#or just run me over. like I just did to the curb at the store

[housewifebuck]

Having an unbelievably cursed day already and it’s only noon

[soleilapproves]

catalyst - chapter 1

Life has many twists and turns- yours included getting rejected from med school and ending up as a manager for your burnt-out pro boxer ex-boyfriend. (Sukuna x reader)

Notes: fem!reader

fanfic masterlist / main masterlist

Gravel crunched underneath your sneakers as you dragged them along the pavement. You had been running around the city with tired limbs and a resume in hand, trying to get a job after getting your last rejection letter from one of the medical schools you applied to.

Thank you for expressing interest in our medical program. Upon evaluating your transcripts, credentials, and extracurriculars, we regret to inform you that you are not eligible to join this year’s class. We will gladly consider your application for next year’s class if you wish to reapply. You may contact the admissions department for questions regarding the next application cycle.

Tears threatened to fall from your eyes again. You had been crying about your future for the past week. With all the hard work that went into all those volunteering hours, internships, and research assistantships, you were sure to get in.

But no, not in the system set up in this day and age. There will always be someone more qualified and well-connected than you. And even if they aren’t, they will always benefit from nepotism. 

Your feet dragged themselves till you couldn’t take it anymore. You broke down, ass landing on the curb in front of a random convenience store in the middle of some no-name neighborhood. Tears spilled down the apples of your cheeks as they drenched your chin and neck. The sky roared, and rain began to pour down. 

You wailed harder and tried to drown out the noise by yelling curses at the sky. You thought of all the tests you studied for, all the diagrams taped up on your walls, and all the money you spent on your applications. You had spent so much time and effort preparing for medical school that you couldn’t invest in a plan B. You needed a job to fund yourself, at least until you could get back up on your feet and figure out what you wanted to do, but to your misfortune, no one was hiring.

There was nothing more agonizing than being led astray from your original path. You began to question your abilities. Maybe if you had just paid attention in that class, you’d have an A instead of an A minus, or if you had just volunteered more, you’d seem more competitive. 

But it was all useless. What’s done is done. You groaned into your pruned hands. 

Then, all of a sudden, you could hear the muffled sounds of raindrops hitting canvas. “Funny, you seem different from how he described you.” You looked up to see a white-haired figure holding an umbrella over your head. “Uraume. No last name. Please come with me.”

You looked behind the figure and saw a sleek black Range Rover with tinted windows. It looked like it didn’t belong in this neck of the woods. Great, you were rejected from almost all the vacant positions in the city, and you were about to be trafficked for the benefit of wealthy people.

“I have a mace, so get away from me,” you said while walking away, not putting away much of a fight.

“Sukuna Ryomen. I’m sure you know him,” Uraume continued. “He needs you.”

Since when did traffickers start doing background checks on their victims? Your stomach churned as you began to walk faster, trying to outrun the chalky white-haired person who was now hot on your heels. However, having not eaten all day, you barely had the energy to pick up your speed, so you pulled your phone out to call the police, which, to your misfortune, was dead. You began to sob as you slowed down, and you noticed that the Range Rover was trying to catch up with you. 

It began to slow down beside you when its window rolled down. “Hey, it’s me, Yuuji!” 

You stopped, and so did the vehicle. Yuuji, your ex-best friend’s little brother, was smiling at you. “Just hear us out.” The boy (well, now a man) said with the most sincere eyes you had ever seen. Uraume walked towards you, covering your now-drenched body with their umbrella. 

-

You couldn’t believe your eyes- the once scrawny little kid you knew was now a tall man. Yuuji’s facial features had changed significantly. His round face was replaced by sharp angles (much like his older brother’s), and he also sported a few new scars (the ones beneath both his eyes being the most noticeable as they looked identical). He walked you through everything that had happened in Sukuna’s life since you both lost touch, while Uarume guided you both through the VIP area of the city’s most prominent hospital. They also casually added that they had a private investigator look into whatever you were up to in the past month, which freaked you out. No one wonder they knew way too much about you. 

It turns out that after you two lost touch, Sukuna became a famous boxing champion. He didn’t bother getting into the details of how it happened, but as far as you know, Sukuna never really expressed any interest in it whenever you were around. Yuuji pulled his phone out to show you his latest fight- the reason why he’s so battered up. 

You winced as you watched the clip, having a hard time trusting your eyes. There were many things you didn’t know about the martial arts world, but it was still shocking that you had no idea your ex was a famous and skilled fighter. It was apparent he had a knack for getting into fights with how he’d defend you whenever a bully charged towards you or a creep so much as to even looked your way. It never occurred to you that his punches were just that precise and had less recoil because he was training to be a professional fighter.

Now, here he was, on Yuuji’s phone screen, being beaten and battered like a piece of rice cake being pounded by a human mallet. “I thought you said he was good.” You mumbled. “He is, but he’s been burnt out and has refused any kind of treatment for it.

You raised your brow as the three of you stopped in front of a large wooden door. “And I’m here because?” 

“We have tried everything. Yuuji has to return to his classes soon, and I have never been able to connect with that man emotionally enough to support him through such a tough time. Even his therapist says he’s a lost cause because he refuses to cooperate.” Uraume says as they open the wooden door to reveal a large, dark hospital room. 

It takes you a while to register what’s going on, with the only source of light being the skyscrapers visible through the floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows on the opposite end of the room. In the middle of the room, against the wall, was a large hospital bed with a few monitors surrounding it. In it, you could see a mop of pink hair. 

Sukuna Ryomen- professional boxer and ex-boyfriend in the flesh. The steady rise and fall of his chest told you that he was asleep. The sight led to an invisible lump forming in your throat. The last time you’d seen him in person was when you both had your biggest fight together. A shiver went down your spine as you remembered all the hurtful words you had spat at each other. In that moment, neither of you could believe you could’ve been that hostile.

You’d only ever seen him sick with a fever, and he was horrible enough to deal with during that time. You couldn’t imagine how he was feeling right now. 

“As his manager, I’d like to hire you as his… well, I’m not sure what I’d call this position, but you’ll be making sure he gets better and is up to date with all his treatments and training,” Uraume said as they took you and Yuuji out the room. 

You sighed. “You want me to be his nanny?” 

“More like a personally involved manager, but we can have Sukuna’s doctor come up with a better name. Something to do with your field of interest. Her name is Dr. Shoko Ieri, and she’ll also be sure to refer you to all the good schools in the country so you can enroll in the next session.”

You didn’t know what to focus on first- the fact that you were offered a job (albeit a nanny for an adult) or that your idol, Shoko Ieri, was ready to refer you for your next applications. You had only ever seen her present at research conferences, all while you both had a common link this entire time. You felt lightheaded- the feeling of hope finally returning after a week of non-stop anxiety fits.

“So, do we have a deal?” Uraume extended their hand. 

But then again, things aren’t so good between you and Sukuna. At least from how you see things. Your relationship with him ended on a sour note, and even if you didn’t want to admit it, you did resent him a little for simply abandoning you and never making an effort to reach out again as you did. What if you failed? What if this whole thing ends up being one giant dumpster fire? 

You hesitantly looked at the pale hand in front of you. But then again, there was no way to go from here. What would you do anyway? Your paid internships never led to any full-time positions, and you barely had any money to get by after paying your rent for the next month. You also needed to pay for all the new applications and supplementary courses for your resume. 

“You should do it. They don’t like shaking hands with people, so this is major.” Yuuji whispered in your ears.

You gulped as your heart raced. In different circumstances, you would’ve said no, but you have nothing to look forward to besides getting a part-time job, which you knew wasn’t worth it with an offer like this to compete with it. You placed your hand in Uraume’s cold ones. They quickly shook your hand and pulled away like you had the plague (“They have a small case of germophobia,” Yuuji said later).

“When do I start?” you ask.

“Immediately. Since this job requires a lot of monitoring, I’ll have a few movers get your things and take them to Sukuna’s apartment. You’ll be living with him until he gets better” 

You didn’t know how to feel at that moment, chest still tight with the uneasiness from before. What you did know for sure was that Sukuna probably wouldn't be happy seeing you so at home in his personal space. 

[lookingformoondrop]

OMG FINALLY SOMEONE WHO WRITES ABT THE COFFIN OF ANDY AND LEYLEY AAA

Honestly I'd take any writing about Andy LMFAO whatever you want to write, I'd just love to read something, be it headcanons or some short story <3

Absolutely! I was shocked when I tried finding content for TCOAAL, and there was none💀. For the sake of fluff Andy, the reader is the closest thing Andy has to a sister!

*Leyley doesn't exist*

P.S. Hopefully, this isn't OOC. This is also not proofread, so

I hope these meet your expectations <3

Andrew Graves x female best friend! Reader

TW: Everyone has a filthy mouth (swearing)... N/M = Nickname ♡

♡925 WORDS♡

Ever since Andrew was a kid, he was treated more as his parent's friend than their kid.

This often meant that Andrew was forced to miss out on childish routines like throwing a tantrum, making a mess, having fun the loud way, and making mistakes, simply because "he was so easy."

If he were to add to his parents' load of problems, he wouldn't be able to live with himself, let alone sleep.

But that was all before he met you.

Every Friday, Mrs. Graves would give Andrew money to go on a snack run for the weekend.

But no matter what he did, no matter when or how he entered the grocery store, this little girl (no less than five) would terrorize Andrew.

"She's so annoying, mom! She always snatches the snacks I go for and then bolts for the next aisle. Then she just giggles and runs away with MY TOMATO SOUP."

Mrs. Graves sighed and turned around to face her son, "Andrew, just because a little five year old girl is taking some of the same snacks as you DOES NOT MEAN I am letting you shop at a different store! 'Shop Shop Shop and Shop, with more Shop' is the best for low-deals and prices. Please don't be difficult."

With no other choices, Andrew was forced to continue shopping.

Every week, she did the same thing. She'd sneak up behind him when he wasn't paying attention. She'd snatch the poor snack out of Andrew's hand and would bolt out of the aisle.

And everytime she did this, Andrew would grow angrier and angrier.

Finally, when the little girl stole the hundredth can of soup from his hand, Andrew turned around and grabbed the little girl's hair.

"AHH! Get off of me asshole!"

"You little shit! Give me that can back!"

They'd fight over the can of soup in the middle of the aisle for the next 10 minutes before the store owner kicked them out for "public disturbances."

Now, without his can of soup, sitting at the curb outside the store, with new bite marks along his arm, Andrew was more pissed than ever.

"What the hell is your problem? Do you just find malicious torment funny, you borderline psycho?"

Andrew turned towards the girl. She turned her smile towards Andrew, "Nah, just you."

Annoyed and exhausted, he put his face in his hands.

She thought for a moment , "No one plays with me, so I figured I should play with someone who looked as miserable as me."

Andrew looked at her through his fingers, "What about me screamed misery?"

She put a finger on her bottom lip, deep in thought, "You just have this face,"

Andrew scoffed at the girl, burying his face in his knees. She giggled.

"You just naturally look like an asshole"

"Watch your language, you fucking shit!"

Andrew went to grab the girls hair, "You dont even know my name, and yet you're calling me an asshole!? No wonder you dont have any friends."

She slapped Andrew's hand before it could reach her, "Well, what's your name?"

Andrew hesitated, "It's...Andrew Graves. What's yours?"

The little girl smiled, "Y/N L/N, your new best friend, Aaaaandy."

Andrew sat lazily with Y/N, laying on his lap. He cringed when he thought about their first meeting.

Of all the things they could've fought about, it was a can of soup... God, they're fucking stupid.

Since that day, Y/N would beg Andrew for attention and fun. She'd stalk him when he was out and about and would drag him away from any errands he was requested to run on.

"Leave me alone, N/M"

"Make me~"

"Please?"

"Lame. Now I have to come with you! With that bitch ass attitude you'll get beat up."

"Great."

And when Andrew accidentally reveal his address? Andrew was permanently stuck with Y/N.

Every Friday, she'd follow Andrew home, and even when Mr. and Mrs. Graves questioned the foul-mouth girl Andrew would never offer an explanation better than, "Some stray I picked up that won't let go. I have to keep her."

"Aaaaandyyy, can you change the channel? I don't want to lift my eyelids."

Andrew sighed, "The remote is right by your leg, dumbass"

"So?" She scoffed, "reach it for me."

"It's closer to you than it is to me!"

"Andy change the goddamn channel!"

"i'm not getting up just because your ass wants to be lazy!"

"ANDREW"

"Y/N"

Even if that meant pissing each other off with meanless schemes.

Despite their bickering that has made local pedestrians' ears bleed, they still were there for each other in everything.

"Whatever, you dumb bastard," Y/N mumbled to herself.

Andrew played with Y/N's hair as he stared at the mindless TV.

"Veronica Steveson asked me out to the date."

"Aw, poor hussy"

"Ouch, you think so lowly of me?"

"No, I just assumed you said no," Y/N continued to watch the TV.

"Why would I...?" Before Andrew could finish his sentence, Y/N sat up and stared at him with intense eyes.

"Do you like her?"

"W- Well no, but it's not like any other girls are crawling to date me"

Y/N scoffed at Andrew, flicking his forehead, "That's because you're stupid to notice."

She laid back down on his lap, and Andrew secretly smiled to himself. "So...who aren't I noticing?"

"Your mom."

"Y/N GROSS!"

And even if no one admitted it out loud, and even if you blushed one too many times around each other, you belonged with each other.

"But seriously, Andy, pass me the remote"

"Eat shit, N/M"

Thank you for the ask <3

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

can we have more disowned!Jason pls??

Bruce was thankful for the drive. It gave him time to think. Mostly of things to say.

He'd sent a new washer and dryer, only to have them politely but firmly refused. Not by Jason, which he expected, but by you. You explained that it was appreciated but not necessary. And then before hanging up the phone, suggested that he donate the money to a support group for estranged parents. Electronics for the kids were similarly received- albeit less politely by Jason. Jason outright sent them back in pieces.

It was a risk, and he knew that. But by the time he pulled into town and was driving down tree-lined streets he was resolved. He had grandchildren now. He had a son who was happy. A Daughter in law... It was- well. Not a 'normal' family but, why did that matter?

There was a new baby on the way. Surely you had to need something to make it easier? College funds? Was the house paid for? He went through the options over and over. Considering the things he knew from the court documents. How you'd come to have your niece and nephew in your custody. The long sad story that got there.

You were steadfast and compassionate- that he knew. And proud. An offer that felt like charity would be rejected. Because you were doing it- or had been doing it on your own. Caring for your grandmother and then your mother. Fighting with the courts. Running a business. And raising two kids. You didn't want charity.

He pulled up on the curb and checked his watch, frowning. Both cars were still in the drive. Which was odd. Dick had told him you usually took the kids to school and opened the store.

He walked up the front steps and rang the bell. Greeted by the cacophony of dogs barking and Jason grumbling as he lumbered to the door.

Jason rolled his eyes when he saw Bruce at the door. "Not now-"

"I come in peace," Bruce said holding up his hands.

"Now's not a good time," Jason said, picking up the Yorkie before she could bolt out the door.

"What happened?" Bruce asked, heart dropping. Jason looked tense. Stressed. Upset. "Are the kids-"

"There was a break in at the hardware. Y/N was working late doing the books. Local scumbags busted in looking for tools they could sell. And copper. They didn't know she was there, so when she walked out to see what was happening, they panicked. Busted her in the face a couple times and someone kicked her stomach." Jason exhaled slowly. "Boris got to them and scared them off when he heard her struggling. And then. Fuck. As if it wasn't bad enough, his fucking heart just gave out and her dog died."

"Jason-"

"Now is really not a good time," Jason repeated, swallowing hard.

And all Bruce can do is hug him. Hard. Jason never did do well when women were in danger. When they were attacked like that. And now it was one of HIS women. His wife. The mother of his children. And she hadn't been able to call him for help. "Is... everything okay?" he asked, releasing him when Jason started to pull away.

"They kept her in the hospital for a couple days and they want to keep her on bed rest for a while. They were worried about her back and her ribs. And the stress of it all. But- mostly she just... she's worried about the baby. She's worried about the kids. And she misses Borris."

"A good boy-"

"Her best friend," Jason said, smiling a little. "And then he had to go and prove he really did love her more than me... grumpy old fucker."

"I know it's not a good time," Bruce said, not wanting to add more stress to his son. Or risk upsetting you and making it worse for you. "But if you need anything-"

"Just make sure those scumbags stay in jail," Jason said. "Because if I get my hands on them, I'll break their fucking necks."

"At least you aren't going to shoot-"

"Y/N makes me store my guns and my ammo in two separate places," he sighed. "And she moved it after Ty found it- now I don't know where it is."

[redcoralpot]

Stu!! I love seeing ppl love him. Would I be able to request some roleswap ish au, where reader is a slasher, and stu is the "final girl". He gets caught ofc, and reader unmasks, smut ensues (maybe stu had a crush or smth, maybe dubcon if u accept it).

Unrelated: Loved seeing Matthew lillard as william Afton, he did so good.

Ruined Man - Stu Macher X M!Reader

Summary: Stu Macher was a classic rich boy; arrogant, eccentric, and an asshole. He was known for playing cruel pranks on others, and earlier in the weak, he pranked Sidney by scaring her as the infamous Ghostface Killer. Maybe, just maybe, he deserved a taste of his own medicine. Trick or treat, right?

Warnings: NSFW, non-fatal violence, weapons.

Word Count: 2K

A/N: I don't write anything with SA, CNC, or dub-con; Stu plainly consents to the activities described. He has implied feelings for the Reader, and other implied activities as well... but I'll let you discover that part.

-

-

Crickets chirped in the grass, the crescent moon high in the sky. Finally, the noise from the Macher’s Halloween party had died down, and most people had left already, causing a blanket of peace to float down on the street. Any stragglers were drunkenly slumped against the curb, blacked out or calling for a sober ride. Your mask stuck out from the shadows, exaggerated and white, as you watched the property slowly become empty. Well, empty except for the host, of course. Stu Macher.

You could see him through one of the many windows, lounging on the first floor’s living room couch, still moving. Your fingers fumbled against the phone’s dial– god, how do killers run in this shit– pulling the black fabric further up your arm to position the voice changer closer to your mouth. Now, you patiently waited for the other man to pick up, seeing him jolt out of his position. Stu rubbed his eyes, and stumbled to the kitchen.

“Yo?”

Your lips curled into a nasty sneer, “Do you like scary movies, Stu?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“What’s your favorite?”

“Don’t make me choose, you know I’ve watched too many good ones!”

…

Huh? There was no way he knew your identity already. You’ll give him credit, he’s smart, but most definitely not that smart. Stu always visits the rental store Randy works at, and he always rented horror movies with Sidney’s boyfriend, Billy Loomis; that much you knew. He could not have seen you through the window before he ran into the kitchen, and even if he managed to, your mask was still securely strapped on.

“You still there? I haven’t dropped off Hellraiser yet, you could've just asked if you wanna watch it again.”

You hung up, breath quickening. Stu wasn’t scared, even though you were using the same voice changer as the loose, prank-calling murderer running around the streets of Woodsboro. You dumped the phone on the ground, hidden behind a bush. If he wasn’t scared by a little sound-a-like, that was fine, you came prepared. Stu’s garage door had been left open, and you jogged over. Frankly, it didn’t matter how much the rich boy had it coming, you were never doing this again. The costume’s long fringes caught on your feet, almost causing you to trip as you avoided the windows; less silent than you had hoped. Your shoes shuffled against the concrete, and you jiggled the handle of the only door, praying it would open. It creaked as you slipped inside, your shoes surely creasing when you tiptoed into the living room. From behind the couch, you could see that Stu was still in his kitchen, but he was looking around.

He grinned, cupping his hands around his mouth, “Nobody else’s here, Billy. You don’t gotta sneak into my house, you know that!”

 Sighing, you watch him leave the room to wander about the hallways, stopping by the door you had snuck through– and forgot to close. He squinted, looking at the mistake, and back at the living room. Your cheeks burned, adrenaline starting to pump in your veins as he took a few steps closer. 

“C’mon, you wanna have a movie marathon? It’s kinda late for that, but whatever. I have plenty of snacks left from the party, and a whole lot more puke!”

Stu turned away at the last second, choosing instead to sprint down into the bathroom. You could hear a muffled, “Gotcha… nope,” over rustling cloth as you crawled on your hands and knees into the kitchen. The freezing tile shocked any distraction from your system, and you stood up, settling into the darkest part of the kitchen. One of your hands held a dull knife, while the other held the little voice changer machine. However, your position left you without visuals on your victim. You were tempted to pull down your hood, but that would be too reckless, especially since he seemed to think you were his dearest friend. Oh, man, he didn’t know what was coming. 

“Y’know I love pranks, man, but time’s up,” He probed, leaning on the marbled island, just out of reach.

Stu visibly flinched as he turned around and found you staring at him, the mask’s empty eyes giving nothing away. It took him but a second to recover, yet, and a smile accompanied his wild eyes, “Billy!”

You tilted your head, slowly raising your left hand, “Incorrect.”

He didn’t have time to respond; you lunged. You gripped his collar in a fist and slammed him into the countertop– he winced. Stu tried pushing you back, but it was in vain, your knife already threatening to pierce his throat.

Your full weight was on the man, and he raised his hands in defeat. Stu’s chest rose and fell in hefty patterns; you snickered at his obedience. His head slumped back as you released his shirt, in favor of wrenching your mask off to face him.

“Surprise, Macher.”

Stu chuckled, chewing on his bottom lip, “Didn’t know you were in on it too.”

“In on what– aren’t you scared?” You growled, pressing the knife into the flesh of his neck, but not enough to draw blood.

“Dunno,” his back arched, causing a drop of blood to drip down his shirt, “I think you could’ve done better!”

You flipped him over, slicing a fringe off of your costume to tie his hands with. Your hips were in between his thighs, leaving him trapped, and the robe itself fell on the floor beside its mask. Stu giggled, hoisting up his torso with his elbows.

“It’s payback; you could use some.”

He winced as you pulled his hair, “Hngh, it was Billy’s idea.”

“Don’t act innocent.”

“And what’re you gonna do about it, tough guy?”

You rasped, moving to step back, “Nothing you don’t want; I think the prank’s done enough.”

Stu seemed to freeze, albeit briefly, but he wrapped his ankles around your hips– preventing you from running. Your hands brushed against them, tense, as his shoulders shook.

“I wanna.” A smile laced his tone.

“You sure?”

“I’m pose-itive,” he joked, “get it?”

You wrenched his mouth open, pressing down on his tongue with your thumb, “Shut it.”

He nodded, trying his best to close his lips around your finger. Your other hand trailed down his side, taking its sweet time, before landing on his waist. Saliva still connected your fingers to his mouth as you removed them, all in favor of lifting his hips. Underneath, you unzipped his jeans, taking extra care to avoid giving any friction. When you stepped back to slide them off of Stu, he whined, his hips still chasing your touch. His jeans were thrown aside, and you slid back in your place. You knew he could feel your breath on his neck.

Your crotch ground against his ass, a shiver spreading across his spine. Stu was audibly panting; his head was hanging low and he pushed his hips to meet your thrusts. You hummed, choosing to drag the knife in soft strokes down his back, the cool metal only just piercing his skin. Red oozed in thick droplets out of the wounds, some getting big enough to trickle down his back. The pain seemed to follow it down, as Stu made quite the pathetic noise. 

“We’ve barely even gotten started, Macher, and you’re this desperate already?” You teased.

“Mm, show me what ‘cha got!”

You chuckle and suck a bruise onto the back of his neck. From that position, you could hear a groan rumble in his throat, but it wasn’t strong enough to escape. Hm, you could change that. You sunk the edge of your teeth into a different spot, holding on for a second before soothing the bite with your tongue. If the bruise didn’t make what happened obvious, well, this would. Stu would just have to deal with it. Though, you doubt he’d mind.

The knife clattered onto the marble counter after you dropped it, Stu’s thighs twitching, “Where’s the lube?”

Stu didn’t answer, but only whined.

“Use your words, pretty boy.”

His voice shook, trying to form words past used lips, “Bathroom.”

“Louder, I didn’t hear you the first time.”

Stu wiggled against your weight, “C’mon, man– f-fuck, it’s in the bathroom, please!”

You tutted, a cruel grin on your face, “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You didn’t need directions, and as soon as you were out of his view, you practically ran there. Hell, you weren’t gonna miss out on this chance, were you? Stu, the eccentric boy that played downright evil pranks on anybody that breathed around him, reduced to a perverted degenerate. Perhaps he was already like that, and you wouldn’t be surprised. 

The lube was in a small, portable bottle that was half empty when you found it. Back in the kitchen, you poured the majority of what was left in your palm and fingers. Using just two, for the moment, you spread it over his hole; a finger may have dipped in every once and a while, in the process. 

“I wanna, I wanna do it already,” Stu shuddered, his fidgeting acting up again.

A finger eased its way inside, a little too easily, much to your surprise, “Not yet.”

“I really wanna.” Another, just as simply.

“That’s too bad;” you mused, “have you been fingering yourself?”

He bit down on his bottom lip, the taste of iron filling his mouth, “Uhuh, uhuh.”

“To what?”

“Y-you, and me.” 

You spread the final bit over your dick, before pressing your hand into the sides of his neck, “You little pervert. Bet you loved getting a glimpse of me in the locker room, yeah?”

“Yeah, yes, yes– oh, shit.” Stu’s little tangent was interrupted by you slamming inside; the sting melted in with pleasure as you brushed his prostate.

Only for a moment did you stop to let him adjust, before pulling out and thrusting again. You found a rhythm, and the counter rubbed against his cock as you continued, smearing precum over the wood. His hands, still bound, scrabbled for anything to hold onto, but in vain. His nails just slid off of the smooth stone, his drool making it even slippier. Stu squeezed his eyes shut, feeling a knot grow in his gut. 

He clenched around you, causing you to grunt, “‘M gonna cum, please let me cum, please, please… ah!”

“We’re not done yet,” you hissed, firmly slapping his thigh.

“I can’t hold it, man, I really can’t,” he sobbed out, eyelashes wet from unreleased tears.

A sharp pain on his shoulder burned through any restraint the guy had, the knot unraveling as quickly as it had formed. Stu thrashed, the fringe snapping, and his vision whited out. His brain was all fuzzy; the only thing he could focus on was gripping the edge of the counter. Stu’s face was smushed against the counter, crimson mixing with the white surface. He shivered, eyes heavy, feeling a little floaty when a thick liquid dripped down his thighs. You pulled out of him, rubbing his waist as you did so.

“Good job, Macher. That was one hell of a show you put on, ” you sighed.

“Hhn.”

His body was limp as you turned him over, using the oven towel to start to clean him up, “How’re you feeling?”

Stu finally opened his eyes, using all of his strength to grin up at you, “Dude… that was like, awesome.”

“Pfft, you sound out of it.”

“Eh, what makes you say that? I want a big glass of water!”

You cackled, leaving his side to shuffle through a cabinet full of fancy cups, finally choosing a sturdy looking mug. He grabbed it as soon as it was in arms reach, taking huge gulps from it, like he had been starved. Or, more so dying of thirst. 

When he finished, you softly said, “Do you need help getting into bed?”

Stu shrugged, so you took that as a yes. You heaved him over your shoulder, supporting him up the stairs as he giggled the whole way. As you tucked him in, you swore you could hear something from down in the kitchen.

A phone’s ring.

-

Taglist: @jaspeywasy89 , @cannabrisano , @fandomz-brainrot

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[blackhairedjjun]

second chance encounters

pairing: choi yeonjun x gn!reader | genre / tropes: slight fluff, acquaintances to ???, university -> working adult au, nostalgia & slice of life vibes | word count: 3.6k | warnings: alcohol, some profanity, work-related burnout

summary: it's been a year since you graduated from university, and it always seemed like life had different plans for you and for the resident dance crew heartthrob, choi yeonjun. that is, until you run into him by chance after work.

author's notes: hello! this is one part of a fic idea that has been stirring in my brain for the LONGEST time - i wanted a very slice of life fic about adult life and growing up, and for the longest time i tried over and over to write it. but it was hard especially since it involved such personal feelings and experiences and i wanted to capture it just right. but i managed to get this part out, and once i'm less busy i want to try writing a part 2 too. so here it is, i hope you enjoy!

(support by reblogging banner by @/cafekitsune)

It was nearly midnight when you were finally let go from overtime duties at your job. You walked out of your building and, exhausted from staying up for so long, you plopped down on the curb in front of the entrance. At this hour you should try to get a cab home, but you wanted a moment to rest and regain your bearings first.

Despite the late hour, it wasn’t too dark outside; the streetlamps illuminated the sidewalks, and plenty of other office buildings still had windows with the lights on. Next to your building, a 24-hour convenience store was flooded in fluorescent lighting. Maybe you were lucky to have gotten out before midnight when plenty of others were still staying up. But with your eyelids drooping and your whole body feeling heavier than a slab of rock, calling yourself “lucky” felt like a stretch.

You spent the next few moments letting your attention drift, your eyes fluttering shut. You could still see the spreadsheets swimming in front of your vision, and you could still hear your boss’s voice urging you to keep up with the pace. “We won’t go easy on you just because you’re a junior. In fact, you should be working harder if you want to prove yourself.” 

Work harder... prove myself... The words were in your mind constantly, even when your body protested.

Your eyes snapped open for a moment and you spotted a tall man in a hoodie exiting the convenience store, plastic bag in hand, headed for a nearby parked car. Perhaps it was just your fatigue making you see things, but he looked familiar.

He turned his head in your direction and your eyes met. You watched his own eyes widen in recognition.

“Uh, excuse me一” he approached you, scratching his head, “did you perhaps go to...?”

He mentioned your university’s name.

You blinked and studied his face.

Of course. 

You had spoken to him only a handful of times before, but you still recognized the former captain of your university’s dance crew. Everyone at your major had known him.

“Choi Yeonjun...?”

一

Three years earlier

You swished around the beer in your plastic cup, watching the party scene unfold in front of you. The music blared from someone’s speakers, competing with the loud voices of your fellow university students shouting and laughing over each other, and tipsy students nearly stumbled into one another as they tried to reach the cooler for more drinks. All the while you leaned against the far wall of the common room, taking small sips of your beer, glancing around now and then for a sign of your roommate.

Still nowhere.

She’s probably playing a drinking game with one of her friends, you thought, or in another room making out with that guy from the dance crew. You sighed and drained the last of your beer, but made no move to refill it. The room was full of people you didn’t know or barely knew, their faces vaguely familiar from some common classes you shared with them, and you didn’t have the courage to talk to them. None of them paid you any notice either, instead staying close by the friends they already knew.

You had hoped that your roommate would at least be polite and introduce you to some friends you could stay with, but she had left your side as soon as you both entered the party. You sighed.

Just them a tall man in a baseball cap blocked your view.

He was clearly drunk, from the way his face was flushed red, and blinked a few times at you. You recognized him as a classmate from your literature elective, though you couldn’t remember his name.

“Do I... know you?” he slurred, blinking again. A small spark of hope rose in your chest.

“Yeah, we’re actually一”

He threw his head back and started laughing, nearly dropping the beer bottle he was holding. You tried to speak but he only laughed more. “Ah, what am I saying... who are you... hah...”

Your heart sank.

“Hey, you’re bother 一 you’re bothering them... that’s not nice...”

Another man appeared at your classmate’s side, nudging him. You could he that he was also tipsy from his pink-tinted cheeks and the way he stumbled over his words, but he seemed to have enough sense to stop his friend. He too looked familiar, but you weren’t not sure from where.

“I’m not boooothering,” your drunk classmate whined.

“Heh, okay you’re not... let’s just hang somewhere else...”

He squeezed his drunk friend’s shoulder, which seemed to divert his attention; he turned around to leave the room. The man then turned to look at you and you swore that he was properly looking, not just staring with his eyes glazed over from the alcohol.

“Hi...” He let out a little giggle. Cute. 

“Um... hi?”

“Sorry ‘bout that... we won’t bother you... have fun.”

“It’s okay...”

He stood there for a few moments, smiling at you. It was just a lopsided smile from tipsiness, but you couldn’t help the flutter you felt in your chest.

Then, as if awakened out of nowhere, he snapped to his senses. He waved at you, letting out a shy “bye!”, then turned around to follow his friend. You watched his back as he nearly stumbled over the couch and disappeared into a room at the side, and for the first time that night, you smiled.

It took a few moments, but you finally remembered why that man was so familiar: He was a prodigy member of the dance crew, the one that had won countless competitions against other dance crews from different universities. He was only a sophomore and already he was turning heads. Of all the members of that award-winning roster, he was said to be the best one.

His name, you recalled, was Choi Yeonjun.

一

You sat in the passenger seat of Yeonjun’s car with your hands folded on your lap. A jazz-pop playlist was playing from the car stereo, and you glanced over at your driver, who was humming along and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. His posture was relaxed and he steered with one hand. As the song reached its final chorus, he broke out into full song, singing with such passion that his eyes and nose scrunched up.

Maybe it was a bad idea to accept a car ride from someone you barely knew, but it was certainly a better option than remaining seated and half-asleep on the curb in front of your office building. Besides, you had heard nothing but good things about Yeonjun during your stay in university. You had been classmates with a few dance crew members and they always spoke of him with a tone of admiration.

The song came to an end just as the car stopped at a red light. At this hour, there were hardly any cars on the intersection. Yeonjun turned towards you and smiled.

“I haven’t seen you in ages,” he said.

“Me too.” You fought your tiredness to manage a smile.

“It’s so good to see a familiar face. I just moved here a few weeks ago.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He tilted his head at you and licked his lips, thinking of what to say. “I actually got back from visiting my parents... I had to pick up some of my stuff there to move to my new studio. Then I ended up having dinner with them, walking around, catching up, and well... I was hoping to be home by ten.” 

Your tired smile turned genuine at his story. “That sounds really nice, though. I visited my parents last month, so I get what you mean.”

“Mm, I miss them already.” The traffic light turned green and Yeonjun turned to face the road again; the car cruised past the buildings of the business district, the lights in some of their windows still on. “Hey, how long have you lived here?”

“Less than a year ago, I guess? Pretty much right after graduation. I got a good job offer so I moved here so that the commute would be a bit easier.”

“Yeah, that makes sense... hold on, the building I found you at...”

“Uh-huh?”

“You work at StarOne?”

You sighed. When you had first gotten the job offer, everyone around you had oohed and aahed, throwing compliments and congratulations your way 一 you had gotten a job at one of the biggest, most prestigious companies in the country. You had blushed and beamed at them and replied with Thank you and Oh my god, I’m so excited too. But it hadn’t even been a year since then, and now all you knew were hours of overtime and unhappy clients, rush projects and evaluations where your boss and his boss peeled back your pride layer by layer. You’re doing good, but we didn’t hire you for ‘good’, they would say. We’ve got dozens of other junior officers and even more applicants standing outside our doors, clamoring for the job that you have.

You took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the canned responses you had developed when asked about your job: Yes, I work at StarOne. The pay is fine. The hours are pretty long, I guess. It’s challenging. But at least I work at a good company.

But instead the car reached another red light and Yeonjun turned to look at you and his eyes softened, as if he had seen the exasperation you so often hid. “Oh... overtime?”

You nodded.

“Ah, sorry. You’re probably too tired to talk about work, huh?”

You nodded again.

He blushed and turned away for a moment. Then he reached to the passenger seat behind him, picked up a thick dark blue blanket, and handed it to you. “Ah, my bad, I shouldn’t have asked... Do you want to rest for a bit? You can sleep for the rest of the ride if you want. Don’t worry, the blanket’s clean.”

Your memory stirred and brought forth a moment three years ago, when you had first run into Yeonjun at a party. In your mind you saw the way he had squeezed your old classmate’s shoulder, keeping him from bothering you too much, and the way he had looked at you right after. You remembered feeling seen, as if he regarded you as an old friend.

The way Yeonjun looked at you now, blanket in hand, felt exactly the same.

“Oh... you didn’t have to.”

“Keep it in case you get sleepy.”

You took the blanket from him, his fingertips brushing yours as he handed it over, and unfolded it on your lap. When you looked back at him you couldn’t help the small smile forming on your lips.

“Thank you.”

He made sure to drive a little more slowly after that, but you could still hear him softly humming along to the songs on his playlist. The sound of his voice wrapped around you even more comfortably than the blanket. 

You closed your eyes to let your mind wander. Sleep didn’t come to you, but new thoughts did 一 thoughts of Yeonjun and what you had known about him from university. Though you had barely spoken to him, your social circles did overlap somewhat; you had been classmates with a few dance crew members, and a few of his friends had been in the same major as you. Every time his name was brought up, it was always in a positive light, whether it was him helping out a new dance recruit or inspiring the rest of the dance crew to work harder. Not once had you heard anyone speak ill of him.

Now you understood why.

一

Two years earlier

You watched the rain from the entrance of the campus arts building, its extended roof keeping you and several other students dry. Today the downpour was much better compared to previous days 一 you could actually see ahead of you, for one 一 but it was still bad enough that the endless drumming of the rain on rooftops filled your ears, and the pathway leading out of the building was a blur.

Still, you had a class in ten minutes and Professor Im had not made any announcement of cancellation. The sciences building was a short walk away but you needed all the time you could to get there and dry yourself off. Sighing, you fished your umbrella out of your bag and silently thanked your past self for remembering to pack it this time. With the push of a button (good thing you got one of those automatic ones) the umbrella opened, you held it up, and you hugged your bag more closely around your body to keep it dry. Here you go.

You had barely taken two steps out of the building when someone bumped against your side. Your umbrella shook, causing a few rain droplets to land on your head, but you barely felt them. Not while you were too busy staring in horror at the student who had bumped into you and was now running through the rain, not caring that they were getting soaked to the bone.

“HEY!”

You chased after them, your umbrella swaying as you ran through the pathway, shouting at the student to wait. You were no match for their pace 一 you could see that they had long legs 一 but they finally heard your shouts, slowed down, and turned to look at you.

Oh. Choi Yeonjun.

His hair was wet, with his bangs clinging to his forehead, and his hoodie was so drenched that it had turned from light grey to dark. He was still panting from his sprint and the dampness on his face was a mixture of rainfall and sweat.

You felt your face grow hot. Somehow offering to share an umbrella with someone you kind of knew was more embarrassing than doing it with a total stranger. But you were already here anyway and it seemed rude not to say anything.

“Uh, we can... share...”

You held the umbrella up above your head to accommodate his height and he laughed.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “I’m headed to the gym for dance practice, it might be too far.”

“It’s okay! I’ll take you!”

That was a lie. The gym was in the opposite direction from the science building. But you had perfect attendance in class so far, so you figured that one late mark wasn’t too much of a cost.

Yeonjun giggled and took the umbrella from you. His hands were soft as they brushed against yours. Your whole body felt warm despite the chill from the rain. “I’ll hold it for us then,” he said.

You smiled and moved closer to him. “Thank you.”

“Nah, I should be thanking you. Coach would’ve embarrassed me in front of the whole team for being late. And I told the new members last week not to be late! I would’ve looked like a dummy in front of them.”

He laughed again and you couldn’t help but laugh too. His walking pace was brisk but you didn’t mind, keeping up with him and listening to him talk about his dance practice. A whole other world within the university campus seemed to open up in front of you, one of competitions and prizes and prestige and a lot of blood, sweat, and tears. Yet there was an unmistakable gleam in Yeonjun’s eyes as he talked about the team’s new routine and the higher challenge level for it.

“We’ve only got a week left so we really can’t waste any time,” he said. “So... thank you. This helps a lot, really.”

The two of you were standing in front of the gym entrance. The rain had died down to a drizzle, and he lowered your umbrella. The walk from the arts building had felt like both an eternity and a moment.

You took the umbrella from him and his hands lingered on the handle before he let go.

“See you around,” he said. “Good luck with class.”

“Yeah, see you... good luck with practice.”

Yeonjun turned and sprinted into the gym, and you headed back to find the path to the science building. Not a single worry about being late bothered you, and you couldn’t help yourself from smiling.

一

Yeonjun’s GPS led him to a boxy apartment building. It was painted completely white, reflecting the light of a nearby streetlamp, which gave it a sterile glow. He pursed his lips; not the most homey place to live, he mused, but at least it looked well-kept.

He turned to you and found you asleep in the passenger seat, his blanked draped over your shoulders. Your chest rose and fell ever so slightly from your breaths, and your expression was completely calm. There was no trace of the undertones of stress he’d sensed when he had approached you; whatever worries you had about your job seemed to disappear in your dreams. 

Yeonjun lifted a hand to tap your shoulder awake, but he hesitated. A wave of relief overcame him, and for a moment he couldn’t help but admire your serene expression as you slept. You looked so... content. Had he ever seen you look that way? While he had crossed paths with you only a few times, you had always looked as if something was on your mind. He could still see it all in his memories: the loneliness in your posture when he approached you at the party, the nervousness in your eyes when you had offered your umbrella to him. He wondered what worries were always plaguing you, and if anything could be done to keep them away.

At least he had returned the favor for the umbrella incident, he thought. And it only took him two years.

His hand was still hovering over your shoulder when you awoke. You blinked a few times to chase the sleepiness away before turning your head to look at him. A small smile spread across your face and Yeonjun felt a flutter stirring in his chest.

“Are we home...?” Your voice was still hoarse with sleep.

“Just got here.” He smiled. “I can walk you to your door...”

“Mm, okay...”

Your apartment door wasn’t far up, only on the third floor. You had his blanket draped around you like a scarf, and Yeonjun carried your bag for you. He set it down beside your door, its black paint finish contrasting with the white walls, and waited for you to unlock it.

It was only when you pushed the door open that you noticed his blanket around your shoulders. You tugged it off and handed it to him.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot一”

“Keep it.” Then, feeling a little bold, he continued: “You can give it to me the next time we see each other.”

“Next time...?”

His smile faltered. Did you not want to see him again? Was he being too forward? Did he overestimate how much you remembered him? Why did he feel so keen on seeing you again in the first place?

“You don’t 一 you don’t have to.” He reached a hand to take the blanket. “Sorry, I was, I was just...”

But you regained your senses from your nap and beamed at him. The sight of it sent another fluttering feeling through Yeonjun’s chest.

“No, I mean... I was just surprised that you’d want to catch up, that’s all.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I... um. I do want to catch up with you, Yeonjun.”

“Great! Oh shit一” He clasped his hands over his mouth. His voice had come out a little too loud. “I mean, let’s work something out. I can give you my number...”

一

You had been lying in bed for fifteen minutes and you were still awake. You should be trying to sleep for another day of overtime tomorrow, but all you could think about was your drive home with Yeonjun.

You reached for your phone on your nightstand and looked at his contact for the fourth or fifth time since you’d shut the door behind you. He had saved his contact name as “jjunie” with a little fox next to it, and the sight of it made you chuckle.

Did this really happen? You thought of the few times you had run into each other, seemingly at random: his cute little “bye” as he clutched a beer, or his damp hair sticking to his forehead as he held onto your umbrella. His life felt tangential to yours, always passing by you, but never with you. And yet you were holding on to your phone with his number in it and an offer to see each other again.

You laughed again and set the phone down on the bed, on top of the blanket that he had lent you, and rolled to your side. It didn’t matter now, you mused. Old memories gave way to newer ones: his smile as he opened the passenger side of his car for you, his humming to a jazz tune as he waited at the intersection, his soft hands placing the blanket in yours. 

No matter how things had been back then, they were different now. Yeonjun would stick around in your life for a little while. You might even have a friend, and the thought consoled you as you finally drifted off to sleep.

[wires-and-hellfires]

Alastor & child! reader headcanons: First Meeting

Pairing: Alastor & child! reader

Description: Alastor finds a young child wandering around hell and wonders why they were sent here - he quickly finds out.

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse, graphic violence, straight-up murder, manipulation, Alastor as a warning in itself

Author note: First time writing for Hazbin Hotel! Might expand on this, gimme your thought, also this was written at 3am so be gentle with me please-

Your life before hell wasn't... ideal

Always taught to be quiet, to stay out of the way, to stick to the shadows, to be a good child

Trained how to make the adults around you happy, when to say sorry even if you did no wrong, when to cower, when to run

So when you finally snapped and exterminated the vermin that was your parents and every one of their disgusting "coworkers"-

Well, you weren't apologizing for that one, even if your actions led to your own death at the young age of 8

It was almost fitting that upon your arrival to hell, you quickly realized that the shadows bent to your will and people around you seemed inclined to do what you wanted if you just... asked nicely enough

The skills of manipulation and a quick escape never grew out of style, apparently

Upon learning of the exterminations that take place in hell, the irony of being sent there over some pest control of your own did not escape you

After the newest extermination was a good time for you!

You danced in and out of the long shadows on the walls cast by the VoxTech tv's and pickpocketed what you could from his dazed victims

Suddenly stumbling over a curb, you knocked into one of the sinners gathered outside of the store, gaining a snarl from him as he grabbed your arm

With a quick whisper of "Please let me go, you never saw me" his grip slackened and released, eyes dull as he turned back to the screen

You didn't see the famed "radio demon" across the road exiting the tailor, but he saw you

A young sinner taking advantage of the vulnerable? Why it warmed his heart

And when you disappeared into the shadows? Well wasn't that curious...

After his broadcast, he himself slipped into the darkness, letting them guide him to your location

After all, he could recognize what shadows felt like when they were manipulated.

And what a show he walked into!

One man sat slumped against the alley wall, neck bent forward at an unnatural angle

Another lay on the ground, seemingly still alive (for now-), blood pooling out of the gaping hole in his stomach

The last of the group was on all fours, gasping out apologies through bloody lips to a small figure standing over him

The child leaned forward and grinned at the sinner in front of them

"Why don't you try begging a bit more and maybe I'll forgive you? Go on, say sorry again."

Alastor felt his smile slip into something a bit more maniacally pleased

Why, weren't you such a delightful surprise?

The demon before you managed to plead for a total of 15 seconds before you let out a disappointed sigh and a shadow surged forward, severing his head from the rest of his body

"Well, well, well! What a performance! Encore, encore!"

Wide eyes snapped to his as he strolled forward, and though you may not recognize his face after his little... absence, his broadcast earlier was heard clearly all around hell

Even in dark alleys where children lured bad men to their deaths

Before a word slipped from your lips, Alastor held out his palm in a silencing gesture

"Now, now, no need to be afraid, little one! I was just seeking some entertainment for the night! And what a show it was, truly! Bravo!"

And, well, when was the last time someone told you did a good job?

Maybe that's why you didn't even try to talk your way out of the situation.

Or perhaps it was the pounding of your heart, the rhythm of a predator sizing up another creature and weighing their chances against them

Frankly, you weren't confident there was a way out of this situation other than doing whatever it was the radio demon wanted

"Oh my, where are my manners? Alastor, dear, the name is Alastor! You may recognize me from my radio show?"

Despite the blood coating you, he held out his hand to shake

Hesitantly, you grasp it with your own, giving the demon your name

"Lovely, just lovely! Say, what do you think of allowing me the absolute pleasure of a late-night stroll through cannibal town? We could discuss your future aspirations and perhaps even come to a... deal of sorts!"

At the expression on your face, Alastor out a bark of staticky laughter

"Oh no, no, not for your soul, child! Though I would just love ownership of such a thing, I understand that you may feel a tad hesitant! Let me explain and then decide, hmm?"

You stare at him and his unyielding grin

You learnt all the truths your parents shoved down your throat before until you sent them down to hell

Perhaps now you could learn even more valuable lessons from Alastor

You nod at the overlord before you and his grin somehow stretches further

"Fabulous! Come along now!"

Following the radio demon out of the blood-stained alleyway, the shadows thrash against the walls in approval as you feel a smile of your own begin to form

[from-memphis-with-love]

Songbird - Chapter 1 - The International

Summary: The year is 1969. The place, The International Hotel. Aspiring young singer Valerie Pedretti has a chance encounter with Elvis Presley in an elevator that will changer life forever, for both good and bad. Author's Notes: You guys, I am incorrigible. I know. Constantly going back to old fics to reread and retool them. I think I finally got it right this time. If you will indulge, please read from chapter 1 again. I think you'll like it.

To me, 1967-1971 EP is kind of peak Elvis, and so I wanted to write a fic with him smack dab in that time period. In the 1969-1970 period, especially, Elvis was probably the most handsome and alluring man in the galaxy.

Lots of anachronisms and historical inaccuracies in this one, but just roll with it because it's fun! For example: Elvis in real life did not eat seafood but in a later chapter, we find out not only does he eat it but he has an allergy to it. It's for the narrative, I promise. :-)

I based Valerie, in a sense, off of a mixture of Kathy Westmoreland - who I find immensely dry and boring IRL but who had a cool meeting story with Elvis, as well as Joyce Bova and Linda Thompson. Kathy met the real Elvis for the first time in an elevator, and that really inspired this work. Priscilla exists in this universe but she and Elvis get a divorce far earlier than in real life. Theirs, in some ways like real life, is a marriage of convenience and an "arrangement." Lisa Marie does not exist in this universe.

Vegas hit me like a slap in the face with a rhinestone glove. The kind of place that promises you the moon and delivers green cheese, but damn if you don't want to believe in it anyway. My cab rolled down the strip toward the International Hotel, and I pressed my forehead against the window like a kid at a candy store, watching the greatest show on earth scroll by in technicolor.

It was July 1969, just days after Neil Armstrong had bounced around on the moon, and the whole world still felt drunk on the idea that anything was possible. We cruised down the Strip, past Caesar's Palace with its Roman statues standing sentinel in the desert heat, past the Flamingo where Bugsy Siegel’s ghost still lingered, straight toward the International Hotel where my own small shot at glory waited.

I didn't know it yet, but I was about to have what my mother would call A Significant Moment. The kind that divides your life into Before and After, like a vinyl record with its A and B sides. But right then, all I knew was that I was tired, my clothes were a disaster, and I was woefully unprepared for tomorrow's audition.

The audition. Good lord, let's not even go there yet.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching sequined showgirls and sailors on shore leave blur past in a kaleidoscope of color. The radio was playing "In the Year 2525," and somewhere in the city, Frank Sinatra was preparing for another show. The same Frank Sinatra I'd be auditioning for tomorrow, assuming I didn't die of nerves first.

The cabbie jerked to the curb in front of the International. "That'll be four-fifty, miss." I handed him a wrinkled five and stepped out into air so hot it felt like opening an oven door. The scene that greeted me stopped me dead in my tracks.

The place was absolute bedlam. Not your usual Vegas chaos either – this was something else entirely. The International Hotel lobby looked like Elvis Presley had exploded all over it. You know those old Bible pictures of saints with the beams of light shooting out of them? Picture that, but with pompadours and rhinestones. His face was everywhere - posters, cardboard cutouts, even pins that said "I ❤️ ELVIS" in letters that could probably be seen from space.

Crowds of women with hair teased higher than their hopes pressed against velvet ropes, many of them clutching signs that said things like "Elvis We Love You" and "Marry Me EP!" Some were crying. Actually crying, their mascara running in black rivers down their cheeks. Security guards with arms like Christmas hams tried to maintain order, while vendors worked the crowd selling everything from buttons to teddy bears to – I kid you not – little vials of water supposedly blessed by the man himself. 

That's when it hit me. This wasn't just any weekend at the International. This was the kickoff of Elvis Presley's big comeback residency. Ground zero for Elvis-mania.

"Well, shit," I muttered, suddenly feeling like the universe's favorite cosmic joke. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, I had to walk into the one where the King was holding court.

The lobby was even worse. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and Aqua Net, and somewhere a speaker was playing "Love Me Tender" like it was heavenly muzak. I'd never quite understood the hysteria around Elvis. Sure, he was handsome in his own way, but what was it about him that made grown women act like teenagers?

I caught my reflection in one of the many mirrors and winced. My dark curls had gone feral in the desert heat, my mascara was smudged, and the coffee stain on my blouse looked even worse under the chandelier lights. I looked exactly like what I was – a girl who'd spent six hours trapped on a delayed flight from Chicago, stress-eating Oreos and reading the same magazine until the pages wore thin.

The blonde behind the check-in desk was reading Variety when I approached. Her name tag said BRENDA but her expression said DON'T BOTHER ME.

"Checking in?" she asked without looking up. "Name?"

"Reservation should be under Deena Lovelace."

That got her attention. Her penciled eyebrows shot up as she gave me a head-to-toe assessment that left frost on her glasses. "You're Deena? The one auditioning for Sinatra tomorrow? We spoke on the phone, remember?"

I gritted my teeth into what I hoped passed for a smile. "No, actually. I'm Valerie. Deena's friend. She's sick, so I'm filling in."

Brenda's look could have frozen hell over, but she handed me a key. "Room 2806. If you need anything, ask for Hector."

A bellhop materialized – Hector himself, I assumed – reaching for my bags. I waved him off with what turned out to be misplaced confidence. "I can manage."

The thing about the International Hotel was that it had been designed by someone who believed strongly in giving guests the full maze experience. Every corridor looked identical, with the same gold-flecked mirrors and deep crimson carpet. The crowds thinned out as I wandered deeper into the building's heart, the sounds of Elvis-mania fading to a distant hum.

My feet were screaming bloody murder in my go-go boots. My arms ached from dragging my overpacked suitcases. And my chances of actually finding room 2806 seemed about as likely as Elvis himself appearing to give me directions.

I ended up in a quiet hallway that felt different from the others. The carpet was thicker here, the lighting softer, the wood paneling probably worth more than my car. Even the air felt expensive. I should have realized I'd wandered into restricted territory, but by then my dogs were barking so loud I couldn't think straight.

The elevator, when I found it, was elegant in an understated way – all dark wood and soft lighting. No bright brass or mirrors like the tourist elevators. I was too tired to question my good fortune. I kicked off my boots, letting my screaming feet sink into that plush carpet, and started humming without thinking. It was an old lullaby my mother used to sing, the kind that lives in your bones and comes out when your guard is down.

The elevator arrived with a soft ding. I dragged my bags inside and slumped against the wall, already dreaming of a hot bath and a soft bed. The doors started to close and I was finally alone. Or I thought I was. Then a hand shot out—a big hand with rings that could double as brass knuckles—and stopped the doors.

Remember what I said about Significant Moments? This was mine, walking into that elevator in a black suit that probably cost more than my yearly salary, with a pink silk scarf at his throat and eyes bluer than a Minnesota winter behind tinted glasses. They looked at me and saw everything.

Elvis Presley. The King himself.

Time seemed to slow down, the way it does in dreams or car crashes. The man who stepped into that elevator made the air change – made everything change. You know how people talk about electricity crackling between two people? I'd always thought that was just romance novel nonsense. I was wrong.

He wasn't alone—a redheaded man built like a brick wall stood beside him, hand resting on what I was pretty sure was a gun. But it was Elvis who filled that elevator like smoke from a Tennessee cigarette, making everything else fade into background noise.

You know how sometimes you think you understand something, but then you realize you didn't understand it at all? That's how it was with Elvis's fame. I'd never been one of those screaming fans, never understood what all the fuss was about. But standing there in that elevator, watching him smile at me like he had all the secrets to the universe tucked behind those perfect teeth, I got it. Boy, did I get it.

"You've had a long day, honey.” His voice was pure Memphis nightclub, smooth as whiskey and twice as intoxicating. It seemed to bypass my ears entirely and go straight to parts of my anatomy that had no business responding to a stranger's voice that way.

I said yes and no and then yes again. My heart was doing double time, and I could feel my pulse in my fingertips. Every nerve ending seemed suddenly, acutely aware of his presence.

He smiled then, and it was like watching the sun come up. My knees actually wobbled. I finally understood why they put velvet ropes between Elvis and his fans. That man was a lethal weapon.

"The beds here are good," he said. Even the way he leaned against the elevator wall was poetry, all controlled power and casual grace.

I looked at the ceiling because I could not look at him. My stomach moved in ways it should not move. The elevator felt smaller somehow, the air between us alive with possibility.

"Pardon my manners," he said, and even that slight motion sent another wave of his cologne my way. "I'm Elvis, and this here's my pal Red. Who might you be?"

"Valerie," I managed, my voice barely more than a whisper. I was achingly conscious of how close he was, how the silk of his suit caught the light when he moved.

"Val-e-rie." He drew out each syllable like he was tasting them, turning my plain-Jane name into something rich and strange. The way his mouth shaped the sounds made my stomach flip. "A pretty name for a pretty little songbird."

The pet name caught me off guard until I remembered – the humming. He'd heard me humming while I waited for the elevator. Heat crept up my neck. His eyes hadn't left my face, and I could feel that gaze like a physical touch.

"I got ears like a well-tuned radar dish," he said, as if reading my mind. Each word seemed to hover in the air between us. "In town for a show?"

"An audition," I admitted, trying to ignore how my skin tingled every time he shifted position. "For Sinatra's show. I'm... I'm filling in for a friend."

Something flickered in his expression. "That right?" His gaze swept over me again, slower this time, more deliberate. It felt like being touched by velvet. "And what will you be singing for Ol' Blue Eyes?"

I gave him my prepared answer about standards and medleys, trying not to let on that I barely knew the material. His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile but made my stomach drop like I'd missed a step going downstairs.

"A classic set list. You'll do great, honey."

The elevator slowed to a stop. Elvis moved past me toward the door, so close that the fabric of his suit jacket brushed my arm. That brief contact sent electricity skating across my skin. His cologne – something spicy and smoky – wrapped around me like an embrace. He paused in the doorway to look back at me and his eyes were dark and full of something I did not understand but wanted to.

"Knock ‘em dead, songbird."

Then he was gone, leaving nothing but that spicy scent and the memory of blue eyes that seemed to see right through me. I sagged against the elevator wall, my knees finally giving up the fight against gravity.

Now I understood. God help me, did I understand. All those screaming girls, all those tears and Elvis-induced hysteria – it made perfect sense. The real thing, in person, was like staring into the sun. No wonder women fainted.

I made it to my room on autopilot, barely registering the route. Inside, I face-planted onto the bed, my mind spinning like a 45 on a turntable. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him – the way he'd looked at me, the curve of his smile, the way he'd said my name like he was savoring it. The memory of his cologne lingered in my nose, and my arm still tingled where his jacket had brushed it.

I'd come to Vegas to audition for Sinatra. I'd come to maybe, finally, make something of myself. I hadn't come to get turned inside out by Elvis Presley in an elevator.

That night, I lay on the bed and thought about his eyes and his voice and the way he moved. I did not want to think about these things but they came anyway.

I knew then that Vegas would be different than I had planned. The elevator had changed everything. But that is how it is with elevators and beautiful men who wear rings and pink silk. They change things. And you can only ride up or down and see where they take you. Taglist: @whositmcwhatsit  @ellie-24  @arrolyn1114 @missmaywemeetagain  @be-my-ally  @vintageshanny  @prompted-wordsmith @precious-little-scoundrel @peskybedtime @lookingforrainbows @austinbutlersgirl67@lala1267 @thatbanditqueen @dontcrydaddy @lovingdilfs @elvispresleygf @plasticfantasticl0ver @ab4eva @presleysweetheart @chasingwildflowers @elvispresleywife @uh-all-shook-up @xxquinnxx @edgeofrealitys-blog@velvetprvsley @woundmetender @avengen @richardslady121 @presleyhearted @kendralavon7 @18lkpeters@lookingforrainbows @elvisalltheway101 @sissylittlefeather @eliseinmemphis@tacozebra051 @thetaoofzoe @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @crash-and-cure @ccab @i-r-i-n-a-a @devilsflowerr@dirtyelvisfant4sy @elvislittleone @foreverdolly @getyourpresleyfix@gayforelvis @headfullofpresley @h0unds-of-h3ll @hipshakingkingcreole @p0lksaladannie @doll-elvis @tacozebra051 @richardslady121 @jaqueline19997 @myradiaz@livelaughelvis @deke-rivers-1957 @jhoneybees @atleastpleasetelephone @eapep @elvispresleywife @that-hotdog @landlockedmermaid77 @sissylittlefeather @kawaiiwitchy

[cocobeanncteez]

Song Series One-shot: Song Mingi - Always Been You by Chris Grey

Genre: angst, fluff, exes to lovers au, non-idol au

Pairing: mingi x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: none

Disclaimer: Please note that my Song Series One-shots are purely based on how I personally interpret the lyrics of the songs I chose for this series. It is not based on the music video (if it has one).

The night sky is a canopy of stars as Mingi drives through the familiar quiet streets. His mind drifts back to memories of you— the laughter, the shared moments, and the way your eyes would light up when you were happy. It’s been months since you last spoke, but tonight, something pulls him in your direction.

As he approaches your street, he feels a tug in his chest, an undeniable pull towards the place that once felt like home. He turns onto your street, his heart racing with each passing mile. The familiar sight of your condo comes into view, and he pulls up to the curb, the engine humming softly as he hesitates.

Taking a deep breath, Mingi steps out of the car and walks up to your door. He raises his hand to knock, but the door opens before he can. There you stand, looking just as surprised to see him as he is to be there.

All Mingi could think was how beautiful you looked right now, even though you were in sweatpants and your hair was sort of messy.

"Mingi?" you ask, your voice a mix of shock and a hint of something else—something like hope.

"Y/N," he replies, his voice barely a whisper. "I... um, sorry, are you going somewhere?" His tone was confused, and he wondered if perhaps you were going to see someone else. But it was also quite late. Maybe you were going to see your neighbor?

"I was about to head to the convenience store," you replied, shifting your weight onto your other leg.

"Ah, I see..."

"What are you doing here, Mingi?" You questioned, wondering if he had a little too much to drink tonight.

"I was driving," he hesitated, "and I couldn’t stop thinking about you." Oh, so he wasn't drinking.

You stood there in silence, reading his face. The cold air blowing outside interrupts you, and you step aside, allowing him to enter. "Come in. It's really cold outside."

The familiar scent of your home envelopes him, a mix of your perfume and something uniquely you. You both sit down on the couch, a silence stretching between you. It's the kind of silence that holds weight, filled with unspoken words and lingering feelings.

"Why now?" you finally asked, your eyes searching his. Honestly, the reason for your breakup was stupid; the two of you were just being immature over the smallest of things and refused to communicate properly, resulting in unnecessary misunderstandings. The relationship overall wasn't bad, and those issues were definitely fixable if both parties put in the effort to make it work. Yet, the two of you were too stubborn and too prideful to try.

Mingi sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I tried to move on, Y/N. I really did. But no matter what I did, a part of me was always with you," he stated, "I couldn’t find peace without you."

You looked down at your hands, your fingers nervously tracing patterns on the couch. "I tried too, Mingi. But nobody else felt right. It’s like I was just going through the motions, waiting for something... or someone." Him. You were waiting for him all along. You didn't want to make the first move though.

He reaches out, his hand covering yours. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine. "It’s always been you, Y/N. I realize now that no one else could ever take your place," he says, "I... I still love you, no matter how much I've tried to deny it."

Tears well up in your eyes as you meet his gaze. "Mingi, I’ve missed you so much. It’s been so hard being apart, but I was afraid to hope, afraid to believe that we could have another chance."

Mingi moves closer, his forehead resting against yours. "I got everything to lose here, Y/N. But if there's even a small chance that we can make this work, I want to try. I need to know if we can be what we were always meant to be."

You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you. "I want to try too, Mingi. I want to see if we can find our way back to each other."

You found it ironic how the two of you were openly communicating. The months spent apart seemed to have brought a change in both of you. Maybe it was a sign that this time, things would work.

He cups your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he leans in and kisses you. It’s a gentle kiss at first, familiar, tentative, and filled with months of unspoken emotions. But as you respond, the kiss deepens, becoming a passionate declaration of all that you’ve both held back.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless. Mingi smiles, his eyes shining with unshed tears. You smile back, feeling a warmth spread through you.

In that moment, with Mingi by your side, you feel a sense of peace and belonging you haven’t felt in a long time. The future is uncertain, but with him, you know you can face anything.

Because in the end, it’s always been him for you, and it's always been you for him.

[cautiouslycas]

destiel 29. “I thought you were dead.” let's gooooooo

Thank you my cutiepie ❤️❤️ 29. “I thought you were dead.” + Dean/Cas (720 words) warnings for; car accident, anxiety Send me a prompt + a pairing? ;--;

Sunday morning was one of Dean's favourites - the sun was barely out, it was quiet, and he could sit on his porch with his coffee, without being plagued by mosquitoes. It had been a slow morning for them, they’d gotten up early, made coffee and sat, talking. 

Just a couple of minutes, everything had been perfect. Cas had gotten dressed, grabbed the grocery list, and had left for the store, ready to get them some lunch. It had been a long discussion, that Dean ultimately won; the heat meant it was the perfect weather for a BBQ and some beers. So he’d sent Cas to the store for supplies as he called Sammy and Cas’s family, just to see if they wanted to drop by and eat with them. A late lunch, a family reunion, whatever they wanted to call it.

It had been perfect. It had been the ideal way to relax before the busy work week, before Dean and Cas would only see each other in the evenings, over dinner and then dumb tv shows until bed. 

Now, Dean’s heart was racing, the peace long forgotten. He’d still been sitting there, on his chair, with his cooling coffee, when he’d heard that all too familiar sound; the screech of car tires, and the unmistakable crunching of glass. It was a thunderclap, loud enough to throw him out of his chair in an instant.

If there was anything he recognized, it was the noises of a car crash. 

He didn’t know what made him dial his husband’s number, but he knew that Cas would pick up via the car bluetooth, his voice distorted like he was in a fish bowl. But then, he didn’t. And didn’t, and didn’t.

Dean was running. Practically barefoot, still in his PJs, he did not care. Did not care that his neighbours stared at him as he followed the noises, the angry and pained yelling. Dean did not care that he might just be setting new speed records. 

Their peace and quiet just minutes ago was That was long silence forgotten, the sun bearing down on him as he ran, ran, ran. There was no logical reason for Castiel to even be in the accident, he had left minutes ago. The mantra relayed and replayed in his head. 

Soon, he was able to follow the sound of sirens. There was already a police car parked by, urging people to keep their distance. The fire department had to be close too, from the blaring sirens coming closer and closer.

But for a second, the world froze. Because there was Cas’s car, the all too familiar grey Sedan that Dean adored teasing Cas about. It looked like a boring business person car. Which made sense, because Castiel was a director at a company, but that didn’t matter. Because Castiel was not boring. He could never think that Castiel was even remotely close to boring. 

“Cas!” Dean didn’t realise that he was running until police officers tried, and failed to hold him back. “That’s my husband’s car you assholes.” 

He ran, feet carrying him to the car, the empty car. The thankfully empty car that was fucked beyond repair. He looked around the sea of people, faces blurring, merging together into one medley.

Until; a pair of pale blue eyes.

Until; the ruffled head of black hair.

Until; the sweetest sound Dean ever heard; his own name. 

“Oh my god Cas, I thought you were dead.” He fell on his knees in front of Cas, scanning him. Castiel sat on the curb, far away from the cars, a police officer at his side. “Are you okay? Are you cut? Is anything bleeding? Anything broken. 

“I am fine,” Castiel said, “Dean, I am okay. I promise.” It was only hearing Cas say that, and seeing no blood on his clothes, no cuts, nothing out of the ordinary, that his heart calmed down. 

“Fuck.”  

“I like your PJs,” Cas said, gently, silently, and chuckled. “You ran for me.” 

“I’d go to the moon for you.” Castiel leaned in, waiting for the ambulances to get there, waiting for the tow companies. But Dean didn’t care how long it would take; he had his angel tucked against him, in his arms.

Castiel was safe, breathing, not bleeding. It was almost as good as bird song on a cold morning.

[despitethecold]

Helloooo @whichstoodonrockyshores !!! I was your secret santa this year 🧑🏻‍🎄 All of your prompts were magnificent but I chose the second one because it was too damn cute.

I hope you like reading just as much as I liked writing it!!! Merry Christmas 🎄 ❤️

And thank you for hosting the event as always @gtafest 🥳

….

Niko made his way through the store cramped with all the people who did their Christmas shopping last minute, thinking of what he could get for the McRearys, who were kind enough to invite him over to their family Christmas dinner. They had told him just to bring his ass over and not worry about gifts, but it had been too many years since Niko had last celebrated Christmas, and he wanted to do it properly. The few times his mother had tried to get the remaining family together, it had been gloomy at best and chaotic at worst. They would always miss his brother and aunt, and maybe, after all, it had been for the better not to continue celebrating the traditional way. It pained Niko to know that there was no warmth to be found in cold December nights any longer for his mother, but there was nothing he could do about that. Life had reminded them of its cruelty time and time again, and he knew better than to dwell on the past.

Part of him had to admit, though; Liberty City had given him a new chapter. It wasn’t a completely spotless slate – every time he looked Roman in the eye, he remembered finding out about how his aunt had been viciously raped and murdered. Every time he heard a gunshot, he felt a cold shiver run through his body, hand automatically reaching for his belt even when he wasn’t carrying a gun. They had been through things no person should ever have to experience. He was a changed man, and not for the better. Pulling the trigger wasn’t something he thought twice about anymore. At some point, he had come to accept his fate — he was one of the soulless soldiers now, and that’s all he would ever be.

Sometimes, though, Packie was by his side, grumbling about his brothers after his fifth beer, or cursing like a sailor after losing the game of darts, he found himself staring at the wall and wondering how a soulless man could feel such feelings. Packie made him laugh, much more than he did since he was a small child. Packie made him feel compassion, something that was only reserved for family these days. They could talk about pretty much anything, and Niko knew Packie trusted him.

The feeling was mutual.

One thing they had in common was their fucked up past for sure. Packie knew about Niko’s life before America, what kind of man he was, and still wanted to be his friend. And likewise, Niko knew about the ghosts haunting him. Packie often talked about the horrors casted on the McReary sons by the man who still had a massive portrait hung on the wall in the living room, and Niko found himself wanting to make him pay for it each and every time.

But it was Christmas for fuck’s sakes, and they all deserved a little peace and quiet. It was the most they could hope for. So Niko grabbed something for everyone. He paid extra to get the small boxes in giftwraps to not waste any more time by doing it himself, driving straight to the McReary house, Liberty Rock Radio droning on in the background. Packie’s favorite. It wasn’t long before he was pulling up by the curb and knocking, waiting for someone to answer, but the commotion that could be heard even from the street was obviously too loud for anyone to hear the door. He let himself in then, and Kate was the first to see him since Derrick and Packie were heatedly arguing over whose Irish accent was better. She let everyone know Niko was there before she introduced her boyfriend to him — Niko shook his hand and eyed him up. He seemed like a decent guy, and he figured that Packie and Derrick would have gotten rid of him already if he wasn’t. Maureen was setting the table at her pace, and Niko thought she seemed more energetic than usual. It was obvious that Christmas meant a lot to her. He told her apologetically that Roman and Mallorie couldn’t be there because Mallorie’s parents were hosting their own dinner, kissed her cheek and wished her a merry Christmas, to which she said it was fate that Packie had met someone like him. Niko briefly nodded, not knowing how to answer. Maybe she wasn’t wrong — he had saved Packie’s life, and God knew Packie had saved his.

Dinner went nice. Much nicer than Niko had ever expected, knowing how the family tended to start an argument over the smallest thing, but maybe him and Kate’s boyfriend being there helped. And the best part about eating with the McRearys was that Niko didn’t have to talk about himself too much. If there was one thing the family was undeniably good at, it was telling old stories. They had a bountiful supply of them, most of them Maureen didn’t approve of but still listened to; not all of them were funny, but they were all interesting in their own way. It was a breath of fresh air to not be asked about himself all the time, if Niko had to be honest — he could only answer so many questions people asked, wanting to find out more about the mysterious European. He ate a little bit of everything while he listened to the story Derrick and Packie started telling together about a job gone hilariously wrong, laughing like they hadn’t been arguing half an hour ago. Maureen gave them a disapproving look, told them they would burn in hell like her husband if they didn’t give up their ways. Derrick looked upset by the comment but to Niko’s surprise, even then they didn’t start anything. It made Niko think they were capable of change; no matter how fucked everything was, maybe they didn’t have to fight at the kitchen table for the rest of eternity.

After the dessert, they moved to the living room to have drinks. Mauren gave each of them a selection of chocolates and gloves, and no one else had gifts to put under the tree except for Niko since apparently, the topic of gifts had always been another source of argument in the family. When Niko started handing them their gifts, Packie looked just as pleasantly surprised as the rest of them, but as everyone opened the wrapping, he told Niko quietly that he had something for him upstairs.

They took their drinks to Packie’s room, where Niko put his glass of wine on Packie’s bedside table while Packie dug something out of the closet. “You’re gonna love this, lad,” he said cheerfully, looking proud of himself. He held out the car bomb he was holding in his hands to Niko.

Niko thought it was a joke at first, and he laughed. “Very funny, asshole,” he huffed, not making a move to take it. “Where’s the real gift?”

“This is the gift,” Packie said, looking dead serious, almost offended. “It’s a fucking bomb. Useful. Best of its kind. I made it myself.”

It clearly wasn’t a joke, then. Niko nodded and took the bomb, not sure how to take it home when everyone else was enjoying their drinks downstairs. “Thanks, Packie. I’ll be sure to use it well.”

Packie patted Niko’s arm. “You should. Be careful, though. It’s more powerful than the last one I gave ya.”

Niko nodded, put the bomb on the bed next to the gift he had gotten for Packie that was still wrapped. “Are you gonna open yours?”

“Yeah, sure,” Packie grinned, grabbing the package. “Can’t believe you got everyone a gift. I bet they’re all socks and shit.”

“Not quite.”

Packie didn’t really seem to believe Niko, hastily ripping the gift wrap and pulling out what was inside as if he wanted to say I fucking knew it.

His expression changed to one of confusion, then surprise when he saw the box contained a small sketchbook and pencils instead of socks. The good kind.

The silence lingered on for so uncomfortably long with Packie’s head hung low that Niko began to think that maybe he had misinterpreted something. Maybe Packie didn’t like drawing that much, after all, and he only doodled on receipts and napkins to pass the time. And the worst of all, maybe he didn’t know Packie as well as he thought.

But eventually, he looked up from the box, and Niko could swear that Packie had tears in his eyes. “…Are you crying?” he blurted out just so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge the fact that seeing Packie like that made things to his heart. Heart of a hardened criminal who wasn’t supposed to be affected by anything.

“No,” Packie grunted, furiously wiping his face with his sleeve. “There’s just water in me eyes, Niko boy. Fuck off.”

Niko snorted out a relieved laugh. “So… I take it you like the gift.”

Packie didn’t answer it, just muttered, “How did you know I like drawing?”

With a shrug, Niko said, “I see you always draw on the napkin when we drink at the bar.”

“…Really?”

“Yes,” Niko said. “Not bad for a drug dealing de-fucking-generate from some armpit in Eastern Europe, huh?”

Packie laughed, then wiped his eyes again. “Fuck. And I gave you a fucking bomb. Fuck me.”

Niko shrugged, leaned down and picked up the wrap to tear off the sticky gift bow from it, lightly slapping it on Packie’s forehead. “Now I have two gifts.”

Packie cursed, threw the gift box on the bed and playfully wrestled Niko. Under fair circumstances, Niko would have won easily, but Packie’s sudden attack made him fall on the bed on his back with Packie on top. He removed the bow from his forehead and chucked it across the room and grinned. “Not so easy, Niko boy.”

Instead of fighting him, Niko stayed still, looking up cautiously. “Yeah?”

Packie grabbed his face with his hand, still looking mischievous enough until he hummed, “You want a proper gift? I’ll give you one.” Niko closed his eyes, heart thrumming in his chest as he felt Packie’s lips on his own, kissing him roughly. Before he could answer it, it was over, and Packie was staring down at him with an intense gaze. “That good enough for you?”

Niko swallowed heavily, flushed under Packie’s gaze. “I think I prefer the bomb,” he breathed out before one of his hands found the front of Packie’s shirt to pull him down for another kiss, warm and playful but genuine.

When they went downstairs ten minutes later, Niko watched Packie realize that everyone else had gotten socks with an amused smile.

[moonlitluka]

DOPPELGÄNGER

When the group goes off to college Randy becomes Mr. Popular leaving Y/N in the dust | Randy Meeks x Reader | Angst

“Randy! Hey.” I called out as I jogged up to him. He turned around and gave me a soft smile. “Y/N hey”

I hadn’t seen him in what felt like forever. I mean sure I’d seen him but it was different ever since we got to college. We used to be attached at the hip and now we just passed each other on the way to class or sat together at lunch.

We barely spoke anymore. Not about anything below surface level at least. Just about school or Sid. I missed him.

“I uh wanted to know…” I stuttered. “If you wanted to hang out tonight. Just the two of us, like old times?” I finished. I saw his smile widen as he thought about it.

“Oh I uh I would love to,” he said “great!” I laughed. His smile fell. That was weird. “But I can’t. I have plans with some friends from film studies. I would cancel if I could but we’ve been planning this for a week-“ he ranted.

What friends? I’ve never heard about such friends. “Oh…” was all I said. My smile now gone as well. There was clear tension in the air.

I heard his shoes stumble against the gravel under us as he took a step toward me. “Y/N I’m sorry. We can totally hang out this weekend.” He offered.

I knew it was unfair of me to want him to cancel and spend time with me. He had plans before I get it. I just wished I didn’t always feel like I was pushed to the side by him.

“No yeah it’s fine. We don’t have to hang out I get it you have new friends.” I whispered. Maybe it was petty but it just slipped out.

“What? No that’s not it-“ I turned my back on him mid sentence and just left. I didn’t want to risk crying in front of him. It was stupid it was one night but it felt like the last few months it’s been time after time. Being told he’s busy or has to study. If he’s not studying he’s at a party.

I don’t know. I just feel like I don’t know him anymore. What happened to the dork who didn’t even know how to talk to girls. Let alone flirt with sorority girls at parties.

I decided to walk to the local coffee shop to cheer myself up. Randy, Sid, and I had came here our first day on campus and it became a favorite place of mine.

As I walked in, I saw a glance of a guy in a light green t-shirt. His back was turned as he looked at the book in front of him. He had brown fluffy hair and was wearing khakis.

I smiled remembering the day you met Randy. That same stupid outfit. “Y/N?” The barista called out. I went and grabbed my drink. “Thanks.” I said looking back at the boy.

‘Maybe I’ll talk to him.’ I thought. Talk to him and say what? ‘Oh hey you look just like the guy I’m hopelessly in love with even though he’s currently ignoring me and practically kicked me to the curb? Wanna hang?’

Wait a second. Did I just say I love Randy..? Like Randy Meeks? Geeky video store Randy? Oh god am I sick? Why did I say that?

With the newfound panic I had caused myself I decided to run out of that coffee shop and run home.

Time skip

I was laying in my bed writing in my diary trying to figure out somehow what I was feeling. Was I really in love with Randy? Was that why his rejection hurt so bad?

A knock on my dorm room door interrupted my thoughts. That’s weird, Sid had a key. Who else would be at our dorm. Maybe Derek looking for Sidney?

I walked over to the door and opened it. “Y/N…hi.” Randy stood in the fluorescent hallway. He awkwardly reached his hand up behind his neck.

“What do you want?” I asked. He pushes past me into my room uninvited. “Sure come in” I sighed rolling my eyes shutting the door behind him.

“Look, I’m sorry if I’ve given you the impression that I’m too busy for you. You’re my friend more than any of these film people I’ve met here. I don’t have ‘new friends’ it’s not like that. I swear.” He ranted. I just listened.

“I feel horrible.” He finished. I sheepishly nodded. He sat on my bed patting the spot next to him for me. I sat next to him as he not so subtly looked me up and down.

I felt butterflies in my stomach but tried to ignore it. “I’m sorry if I was being petty.” I said scoffing at myself. I felt stupid.

He put his hand on my knee and smiled at me. “It wasn’t petty. You were just upset, rightfully so. I haven’t been fair to you. I’ve ditched on our movie nights so many times I can’t excuse it. All I can do is say I’m sorry. And please forgive me.” He squeezed my knee as if to give me some extra reassurance.

I giggle but it was almost sad. “You wanna know something stupid?” I laughed out. “Sure.”

“I was at the coffee shop earlier, and this boy was there and he looked just like you.” I started and he just chuckled waiting for me to continue.

“He wore your green shirt from the day we met. I swear it was a spitting image. It’s stupid, part of me hoped we’d get the chance to talk.” He just looked at me confused.

“I wanted it to be you. Like somehow you teleported there or something.” I laughed. Why was I telling him this..?

“I guess I’m not as over you as I thought that I was. And I thought I was.” I sighed. I guess this was it. I spit it out it’s too late now.

“What..? Over me?” He gasped. I saw the gears moving in his brain. “Truth is no ones like you. A lookalike could never take your place. I just thought that I would get over this stupid crush with time. But then it never left.” I finished.

“I’m sorry…” I whispered. I knew he probably didn’t expect this to be the conversation we would have. “Wow…you like me..?” He said shyly.

At this point I felt like I couldn’t even look at him. I just let my head hang and nodded. “Oh my god..” was all he said. This was a mistake.

“I shouldn’t have told you-“ “No! I’m glad you did.” He interrupted. With this I had enough courage to lock eyes with him. I saw his eyes flicker between my eyes to my lips.

“Can I kiss you?” He blurted out. “Yeah.” I whispered. With that, his hands came up to my face softly cupping my cheeks. He smiled at me before leaning in and letting his lips softly linger over mine. I leaned in too letting us finally connect.

He controlled the kiss as he moved his hand to the back of my neck pulling me in more. I swear I heard a whimper escape him.

He pulled away hesitantly with a smile on his face. I couldn’t hold back my shy smile from him. “Thank you for telling me even if it was hard. I feel the same way Y/N, I always have. The only reason I pushed you away was because I figured you didn’t like me. I was trying to get over you. I’m sorry about all of that.” He said letting his fingers brush the hair behind my ear.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is this.” I said leaning in to kiss him again.

[cloudycleric]

hi a wip for my fic ive been writing for over a year (we reached 20k words today (im not even halfway done))

Will looked down at the table. What to do, what to do… He had effectively trapped themselves in the café.

Mike looked around as the two sat in silence for a couple of seconds. Finally, he asked, “Do you want to go to the game store with me?”

“Now?” Will asked.

“Yeah,” Mike replied. “It’s just across the street.”

“But it’s still raining,” he pointed out. “We don’t have an umbrella.”

“So?”

“So,” Will continued, “we’ll get drenched.”

Mike thought about this. “Not if we run.”

“But then we’ll slip and fall and eat shit.”

“I’ll catch you.”

“What if you don’t catch me?”

“I will.”

A pause.

“What if we get hit by a car?”

“Then we can sue the shit out of the driver.”

“But what if we die?”

“Then we go to heaven and spend the rest of eternity with each other,” Mike said, “and we can go back to the Estate as ghosts and haunt it till my dad goes crazy.”

Will smiled. He knew it was dumb and illogical, but Mike had refuted all of his points. He sighed. “Okay.”

Mike beamed. “Yes. Yes. Awesome.”

The two boys stood under the awning as they tried to both muster up the courage to run across the street and calculate the perfect moment to sprint. Will looked nervously at Mike, but he was too busy concentrating on the road. Will supposed Mike didn’t get to do things like this very often.

“Okay, I think we’re clear,” Mike said, eyes glued to the street. He held out his hand, expecting Will to take it.

Will hesitantly took his hand.

“I’ll countdown, so you know when to start running,” Mike explained, watching cars pass by, splashing the puddles collecting on the sides of the street.

This really wasn’t that big of a deal, and the longer that Will sat outside and watched the normal cars in this normal town drive normally through rain, the more silly it felt. It’s not even like the cars were going fast, he guessed that maybe they were going thirty-five miles per hour at most. But Mike was too focused, and plus he told Will to hold his hand, and Will would never turn down a Mike Wheeler hand-holding opportunity.

“Okay,” Will said.

“And that way, I’ll catch you if you fall and we can keep running, and if push comes to shove I can drag you across the street.”

“Yeah, like you could drag me—”

“Okay-three-two-one-go!!” Mike said in a blur, and suddenly a strong force was dragging him out from under the awning and into the pouring rain. Mike lept of the curb and into the street, pretty gracefully, which Will found surprising. His feet made a big splash under him that drenched Will’s pants as he struggled behind him. He most definitely was going to eat shit at this rate, his footing still awkward and his other arm wobbling behind him.

“Oh shit,” Will said, trying to catch up.

“A car’s coming!” Mike said like he was three years old playing pretend at a playground.

But the street wasn’t that long, and at this point the pair was at the other end, nearing the sidewalk. That didn’t mean that Will had his balance, however. As Mike reached the gutter, he let go of Will (making him even more unstable). Then he swiftly turned around, grabbing Will’s hand again and his arm as he tried to stabilize him. His catch turned into what was half a hug, half an awkward hold. But it worked—Will didn’t fall.

“See, I told you I would catch you,” Mike said, still holding Will. Neither boy moved.

Will was extremely flustered at this notion, as one would most likely be if they were in this situation with their own crush, but what Will was more focused on finding out was whether or not Mike felt the same static that he did. When Will looked at Mike’s eyes, he didn’t see that feeling on his face. But what he did see was Mike’s big goofy grin, a pure joy. They both laughed, rain still falling around them, making their efforts to run across the street pointless as they both started getting drenched.

Neither one of them cared.

[purgatory-hotel]

new pinned post ogh

hi everyone 😁 this is my blog for my hazbin hotel rewrite, purgatory hotel! I post updates on Instagram under the username purgatory_hotel. there's a mini hiatus since I'm working on finishing the first chapter then uploading it bit by bit

for as long as I've known about it, hazbin hotel hasn't really entered my mind like. at all. until the show came out. this is because I kept seeing other people's reimagining of these characters and so I got invested (and also I recognised Keith David so I decided to watch it 😭)

I don't really like the show to be honest. some bits made me laugh but it wasn't really my cup of tea, although the concept itself is good!

uhhh. uh byf and all that:

purgatory hotel isn't a project made from spite (even if the spite store arc of curb your enthusiasm was one of the funniest /silly) but it's just me fixating on something for no real reason and getting silly with it

I don't really post criticism unless it's relevant to my rewrite or if I feel like yapping. however I would like to run over Valentino and canon Stolas with a combine harvester. if that upsets you then I suggest you stay away

I don't think ph is "better" than hazbin hotel either. obviously I prefer it because it's my own project, but again this isn't a thing I did out of spite, even if I personally don't really like the creator

hellaverse fans are free to interact/follow so long as you're not a prick

I'm an adult (20 very soon. Christ almighty) this isn't an adults only account but I'd say it's like,,, 13+ for the most part? anything sexual will have a warning and obviously won't be for little uns, but I doubt I'll post anything that is explicitly 18+

dni I guess? typically I just block people who I don't like but idk how to block from a side blog

being against certain identities such as neopronouns or xenogenders. obviously if you don't understand them then that's fine, so long as you're civil and try. I mean actively being a nob about other people's personal identity/expression

fairly obvious but transphobes, homophobes, racists, etc etc. typically I wouldn't put this but I've seen some pretty alarming posts from critics and fans alike

if you're proship in the sense of like. I think this word has lost all meaning but "problematic" shipping. things like incest, abuse, pedophilia. your bog standard toe curling shit. no I'm not referring to people who explore dark and upsetting themes in fiction, I mean people who actively glorify it or find it cute

antis who are horrible to any and all hellaverse fans as well as extreme stans. stans in this context means people who act like any criticism is evil and dreadful and people who fight nail and tooth to defend the creator, regardless of the things she's said and done

tag guide:

#not ph - things that aren't related to purgatory hotel specifically

#viv crit - mainly reblog stuff. primarily for organisational purposes. just things for me to look back on and take into account when working on ph

#fan crit - same for viv crit but surrounding the fandom

#other rewrites / other redesigns - self explanatory. things I like to share and/or take inspiration from

#ask to tag - if there's something that may need a warning but I'm not sure what to put. it's just sort of There. you can send me an ask or a dm telling me if you want me to put a specific tag on something. I'll tag almost anything aside from scars and food and I won't tag for more specific triggers. this is just to prevent me from getting muddled up in case I forget to tag something. this isn't me having a go at people with more specific squicks or triggers (I've many of my own) again it's just to prevent me from getting muddled up

[ichisama]

1449 words | rating: g | high school au, pre-slash

On a certain Tuesday, at around two in the afternoon, Samatoki ran into Ichiro. That wasn't anything out of the ordinary—they went to the same school, were even in the same class.

But Samatoki didn't run into Ichiro at school.

They both froze when their eyes met over the counter of the convenience store Samatoki had ducked into, to pick up some ibuprofen for the new black eye he was sporting. Ichiro was dressed like a clerk, and standing on the other side of the counter like a clerk.

Like he was working there.

On a Tuesday afternoon?

"…Yamada."

Ichiro jumped. His eyes darted over Samatoki's face, taking in the swollen eye before dipping down to Samatoki's busted lip. "Samatoki. You're hurt."

"Astute," Samatoki remarked dryly, setting the box of pills he'd grabbed down on the counter between them. "And you're working here."

Ichiro cleared his throat and quickly scanned Samatoki's item. "I'll keep your secret if you keep mine?"

They were both, obviously enough, skipping class. Their school didn't allow students to have part-time jobs, either. And, of course, they also weren't too gung-ho about students getting bloodied up in fistfights in the middle of a school day. Or ever, for that matter.

Neither Samatoki nor Ichiro would want anyone finding out about this chance encounter of theirs.

"I'm no snitch," Samatoki promised.

Ichiro nodded, shoulders sagging with relief. "Good. Me neither, of course. So…"

"This never happened."

Ichiro started to nod again, but stopped mid-motion and glanced at the clock on the wall behind him. "I've actually got a break coming up in five minutes. Can you wait?"

Samatoki furrowed his brow, just for a second, before hissing at the flash of pain it sent shooting up the side of his face. His black eye and split lip were his most obvious injuries, but he knew he had some other cuts and scrapes littered over his face too.

"I have a first aid kit in my bag," Ichiro explained. "Bandages, disinfectant. Stuff like that."

Samatoki opened his mouth to insist he was fine, to snap that he didn't need to be babied and that Ichiro had no reason to help him.

But he thought of Nemu, of how worried she would be when she saw his black eye. Of how much more worried she would be, if one of those stupid cuts did get infected after all.

"Five minutes," Samatoki agreed, nodding to the door. "See you then, nurse."

Ichiro must have asked for an early break, because it was only a minute or two later that he followed Samatoki out, with a backpack in his hands. The street was pretty quiet at that time of day, so there was no one around to stop and stare when they sat down, shoulder to shoulder, at the curb.

"Here." Ichiro set a bottle of iced tea down between them before going to rummage through his bag. "You should ice your eye with that. Might help with the swelling."

Samatoki blinked, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. He'd known that Ichiro was a nice guy, maybe too nice for his own good. But he'd never taken Ichiro for foolish. Surely Ichiro knew there was such a thing as being too nice.

"You're working here 'cause you got some money problems at home, yeah?"

Ichiro breathed a surprised little laugh. "Uh… kinda personal, don't you think? But I guess it's obvious, huh."

Samatoki shrugged. It was no secret at their school that Ichiro was raising his little brothers, pretty much on his own. Samatoki had always sort of admired that about him. It was also one of the reasons he'd never tried to recruit Ichiro to his gang, despite knowing Ichiro had been a strong fighter in middle school; Ichiro had more important things to worry about.

"Shouldn't be buying random delinquents drinks when you're skipping class to pay the bills," Samatoki chided.

"You're not a random delinquent," Ichiro said. "You're…"

He trailed off, and Samatoki could understand why. They weren't exactly friends, the two of them. Not enemies, either. They'd just never been close. Samatoki had been distantly aware of Ichiro since they entered the same high school, but they weren't in the same class for their first two years. Even now that they were, for their third year, they didn't talk all that much—ran in different circles and all.

"I didn't buy it, anyway," Ichiro continued, as he motioned for Samatoki to lift his head a little. He had a small patch of gauze in one hand, a little container of rubbing alcohol in the other. "Boss lets us grab a drink for our breaks, anything under a hundred yen."

"Cheapskate," Samatoki muttered.

Ichiro laughed again and gave a shrug. "Free is free. This'll sting a bit."

"Not my first time, angel."

Ichiro's hand stilled for a second, hovering with the gauze just over Samatoki's cheek, before he dabbed at a cut that was deep enough to make Samatoki hiss, even with how careful Ichiro was being.

"Who did this to you?" Ichiro murmured.

Samatoki snorted, then clenched his jaw when Ichiro moved on to another cut. "What, you gonna kick their asses for me?"

"Nah, no need for that. You won, didn't you?"

Samatoki arched a brow, until Ichiro clicked his tongue in an admonishing way that clearly told Samatoki to hold still.

"You sound pretty sure of that."

"Sure I'm sure," Ichiro said, finally finishing up with the disinfectant and reaching for a pack of bandages instead. "You're Aohitsugi Samatoki. Your reputation exceeds you."

"Precedes."

"Ah." Ichiro's lips twisted with a wry smile as he got the first bandage open. "Shows how much good school's been doing me, huh? Or I guess lack of school, in my case."

Samatoki didn't answer right away. He held still, obligingly, as Ichiro worked on patching him up. It wasn't exactly news to him, that Ichiro skipped class pretty regularly. Samatoki skipped his fair share too, and still noticed Ichiro missing from his desk every now and then. Their teachers probably had some idea of what Ichiro was doing, probably turned a blind eye, knowing his home situation and all.

How did Ichiro really feel? About the classes he missed, about having to work when his classmates didn't, about growing up so fast.

Of course, Samatoki was a realist. Probably a cynic, in fact. He knew it didn't matter how Ichiro felt, at the end of the day. Ichiro was only doing what he had to do. No magic, no miracle, would change his circumstances.

Even if…

That wry, humorless smile Ichiro had flashed was gone now, smoothed out by concentration as he focused on sealing up the last of Samatoki's injuries. But that smile haunted Samatoki. It had looked so wrong on Ichiro's face that Samatoki found himself wanting, wishing, to never see it again.

He found himself wanting to do something, to make sure all of Ichiro's future smiles would be real.

"There," Ichiro murmured, dropping his hands away. "All done."

Samatoki moved—pure instinct, no thought. He caught Ichiro's chin before Ichiro could pull too far away, and held on even when Ichiro blinked at him in confusion. Samatoki felt his lips part, wanting to say something—maybe promise something—yet knowing there was nothing he could say.

His own circumstances weren't much better than Ichiro's. He couldn't tell Ichiro to just quit his job, to focus on school, on learning, if it made him look so sad to be missing out on that. He couldn't offer Ichiro any money, couldn't solve Ichiro's problems, couldn't save him.

Even if he wanted to.

But what he wanted must have been written plainly across his face. Ichiro's confusion lasted only a moment before a smile came across his lips again. A weary and maybe slightly sad smile, but not like the one before.

He smiled like he understood Samatoki, and like he was glad to be understood by Samatoki.

"I don't need pity," Ichiro said, lifting a hand and touching his fingers to Samatoki's wrist, but not moving to push Samatoki's hand away. "But I think you know that."

Samatoki nodded.

"If you really want to do something for me…" Ichiro pulled back, then. He dropped his hand from Samatoki's wrist, only to hold it out between them. His smile was freer now. Brighter. Prettier. "I wouldn't say no to a new friend."

Samatoki looked down at Ichiro's hand.

Friends, huh?

Someone to rely on. Someone to call when there was trouble. An ally, a supporter, a comfort.

Samatoki took Ichiro's hand and shook it.

"Friends," he agreed. "Not a bad place to start."

[endlessbittersweetdreams]

"Broken & Beautiful" Chapter 19

     Thankfully, with plenty of rest and fluids, I was able to kick my sickness to the curb. On day two of my illness, I allowed Jake to convince me to call in sick. Granted, I didn’t have to make a mad dash to the bathroom like I did before. But I had to face the facts: I really shouldn’t go to work that day. Jake was great throughout the entire ordeal, coming straight to my apartment after work to make sure I was okay. Let’s just say that my love and respect for him went through the roof.

     Even though I tried to put it out of my mind, I admit that the comment Scott made to Jake at the truck depot got me thinking. Thanks to my illness, combined with Scott’s words, my mind was racing. I had to be absolutely, 100% certain. Otherwise, I would drive myself - and Jake - crazy. So the morning after my illness ran its course, I walked to the store just a few blocks from my apartment and bought every brand of pregnancy test I could find. I didn’t care about the judgmental looks I was receiving from the other people in line, or the not-so-subtle head shake the cashier gave me as she scanned each test. I had no time to be bothered by their stupidity.

     When I got home, I chugged as much water as I could and then made a mad dash to the bathroom. I know Jake was trying to be supportive, but I really couldn’t focus with him standing right outside the bathroom door. So I ordered him to wait for me in the living room, telling him that I would let him know when the test results were ready. Several minutes and four pregnancy tests later, I called him into the bathroom to give him the results. Each and every test told us the same thing: I was not pregnant.

     You can’t imagine the relief I felt at that moment. As much as I love Jake, we’ve only been together for a few months. It’s far too soon to bring a new life into the world, and neither one of us are ready. And although he was supportive during the ordeal, I couldn’t help but wonder what his reaction would have been if I turned out to be pregnant. He tends to run and hide when things become difficult. Could I trust him to not do that when I needed him the most? Would he be there for me? I’d like to think so, but that is the one thing I can’t be sure of when it comes to him.

     It is now Valentine’s Day, and we are bracing ourselves for what is sure to be an extremely busy night. Talk about hitting the ground running.

     I walk through the employees’ door and make my way through the kitchen, waving hello to the kitchen staff before I make my way up the stairs to the locker room. I reach the top of the stairs and encounter Simone as she makes her way out. We exchange pleasantries, and I have to remind myself to “keep the peace,” the entire time. If not for Jake, I would have clawed this woman’s eyes out long ago. We discuss our plans for this evening, and then go our separate ways.

     When I reach my destination, I’m pleased to find that Jake and I are the only ones here. There’s something we need to discuss before work, and we don’t need people listening in. I approach him as he stands at his locker, having just put on his tie. After taking a look around to make sure we’re alone, I reach out and straighten his tie as I speak softly.

     “So, I went to my doctor this morning.” He gives me his full attention, leaning against the lockers. “First of all, I’m fine. She checked me over. She said that whatever made me sick must have passed through me. I talked to her about our ... scare. And I decided that, given how ...” I search for a delicate way to phrase things. “... active we are, extra precautions should be taken. So tomorrow morning, as soon as the pharmacy opens, I’ll pick up my prescription.” He nods in acknowledgment. “Now that that’s settled ...” I smile at him. “... happy Valentine’s Day.”

     He returns the sentiment, and we share a kiss. It doesn’t last long. In fact, we keep it PG because of where we are. But it’s still just what I need. I reluctantly pull myself out of his embrace and make my way to my locker, while he walks out of the room. After taking off my coat and scarf, and then slipping out of my boots, I open up my locker and smile at what I see. On the shelf is a heart-shaped box filled with my favorite chocolates, accompanied by two roses: one pink and one red. The note that is taped to the box is simple: Love, J.

     “Aww! That’s sweet,” Tess comments when she walks into the locker room.

     “Yeah. He has his moments,” I remark as I put my gifts back on the shelf and start to get ready. “So, are you and Will doing anything special tonight?”

     “He’s taking me out to dinner. What about you and Jake?”

     “I can’t say.”

     Tess pauses as she takes off her jacket, looking at me. “Is he going to surprise you?”

     “Nope. I am going to surprise him.” I grin to myself as I think over my plan. There’s something about me that Jake doesn’t know, and he’s going to find out tonight.

     The time for Shift Drinks has finally arrived, and we let out a collective sigh of relief. It would be an understatement to say that the shift was busy. It seemed that every table was filled with couples celebrating the holiday, and I think we are all drained.

     I enter the main floor area, holding the two roses in one hand while I have my box of chocolates safely tucked under my arm and hidden by my coat. There’s no way I’m letting Ari see these things. She’s an even bigger chocolate fiend than I am. I sit down on a stool and discreetly place the box on my lap, making sure it’s still hidden. I’m busy listening to Sasha ramble on about how he believes Valentine’s Day is nothing but one great, big conspiracy when something in my peripheral catches my attention.

     “Happy Valentine’s Day,” Will says, holding out a flower. It seems that my best friend, being the sweetheart that he is, has decided to present each of us ladies with a flower. It’s just his way of making us feel special.

     “Aww! Thank you, Will. Your momma raised you right.”

     “That, she did,” he answers proudly. “So, what are you and Jake up to tonight?”

     “I’m not at liberty to say. I’m keeping it a surprise,” I remark. I see him shake his head a little, and I look at him curiously. “What?”

     “I don’t know. It’s just ... You two. I mean, no offense. I’m just surprised that you guys have lasted this long. You know, given how Jake used to be.”

     I’m trying not to feel annoyed, but it’s a hard emotion to swallow. “Yeah, Will. Key words: ‘used to be’. He’s different now.”

     “I can see that,” he remarks with a nod. “You two seem great together.”

     “We are,” I declare with a smile. “What’s that saying from that movie? ‘I don’t make sense. He doesn’t make sense. Together, we make sense.’ That’s me and Jake.”

     “I’m happy for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me ...”

     I watch as Will and Tess leave for their date and then turn to see Jake standing behind the bar. “Well, it’s about time! I was starting to think you’d wandered off,” I comment, and he laughs.

     “You ready to go?”

     “Yes, I am. But I’m going to need you to hang out here for a little while.” I do some calculations in my head, rolling my eyes upward as I do so. “Say ... thirty minutes or so.”

     “What are you up to?”

     “It’s a surprise. Just meet me at my apartment in thirty minutes. You have your key. Right?” He reaches into the left pocket of his leather jacket and holds up the key, attached to a keychain with a little camera decoration. A little something special for my favorite photographer. “Good. See you in thirty.” I lean over the bar and give him a quick peck on the lips, then bid everyone else a good night.

     As soon as I make it home, I lock the door and then discard my purse and coat. I take my gifts into the kitchen, put the roses in a small vase filled with water, and then set the box of chocolates down on my kitchen table. I begin to make my way to my next destination when I decide that I do have time for a treat. I pick one that seems particularly tasty and take a bite, grimacing and then throwing the chocolate in the garbage can under the sink. Strawberry cream. Yuck! I grab another one, close the box, and take a bite. Okay. This one is better: caramel.

     Now that that’s out of my system, I put my plan into action. First, I create a trail of rose petals leading from the door to my bedroom. I use the remaining petals to decorate my bedspread before I begin to light the candles that I’ve placed in various areas around my bedroom.

     Create romantic atmosphere: check.

     Now on to step two: see if I can render him speechless with what I’ve kept hidden from him. I open up my closet and move my clothes aside, reaching for the shopping bag that I left dangling from one of the hangers on the wall. I reach inside and pull out the items. Yes, ladies and gents. I overcame my awkwardness long enough to pay a visit to a certain place known for its lingerie. It took me a while, and I was blushing the entire time, but I think I found something that will make an impression on my valentine. It’s a light pink, lacy little number that’s see-through save for ... certain areas. I slip into it and then pull on a short black satin robe, deciding to pin up my hair so a few auburn ringlets frame my face. Now all I have to do is wait for him to arrive.

     Sure enough, a few minutes later I hear the door open and shut. After switching on some ambient music, I sit at the foot of the bed. I scramble to find the right pose, settling for crossing my legs and using my hands to support myself as I lean back just so. The curtain is pushed aside and Jake steps into the room, his eyes immediately landing on me.

     “Wow! You look ... uh ...”

     “Wait ‘til you see what’s underneath.”

     I get up and slowly walk up to Jake, and then I begin the process of slowly sliding his hoodie off of him. The garment lands on the floor and Jake reaches for me, but I step back and shake my head. “No. Not yet. I told you I have a surprise for you. I want you to take off your clothes and lay down on the bed. On your stomach, please.”

     Jake furrows his brows at me in confusion, and I smile at him. “Don’t worry. You’ll like it. Trust me.” He gives me that mischievous grin of his and then does as he’s been told, stretching out on my bed. I drape a white sheet over his bottom half, leaving his legs and feet exposed. “What are you going to do to me?” he asks, adjusting the pillow so he’s more comfortable.

     I walk over to my dresser and grab my bottle of massage oil. “Well, I’m not going to go all “Fifty Shades of Grey,” on you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He makes a sound that indicates he’s disappointed, and I choose to ignore it for now. I climb onto the bed and position myself so I’m close enough to accomplish what I’m about to do. “There’s something you don’t know about me, Jake.”

     “Oh, no. Let me guess. Lilah isn’t your real name, and you’re just working at the restaurant to cover up your secret identity as a spy. Don’t worry. I’ll still love you,” he teases.

     I shake my head. He does have an imagination. “No. A few years ago, before I started working at the restaurant ... I was a massage therapist.”

     “A what?”

     “A massage therapist ... for about six months.”

     “Ah! Is that what you’re going to do to me?”

     “Mm-hmm. You've been tense lately, and I am going to help you relax,” I confirm as I pour some massage oil into my hands, closing the bottle and setting it aside. I rub the oil between my hands, warming it up. “And believe me, Jake, you are going to love it.”

     “Oh, really? What makes you think that?”

     “Because I know what I’m doing,” I announce before I reach out and apply gentle pressure to his neck and shoulders. He tenses up at first, but then I can feel him start to relax. I can even hear him let out a low, soft, pleasure-filled moan. “Just relax and enjoy, Jake. Think of this as my way of saying ‘Thank you’.”

     “For what?” he asks, his voice muffled by the pillow.

     “Oh, I don’t know. For taking care of me while I was sick. For putting up with all of my drama. For showing up at my apartment that night and staying with me. The list goes on and on.” I move on to his upper back, my hands gliding over his skin.

     “You could have said ‘Thank you,’ you know.”

     I pause for a moment and pout at him. “Are you complaining? Should I stop?”

     “Don’t even think about it. Keep going.”

     “That’s what I thought.”

     I move my hands down to his lower back, placing my hands against the area near his hips, and push forward toward the middle of his back. He lets out a groan and I pause, looking down at him in concern. “Too hard? You want me to lighten up?”

     “No. Keep going. That felt ... good, in a weird way.”

     “Okay. If you say so.” I work on that area for a few minutes and then move on to the next section. I don’t know if he’d be comfortable massaging the area that’s covered with the sheet, so I skip over it and move down to his legs. Because he has this thing about his feet being touched, I skip that area as well and choose to move on to his arms. By now, he seems completely relaxed. His eyes are closed, and I start to wonder if he’s asleep. “You still with me?”

     “Mmmm,” is his only response.

     Soon, my work is done and I have one very relaxed, very happy and very content valentine. I make a move to get off of the bed when Jake calls out to me.

     “Hey. Where are you going?”

     “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “I’m just going to put the oil away and then wash my hands. I’ll be back.”

     He makes another “Mmm,” sound, and I quickly do as I said.

     Though I do admit that I make one pit stop in the kitchen for another bite of chocolate. After locking the door and turning out the lights, I return to the bedroom. I check on Jake, shaking my head when he seems to be sleeping. Seems I relaxed him a little too much. Deciding that the rest of our romantic night will have to wait, I begin to blow out the candles. I don’t make it very far before he wakes up and calls out to me.

     “Do I get to see what’s under that robe now?”

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@mypsychoticlove