#so it's either walk get a cab or fucking. drive drunk home from shows i guess

[strawberryblondebutch]

I was already having a shitty day and then I saw the SEPTA budget proposal and now I want to just. Crawl in a hole forever

[hyunnieshannie]

Be a good girl.

Group: N.Flying Pairing: Seunghyub x Female!Reader Word Count: 1,972 Content/Warnings: SoftDom!Seunghyub Sub!Reader Sexual Content, mentions of choking, mentions of alcohol, harsh words. (anything else I may have missed please let me know to be added)

A/N: Requested piece.

Laughter, the entire room is full of laughter. You’re silently enjoying the atmosphere of the company party. You don’t typically enjoy outings with a large amount of people. But for some reason this one was alright, maybe it was because you knew you had no obligation to be there and could leave at any time without feeling bad, maybe it’s because you had an excuse to speak to your very attractive coworker but either way you were enjoying it. The chatter started to die down and your boss went to make an announcement on the small stage the bar had set up for the live band. “So as you know,” he starts off, “the company has been doing fantastically this year!” Your coworkers cheer, “so good job to marketing for everything they’ve done, with the new strategies Y/N suggested we’ve seen sales almost triple!” you jokingly bow to your coworkers as they clap. Before you were hired in, the company struggled to make their sales. When you joined the marketing team you made a few suggestions and boom. Suddenly you were getting high praises from your manager, and soon enough you were rewarded with multiple promotions and landed a secure spot as the head of marketing by the end of your first year. After he finished his announcement he heads off stage and the music continues playing. After a few more drinks of liquid courage you found yourself making your way to your favorite coworker.

“Seunghyub” you say boldly, he was standing at the bar alone sipping at his drink smiling at the people dancing awkwardly around him. His tall well built frame leaning back against the bar, he was dressed in his suit from work as if he’d just come from there with no time to head home to change. You loved seeing him come to work everyday with a sharp black three piece suit. He smiles at you as you walk up to him,

“Ah Y/N just the person I wanted to see,” he says, you blush at the comment but quickly take a sip from your drink to disguise it as a wine blush.

“You did now? I wonder why” you say smugly, the two of you have always joked around to the point where coworkers would tell you to just get a room and get it over with already, but both of you always denied that you even meant it like that. ‘He’s just a flirtatious person,’ you had explained to another coworker who retorted with ‘so why isn’t he like that with me?’ And that’s when your crush began. Realizing he truly was only like that with you. He runs his hand through his long dark hair, the silver rings which adorned his fingers caught your eyes. Fuck. You thought to yourself as your attention is still drawn to his hands.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He laughs, “And before you hop on me,” don’t mind If I do, you joke internally, “yes. I finished figuring out the numbers for the next marketing project” he winks, and the two of you laugh together as you settle beside him leaning against the bar. There’s a comfortable silence between the two of but you can feel his eyes on you, you dare not look up at him in case he averts his gaze. Nor do you want to get caught staring at him. “Hey,” he says softly, “I’m getting bored.”

“Heading home then?” You try to hide your disappointment you wanted to spend more time with him,

“I think so, but uh.” He pauses trying to find the proper words to say to you, “did you, need a ride home?”

“What?” You ask,

“Well you’ve been drinking and I’d prefer to drive you then to let you drive home drunk. Or get into a cab with a stranger” he says, you look up at him, his face shows that hes still thinking of something else he wants to say.

“Sure” you smile, at least you’d be able to spend a few more minutes with him. You grab your things say your goodbyes and the two of you head out. Hopping into the passenger seat as he inputs your address into his GPS system. The two of you ride with music playing he jokingly sings along to his favorite songs in attempt to make you laugh. It works. And by the time you reach your house you’ve laughed so hard your stomach hurts. Spending time with Seunghyub has always been such a pleasure you wish you could do it more often outside of work. He parks in the drive way and you turn to thank him. But he says nothing. Just stares deeply at you.

“Hey uh, y/n”

“Hm?” You say as you collect your things

“Fuck.” He mutters, before turning the key shutting off the car, “I’m sorry.” He says, but before you could ask what he could possibly be sorry for he presses his lips directly against yours, you don’t pull back as he’d expected you to but instead you tilt your head to deepen the kiss, and before you know it you’re being walked back into your house, his lips never leaving yours, you fumbled your keys struggling to open the door. He kisses you hungrily like he’d never get the chance to again. You finally get the door open and he can’t hold himself back, picking you up and wrapping your legs around him, he kicks the door closed as he walks you to your room, throwing you down on your bed as you look up at him, “fuck y/n… you don’t understand how long I’ve waited to do that…” he leans down hovering over you holding himself up with his hands as he dips in for another kiss, biting at your bottom lip, slowly moving his kisses away from your lips and trailing them down your jaw and neck, he feels your body tense up and he kisses you, and comes back up. “We can stop if you don’t want t-“

“Please…” you look at him with such desperation and a switch within him flips. He attacks your neck, biting and leaving marks all over you as if you claim you. In such visible places like he wants to show off to the world that you were his property.

“Fuck Y/N”,he groans as he begins to push your dress up above your hips, making his way between your thighs and placing light kisses on the inner most sensitive parts of them, pushing your underwear to the side and looking right back up at you “all this and it’s just from kissing?” He smirks, “I can’t fucking wait to see what you’re like when I’m inside you” your body reacts to those words, as he dives into you. Licking you, while he pushed two fingers into you. You lightly gasp at the action which boosts his ego for a moment, he sucks your clit while you reach for his hair lightly tugging at it causing him to grunt into you sending the vibrations up your body, he hooks his fingers and your legs act on their own trying to shut themselves and all he can do is smirk into you. He knows he’s driving you mad and plans to make it worse. He pulls his fingers out, and climbs back on top of you, “you’re going to be a good girl for me tonight,” he says before shoving his fingers in your mouth, you suck on them as he watches you intently, “how can anyone be this hot.” He says before leaning down and kissing you, tasting you on your own lips, you could say the same thing about him.

You reach down, and fiddle with the button on his pants, tugging down at them releasing his already hard member from the restricting confines of his boxers. You push him gently, and he obeys your command, laying back on your bed as you make your way down on him, lightly giving him kitten licks on the tip, before taking it fully into your mouth. He throws his head back, and grabs a fistful of your hair, he doesn’t push you down and allows you to work your way down on your own, sucking on him as he groans from the pleasure of the feeling of your mouth on him. To him at this moment nothing is more perfect than the sight of you expertly sucking on his dick, if he could he’d take a picture of it and carry it on him everywhere he would. But for now he’s happily engrained it into his mind. But that’s enough. He can’t handle it anymore. He needs you. He needs to be inside you. He forces you up and pulls you up into a harsh kiss throwing you on to your back before pulling away to catch his breath. “Do you have any idea as to what you do to me?” He says, you whimper a bit as he slowly rubs your clit with his fingers, “all this time you didn’t fucking notice. All this time, I was left alone and wanting you. Every-time I saw you at work all I could think about was taking you on my desk,” you whimper at his words, and he smirks, “did you have those same thoughts? Did you also wonder what it would be like if I had thrown you up against the wall of my office? If I had just fucked you right on the table with the chance of one of the others walking in? God how pretty you’d look with me in you as someone walks in, would you have hid or shown off just how perfect you’d look sprawled across my desk?” You can’t take it anymore all you want is for him to be in you, your body twitches and he laughs, “that’s right baby girl. Beg for me.”

“Please…” he inserts his fingers again, “fuck. Just fuck me. Use me. Please” you beg. He smirks and happily does so, removing his fingers and harshly pushing himself into you. There’s no time for you to adjust to him stretching you, as he thrusts harshly into you; you both of you moan loudly as he continues on. He reaches for your throat, and squeezes lightly, you whimper at the action and it sets him off. Seeing you so submissive to him, now THIS is the most perfect image of you. He thrusts hard into you, making you clench around him, he holds himself back as he feels his high approach, making sure you get yours before he does,

“You’re so perfect.” He pants “A perfect little slut. Made just for me” you can feel the knot in your stomach forming fast, and by the way you dig your nails into his back, he can tell you’re about to burst. He continues at his pace, lifting himself a bit higher to reach your deepest parts, his high approaching faster than he’d like but he knows in just a few moments you’ll be a whimpering mess beneath him. One final push into you and your nails dig into him hard, he kisses you thrusting faster chasing his own high. As you melt into him, whimpering from the overstimulation as he finally lets go groaning as he fills you, the feeling of his warmth inside you is oddly pleasing to you as it’s the first time

You’ve let anyone do so. He falls beside you bringing you close into his chest. Just holding you there

“Fuck.” He says trying to catch his breath, “I’ve waited way too long for that” he strokes your hair the two of you clearly fucked out and tired,

“So have I.” You said, he kisses the top of your head, lightly. “This isn’t gonna make thins weird at work right…”

“Never, baby.” He sighs, he kisses you gently again, “you’re mine.”

“Am I?” You laugh,

“Yes. And I’m yours.”

[exceptionimagines]

Meeting and Dating Clyde

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You and Clyde meet on the streets of Las Vegas. 

- You’d been trying to get into a club; one him and his friends were planning on going in, and him; seeing the opportunity to play night in shining armor, announces to the world that you're his girlfriend, putting his hands on your shoulders and asking where the hell you’d been while locking eyes with you.

- Whether or not he was tipsy, haha, yeah no: he was tipsy. Whether or not he was sober enough to purposefully be deceiving the bouncer or if he was drunk enough to mistake you for another girl didn’t matter to you. All that mattered and all that you knew was that you were being let into the club sandwiched between a bunch of skaters. 

- Once you got inside, it was evident that he had; in fact, been playing the bouncer. He shouts over the music, asking what your name was, saying “what!?” a few times before shouting that his ear was all fucked up and that he couldn’t hear you; prompting you to lightly grab his jaw and pull his face down so that you could comfortably talk in his ear. 

- That was when he fell head first in love with you. After that tiny, insignificant little action that most people; given the situation, would forget about. 

- Not him though. It took him at least two drinks and an hours worth of decompressing for him to forget about how hard his heart was racing. 

- The two of you spend the next few hours at the club. Sometimes you dance near each other; he probably shows you how you “have to” dance, sometimes you just talk; or shout I should say. 

- He’s more than a little awkward, saying odd or “the wrong” things, and feeling like he’s royally screwing things up whenever he opens his mouth. 

- By the time his friends are ready to go, he’s fully convinced that he’s screwed up all his chances with you so he merely tells you that him and his crew are leaving. Its then that you surprise him, asking where they’re going and subsequently asking if you can come along. 

- His mind does a 180; though it’s still riddled with insecurity, wondering if you’re coming onto him. To him, it doesn’t really matter if you want to sleep with him or not, he’s just happy that you still want to be around him. 

- Regardless, you wind up in the passenger seat of his van, glancing around the car and out at the blaring lights of Las Vegas. Every now and again, you wonder what the hell you’re doing but; for better or for worse, you push those feelings down. 

- You wind up at his place and soon find yourself sat by his side, the two of you sitting in a somewhat awkward silence as you’re left alone: none of his friends, no blaring music, no drinks, nothing. 

- It’s then that he asks if you want to stay the night …borrow some clothes or something. You’re a long ways from home; if you even want to return, and you don’t think you want to ask if he’ll make that drive nor do you want to walk or buy a cab. 

- So you agree, taking the clothes he pulls out of his dresser and heading to the bathroom to slip them on. 

- And just like that, you were curled up on his couch, wearing a pair of his sweats and a baggy t-shirt and listening to him methodically clicking a flashlight on and off until you finally managed to drift off to sleep. 

- When you woke up, he was already awake, watching you as you sat up and rubbed your eyes. You said a “morning” and he nodded at you, finally speaking as you went to go get changed into your own clothes again; telling you that him and his friends were going skating if you wanted to come. 

- You thought for a minute before telling him sure, either changing into your clothes from the night before or accepting another change of his clothes; depending on the way you dress to go out, and following behind him as he lead you outside to his bike and board. 

- Even though Clyde's only known you for a few hours; maybe a day at most, he still feels a deep connection to you and finds himself really falling for you. Yet, at the same time, he’s scared to “love” you, so he’ll occasionally act like a dick; before returning to his usual ridiculous generosity and kindness. 

- While you’re at the park, he tries to teach you how to skate a little and the two of you almost kiss while he’s holding you steady …right before he’s nervously backing away and telling you that he thinks you’ve got it.

- The sun begins to set and he’s going over to tell you that everyone's heading back when you speak first, telling him that you should be getting home.

- His heart sinks and he fiddles with his skateboard, nodding along to what you’re saying and agreeing with you before offering you a ride home. You contemplate your choices before agreeing, heading back to his apartment and getting in his van. 

- He drives you home, you exchange numbers and he asks if you want to go with him to see his friends band perform the next night. You agree and he tells you he’ll pick you up at seven before the two of you say goodbye and he drives off. 

- So you wind up going with him and after the shows over, you’re sitting on the curb of some street together, listening to the sounds of the city at night and talking a little. One thing leads to another and the two of you wind up kissing: a swift, almost featherlight one at first before you’re leaning in for another more purposeful one. 

- And thus begins your whirlwind romance. 

- Clyde is sort of awkward with affection in general so there’s not going to be a lot of Pda in your relationship. It’ll take him a while to get used to touching and holding you so just be patient with him.

- Holding and playing with your hands.

- Playing with each other’s hair. Your playing is more affection and purposeful; like brushing it behind his ear or braiding it whenever he lets you. His is just random and usually to get an urge out; like twirling a strand around his finger or inspecting a curl or your hairstyle.

- Pressing your foreheads together.

- Soft, sort of clumsy kisses.

- Quick kisses before he can lose the nerve.

- Specific pet names. He doesn’t usually call you things like sweetheart or honey, but he does call you things like crazy girl!

- Depending on the type of relationship you have, you’ll either cuddle by literally just holding hands while laying in the same bed, or he’ll be the big spoon, or; if you’re really close, he’ll lay his head on your chest and you’ll wrap your arms around him.

- In the beginning of your relationship, any affection you give Clyde legitimately makes him want to cry. He’s so touch starved and in love with you that it’s not even funny.

- Crashing at his place a lot; or just living with him. It’s where you spend most of your time; besides going to different bars/clubs and skateparks.

- Scrounging up enough money to eat. The two of you live on cheap takeout and convenience store junk food.

- Wearing his clothes. What’s his is yours.

- Camping together.

- Setting up a tent and a projector and watching movies outside.

- Beach dates.

- Going shooting with his rifle. He’ll set up a bunch of bottles or cans in the parking lot of his apartment building and you’ll play target practice.

- Staying up late and talking with each other.

- Playing little hand games.

- Living carefree and doing whatever you feel like. There’s no rules in your lives and that’s just how you like it.

- Walking around buzzed or high.

- Taking care of each other when you’re drunk.

You: sobbing.

Clyde, drunkenly trying to feed you some of his food: it’s okay, it’s okay-

- Going with him to watch his friends perform. He tries to impress you with his crowd surfing and chandelier hanging.

- Him scaring the shit out of you with some of his tricks and stunts.

- Helping him with his hearing. You’re gonna have to adjust things; if you want him to listen to something, and repeat yourself a lot.

- Play fighting. The two of you pretend to box and wrestle each other quite a bit; oftentimes for no real reason at all.

- He loves being able to make you laugh. Nothing makes him feel more confident than knowing that he’s the reason there’s a smile on your face.

- He would 100% destroy you with all those “Candice” sort of tricks. And just when you think it’s over, he’ll trick you again with something different.

- Riding on the back of his bike. 

- Letting him show off his little skate tricks. 

- Whenever you’re at the skatepark, he’ll usually go and do his own thing for a while before coming back and trying to show you how to skate or do a certain trick. It’s common for him to skate close by and watch you as you wobble clumsily atop of a board. 

- He can be considerate when he wants to be so he’ll oftentimes lend you a hand and help you out; regardless of whether or not you need it, whenever you’re trying to get down from someplace or doing something of the sort. 

- He genuinely looks at you sometimes and just wonders why you want to be with him. Like, you’re so pretty that it physically takes his breath away …what do you want with him?

- Because of this, you’ll catch him staring at you quite a bit; usually prompting you to just smile at or give him a kiss. 

- Clyde is always taking care of you; in all sorts of ways. He might not think that he is but he’s genuinely one of the kindest and most generous boys you’ve ever met.

- He legitimately can’t stay mad at or annoyed with you; particularly when you're drunk. He’ll want to scold you but then you’ll look at him with that adorable little smile and he’ll just melt; smiling back at you and taking on a softer tone.

- Him always reassuring you and doing anything to make you happy whenever you’re upset.

- For all the wonderful things a relationship with Clyde brings, you have to take into consideration that everything is not all sunshine and rainbows. He loves you and wants to be vulnerable in your presence and your presence alone …but he’s just so afraid. And this fear and insecure is occasionally gonna make things difficult. 

- He’s usually too shy to just say that he missed you and wanted to spend time with you so he’ll come into your room or wherever you’re hanging out and just do random shit; like looking in your mirror or trying on your clothes.

- He can occasionally be a jackass and say things without thinking; plus he doesn’t know when to shut up, which will land him in hot water with you from time to time. It’s annoying but it’s something you get used to and learn to live with.

- He almost had a heart attack when meeting your parents for the first time; especially if they’re more traditional or at least appear that way. You have to be by his side for moral support the entire time.

- Clyde tends to get extremely jealous when it comes to you. Chances are, you’re the one person he’s ever really been vulnerable with; which means a lot to him. Seeing you with someone else; whether it has romantic undertones or not, makes his blood boil and worries him at the same time. He just really doesn’t want to lose the one good thing he’s got going for him. 

- He isn’t terribly protective of you; most likely because he just doesn’t understand the plights of the female race. Like, if he can’t find you at a party, he isn’t all too worried because his mind doesn’t immediately race through the various awful things that could be a reality for a; frankly, vulnerable young girl like you. 

- Like the troubled boy that he is, Clyde has a habit of not knowing how to open up to you and let you in; leading him to lash out and sometimes say rude or hurtful things. Afterwards, he’ll try to move on like nothing happened and you’ll wind up sitting in a tense silence as you refuse to say anything to him. 

- He struggles to find the right words when he wants to apologize but you know what he’s getting at and you’ll accept his apology if you think that he means it. You know that he isn’t the best at relationships so you just take the bad with the good. 

- He is borderline incapable of verbally expressing his love for you. He finds it to be one of the hardest things in the world so don’t be surprised if you’ve been together for a year and have only heard him say it maybe once. 

- Clyde is legitimately ready to marry you the day the two of you meet. He dreams about it all the time; even if he doesn’t talk about it with you. 

[bakubabes-tatakae]

A/N: I hope you all enjoy part 2/4 of my pieces for day four of the anniversary collab for the @konoblog-simps​. You can find all the lovely pieces for the day here! Today’s theme was song pieces, and this one is just a little bit angsty compared to the last piece. I’ll be spanning my four pieces throughout the next couple of hours so stay turned. You can find all the days of the collab here!

For the best experience listen to the song while reading the piece. The song title and artist have the link for he music video. 😊

Pairing: Tobio Kageyama x fem!Reader

Song Choice: Waste Love by Machine Gun Kelly

Warnings: alcohol consumption, angst, cheating, 18+ content, smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk

Word Count: 1.8k

NSFW Content Below Cut

Six Months Earlier:

The last thing that either of you had wanted was for you to come home and find his escapades still in the house. He had tried to keep it from you, but he had fallen asleep and when he had told her explicitly to leave… she had stayed. 

You walked through your front door to find a woman leaning against the counter in your kitchen with a cup of coffee in her hands. It was still early. Tobio hadn’t even risen from bed yet. 

Your relationship had been rocky lately, but you hadn’t thought it had been this rocky. 

You dropped the bags in your hands, a crash filling the small kitchen as the glass bottle that was in them shattered on the floor. The woman that stood before you didn’t even bat an eye. The look she gave you was as if you were in the wrong house. 

The crash had woken him tho. 

Tobio Kageyama entered the kitchen to find out what had happened to find you standing before both of them with tears staining your cheeks. 

You had told yourself not to give him the time of day. Not to show him you were as upset as you were, but your body had other plans. 

You heard him swallow and watched as his hand reached out for you, trying to keep you from bending down to pick up the broken pieces of glass. “Y/n…” You slapped his hand away and tried to not look at him. “Stop, don’t do that.”

“Don’t touch me!” You stood back up and reached forward, pushing him back before turning around and walking back out the door, not another word coming from you. 

The walk from your front door to your car felt like it would never end, you were barely able to grab the keys from your purse as you walked. Tobio had thrown on clothes and was heading out the front door when you finally got to the car. “Let’s talk about this!” He was hollering to you as you backed out of the driveway, determined to never see him again. Ready to never speak to him again. 

“Woke up and you wasn't next to me this mornin'

Saw a yellow cab drive you down the street on Broadway

Wish I could erase the mistakes that I made, I'm sorry

Wanted me to chase you inside, but the house too haunted”

Present Day:

And every day from that day on, everything that Tobio did reminded him of that day. Reminded him of the things that he had done that made you want to leave him. Told him how much he had really messed things up. 

Every morning he rolled over to find that you weren’t there. He missed being able to roll over and touch your face, tell you just how much you meant to him. He wanted to feel what it was like with you in his arms. 

He couldn’t do anything without being reminded of you. 

Just a walk down the road with the guys on his team to relax a little, heading to have dinner with his friends… All it took was to see someone that looked like you and he was immediately brought back to it. 

Just the sight of a woman in a taxi with (h/c) hair would throw him completely off for the day. “Kageyama, are you okay?”

Tanaka had gotten a good twenty feet away from him before he realized that he was talking to himself. Tobio stopped and turned to him, taking his vision away from the taxi that was disappearing in the distance. 

He shook his head and followed to meet up with him. “Yea, I’m fine.”

His friends knew deep down that he wasn’t okay, but they didn’t want to question him. Instead, they let him fester, knowing that it was never easy to get Tobio Kageyama to talk about his feelings. 

But when they got to be too much, there was only one person besides you that he would talk to… and that was Shoyo Hinata. 

“You have to talk about this Kageyama.” Shoyo would sigh as he tried to get his best friend to talk to him. “You can’t just hold this in anymore. It’s not healthy.”

Tobio would sit there and try his hardest not to give in, no matter that he knew that Shoyo was right. But eventually, he would have no other choice. “I just… I wish I hadn’t done it. I wish I never would have made that god damned mistake.”

“I tried to get away with the worst; this time, you caught me

Tried to find a place for the words so I can say sorry

It's so shitty how I waste love

I know it's shitty how I waste love

Come home every night

I'm wasted, wasted, wasted, wasted, wasted”

And that’s when he started to drink. It worried his friends, but just like with everything else, they never attempted to say anything.

 From the second he came home from practice to the second his head hit the pillow he had a drink in his hand. Who would have guessed that his adult life would have come to this?

You had wanted to still be friends with him, and you tried so hard. That’s why you always answered those phone calls when he was drunk. You wanted him to know that you still cared. “I know it’s shitty that I waste love, Y/n.”

You would sigh into the phone and try to change the subject. “Tobio, are you drunk again?”

He never wanted to answer that question, avoided it by any means. 

“It's gettin' hard to fake how I feel when your face still taunts me

I know it's hard to fake how you feel, do you not still want me?

How'd you run away from the place you brought me?

I did it to myself, though, go ahead and blame this on me”

His phone calls started only being at night when he was drunk, but they slowly started to happen during the day. It was getting harder every day to answer them, but you couldn’t help your feelings still being there for him. “It’s getting so damned hard to ignore my feeling Y/n. I know we’re trying to still be friends, but every time I see you it gets harder and harder.”

“Tobio, I really don’t want to do this right now. We’ve been doing so good.” Your sighs and objections through the receiver made his feelings even worse. 

“You can blame this on me, I’ll never say that you can’t, but how could you walk away from everything that we had?” He choked as he spoke and you tried not to get upset with him. “We were so good together. We made a life together.”

“You tried to get away with the worst; this time, I caught you

I tried to make you stay with my words, but this time, I lost you

So shitty how you waste love (it's shitty how I waste love)

It's so shitty how you waste love (I know it's shitty how I waste love)

Get home every night

You're wasted, wasted, wasted, wasted, wasted”

But when you ignored his calls you’d find yourself heading to his apartment. All you wanted to do was confront him about everything. But it always circled back to the same things.

The words that he said to you made you want to cry. You had tried so hard to go back to him, but those images went through your head every time. 

You took a deep breath before you spoke again, not wanting to upset him too much, but you couldn’t hold your tongue anymore. 

But even after you unloaded on him the same things happened all over again. 

He would cup your cheeks in his hands and press your lips to his own. And you wouldn’t object to it. You would lean into him and place your hands on his lower back. 

You could taste the alcohol in his kiss, but you never mentioned it. 

He would press you up against the wall and place his knee between your thighs, pushing them apart. His hand slowly trailing down your chest, down your stomach, and resting between your legs. He’d push his fingers into your shorts and push your panties to the side. His fingers trailing up into your core. 

He’d pick you up and carry you to his room. Your legs wrapped around him as you pressed your lips into his again, not wanting to take them away. 

As your back hit the mattress you’d feel his body hover over yours, his shorts peeled from his legs already. He’d line himself up with your entrance, not giving you any time to prepare yourself before bottoming himself out inside you. 

Every roll of his hips sent you into euphoria. Sex was something that the two of you had always been good at. 

You felt your climax growing, his hips moving quicker and quicker as he felt your walls closing around him. “F-fuck Tobio.”

Tobio couldn’t hold himself back anymore as he heard your words. He emptied himself out inside you and collapsed on the bed next to you. 

And every time the two of you did this you told yourself the same thing. This won’t happen again. This is the last time. 

You’d wrap yourself into his arms and fall asleep as the sun starts to slowly rise in the sky, just barely telling you that morning is coming. 

“Wait, I thought we were done

How'd you end up in my arms last night? (Fuck)

I guess a little bit of pain kinda make it feel good sometimes

Why you tryna run when I feel like you're the one sometimes?

I guess a little bit of pain kinda make it feel good”

You’d wake up and look over at him, trying to stay quiet as you got your things together. You never wanted to have that awkward morning after thing, but you always ended up with it. Tobio would wake up with a hangover, knowing that the two of you should never have done with you did. 

And you’d both feel those sparks of pain as you left his house, just as he would after you walked out the door. All those feelings coming back, all those emotions wanting to spill out. But as you always told yourself after. A little bit of pain always made it feel that much better.

Taglist: @monic00l​ @strangeinternetwasteland​ @rowley-with-ackerman​ @kyu-pine​ @ellechanwrites​ @bonnisimpparker​ @impinthecloset​ @nikiniki743​ @sssuckkii

©bakubabes-hatake’s original content, please do not repost/modify without my permission

[youalexturnermeon]

Chasing the Past Pt. 2 (Johnny Lawrence x Reader)

Click for Part 1 

Request by Anon: Could I please get a Johnny Lawrence imagine where he and the reader (who is daniels sister) are secretly dating. Maybe like an old flame back in the 80s and now they reconnected?

A/N: In the first part (Y/N), Daniel LaRusso’s sister,  came back to LA after five years of being away. She reconnects with Johnny and wakes up in his apartment after getting drunk at a party. In this part (Y/N) and Johnny have to face Daniel and his rage hahaha

Warnings: swearing(!!!), mentions of alcohol, angst, fluff and maybe a little bit of slight smut

Wordcount: 2473

Johnny’s face is almost doubled right in front you, but you see it as a good thing, twice as much of Johnny is great. Four bright blue eyes are much better than just two. But then there are two again. He has you close to him, his strong hands resting on your hips, slowly making their way further down to your ass and he is twirling you around. You dance. “I missed you, Johnny” you slur and cup his beautiful face, on it the dirtiest grin you have ever seen. He doesn’t answer, just squeezes your ass and suddenly kisses you. Almost too much tongue, red lipstick on his face, sloppy kisses on the neck and the jaw. You are melting under his touch.

Blurry way though the dark, you are laughing, Johnny and you still dancing together through the night. In his hand a bagged bottle, you don’t care what’s inside as you take a sip. You stop for a heated make-out session, he presses your back hardly against the wall of an apartment complex and his hands are already making their way under your sweatshirt. The bottle slips out of his hands and breaks on the ground. “God, I’ve been thinking about doing this for five years!” Johnny grunts and almost violently kisses you. “Get a fucking room!” someone shouts angrily in the distance “Get away from here, you fucking pervs!”

White sheets, clothes everywhere, naked bodies, Johnny’s hands all over you, moans. You are enjoying yourself. Johnny’s messy blonde hair.

____

“Fuck”, you said again, almost in disbelief but this time you were smiling. Out of the sudden, Johnny moved. Your heart started beating, you didn’t know if you were ready for any conversation. You didn’t even know if Johnny would regret this or not. You most certainly didn’t, you just wished to remember a little bit more of the steamy night.

“Good morning, princess”, he whispered, voice all raspy and sleepy, he yawned and stroked your hair, “Did you sleep well?”

“I feel like shit” you admitted and sat up, dragging the covers over your bare chest, which immediately stressed how your head was still heavy and spinning. You almost wished you didn’t sit up in the first place, you wanted to lay on Johnny’s chest again. But you didn’t and just stared at him. God, he was still so beautiful. You then signed over to his naked torso, “Did we…?” You still had to reassure yourself that this amazing night actually happened.

“Oh yeah” Johnny answered proudly and sat up too. You were surprised when the first thing he did was kissing you. This Johnny you didn’t know, you caught glimpses of him, but he never fully showed himself. Then he got out of bed, put on some clothes and turned to you.

“I’ll get you an Aspirin and then I will make you breakfast”

“What is it with you Johnny?” you asked, completely perplexed, “You never made me breakfast, you never cared the next morning” Johnny shrugged: “And you see what it got me, the girl who finally made me get over Ali and the fight with Daniel, who made my life a little less miserable just disappeared on me for five years without a trace. I don’t want you to disappear on me again for god knows how many years this time”

Without a trace was a lie, he still could’ve gone to Daniel LaRusso, ask him about his sister, ask for her phone number, her address. But when you went to college you made it perfectly clear that Daniel would kill him without having second thoughts for banging his sister and if he didn’t manage, you would’ve killed him yourself. And after all this time Johnny asked himself why he cared about that, why he was such a pussy and cared about what Daniel would think and do, above all. Now he didn’t anymore, he had no fucks to give about it anymore. As long as you were by his side for a little while, he could live with Daniel hating him more than he did already.

“Glad, to have been at your service, you asshole” you said rolling your eyes but still laughing.

“You’re welcome. So, are you saying we keep that going or what?”

You shrugged.

“Does that mean you are staying in Reseda?”

You shrugged again, it kind of did but you’d never know for how long. Thankfully, Johnny dropped the topic after that. Just like you, he really wasn’t the type to talk relationships. Maybe you two would’ve taken a different path when he had been the last time but that was again, ancient history.

____

The breakfast was simple, Johnny wasn’t the greatest cook, but that was okay, you weren’t either. It was more about the time you spent together. It was fun, it felt amazing being with him in his tiny kitchen, just talking about the old times and joking around. It was even fun when he flunked a spoonful of scrambled eggs directly in your face. You ate, you took a shower you scrubbed off all the remaining make-up from last and you felt a little bit better. Johnny enjoyed having you over. Normally, he didn’t let his girls stay that long, he usually made them go home very quickly, not so with you. He’d even be okay with you staying the whole day, hell, even another night or two. But as soon as you got of shower his hope vanished.

“I need to go home now” you announced shyly.

“So soon?” “Yeah, Danny is probably worried sick, I also promised him, we go out for sushi today, just us two.”

Johnny rolled his eyes and hugged you suddenly, almost a little too tightly “Don’t you want to stay?”

“To be honest, I do, but I also want to spend some time with my big brother.”

“I guess, I’ll drive you home then” “Only if you want to, I can walk or get a cab”. Fortunately, you didn’t manage to lose your handbag at the beach, so you’d have enough money.

“That is out of question. I always drive my babes!” Johnny said proudly which was a big fat lie, he didn’t always bother but with you, it was another situation.

The car ride was not as bad as you had expected, you didn’t get sick which you were afraid you would do because you still could remember well enough how fast Johnny drove. Yet, it was great to sit in his red Pontiac Firebird again, it shot your memories straight back to high school when you secretly hung out with Johnny for a couple of times. Sadly, it was over too soon. Johnny pulled up in the driveway to Daniel’s apartment building. He quickly got out of the car to open the car door for you before you could reach the handle yourself.

“Wow, I don’t know if like that new Johnny” you laughed and nudged him, “Far too nice!”

“Yeah, would you like me doing that instead?” Johnny’s eyes darkened and you remembered also seeing that look last night and out of a sudden he pinned you between the red Firebird and him, his face very close to yours.

“Do you like me being a bad guy instead?”, his lips brushed over you when he talked. And you wanted to say yes or even nod but you breath quickened; your hart started beating a faster rhythm.

“Thought so.” he whispered into your ear sending shivers down your spine on that hot summer day. He was just about to kiss you, maybe you should go back to his place after all, you thought, when you were instantly interrupted.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Lawrence!?!?!?” a scream echoed through the whole block, “Get the fuck away from her!”

Johnny promptly jumped to side but as soon as the realized who that was coming from a dirty grin appeared on his perfectly shaped lips. Daniel, face almost grey with fury, was running towards them, eyes all wild, hands clenched to fists.

“Oh fuck”, you gasped but couldn’t hold back a laugh, that was too absurd, “Maybe you should’ve dropped me off a few blocks away”

“Nah, this is going to be fun”

But you thought otherwise, this was going to be anything else bun fun. Comical, but definitely not fun.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, (Y/N)?” Daniel yelled pointing a finger at you when he finally came to a halt right in front of you.

“Nothing’s wrong with me, I’m completely fine, thanks for asking Danny”

“Don’t you fucking talk back to me like that!” “Jesus, Daniel, watch your filthy mouth, you didn’t swear that much since forever.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Daniel kept on, ignoring your sarcastic remarks, “You did not come home the whole night, I’ve got no call, nothing. I didn’t sleep, I was waiting for you, I was so fucking worried and then you finally decide to come here with him and you’re talking to me like I’m the bad guy?” Daniel pointed at Johnny without even looking at him.

“Ok, mom, calm down”

“Don’t you mom me, (Y/N). You smell like a fucking distillery; you look like shit and where the fuck are your shoes?” You looked down on your bare feet, then at Johnny who had protectively placed a hand on the small of your back and you two suddenly burst out laughing. Your drunk ass simply lost them at the beach.

“How dare you even make a sound?” Daniel shouted, this time at Johnny. It was getting embarrassing, even some neighbours were now watching how Daniel took a threatening step towards Johnny. He still was a few inches smaller than him, but he managed to compensate that with his glance. A little bit more wrath, you thought, and he would be shooting sparks out of his usually warm brown eyes.

“Damn, LaRusso, don’t wet your pants. You look like you are about to die from a heart attack” “Shut the hell up, Lawrence” Daniel growled and came even closer, so close the tips of their noses almost touched and Johnny just kept on smiling, he didn't even flinch “You think you’re so funny, huh?”

Johnny shrugged, he did.

“What the hell is my sister doing with you?”

“She just likes me a lot more than she likes you” Johnny’s grin kept getting dirtier and dirtier with every word leaving his mouth “Actually, she always liked me a lot. When I was beating your ass in high school, (Y/N) always has been hanging out with me instead of pitying you. While you were training with your weird-ass sensei, I gave her rides all the time, we were friends. When you won in ’84 she didn’t go with you to celebrate your illegal kick, she stayed behind and cared for me. Dragged me out of the parking lot and brought me into a hospital together with Bobby and Dutch. She just never told you because a delicate little flower like you would simply die from that. And when you were trimming trees, I fucked her every goddamn day until she went away”

Your eyes widened and you looked at Johnny in shock then at Daniel who needed a second to process everything that had been said. That was about it, Johnny dropped the bomb, he told Daniel everything that was kept secret from him and everything that he needed to know.

“You did fucking what?” Daniel asked through clenched teeth, his hands shaking, he was barely holding himself back and you knew, some whit was about to go down real quick.

“I fucked your sister LaRusso, five years ago and tonight and she liked it”

And you couldn’t even say anything against it, every bit of it was true. And when Daniel gave you a quick look he knew exactly. And then, very unlikely for Daniel he threw his first punch, Johnny immediately blocking it. He shoved you to the side so wouldn’t get between them. Both stood in fighting positions and then everything happened so fast. There was a lot of fists and legs and kicks and punches, too rapid for your eyes to grasp it. And you couldn’t believe it. After all these years, these to very still ready to kill each other. But you had enough, you had enough of this stupid rivalry, you had enough of them hating each other for no reason and you definitely had enough of being their recent motive for fighting.

“Stop!” you yelled, they ignored you, “Stop it! I’ve had enough of your stupid Karate bullshit! I’m sick and tired of you two always fighting. I can’t deal with being dragged into it! I fucking hate this. Why is this the first thing that happens to me after being back after five fucking years? Why you always have to be such a drama queen, Daniel? Why are you the only person you care about, huh? And you” you turned your shouting towards Johnny “why do you always have to keep the fire going why can’t you just let it be for once?”

Your screams were much louder than Daniel’s before, but the fighting enemies still ignored you.

“If one of you throws another punch, I’m gonna call the cops and you two can sort it out in a prison cell! I don't want you to kill each other just because you see me as an object that can only belong to one of you. I'm not, I like both of you. You're my brother and I love you. And I fucking love him, Daniel”

These words worked magic on Johnny who immediately let his arms sink and whilst he looked at you, worry written into his face, he received one last kick in the guts for losing his concentration. You threw yourself at Daniel and tried to hold him back from doing more damage, for a second you were afraif he was about to kill Johnny. But with you holding him, he did not dare to keep on fighting. He didn't want to hurt you. And yet he tried to free himself from you.

“Please, Danny” you cried “Please stop and let me be!”

Daniel remained silent and calmed down, you let him go. You went over to Johnny and embraced him, he hissed under your touch but couldn’t help himself than to press you closely to his chest. His face was beaten, his lip was bleeding, and a fresh cut crowned his brow.

“I’m so sorry, babe!” he whispered into your ear and kissed your cheek. He never apologized for fighting. Until now.

“No, I’m sorry!” you said and stroked back the sweaty hair from his forehead, then you turned to your brother, “You better be sorry, too”

“I am.”

“LaRusso is sorry?” Johnny wondered and spat blood on the ground, “That’s new”

“Shut up!” you shushed him

“I am sorry, (Y/N), I didn’t know you liked this jerk that much.” “To be fair, me neither” Johnny admitted “But I fucking love her, too, LaRusso, you know?” Daniel nodded, maybe for his sister’s sake he was ready to give his last enemy up.

[jawritter]

Merry Christmas Sweetheart

Summary: Time doesn’t heal all wounds, sometimes it just drives them into our bones and festers there, until forgiveness is a four letter word, and it’s to late for second chances. 

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Written for: @spnchristmasbingo

Square Field: Presents

Word Count: 2048

Beta’d by: @miss-nerd95! Thanks again love!

Warnings: Language, Heart break, Heavy angst, (This one is gonna hurt your feelings), Not really a very happy ending, a bit of a cliff hanger, Tears, past heartbreak, unrequited love. I think that’s it.

A/N: Merry Christmas @msmarvelouswinchester!! Lol, glad I found someone who loves their feelings hurt as much as I do! LOL. Hope you all enjoy this one! Please don’t copy my work! I promise my next bingo one shot will be fluffy. I was just really in my head when I wrote this one. 

***MASTERLIST***   ***BECOME A PATREON***

It was cold today, especially for Austin. Your breath fogged in front of you with each puff of air from your lungs that burned in the bitter cold. A light dusting of snow fell around about, not much to keep everyone locked in their homes, but enough to gather on the top of cars that were parked out in the lot just beyond the safety of the airport terminal hanger that you were standing in front of with your bag slung over your shoulder, hands stuffed deep in your pockets. 

The congestion of traffic appeared to be even thicker than what you remembered it being, even for the holidays.  Everyone that walked by to get into cabs or ubers, seemed to be absorbed in their own little bubbles; either talking on phones or to one another as they made their way to their awaiting ride. 

If you listened hard enough, you could hear the faint sounds of the customary cheerful  music of the holidays playing in one of the little shops inside of the airport as the doors opened and closed not so far behind you. Off in the distance you could see the Christmas lights strung up in an elegant way on a lamp post and draped over shrubbery in the fading light of another day. It almost looked like a scene from some shitty Hallmark Christmas special, and it made your stomach churn uneasily. 

It had been eleven long years since you had stepped foot on Texas soil, and you were seriously considering getting the hell out of here before he showed up, but it was too late to turn around. You could always tell him you missed your flight, or it got delayed by the weather so you just cancelled it, but you just knew that he wouldn’t buy it. 

“Come on Steve,” you grumbled to yourself as yet another car pulled away from the hanger you were waiting under, and a happy, probably newly married from the looks of it, love-struck couple nuzzled together to fight against the bite of the cold wind that whipped around and sliced through your bones. 

You probably would have been better off calling an uber to pick you up, but hey, Steve didn’t charge, and you really didn’t want anyone else to know you were here. Not yet atleast, mostly because you didn’t know if you were even going to stay. 

Just as you were about to take your phone out and call him, the pair of headlights you had been waiting for pulled up in front of you.

You didn’t even let the car come to a complete stop before you pulled the door open and slipped inside, shaking slightly from the cold as you pulled the seat belt over you, meeting a pair of green eyes that were so not what you expected to see, and your heart dropped to your feet. 

“Hey,” he said, his deep voice sounding like warm honey against the chill that was still making you shiver, and you hated the way you could still so easily drown into it. You were going to murder Steve when you saw him again. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked through gritted teeth, and you could have sworn you saw him give out a shaky sigh as he pulled out onto the road. 

“Steve mentioned he was picking you up today, and I told him I’ll do it because I wanted to see you,” Jensen said, tightening his grip on the steering wheel and shifting nervously, avoiding the death glare that you were giving him. “You left the night I told you Danneel and I were getting married, and I never saw you again. Not even a fucking word. Then I heard you're coming here, and I wanted to see you. I missed my friend.”

“The term ‘friend’ is a matter of one sided opinions, Jensen,” you told him shortly, not missing the way he flinched yet again out of the corner of your eye before trying to subtly readjust himself in his seat. 

An awkward silence fell in the car, and you did your best to stare out the window and not at the man that was driving. Even though your eyes were trained on the blurry and dimly lit scenery you could still sense his every move, smell his cologne in the thick air that laid stagnant between you, hear every deep sigh that left his perfect lips as he struggled with words he wanted to say, but nothing would sound right; nothing felt right anymore. 

“What are you doing in town,” he finally asked cautiously, as if he knew that one wrong move would set you off and you were suddenly demanding he pull over so that you could walk the rest of the way to Steve’s.

“Business,” you answer sharply, not in the mood for small talk, but it looked like Jensen thought awkward conversations won over awkward silences and pressed further. 

“Business? This close to Christmas?” he asked, but your nerves were beginning to wear thin, and the old scars on your heart felt like they were being torn open inch by inch the longer you sat next to the man that had put them there all those years ago. 

“It's real estate,” you snap, turning to face him in the seat fully in your building frustration. “Does your wife know you're here right now?” 

You watched as the rebuttal question cut through him as if you had thrown a sword right at his chest. The visible shift and the clearing of his throat as he avoided your sharp gaze was speaking loud, but it only added to your growing confusion that was still somewhat blinding your judgement with old grief. 

Jensen cleared his throat as he turned onto Steve’s street, still avoiding your gaze. “What kind of real estate?” he asked, trying to divert the topic, and your blood boiled under your skin. 

“So you're just going to answer my question with another question? That’s real mature Jensen,” you snapped as he pulled in front of Steve’s little place, and put the car in park.

“Because I don’t want to talk about Danneel, I wanted to talk about you. I told you, I’ve missed you. You were my best friend Y/N, why did you leave me without so much as a goodbye or even a fuck you if you were so mad at me, and then show up again all these years later on 'business,' I deserve some answers too.”

You shook your head and bit back the tears that the taunting memory of the night you’d boarded a plane to New York with only a bag full of clothes, and the shattered pieces of your heart ripped through your out of repair. 

You turned away from his broken gaze that still managed to make your heart clench, and gripped the handle of the door tightly, ripping it open and letting in the chill of the night air that only seemed to grow colder due to meeting Jensen to blow into the car.

“Oh you missed me so much, didn't you?” you asked, pure venom seeping into every word as your eyes threw daggers into his astonishing green orbs in the dim light that illuminated the small space between you. 

“Did you miss me when you stood before God and our friends when you did your vows with that whore? After everything when I’d stood by your side, after all the years we had been together, did you miss me then? How about when she gave birth to your three children, and you were standing there in the delivery room with her? Or better yet, how about every time you were balls deep in that bitch while I was only in the next room, listening to you rip my heart out and stomp on it over and over again? You didn’t miss me then Jensen, you don’t miss me now. You feel guilty, but you shouldn’t. You can only feel what you feel and can't change what you want, but apparently pretty narcissistic bitches are more of your taste than people who actually care about you. I was right there in front of you for years and you never gave me the time of day, but one month on a movie set with her and ‘you were so in love. I left all those years ago because you left me a long time before I even landed in New York. So don’t sit here and act like you missed me, when you never saw me there at all like I wanted you to. Don't make me feel bad for leaving when you know it hurt me less than staying here.” 

You tore your eyes away from him before your emotions could get the best of you, and stepped out, making your way into Steve’s home to hide from the past that was still sitting in the car outside, staring out of the window as the snow fell on the windshield. 

Jensen bit down hard on his lower lip, trying not to choke on the sobs he refused to let out. 

See, he had missed you, he’d missed you so damn much. He had missed you when he looked at the woman he settled for instead standing at the altar across from him on his wedding day, only marrying her because it was what people were telling him that it was the right thing to do. That she was in the same industry, and the marriage would be good for the two of them.  He missed you during every milestone his kids made that never got shared with you, wishing it was you by his side. He didn't love his kids any less, but even though they weren't yours, he wished he’d have been able to share them with you like he’d always wanted to share everything. He couldn’t count the times he’d hidden away to call you, just to hear your voice, but chickened out over the years because he’d known he hurt you, he’d always known but let you get hurt just to play it safe. 

That time you were talking about, how you'd heard Danneel and him before they had announced their engagement, he didn’t know you were even there. Danneel had come onto him and he was a little too drunk to say no. Not that he hated her, because he never could hate her, she’d done nothing wrong. It was his twisted mind that painted you underneath him every time they were together, not her. 

Jensen took off his ball cap with force before throwing it at the dash and running his hands harshly down his tear stained face. He’d lost you all those years ago and never told you how he felt, and now it seemed like he was too late. 

The cue he’d staged, the house he’d decided to look at that he had his lawyer call her to tell her that his client wanted to buy from the best realtor in New York, all to tell her that he loved her, always had and always will and that he knew how huge of a dick he had been by ignoring her feelings for his own selfishness. It looked like it was too late for any of it anyway. 

His hand drifted to his pocket, pulling out the small, neatly wrapped box that contained his and Danneel’s wedding rings. He was planning to show them to you tomorrow for Christmas. He was going to tell you that they were over, and that he wanted to fix what he’d broken all those years ago with you if you'd be willing to let go of his stupid mistakes. He wanted another chance, but it was much slimmer now. 

Jensen flipped the box in his hands before getting out of the car, trudging through the white blankets of snow to the front door, and placed the little box carefully on the step before he stood, leaning heavily against the door frame, trying to stop himself from falling apart. 

“Merry Christmas Sweetheart,” he brokenly whispered into the unforgiving wind. Leaving his present to you, as well as his heart on his best friend's front door.

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @chevyharvelle @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles-37-blog @miraclesoflove @Waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6 @anaelsbrunette @hayleeharling   @flamencodiva @coldmuffinbanditshoe @bxbyizzy @dirty-pan-goblin @itmejado @supernatural3002 @teresa-67 @thoughts-and-funnies @hearteyes-j2​ @miss-nerd95​ @writers-whirlwind​

[fkingsteverogers]

Tell Me We’ll Be Just Fine

A/N: A couple points: 1) I made a new blog for these writings to make them easier to find 2) I have a tag list! lmk if you want to be added to it 3) For my non US babes and others, your third amendment rights say you can’t be forced to house soldiers. Long Story Short 

Contains TFATWS Episode 5 spoilers

                                                        ****

With John Walker being Honorably Discharged after an International Incident, you’re stuck under house arrest.  (The United States Government would tell you house arrest is too strong of a word, it’s simply Strongly Advised you stay in your apartment.) You want to scream from the rooftops that you had nothing to do with him, that it was all an act, but you’re being Strongly Advised, so that’s not an option. You hope, wherever he is, Bucky is having a better time than you are. 

Five Days; Eastern Europe:

Bucky is not having a good time. They’re in a country where everyone wants them dead, holed up in a shitty motel and all he can think of is the absolutely devastated look on your face when he walked out the door. It makes him brood. 

“You have to talk about her sometime.” 

“Who?” 

“Whoever makes you frown like that.” 

“‘M not frowning. What do you know about it anyway? You’re single.” So maybe he was being an ass about it. You were so far away, probably cuddled up with John or Steve, and he was here, sitting in a motel room with Sam. John Walker was probably feeling you up right now, running his hand over those beautiful thighs of yours as you kissed him, making soft little noises--he clenches his fist so hard he breaks the bowl he’d been holding, splattering rice and beans all over the floor cracked tile floor. 

“Yo, man, what the fuck?!” 

Day One; New York City: 

Steve’s allowed to visit, because of course he is. He flashes some badge and the guards (who are Strongly Advising you), stand down. “Why are you here, Stevie?” And you hate that you still call him Stevie. Stevie is what you called him on the quiet nights when you two were alone and he was still yours. Steve gives you his sad smile and you want to fall into his arms, to sob into his chest and tell him how you fucked it all up. You don’t. 

“Just go, Stevie.” 

Four Days; Eastern Europe: 

Sam goes to do some surveillance, announcing that he “couldn’t deal with this shit,” leaving Bucky alone in the shitty room they were sharing. Before he’d been deployed, he would’ve spent an afternoon alone in a hotel curled up with a pretty girl or a handsome boy. During the war, he’d spend a quiet day catching up on some sleep or rereading a well loved copy of The Hobbit. During his Hydra days (which he hated thinking about but also couldn’t stop thinking about), there really weren’t days off. There were days where he killed and days where he didn’t. Since then, he’d spent most of his days off trying to remember how to be a human. 

You had made those days feel like living again. And now you were John’s girl, dressed all pretty up for him and everything. Bucky’d been fucking stupid to think you’d want someone like him, someone damaged, someone with blood on his hands. You were good and soft and pretty. You spoke four languages and had probably read every book ever written. 

You’d been good enough for Steve. 

He breaks another bowl and has to lay down after.

Day Three; New York City: 

You glare down the solider that’s sitting in your kitchen, eating a sandwich. “This is violating my Third Amendment Rights, you know.” 

The smug bastard grins and keeps eating his sandwich. 

Two Days; Louisiana: 

“That shield’s the closest thing I’ve got left to a family, so when you retired it, I felt like I had nothing left.” 

The mission had gone down as well as any of their missions go, they’d been shot at, gotten out by the skin of their teeth. Sam left to go back home as soon as he could, Bucky followed. Where else did he have to go?

“You have her.” 

He didn’t, not really. 

“I don’t want to talk about her, Sam.” Bucky tosses the shield, scowling deeply. 

Sam sighs, catching the shield. He turned to face his friend, were they friends?, and looked him up and down. “Yeah, you do.” So maybe Bucky does want to talk about you, about how betrayed he feels by you choosing Walker over him. The government hadn’t been powerful enough to stop some gossip magazine from publishing a spread of you and Walker, you in a little red sundress that makes you look incredible and his hand on your thigh. There’s some bullshit story about how you met and had been so enamored with him you’d asked him for coffee on the spot.

 It makes Bucky physically sick with rage. 

Day Four; New York City: 

After four days of being Strongly Advised, you’re ready to start pulling out your hair. The news is nonstop coverage of what happened to John Walker, the green beret who had gone crazy and killed a man in a moment of grief induced rage. And to top it all off, People released a spread that makes you want to scream. The whole shoot hadn’t been your idea, some government publicist had insisted it was necessary to sell the story. In reality, it’d been five hours with John’s hands all over you, grinning like the cat that got the cream. During a break, he’d asked you about Steve, his tone suggesting something that was none of his business. 

“You don’t get to talk about Steve.” John had smirked at you, running his tongue over his teeth. It clearly annoyed him, someone thinking he wasn’t good enough for something. “What about your wife, John?” A look of surprise crosses his face but it’s gone in a moment, the mask he wears to keep people out back in place. 

“Olivia isn’t part of the deal. I thought we could be friends,” he spits the word out like it’s dirty, “but clearly you’re not interested in that, clearly you’re interested in--” 

“Be careful how you finish that sentence, John.” Your voice is low, betraying the landmine he’s almost stepped on. Given the chance, you’d stab John Walker in his pretty face. Decades in prison means nothing when the love of your life abandoned you and the man you thought you could count on ran out. (So maybe you were thinking about Bucky, it doesn’t actually matter.)

Bucky had been a solid presence in a sea of uncertainty. He’d made you feel safe and okay. After Steve’s departure and the death of Tony, the only member of your family left, solid and safety had been in short supply. He’d showed up, ate his cold beans in silence in the kitchen, and hadn’t left. He’d made you laugh in a way you hadn’t in months. You’d developed a routine, Bucky would wake up before you and boil water for tea, you’d stumble out and cook something to serve as breakfast, and you’d both go about your days. In the evenings, you’d come together, talk about the stupid shit that had happened during the day, watch a movie on Friday nights, and go to bed. It was nice to have a routine, something and someone you could depend on. 

The nights had been quiet since he left. 

Twelve Hours; New York City: 

Bucky’s plane lands and he breathes a sigh of relief. 

It’s raining when he steps out of the airport, a down pour by anyone’s standards. Fine by him, less people to avoid. He manages to make it to the little coffee shop outside your apartment without getting too soaked. Going up there wasn’t an option, not when you were probably angry with him for running out. So he sits, drinks endless cups of coffee and watches. 

“She takes it two creams, no sugar, if you want to bring it up to her.” Bucky turns and finds himself face to face with Steve. His friend looks old, but happy, at peace even. There’s so much he wants to say, he wants to ask Steve why he left, what he thought about Walker. He wants to punch him or throttle him or hug him. Bucky wants a long fucking hug. 

“I don’t think she wants to see me, punk.” Steve sits, shaking his head. 

“I didn’t think she wanted to see me, either. Sometimes she doesn’t know what’s good for her..” 

Before Bucky can reply, before he can really process what Steve is saying, he gets a text from Sam and he’s off to save the world again.

Day Five; New York City: 

Because the universe hates you, you can’t even use your phone to entertain yourself. Someone leaked your personal number and it hadn’t stopped ringing since. And, since the internet has no nuance, they’re mostly death threats. You’re reading a book when the guards who are Strongly Advising you abandon their posts. There’s something going on, something that no one bothers to inform you about. 

You go back to reading your book. Hopefully Bucky’s not being thrown through a wall. 

Thirty Minutes; New York City: 

Bucky gets thrown through a wall. 

It fucking hurts and he’s dizzy after. Like can’t-walk-straight-am-I-actually-drunk-dizzy. Sam, the useless bastard, loads him into a taxi, tells him he’ll be fine, and gives the driver your address. Bucky’s dimly aware of this fact, aware of the fact that this poor man is driving him, a bleeding super solider, to the one place he wanted to be but wasn’t welcome. 

Two Minutes; New York City: 

The guards aren’t back by the time the downstairs buzzer starts ringing incessantly. You’re in the middle of your book, right at the moment where the head-strong damsel and the Lord she hated are about to kiss. You try to ignore it, With a groan, you stomp down to the doors. 

Standing there, half supported by Vasily, the Russian cabbie (who is definitely into some shady business), is Bucky. 

Now; New York City: 

You thank Vasily, telling him you’ll pay for the cab when you see him on Friday for Shabbat, and take the bleeding Bucky into your arms. Bucky mumbles something, clearly speaking Russian but too lowly for you to actually understand. Vasily glares at him, muttering curses as he stalks away. 

Dragging Bucky up to your sixth floor apartment means sharing a run in with Daisy Mae, your elderly neighbor who’s 90% blind and enjoys loitering in the elevator. She seems to take offense to Bucky mumbling Russian children’s songs to himself. 

“Speak English dear, not Communism. We’re in the United States.” 

“Mind the business that pays you, Daisy Mae.”

She hmphs, but doesn’t say anything else. Bucky, for his part, gives a rousing performance of the Russian alphabet. Finally, you get Bucky into your apartment and unceremoniously drop him on your couch. 

It’s not long before he falls asleep, leaving you to stare at him for hours, wondering just what he’s going to say when he wakes up. 

When he does wake up, it’s to the scent of your soap, sweet watermelon that always leaves an aching in the pit of his stomach. Waking up on your couch, smelling your soap, and listening to you cook feels like a dream. How many times had he thought about this exact moment while he was with Sam? Soon enough you’d turn the corner from the kitchenette and smile at him, that beautiful smile that never failed to make him feel a little dizzy. 

And then he’d wake up in a shitty hotel room, listening to Sam take a shit through the paper thin walls. 

He waits, but when you appear, you’re frowning anxiously. And God, you’re so fucking beautiful. You’re wearing a pair of tiny sleep shorts that expose your long legs to his greedy eyes. Your hair is pushed back off your face, exposing the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen. 

Steve was a lucky man, to be able to love you.  Maybe one day he’ll find a woman like you to love, if he’s lucky. Has he ever been lucky?

Bucky looks confused when you appear holding tea. “Hi.” He doesn’t say anything back, just frowns back. Your mind races, realizing he probably doesn’t want to see you, that he was dropped off here by some well meaning friend, and he was going to get up and walk out the door again. 

“At least let me clean you up before you go.” Bucky nods wordlessly, looking like he’s still a little stunned. He takes a seat at the kitchen table as you pull down the first aid kit you’d put together when Steve was still here. There’s a cut above his eyebrow that’s still oozing a little blood. It’s in such a place you have to situate yourself between his legs in order to get to it. 

It’s quiet while you work, Bucky’s never been a man of many words and now he’s probably trying to figure out how to tell you you’re never going to see him again. As soon as he’s cleaned up well enough that you’re satisfied he won’t die sitting at your kitchen table, you step away to admire your handy work. Bucky’s left hand, his metal hand, catches your wrist and pulls you back to him. It holds you there while his right hand comes up to cup your face, running a thumb over your cheekbone. 

“You’re so beautiful.” 

He’s not sure what possesses him when he pulls you back into him. All he knows is if he doesn’t get you close, if he doesn’t tell you how fucking beautiful you are, he won’t be able to breathe. You make a little noise of exasperation, your gorgeous lips parting. “I mean it.” “Bucky…” You try to pull away but he holds you there, studying every inch of your face and committing it to memory. There’s an electricity between the two of you, it feels like the air is charged enough to light that stupid snail lamp you’d bought from Arrow or whatever that store you loved was called. “Bucky…” You repeat, your voice softer, in a tone he can’t quite describe

Before either of you can move or say anything else, the door swings open to reveal Sam and Torres, flanked by three soldiers. None of them take notice of what feels like a very compromising position. 

“Oh good, you’re here, Sargent Barnes. You're all being moved to a safe house. Pack enough for an indeterminate amount of time.” 

[aerynwrites]

This Unspoken Thing

Based off of my own idea but it also fits with the request: “Is that my shirt?” with Javier.

Author’s Note: Okay guys I was so excited to write this little Javier One-shot that was inspired by the song Temporary Bliss by the Cab. I highly HIGHLY recommend listening to this song either as you read or before, it was literally the reasoning behind this one-shot and I hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Angst, fluff, sexual innuendos.

////

You huffed as you threw the covers off of you, the incessant knocking at your apartment door not giving you much of a choice. It was almost two in the morning, and even though you weren’t able to sleep, your late-night visitor was still unwelcome. You walked quickly from your room to the living room and to the front door, the knocking continuing nonstop the entire time. When you finally reach the source of the intrusion, you rip the door open, not even bothering to check to see who it was first.

“What the fuck do you - Javi?” you cut yourself off as you take in the familiar figure at your door. He’s leaning heavily on the door frame, swaying dangerously and reeking of alcohol. 

You sigh, “What do you want Javier?”

He tries to stand up straighter, “We, uh - we had a date tonight, remember?” he informed you, words slurring together as they slipped past his lips. And despite his less than sober state, he managed to shove his way past you and into your apartment.

You rolled your eyes before closing your door and turning to follow him, “I told you I didn’t want to do this tonight Javi, remember?” you mock his earlier question.

He doesn’t respond to your statement, seemingly trying to rack his inebriated brain for the memory of that conversation. You turned, leaving him to think for a moment, while you walked into your kitchen. You grabbed the bottle of Tylenol from the counter and dumped two capsules into your hand before grabbing a glass and moving to the sink. As much as his presence annoyed you, you weren’t going to let him drive home in this state. You knew why Javier was here. You both had fallen into some unspoken agreement a year ago - he came to you or you went to him when you both needed the physical comfort of another person. It had all come about after he saddled up to you in the local bar, and as per usual for Javier, you ended up at his place. From there, it all just fell into place, this...unspoken thing. But the longer it had gone on, the harder it became for you to keep this relationship strictly casual. You had fallen hard for the bachelor DEA agent, and you knew that he could never feel the same about you. He just came to you when he wanted a good fuck, something to take his mind off the horrors of his everyday life - and it was slowly killing you.

“Is that my shirt?” a familiar baritone filled your ears as his arms wrapped around you from behind, breaking you from your thoughts.

His sudden appearance and close proximity to you made you jump, nearly dropping the glass in your hand into the sink. His question caused a blush to creep onto your cheeks, along with the fact that he was trailing his lips from your ear down your neck as his hands wandered down to the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing. You were in fact wearing his shirt. It was one he had left at your place after one of your weekly rendezvous, and despite your conflicted feelings about your relationship with the man, it brought you comfort since his scent still clung to the soft cotton material.

 A startled gasp slipped past your lips when you felt his hand slip up under the shirt and toy with the waistband of your underwear. You gripped his wrist harshly and pulled it away from you, turning to face him and pushing him away from you slightly.

“Javier, stop,” you bark, “I told you I didn’t want to do this tonight - and you’re drunk.”

He stumbles away from you, swaying unsteadily before watching himself. You take this moment of distraction to hand him the glass of water and two pain killers.

“Take these,” you instruct, watching as he does so without hesitation.

You tried to ignore the way his adam’s apple bobbed when he drank, tried to ignore the sliver of skin showing from where the top buttons of his shirt were undone, you tried to ignore the way he made butterflies erupt in your stomach just by being near you. Javier has always held this silent power over you - you would do anything for him - which is why this needed to end. You knew it could never be more than what it was. Javier wasn’t the settling down type, and who were you to change that?

Javier finished the glass of water just as you pushed off the counter and moved into the living room. He set his glass down and followed you, because even in his inebriated state he could tell something wasn’t right.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked as he entered the living room with you, steps still uneven as he tried to approach you, just wanting to touch you - feel your warmth under his fingertips.

You weren’t looking at him, you were facing your window, leaning against the couch. His fingers brushed your shoulder, sending goosebumps across your skin in their wake and you jerked away from his touch.

“I can’t keep doing this Javier,” you say finally, turning to face him but not meeting his eyes, “I’m calling off...whatever this is.”

His brain can’t keep up with what you’re saying, he doesn’t fully understand that you’re telling him but his mouth moves before he can stop himself, “Bonita, please, I -”

His words are slurred, and he moves to step closer to you but the toe of his shoe catches on the corner of the couch and sends him falling forward. He collapses unceremoniously onto the couch and for the first time tonight, you realize that you had never seen Javier this messed up before. He was usually good about holding his alcohol, able to drink you under the table several times over. Something must have been troubling him greatly for him to have drank so much.

You move around to where he lay on the couch, pushing on his shoulders when he tries to get up, “Stay there,” you order, “you need to sleep this off.”

Javier didn’t seem to argue, apparently lying down showed him how tired he actually was because he relaxed back into the cushions and threw an arm over his eyes. You rolled your eyes at him before kneeling down and pulling his shoes off, setting them at the end of the couch. You then pulled a blanket off the back and unfolded it, laying it over him gently. You heard him murmur something as the fabric settled over him and you leaned towards him slowly.

“Did you say something Javi?” you asked gently, not prepared for the words that fell from his lips.

“I love you, bonita,” he mumbled, warm brown eyes looking at you as he pulled his arm away from his face.

Your heart seemed to stutter in your chest and your breath hitched in your throat. Those words, the ones you had dreamed of hearing him say had finally slipped past his lips. You felt tears burn at the back of your eyes, too much happening for you to comprehend. You take a deep breath and turn away from him, standing quickly.

“You’re drunk Javi,” you whisper, walking away from him and towards your bedroom, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

The minute you reached your room and climbed into bed, the tears started to fall from your eyes. You had wanted to hear those words for months, so the fact that he finally said them broke your heart. Because even though he had said them, you knew he didn’t mean it, not when he was completely hammered about to pass out on your couch. This night couldn’t get any worse it seemed.

The only hope you had as you drifted to sleep was that by morning, Javier wouldn’t remember anything.

***

The feeling of warm skin and light breaths is what woke you from your slumber the following morning. It didn’t take long for you to realize that at some point before you had woken up, Javier had slipped into your bed, and now - in the early morning light - his fingers were trailing up your arm and his face was tucked into your neck.

Neither of you say anything for a while, weighing your words before you speak. Finally, you decide to break the silence, causing his hand to fall and rest on your hip, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the skin exposed by your shirt that had ridden up.

“What do you remember?” you whisper, afraid that if you speak too loud you’ll break the delicate moment you two are sharing.

Javier doesn’t respond right away instead opting to press a few kisses to your neck before letting out a sigh, “Enough,” is all he offers.

You feel tears begin to collect in your eyes once more and you try to blink them away to no avail. You turn to face him and sit up forcing him to do the same.

“I can’t do this anymore Javier,” you whimper, wiping furiously at the tears falling from your eyes.

A confused look crosses his features, brows furrowing together as a hand comes to rest on the back of your neck, “What do you mean, querida?”

You let out a frustrated groan and rub at your eyes, still wet with tears before gesturing between the two of you, “This, Javier. Whatever the fuck this unspoken deal we have is. I just -” you take in a shuddering breath unable to meet his eyes, “It isn’t just casual for me anymore. I want more than these temporary meetings in the middle of the night, I want more than a quick fuck, Javier - I feel more for you than I know you feel for me,” you explain, “but then you come in here drunk off your ass last night and you touch me and you talk to me and you just - Fuck! You just do whatever it is you do when you’re around me,” you’re rambling now, voice wet with tears that won’t stop coming as you pour your heart out to the man who holds it in his hands.

“You’re like a drug that I can’t get enough of, but I know I can never have you the way I want, and I had finally come to terms with that - finally told myself that it was time to end things an then you -” you finally look at him and you shove his shoulder roughly, sadness turning into frustration, “You come over here, completely fucking drunk and tell me that you love me and it made everything worse because I know you didn’t mean it, but I do Javier!” you cry, “I love you - god, I love you so fucking much and it’s killing me to know you don’t love me back.”

By now you’re full-on sobbing, completely unaware of the shell shocked man sitting in front of you until finally, he moves from his statue-like position. He lunges forward, lips capturing yours in a kiss that was unlike any others you had shared as he pins you under him. It’s like he’s a drowning man who has finally found the air he needs to survive, as his lips move against yours hungrily. He finally pulls away, thumb brushing along your cheek as he takes in the swarm of emotions pooling in your eyes.

“I know what I said,” he finally tells you, “I remember - and I meant it. I love you bonita, so much.”

Your mouth opens and closes, unable to form words at this confession until you finally manage to sputter out, “W-what?”

Javier just gives you a smile before pressing a small kiss to your lips before trailing down your jaw and just below your ear, “I love you,” he whispers.

At his reassurance, you finally bring your hands up to wrap around his neck and tangle in his hair, pulling his face back to yours and kissing him again, “I love you too Javi,” you breath against his lips.

You both smile into the kiss until Javier sits up on his knees pulling you with him so you’re straddling his lap. You let out a small gasp at the sudden change in position and look at Javier who is giving you a shit-eating grin as his fingers toy with the hem of the shirt you're wearing.

“Now,” he hums, “as much as I love my shirt on you, I think you’ll look even better without it,” he says, nuzzling into your neck as he inches the shirt slowly upwards.

And for the first time since he came over, you don’t stop him.

////

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[imnotwolverine]

Couch People

Henry Cavill x OC (you) drabble 

Word count: 2.907

Warnings: Alcohol consumption and pure and utter fluff. 

Author’s note: I had a DREAM (last night). And I decided to write about it in Henry’s POV, since that’s a cute lil’ twist on the usual meet-cute situation. 

--

My couch is my new favourite object. It wasn’t up to last night. Yesterday it probably was like..my kitchen aid, or my glute drive. But today? It’s definitely my couch. Not only because I’m still slightly hungover and the thing is darn comfortable. No. It’s something else.

Sighing, I sink further down into the soft pillows, that darn tartan red throw still lingering in the corner, smelling of you. Fuck. I’m having it bad, huh?

—

Should I lose the tie? Was it too formal? Hesitantly tugging at the silk I watch the last of the audience leave the London Studios, the infamous red couch now moved to the side so a cleaning crew can ready the stage for the next show. I’m glad it’s over and fans leave me be for a hot second, my mind quite elsewhere as of this moment.

Before me stand the people I recognise to be your friends. Men, all of them. Their voices low but merry as they bounce off the walls of the almost completely emptied out space.

‘Hi Henry.’ Your voice tinkles above the low hum of voices and quite instantly I feel my nerves back in my throat. Shit..Now what? What the hell was I even planning on…Damnit …

‘Hi.’ Is all I can manage back, the six men around you now also turning to offer me a warm welcome. And from the looks on their faces, they know full well why I am here. You, however, seems to be a bit clueless, your fingers reaching into one of your friends’ backpacks to fetch some lip balm.

‘Good show, hmm?’ You mumble, brushing the balm over your supple lips. Kissable lips.

‘Sure was.’ I agree. Come on Henry. You’ll have to do better than that! You don’t seem to care though, your attention drifting back to one of your friends, who raises an expecting eyebrow at you.

‘Oh, eh..Henry, you want to join us? We want to go out for some drinks..and some food maybe?’

‘FOOODD.’ One of the guys grabs his beer belly and makes a gesture like he’s been starved for weeks - which is obviously not true. I chuckle. They seem like good guys. And so very normal, which only makes me like you more.

‘I’d love to.’

‘Oh! And I still have to pee.’ One of the more lanky built men intervenes, to which the whole group blurts; ‘Pee-break!’

—

One pee-break and a short cab drive later,  I have brought you to one of my favourite pubs. Not only because it’s close to my home. Also, because I know the owner and with a blink of my blue eyes I can get us to use the room upstairs, which is usually reserved for exclusive events. Well. Tonight is an exclusive event, okay? The pub is old, mahogany and smelling of good times, the upstairs level reached through a very, VERY steep and very narrow step of stairs. With hands and feet we climb up, finding a low ceiling room, in equally dark and wooden hues. A lone rough table is set up, inviting us to take a seat before an old paned window that lets you look out over the drunken banter below.

In moments there is fish and chips by the bucket load and a few pitchers of beer, which your friends drink from greedily. And, of course, a glass of wine for you. You don’t like the bitter taste of beer. I make a mental note of that.

There’s nothing stuck up about you. You smile so easily, joke so merrily - and did I spot some nerdy references that escaped your lips? With every glass of wine there are more and it makes my whole body thrum with excitement.  Though perhaps that’s also just the beer talking.

Much too soon your friends have to leave to take their late flight back home. The fact that they had flown out here just to celebrate your success after years of hard work, just shows how good a bunch they are. And you are to them. With any other women with male friends, I’d easily pick on ulterior motives. But not with these guys. You go way back. You’re good. Golden. One of the guys. Though, dear god in heaven, am I happy you’re a woman.

Long bear hugs are exchanged between you and your friends as I stand there on the sidewalk, trying to evade the looks and attention of the drunken merry. The night is cold and winter is soon to come, the lot of us huddling in our winter coats as cars pass by, driving through deep puddles. With a last wave we send your friends off into a cab, back to their homes.

And then it’s just us.

‘So..’ You suck your lips in, eyes darting out to send a warning glance at some drunk brits that take a snapshot of us - it happens so often I barely even care about it still. I try to look as gentlemanly as ever, but the pints dance happily in my eyes. I know it from the way your gaze softens when you look back at me. ‘It was a good night.’ You say.

And I half disagree; ‘It IS a good night.’ As soon as I say it, I’m not sure if the drink is making me overly courageous, my arm hesitating to reach out and offer you something to hold onto. You chuckle.

‘You’re right. Especially since it’s not raining. GOOD HEAVENS.’ And with that you slip your hand around the crook of my arm without question. Like it’s the most natural thing to do, your cold fingers feeling like icicles through the wool of my coat. If only I could warm you up properly.

‘And you’re taking a long holiday? Any plans?’ I try to keep easy conversation flowing, referring to something you had mentioned during Graham’s show. I knew you were taking some time off after this movie was all wrapped up. I had been there, working on the same set, so I know how crazy it had been.

‘Yea...it’s been a crazy two years. Which is a long time not to have any holidays.’ You widen your eyes in exasperation as your feet elegantly move around a large puddle.

‘Tell me all about it.’ I sigh. Unfortunately for me, I’m soon to start on yet another production. Which means no holidays for me.

‘But ehm..I actually made zero plans. My whole life was planned out near minute to minute for the past years. I just need to ..get back to basics, you know? Sleep a full 8 hours. Walk. Cook. Take long baths. Maybe..go hiking in the highlands. Or..go to the Bahamas..I’ve never been to the Bahamas! Or…’

‘A right here.’ I interrupt you, sending us into the direction of a small alleyway.

‘Oohh..must I trust you now or is this where I find out you’re a serial killer, Mr. Cavill?’ You tease.

‘Mm..I’m too busy a man to spend my time planning out how to murder people.’

‘Very well Hannibal.’

‘Hahaha..good series.’ - There’s those nerdy references bubbling up again.

’Tis.’ You agree, sighing deeply as the darkness swallows us, leaving the crowded street behind until there’s nothing else but us and the tap of our feet on the cold wet cobble stone. You lean slightly closer to me and I’m glad you do.

‘So..’ You look up at me. ‘Are we mere wanderers or are we heading to mount doom to get rid of some pesky ring?’

I snort laugh. Yep. I definitely snorted. And you laugh merrily in turn. God, you’re cute.

‘I don’t know Sam, I don’t know.’

You grumble softly in playful dissatisfaction. ‘What if I want to be Frodo?’

‘If you so wish to be, fellow over-sized hobbit. Though I think, since you sound like such a well planned, yet easy going lady, you’re a Sam. BESIDES, you say you love to cook and work in the garden..that definitely makes you a Sam.’

‘True, true.’ You hum, the light at the other side of the alley coming closer, your feet suddenly starting to drag. Almost as if you don’t want to get back into the light, where drunk hustle and bustle is about. I stop and you look up at me, head tilting slightly upwards.

‘Say, Frodo. What does a woman do in this town when she doesn’t want to call it a night, yet?’

I pretend to think about it, though my mind knows full well where we could be going now. ‘Depends on what you want to do, Sam.’

‘As much as I’d like an adventure..so cold are my feet. Something indoors, perhaps?’

Exactly what I was planning.

‘I know just the place. Though…it’s..very private, okay?’

‘Are we going to find prancing ponies and kitten heeled Striders there?’ - With that you print this vision in my head of Aragorn in high heels, lurking on a pipe, and it makes me chuckle aloud. You are slightly cheeky too.

‘Mmm..more like large hounds and vast amounts of books, all crammed into a cute little..’

‘It’s your place isn’t it?’

I chuckle. ‘Yea..I live 5 minutes from here.’

‘Okay. But just in case you are considering a career change; please don’t eat me.’

I smile, nudging us to move ahead, our eyes squinting at the bright street light as we return to the land of the living drunk and the hum of stationary engines. As most pubs are closing for the night, everyone tries to grab a cab.

‘Well, looks like I wouldn’t have come home at this hour anyways haha.’ You mumble, our feet jumping over another puddle as we move to yet another alleyway.

We don’t have to take this route. But I like the lack of people. And having you squeezed up against my arm. So maybe it’s not a five minute walk entirely. You thankfully don’t seem to care.

‘You live in London?’

’Not really. Though for work I’m here half of the week. I stay at this cute hostel with THE MOST COMFORTABLE BEDS I have ever slept in. Like. Ugh. It’s fantastic.’

‘And your real home?’

‘Not such a good bed.’

We shouldn’t be talking about beds at this hour, but I suddenly can’t think of anything else to talk about.

‘Well, the best bed I’ve ever slept in is right at home.’

‘Mmm..are you suggesting anything there, Hannibal?’ Where you were clueless about my flirtations whilst we were sitting on Graham’s couch, the message seems to come across quite perfectly now, your eyes glittering with promise.

I act shocked, but we both know better. ‘Never!’ I say, to which we belt out in loud laughter, the sound echoing off the tall buildings at either side of us.

‘Gods, you are cheeky after a few pints hahah.’ You laugh.

‘And you are walking home with a complete stranger.’

‘Naa..I checked your Wikipedia page. So. Not complete stranger. I think it’s actually YOU who’s walking home with a stranger.’

‘Quite so.’

You’re right. We’ve worked together for 3 months on the same set, but I’ve only seen you from afar. In fact, you were kind of my boss. Which would’ve made any advances from my side even weirder. Tonight felt like the first real opportunity, now the project was finished. And here we were. In front of my house.

After a few awkward fumbles I manage to unlock the door, the two of us being welcomed by a sleepy Kal, his wet nose diving head-first into my face.

‘Down boy.’ I grumble, but thankfully you’re not afraid of my large hound, your fingers already racing through his thick fur before I have managed to close the door behind us.

‘Hi baby!! You are SO CUTE! JUST LOOK AT YOU!! And so tired too! You been sleeping, big boy?’

Kal loves you already. And I..?

‘A wine would be good.’ You look up at me as I just stand there staring at you. Shaking myself from my thoughts and awkward nerves, I put our coats away and try to find some decent bottle of red wine. I forgot to ask what kind you like, so I’ll just have to pick whatever. ‘Make yourself comfortable!’ I say aloud, but as I return with a bottle and two glasses I already see you’ve done just that, legs pulled up and that stupid tartan throw wrapped around your legs, Kal getting yet another head scratch from you.

Oh, he loves you a lot.

‘I hope cabernet is alright?’

You laugh and wave it away; ‘Henry. I had 5 glasses of wine. By this point you’d ALMOST get me drinking beer. Almost haha.’

In what seems like a blink of the eye this bottle is finished as well and the world is near spinning when I get up to make us a snack. Which of course is the worst idea ever at like 2..3..4 am? I can’t see quite straight enough anymore and the giddiness in my bones is showing in the most idiotic grins I’ve probably ever had on my cheeks. My face is going to hurt tomorrow. From laughing, that is.

As I haphazardly decide I should first ask what you want to eat, I suddenly find the long despised throw of my ex earning a much welcomed new, far sweeter memory. In the deep soft pillows of the couch, there you lie. Knocked out asleep, fingers still trailing through Kal’s fur, his head not daring to move as I look the pupper in the eye.

‘Well..’ 

I can’t send you home like this. And so, with a dangerous wobble in my inebriated knees, I tuck you in, the smooth wool warm as it moves beneath my fingertips.

For just a moment I wonder if I should put you in my bed, so I’ll sleep on the couch. But you’re laying so comfortably, that I’m afraid I’ll wake you..and then you’ll probably leave. I don’t want you to leave. Yes. I should have you stay. I..eh…

Blinking I look around the room, deciding how I should keep you to at least stay for breakfast. I don’t want this to be the last time I see you, you know? And so I grab for some paper and a pen, my handwriting not what it should be.

“Good morning, Sunshine. In case the drinks were too many; the dog’s name is Kal. Don’t worry about him. And I’m upstairs. Feel free to grab anything you like. Also. In exchange for a couch..how about we have breakfast, together? Henry.”

—

Waking up was like thinking everything was a dream. A very drunken dream. My head was screaming for water and sleep, but I couldn’t stop myself from racing downstairs first, only to find you were still asleep. Just where I left you. It was only after I started cracking up my cooking skills (cheesy eggs with toast), that you woke up. Large yawns were heard from the couch-area, before you groggily walked into the kitchen, hair in disarray and just perfect in my humble opinion.

‘Mmmoo- *yawn* -orning.’ You bring out, hands rubbing over your eyes.

‘Hi.’

You are so cute. 

And then you step in closer, eyeing my cooking, your scent and body so close, I wish we were at the point that I could grab you into a hug, delve my nose into your hair.

‘Sleep well?’ I ask with a crooked smile, your face nodding but your body saying: I need more sleep, for the love of the gods.

After breakfast you quirk up, that cute smirk back on your lips as you lick them in satisfaction.

‘That’s some fine cooking there Frodo.’

‘Thanks Sam.’

‘And a couch that makes a close second to the hostel’s bed.’

‘HAhaha..oh..yes. I was not sure what to do. Wake you up? Put you in my bed? I mean..a lot of..options.’ I trail off as your smile grows. 

‘..I’m so sorry for putting you in that position, Henry. And also, apologies for falling asleep as you were just about to make a snack. Its typical me; midnight snack-time? I fall asleep.’

‘Well, it’s your holidays. You can sleep all you want’

‘So it is.’ You fold your fingers around your hot cup of tea - no sugar, no milk. I make a mental note of that too.  

With curious eyes you watch me sit across you, the kitchen table suddenly feeling too large, too wide. I want to be closer to you. Snuggle up to you. You look so snuggable.

‘Any plans for today?’ You inquire lightly.

And that’s when it clicks. I could keep you around a little longer, maybe? De-hangover together, maybe?

‘Want to stay for a bit?’ I ask, hope sparking in the swallow of my nervous throat.

‘Sure.’

I think that’s what I like the most about you. It’s easy. Natural. No hassle. No hunt. Though I would have hunted you, if that is what it would have taken.

—

Now I’m sitting here on the couch and you’ve just gone back to your hostel. I mean, I get it. We’ve been together for nearly 24 hours. When we’re not even..like..more than strangers. For a moment I wondered if I should kiss you, after we walked Kal, our hands interlinked - which also felt so very normal.

The more glad I was when you did it for me.

You kissed me.

Those sweet chapped lips on mine. 

I sink further into the couch and sigh. I like you a lot my sweet Sam.

--

(Link to my Masterlist)

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[quillingyousoftly]

life is far away from fair

Written for Day 1 of Rumrollins Week! The prompts are: Deception/”The sooner we forget what happened, the better.” "Deception" is only there if you squint 😛

AO3 link for tags and whatnot.

Jack quickly became one of the patrons Brock had learned to recognize from far away. Tall and wide-shouldered, with sharp cheekbones and deep green eyes, he was rather memorable. He first came to The Hydra on last year's Halloween with a group of friends, and Brock immediately noticed him. After that, he would show up every week, alone, take a seat at the bar, and ask for a scotch.

What Brock didn't immediately notice was his scent: herbal and fresh, delicate and clearly omega. It was rare for an omega to not smell like a flower garden or a bakery, but looking at Jack, who appeared so much like an alpha he passed the selection at the alpha-only club, it fit him. Still, it was annoying whenever another patron smelled him, looked around, and then gave Brock a suspicious look. It sucked to be mistaken for an omega with the actual omega sitting nearby, clueless. It didn't bother Brock enough to kick Jack out, though; his job was tending to the bar, not selection. As long as Jack didn't cause any trouble, Brock had no reason to call security.

Despite Jack showing up consistently for a year and spending a night at the other side of the bar, sipping casually on his blended scotch, Brock didn't get much more than his name, approximate age (early thirties) and line of work (IT). Brock had a handful more patrons he knew better though shorter. People tended to open up to strangers about their problems. Jack was the opposite; most of the time, he'd sit turned away from Brock, people-watching. He'd also look at the stage whenever they had exotic dancers over, and Brock decided perhaps Jack preferred other omegas--which still didn't explain what he was doing, drinking in an alpha-only club. It wasn't like he was going to pick up an omega here.

Brock spent months pretending he wasn't curious about Jack, but even when he finally admitted to himself--and his various friends--he was fascinated by his person, it still wasn't enough to actually ask. At the end of the night, all that mattered was he paid for the drinks he ordered. The loud EBM filling the club didn't make it easy to converse anyway.

Things changed one Friday before Christmas; the club would close early, and Brock expected it to be a quiet night. The DJ wasn't in, a softer music seeped from the speakers, and the lights were on. Brock liked those kinds of nights the most, when he could just relax behind the bar and occasionally pause Netflix and take out one AirPod to pour someone a drink.

Only a handful of people came, and Brock wasn't sure if he should expect Jack, but he saw his tall figure soon after opening. He poured him a scotch before he even reached the bar and sat down, ready to go back to watching Prison Break when he heard, "The cheapest bourbon you have."

Brock paused, looked at Jack, his unusually unruly hair, reddened and circled eyes and five o-clock shadow, then at the glass he'd already poured him.

"If it's simply about money, we can pretend this is the cheapest bourbon I have. Just this once," he said, sliding the glass closer to him.

Jack nodded in an awkward thanks and sat down.

"Money's tight before the holiday, huh?" Brock asked, taking advantage of the music being quiet for once. "Want me to open your tab as usual?"

"Yeah, but I have only like, fifty bucks." Jack opened his wallet and gave him the bill. "Here. Pour me all the bourbon you have for fifty bucks."

Brock raised his eyebrows at that; Jack used to leave much more in his cash-box on a night. He tried to convince himself it was more amusing than concerning.

"Wow, you must be a generous Santa," he joked.

Jack snorted mirthlessly. "Quite the opposite; I was fired."

Brock winced in sympathy. "Damn. I'm sorry to hear that."

Jack leaned back with his drink, shrugging. "It happens all the time to omegas in the typically alpha lines of work. I thought it would be a good idea to call someone out on their inappropriate behavior, then was blamed for it and dismissed on disciplinary grounds." He scowled, downed his scotch in one go, then set it down on the bar, hard. "Another."

Brock looked around to see if anyone heard Jack's admission to being an omega, but the only people nearby were the group playing poker at a round table next to the bar. They had already caught on who Jack was and didn't have a problem with it.

Brock took a bottle of Wild Turkey 101 and refilled his glass. "You were blamed for someone's inappropriate behavior?" he asked, leaning in so less people heard.

Jack scoffed. "An alpha's inappropriate behavior is always an omega's fault. Don't act like I need to explain it to you."

Brock shrugged. "Sorry if my question was insensitive. I don't really hang out with omegas."

"Yeah." Jack looked around meaningfully. "Could guess as much. No omega to come home to either?"

"Nah," Brock replied and with that their uneasy conversation came to its natural end. Jack turned away to watch the other patrons play poker and Brock went back to watching Prison Break, occasionally pausing to make someone a drink or to refill Jack's glass.

They didn't talk again until two hours before closing when Jack's fifty bucks ran out.

"That was the last one," Brock said, taking Jack's empty glass away.

"Fuck." Jack dug out his wallet, his hands sloppier from the booze in his system, and looked inside. He pulled out another fifty. "Make me another."

Brock eyed the bill and Jack's now empty wallet. "Is that all you have left?"

Jack shrugged and shoved the bill farther in Brock's direction.

"What will you eat tomorrow?" Brock pressed, leaning away.

Jack scoffed. "Fuck tomorrow. Pour me another bourbon."

There were glances thrown at them from the poker table, and Brock finally took the bill. In the end, his job wasn't to worry about his patrons’ personal lives, his job was to pour them drinks and collect the pay. He set the bill down behind the bar, took a clean glass, and filled it with ice. Pleased, Jack leaned back in his stool and greedily cradled the full glass once Brock slid it to him.

They haven't talked again until the closing. The poker club left first, and that was Brock's cue to poke Jack's arm. He was leaning on the bar, his bleary eyes fixed on the empty poker table, the hand that wasn't supporting his tired, drunk face cradling his empty tumbler glass close to his chest.

"I'm closing."

Jack hummed in acknowledgement but didn't move.

"Want me to call you a cab?" Brock asked just before realizing Jack couldn't afford a cab because he'd just drunk all his money. He sighed to himself. "Fuck it. I'll give you a lift."

It wasn't something he'd ever done before for any of his drunk patrons. But then, neither had ever drunk all of their money, and Brock felt partially responsible.

And neither had been an omega.

Brock tried not to think about it, but he wasn't so much in denial not to acknowledge it played a part in making that decision. Jack stirred at his words, and gave him a prejudiced look like he was very much aware of it as well. Or maybe Brock just imagined it.

"Oh, yeah?" he asked. "What a Good Samaritan you are."

"You're welcome to take a walk," Brock shot back, shrugging. "But do so right now. As I said, I'm closing."

Jack stretched his long body and covered a yawn with a back of his hand. His shirt rode up his stomach, uncovering a stripe of tanned skin, and Brock turned away from the sight to lock the cash-box. He would just be giving him a lift. He'd known the guy for a year and he wanted to make sure he'd get home safe. That was all there was.

"Fine," Jack said finally, sliding from his stool and putting his leather jacket on. "I live on 542 Freedom Lane."

Brock nodded, grabbing his jacket as well and turning off the music and the lights. He could come in the next day to wash the tables and sweep the floor; he didn't have any Christmas plans anyway.

A couple minutes into the quiet drive, it became apparent ignoring the fact Jack was an omega would be hard. Locked in a small space, sitting so close to him, Brock could smell him better. His scent still was light and unoppressive, but now Brock could discern sweeter undertones, perhaps of peppermint, and something invigoratingly fruity--grapes? It was all he could focus on, and it took all his willpower not to lean in and scent him. He shifted in his seat, gritting his teeth, and kept his eyes fixed solely on the road. He could feel his body freaking out with hormones, could almost smell the change in his own scent. It seemed it'd always happen to him, no matter if he was seventeen or forty-seven.

Despite that, the drive passed fast, and soon enough Brock was parking at 542 Freedom Lane. He looked out through the window to check out the tall apartment building.

"You okay getting home by yourself?" he asked, feeling his heart beating like crazy. His skin was warm and clammy like he was drunk himself.

Jack raised his head from where he was leaning it against the window to look at him with glassy eyes. "Ya can help me if you wanna."

"Okay," Brock murmured more to himself than to Jack, and licked his dry lips. He was just going to walk him to his door, make sure he was safe. He wiped his hands on his jeans and got out.

The air felt cool on his skin as he trailed behind Jack to the apartment block. Jack punched in the code with a trained hand and let them both in. He led them to the closest door, and Brock suddenly felt stupid when he realized Jack didn't need his assisstance at all. He wanted to say goodnight and leave, but instead he watched Jack pull out a key and struggle to fit it in the hole.

And struggle.

"Let me?" Brock asked finally, and Jack gratefully handed him the key.

Brock unlocked the door and pushed it open. "Here you are," he said as Jack brushed past him inside. "Make sure to lock behind you--"

He reached out with the keys, but instead of just taking them, Jack grabbed his wrist, pulled him inside the apartment and pressed his mouth firmly to Brock's.

Brock's mind went blank for a while, barely registering Jack pushing the door close behind them and pressing Brock against it with the length of his hard, muscular body. The sour scent of his arousal overwhelmed him, the feel of his warm, bourbon tongue prodding at his lips made him arch up for more. Jack's big hands ran down his chest, mapping out the hard muscles beneath his black shirt, and paused at his belt.

Brock wished he could just throw all the caution to the wind and go with it with his conscience clear. But the taste and smell of alcohol on Jack prevented him from it. He grabbed his wrists and pushed him away.

"Jack, I can't. You're drunk," he barely whispered, breathless.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, got it. Yer a real nice guy." He leaned in, reaching for his lips again. Brock stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"Jack, I'm serious. I don't know what asshole alphas you've been running into so far, but I ain’t like that. Let's... Let's meet after Christmas and talk, m'kay? Then we can... figure stuff out," he finished lamely. Jack watched him, looking lost. Brock squeezed his hand reassuringly and let go. "Go to bed. Goodnight."

He slipped out the door before Jack managed to stop him. He almost ran out of the building, taking deep gulps of cool air and willing his semi-erection to go away.

The next week, Brock nervously awaited Jack's arrival, and he couldn't tell if he was more disappointed or relieved when he didn't show. He wasn't sure what he really wanted from Jack, and apparently, Jack wasn't either.

Two weeks later, he wasn't the only one who noticed Jack's absence.

"I haven't seen Jack around lately," Sharon pointed out, nodding at the stool that would normally be taken by Jack, but was occupied by someone else. Brock only hummed in acknowledgement as he prepared her drink. "Doesn't it worry you?"

"I'm sure it's nothing serious," Brock murmured, pouring a mixture of vodka, blue curacao and grape juice into a chilled martini glass. The smell reminded him a bit of Jack's scent.

Sharon took her drink, but she didn't get back to her poker table yet. "He's been here every Friday since I can remember," she said, raising her eyebrow slightly.

Brock shrugged. "Here's to hoping he developed a healthier lifestyle."

Sharon rolled her eyes. "Ouch. Anyway, I'd check on him if I were you."

She walked away with her drink, and Brock shook his head to himself. He didn't know Sharon any better than he did any other patron, and here she could somehow tell he liked Jack. He must have been more obvious than he thought.

Her advice wasn't a bad one, though; even if Jack was purposefully avoiding him, it'd be healthier for Brock to just clear that up instead of worrying every Friday. He could handle the truth, however bad it was, but being ghosted? That absolutely sucked.

He drove to Jack's home next afternoon before his shift. He didn't remember his room number, but he got lucky; an elderly lady was just walking out, and kept the door open for him.

"Thanks," Brock breathed over his shoulder, striding for Jack's door. He knocked loudly, wondering nervously what he wanted to say and coming up empty.

The door cracked open and a moss green eye looked at him.

"Fuck, Brock." Jack turned his head inside, presumably to check for something, and chills ran down Brock's arms and chest as he saw an angry red bite mark on the back of his neck. He was almost sure it wasn't there when they... When they last saw each other.

Jack slipped through the door and closed it behind himself. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his words colored by slight panic.

Brock took a step back. "'M sorry... Just wanted to check up on you, after--"

"The sooner we forget what happened, the better,” Jack snapped, laying his hand back on the doorknob.

Wanting to stop him from leaving and unable to help himself, Brock nodded at the back of Jack's neck that was now out of his sight. "I didn't know you had someone."

"I didn't," Jack said bitterly. "I do now. I'm not allowed to go to alpha-only clubs anymore. You should go."

Deep in his bones, Brock could feel there was something very wrong there, that Jack was unhappy. But it wasn't his place to snoop. He wasn't Jack's lover, not even his friend. He was a bartender; his job was to pour drinks and collect the pay.

"Okay," he said soothingly, wanting Jack to lose his guarded stance. He didn't. "I'll go. You know where to find me if..." He shrugged, not knowing how to finish that sentence. He eyed Jack up and down, looked into his eyes that last time. Jack averted his gaze, then opened the door and slipped back inside.

With his shoulders slumped, Brock turned on his heel and left.

[javajunkieao3]

Beth/Benny Fic:  Interlude

“What if I said, okay.  Okay, get drunk.  Would you come then?”

           She said yes sober, but by the time she lands in Lexington, she is four glasses of wine in from the flight and toeing the line between functional drunk and splayed spread-eagle on the pavement.  It’s a wonder she makes it into a cab, and as the cab sails down Interstate 64, the fourth glass of wine hits.  Her head spins and she wonders if it’s the car or her.  Maybe a bit of both.  When they get to her house, she pays the driver 50 dollars for a 20-dollar fare and almost leaves her luggage in the trunk, but the cab driver calls after her about that.  He keeps the change.  The house has a sort of stale and musty smell from her absence, but she doesn’t notice it as she collapses on the couch.  She sleeps the sort of dense, dead-like sleep that only happens after nearly a bottle of wine, and wakes up to the sound of knocking at her front door.  When she passes a mirror in living room, she notices a deep red crease on her cheek from where it had been pressed against the couch cushion seam.

           Beth is surprised to find Benny on the other side of the door until she remembers what they had discussed before all of the wine.

           “You didn’t trust me to get to New York on my own?” she asks, eyes half-closed from the sunlight.  It was an overcast day, but even the slight brightness made her eyelids retreat.

           “Frankly, no.  Are you still coming?”

           “Can I still get drunk?”

           Benny exhales sharply and reaches up to take off his hat.  “Sure.  That was the deal, right?”

           “It was.”

           “I’ll help you pack your things.”

-----

           It’s a long drive to New York and it feels even longer hungover.  Benny pulls over numerous times for her to puke out the passenger side door, and when her dull headache reaches a fever pitch, they stop at a gas station for coffee.  She isn’t in the mood to talk, so he puts on music, reminding her of their first trip down to New York from Cincinnati.  The memory makes her sad, because it was before. Most of her memories had that sense of melancholy now.  In her mind, there was a sort of partition before and after Paris.  Everything before was decidedly better.

           When Benny parks in front of his apartment, she doesn’t mistake one of the nicer walk-ups for his place again.  Instead, she follows him down to the industrial and drafty apartment he called home and walked into the kitchen, looking around for something to drink. Behind her, Benny says, “I said you could get drunk.  I didn’t say I’d pay for it.”

           She turns around.  “Where’s the nearest liquor store?”

           “Two blocks down.  On Harper Street.”

           “Do you want anything?”

           Benny shakes his head.  “No. Nothing for me.”

-----

           Beth returns with a handle of whiskey and two bottles of a cheap red wine. She pours herself a tall glass of red and leans against the kitchen counter.  It burns her throat in a delicious sort of way when she drinks it and she can feel the beginning of warmth spreading in her chest.  She drinks more.

           “Do you want to talk about Paris?” Benny asks.

           “Not particularly.”

           “You should talk about it.”

           “Well, ask me after I finish this bottle.  Maybe my answer will change.”

           “Beth-“

           “I fucked up.  What else is there to talk about?”

           “This isn’t the end.  You still have Russia.”

           Beth takes another sip of wine, wiping at her chin when a bit of it dribbles from the side of her mouth.  She used to be embarrassed by such shows of imperfection.  Not anymore.  Those flashing lights in Paris ensured that half the world had photographic evidence of one of her hangovers.  What was a little wine dribble?

           “I don’t want to talk about Russia.  Or Paris.  Right now, I want to get drunk.  So, either join me or leave me alone.”

           Benny shakes his head and walks off to his bedroom.

-----

           Despite how things had been before Russia, Benny didn’t know exactly where he stood with Beth, so before he goes to bed he inflates the air mattress. When he wakes up the next morning, though, she is next to him in bed.  She’s still wearing the dress from the day before, but wrapped in one of his floral robes.  She clutches the material to her chest, like a small child holding on to a security blanket.

           Benny knew that inviting her to get trashed in New York wasn’t the smartest idea, but waking up with her in his bed wearing his robe only serves to highlight just how fucked he was.  He wanted to be there for her, but the way things were going, the only purpose he would serve would be as an observer to her spiral.

           Benny was familiar with alcoholics.  He was raised by one, and was all too familiar with the rhythms of life with a mental illness.  What he should have done is let her figure this all out on her own.  Avoid catching himself in her unavoidable fall, but he couldn’t.  In truth, he cared about her (the refusal to analyze that further was his own sort of blind spot) and with that, any sort of sense was in turn, senseless so long as she was with him.  At least he could watch out for her and make sure she didn’t meet her end in a pool of vomit.

           Beth stays true to their deal and proceeds to, in fact, get drunk for most waking hours of the day.  It seems like she truly doesn’t care about anything until a few nights into her stay when she finishes off the handle of whiskey.  She’s beyond the coherent part of the spectrum, but he understands her well enough when she says, “It’s all done.  I’m done.”

           She was addressing the whiskey bottle and she places it almost tenderly into the trash bin.  They’re out of alcohol now, and it’s too late to get more, which is why she lets him steer her into the bedroom.  He puts her to bed, pulling the covers up and tucking them under her chin.  He goes to step back out in the kitchen when she says, “No, stay.”

           And encapsulated in that moment, is the very reason he asked her to come in first place.  He knew that at some point in all of this, she would need someone and he couldn’t stomach it being anyone else but him.  Not Beltik.  Not Townes. Not any other player that had passed through her life.  He needed it to be him.  And so he lays next to her in bed, letting her curl herself around him.  She’s asleep within minutes, her breath reeking of whiskey, and he stares up at the ceiling, taking in the quiet moment with the knowledge that the noise would start up again tomorrow.

[brighterthanghosts]

Meant for Romance

Word count: 1,893

Part 1/1

Pairing: Taishiro (past Koumi)

Read below the cut or on ao3

Summary:  “So let me get this straight,” Miyako says, swiftly biting into her toast. “You got sloppy drunk on a Tuesday and hooked up with your hot best friend. He let you sleep in his bed overnight and brought you breakfast.” 

“And now you’re here, having breakfast with me,” Miyako says with a bored sigh, “When you could be having a coffee-flavored makeout sesh with your hot best friend.”

Heavily implied nsfw. Lots of awkward. Humor maybe? Largely fueled by too much coffee at 4 a.m.

So warm.

Koushiro doesn’t remember ever feeling so cozy in his life. He knows he needs to get up soon — the morning sun on the other side of his eyelids beckons him to start the day. But sleep is still within his grasp, and his pillow smells so nice, like sage and bergamot and mint. He recognizes that scent, though he can’t quite place it, but his brain supplies him with hot breaths on his neck and a husky coo of his name.

Koushiro shivers, pulls the cotton sheet under his chin, and revels in the way it drags across his skin. His skin. All of his skin.

Eyes snapping open, Koushiro jolts up. The sheet, having fallen to the tops of his thighs, answers his first question, but — Where the hell am I?

He remembers Mimi, her pretty hair pulled back, making her deep-set frown stand out even more. She told him it wasn’t working out, that there’s someone else, that this just wasn’t doing it for her anymore. I wasn’t doing it for her at all.

He remembers calling Taichi, desperate and agonizing. Taichi saying he’d be there in 30 minutes. Taichi hailing down a cab to take them to a bar where “the drinks are cheap and totally worth it.” Taichi making him feel better instantly with big grins and fond laughter because that’s what friends do.

Spotting his clothes loosely folded on the desk chair across from the bed, Koushiro moves hastily and slips his underwear on, left foot then right foot. He knows he told Taichi about the breakup. Well, it wasn’t really a breakup, considering he and Mimi had never put a label to what they were doing, which wasn’t much.

Koushiro was busy, and Mimi was needy. She needed things from him that he couldn’t give. They’d tried to engage in sexual activities exactly twice, and neither time could Koushiro perform. It was something that embarrassed him to no end because he liked Mimi and he thought she was cute, but for the entire 8 months they were seeing each other, his body just wouldn’t respond.

Taichi spent most of that conversation listening, Koushiro realizes now, and he never poked fun or judged him. He loves that about Taichi. He’s working on the fourth button of his white dress shirt when his eyes dart to a Polaroid photo propped up on the desk. In the bottom right-hand corner reads ‘The Yagamis 2002.’  Nonononono.

And it hits him like a bullet train. Rough hands, harsh lips. Hips colliding, hot with need. Smooth, sun-kissed skin everywhere. Taichi over him, eyes wide and lips swollen. “Perfect. You’re so perfect.”

“Fuck,” Koushiro stutters, palms suddenly clamy. He’s got both legs in his pants, pulling them up in one swoop, and he hears the door unlock. Fuck.

“Hey, you’re awake!” Taichi says, smiling. At least, Koushiro suspects he’s smiling, but he doesn’t want to know. He can’t bring himself to look at his friend. He hears a rustle of plastic and something heavy hitting the table, but his mind can only focus on slipping on his socks at light speed.

“Sorry to leave you alone,” Taichi sounds sincere. It makes Koushiro feel worse. “I didn’t have much in the fridge, so I ran to the convenience store down the street. I grabbed that bottled Oolong you like. I hope eggs and — you’re leaving?”

“Sorry, Taichi-san. I have to go.” And Koushiro is out the door, leaving Taichi to stand alone in his little apartment.

***

He’s not sure where he’s going, not exactly paying attention, but he spots a park and some familiar treelines, and he manages to make it to a door, knocking furiously.

A beat passes, and he knocks again.

“Jesus, what!?” Miyako says, whipping the door open and looking like she just rolled out of bed. She eyes Koushiro, his tousled hair, frazzled expression, and haphazard outfit.

“Either you’ve met a very unfriendly tornado, or you’re doing the walk of shame,” she says, causing Koushiro to flush from the neck up. “Ah. Walk of shame, huh? Come in.”

The next 20 minutes are filled with Miyako filling her toaster and putting on a pot of coffee while Koushiro relays the previous night’s events with record speed. He’s beet red.

“So let me get this straight,” Miyako says, swiftly biting into her toast. “You got sloppy drunk on a Tuesday and hooked up with your hot best friend. He let you sleep in his bed overnight and brought you breakfast.”

She pauses to look directly into his soul, and Koushiro would like nothing more than to simply pass away.

“And you panicked.” Miyako’s tone is pointed, but when she doesn’t immediately continue, Koushiro opens his mouth to reply in uncoordinated hand gestures and wordless exasperation. He nods instead.

“And now you’re here, having breakfast with me,” Miyako says with a bored sigh, “When you could be having a coffee-flavored makeout sesh with your hot best friend.”

“It’s not like that!” Koushiro defends. Taichi was his very first friend and probably his closest friend — there was no way he could jeopardize that. His failed attempt at a relationship with Mimi was proof enough that Koushiro isn’t meant for romantic endeavors of any kind.

“I just got out of a relationship!” Koushiro pleads, but Miyako’s expression is solid. She’s not buying this for a moment. Softer, Koushiro says, “And Taichi is my friend. I don’t want to take advantage of him.”

“He obviously didn’t mind,” Miyako, says, annoyed and unimpressed with Koushiro’s half-hearted explanation. Koushiro grunts and looks down at the kitchen counter — he’s not entirely sure he believes himself. Miyako sighs again, this time with a hint of sincere tiredness woven in, and saunters toward her bedroom. “Tragic.”

***

The drive to the office is mostly silent, except for Miyako’s intermittent humming to whatever song is playing on the radio. Koushiro can’t make out any of the words over the sound of his heart thrumming like an upright bass in his ears. Miyako doesn’t seem to notice.

It’s times like this when he truly appreciates her — hiring Miyako as his assistant director was one of his best decisions. She always sorts him out when he gets too caught up in the details. Which is probably why he randomly showed up at her home this morning.

They’re walking into the building, and Miyako greets the receptionist quickly, shielding Koushiro from anyone passing through. He looks a mess, he knows, and Miyako’s being kind by attempting to uphold his reputation. She walks him all the way to his office, reminding him to pull the curtain over the glass windows by his door. She says to find her when he’s done.

It was also Miyako who mothered him into keeping spare clothes at the office after one too many all-nighters. “You look like a trash panda, honestly.”

The morning goes as usual, answering emails, IMing Miyako about the slides for their monthly report. He doesn’t notice when noon rolls around. He doesn’t pay attention when his office door opens, or when the sound of rustling plastic makes its second appearance today.

“Koushiro,” comes a soft voice. Koushiro’s fingers hover above his keyboard and a shiver runs down his spine. “Koushiro,” Taichi says again.

He knows he needs to respond but he can’t pull himself away from his safety net just yet. His fingers touch down on the keyboard again, and he exhales shakily.

“Hello, Taichi-san.”

“I was worried you didn’t eat, so I brought you lunch,” Taichi says quietly. It’s unlike him, and it breaks Koushiro’s heart. He knows he’s being selfish. He knows he should acknowledge his friend, but —

“Koushiro, please,” Taichi says, voice sadder now, a tinge of anguish in that last word. “Can we please talk?”

Koushiro freezes again. He’s so utterly fucked and completely inexperienced in all aspects of what’s sure to unfold here. But Taichi sounds hurt, and he doesn’t want to be someone who hurts Taichi.

He swivels around in his chair, facing Taichi on the sofa but looking at the ground where the toe of his shoe meets the wood floor. He wants to say something, taps his foot a few times, and finally looks up.

“Taichi-san, I —”

“What the fuck?”

“Huh?” Koushiro says, caught off guard. Mimi is storming into his office, face fire-engine red.

“You cheated on me?!” She squawks.

“Excuse me?” Koushiro musters because this is his ex, and his mother taught him to mind his manners, but he feels offended.

“Sora heard from Yamato that you slept with someone last night!” Mimi is causing a scene. A few of Koushiro’s colleagues have poked their heads into the hallway outside Koushiro’s office.

“Did you know about this? Who is she?”

She’s addressing Taichi now, who sinks deeper into the sofa and looks like he might combust, and Koushiro’s blood is boiling. He stands, moving into her line of vision.

“Mimi-san, I hardly think anything I did last night could be considered cheating as we never defined the exclusivity of our relationship and you said there was someone else.” Koushiro says with as much confidence as he can. “I think that gives me the right to do as I want.”

Mimi stomps her foot and raises her arms, ready to shout a thousand expletives, but Miyako is through the door and in Mimi’s face like a forcefield.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to Izumi Corporation. My name is Inoue Miyako, and I’m the lead director of team shut down. As in, I’m shutting this down immediately,” Miyako says, straight faced and with her kindest customer service voice. The first-floor security guard stands just outside Koushiro’s office, already escorting Mimi out. Miyako follows after them, stopping in the doorframe. “Thank you for your visit to Izumi Corp! Have a nice day!”

She smiles and waves, and Koushiro feels like he can breathe again. He has know idea what just happened, and his head is pounding. Miyako’s smile falls, eyebrows pull together, and from the doorway, she points her finger at Koushiro and yells, “I expect a raise!”

She shuts his curtains, slams the door behind her and disappears after that. Koushiro’s mind would normally leave the train station in 50 directions at once, but he’s just stunned. He turns, hoping to find Advil in his desk drawer, and — Taichi!

“Taichi-san, I’m so sorry,” Koushiro turns around to face him, and it’s all he can do because Taichi doesn’t deserve any of this. Taichi is looking at him unexpectedly, reaches a hand up to scratch at the nape of his neck and smiles slightly.

“So,” Taichi says and pauses, looking at the table, “lunch?”

Koushiro stares in awe. Taichi smiles and after a beat, looks up and says, “And maybe we can start this day over?”

They spend the rest of the afternoon talking, and Koushiro apologizes with his entire being. For the event with Mimi. For leaving him. For being so cold. Taichi reassures every “I’m sorry.” Taichi says it’s okay because he doesn’t expect the world Koushiro. Taichi is his best friend. Taichi would like to try last night again. Today, preferably, with less alcohol, but he isn’t pushing.

They weathered a year’s worth of drama in a single day. Koushiro is still breathing, and Taichi still smiles at him like Koushiro is the sun. And maybe Koushiro is meant for romance.

[emcon-imagines]

🎶200 Followers Song Drabble Event!!🎶

Rules: Send in a character from one of the fandoms that I write for, being sure to specify their full name and the fandom they’re from, along with a # song prompt from the list below (ex: “Could I request a song drabble with Natasha Romanoff + #16?”)

I’ll be writing short drabbles based off both the prompt and the song itself! I love sharing music with you all, so these songs are all pull from a variety of my current listening playlists, from both big artists and artists I think need way more recognition. So while I’m writing up drabbles, feel free to drop in and discuss anything on this playlist, as well as send me more music recommendations!

This event is open from now until Friday, July 31st (the last day to submit requests!)

here is a playlist of all the songs that are included down below, if anyone wants to listen!

Prompts (below the cut!)

“And I pray, oh my God, do I pray. I pray every single day, for revolution.” // What’s Up - 4 Non Blondes

“And he sang all night long... Oh how I sighed when they asked if I knew his name” // Lady Stardust - David Bowie

“I'm slowly drifting to you... I'm on my way” // My Tears Are Becoming a Sea - M83

“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream.” // Once Upon A Dream - Invadable Harmony

“But this is who we are. This is where we stand: Stuck in the middle, lost in the riddle.” // Stormz - Ephraim Bungumba

“We were driving, driving in your car, the speed so fast I felt like I was drunk, city lights lay out before us and your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder” // Fast Car - Tracy Chapman

“I try to speak, but nobody can hear, so I wait around for an answer to appear” // Waving Through A Window - Ben Platt

“Feel it in your heart and feel it in your soul, let the music take control” // All Night Long - Lionel Richie

“I know a place where you can get away; it's called a dance floor, and here's what it's for” // Vogue - Madonna

“The Memories I've buried just to let you go, and if I make it out alive, will I ever see my soul” // Buried Memories - Tyler Clayton Appel

“But still, you take my breath and steal the things I know, there you go, saving me from out of the cold” // Fire On Fire - Sam Smith

“So until the next time, it's farewell and not good-bye” // Until the Next Time - Dropkick Murphys

“When will I see you, see you, see you again?... I just wanna hold your hand” // When Will I See You Again - Shakka

“Another night of us getting along, another day of us trying to be friends.” // Fall in Love Again - CLOUDTALK

“People like us we've gotta stick together” // People Like Us - Kelly Clarkson

“With the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash I saw rise in the heat” // Would That I - Hozier

“I hear the birds on the summer breeze, I drive fast. I am alone in the night” // Ride - Lana Del Rey

“All the lonely people put your hands up high. If you loosen up, you might just learn to fly.” // Learn To Fly - Surfaces (feat. Elton John)

“It's 4 AM again, you think that I could sense a trend. I’m stayin' up too late, just so I can stay awake” // Bored - Tessa Violet

“You're a sweet talker, but darlin' whatcha gonna say now?” // Dancing’s Not a Crime - Panic! At The Disco

“This could be the real thing, if we don't fuck it up by overthinking” // the real thing - wrabel 

“We're lying to ourselves and dancing by the light of the screen” // World Gone Mad - Bastille

“If I'm crazy, I'm on my own. If I'm waitin', it's on my throne” // What’s Up Danger (with Black Caviar) - Blackway

“And hear a voice inside my head: Follow me instead” // March to the Sea - Twenty One Pilots

“I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this” // Paper Rings - Taylor Swift

“And I'll find your lips in the street lights. I wanna be there with you” // Run Away With Me - Carly Rae Jepsen 

“Seems to be everywhere I wanna go is still too close to you” // Liquor Store on Mars - Kelsey Karter

“I don't feel adequate, thinking I'm a monster in disguise” // Gravel to Tempo - Hayley Kiyoko

“Like that night in the back of the cab when your fingers walked in my hand” // Strawberries and Cigarettes - Troye Sivan

“Softly smile, I know she must be kind” // Good Vibrations - The Beach Boys

“What's down in the dark will be brought to the light” // God’s Gonna Cut You Down - Johnny Cash

“I hear her voice in the mornin' hour, she calls me, the radio reminds me of my home far away” // Take Me Home, Country Roads - John Denver

“Born down in a dead man's town, the first kick I took was when I hit the ground” // Born in the U.S.A. - Bruce Springsteen

“Maybe I was too good, just too good for you” // Stay With Me Baby - Scott Walker

“Said you wanted to see me thrive, you lied” // Panini - Lil Nas X

“Cruising down Broadway, girl, what a wonderful view, wonderful view” // Downtown - Macklemore & Ryan Lewis

“You're 'posed to hold me down, but you're holding me back” // Truth Hurts - Lizzo

“This is what I gotta do, can't be regretting when I'm old” // C7osure (You Like) - Lil Nas X

“I said make me love myself so that I might love you” // Saint Bernard - Lincoln

“And you're shining, like the brightest star, a transmission on the midnight radio” // Midnight Radio - Hedwig & the Angry Inch

“And I like the way you kiss me, don't know if I should” // Strange Effect - Unloved

“Take me home where I belong. I got no other place to go” // Runaway - AURORA

“But you were still gone, gone... It's like you showed up, just in time” // This Love - Ryan Adams

“Someone must have sent you to save me tonight” // Saved My Life - Sia

“Love is a setting sun, is a smoking gun, is a 4 letter word. I hope it hurts” // Days of Thunder - The Midnight

“Either way, we're not alone. I'll find a new place to be from” // I Know The End - Phoebe Bridgers

“How did we get so far apart, right when we got into each other’s hearts?” // Stuck in My Room - Luke Martin

“In this shirt I can be you, to be near you for a while” // In This Shirt - The Impressibles

“Do you remember the night we first me?” // Sweat - The Newton Brothers & Greta

“And now I'm more myself than I ever was. I'm happier than I ever was” // since i was young (with Kesha) - wrabel

[stormtrprinstilettos]

Fun’s For Free - Chapter 5 (Roger x Reader) (smut)

Summary: It’s 1978 and you’re assigned to follow Queen on their North American tour to promote their new album. Only problem is the magazine you write for has not been kind to the band in the past, and someone has a hard time letting go of that fact.

Series Masterlist here!

In this “episode”: More? What does that mean?

Word Count: ~3.7K

Warnings: Language, smut (oral) and even some fluff. 18+

[A/N: I’m seriously blown away every time someone asks to be tagged in any of my stuff. Thanks to all of you who have ever sent me a kind word on anything I’ve ever posted here. It really means a lot. Hope you all keep enjoying this story. I know I say it all the time, but this one is really fun to write!]

November 12, 1978 – somewhere around Cleveland More. He wants more. What is more? You haven’t found out. The two of you hadn’t had the chance to talk since he told you that two days ago. It was driving you crazy, but you couldn’t focus on that. There was finally peace and quiet on the bus – everyone was sleeping except for you, so you were taking the chance to write. After Boston tomorrow night and Providence the night after, there would be four days in New York – your home base – and Mike, your editor, was expecting the first part of your article to be turned in.

You were so focused on writing that you didn’t notice your company until he started to quietly chuckle as he sat next to you. “Such concentration,” you hear Roger say before looking up at him. “And those glasses? You look like a sexy school teacher.” You roll your eyes and throw your pen at him. “I hope you’re only writing nice things about me in there.”

“So I shouldn’t put this part in about how you’re incredibly annoying and a major pain in my ass?” you ask with a cheeky smile.

“At least put in there that I’m good in bed.”

“Now why would I want to ruin my reputation like that?” you joke. “I’m still hoping to snag Roger Daltrey. It’ll never happen if he knew I let you have me.”

He smirks at your joke and chuffs when he accepts the fact that he can’t come out with a retort to it. “Tell me something about you. Your dreams, your fears. Your likes and dislikes.” He starts to chuckle. “I need to know you more than just intimately.”

“Well, I’m living my dream. I always wanted to be a writer,” you start. “I’m scared of heights and failure. I like sunny days and chocolate cake and I don’t like pineapples and boredom.”

For the next hour, you and Roger sit together on the bus, talking – not arguing. The conversation flowed smoothly, the laughter was immense and often, and you don’t think the smile ever left your face, or his. You don’t know how it went from complete loathing between the two of you to this, but it did; neither of you wanted to question it. It felt… right. It felt like this was how it was all supposed to be. You finally realize may be the “more” that Roger wanted.

“You’re sleepy,” he murmurs with a soft smile, noticing your heavy eyes. “I’ll let you sleep.”

He starts to stand up but you pull him back down. “No!” you whisper loudly. “Stay.” He sits back down and you put your head on his shoulder. He, in turn, wraps his arm around you and holds you close, and you both drift off to sleep.

November 13, 1978 – Boston, Massachusetts You and Roger woke up before everyone else, so it was easy to keep your little secret. Confusion was abound, however, when the two of you managed to walk off the bus and into the hotel lobby without arguing about something. “Are you feeling okay?” John asked, somewhat joking. “You haven’t had an argument in two days.” You roll your eyes and giggle before walking into the elevator to go to your room.

For the show tonight, you’re sitting with the rest of the press in front of the stage instead of on the side like you normally do. That’s where you meet Charlie, a reporter for one of the local newspapers. He’s tall, he’s got a nice body, he’s funny, he’s got great hair, and a great voice… basically everything you’ve ever looked for in a one night stand, but you weren’t looking for one.

Keyword: Weren’t.

After the show, Charlie followed you backstage. You introduced him to Freddie, John and Brian and left him to chat when you went look for Roger. You found him. With a girl, of course. It wasn’t any different than any other day, but tonight it stings.

So you invited Charlie back to the hotel for some drinks. And then to your room. But he was so drunk nothing happened. You were relieved, actually, but his snoring is making it impossible for you to sleep. Frustrated, and looking for any reason to leave the room, you throw on a sweatshirt over your tank top, slip on some shoes, grab the room key, and go for a walk. You have no idea where you’re going, but you had to get out of that room.

When you make it to the hotel lobby, you see Roger sitting at the bar alone. “Well this is something I’ve never seen before,” you joke as you sit next to him.

He doesn’t even look at you, instead looking at his drink. “What? He wasn’t good enough so you need me to finish you off?”

“Excuse me?” you say, actually offended.

He turns and glares at you, clearly pissed off. “Then what do you want?”

You stand up from the stool and start to walk away, but quickly turn back around and go back to him. “You have absolutely no right to be angry with me,” you tell him, your voice quite forceful. “No right at all.”

“I’m supposed to be happy I’m your second option?” he asks, his voice equally as forceful as yours.

“You think I’m here for sex?” Now you’re seething. “I saw you here and I came to say hi.” You turn to walk away again but you can’t let this go. “You know, fuck you. You want to talk about a second option? What about me?”

“What about you, Y/N? What?” He stands up and pulls you off to the side, away from the bartender’s ear shot. “You think I…”

“Every night, Roger,” you fuss. “Every night except for three I’ve seen you chatting up some girl. The three nights you didn’t were the nights you were with me.”

“And how many of them do you think I spent the night with?” he dithers. “None. Not a single one. Do you know why?” He grabs the top of your arms and pulls you close as he bends down to get close to your face. “Because I don’t want any of them. I only want you.” Your mouth drops open and you’re rendered speechless. He quickly lets go of your arms and walks out of the bar, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

November 15, 1978 – New York, New York The relief you felt as soon as you stepped off the bus was indescribable. Home. You’re home. They have three shows in New York in four days and you get to sleep in your own bed, see your friends, relax and rejuvenate. As soon as you were able, you grabbed your suitcase from the bus and scurried to grab a taxi. “You really are in a rush, aren’t you?” you heard Brian ask from behind you. You turned around and he was standing there chuckling. “I was going find something to eat. Would you like to join me?”

You were hungry, and you’ve taken a huge liking to Brian – as a friend, of course – so, while you were really looking forward to being alone, you caved and nodded your head. “Why don’t you come with me? I just have to drop this off at my place and there’s a great pizza joint right next to my building.” Neither one of you noticed Roger watching and seething as you both climbed into the cab to leave.

No, nothing happened with you and Brian. He didn’t even come up to your apartment when you dropped off your suitcase. You introduced him to the best pizza in Brooklyn, and an hour later he went back to the hotel. You took the rest of the day for yourself. It had been a mentally exhausting 24 hours and you wanted to get away from any and all drama for as long as possible. Roger wasn’t speaking to you, and the tension felt like it was at an all-time high. He was barely even looking at you, and for some reason it was eating you up inside. It was eating him up inside, too.

November 16, 1978 – Madison Square Garden “Mike says you’re having the time of your life,” Daisy, a co-worker, says as she tries to stifle a laugh.

You roll your eyes and start to giggle. “I could seriously strangle you and Barry and any of the other critics who ever said anything negative about them,” you tell her. “They’re great, but fuck. Roger has been…” Your voice trails off and you sigh. “Let’s just say it’s been interesting.”

The two of you are sitting on the side of the stage as the guys are preparing to do their soundcheck. Freddie, being nosy as he tends to be, is curious about who your friend is, so you introduce them. John and Brian soon come over to meet Daisy, too, but Roger doesn’t. Not that you thought he would, but he did walk by and immediately sat at the drum kit. “He’s not speaking to me either now,” Brian tells you in your ear. “I don’t know why.” He shrugs his shoulders and walks away.

Roger keeps glancing and you, and you at him, and Daisy immediately picks up on it. “So what’s the story here?” she asks. “With you and pretty boy.”

You give her the rundown, about how he completely hated you before you even met because of negative things printed about them in the magazine. “It’s beyond frustrating,” you sigh. “Just when we start to get along, something happens and we start despising each other again.”

“Well,” she starts. “Maybe you shouldn’t have fucked him.” You look at her, mouth completely dropped open, and start to deny, deny, deny – but she stops you. “Don’t even try to tell me that you haven’t.”

You give her a side eyed glare but can’t stop yourself from giggling. “I’m not discussing this with you.”

“They let you bring friends along now?” you hear Roger snip as he takes a drag of his cigarette, not even realizing he had walked over.

“I’m Daisy,” she says as she stands up and holds out her hand. “I write for…”

He doesn’t look at her, only you. “Now there’s two of you?” he asks. “One of you is hard enough to handle.” Daisy stops talking, instead paying attention to the interaction between you and Roger.

“She’s here for the show tonight,” you tell him. “Don’t worry.”

“That’s all I need. It’s bad enough I have you to deal with every night. Now you’ve multiplied and I’m going to stress doubly.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, Roger.” You turn to Daisy and give her a tired look. “See what I mean?”

He bends over and grabs your arm. “We need to talk.”

“No,” you say as you tug your arm away. “We don’t.”

“Will you just fucking…” He’s being loud, but quickly tones it down. “Stop being so difficult.” He gently holds your arm again. In order not to cause yet another scene, you excuse yourself and follow him down the backstage hall and to their dressing room. You walk in, but he stays standing in the doorway.

You stand there in silence, waiting for him to talk for what seems like forever. He walks closer to you and takes your face gently in the palm of his hand. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he leans in for a kiss. Not a kiss tinged by alcohol. He’s completely sober, as are you, so that’s why your mind is completely blown right now. You grab the waist of his pants, pull him into the room and he kicks the door closed behind him. His breathing is uneven as he looks into your eyes, and they’re burning with a lust that matches yours. Your mouths meld together and his tongue effortlessly glides over yours with satisfying strokes.

“Roger,” you whisper as you stop the kiss. “We can’t… You have to do the soundcheck…” Your voice is somewhat hoarse and he responds by kissing you more. You pull back again, unable to open your eyes for a few seconds and start to talk again.

“Shh,” he whispers, still holding his palm to your cheek. Neither of you even know what to say. That kiss completely melted the both of you. “Why are we like this?” he asks, genuinely wondering why.

His eyes. His fucking eyes are amazing and you wonder how, after all of the glaring and staring you’ve done at them, how you never realized just how perfect they are. “I don’t know,” you whisper back. The door starts to open and you both quickly move away from the door and from each other.

“Come on, Rog!” John yells as he walks in before walking right back out. “You can finish the argument after we’re done.” Roger flashes you a soft, gentle smile before he follows John out, and every inch of your insides flutter.

You walk back out after taking a few minutes to regain your composure and take your seat next to Daisy again. “These guys are hilarious,” she says with a giggle. “They’re so… bitchy.” You just smile and turn your gaze to Roger. He gives you a wink and forces his focus to what he’s supposed to be doing.

After the show, you and Daisy are standing outside, away from prying ears, discussing the show. She hated it. The music was good enough, but she found the performance drab. “I am begging you, please, be gentle in the review. I still have another month…”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but I’m always honest,” she says. “But never mind that, tell me about Roger.” She nudges your arm and gives you a sly smirk. “How many times? Is he good? I bet he’s good.”

You roll your eyes and light a cigarette. “I am here to write a story. My judgment won’t be clouded by a pair of blue eyes.” You take a deep sigh and look out into the parking lot, seeing the crowd has thinned significantly. “I’m heading home. I miss my bed.” You give Daisy a hug, promise to hang out before you leave again, and head back inside to grab your purse.

And, of course, the first thing you see when you walk in is Roger, smiling his toothy smile, surrounded by giggling girls. Only this time, you don’t feel jealous or angered in any way. Not after that kiss. There was something different about it. He doesn’t notice you walk by. Freddie does, though, and he calls your name, blowing your cover. “Where are you sneaking off to?” he asks. “We’re just getting started, darling.”

“I’m going home,” you tell him. “I know. I’m boring. But I have to go to the office in the morning.” You give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “But I’ll be here tomorrow in time for the show.”

As soon as you walk outside, you hear a voice from behind you. “‘A colossal sonic volcano whose eruption maketh the earth tremble,’” he says. “I read it last night.”

“Yeah,” you smirk as you turn around. “Are you surprised, Mr. Taylor?”

“Yeah, I am,” he smiles. You raise a brow and continue to smirk. “Especially considering you wrote that in Dallas. I guess I misjudged you.”

“You did,” you giggle. “But I didn’t misjudge you. I still think you’re a dick.”

He inches closer to you. “Where you off to then?”

“Home,” you tell him before taking a deep breath. “What about you?”

“Well, that depends,” he says, inching even closer and bringing his same hand up to you cheek like he did earlier. “Depends on if I get invited anywhere.” He smiles and you can’t resist it.

November 17, 1978 – 11am, Brooklyn, New York “Yes, Mike, I’ll be there,” you groan. “I don’t know why you can’t wait until tomorrow.” Roger’s under the sheet and keeps nibbling on your thigh and you’re trying not to giggle. “No, Mike, there’s nothing going on.” Roger’s now positioned himself in between your legs and is trying to open them, but you’re trying to stop him and start tapping on his head. “I don’t care what Daisy said, nothing’s going on.” Roger’s won the battle, and he’s now starting to tease you with his tongue. You try your hardest to stifle your gasp. “Mike, stop. I’ll be there at 1.” You slam the phone down and start laughing, and you can feel Roger’s chuckle against your core. “You could have just gotten me fired,” you laugh, but enjoying the feeling he’s creating way too much to fuss too much.

“Shhh,” he says, moving away for a moment, throwing the sheet off. “I’m trying to work here.” He laps and sucks on your swollen lips, his tongue moving unhurried over your clit as he hums over your sensitive flesh, making you quiver. You prop yourself up so you can watch him, and you see his eyes looking up at you, leaving you unable to take a breath deep enough to clear the euphoria he is creating right now. An excitement cry escapes your mouth as he starts to suck harder, flicking his tongue over and over until the last drop is sucked out of you. Each muscle in your body tenses as he takes you over the edge and fucks you with his tongue until you cum. He takes one last lick up before looking up at you, quite pleased with himself. “Did I ever tell you how absolutely delicious you are?” he smirks. “I just couldn’t resist.”

You start to giggle and pull him up to you. He gives you a deep kiss when he reaches your mouth, cupping your neck as he kisses you. “If we get caught I can get in a lot of trouble, you know.”

“Hmm,” he mumbles as he kisses your neck. “Then I guess we better keep this our little secret.”

“I’m serious,” you giggle. His kisses are tickling you so you nudge him off, making him lay next to you on his back. “That’s what Mike was calling for.” He looks confused. “His exact words were ‘if I find out you’re fucking around with one of them I’m pulling you out.’”

Roger starts to grin and you can’t hold in your giggle. “Well it’s his own fault for sending someone pretty to us then, isn’t it?” You roll your eyes, but can’t stop giggling. “Hey, our secret. Promise.”

“Wow,” you say after you stop giggling and stare up at the ceiling. “So I’m actually getting paid to be a groupie.” You turn and look at him, keeping a serious face. “I’ve always wanted to be a groupie.”

He starts to laugh. “Yeah, but unfortunately, you’re a groupie for the wrong Roger.”

“That’s okay. I’ll consider this practice for when I get the right one.” You flash him a cheeky smirk before sitting up. “I have to get ready to get to the office before Mark comes and finds me.”

1:00pm – Midtown Manhattan You sneak in Mike’s office before anyone can catch you. Candice, the assistant editor, sees you and rushes in, excited to see you. “Soooo, how’s it going? Mike said you were having a little issue with Roger Taylor.” She sits in Mike’s chair, a big smile on her face, eager to hear everything.

“We’ve worked it out, actually,” you inform her. “At least I think we have. He doesn’t hate me anymore, so that’s progress.” As you fill Candice in on everything, Mike walks in and slams the door, startling you.

“Did you get to the part when you started banging the guy or no?” Mike is angry. Seething. You’ve never seen him like this before. He’s always happy around you, jovial, sarcastic… everything but downright angry. “Don’t even open your mouth to tell me that you didn’t. Daisy told me…”

“Daisy?” you yell. “Daisy who is pissed off that I got this gig and she didn’t Daisy? That one? How would she even know?”

Mark calms down, takes a deep breath and sits on his desk, directly in front of you. “Look, Y/N, I just want this to be a fair article. It’s not just your journalistic integrity at stake, it’s the entire magazine.”

You reach down into your bag and hand him your notebook that is stuffed with other papers. “My typewriter broke so most of it is jotted down until I can type it up, but that’s it. That’s what it is so far.” Candice rushes over to sit next to Mike and they start reading what you’ve written. “If you read this and can honestly tell me that it’s written from the point of view of someone who’s fucking the drummer, or all of them plus the road crew, I’ll walk away.” You stand up from your chair and start pacing. “But I’m quite proud of what I’ve got there so far, and I really want to finish this, Mike.” He looks up at you. “You’re the one who sent me.”

He stands up as he hands everything to Candice, who is still reading. “I sent you because of your attitude. I knew if anyone could handle these guys for two months it would be you.” You stare at him, wondering why he seems to be feeling like he’s made a mistake. “We’re the only magazine they’re letting in, and …”

“Mike,” you say as you place a hand on his shoulder. “This is a huge chance you’ve given me. Do you really think I’m going to fuck it up?”

“This is really good, Mike,” Candice pipes up. “You should read it all.” She stands and holds your notebook in her hand, pointing down at it as she walks over to him. “I mean, do you really think she would have written this part about how childish he is if she…”

As you listen to her point out all of the negative things you’ve written about him – not that there was many – you realize exactly what Mike was worried about. If you leave all of that in, Roger will be pissed. If you take it out, you’re not exactly going to be telling the whole story.

“Stay on it,” Mike tells you. “And get a new typewriter because you can’t turn this mess in.” You smile and take the notebook from Candice. “Y/N, I’m serious. If I find out…”

“You won’t find anything out,” you smile.

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Series tags: @toomuchlove-willkillyou @sunshine112 @ohtheseboysilove @luvborhap @painkiller80 @hannafuckingsucks @itsametaphorbriansblog @biscuit-barrel @capsparrowtara @asquiresofftime @aridrowse @geek-and-proud @a19103 @nicholeh7 @caborhapch @catch-a-deak @thebelgiancompanion @ultrablackwidower @maggieroseevans @protectrowanwhitethorn @mercurycrowley @amy-brooklyn99 @bellas2silly @rogxrtaylxr @gylfsz @amagicmess @thessxoxo @mariekuuuuuh @drowseoftaylor @luvborhap @bohemiansweede

[nelllraiser]

nell no yell (maybe) | alain & nell

LOCATION: dell’s tavern and alain’s house. TIMING: shortly after alain sustained his concussion. PARTIES: @carbrakes-and-stakes​ and @nelllraiser​.

If there was one thing Nell could desperately use after a week like this. It was a drink. For once, she didn’t feel like having company, unsure how to act like everything was normal around people at the moment. Sometimes, it was strange to think of how different her problems might have been if she’d been- well- normal. Not once had she ever wished to be normal, but sometimes she simply grew curious what her life would be like. Would she have gone to college? No, that was doubtful. But what would her place have been in a mundane world, when all she did now was so deeply steeped in the supernatural? She wouldn't trade it for anything, but she couldn't help but vaguely wonder what the grass might be like on the other side. This was what she was thinking of when she stepped into Dell’s Tavern late on a Monday night. It shouldn’t be busy, and she was right as she looked up at the bar. There was only one person sitting there. But a double take later, the beginnings of a scowl was coming over her features. She knew that profile. Alain. In a moment she was marching up to him, and voicing her demands. “We need to talk.”

Alain had left the hospital almost as soon as the nurse turned her back on him, which was about 12 hours after the incident. Unsure of what had happened to him, all he could trust were flashes of last night that appeared to him at times. Blanche holding a pan, then not holding it anymore. And still, he could swear that it was what hit him. None of this make sense. And man was he angry at how things went down. The timing could not have been worse. He could have dealt with Blanche’s anger and pain, but he couldn’t forgive himself for letting her see that. Maybe he should have stopped. Postponed. If those troubles had left his mind now, it was only because he had been sitting and drinking for quite a while already at Dell’s, and that his attention was now focused on a basketball game on tv. Still, when he heard the irritating sound of an already too familiar voice, Alain realized that he probably should have picked any other bar than this one. No one would have bothered him at the Silver bullet. “You need to drink your liquor in silence, just like me,” he drily replied, not even giving her a glance. 

There was no way in hell Nell would do as Alain requested when it came to drinking in silence. She had far too many questions for the man, and even though she’d come to Dell’s hoping to escape for a moment— she couldn’t do that when one of her problems was glaring her in the face in the form of Alain. There wasn’t much patience left in her, and she hadn’t started out with much in the first place when it came to him and his attempts to kill Remmy. “No,” she said bluntly, succinctly. “Are you going to try and kill Remmy again or not?” Even though she knew Alain hadn’t dragged Remmy to his house or anything, he’d still been planning to go through with the killing. He would have left Remmy die thinking the world was better off without them. No one deserved a death like that unless it was true. 

"Why do you fucking care ? It's just another fucking monster. How's that different from the things you catch for the Ring?" Alain's eyes reluctantly moved away from the TV screen to look at her. Whoever Nell was, he did not buy that holier than thou attitude she had been showing him since they met at his house. She took his job, he quit it because even he thought it was too rough. So really who did she think she was, lecturing him when she, of all people could have understood what it was like to be in his shoes. Was she blinded by Blanche's certitudes? Either way, he would not be lectured by a hypocrite. Finishing his glass of scotch, he raised his finger at the bartender, getting his wallet from his coat. Clearly this was no longer a safe haven for him. "I'm leaving."

“They’re not just another monster, Alain! That’s the whole point. They have feelings. Hopes. Dreams. And they’re a nice person. They don’t deserve to have that all just taken away from them.” But then Nell frowned, not expecting her and The Ring to be brought into this. “I told you- I only catch the bad ones. The ones who like causing pain.” Perhaps she hasn’t said it in so many words, but she has tried her best. She didn’t particularly think she’d ever change Alain’s mind when it came to this, but that wouldn’t stop her from arguing her point. She never knew when to quit. Or perhaps...it was just that she didn’t ever want to. This moment was no exception as she decided to invite herself along to wherever Alain was headed. “Great. So where are we going? Sure you don’t want a drink for the road?”

“I don’t care,” Alain, with all the patience he had, wasn’t feeling all too patient right now. Maybe it was the fact that he had been drinking nearly a whole bottle of scotch by himself, but his tolerance for bullshit wasn’t at his highest now. He paid his bill and stood up from his stool carefully, unsure of what his legs would do when they’d touch the ground. Gripping tightly onto the counter, he looked down at his feet, then slowly looked up toward the door. Alright, he was definitely more dizzy than he thought. It had been a decade and a half since the last time he had been drinking this much, so he shouldn’t have been surprised. “What? No, I’m heading back home,” he took a moment to gather his thoughts. Why did she even want to follow him anyway. Had he been sober, he would have told her to fuck off and head back to hypocrisy town, but he did not have that type of wit with him now. “I don’t need your company, I’m fine.”

“Yeah that much is obvious,” Nell retorted, some heat entering her words. How could he just not care? She knew it most likely had to do with his Hunter upbringing, but still. It wasn’t like you could just...turn empathy off in a person, right? At least- not a person like Alain, she thought. But she squinted at him as he stood, taking note of his uncertainty. “Are you...drunk?” What was that saying about drinking alone? She wasn’t sure, but she knew it was generally thought of as being bad. Nevermind the fact that she’d been coming here to drink alone. “Yeah you can go home. I don’t care. I’m just saying I’m coming with you, because I’m not done talking to you.” More like talking at him. “And you said we could talk later. About all...this. I didn’t ask if you wanted company.” She wasn’t particularly planning on giving him a choice. 

“Then why do you keep bothering me with that? I won’t change my mind,” Alain grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest. He had given up on fastening the buttons of his coat already. Walking to the front door proved to be doable, although he was caught back by his dizziness when then cool air of the night hit his face. Damn, was it that late already? He was hungry. At least, that’s the information his brain got when it connected the dark night to the fact that Alain had not had food since it was still sunny out there. “On one condition, I’m starving and I’ll only talk with you if you have dinner with me,” he was in no condition to drive and Al’s diner wasn’t too far. Either that or she was able to drive him home and help him cook dinner. He still had some civet de chevreuil from when Nora came by too. 

“I’ve never given up in my entire life, and I’m not gonna start doing it now.” Especially when a friend’s life was on the line. Not to mention all the other innocent people Alain might possibly go out and try to kill. Nell rolled her eyes as she watched him try to button his jacket, and called him to wait when he stepped outside of the bar. “Stand still, you dumbass,” she said before reaching out to try and button the jacket he’d been struggling with. “Should you even be drinking this much after a concussion? They never let me drink after concussions.” His request surprised her though, and her head tilted curiously to the side. “I can’t drive you anywhere. I have a motorcycle with no sidecar, and I’m not letting you on it while you’re drunk. But if you have some other way of getting there...I suppose.”

“Why do you care?” Alain glanced up from her hands, which he had been staring at the whole time she was buttoning his coat. He had never been fond of being touched by people he barely knew. “No, seriously, why do you care? If I die, your best friend is safe, right? That’s how you think this works, huh?” He shook his head in disgust and disdain, and immediately regretted it. He felt so dizzy. “Bordel de…” Alain muttered, staring at the tip of his shoes for an instant, focusing. Yeah no. He raised his finger, looking like he was about to throw up. Yup. Making a face, he took a couple of steps away from Nell and came back to her wiping his chin clean. Well, if she did not completely hate him after this. “A motorcycle, huh?” He pointed at the car parked behind them, “that’s mine. Can you drive stick?” He laid his back against the wall and took a deep breath. Vomiting had helped, it seemed. “There must be cabs or something, I don’t know, Nell.”

At first, Nell mistook his words. “Why do I care? Because I don’t want people who don’t deserve to die to just get murdered.” But she soon realized her mistake as he repeated his words, and her lips pursed. “I’m not stupid! I know you’re not the only one who would want to kill them.” Why did she care, though? She couldn’t really...provide an answer. “Maybe I’m just not as eager of a killing machine as you are.” Probably a lie. Nell’s nose scrunched as he returned after his moment of weakness, reluctantly reaching into the large pocket of her jacket and rustling around. In a moment, she’d procured a mint from some random restaurant she’d dined in and wordlessly handed it over. “Ahhhh- I don’t- exactly have a liscnese. We can just Lyft or something, though,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Where are we going?”

"Can't murder a dead person," Alain observed unwrapping the mint she had given him with a sad smile. It did solve at least one of his problems. "Thanks," he scrunched up his nose and looked away from her. "Are you sure about that though?" Clearing his throat, he added : "Being a killing machine, I mean. I've seen that look in your eyes the other day," a look he saw in each of his family members' eyes, in his own eyes. She probably did not want to admit it, because it would mean that she was just like him. Maybe it was the alcohol but Alain was connecting quite a few dots here, that linked him to Nell. "I'd like to go home and have some food," he replied. She would do whatever she pleased with that. 

Nell huffed, doing her best not to yell again, though Alain was making it very difficult. “Look. If we’re going to talk. You’re not allowed to say things like that,” she said firmly, pointing a stern finger in his direction. “They might have died, but they are not currently dead. You can’t act like this is black and white!” But she looked up at him, uncertain what he was trying to say for a moment. “Maybe. But not like you. I don’t kill people or things that don’t deserve it.” Ahhh, perhaps she should have left the bit out about people but...it was too late now. Besides, she’d only killed a few human people. Nell sighed. Of course he wanted to have food at his house. “Fine,” she said, putting in his address on the app. Soon enough, a car had arrived for them. 

Alain frowned at her as a response. Say what things? The truth. “You only care because they are your friend. I could kill hundreds of other zombies that you wouldn’t tell me this crap,” he sat down on the floor as he waited for the car to get there. His head was still spinning, and he felt more comfortable like this. “People ?” He raised an eyebrow, “do you kill humans? Nell,” he pulled on her coat to get her attention, “Nell. That doesn’t make you a better person. Killing doesn’t care for feelings or who deserved it,” this was something he had heard his father say when he was a kid, and quite frankly he agreed with that. “Fine,” he repeated, getting into the car. Could Nell even cook, he found himself wondering, and so he asked her that question. 

“Wrong,” Nell said stubbornly, shortly. “I only kill things that hurt other things intentionally or too often. And if it’s not intentional...I try to help.” Her moral compass wasn’t perfect, but it worked well enough for her. At first, she pretended like she didn’t hear him asking about people, but it was impossible to ignore when he tugged on her jacket. She looked down, finding that Alain actually looked...somewhat and somehow endearing in this position- like a child trying to get an adult’s attention. “It doesn’t matter,” she said quickly, hoping he’d forget that detail when he was sober. “I never said I was the better person. And yeah killing can’t care cause it’s an action- not the person behind it! Maybe we kill more than most people- but the point is we’re not machines. We can think and choose for ourselves. We don’t have to just kill no matter what.” He wanted her to cook? She was surprised by his question, but proudly declared, “Of course I can cook. And I’m good at it.” 

Alain raised an eyebrow. If those were her standards then vigilantes like him and herself both deserved to die by her own hand. Still, Alain was convinced that there was something noble in what he did, ridding the population of the scum, the menace that represented the undead. “You make it sound like you are holier than me, you did back at my house the other day, and you kind of do it again, now,” he smiled, looking up at her. This was in no way a personal attack against her, but rather something he had noticed. “We’re both trash, aren’t we?” He was not really expecting an answer to his question. Who would admit to being trash. Alain often drank too much when he was in a bad place, and often, he ended up in an even worse place as his drinking got worse. The idea of a good meal when they would get home did for a moment, manage to brighten his mood a little. “Me too. We should cook together sometimes. Share recipes.” Inside the car, Alain was leaning against the door. He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips and turned away from Nell, looking outside.

Nell’s bottom lip jutted out in a stubborn pout when he smiled, refusing to give him the satisfaction of him possibly being right in anything. “It’s just different.” But her gaze slid over to his, uncertainty entering her voice as his words surprised her. “You...think you’re trash?” Sad. That was sad. But she didn’t want to feel pity for this man. Unless he was only joking. His words made her own confidence waver, thinking of all the people she’d alienated in her life with bad choices. “Bea’s more inventive than me,” she deflected, for some reason suddenly a bit self-conscious. “She likes to try new dishes and things, and whip new things together. I just- do what I know.” It was perhaps a bit of a flip in their personalities, a bit opposite of what some might expect. 

Alain glanced away from her. "Sure," he didn't think too much about it, after all, he had already made up his mind as to what he thought of Nell. To him this was a story of hypocrisy. Not that he could blame her. It was hard to see the truth. Alain was too aware that what he did was problematic and that most humans did not get it. He was fine with that. He didn't actually consider himself to be trash. But still would have worn that title with honor, as long as it meant that people would be safe. "Bea?" Probably some friend of her. He shut his eyes for a moment, yawning. He covered his mouth and sighed. "As long as you know the basics, you can do everything with a bit of perseverance," he mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. They would be at his place soon and he wondered what would happen then. She did say that they needed to talk, and he wondered if this was still on the table.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Nell said stubbornly as he ignored the comment about trash. “My sister,” was the short explanation she offered, not particularly wanting to get into her family’s life story just now. “My sister who doesn’t know about the Ring,” she added as an afterthought, She figured the chances of Alain and Bea crossing paths was slim but— it was better to make sure he knew she didn’t want that bit of information being spread around, right? Of course, she couldn’t know if he would actually respect that wish. “I’m not saying I only know the basics. I’m just saying- I’m not going on Chopped or whatever anytime soon.” By now though, they’d arrived at his place, and she was exiting the car while keeping an eye on Alain. The last thing she needed was him to trip over his own feet and take a tumble or something.

“I wonder why you didn’t tell her about the Ring,” Alain gave her a knowing look, shaking his head at her. “Scared that she’ll hate you for it?” He smiled to himself, and got out of the car before she could ask more questions. Once again, the cold air was a relief, and he stood for an instant there, taking deep breaths. Still, as much as he felt better out there, he still stumbled on his own foot and didn’t fall face first on the ground because he hit the front door first. The loud thud woke both his dogs up, who started barking as a result. “Woops,” he laughed to himself, and searching for his keys, finally got his hands on the them and started struggling to get them into the lock. Alain finally gave up and left it to Nell to do it for him. 

Nell sent Alain a dirty look, warning him off the subject. “I know what you’re trying to do.” Or at least she thought she did. He was trying to show they were the same, wasn’t he? “No that’s not why. I just don’t need more lectures from her. Besides I already told you. I only bring in the ones that deserve it.” But she was curious. “Is that why you left? Didn’t want people hating you for it?” Instinctively, she reached out as he stumbled to help catch him, but it seemed like the door had already kept him from smashing his face in. “It’s okay, puppies,” Nell called out absently, perhaps a little excited that she might actually get to meet Alain’s dogs this time instead of just yell at him. But then she was grumbling about Alain being a “little man-baby” as she took the keys, and opened the door. Cursing the fact that she couldn’t just magic a light on as she was still trying to keep her cover, she began to search blindly for a light switch against the wall.

“If you already know what I’m trying to do already, then you must think it’s true,” someone so defensive could not have a clear conscience. And maybe it explained why she was so fond of him in the first place. A fan. Alain had never before had people call themselves that, and it bugged him that she would love what he did at the Ring and hate what he did out there. The things he had done there were so much worse. “I don’t care about people’s opinion, I would be a poor hunter if I did,” his voice raised as he snapped, when he looked at her, it was with anger in his eyes. “I left because you cannot spend your life hunting and then working at the ring. I was losing my fucking mind there,” he spat those words with sorrow and pain. Thinking about his past brought him back to a place he tried to forget about. And it reminded him of Audrey and how much he missed her, still to this day. The door opened, he did not wait for her to turn on the light, and found his way to the couch without too much trouble, still fuming. 

“No, I don’t,” Nell replied simply, and stubbornly. “We have very different practices when it comes to supernatural creatures, apparently.” It was obvious he didn’t care about people’s opinions when it came to his monster hunting, but she frowned as he seemed to get angry, not particularly thinking that her question would get such a response. What was it about it that apparently made him sensitive? But his new words had a different depth to them, and she tried to look closer as she asked more questions. “What do you mean? Don’t you still spend your life hunting, anyway? Losing your mind how?” Nell vaguely remembered where the kitchen was from the last time she’d been here, and began searching through cupboards and the like to see exactly what she was working with. “I would have brought your frying pan back with me if I’d known I’d be cooking.” It was the very beginnings of a tease.

“You’re not a hunter, you wouldn’t get it,” Alain mumbled to himself. People who weren’t raised to hunt couldn’t have the same rules as he did, as hunters did. You were taught to hunt vampires and zombies, and that’s what you did, no exceptions, no questions asked, no feelings, no crying, no drama. All of this seemed natural to him, and he had never considered it to be murder. Those things were dead anyway. And he did not consider them to be human beings either. Did people mourn for the innocent cow in their plate? No, even though that cow did nothing wrong her whole life. What was the difference. He did not expect anyone but hunters to get that. “What I mean, is that you can’t spend your days and night doing the exact same thing. It changes my mind, doing something else, something not so violent.” Once again, she wouldn’t get it, the isolation inherent to the position of hunter. It had taken him years of therapy, the love of a wonderful woman, and a lot of time for him to get where he was now. He knew that he still had a lot of issues but he had never felt so well as he did these days. Still, he wishes he still had Audrey to share it with. “You can keep the damn thing. It’s a Creusot pan, it’ll last you a lifetime. You should give it to your zombie friend when you’re gone,” he scoffed. Always with the bitter humour. 

“I wouldn’t get it, because I wasn’t taught to have a blind prejudice,” Nell parried, her words not particularly filled with emotion. It was simply a fact, and she was trying to do more than blindly blame Alain for who he was. After all- prejudice was learned, not inherent. “And when you were doing something so violent? It changed you how?” Nell asked curiously, perhaps the smallest curiosity forming in her about what long-term work at the Ring might do to someone. Had she known his thoughts about isolation, she might have disagreed. Making and keeping friends had always been difficult for her, and now with her new line of work- that didn’t exactly change. At least Alain had other Hunters to relate to. She was some strange in between. Neither Hunter nor civilian. But thus far, she didn’t feel as if there were any negative effects on her from all the violence in her life. Most of the things she did were steeped in violence at this point. Capturing for the Ring. Fighting for the Ring. Bounty hunting. Though she supposed she did have her garden. Did Alain have the same reasons for gardening as she did? To know the joy of creating something rather than constantly destroying? “When I’m gone? Are you planning my death already? And what do you want to eat?” She was still getting her bearings of the kitchen, looking for items she might need.

“Don’t be cute. Doesn’t suit you,” he grumbled. One of Alain’s dogs approached him and rested his head on his lap, not too concerned with the state of his owner. Or maybe they were used to it. After losing Audrey, he had been an unconsolable wreck. His loss fueled his hatred of the supernatural even more in ways that people like Nell would never understand. She was too young to even think about death and what it meant, and so was Blanche. “Unlike you people, I wasn’t raised thinking the world is a nice place, and the ring comforted me with that idea.” Considering that Alain hadn’t protested about the head in his lap, Orion had seen it fitting to just climb on top of him and ask for more pets, which the hunter was happy to offer. Two dogs, a house and an enterprise. This probably didn’t seem like much but those things kept him going. “You know, I think you should tell Blanche about it, and whoever you care about. They’ll eventually find out about what it is you do. It’s going to be too late then,” he yawned loudly. “If you keep fighting or working or whatever it is you do for the Ring, you’ll die sooner than later. Although you must already know that.”

Nell gave the dog near Alain a wistful look, wishing she could pet one of the dogs. They were very cute. Absently, she wondered if Greg might like to meet some dogs some day. She knew he wasn’t actually a dog, but maybe he’d still have fun playing with them. After all- humans liked playing with dogs, didn’t they? “Too bad I’m just naturally cute.” But she sighed before saying, “I know it’s not a nice place now. I’m not a child.” Again she watched as Orion seemed all to happy with Alain, wondering if the other pup might grace her with its presence. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said reluctantly. “My sister already hates me, and Blanche- well- maybe I could tell Blanche.” Things had changed since she’d initially thought better of telling her friend. Nell shrugged before saying. “Death doesn’t scare me.” Even though he hadn’t told her what he wanted to eat, she did her best with what she could find, heating a pan on the stove.

“Then quit acting like a damn child, you can’t and you won’t be saving everyone,” Alain looked over the back of his couch, trying to straighten himself up a little, although the dog complicated things for him. “Orion, you’re crushing me, you idiot,” he told his dog in French, although kissing the animal’s snout anyway, and getting his whole face licked in return. Alain very absent-mindedly listened to Nell at this point, and was starting to feel quite sleepy now. And so he did not get to yell at Nell for saying something so cheesy as Death doesn’t scare me, or to lecture her about how important it was to be scared of death. It wasn’t long before a steady and loud enough snore could be heard coming from the living room.

“I’m not a child!” Nell said a bit more forcefully this time, far too tired of everyone telling her she was one. Just because she was younger, and had different ideas and ways of dealing with them didn’t mean she was any less than them. For a long while, she simply prattled on at Alain, determined to get something through his head as she continued to cook. But when she next turned around, she found he was fast asleep. Honestly,the audacity of him to fall asleep while she was cooking him a good meal. But her annoyance faded, and she instead put the meal she’d finished in the fridge for him later placing a somewhat snarky note on the counter, telling him where it was. And then she was out the door, giving a solemn little wave goodbye to the dogs, and locking it behind her.

[spaceskam]

When Alex goes to Michael to tell him about Caufield he looks kinda hopeful, the way he smiles at him, heavy topic aside of course. I believe Alex thought they were kinda in the same track. Being "friends", hanging out, idk... Could you write about it maybe? Him finding somehow about Maria (or Michael telling him) and Alex saying "i thought we were on the same page at last"... 🥺 I know you've written about the finale a lot but i just love how you do it. It's therapeutic!

thank you for this prompt, i got hella carried away because i feel the same! i hope you enjoy!

ao3

“Alex, c'mon.”

Michael watched across the bar as Liz unsuccessfully tried to peel Alex from the table.  They’d been there for hours and while it seemed it had originally begun as something fun, it turned into Alex drinking so much he could barely hold his head up. It was a sickening view. Alex was always one to try and keep a clear head. Even when they were kids and they had drinks, he always knew when to stop. But apparently, tonight was different.

And as strong as Liz was, their height difference made it a little hard for her to carry the Airman.

“Guerin, go help her,” Maria urged from her place on the other side of the counter.  For some reason, she’d been the number one advocate in trying to make sure Michael and Alex made up on a friendship level.  Multiple times she’d pushed them together and it made Michael wonder if he’d been able to minimize what he felt for Alex that much.

Alex had never gone into much detail and Michael wasn’t about to tell the girl he had a casual thing going on with that he was extremely in love with her friend for the last decade. Especially since Alex played nice with them both, burying the fact it bothered him. Maria seemed to think that was because he’d had some sort of unrequited love for Michael and that, when they were kids, Michael had just kissed him once and decided he was straight. He wondered how fast she’d drop him if he told her just how mutual their love was.

Only Michael was still trying to push past the pain.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Michael tried, his eyes never leaving Alex as he drunkenly laughed at Liz for not being able to pick him up.

“So you think watching them both faceplant into the ground is a better one?” Maria asked. After a few moments, he sighed and made his way over to where the source of far too much distraction was.

“Alright, Manes, come on,” Michael said as he reached the table. Liz gave him a thankful look through her tired eyes. They’d been taking turns on watching the pod Max was currently stuffed in and he knew tonight was her turn. She was probably running late to relieve Isobel, in fact. Not like she would mind.

“Guerin!” Alex cheered when he saw him, shooting to his feet and collapsing against the other man. Michael couldn’t hide the confusion that appeared on his face but did his best to hold Alex upright.  While Alex hadn’t been mean following Michael asking for time and then hooking up with Maria here and there, he hadn’t been inherently cheerful either.

“Can you please drive him home? I have to get out to the desert.” Liz pleaded. Michael was hesitant to agree, but Alex was clinging to him and playing with the scruff on his jaw and how could he just throw him in the back of Liz’s car when he was doing that?

“I guess. I’ll text you when he’s settled.” Michael sighed, slowly beginning to lug the man home.  It didn’t help that he wasn’t exactly trying to help by walking, he was far to busy stroking Michael’s cheek. Any other situation, Michael might’ve thought it was the cutest thing in the world. Actually, even in this situation, it was the cutest thing in the world.

“Wait up!” Maria called as they reached the door of the Wild Pony.  Michael shot her a confused glance as she came barreling their way, adjusting her jacket. “You’ve been drinking, let me drive.”

Michael looked down to Alex who was dead weight against him, “You sure?”

“Well, I’m not letting you drive, so either let me take you or I’ll call a cab. I’d offer to just take him myself, but I can’t carry Alex into bed, so…” Maria said, giving him that look that said he didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

“Are you guys dating?” Alex asked.

“No.” Maria and Michael answered in unison and Alex released a dramatic sigh of contentment. Michael had to catch him when he relaxed even more.

“Then let’s go!”

Michael reluctantly let it happen.  He dragged the Airman towards Maria’s truck, hoisting him into the back seat with a little mental assistance. He had intended to get into the front seat, but Alex held him by the collar with some form of death grip. So he sat in the back.

“How cozy.” Maria teased, smiling in the rearview mirror as Alex cuddled up to his chest.  It was so, so awkward. He wasn’t used to being affectionate in public and he definitely wasn’t used to it when Alex had made it relatively clear it was over for good. Or, at least that’s what he got from him avidly ignoring him.

They were halfway to the cabin before Alex spoke again.

“I like this better when you’re shirtless.” And to think he assumed it couldn’t get any more awkward. Maria snorted loudly from the front seat. Michael questioned if he was actually this drunk, or if he was using it as an excuse to say shit he shouldn’t.

“Yeah, well, I like my shirt on,” Michael responded.  Alex laughed, looking up at him and going back to playing with the hair dotting his cheeks, jaw, neck.

“You do not.  You love being shirtless because you like skin to skin contact. Sort of like a baby.” Alex said, gently jabbing his thumb into Michael’s chest before resting his hand on his stomach. Michael found himself fighting to keep his breathing normal. He missed him. God, he missed him.

“Oh yeah? What else does Michael like?” Maria called, grinning wildly. Michael glared and had to wonder what the hell was she doing. She didn’t realize what they were, what they’d been.

“He likes… being kissed awake all over.  He likes back rubs and having his hair pulled.  Oh, he likes when we take baths together so I can wash his hair.” Alex trailed. Michael just looked at the ceiling. He didn’t want to see Maria piecing it together. That he’d sort of lied to her by not telling her just how involved they’d been. It had been easier to let her think it was one-sided.

“Alex,” Michael said pleadingly. He didn’t want this rehash. Not only for Maria’s sake but for his own. Hearing it made him remember what he didn’t fucking have.

“Oh, but you know what he doesn’t like?” Alex began, sitting up straight and looking Michael in the eye. The theory that he was faking suddenly became a whole lot more realistic.

“What’s that?” Maria asked softly.  Michael shut his eyes, letting his heart thud harder and harder as it tried to burst.

“He doesn’t like when you give him his a taste of his own medicine,” Alex said sharply. His tone physically hurt. “Look at me, Guerin.”

Reluctantly, Michael pried his eyes open.  He was never more sure in his entire life that it was over. Absolutely, completely over. Alex hated him. He’d waited for his moment, to get him where he couldn’t leave. Fuck.

“You do this thing where you tell me all the shit you feel knowing I don’t know how to respond. What am I supposed to say to ‘I never look away’, ‘our connection is cosmic’, ‘nothing’s changed for me’, all that shit that you tell me?  And the one time, the one time I can finally give it back to you in the way you do it, you can’t take it.  It’s easier for me to just be physical, for me not to feed you romantic lines. But I did. I told you I don’t look away, I told you I’m done treating you like a war, I’m done being so scared of my father that I’ve become him, that I’m done walking away. I told you in your own special way how much I fucking love you, twice, and you stood me up. I only did it because I thought we were finally on the same page.” Alex’s voice was a little wobbly, each sentence getting a little louder as he lost a little more control. That killed him.

“Alex,” Michael tried again, but he was cut off.  

“Do you know what that tells me? That you’re just scared. You can dish it out, but the moment someone actually wants to show you that you’re loved, you freak out. You’ve spent so long telling yourself that you’re alone that you’d rather fuck up a chance at something we’ve spent ten years building. What are you so fucking afraid of? I told you I’m not walking away anymore.”

“I am scared, Alex! Not just of being with you either! Do you know how hard it is to completely separate you from the shit your father had done? I know you’re not the same, I know you’re not like that, but he had you under his thumb for so many years! He wants me dead. Being with you puts me right there and I just want something easy. I want to be able to breathe.” Michael argued back, daring to look at Alex. His dark eyes were so intense, it made them hard to meet.

“You know me, Michael Guerin. The only time I’ve ever been able to breathe is when I’m with you. That’s how it was when I was seventeen, that’s how it was every time I could come home, and that’s how it is now. I’m putting myself out there. Let me make it hurt less to be around me, show you it can be easy.” Alex said.  Michael groaned, putting his head against the seat in front of him.  This was too much.  The topic was way, way too heavy for the amount of whiskey he’d had. Maybe Maria was right to say he shouldn’t drive.

Oh God, Maria.

Michael tried to catch a glimpse at her face, but it was hard.  She didn’t seem to have much of a reaction to the shit she’d just heard.  Michael sighed.

“Are you actually drunk, Alex, or were you faking it?” he asked, but got his answer when he focused on his hazy eyes.

“Maybe not as drunk as it seemed, but yeah. Had like half a bottle of tequila.” Alex admitted.  Despite his best efforts, an amused smile found Michael’s face.

“So you sobered up just enough to tell me off?”

“Honestly, the tequila definitely played a big part of it,” Alex said, relaxing against the door as he stared right back at Michael.  He was wearing a smile that seemed to scream his previous statement over and over: let me make it hurt less.

The words were too much, so Michael let himself actually look at the man as a distraction.  His hair had grown up a lot, more than it was in high school, and it looked good.  That didn’t even touch the fact that he’d picked up eyeliner again, though.  He’d also started wearing these thin, colorful button-ups that he left half open and paired with pants so tight Michael nearly forgot they’d just been arguing.  Speaking of the arguing, his cheeks were still red from it.  That looked really good too.  Michael decided to completely ignore the fact a few of his nails had been painted.

“We’re here,” Maria said, breaking the silence and the fact that they’d been staring at each other like their life depended on it.

“You need help getting out, or‒” Alex waved him off before he could finish, reaching for the door.  Alex slid out, giggling to himself as he swayed and held onto the door.  The minute he tried to take a step on his own, Michael had to catch him with his power.  

“Whoa,” Alex laughed, wiggling his fingers as he looked down at himself as if he could see the power that kept him upright.  “It really hits when you stand, y’know?”

“That’s how it works,” Maria said, “Where are your keys?”

Michael climbed out behind Alex, replacing his mental grip on Alex with a physical one as he searched to give his keys to Maria.  She gave Michael a very clear, ‘we’re talking about this’ look before heading to unlock Alex’s door.

Oh joy.

“But, Guerin, I wasn’t done,” Alex said as they walked inside the cabin.  Michael sighed, but let him speak.  He was pretty sure Alex was going to talk if he let him or not.  “I, I really did think we were on the same page that night, but i get it.  I’m not perfect, I strung you along, so it’s kinda like payback.”

“Alex,” Michael began, watching Maria open his bedroom door all while not looking at them.

“Shhhh, I’m talking,” Alex said, placing his hand over Michael’s mouth, “My point that I’ve been trying to make is that we’re even.  So, like, I wanna know what the next move is.”

Michael furrowed his eyebrows as he placed Alex on his bed, removing his hand from his mouth.  Alex tilted his head back, gazing up with challenging eyes and the faintest smirk.  That did things to Michael he didn’t want to admit.  He sat down on the bed beside him.

“What move?”

“You’re hard to read, Guerin.  It’s really easy to misinterpret what you want.  I know it hurts with all the bullshit my family is, but I’m so tired of this game we’ve been playing for years.  So, tell me.  Are we actually over, or do you just need more time?” Alex paused, leaning forward to place his hand on Michael’s cheek.  “Or were you just waiting for the green light that I still want you?”

Michael stared at the man in front of him, his eyes constantly sliding down to his lips as he mulled over the options that were being laid out in front of him.  It made finding a response hard.  He just had to be so, so hot.

He snapped himself out of it.

“You’re drunk,” he said, grabbing Alex’s leg and pulling it onto his lap.  Michael rolled up his pant leg.  Alex’s hand dropped off his cheek.

“I can do that myself.”

“You can barely stand, you think you should be handling a military grade leg worth thousands of dollars?” Michael said, focusing solely on removing the prosthetic.  If he looked anywhere else on Alex, he might forget what he was doing.  He might give an answer that was whiskey induced rather than logical.

“You didn’t answer me.” Alex said, leaning back again as he let Michael handle his leg.  It took an absurd amount of self control not to look up at Alex’s expression when he reached up his thigh to remove the sock.

“You won’t remember this conversation in the morning.” Michael said, looking up to Alex’s face once he finished.  Alex leaned closer once again, his hand touching Michael’s chest and slowly making its way towards his jaw.  Michael gulped so hard it made Alex smile.

“Then call me in the morning and remind me.” Alex whispered, grabbing his chin and turning it just enough to place a long kiss to his cheek.  Heat pooled in Michael’s stomach, shooting through his body as he held onto any semblance of self control he had left.

“Okay, you need to go to bed.” Michael jumped to his feet.  Alex gave a sweet smile in response to his flustered face.

“I’m gonna want that answer in the morning, Guerin,” he said.  Michael nodded.

“Yeah.  Good night.”

Michael took a heavy breath when he finally got out of the room.  He found Maria standing there with her arms crossed.  He really wasn’t in the right mindset for this conversation.  He was still weighing in his mind if he actually wanted to leave when Alex looked like that and straight up told him that, for him, it wasn’t over.  He wanted Michael and he was willing to wait.

“So I take it you and Alex were more than a kiss back in high school, huh?” she asked.  Michael sighed, licking his lips.

“Look, I-I’m sorry.  Me and Alex… I shouldn’t have gotten involved with you when I knew I wasn’t over him.” Michael admitted.  Maria smiled, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to apologize to me.  I shouldn’t have gotten involved with you when I knew you weren’t over each other.  I did it to myself.  Besides, we’re not dating.  I’m not hurt.” He stared at her for a moment, wondering if she was just saying that to make him feel better or if she actually meant it.  He really fucking hoped she meant it.

“You sure?”

“Look, I never really saw you and Alex around each other before.  I was sort of convincing myself that it was one-sided or that maybe it was just old feelings that were confusing.  But tonight, I really got to see you both.” Maria said as they began walking towards the door.  Michael made sure to lock up the house.

“I’m sorry you had to hear all that.”

“I’m not even talking about the things you said, Guerin, I’m talking about the way you look at each other,” Maria said, a small laugh in her voice as they made their way to the truck.  He furrowed his eyebrows. “You guys were yelling at each other and you still could only make the world’s biggest heart eyes.  And don’t even get me started on the way your aura changes when you touch each other.  It… it’s unreal.  It’s beautiful, honestly.”

Michael didn’t know what to say as he climbed into the passenger seat.  He knew he wasn’t exactly subtle when it came to the way he felt about Alex, but everyone around him had been completely oblivious to it for so long that he just assumed no one would ever pick up on it.  Leave it to the psychic.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing!” Maria scolded, shaking her head.  “I’m not mad at you, that’s something you can’t help.  You really can’t help who you love.  And, even if you could, I don’t want you feeling guilty for not being able to feel like that about me.  It’s okay.”

“Is it?” Michael asked.  It didn’t feel okay.  In fact, he felt like shit.  He was pretty sure he’d lost Alex and that was the main thing allowing him to keep on with Maria after Max was put in the pod.  And he did genuinely like Maria.  They weren’t dating or anything, but that wasn’t exactly off the table.

Well, after tonight it was.  

Michael fully intended to call Alex the next day, once they were both sober, to ask how much he meant what he said.  If Alex thought he could possibly make it hurt less, make it feel less a giant risk every time he let himself love him, then he wanted to try.  There was a reason he loved Alex so hard after so much time apart.  Even if it hurt, he owed it to himself and to Alex to find out why.

“I want someone to look at me the way you look at Alex and the way Alex looks at you.” Maria admitted.  A small smile pulled at his lips.  Their feelings for each other was something to aspire to have.  Who knew.  “I’d be a shitty person if I tried to force that to be you when I know you already have it.  You both deserve happiness. I don’t want to keep that from you.”

Michael scoffed as he shook his head, marveling at the girl that he really wished he could love.  She really was too good for him.  Or, at least on a completely different playing field.  He hoped she got someone that loved her like she deserved. “You’re really fucking cool, you know that?”

Maria smiled, “I know.”  

—-

I write both roswell nm and all the skam remakes, so if you want to be tagged for a certain ship instead of having to sift through fics on shows you don’t watch, just let me know!