounds with the group. He partners with the head nurse and another doctor from the night shift, updating the patient’s condition before moving on to the others. 

As soon as his rounds are done, he leads the group back to the on-call room to brief the interns on using the EMR system to keep a patient’s chart updated at all times. To speed up the charting, he asks everyone to come up in pairs and update the patient records. 

True to the plan he’d come up with at the spur of the moment, Namjoon and the interns manage to get the job done quicker than expected. With the night shift’s updates already uploaded, the group disperses to carry out the orders and responsibilities.

Jimin, with his throat parched after having come up and down multiple flights of stairs, decides to return to the on-call room to get something to drink. He breathlessly pages Jungkook about it, telling him he’ll get back to his partner after drinking. 

He no longer waits for Jungkook’s okay, too thirsty to even think straight. As Jimin goes through his stuff, he realizes he must have forgotten his jug inside your car but having to call you about it would have been too bothersome for you and him both. 

There’s a water dispenser in the room but there are no cups or mugs free for him to use - and too unsanitary as well. Jimin searches the room in desperation and spots a carton of banana milk just behind some of the patient’s charts. 

He makes a grab for the small carton, checking if it’s got any owner. There’s none written on the carton and no note stuck to it to indicate that it belongs to someone. He spots Yoongi on his phone just by the other corner of the room and approaches the senior resident. 

“Excuse me, sunbaenim. Is this yours?” He points to the carton in his hands. Yoongi shakes his head no. “Any name written on it? Some note perhaps?” 

“I couldn't find any.” 

“Well, it’s yours then. All food on the table is communal unless it’s otherwise labeled.” Yoongi shrugs his shoulders as he explains, giving Jimin a thumbs up afterwards. 

“Alright. Thanks sunbaenim.” 

Throat as dry as the Sahara, Jimin grabs the drink and punches the straw in as quickly as he could before finishing the drink in a few gulps. ‘Thank god for free banana milk.’ He thinks to himself before throwing the packaging away, now more energized than ever.

© joontier 2021

[the-fiction-witch]

Secret

REAL LIFE SCANDAL COUPLE: TBS X READER RATING: CUTE

Thomas sat on the sofa holding a cup of tea, he looked stressed, tried, exhausted, holding his mug like it was a about to be violently ripped away from him. "So. Some shit had happened" he says "and... I am doing this, so I can sit down and just. Explain. Because alot of things have changed, most of you know some of them. Some of you might know none of them but never the less, I shall explain them" he says sipping his tea "y/n is not here, well she is but... Upstairs, she knows I'm filming thought" he says "I don't know quite where to start so... Let's try the beginning" he began "back many many years ago when me and y/n first met, I had a crush on her that's not a secret that's something I think most people know. Because she worked in the garage I was working in and I just... I had a crush a little just teenage boy crush on her and we both dated other people and grew closer and friends as the years went on and then we found ourselves single at the same time and I just kinda went for it I asked, she wasn't actually that enthusiastic if I remember correctly I think her actual response was uhh yeah sure why not which I'm not gonna like doesn't fill you with confidence" he laughs "and we just kinda clicked. It was like being freinds but longer, and we'd kiss, and cuddle, and hang outs turned into date nights, and weekend trips turned into romantic getaways, and... We were happy" he smiled "we decided very early on, that I wasn't something we wanted to be public with, we didn't want to be social media, or on camera anything like that partly just to keep that part of our lives privet because there is so much you expose with interviews and with cameras around all the time there is a lot you expose about yourself and your life and I think we just wanted to have something that was ours that was our secret, but the secret is not so secret anyone." He says having some more tea "I think part of it was natural in the sense that we became lazier with it, we stopped censoring ourselves and limiting what we could do because... We're where happy, we where overexcited like you always are when your in a relationship you start to let your guard down alot more and it became atleast I felt like more of covering it up that became important, I agreed with it initially but when we started getting later into the relationship I started to not like it as much because.... I love her, and I don't want to cover that up, I don't want to have scheduled times when I can and can't kiss and cuddle my girlfriend, I wanted to tell friends about us, I wanted to tell Interviews and magazines about her but I couldn't and that started to... Not annoy me but frustrate me" he explained "but she still had a point people where still going to bother us and it was making something public that we wanted to keep privet. So we made backstories and plots to hide it and to explain everything, And... I do believe the video got put up by sally the outtakes of us talking and know everything has been released I guess some things are... Kinda obvious but here we go. I am officially for the first time in here, I am telling the truth, the complete uncensored truth." He says "you wanna help me out here sweetheart?" He asks to off camera "Are you and y/n dating?" Y/n asks off screen "Yes." "What is going on with the house I swear one day the sofa is in one house the next it's in the other" she giggled clearly reading questions "It's bullshit. It's one house, two bedrooms, one bathroom, one kitchen, we just moved it around and used... Angles and stuff the two houses is bullshit, we have loved together for about nine years we first moved In together into the flat where she first brought home hopscotch, the clip of me meeting hopscotch, I moved in about two weeks after that" "Is sally fired?" "Sally is not fired. Stuffs been worked out she's fine she's happy, editing away I assume, now I say that she'll probably do something mean and put like a dick overlay on my head or something" he sighed "You'll have to find out" "I Will. I will" he laughs "Where are hopscotch and jellybean?" "In there room, with there babies still all good just not been filming them" "Why are videos out of order?" "Because some things take longer to edit that's why something are out of order and why some videos get scrapped complete and are never finished, because by the time you cut it all out there is nothing left" "Are you ever gonna tell us how the Barbie cake tasted?" "No. That shit haunts my nightmares I would not wish that knowledge on anyone" "Are you ever gonna get married?" ".... Hum. That's a fun question, can I or do you?" "You do it your the one answering" "Okay, the answer to that is no. We are not gonna get married, because... We already are married, three years and we're very happy" "Semi happy" "Quiet you" he told her "Fun fact, Thomas on our wedding night attempted to get a lighter and set our marriage certificate in fire while swearing at me and saying good luck trying to get rid of me now! You can't return me without the receipt! And then jumped in a swimming pool" "I did that's true. I was fairly drunk" "Fairly?" "I think every single person at our wedding handed me a shot and I downed all of them I was handed which was a bad plan but there we go" "I think Jack and the boys caught on to that you where just shooting anything you where handed because they started giving you like fucking triple vodkas" "They did It was a weird day," "It was, have you stopped smoking?" "Yes. I was given the choice stop smoking on my own or loose a centimeter of my dick everytime she caught me with a cigarette so... I gave up" "You had to" "I did that's true." "Last two" "Oohh last two!" "What happened in the last video?" "In the last video, I had a bit of a meltdown because sally had revealed things, stuff was coming out without our control, the glass had been broken, the secret was out and we were in damage control twenty four hours a day damage control, and I just kinda snapped and obviously... I couldn't take it anymore, I didn't want the secrets, the bullshit, I just wanted to be... Happy. And, I think now that everything is in the open I think we can be" "What happened to y/n in the last video?" "Ooh okay, your okay?" 'yeah go on" "I don't know if this had come out or not but... What happened to y/n in the last video was a very very special moment that we caught on camera." He smiled "she all done?" "Yep" "Come on let me hold her" he whines putting his tea down y/n came from off screen in a little baggy blue dress holding a small baby in a blanket she carefully handed the baby over to him and he smiled widely giving the baby kisses and cuddles "hi, hello there little one, not thirsty anymore? Good girl" he cooed to her "this is Maggie. Maggie Sangster. She's uhhh... Help me" "Three weeks old" "Yes, three weeks old. You went into labor on camera" "I did, I'll talk you focus on holding the baby. I went into labor on camera, early which isn't an uncommon thing to be that early we just kinda had heart attacks which I think is fair. And yeah we went to the hospital and this little one was born." "So. We're going to be posting old stuff that didn't get posted before atleast till this one is a tad more manageable" "I have one more question though for the truth time Thomas?" "Yes?" "So you love y/n? Really?" "With all my heart sweetheart" he smiled giving her a kiss which made Maggie cry "alright, come on angel bed time" he told her kissing her little head and taking her off camera.

[joyful-soul-collector]

❄️Week 1: December 9-15❄️

stars in the city ch. 10 by @parkrstark (Pt. 3 of constant as the stars above)

Summary: Peter and Steve are finally settling into their new life with Tony. Recovery isn't always a straight line, especially with a four-year-old, but they're trying their best. Their newfound fame has Steve juggling between his private life and the one plastered on the front page of every tabloid. He shouldn't have been surprised that the public didn't believe in his rags to riches love story. Tony usually makes it easier for him to handle it all. Until he starts to distance himself from Steve, as if now he's the one hiding something. And Steve is left wondering if he's about to lose Tony for good this time.

Relationships/Tropes: Stony, Irondad, Papa Steve, Homeless Peter Parker, Homeless Steve Rogers, No Powers AU, (Coffee Shop AU??? Sorta)

Review: This fic just always makes my heart ache in the best way. So much fluff, so much angst, it's a perfect balance that I'm just absolutely in love with!

❄️

Devils Roll The Dice ch. 9 by @ephemeralstark

Summary: “I miss you Mr. Stark,” Peter admitted as he stared up through the leaves overhead at the stars that twinkled promisingly at him, “I wish you were back here. I would give anything to fix things, I would give anything for you to be alive today.” What Peter didn't know, as he made that wish and closed his eyes, letting the tears fall shamefully, was that the Universe was always listening, and it was dangerous to make a wish and offer up anything. - Tony Stark wakes up in his bed one morning, not realising that months have passed since his death - that's going to be awkward to explain to the world. Peter Parker has been living on the streets, trying to hide his identity as the entire world wants Spider-Man dead, and dealing with the trauma that Beck left him. To make things worse - it's now his fault that yet another bad guy thinks they're entitled to owning Earth.

Relationships/Tropes: Irondad, Spideychelle, Pepperony, Happy Hogan/May Parker, Homeless Peter Parker, Post-FFH, Post-Identity Reveal, Tony Stark Comes Back To Life

Review: Oh man this fic is so sad and so sweet, I love it so much! I love how it combines Peter's trauma after Mysterio with his reaction to finding out that Tony is alive again, it's just so creative!

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His Heart Bloomed Sunflowers (and he wore them on his skin) by @littlemissagrafina (Pt. 24 of Comfortember 2020)

Summary: Peter honestly didn't know how no one had discovered his tattoos yet. He wasn't broadcasting them but he wasn't exactly being the most subtle either. Although he was partly grateful for it since he was dreading what would happen when May on Tony saw them. But he was pleasantly surprised at the reactions that he got when he was found out. Peter had expected anger, disappointment, maybe annoyance at the very least. What he got was far from that. (A sequel to Comfortember Day 4. Anxiety) Comfortember Day 29. Make/Build/Create Something Beautiful

Relationships/Tropes: Minor Spideychelle, Tattoos, Comfortember

Review: I love this fic so much! I loved the description of how the flowers wilted when the ones he'd drawn had faded, and how the ones he got tattooed never wilted again :']

❄️

I’ll drive all night (to keep them warm) by @littlemissagrafina (Pt. 23 of Comfortember 2020) 

Summary: For the next hour they tried to calm Morgan again but, just like the rest of the day with Tony and Pepper, nothing was working. No teething rings, gel, nothing. The little girl was just well and truly grumpy, tired, and sore.

Suddenly an idea came to Peter and he turned to Tony and Pepper. 

"Can I try something?"

They both nodded at him, prompting him to continue with his idea.

"Can I take her for a drive?" He asked. "I'm not sure if it'll work but Ben used to do it for me when I was younger and it always calmed me down."

Comfortember day 28. Car Ride

Relationships/Tropes: Irondad, Peter & Morgan, Pepperony, Baby Morgan, Car Rides, Comfortember

Review: This one was so cute! I love Peter being a good big brother to baby Morgan, and I relate to finding trips in the car relaxing and nice :D

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It’s What Brothers Do by @littlemissagrafina (Pt. 22 of Comfortember 2020)

Summary: Morgan was somehow full of even more energy than usual that day and wanted to see if she could do the monkey bars that were attached to the jungle gym herself. Before Peter could stop her, she had already grabbed hold of the first one and let herself swing towards the next one.

But the little girl had misjudged just how heavy swinging your own body weight was and almost immediately started falling. Peter shot forward from his place on the ground, jumping and diving, just managing to catch her before they both hit the grass of the park grounds. Comfortember Day 27. Park

Relationships/Tropes: Minor Pepperony, Peter & Morgan, Irondad, Peter Protects Morgan, Comfortember

Review: Another cute Big Brother Peter fic! I love that Peter was really protecting Morgan in this one, he loves her enough to put himself in harm's way to protect her

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The Burger Debate by @littlemissagrafina (Pt. 21 of Comfortember 2020) 

Summary: Tony and Peter shared a lot of similarities, there was no doubt about it. A lot of their mannerisms were the same, personality quirks (especially in the lab), occasional recklessness, selfless hero personas, etc etc. However, one thing they didn't share was their taste in burgers. Whenever the topic came up there was a friendly, yet heated, 'disagreement' as Tony called it. No matter what anyone ever told him, Tony thought that a cheeseburger was the holy grail of burgers. And Peter, well… he happened to think the same only for chicken burgers.

Comfortember Day 26. Junk Food

Relationships/Tropes: Irondad, Peter & Morgan, Pepperony, Infinity War Compliant, Not Endgame Compliant

Review: This was so sweet and so sad, especially the part where Tony couldn't eat burgers while Peter was snapped because it hurt him too much. It showed his grief really well

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Career Day Drabble by @jen27ny 

Summary: uncle happy and uncle rhodey come to peter’s career day

Relationships/Tropes: Happy & Peter, Rhodey & Peter, Happy & Rhodey, Minor Irondad, Career Day

Review:  I loved this story so much! I really appreciate seeing some nice Uncle Rhodey and Uncle Happy content!!

❄️

Gifts by @wayward-fairchild (Pt. 5 of Holiday Collection 2020) 

Summary: Rhodey and Tony have been together to the point Rhodey sees the kids as his own. Maybe that is why the kids agree to help with Rhodey's biggest gift to Tony yet.

Relationships/Tropes: Rhodey & Tony, Irondad, Rhodey & Peter, Christmas, Kid Peter

Review: This was just absolutely adorable! I love some Irondads content and this was very sweet

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evermore by @lyssismagical

Summary: Just a Solid Vent Fic. I wanna do 30 days of Taylor Swift-inspired fics (folklore and evermore) lmao but idk yet we’ll see lemme know tho

Relationships/Tropes: Spideychelle, Irondad, Peter Overworks Himself

Review: I loved this one a lot! I definitely relate to Peter with tending to overwork myself during school and letting other things fall away, and then feeling quite exhausted after it's all over haha. I'm glad MJ and Tony were able to help him <3

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Two Hours Spent Cuddling by @skeeter-110 (Pt. 2 of Twelve Days of Christmas)

Summary: A giant snowstorm takes out the power in the tower. While waiting for the backup generator to come up, the Stark-Rhodes family finds a way to stay warm.

Relationships/Tropes: Ironhusbands, Irondad, Papa Rhodey, Kid Peter, Christmas

Review: I. Love this story. So much. I haven't seen very many stories that center around Rhodey being a father-figure to Peter, and this one definitely filled all my desires for such a story! It's so fluffy and sweet, and I loved every word :D

❄️

Three Stark-Rhodes’ Decorating by @skeeter-110 (Pt. 3 of Twelve Days of Christmas)

Summary: Tony, Rhodey, and Peter Stark-Rhodes begin decorating for the holiday season.

Relationships/Tropes:  Ironhusbands, Irondad, Papa Rhodey, Kid Peter, Christmas

Review: This story was absolutely adorable! It was another featuring Papa Rhodey and Dad Tony with Little Peter, and it was so well done! I love that Tony's robots and JARVIS each get a stocking hung over the fire too, and the way Peter pronounce ornaments as "orminents" was so cute!!!

❄️

Four Poorly Wrapped Presents by @skeeter-110 (Pt. 3 of Twelve Days of Christmas)

Summary: Peter has two presents each for his Daddy and his Papa. The only problem was, he had no idea how to wrap them. He figures the Avengers could help.

Relationships/Tropes: Ironhusbands, Irondad, Papa Rhodey, Avengers Family, Kid Peter, Christmas

Review: This was so sweet! Clint, Nat, and Steve treat Peter with such sweetness, and it made my heart all fuzzy and warm <3

❄️

If you look at any these stories, be sure to show the author your appreciation with a comment/kudos/reblog where applicable!

Click here for more fanfic rec lists!

[spices-and-cherries]

Being domestic with Benoit Blanc would include...

There’s not nearly enough content for this wonderful man and so here I am, making it myself. I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: Fluff

- You! Have! Matching! Mugs! You had seen a nice mug set for couples and had asked Benoit if he’d be okay with it. He said yes! A few months later, he had come home from a trip and surprised you with a new set. He bought them as a souvenir and thought you’d like them. Now, you have four sets. If it weren’t for the fact that you don’t really need an exorbitant amount of mugs, you’d probably have more.

- He’s messy. Not in a bad or gross way, he just tends to be disorganized. He’s one of those people who know exactly where everything is even though the place looks like a train wreck. It’s for that exact reason that you don’t go into his office very often (unless it’s to bring him a snack).

- His closet, on the other hand, is very neat. It’s most because he doesn’t have much there to begin with. He just sticks with what he likes and only gets new clothes when he really needs to. That being said, he has one drawer from your dresser just for his ties. He usually picks them out based on his mood and he takes his time to choose the right one. Pro Tip: Get him one for the holidays or for his birthday. He’ll wear it for a week straight.

- He doesn’t tend to take cases that are out of the region. He likes being in the comfort of his home and you - it helps him think better than some hotel room. He always asks if he can talk his thoughts out loud and you almost always say yes. It didn’t take long for him to start bouncing ideas off of you.

- He loves helping you out with your job just as much as you helping him. He’ll listen to you with all of his attention when you feel you need to go through your presentation just one more time. He likes to learn and likes to hear your voice. It makes him feel better about him always talking about cases - he doesn’t want you to feel like he’s taking and not giving. Of course, you’ve never thought that because you love to hear him talk and to see him get excited.

- You’ve split the chores and do as much of it as possible on Saturday. The both of you try to make it as fun as possible with music playing or having jeopardy in the background (the winner gets a forehead kiss). There is no laundry machine in your apartment, so you have to go downstairs. Folding and hanging it when it’s done, while a bit tedious, is the best part. You get to rest a little and talk about the week or anything new that’s caught your interest.

- At some point, you get a cat. He has short hair and is a sand color. His name is Sleuth. You and Benoit took almost a week to find the perfect name. You take turns feeding him and taking care of the litterbox. Sleuth is pretty affectionate and will most definitely sit on you as you cuddle on the couch. You may or may not have a folder of Sleuth and Benoit napping together saved on your phone. When you need to take five at work, it’s usually the first thing you go to. They make you feel fuzzy inside.

- You really want to have at least one plant, but Benoit doesn’t have the attention span and you’ve always had bad luck with them. You settle on a nice arrangement of cacti instead. They sit along the windowsill in the living room.

- He always let you use the bathroom first. You never really understood it so one day you dragged him in with you so you could brush your teeth together. Now, it’s a daily routine. Maybe you’ll shave at the same time or do your make-up next to him. This is also how you got him into skincare. He has very delicate skin, but he always stuck with moisturizer. You offer some of your foam cleanser and he accepts out of curiosity. He ends up liking it, so you buy another bottle. He was very touched.

- After getting sleuth, he brushes the hair off his favorite coat every morning. You end up getting him a lint roller because it was getting a little ridiculous.

- You now have an affinity for cigars. He usually smokes them outside out of concern for your shared space - not to mention Sleuth. You find that the smell of cigar smoke and his aftershave becomes very comforting. Maybe at some point you’ll give it a try. Maybe you’ll even enjoy it or decide to save it for special occasions. If you are ever curious about cigars, he would be more than happy to tell you anything you want to know.

- Benoit is sober. He finds that alcohol can mess with his brain and he doesn’t like the feeling of not being in complete control of himself or having no awareness of what’s around him. He totally respects it if you do enjoy a glass of wine with dinner or relaxing with a can of beer. For fancy occasions, like an anniversary or a holiday dinner, he may have a glass of wine and actually enjoy it. While he doesn’t have a lot of experience with wine, he does like white over red because it’s not as bitter. Either way, he’s the most content with his cigars.

- Sometimes, when the both of you can afford to stay up late, you put on a movie. While he enjoys mysteries, he has a strong affinity for older comedies and musicals. They remind him of his childhood. Some of his favorites are My Fair Lady (1964), Harvey (1950), and anything Charlie Chaplin. He also enjoys more modern comedies, not just because of the humor, but because you were the one to recommend them. He makes sure that there’s always enough popcorn and blankets and enough space for Sleuth to join you. These little dates are some of your favorites.

- You’re not the biggest fan of shoes in the apartment - you like to keep them by the door. Benoit makes an effort to remember to take his off when he comes home.

- He likes hearing you sing, whether it’s while you work or washing the dishes. He’ll try to keep as quite as possible so you won’t stop. On the rare occasion that you spot him and continue singing (you usually clam up immediately), he’ll sing or hum along.

- He’s really good at listening. If you are crying, he’ll just hold you close to him, rubbing your back or kissing the top of your head. He’ll wait until you want to talk and always knows what to say or when to not say anything at all. It’s not often that he himself will cry. If something happened at work, he won’t talk much. It doesn’t happen a lot, but you can see the tells and will let him have his space. You might have to baby him a little to get him to eat because he will forget. When the two of you go to bed, he becomes the little spoon and will melt into your arms. You’ll rub his back and run your hand comfortingly through his hair.

- He’s not super into PDA, but loves cuddles. He likes to be the little spoon when you’re on the couch taking a nap. He loves having your hands running through his hair. If you two are sitting, you’ll be resting your head on his shoulder and your arms around his. In bed, unless he’s sad, he is the big spoon. He like feeling like he’s protecting you. He will make you wear socks if your toes are cold, but finds it amusing if they end up anywhere but your feet by morning.

- He radiates heat. You end up eating less pasta during summer because for some reason it makes him almost unbearably warm. It makes him sad that you are less willing to cuddle with him as a result. But in winter, it’s a whole other story. It’s the best time to cuddle because he’s almost like a weighted blanket. Hot cocoa, blankets, a movie and Benoit Blanc equal a wonderful winter weekend. It’s also the only time of the year that you demand he holds your hand when you find yourselves outside. At first, bless his heart, he thought it was because you kept forgetting your gloves (which was partly true) and kept reminding you to not forget them - he grabbed them himself at one point. If you just tell him you want to hold his hand, he’ll understand a lot quicker.

- He’s not very good in the kitchen. You try and teach him, but at this point, it’s a lost cause. He makes up for it by cleaning up the mess after. However, if you decide to do something super easy, you like to make him wear your ‘kiss the chef’ apron because it absolutely looks better on him than you.

Please feel free to send me requests or ideas! I really liked making this one, so I might do a Part 2... 

- Simpy

[kingofkingdom-archive]

paradiso - part one

Pairing: young!Javier x fem!reader

Part ONE (of 5)

Rating: Teen

Summary: This will be a 5+1, short but sweet fic about you and Javi. He's an American student and you're an Italian heiress - your love is young, fun, and bittersweet. Lots of romance and fluff ahead.

Warnings: Smoking, tooth-rotting fluff, mention of alcohol

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: I needed something to distract me from finals week, so you all get this. :) I saw a tiktok about Pedro in like an old-money Italian aesthetic and the idea of it just would not leave me alone! Very much my ideal romance situation tbh. Anyways enjoy, the next part is partly written but no promises on when it'll be up. As always, no use of Y/N and please do lmk what you think! :)

The first time you kissed him, you could taste the champagne he’d had earlier that night. Not enough to get drunk, or even really buzzed, but enough to leave his lips and tongue flavorful under your own.

His strong hand was wrapped around your waist, keeping you close, fingers steady over the thin fabric of your dress. Javi held you like this often - from lunches on your parents’ boat to strolling casually through the piazza, he had definitely adopted the Italian tendency to show public affection through touch. All your male friends here do it, but with him it’s different.

Javi is so very different.

Tonight he looks even more like a dashing prince than usual. His dark hair is perfectly messy and his white shirt is unbuttoned just enough, his leather shoes shiny and understated. You’d smiled when you noticed his shoes - they’re the first nice pair he’d been able to afford while living here.

You met him four months ago, when spring was ending and summer soon approaching. He arrived early for his studies abroad, an American political sciences major in the heart of Florence.

Hardly a penny to his name, on a meal plan and receiving a generous scholarship or two, Javi had no business flirting with you. He did it anyway, and you found yourself charmed by his roguish smile and kind eyes. He paid for your gelato, like a typical American gentleman would, and bought some of his own. He ordered the same flavors as you. He hasn’t tried anything different since.

As you kiss him, the sea wind sweeps over the two of you on the secluded terrace where you stand, causing goosebumps to flutter over your skin. You shiver, pressing closer to Javi’s warmth.

He breaks the kiss, looking down at you with a concerned crease between his brows.

“You cold?” he asks, voice rough and deep in a way you don't recognize.

You can’t help but smile at him. He’s so handsome, looking at you like this. Holding you close. “Only a little. You’re warm enough for both of us.”

“This dress,” he murmurs, eyes flitting down to look at your lips. His fingers toy with your dress’s low backline where his hand rests beneath your shoulder blades. “No wonder you’re chilly.”

When your parents first met Javi, they were skeptical. They thought he was taking advantage of you, that he’d insert himself into your life for your wealth and your name.

He’d spent the past four months convincing them otherwise. Now your mother loves him and your father smiles at his jokes, which is something that can’t be said for many people. You can count on one hand the number of people who have made your father laugh, and Javi’s one of them.

He wants to join the FBI, or the CIA. One of the two, you could never get the acronyms straight. He told you about how there’s rigorous training, both physical and professional, to even be considered. Javi keeps himself in good shape for this reason, though your cook’s fine meals have added a bit of softness to his midsection. He complains about it, but you secretly love it. He’s so strong and disciplined that it’s lovely to see just a hint of vice in his features.

You run a hand up his bicep, feeling the muscles that he keeps hidden beneath his shirt.

“Do you like it?” you ask demurely. You bought the dress last week with the express purpose of looking good for him.

Javi takes his hand from your hip and places it on your cheek, his touch tender and gentle.

“You always look beautiful. Especially tonight.”

The party’s for one of your friends from school. She’s moving to the UK to continue her studies and this is her last big hurrah. You’d been invited, with the option for a plus-one, and Javi was the obvious choice.

You’d felt the gazes of the girls in attendance on you and Javi when you both arrived. He’s a few years older than you are, but you know they’re looking because they’ve never seen him before. He’s not part of the rotation of wealthy Florentine boys they all seem to cycle through like clockwork. He’s a stranger, and most importantly, he’s got you on his arm.

The music plays in the distance. Voices float up through the evening air, laughing and exuberant.

You lean into his touch, eyes closing against the comfort you feel with your cheek in his palm.

This must be what heaven feels like.

Javi had taken it slow with you. He earned your friendship before anything else, chatting with you about life and TV and his favorite sports teams back home. He told you about Texas, though when you expressed a desire to visit his hometown, he’d scoffed, calling the place a ‘shithole’.

You still want to visit, someday. Shithole or not.

Perhaps your friendship was the reason things did not progress very quickly between you. You knew he found you attractive and you most definitely felt the same, but for the longest time it just didn’t feel right to try and move things along.

There’d be moments, however, when you wished so desperately that he was yours it almost physically hurt.

One such moment was late one afternoon, on the deck of your family boat. You’d gotten out of the water first and you stood there, watching, as he emerged from the waves in his short swim trunks, the synthetic material clinging to his body ever so perfectly.

You’d seen the outline of… well. You’d seen the outline of something big, something that made you blush and look away, distracting yourself with drying your hair.

Another of these moments was an unremarkable Friday morning spent in one of your favorite bookshops, not too far from Javi's student apartment. You'd been browsing the shelves as he stood outside to smoke. Before long, you found a few paperbacks that looked interesting, and you paid for them with a kind smile to the elderly gentleman working at the register.

You'd exited with a "grazie!" and that's when you'd noticed Javi was speaking to someone, eyes bright and posture relaxed as he exhaled smoke through his nose.

He smiled at you the moment you exited the shop, and as you walked over, you listened to their conversation.

Javi was speaking to the stranger in Spanish. You recognized the sound of it, but could not understand it, having learned English and French and Arabic in your youth.

The other man, older with a salt-and-pepper beard, glanced over to you and then back at Javi. You stood beside your friend, books tucked safely under your arm.

"¿Esta es tu novia, Javier?"

The words caused Javi to blush, but he covered it by taking a drag from his cigarette.

"No, aún no. Algún día pronto."

It was the first time you'd heard him speak Spanish. The words rolled off his tongue with such ease that you couldn't help but glance up at him, intrigued by this new lilt to his voice. You wanted to hear more of it.

Javi snaked his hand around your back to your hip, fingers tucking into the belt loops on your jeans, and he pulled you into his side. You went easily, the motion a familiar one.

But something about hearing him converse in his first language, combined with the feeling of his firm hand on your hip, made something inside your heart shift. It was a small moment, miniscule in the grand order of things. It meant so very much to you.

Javi’s compliment makes you smile softly, his gaze full of such tenderness that it makes your heart ache. You put a hand on his chest, your cool palm a stark contrast to his furnace of a pectoral.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Peña.”

He chuckles, smiling, his breath a short burst across your face that makes your hair flutter.

Javi's always been good at avoiding praise. "I look the same as always, hermosa."

You run a hand up his shoulder and neck to tangle in his dark curls, warm at the base of his skull. He smells like the cologne you'd helped him pick out - something from a small shop he'd never have found on his own, something woody and deep and fragrant. It was mostly selfish, that shopping trip, because all it makes you want to do is bury your nose in the collar of his shirt where the aroma is strongest. You think you could breathe in that scent for the rest of your life and never get tired of it.

"Exactly," you murmur, glancing over his shoulder at the glittering coastline and then back up to him. "You always look handsome."

It's impossible for him to hide his blush this close. "Yeah?" he asks, like he doesn't believe you. Like he wants to hear you say it again.

"Yes. Even when you wear those ugly sports shirts.”

He makes a face like he’s offended, and you laugh. “Hey, you can never go wrong with a Cowboys jersey.”

You smile and lean up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. It seems as though now that you’ve started, you’re trying to make up for all the times you haven’t kissed him.

Javi goes quiet, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. You decide to open your heart just a bit more to him - it must be in the air, because something about the night is making your want of him that much stronger.

“I thought you were handsome the moment I saw you in the gelato shop," you tell him, thinking back on that day.

Usually Americans tended to annoy you, never conscious of local etiquette and manners, always too loud and disruptive - but Javi was so sweet. His brown eyes had glimmered at you like jewels, his lips quirked in a smile that gave life to a thousand butterflies in your stomach.

He'd sat with you for over an hour, listening to you like he'd known you your whole life. The warm sun gave his skin a glow that you remember clearly to this day. Long after you both had finished your food, he was there, as if he had all the time in the world for you.

Javi presses another soft kiss to your lips, slow and mesmerizing, before drawing back again.

"You looked so beautiful," he murmurs, nose brushing against yours. "I never thought you'd give me the time of day."

You can't help but smile. "I knew I'd regret it if I didn't."

It feels like the two of you are on that balcony for the whole of the evening, the blissful joy of finally admitting your feelings - and having them reflected like a mirror in him - taking precedence over all the celebrating going on below you.

Eventually, however, you must return. You walk back to the crowd and one of your good friends gives you a look like she knows exactly where you just were. A blush rises to your cheeks, but when Javi loops a casual, more-than-friendly arm around your waist, you find you don't care all that much about what your friends think.

[jemmahazelnut]

Motorcycle flight - Chapter four

Summary: Laxus is a biker, and as soon as he discovers that in the city there’s a motorcycle track for enthusiasts where races are organized every month, he decides to go. As soon as he arrives, he will fall in love with that wonderful place, and will meet the handsome green-haired owner. [Freed/Laxus]

Link: AO3

Here you can find Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three.

Good and bad news

When Laxus woke up Freed was still asleep next to him, still completely naked. He ran a hand through his hair cursing mentally and trying hard not to let his gaze wander down the back of the sexy guy lying next to him. A very difficult task, especially after what they had done the night before.

He closed his eyes and the memory of their kisses and touches, as well as Freed's reactions, crossed his mind. Fuck no. What the fuck had he done. He had ruined everything. He got up trying to be silent so as not to wake the boy, gathered up his boxers and his clothes and walked towards the bathroom. He threw himself under the cold water, trying hard not to think back to the fantastic night he had spent.

Once he finished washing and dressing, he went back to the room. Freed was still sleeping. Laxus watched him for a moment. He hadn't slept under the sheets, in that heat it was impossible. Seeing him asleep and naked rekindled all the excitement that he had forced himself to swallow during the shower.

Shit. He’d never forget that night, he already knew it. He didn't know what to do. Did he have to wake him up? Wait for him to wake up? Go for breakfast without him? No, that last idea was bad. He wouldn't let Freed wake up alone, he didn't want him to believe it was just a night for him.

So, although embarrassed, he decided to wait a bit. He pulled up the blinds of the room letting the sun's rays come in, hoping that would wake Freed up as he thought about what he had to tell him. Because he had to admit, he had a big crush on Freed. But Freed could have it for him too, given how active he'd been in bed. Or maybe it was just one night. Hell, he hated that situation.

He went out onto the terrace while clearing his head. It was still early, it was only eight in the morning and since they had gone to sleep late, it was obvious that Freed was still asleep. Until he heard a door close behind him. Panic enveloped him and he spun around, but he saw that Freed was in the room, with only his boxers - thank goodness he was wearing them - and he had only closed the bathroom door.

“Hey,” Laxus said embarrassed.

“Hey,” Freed murmured in a low voice. The two boys looked at each other for a moment, both at a loss for words. Then Freed sighed slightly. “Can we talk about it after coffee? It's really too early for me to do anything,” he said. Laxus just nodded and then Freed dressed quickly, reaching for the bedroom door to exit. He turned to Laxus before leaving.

“Um... give me a quarter of an hour, okay?” he asked. Laxus nodded again, and then the boy left the room. The blond sighed and sat down on the bed. Well, Freed at least wanted to talk about it. It was a good thing, wasn't it? Damn, why the hell had he dragged him to his room? Why had he let himself get carried away by his instincts?

Unable to sit still, he decided to go down to the bar and wait for Freed there. He walked to the porch and sat down at a table, staring out at the lake in front of him and trying to think of the right words to say. Why, even though he had been thinking about them for over half an hour, he couldn't find them?

He didn't wait long before Freed got out, fully dressed and sat down opposite him. The two ordered breakfast, and then stood in awkward silence until the waitress brought them the coffees and croissants. Laxus began to eat avoiding Freed's gaze, and for a while the two remained silent again.

The blond was looking for words to say, they just didn't come. He had hoped Freed would speak, but apparently it wasn't easy for the boy either. And if until the day before Laxus had been pretty sure that Freed had an interest in him, now he was no longer certain. Freed could simply be attracted to him, maybe he just wanted a disengaged relationship, or maybe it was just a mistake due to alcohol. Too many thoughts were hitting him all at once, preventing him from thinking straight.

“Well,” Freed began and Laxus looked up at him. The boy had finished his coffee but hadn't touched his croissant and was staring at the napkins on the table. “Well, I should tell you I'm sorry I kissed you last night. And partly I am, because I was drunk, we were both drunk and we didn't think well, I got carried away by instinct but...” He paused and Laxus was able to look him in the face only because Freed avoided his gaze. He noticed the man's cheeks turning red and Freed started talking again.

“I'm not really that sorry. As far as I'm concerned it was a beautiful night, sure, maybe if I had been more lucid it would’ve been better but…” he shook his head because he was wandering and looked up and met his eyes. “I like you, Laxus. I mean, I'd like to go out with you, hang out with you, to put it simply, I'm romantically interested in you”.

Laxus could now see Freed's entire face completely red, the way he nervously twisted a napkin between his fingers and the way he again avoided his gaze. For a moment Laxus was shocked by that declaration. Freed really felt something for him, he hadn't imagined it. He felt relief in his stomach and relaxed his shoulders. Hell, that was the best thing that could have happened.

Freed looked down at the napkin.

“Um... it doesn't matter, you know, I think... we can forget and...” he began to say in a hoarse voice. Laxus realized at that moment that he still hadn't answered Freed. He reached out and caught Freed's, smiling softly at him as the boy looked up at him again.

“I like you Freed too, and I'd love to go out with you,” he said at that point. Freed's eyes widened slightly and a smile formed on his face.

“You do it?” he asked in a low voice, perhaps looking for further confirmation.

“I do,” Laxus replied, then leaning towards him and leaving him a chaste kiss on his lips. Freed's face flushed and Laxus felt his cheeks heat up. Despite that, he smiled elated at the knowledge that he was going to start dating Freed. A laugh escaped the green-haired biker.

“Great,” he said.

“Yes,” Laxus agreed. The two looked at each other for a moment, smiling, then Freed took the brioche and began to eat and Laxus turned to watch the morning sun illuminate the lake in front of them. It was perfect. All the embarrassment had vanished, now the silence between them was pleasant and spending a morning with Freed was the most he wanted.

“So, what do you say if I take you to those waterfalls?” he asked. Freed glanced at him.

“Have you suddenly remembered where they are?” he asked.

“No,” Laxus laughed. “But I'm sure Kinana will tell me,” he said, nodding his head towards the waitress. Freed smiled and nodded, and Laxus felt a euphoric sensation in his stomach. He was going out with Freed, and the night they had just spent together hadn't ruined anything.

***

Laxus went to the track in a great mood, excited to see Freed. After the tour, the two had exchanged phone numbers, had kissed a few more times, especially under the waterfalls, and had agreed on the fact of chatting. They had exchanged a few messages and Laxus had been in a great mood ever since. Well, he admitted he was falling in love, even though it had been a few days since their first date. Always if they wanted to consider it a date.

Laxus actually wanted to invite Freed on a date, and even though he knew the boy was rich and that he was probably used to fancy restaurants, he had already thought about where to take him. He wasn't sure Freed would like the idea, but he wanted to take him to a nice place. It seemed that the boy had enjoyed taking that trip out of town, so he had thought of doing something similar again.

With that idea in mind, he headed for the track, but as soon as he arrived, he immediately realized that something was wrong. There was no one at the track, the parking lot was empty, except for Freed's car and Evergreen and Bickslow's motorbikes. He also noticed Lucy's bike and frowned, wondering why there was no one there. It was Friday night, usually the place was full. He approached the bar but noticed that there was a sign outside that read 'Closed'. For a moment he was surprised, pulled out the phone and was about to dial Freed's number when he saw Lucy come out of the bar.

“Hi Laxus. The trail is closed today,” she told him.

“What happens?” Laxus asked. The blonde sighed.

“There was a robbery. Thieves destroyed the door of the bar and stole money, food and alcohol. They also destroyed the gate of the track,” she said, pointing at him with her hand. Laxus followed her gaze and swallowed nervously. Fuck. That was bad news. He turned to the girl.

“Do you know who did it?” he asked.

“Maybe, Freed called the police this morning but they’ve yet to see the cameras,” the girl said. “The point is, they didn't just steal, they did a lot of damage too… the back windows are broken, the warehouse destroyed, they were vandals,” she said.

“Freed?” Laxus asked uncertainly. Lucy sighed and turned back to the bar.

“He's having a nervous breakdown” she said clearly “Better to leave him alone, he's not really in the mood”. Laxus nodded, he could understand that. He himself would’ve been pissed. But he wanted to come in and help him. He didn't do it because it was Freed who came out, but he was making a call and yelling about everything to someone.

“I don't give a shit about your problems, or your fucking ideas about me! I know it was you, I know and I'll prove it, you fucking bastard!” he barked as he passed them without deigning a glance. Lucy and Laxus stood looking at him and soon after Evergreen walked out. Freed kept ranting. “I talk to you as the fuck I want, and as soon as the truth comes out, I'll make sure I post articles about you that will ruin you and your fucking companies, and your fucking reputation that you care so much about!” he kept screaming.

Laxus stared at him in amazement. He had never seen him pissed off. Irritated, annoyed, demoralized, but not pissed off.

“He thinks he was his father,” Evergreen explained.

“He was his father,” Lucy objected immediately irritated with her arms crossed. “I'm going to make a call, tell me if you’ve any news,” she said and then took the phone and walked away from there, not to hear Freed's screams in the background.

“And fuck you!” Freed yelled before dropping the call. Laxus watched him as he walked over him and down with the phone gripped between his fingers, nervously running his other hand over his arm. Then he turned to them.

“Hi,” he greeted without hiding his irritation.

“Hey,” Laxus said.

“The track is closed. It will probably be closed for the whole month, in fact, it will probably close permanently because I’ve had enough of that bastard of my father, I didn’t imagine that he’d send vandals to destroy everything. Everything I've built.” He growled and tears of nervousness rose in his eyes but he refused to cry. “And my fucking mother even called me pretending to be sad about what happened. Bitch without...”.

“Hey, calm down,” Evergreen interrupted.

“Don't tell me what to do!” Freed snapped.

“I understand that you’re in a bad mood, but we’ll solve this too. The insurance will pay the damages and we’ll write the article about your...”

“The insurance will not cover all damages!” Freed snapped. “Probably the police will think they were just vandals, my father's name will not come out and even if I rebuilt everything, he’ll come back to piss me off, “he growled.

“Okay, I think you need to go home now. There's nothing else to do here,” Evergreen said. Freed put his hands to his temples and took deep breaths trying to calm down. “I'm going in,” the girl said and then went back into the bar.

Freed sat down you on the ground on the steps in front of the bar and Laxus followed suit.

“I’m sorry. Are you sure it was your father?” he asked a little uncertainly.

“Of course,” Freed snarled. “If they were just thieves, they would’ve stolen the money and left. Those bastards destroyed everything,” he snapped. He stopped short. “Sorry, I'm unbearable and it's not your fault,” he murmured.

“Don't worry,” Laxus replied. “I'd be so pissed off too,” he then added and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. “Look, I know you're angry and tired, but Ever’s right, you can fix it. And even if you can't prove he was your father, you can definitely pick out that article from years ago,” he said. Freed sighed deeply.

“Of course, I'll fix it,” he said. “Just... it's stressful,” he snapped.

“You're not alone,” Laxus said passing his arm around the boy's shoulders, hoping it wasn't too intimate a gesture, but the boy seemed to calm down.

“Thank you and excuse me. Shit time,” Freed said.

“Don’t apologize. If I were you, I would’ve punched someone already,” Laxus replied trying to lighten the situation as much as he could. Freed smiled slightly.

“Maybe I will,” he replied, before the phone started ringing again. Freed took it. “Anyway... I'm a bit busy today, see you in the next few days, okay?” he asked. Laxus nodded and stood up, greeting him and giving him a light kiss on the lips after making sure no one was around.

“Quiet, I understand,” he replied. Freed blushed slightly and Laxus was glad to have distracted him for at least a moment, before saying goodbye and getting back on his bike. He should have waited to go out with Freed, but he didn't care, he just thought he was a little unlucky.

***

It had been two weeks since the thieves had destroyed the bar. Laxus had only heard Freed on the phone, telling him some news, but luckily, he seemed calmer with each passing day. They were also chatting right now as Laxus came home after a day's work.

“Listen, would you like to go out one of these nights?” Freed asked suddenly and Laxus was surprised to hear him.

“I… yeah, I thought you didn't have time,” he said.

“No, um... well, I was just afraid to be intractable, but actually I'd love to see you,” Freed said. “Actually, I'm sorry I waited so long before asking you.”

“Calm. Are you free tonight?” Laxus asked as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. Honestly, he hadn't expected anything else.

“Yes, did you already have an idea of what to do?” Freed asked.

“Actually, yes. I'll pick you up in an hour, okay?” he asked, inserting the keys in the door. There was a moment of silence.

“Did you already organize something?” he asked and Laxus smiled to hear his tone happily surprised and even a little guilty.

“Yup. Don't expect fancy dinners, but consider it a date.” Laxus smiled. “Oh, and send me the location of your house, or I'll get lost on the way, “he added.

“Of course,” Freed replied and Laxus knew he was smiling in amusement. They said goodbye and closed the call, thrilled by the date. As soon as he was inside his apartment he dived into the shower, calmly getting ready. He smoothed his hair with the gel hoping the helmet wouldn't ruin it too much and then got dressed. He checked himself in the mirror a couple of times before getting out of there. He got on the bike and went to Freed's apartment, hoping that the boy would’ve fun and that he could get distracted from the latest events.

As soon as he was under his apartment, he rang the bell and waited for Freed to get out. The boy came out of the door with a smile and Laxus paused for a moment to look at him. He had pulled his hair up in a high ponytail and was wearing dark jeans and the usual burgundy leather jacket.

“Hey, do I have to take my bike?” Freed asked as he approached. Laxus shook his head.

“Nah, I'll take you, so at least you can drink,” he said.

“I'm not Cana, I can do without alcohol for once” Freed smiled.

“Yes, but you’re nicer when you drink,” Laxus replied. Freed raised an eyebrow and frowned slightly, then a smirk appeared on his face.

“Well, considering how the evening ended last time, I understand why you want to make sure I drink,” he said. Laxus blushed slightly, but he laughed.

“You can't blame me,” he retorted. “Come on, take your helmet,” he said. Freed didn't reply and went to get the helmet, then climb up behind him.

Laxus left and walked the streets of the city until he left Magnolia. When he was out, he started driving the country roads, hoping that Freed would enjoy both the ride and the scenery. It took them half an hour to get where he wanted, in a small village built on a hill. He walked up the streets until he reached the place where he wanted to dine. Freed got off the motorbike with a smile and handed the helmet to Laxus, who put it inside the trunk of the bike, and then indicated the place to Freed.

“Have you ever been here?” he asked him.

“No,” Freed replied. “I don't ride outside Magnolia much.”

“Bad, you should,” Laxus replied. “Well, they make the best ham here. Hope you like it,” he said. Freed just smiled as the two boys entered the place. Laxus knew the owner, and asked for a seat on the terrace. So, the two boys sat on a small table from which they had a beautiful view of the countryside, with the vineyards and fields illuminated by the sun.

“You really know some nice little places,” Freed commented and Laxus smiled slightly, glad he’d at least like it, even though it was a rustic restaurant with no pretensions.

“I told you. I often went around with my grandfather” he replied shrugging and opening the menu. Actually, he didn't take much to choose, he already knew what to take, but he waited for Freed to decide too. When the boy was ready to order, Laxus also asked for a plate of ham and cheese as an appetizer, so that Freed could taste it.

“This would be the best ham in the area, huh?” Freed asked.

“I’d say about the world, but yes, you came close,” Laxus joked. Freed laughed and took some eating it with breadsticks. Laxus smiled to see that Freed really liked it, and he was also pleased to see that the boy looked really relaxed, despite what was happening at the track. The blond hadn't hoped for too much, knowing full well from Lucy, Evergreen and Bickslow that Freed had had some busy days. He had feared that the boy would be distant and that he would’ve to make an effort to distract him, but Freed was really enjoying the evening.

He told him about a few trips he had taken with Evergreen and Bickslow, even though they had toured other areas and tended to go to the beach more, as the girl preferred to spend time in Hargeon. The two boys chatted all evening without even realizing it, until the sun went down in front of them and it got dark. Small lights were turned on on the terrace and for a moment the two found themselves smiling at each other in silence.

“Do you want dessert?” Laxus asked.

“I don't know if I could eat it,” Freed admitted.

“It's a shame, they make delicious cakes” Laxus commented. “If you don't mind, I'll take a slice.”

“Go ahead,” Freed smiled. “I'll get something to drink.” Laxus raised his eyebrows at him curiously. The two had ordered some wine still for starters, but while the blond had limited himself to having a glass knowing that he’d drive, Freed had drunk the rest.

“You really take advantage of it,” he observed.

“Well, for once I'm not driving,” Freed smiled. Laxus chuckled and let him do it. They ordered the waitress and remained silent for a while, enjoying the pleasant evening until the woman returned with their orders. At that point Laxus pushed the saucer towards Freed to make him taste it and the boy thanked him by taking a curious bite. “It's really good,” he admitted.

“Indeed, it is. Their cakes are made with the fruit they grow here, not with those tasteless crap you buy in the store,” Laxus replied. Freed laughed.

“Do they also make liquor with the fruit they have here?” he asked curiously as he drank and Laxus nodded.

“Yup. You know, my grandfather also makes liquor at home. Well, he drinks a lot,” Laxus said.

“And you’ve learned?”.

“More or less,” Laxus said. “I'd rather learn how to make beer honestly,” he added with a shrug. Freed guessed it. Once they even finished eating the dessert, with Freed taking a few bites from time to time, the two boys went to pay. Laxus immediately saw that Freed was taking his wallet and put his hand on his wrist.

“I brought you here, I pay for it,” he said.

“But…”.

“No arguments,” Laxus insisted louder. Freed glanced at the woman at the counter and then gave up.

“Thank you”.

Fortunately, it hadn't been difficult to convince him. Freed left the club waiting for Laxus to pay and the blond did so willingly. But when he came out, he noticed that the boy was thoughtful and was looking at the motorbike with a bitter expression. For a moment he worried that he wasn't enjoying, but he quickly realized how stupid that idea was. Obviously Freed had enjoyed it, he had shown it all evening. Maybe he'd gotten a work message, or maybe he'd been thinking about his problems again.

“Everything good?” Laxus asked. Freed looked up at him and smiled.

“Yes, it's nothing”.

“Sure?”. Freed started to nod again, but stopped and his expression turned guilty.

“It's just… I'm sorry I didn't do anything for you. I haven't even thought of arranging a date for you, while you've obviously been thinking about it for a while. And it was nice but…”

“Hey,” Laxus interrupted, passing a hand on the boy's back. “You’ve your thoughts, it's normal, especially with what happened.”

“Yes but…”.

“Shut up,” Laxus said and leaned over him to leave him a quick kiss on his lips, which made them both blush. “If you like, you'll organize the next one for me, otherwise it's fine. I'll take you to another nice place and I'll show you all the places I've been through”. Freed smiled softly.

“It's a good idea, but I'd rather take you to dinner next time.”

“Okay,” Laxus smiled. He saw Freed approaching and followed his lead by lowering himself and closing his eyes. The kiss was slower than before, and they moved their lips gently against each other, getting closer and hugging each other. In a short time, however, the kiss became more intense, as Laxus pushed Freed against a nearby wall. He hadn't planned it, but he found himself wandering with his hands on the boy's hips and when they broke away, they were both panting.

They were closer than he had thought, with Freed practically squashed against him and their crotches pressed against each other. That wasn't okay, because he was getting more aroused than expected. He stared at Freed with his heart in his mouth, feeling high. They had already had sex, true, but this was still their first date. Yet Laxus had a mad desire to throw himself on that body and take off his clothes, enjoying again as he had already done more than two weeks ago.

They remained silent for a while, just looking at each other, while Laxus tried to hold back his instincts, despite the fact that he didn’t intend to move from his position. He didn't want to move his hands from Freed's body, or part with the heat of his body.

“Let's go to my apartment?” Freed suggested. Laxus swallowed hard and nodded. He was about to break away but saw that Freed was again reaching for him, running his hands through his hair. And Laxus wasn't about to let him down. They started kissing again. The pressure between their bodies, especially in the lower parts, made them both aroused and the two boys moaned in the kiss as they hugged each other. Only when they heard the door of the room open, did they realize that they were still in public and broke away, albeit reluctantly.

“Damn,” Laxus murmured running a hand through his hair trying to recover. At least he wasn't the only stunned, Freed was in his own state.

“Yeah,” he said with a half-smile. “Let's go?” he asked pointing to the bike. Laxus nodded and the two set off to get on it. Laxus took the two helmets and passed Freed's to the boy when a stupid idea came to mind.

“You know, although a motorcycle isn’t comparable to a car, the car definitely has an advantage,” he commented, without even thinking. Freed looked at him puzzled not understanding and the blond smiled crookedly. “If we had a car, we wouldn't have to wait to get home,” he admitted in a half laugh. Freed looked at him for a stunned moment and then smiled mischievously, pushing towards him and reaching out to his chest, taking Laxus' breath away.

“Maybe you're right, but you know, there’s a thrill to do it even outdoors,” he said mischievously.

“Oh shit”.

The two looked at each other for a moment, both extremely excited, probably evaluating the situation.

“Sure, you know some place nearby that’s a bit isolated,” Freed continued.

Oh shit.

“Get on the bike,” Laxus ordered hoarsely, not intending to wait a minute longer. Freed didn’t have it repeated and the blond left immediately. Five minutes later they were both in an isolated corner of the countryside, surrounded by trees, one on top of the other.

***

The track had reopened, but Freed was still not in the best of spirits. There were still some things to fix at the bar, but all in all the business had resumed, not without some difficulties, both because of the article by Freed's father and because of the robbery. Despite this, the boy tried hard not to make all his bad mood weigh on the others. The only good moments were those he spent with Laxus, which to tell the truth were not few.

Indeed, Laxus was fantastic, the two had had many dates, all of which went just fine. By now they spent at least two evenings of the week in company, either at the bar, or at the home of one of the two. They still hadn't said anything to anyone else, just because they hadn't made anything official yet. It was something Freed had been thinking about for a while, but he still hadn't told Laxus about it.

The phone vibrated and noticed that it was yet another call from his mother. He silenced the call and ignored it. She had been calling him a lot lately, but Freed kept avoiding talking to her. After what they had done in his track, he had no intention of having anything to do with them. He just hoped they were done bothering him.

Someone knocked on the office door and shortly after Lucy's head came out.

“Hey, me Natsu and Laxus are going for a ride to Hargeon, are you coming with us?” she asked. Freed looked down at the table and sighed.

“Maybe another time”.

“You said that yesterday too,” the blonde pointed out.

“Yes, well...”.

“And then you’ve to tell me what's between you and Laxus”.

“What?” Freed asked, looking up. Lucy smiled slyly.

“I saw Brandish the other day, and she told me that she and Dimaria can no longer come to your house, because the tub is occupied by you and a certain well-dressed blonde,” she said in an amused tone. Freed shook his head in resignation. He had to imagine that his cousin was talking nonsense.

“Fine, but not this afternoon,” he clarified.

“Well, if you don't come with us, I'll have to ask Laxus…” Lucy said.

“I get it,” Freed snapped as he stood up, not quite as annoyed as he showed. The girl smiled with satisfaction. “I hate you,” he muttered.

“No, that's not true” Lucy retorted with a smile “And now, let's go!” she exclaimed taking him by the arm and dragging him out of the study. “So, how long have you been dating?” she asked in a low voice so as not to be heard by the others. At least she was discreet, not like her boyfriend.

“Lucy... I said I'm not going to talk about it in the afternoon.”

“Would you prefer me to ask with Laxus there?” she asked with a laugh. Freed stiffened at the thought.

“I swear I'll tell you everything, but not now,” he said at that point. Lucy was pleased with it and soon they joined the other two boys.

The four left and walked calmly towards Hargeon.

Freed ended up standing in front of everyone, still with the thoughts of a father in his mind. Usually when he drove, he could concentrate on driving and have fun, but right now he was just thinking about all the calls he had ignored. That was the reason why he noticed too late the car that was overtaking on the other side, occupying his lane. He realized the danger, but his body acted too late. He tried to swerve to avoid the impact, but it was useless. The car crashed into him and he felt himself flying out of the vehicle, violently banging his head on the ground. The last thing he saw was the asphalt, before he lost consciousness.

[emu-lumberjack]

Don’t answer the phone tired part 4

Time to plan some revenge, plus its time to find out how they met (Partly)

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Hello All I decided to write part 4 before work and edit after. the pig latin at the start just translate to “Nix on the identity talk” for those who don’t know piglatin. also I hope y’all like it I decided to stop it where I did for slight evilness. (Sorry not sorry.) 

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 5

Ixnay on the dentityiway alktay. I have another idea to tell them that.

Damian typed to Marinette as they walked into the restaurant. He felt his phone vibrate and looked to see Marinette's responding message

Chat, Ryuko, and Viperion have to be involved, and no one gets seriously maimed.  

Deal.

Lunch went smoothly, until of course Dick asked about how they met. Marinette took a moment then said “Damian and I made a bet that if Damian won in a video game we would go prank Lila if I won then they’d go have some fun with a water balloon fight to blow off steam.” Not super far off from the truth, just missing a few key facts.

“It was a bad day for both of us. Lila was being Lila, and we hadn’t played that fighting game yet. Needless to say she was a lot better than I expected.” Damian finished her tale.

“I guess I’ll have to play you sometimes, I’m currently undefeated at the manor.” Jason said through a mouthful of rice.

“I guess so.” She said. Anyone else would think of her tone of voice as soft but Damian knew that voice, it was the innocent voice she used when she wanted people to underestimate her. He looked forward to the prospect of watching Todd fail miserably. Marinette’s phone started going off, she looked at and answered. “Yeah Adrien.” Damian couldn’t make out what he said but it was enough to startle Marinette. “Crap I completely spaced. I was caught up at lunch, can you stall Madame Bustier for me? I swear I’ll be there soon.” she shoved her phone in her bag while leaping out of her seat. “Thank you guys lovely meeting you. Let me know how much I owe you for lunch later.” With that she was out the door.

“We’re not having her pay us back. Right?” Tim asked.

“Definitely not. It’s on me this time.” Dick responded. “Also Bruce asked all of us to check up on the Wayne enterprises building while we’re here. Let’s head over after we finish up here.” A chorus of agreement followed.

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After the trip to the Paris office the four bats went back to Damians residence. Damian secluded himself in his room taking that over talking with his brothers, plus he had to finish his plan for tonight, he’d tell Marinette the rest of it after she got out of school. He’d been at it for a couple of hours when a knock at his bedroom door tore him away from his work.

“What.” he said curtly annoyed at being interrupted. Jason poked his head through the door, he looked tired.

“Nice to see your still alive demon spawn, we hadn’t seen you in a few hours. Anyway Dick went to the store, and Tim and I are gonna crash. Actually Tim’s already crashed on the couch and I’m about to follow. Wanted to let you know in case you needed something.”

“Yeah yeah I’ll wake you up if I do.”

“Yeah that was actually my warning. Wake us up and you will get a fist to the face, fancy ninja skills or not.” Jason held his fist up for emphasis, Damian just laughed.

“Sure Todd, if you can catch me you can hit me.”

“Wow that Marinette really has loosened you up, before I don’t even think you’d respond to me.” he paused for a second, “oh speaking of which did I mention she’s at the door?”

“You could lead with that!” Damian said, throwing on his sweatshirt. He scooped up his notebook and a pair of shoes. He shoved his notebook in his messenger bag and started hopping on one foot down the hall trying to put his shoe on and get to the door as fast as possible. That was until he lost his balance and planted face first into the rug, notebook landing like a tent on top of his head. He lifted it up slightly to see Marinette trying to stifle a laugh and failing, miserably. The Kwamii at her side no doubt doing the exact same.

“You’re welcome!” Jason called from Damians room.

“I’m gonna kill him.” A very red Damian muttered.

“Oh don’t do that just yet, we have to plan tonight don’t we. anyway he’ll get his due tomorrow when I play him.” She was still smiling as she offered a hand to Damian to help him up, he could forget sometimes how ruthless she could be behind the sweet smile, he liked it sometimes.

“Yeah you’re right, anyway ready to head out? Are we doing Andre’s?”

“Sure we can meet the others in the park. Also is your brother ok, because it looks like he’s about to fall off the couch.” Damian looked over to see Tim’s sleeping head practically touching the floor, with his feet still laying horizontal. Damian gave him five minutes before crashing onto the floor.

“He’ll be fine, lets go.” The two walked out of the residence hand in hand.

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“Everyone clear on the plan?” Damian asked, it was a couple hours after he and Marinette had left the apartment. The ice cream they got from Andre was long gone, and the sun was setting.

“I mean it sounds simple enough, my question is what you want me to do?” Luka said from the corner still strumming his guitar.

“If you could use your lyre for ominous music when we start, that would be perfect to freak Greyson out. He may not be religious but he still believes in ghosts. Also in case they ever catch on before we get to do the rest of it you can use second chance and we can do it again.”

“Sounds good, and I have just the song.” Luka may be a kind kid but he wasn’t above pranks on siblings, especially if it was for a friend.

“So when do we start?” Kagami was pretending to study while she talked to them over phone, her mother wouldn’t let her meet up with them.

“Same question over here!” Adrien was simultaneously stuck in his room so Marinette had him pulled up on videochat.

“After sundown, think you two can sneak out by then?” Damian responded.

“How bout ten that when my mom is asleep and I can sneak out even easier.”

Kagami offered.

“Sounds good to me if it is for everyone else.” A chorus of yeahs confirmed the ten time. “Perfect Kagami, Adrien see you then.” With that Damian and Marinette hung up their respective phones.

“I’ve gotta go get some homework done before then, so I’ll see the two of you at ten too.” Luka  got up and put his guitar in its case, which he then slung over his back. He grabbed his bike handles and started walking it out of the park.

“We’ll see you then Luka, oh say hi to your mom for me, and tell her I’ll have those pastries to her by next Tuesday!” Marinette called to him. He was already halfway out of the park so she had to shout a little louder.

“Will do!” he called back. Marinette and Damian waved bye as he disappeared around the corner.

“So Dames, what do you want to do now?” she turned to him.

“I don’t know but we’ve got a couple hours to kill, you have any ideas?”

“I have one.” She said slyly, he looked at her face to see mischief in her bluebell eyes and a smile on her lips.

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Game Over. Player 1 wins.

It was their 7th game and Marinette had wiped the deck with Damian every time. He got maybe two kills over all the games. The duo were killing time in Marinette’s room and decided to play some video games.

“Well that was a fun game, play again?” She said setting her controller down and stretching her arms up. Damian had gotten slightly more use to being so thoroughly crushed, so he only gaped for a minute rather than everyone else’s 15 minute long gaping session.

“Mari I love you, but I don’t think I can lose to you again.”

“Come on you might win the next one.” She said lightly.

“Mari don’t tease me it’s unbecoming of you.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not fun!” a buzz from her phone stopped her from saying another thing to annoy him.

Where are you guys, it’s already ten -Adrien

Sorry was beating the ice prince in video games. Be there soon. -Marinette

“You ready to blow off some steam, ten o’clock is upon us.” she gave a mock bow towards Damian sticking with her Ice Prince theme from the text.

“If you cut it with the royalty shtick I’ll even buy you some new fabric afterwards.” “Hmmmmm tempting but unlikely to happen.”

“I figured, but thought I’d try.” he held out an arm to her, “then are you ready to go mess with my brother's princess?”

“Let’s suit up.” She grabbed his hand, their excitement palpable.

“This will be fun.”

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[introvertguide]

Easy Rider (1969); AFI# 84

The current movie under review from the AFI top 100 is the counterculture road film, Easy Rider (1969). As a note for anybody looking for screen captures, this is also the title of a magazine with many scantily dressed women next to vehicles, so be specific with your google image search. The film combines the hippie lifestyle with the beatnik concept of being free from "the man." It spoke to a lot of Americans at the time who were fighting back against government restrictions on one hand and the freedom of Civil Rights on the other. The film ended up making almost 100x the budget and was one of the first super performing, low budget indie films. The film was written by Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper, and Terry Southern. It was produced by Fonda and directed by Hopper. It is funny to think about now, but it was basically Peter Fonda's hippie son and some of his buddies getting together and making a movie about a road trip. Well done! Before we go any further, let's get the normal warning out of the way...

SPOILER WARNING!!! I AM GOING TO SPOIL THE MOVIE THAT DOESN'T REALLY HAVE A MAJOR PLOT!!! WHAT STORY THERE IS I HAVE SPOILED SO WATCH THE FILM FIRST IF YOU DON'T WANT ME TO RUIN IT FOR YOU!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!

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Wyatt (Peter Fonda) and Billy (Dennis Hopper) are freewheeling motorcyclists. After smuggling cocaine from Mexico to Los Angeles, they sell their haul and receive a large sum of money. With the cash stuffed into a plastic tube hidden inside the Stars & Stripes-painted fuel tank of Wyatt's California-style chopper, they ride eastward aiming to reach New Orleans, Louisiana, in time for the Mardi Gras festival. This all happens either in silence, in Spanish, or beneath the in-coming planes at an airport, so there really isn't any dialogue. It truly is exposition at the most basic level. What the director is basically communicating is "two guys got some money, here's how, now don't worry about it and enjoy the travel montage."

During their trip, Wyatt and Billy stop to repair a flat tire on Wyatt's bike at a farmstead in Arizona and have a meal with the farmer and his family. It is kind of interesting because Wyatt talks later about nobody being willing to help him, yet he is invited to use the barn and tools and then invited to have dinner with the whole family. Later, Wyatt picks up a hippie hitch-hiker, and he invites them to visit his commune, where they stay for the rest of the day. The notion of "free love" appears to be practiced, with two of the women, Lisa and Sarah, seemingly sharing the affections of the hitch-hiking commune member before turning their attention to Wyatt and Billy. The people at the commune seem to like Wyatt and want him to stay, but Billy doesn't seem to fit in and he is antsy to get back on the road. As the bikers leave, the hitch-hiker gives Wyatt some LSD for him to share with "the right people".

Further down the road, the two see a parade and playfully join the back. The pair are immediately arrested for "parading without a permit" and thrown in jail. There, they befriend lawyer George Hanson (Jack Nicholson), who has spent the night in jail after overindulging in alcohol. After the mention of having done work for the ACLU along with other conversation, George helps them get out of jail and decides to travel with Wyatt and Billy to New Orleans. As they camp that night, Wyatt and Billy introduce George to marijuana. As an alcoholic and a "square", George is reluctant to try it due to his fear of becoming "hooked" and it leading to worse drugs but he quickly relents. It is funny when Wyatt calls it "grass" and George doesn't know what that means. I don't know about other areas, but any 13-year-old where I live would most likely know what Wyatt was talking about.

Stopping to eat at a small-town Louisiana diner, the trio attract the attention of the locals. There is a booth packed with young girls next to a booth packed with what I can best describe as hicks. The girls in the restaurant think the trio are exciting, but the local men and a police officer make degrading comments and taunts. Wyatt, Billy, and George decide to leave without any fuss. They make camp outside town and talk about how their freedom scares a lot of people. In the middle of the night, a group of locals attack the sleeping trio, beating them with clubs. Billy screams and brandishes a knife, and the attackers leave. Wyatt and Billy suffer minor injuries, but George has been bludgeoned to death. Wyatt and Billy wrap George's body in his sleeping bag, gather his belongings, and vow to return the items to his family. This happens really fast and I wasn't really sure what had occurred or that George was dead. First time I saw this, I was looking at something else for 30 seconds and turned back to see Wyatt and Billy going through a wallet. I rewatched and the time between George going to sleep and the duo going through his wallet after death was about 37 seconds.

Wyatt and Billy continue to New Orleans and find a brothel that George had told them about. Taking prostitutes Karen (Karen Black) and Mary (Toni Basil) with them, Wyatt and Billy wander the parade-filled streets of the Mardi Gras celebration. They end up in a French Quarter cemetery, where all four ingest the LSD the hitch-hiker had given to Wyatt and experience a bad trip. I had to double check the name, but it is the same Toni Basil of "Oh Mickey, You're so fine, You're so fine you blow my mind, Hey Mickey!" fame.

The next morning, as they are overtaken on a two-lane country road by two local men in an older pickup truck, the passenger in the truck reaches for a shotgun, saying he will scare them. As they pass Billy, the passenger fires, and Billy has a lowside crash. The truck passes Wyatt who has stopped, and Wyatt rides back to Billy, finding him lying flat on the side of the road and covered in blood. Wyatt tells Billy he's going to get help and covers Billy's wound with his own leather jacket. Wyatt then rides down the road toward the pickup as it makes a U-turn.

Passing in the opposite direction, the passenger fires the shotgun again, this time through the driver's-side window. Wyatt's riderless motorcycle flies through the air and comes apart before landing and becoming engulfed in flames. A helicopter shot shows the carnage as the truck drives away and the credits roll.

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This movie is not what I would call my personal favorite, but many critics have praised it for the dialogue, visuals, and story. I am assuming when mention is made of the dialogue, it is in reference to Jack Nicholson, because the two lead characters are that mix of uncomfortable and annoying that you get with sometimes who is inebriated in some way. They repeat themselves, say phrases that make no sense and then laugh about it, and constantly say "what?" so the line is just repeated. The actors were often high during the making of the film and that is not at all surprising.

It seems funny to me that Dennis Hopper acted, directed, and partly wrote the script for the film, yet he gave himself the part of basically the third wheel. The character of Billy seems like he wants to be rich and have nice things but has fallen into the hippie lifestyle. He seems uncomfortable with the drug deal at the beginning. He doesn't want to pick up the hitcher. He wants to leave the commune and get back on the road. He insults George and has to apologize. He is the first to talk about the girls at the diner. He wants to go get prostitutes at the place that George talked about. He is the one that flips off the guys in the truck. Billy is the driving force of everything that goes wrong.

We can't talk about this film without mentioning the soundtrack, because it is kind of what the movie is famous for. Songs on the sound track include: "The Pusher" and "Born to Be Wild" (Steppenwolf), "The Weight" (The Band), "If 6 Was 9" (Jimi Hendrix), and "It's Alright, Ma" (Bob Dylan). Try putting this soundtrack on while driving and you will realize how perfect it is for a road trip. I don't think there has been a better grouping of driving songs.

So does this movie belong on the Top 100 American movies? Well, I guess. It was a watershed independent film during a time of major change in America and the world. It caught the interest of many in a generation and that is interesting enough to experience. Now would I recommend it? Not really. The film was kind of boring and the end is not satisfying. It is fascinating on many levels and I thought that the conversations that involved the character of George were good, but all lot of the movie is kind of slog. The campfire conversation between Wyatt, Billy and the hippie is just painful. It is maybe ironic, but this is a road trip movie that doesn't really move. It is worth watching if you are interested in the time period.