#when i said “greatest damn cover they ever heard” i was picturing him playing The Gentle Art of Making Enemies by Faith No More

[bignarfworld]

I went into detail about Shintaro writing the songs in-universe but i didn't talk about the most important detail about my headcanon itself: Shintaro loves music, not as in "i enjoy listening to music" but as in a PASSION, a hyperfocus if you will

He's a loser, a boyfail even in most things in his life, but whenever music is involved he sits that ass down and plays like he's about to outperform the devil itself. "But bignarf, what does Shintaro play? :3" everything. Give this man an eletric guitar and he'll play until his fingertips start bleeding, put him on the piano and watch him play Fantaisie Improptu flawlessly. Anything brass related? He already played it before, just fucking look at him going ham playing jazz. Rock, Pop, blues, classical, bossa nova, synth, funk, anything really he's into it. He'll also make sure to let you know he can play perfectly because he's also an asshole.

Imagine Takane or Kano and saying something along the lines of "bet this mf can't play shit lmao" and then this idiot get his hands on the nearest eletric guitar and absolutely delivers the greatest damn cover they ever heard (in PERFECT english if that's the song's original language) and just leaving the room with their mouths shut because few things are more humiliating than getting owned by Shintaro Kisaragi

[angelfics]

Eternal

couple : optional bias

genre : Romantic, Angst

words: 1746

summary : everyone leaves but you need someone to walk the path with you

The beaming sunlight shined through the window, passing the white curtain and reaching the old dusty carpet. The dim room was lightened up with the flames of a lighter.You brought the lighter close to the cigarette between your lips.

When you lowered the lighter, your gaze fell on the boy next to you, you could only see his bare shoulders going up and down slowly under the blanket.

Memories from a few hours ago came to your mind, your naked bodies against each other, the kisses, and the sound of moans that filled the room. now you were lying on the bed next to him and playing with the lighter in your hand.

Was it the right decision? Kissing him back when he kissed you, was that right?

"I love you"

His voice echoed in your mind like the first alarm in the morning, it didn't let you sleep. You still remembered his face when he said these words, his determined eyes, his lips pressing together, his hands locked on the table in front of you.

"I love you"

It kept repeating over and over like a tape, bringing a vibration to your body.

Your best friend had said these words to you, he had kissed you, he had touched you.

You looked at the boy next to you whom you trusted more than anyone, was he the same guy as before? Now naked under the blanket, he bore no resemblance to your best friend.

His menly hands had touched your body, his body had become one with you, he had made you his own.

So what was this strange feeling you had inside? Cold from head to toe, a slight tremor, heaviness in your soul.

"I love you”

damn it! You heard his voice again. you closed your eyes and puffed the cigarette, the fading smoke rose up in the semi-dark room.

You have never felt this way before, he has always been a close friend to you, nothing more. But when he kissed your lips, you felt that you needed those lips as if they were oxygen, and that was your first mistake.

The second mistake was coming to this king sized bed, in his small suite with tainted walls and paintings covering every corner, from trees and animals to tangled and rough shapes of faces. They all kind of reminded you of your best friend.

Best friend? What exactly were you now? What would you do if he woke up and wanted you to leave his house and never come back? What if he didn't want you in his life anymore?

You could’nt stand it.

You got up from the bed to find a cigarette butt, walking in the cluttered room, you laid your eyes upon the sheets and paintings around you, an empty cup of coffee on his desk caught your eye, you walked over to it, shaking the ashes of the cigarette inside the half empty cup. You stood by the desk, the light shining in through the window and illuminating the table surface, the multitude of black pen drawings and sketches caught your attentio

He was always messy.

You smiled and put your hand on the surface of the paintings, picked them up to clean up the table, being careful not to wake him up. When the table was finally set, your eyes became acquainted with the small design sketch notebook, which you had bought for his birthday three years ago, he still had it?

You put the cigarette between your lips and picked up the sketch notebook to turn the pages.

You paused when you saw the familiar face in it, there was a sketch of your face on the first page, from the hairstyle and your clothes, you knew this was on his birthday, the day you bought him this present. you were looking at your phone aware of him drawing you.

You flipped through the rest of the pages, each of them was a sketch of you, picturing you while you were eating, driving, reading a book, smoking, all this time he had been painting you and you hadn’t noticed? Seeing these sketches was like seeing yourself through the eyes of someone else.

You looked at the last sketch, it was from two days ago. You went to karaoke together, it was only a silhouette, but could you sort out the smile on your face and your hands which held the microphone tightly. A faint smile appeared on your face, recalling the memories of that day.

You looked at the last page, it was blank, but yesterday’s date was written on it, the night he confessed to you, he wanted to draw you again? When ? while you were enjoying your favorite banana milkshake? Or when you were lying next to him completely naked?

"Oops, looks like I'm busted."

you jumped at the sound of his voice, you were so engrossed in the notebook that you didn't notice he had woken up.

You moved the cigarette from your lips and said, "What is this?"

He came forward and clung to you from behind, put his hands on both sides of the edge of the table, locking your body in his body.

"This is my idea of ​​the world."

"These are all sketches from me"

"Exactly .. my world is you" you frowned confusedly and put the notebook on the table, then dropped the half-burnt cigarette in the coffee cup so that it would go out on its own.

You turned to him with a serious look on your face.

"What’s wrong?" he asked as his eyebrows furrowed

"What's gonna happen now? What are we going to do?"

He took a deep breath before answering, "It's up to you. I told you my feelings and I was honest with you. Now it's your turn to be honest with me."

"I was not prepared for this "

"Last night you seemed pretty prepared," he said. You pushed him away and threw your hands in frustration.

“I..I’m confused”

"You mean you don't want us to be together?"

"It's not that easy .. You're the only boy I trust if -"

"If What?" He took a step forward

"What if you leave me? Then who else do I have?"

"Why should I leave you?" He said softly and stepped closer.

"Because this is what people do .. they say they will be by your side until the end, but then they leave you" You looked away and stared at one of the paintings.

"I promise to try to stay with you forever, how is that?" You stared into his brown eyes, you knew he was right, but you couldn’t believe him.

People always leave, this life has proved it to you, your friends, your ex lovers, your mother ... they all leave one day and you are left alone.

You sighed and stepped back to sit on the bed, covering your face with both hands.

"I don’t want to lose you"

He knelt beside you, took your hands and brought them down.

"You are not going to lose me"

"You want me to be your girlfriend"

"Well we can be best friends who love each other"

You bit your lip and remained silent for a few moments.

"Why did you draw me?"

"Because I wanted to look at you when you're not around"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to draw the real you, the person you are when no one’s looking, you should fall in love with people in these moments, when they think no one's looking at them."

"Did you fall in love with me in those moments?" you asked, he nodded slowly.

You grabbed his hands, which were still around your wrists and squeezed them.

"Did you want to draw me yesterday too?"

"Yeah, I was waiting for you to fall asleep... I had never seen you like this before .. but man you wouldn’t sleep." You both laughed.

"Well .. do you still want to draw me?" You shrugged.

"draw you?" He raised his eyebrows

"Yeah, it’s the last page of the notebook? Don't you want me to pay attention to the painter in at least one of them?"

He smiled and nodded, stood up and went to the desk to pick up his notebook, while he was looking for his pencil and eraser. You quickly jumped to the other side of the bed and put on his T-shirt. He looked at you in surprise.

"If you are going to stare at me, I do not want to be naked." You just shrugged. He laughed and nodded.

He sat down on a desk chair and spread the notebook to begin with.

"What should I do?"

"I want to draw your face, so just smile" You nodded, took a deep breath and gave him the most beautiful smile you had. He started immediately, drawing lines on the blank page, raising his head from time to time to look at you. Each time your eyes met, your heart beat faster.

You looked at his calm face, his hand moving up and down quickly on the paper, his perfect body with the sun shining on his back, he was the greatest man you had ever seen. you thought about what had happened last night, you enjoyed it too, you wanted this too, now that you were sitting in front of him, there was not the slightest bit of regret in you.

People always leave, but only those who accompany you along the way matter, and he, as a close friend, has walked and accompanied you for a long time. If you were to trust someone, he was sitting right in front of you.

Finally he finished his work, straightened up and turned the notebook. Your eyes shined with excitement, seeing your face looking at you with a smile on the paper.

"this is great" you said excitedly. He laughed and stared at the painting "yes ..."

You had made your decision, you had to make a choice, you got up, went to him, took the notebook in your hand and put it on the desk.

Your arms wrapped around his neck and you sat in his lap, he looked at you in surprise, you pressed your foreheads together

"I love you too,"you said.

His voice was still repeating in your head, but this time it was a pleasant lullaby telling you that the impossible is possible and that some people will stay with you forever.

[unholymarvel]

Chris Evans Smut— The Interview

Pairings: Chris Evans x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Dirty Talk, Anal, Squirting, Chris Being Sweet And Salty

You were sitting in the interview with Chris Evans (your sort-of boyfriend), Tom Holland, Chris Hemsworth, Sebastian Stan, Jeremy Renner, and Robert Downey Jr.

You and Chris weren’t ‘out’ as a couple yet so when the interviewer told you that you would all be playing a whispering game, you knew where this was going.

Chris was at the end of the couch followed by you, Chris H, Jeremy, Sebastian, Robert, and Tom. The interview told Chris to whisper anything into your ear and you would pass it on and see what it ended up as.

And of course Chris would NEVER pass up the opportunity to make you squirm, so he whispered....

“I love fucking girls in the butt”

You clenched around nothing at just those simple dirty words falling from his lips. But you couldn’t loose it now, so you simply whispered the same thing into the other Chris’s ear and tried to contain yourself.

By the end of the row the interview asked Tom what he heard

“I love fucking butts?”

Tom’s face grew red at his own words causing everyone to laugh. But then the interview asked Chris what he said.... and you never expected him to sound so confident when he answered.

—After the Interview—

You hugged everyone goodbye and made your way past the paparazzi to the limousine waiting outside for you. Your panties were soaked underneath your small dress and it didn’t help when Chris came up behind you and placed his hand on your back.

“Hello My Darling”

Chills shot up your spine as you turned to face him, knowing the cameras were catching all of this.

“Not in public Chris”

You tried to turn away from him but he pulled you even closer

“What if I want it to be public?”

Your cheeks heated up and you stared down at your feet trying to find an answer. Of course you wanted to make this public but what if it all went wrong and people started to hate you.

“Please? You look so amazing right now and all I want to do is kiss you. If you don’t want to that’s alright, but I really want you to be mine.... officially”

His words were so sweet, considering how much of an ass he’s been. So you gave in.

“Okay, if you really want to, kiss me”

It didn’t even take him a second to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you into a searing kiss. The paparazzi went nuts with pictures and questions but nothing mattered anymore, it was just you and Chris in that moment.

—That night—

Yep... you went home with Chris. And now you were sprawled out on his bed, completely naked, with Chris’s head between your legs.

My god he was good at giving head. His tongue could really do some things. After pulling around 3 orgasms out of you with nothing but his mouth, you pulled him up to eye level while you caught your breath.

“Babygirl?”

Damn just that simple pet name made your pussy tingle. At this moment you would literally do anything for him— but you didn’t think you would need to...

“Y-yes?”

“I meant what I said”

“Huh?”

There were so many things he said today that really mattered... but what was he talking about?

“At the interview. I meant what I whispered for the game”

Your cheeks heated up and you tried not to make eye contact with him. You needed to decide what you wanted to do here.

“Oh god sorry- I didn’t mean to freak you out!”

Now Chris was getting nervous and thought he scared you away, but before he could get up you pulled him into a huge sloppy kiss.

“Let’s try it”

You could see how happy that made him even when he tried to hide it.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to do anything to make you uncomfortable”

“Chris it’s okay, I’ll do anything for you”

Without a second thought, he discarded his shirt, pants, and everything else on his body. He crawled on top of you and began kissing down your neck.

The marks on your neck would surely be there for at least a few days. His hands traveled all over your body as if he was trying to memorize every single curve.

Before you could make another move, he flipped you over so your ass was almost perfectly lined up with his erect dick.

“Are you sure about this baby?”

“Yes Chris please just put your dick in me!”

Those dirty words made his cock jump in excitement. He reached over to his drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube, which you’ve never seen before causing you to give him a confused look.

“So it doesn’t hurt”

It made your heart skip a beat, even though he was about to fuck you into oblivion, he was making sure you wouldn’t be hurt.

He covered himself in lube and lined himself up with your ass.

“Ready?”

“I hope so”

He gave your left cheek a quick slap before carefully pushing his tip into your tight asshole. It was super painful but you knew you could hold out long enough for Chris.

“You doing okay baby girl?”

“Yeah. Yeah just keep going”

He slowly slid the rest of his dick in and began thrusting. At first it was painful but now it was starting to feel downright amazing.

“Shit so tight”

His perfect Boston accent always peaked through when he was in bed.

He grabbed you by the throat and pulled your back against his chest. Now he was hitting an entirely new spot inside you and it was more than erotic.

His deep moans were directly in your ear and you’ve never ever heard him make noises like this before. His free hand snaked around to your clit and began circling it like his life depended on it.

He had never felt anything so tight around his dick before and he knew he wasn’t going to last long, so he wanted to bring you to your release as fast as he could.

He could feel your writhing underneath his touch, he knew you were close.

“Cum for me baby. Cum right now”

That sent you hurling over the edge, you clenched around him even better than before as you squirted all over the bed sheets. And that sent Chris into the hardest orgasm he has ever had.

You both collapsed on the bed, Chris still inside you.

“Shit baby that was the greatest sex I’ve ever had. And that’s saying a lot”

You quietly giggled as his hands squeezed your breasts.

“I love you”

It was just a whisper but you definitely heard him. You leaned your head back just enough to look into his eyes.

“I love you too”

[definexzero]

ok, quick drabble with a quick background - 

Pro Heros AU, aged up characters, platonic bkdk, maybe romantic, if you read into it [i sure do], Childhood friends 

The background I don’t cover - Bakugo was sent abroad to take care of illegal trading of animals that have developed a quirk [much like principal Nezu] and in the mission, he saved an egg from a breeder, from it hatched a sort of mix of a lizard and a bat - and they imprinted much like a duckling on Bakugo. From fitting into his pocket, to walking on leash like a dog, and up to needing a stable of a horse - the creature showed no sign of stall in growth, in a short amount of time. oh, and they started breathing fire at some point.

They wanted to spend as much time with Katsuki as possible - you try getting in the way of a fire breathing giant lizard-bat. So Katsuki, while still on mission, decided to corporate with them. The process of registering them as a side kick will surely be taught in law school one day - they made it work somehow. 

Getting back to Japan, the media of course rushes in to ask about his ‘dragon hero partner’ [dragons sell, who cares if it’s not the scientific term for it] - he was quoted:”Coming out of UA I was on the lookout for Fire Breathing heroes to partner with” - and when Deku comes in his office to say welcome back, you can’t expect him to just glide over that, right?

Don’t get him wrong, public interviews are a bitch and a half, but you can take Katsuki’s word when he tells you - those journalists got nothing on his mega-nuisance of a childhood friend.

“I was surprised, that’s all!” Deku defended when he notice the blonde getting impatient in his answers. “I wasn’t aware you were looking for a partner at all when you debuted. I sure as hell never heard you were scouting for fire related quirks, have you ever asked Todoroki?”

Katsuki sighed, and tried to recollect the conversation. 

“It’s not that, Nerd, I was taken out of context”

“They made that up?”

“Not…quite,” he averted his eyes, and scratched his head, “What I said was, my initial plan was to work with a partner who possess a fire breathing quirk - and it fulfilled itself in an unlikely way,” hoping this would satisfy the nerd he started to make way for the door of his office.

“Your initial plan?” Izuku huffed in amusement,  “Kacchan, you’ve been thinking and planning your debut since you were in your diapers, of course you were taken out of context, that’s misleading isn’t—-“.

Both froze in their place. 

Katsuki gulped and turned to Izuku once more, pushing down the urge to run. No turning back. It’s pretty much out in the open now.

“Oh” 

It’s Deku after all.

“Really?”

“It was before, yeah, all of that,”lowering his head, he sighed, “I’m sure you could have utilised telekinesis as well, but as a brat I guess fire breathing was more exciting to — fixate on”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Izuku laughed, taking the tension off by bit. Katsuki smiled back at him “Yeah, bu you know”.

“You planned on working with me?” Deku probing freely in his thoughts wasn’t a new occurrence. The Explosive hero knows his colleague got an addiction to playing with boundaries.  “Well, everywhere I looked - there you were, you made it impossible to picture a future without you somewhere there,” and that shitty nerd got the nerve to giggle! “Shut up, you know what I mean, and take it in the worst way possible”

“Because I’m such a stalker, aren’t I?”

“The greatest of them”

“That’s a real compliment coming from you”

“Ha, my attention alone is a damn trophy” 

“Aren’t you a bit full of yourself?”

“Not even a bit”

They paused, comfortable in their silence, holding out a bit more, challenging each other only with their gaze.

Finally they let go - Bakugo turned back into the room, sitting down on the office couch, as Izuku took a sit on the opposite end.

“So,” the green haired hero crooked his head, “Fire breathing dragon?”

“Fire breathing dragon,” Katsuki affirmed, with a hint of a smile.

“That’s crazy,” shaking his head,”And somehow I wouldn’t expect any less of you” 

“You don’t say,” Katsuki released a sort of incredulous huff,“Still, they’re really fast, the velocity adjustment…it’s tricky” he admitted. 

“Can I check it?”

Bakugo turned to him, searching for a part in himself that wants to oppose and decline and push away. He, maybe frighteningly, found none.

“Sure,” curtesy of the progress he made in his social skills,”I gotta train, could use another critic there from the side.”

Izuku brightened up with excitement, well of course he would, it’s a freaking dragon, that nerd got a once in a lifetime opportunity. Katsuki can’t help but feel a bit cocky for having some credit to that.

“Can I ride?” Well, he expected no less of the nerd.

“That’s for them to decide”

[letshaikyuu]

𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝟷𝟶 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: when you get a call one afternoon from an unknown number, you decide to answer it; what story lies behind it was beyond your imagination; astronaut!Oikawa Tooru

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: angst, no happy ending, major character death

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 2k

                 » [based on an episode of 911: Lone Star] «

“Hello?”

The line on the other side kept cutting off, unstable and breaking, making it hard to hear the voice on the other end. It wasn’t until a few seconds later, the line seemed to find its way to a stable connection, that you heard a very loud voice on the other side.

“Mom!? Mom, is that you!?” As if it found its perfect position, the line suddenly stabilized. With no more breaks in the line, you could hear the voice perfectly; the voice on the other end completely unfamiliar to you and you would be lying if you said that you weren’t feeling anxious, scared almost, by the fear and panic in the male’s voice, yelling at you through the phone’s speaker.

“I-I’m not your mom,” you looked around your empty apartment, but no one was around while you were lazing on the couch, your favorite TV show playing and a refreshing drink on the table, “I’m hanging up no-“

“NO, WAIT! PLEASE DON’T HANG UP!”

You gulped at the needy tone. The male was certainly frightened, maybe in need of some help, guidance, medical care, but who were you to provide him with any of that. You weren’t supposed to answer the phone in the first place. “Sir, if you were calling 911, you’ve dialed the wrong number-“

“I hoped you were my mother.” Have you not been speaking softly, you would’ve missed it. The loud, booming voice now turned into something so fragile, glass-like; it edged on some kind of sympathy, yet, you felt nervous. “Nobody’s answering the damn phone. Now!? Now when I need them the most, they’re not fucking answering!?”

“Sir, please calm down,” you could clearly notice the fear in your own voice, but tried to mask it by faking a cough, “if you hang up, maybe you’ll get them to answer.”

“Please...” Eyes widening at the obvious cry, you stayed silent for a few seconds, letting the man cry and try to calm down. “I-I’m dying...and no one is answering my calls...”

That definitely didn’t sit right. “Dying!? Sir, you need medical attention then!” But, he only chuckled, sniffles being the only answer on the other end.

“If there’s someone who knows how to treat exposure to radiation 500km above Earth, I’ll gladly take their help.” It was at this point that most would figure out they’re being messed around with, but, he sounded too sincere, too honest and scared to be lying about something like that. “I’m Oikawa Tooru, astronaut sent on a mission from the ISS and currently floating almost 500km above Earth. Nice to meet you stranger.”

“Wait...you’re really calling from a space station!?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, aren’t I?”

“B-but..,” you tried to comprehend this new onslaught of weird and rare information, but this conversation began becoming weirder and weirder, “how are you talking to me, then?”

In the distance, you could hear faint typing, as if he were typing on a keyboard and moving around every few seconds. “I’d love to give you all the technical information, but I’m kind of dying, so spare me that part, will you?”

You were shocked at how nonchalant he was acting. He was dying, but the voice from the beginning of the conversation, with the fire and will to survive, screaming out for his mother, seemed to distinguish into nothing but mere realization and acceptance that death was upon him.

“What’s your name, stranger?”

“Y/N...”

You look at the TV, shutting it off so you could hear him better, his voice too weak to be heard above the blaring noise of the TV. “Only 10 minutes left,” you could hear him whisper out softly, his voice hoarse and cracking.

“Why didn’t you call your family?” Talking to someone minutes before their passing was not something you’d call a dream afternoon, but you would never forgive yourself if you cut him off now and slam the phone down, so you kept talking to him.

“I did, but my parents are at work and my sister isn’t answering either. My best friend...he too isn’t answering..,” he voiced out, his furious typing dragging your – and ultimately his – attention away from what was really happening. It felt like a quick break from reality. “So, I’m begging you,” you held your breath as you awaited his next words, “please don’t let me die alone.”

“Let’s play 20 questions!”

Oikawa’s voice became hoarser as he kept talking to the stranger on the phone. He could feel his chest tighten and lungs beg for pure oxygen, but Oikawa knew he wasn’t getting any. His fellow partner, who was with him at the space station, laid dead beside him, the effects of the radiation killing him long before Oikawa could even realize.

He was left alone, with only a stranger’s voice on the other end, talking to him and reminding him that there’s someone who he can talk to mere minutes before death. “I probably have...6 minutes left,” he thought to himself as he moved from each side of the space shuttle, his fingers quickly typing as he put in the last piece of information into the computers. Hopefully, when they find them someday, they’ll be able to see what went wrong and prevent this from ever happening again. Unfortunately, Oikawa had to be the test subject for this.

“20 questions? Oikawa, you do know you have a few minutes left, right?” Your worried voice sounded in his ear and he couldn’t help but chuckle. “I just want to know the person I’ll be talking to last a bit more, is that a crime?”

He could hear you let out a small chuckle in return and he smiled. He wanted to keep the atmosphere as light-hearted as possible, even though the clock kept ticking and seconds went by, it seems, faster than usual. He didn’t have much time left, so why waste it on crying?

“Tell me a little bit about yourself. You know, favorite color, animal and all that.”

Oikawa kept typing, but listened intently on what you were saying. To many, it were random things and it didn’t make sense to ask about them, but Oikawa knew what he was doing. Your voice soft, but even though you tried to hide it, there was an evident stutter once in a while and a sharp intake of breath. You’d stop every few seconds to see if he was still breathing, so Oikawa kept humming in reply.

His words became heavy, breathing weaker as his lungs began to die on him. “3 more minutes left...” He whispers out, more to himself than the person he’s talking to. Typing down the last piece of information he finds important to be written down, Oikawa moves to the center of the space shuttle and waits.

He lies down, eyes staring at the ceiling as his body floats aimlessly around the shuttle. His partner long gone in front of him. He closes his eyes, pictures of him and his closest friends and family start flashing before his eyes. So, this is how death looks like, he thought as he wished to hear them one last time before he passes. But, Oikawa knew that some wishes were never made to be fulfilled. It so happens that his greatest wish will be just a long forgotten memory.

However, there’s you, still on the phone with him. You’re still talking, stopping every once in a while to hear his breathing, but instead, you’d only get violent coughing in return. He could hear you sniffling, soft cries being held back by a hand covering your mouth. Oikawa couldn’t imagine how you felt, having to hear someone die with you by their side. He will be forever grateful to you, for sticking by his side while he experienced his last few minutes on Earth. Technically above Earth, but Oikawa didn’t want to go into the technical details.

He looked one last time out the shuttle window, beautiful Earth in front of him. He was so close to it, in the lower layers of the atmosphere, yet, so far to go back and live life. He always wanted to be an astronaut and he’d rather die than give up on his wildest dreams. And, die he will. “1 minute left, huh...”

“Y/N...listen,” he tried to talk through the coughing, but had to stop numerous times, unable to finish the sentence. “T-Tell me how you look like...”

“How I look like? Oikawa, are you sur-“

“I want to picture you before I die. You’re the last person I’ll ever talk to.”

His body shook tremendously from the violent coughing, breathing becoming unstable and finding it hard to voice out any words. His throat almost closed, restricting him of any normal functioning, but, with one last breath, he managed to murmur out:

“Call me Tooru, please, call me Tooru.”

You were talking through your tears, stumbling over your words as you try to describe yourself in the quickest way possible, so that Oikawa knew who he had been talking to moments before death. He became awfully silent, his quiet humming becoming more and more distant, until you couldn’t hear it anymore.

“A-And I have this scar f-from when I-I...” You stopped, wishing to hear him chuckle at your story, his soft laughter picking at your every heart string every time he let it out. From the way he sounded and acted, Oikawa was truly something else.

“T-Tooru? T-Tooru, are you there?” You yelled out frantically, seconds as silent as the dead ticked by with no noise coming from the other side. Just your voice, all by itself, echoing through the space shuttle.

“Tooru!? Oh God, Tooru...please...please no...” The phone slipped from your shaking hand and you let it fall. There was no use in talking anymore when everything was finally over. As violent sobs racked your body, you try to look at the clock through teary eyes. It had only been ten minutes. Ten minutes of you talking to someone you’ve never met. To family and friends talking to each other, ten minutes meant nothing but a part of a longer duration. But, to Oikawa, a son, an uncle, a friend, it meant everything. It meant only 10 minutes of breathing, thinking, and feeling. And then, after those 10 minutes, everything would be gone, like ne never once existed. And to you? To you, those minutes would never go away. They will be forever edged in your brain. The noise of him hardly breathing, talking and telling you how much he appreciates you talking to him. To Oikawa, those 10 minutes had already passed, but to you, those 10 minutes will still be there to haunt you.

‘Breaking news:

ISS has reported the death of two astronauts from their newest mission. The astronauts have been exposed to radiation, their space shuttle still roaming the lower layers of Earth, providing them no protection from the radiation. The ISS express its deepest condolences to the victims’ families.’

It was the day after. Your eyes completely dry from the onslaught of tears yesterday. You looked up at the screen and saw the face you had been talking to. Oikawa Tooru. His handsome face was plastered on your TV, a wide grin on his face as he smiled to the camera.

You didn’t know what made you cry more. His curly brown hair softly falling and framing his face, his deep brown eyes that seemed to grab you in and never let you go or was it something else that couldn’t be seen on screen.

“He had a heart of gold,” you whispered out, more to remind yourself that he will truly be remembered as someone who was pure and kindhearted, a hero who died trying to find out more about the Earth and living his wildest dreams.

To many, that day could have been filled with happiness, sorrow or grief. But, nobody will know knew about the death of two astronauts, far away from Earth. Their sacrifice would only be known a few days later, when the ISS releases its official statement. But, nobody will know about your conversation with him, his last 10 minutes. It was something you’d cherish deeply, until death knocked on your door as well; and, maybe, you will finally able to meet the one that stole your heart – in only ten minutes.

‘ISS also reports that one of the astronauts, Oikawa Tooru, had been found with a smile on his face.’

[watusichris]

My Brilliant Career in Chicago Pro Wrestling: A True Story

Damn, I could have sworn I’d posted this 2015 Night Flight story, which remains the funniest thing I’ve ever written. Every word is true. ********** In the early 1970s, before Vince McMahon’s World Wrestling Federation (today World Wrestling Entertainment) turned professional wrestling into a pay-per-view cash cow, pro grappling was a wide-open game run by maverick regional promoters and catering to lunatic fans. I got to experience this incredible world intimately: For two years, I served as “publicist” for the promoter in one of the biggest wrasslin’ towns in the country, Chicago.

I was fresh out of college back in 1972, and returned to my old room in my mother’s apartment in Evanston bearing a seemingly worthless bachelor’s degree in English and no immediate prospects for gainful employment. Fortunately, my father believed in nepotism.

After a long career as a TV executive that had garnered him two Peabody Awards, my dad was then the general manager of WSNS, a Chicago UHF station that broadcast on Channel 44. It was a low-rent operation that my old man helped legitimize by securing telecasts of White Sox games. (He loathed Sox announcer Harry Caray, who would get hammered out of his skull while working in the booth, and rightly thought major league screwball-turned-color man Jimmy Piersall was out of his mind.)

Though such questionable WSNS programming as a daily late-night weathercast delivered by a buxom negligee-clad blonde stretched out on a heart-shaped bed was a thing of the past, colorful holdovers from the old schedule remained. And thus my dad called me one day to say he could get me some part-time work doing PR for Bob Luce, the local pro wrestling promoter, who mounted the weekly show All Star Championship Wrestling on the station.

Naturally, I was hired on the spot at my first meeting with Luce, who was something of a legend in Chicago sports circles at the time. Chicago Sun-Times columnist Bob Greene captured had him perfectly in a famous column in which every sentence ended with an exclamation point.

Stocky, florid of complexion, and as loud as his off-the-rack sport coats, the outsized Luce was the dictionary definition of the word “character.” You’d sit down with him in a restaurant, and the other diners would duck and cover. Constantly agitated and gesticulating wildly, his stentorian conversation was a manic torrent of hype and madness, punctuated by explosive laughter than sounded like a machine gun going off next to your ear.

Fittingly, before joining the wrestling biz, Luce had edited a tabloid, the National Tattler. Like the National Enquirer of that frontier era, the rag made its bones with totally fictitious “news” stories featuring lots of cleavage and outré bloodletting. At one lunch, to the very evident embarrassment of the neighboring clientele, Luce regaled me with the tale of one inspired Tattler cover story, which I will recount Greene-style. Imagine it at full volume: “I got this idea, see, for a story about a sex orgy! [He pronounced “orgy” with a hard “g,” as in “Porgy” of Porgy and Bess.] But it had to be a different kind of orgy! So I got my wife Sharon to take her clothes off and covered her with peanut butter! And we took some pictures, and the lights were HOT, and the peanut butter melted all over her! They were great pictures! We called it – ha ha HA! – ‘PEANUT BUTTER ORGY!’”

Luce had graduated to promoting pro wrestling events in Chicago and other Midwestern markets, in partnership with the American Wrestling Association’s star attractions, Verne Gagne and Dick the Bruiser, of whom more in a moment. (His sweet, funny, but definitely tough wife knew the business: She had wrestled under the name Sharon Lass.)

As the noisy host of All Star Championship Wrestling, Luce would interview the stars of his upcoming promotions, show footage of recent contests, and pump the next matches. Thrusting a finger at the camera in one of his windups, he would shriek, “BE THERE!!!” Ever the sales impresario, he also served as the show’s principal pitchman, appearing in tandem with some of his hulking charges -- and occasionally with special guest hucksters like former heavyweight champ Leon Spinks -- to spiel for a long line of sketchy local advertisers. They are among the greatest and most hilarious commercials ever made.

As Luce’s publicity rep, commanding a monthly paycheck of $200, I was charged with lightweight duty: writing and mailing press releases promoting the bi-weekly Friday night matches at the Chicago International Amphitheatre, assisting the WSNS camera crew at the gigs (sometimes by protecting their extra film magazines from flying bodies at ringside), and calling in the results of the matches to the local papers. (The last task proved to be the most onerous. I’d ring up the local sports desks late on the nights of the matches and harangue some half-drunk, bored assistant editor whose interest in the “sport” could not have been more infinitesimal. When I finally managed to get the Sun-Times to print the results of one match, I felt as if I’d qualified for a Publicists Guild award.) I also performed certain functions for Luce when he was out of town or too busy to handle them. One weekday afternoon I accompanied Superstar Billy Graham, later a big WWF name and a sort of proto-Hulk Hogan, to Wrigley Field, where he was interviewed by nonplussed announcer Jack Brickhouse between innings of a Chicago Cubs radio broadcast.

Every other week for nearly two years, I’d take the El down to the Amphitheatre, located on Halsted Street on the far South Side, adjacent to the old Chicago Stock Yards. (I held onto the job even after I secured a similarly nepotistic but full-time position – writing about cheap component stereo systems for Zenith Radio Corporation.) The antique, immense Amphitheatre had hosted big political conventions, auto shows, circuses, rodeos, and concerts by Elvis Presley, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, and Led Zeppelin, but Luce’s dates at the venue, as you will see, attracted a distinctly different class of customer.

The pre-match staging area, where I’d meet Luce and the crew, was the Sirloin Room of the adjacent Stock Yard Inn, not far from the site of the old South Side cattle slaughterhouses. This is where Luce’s employees and pals would also convene before the night’s entertainment began to swill a couple of cocktails and shoot the breeze. It was a cast worthy of a Damon Runyon story.

Luce employed a bodyguard, a towering ex-Chicago cop named Duke, who had reputedly shot six men before being relieved of duty by the PD. He stood about six-four and dressed exactly like John Shaft. He emanated an aura of extreme menace. Once, when I asked him what he would do if someone actually started any serious trouble, Duke wordlessly pulled back the lapel of his full-length leather coat to reveal a shoulder holster bulging with a .44 Magnum.

The promotion’s bagman, charged with collecting the night’s cash receipts, was a diminutive cat everyone called Bill the Barber. I never knew his last name, but he did in fact run a South Side barbershop. He’d invariably show up dressed in a sport coat that looked like a TV test pattern and a skinny-brim fedora, with watery eyes that sometimes flicked nervously above his pencil-thin mustache. He kept a .38 strapped to his belt.

Many nights, a mysterious character referred to only as “Carmie La Papa” would put in an appearance. This elderly Italian gentleman was always treated with great deference and ate on Luce’s tab. I never found out exactly what he did. But he looked a lot like the mobster played by Pasquale Cajano in Martin Scorsese’s Casino, and I thought it wise not to inquire about his line of work.

There were also bona fide wrestling groupies, well-stacked, slightly haggard old-school broads who draped themselves on the bar, sipping pink ladies. One night, Luce leaned over to me in the Sirloin Room and said, in a whisper that could be heard 20 feet away, “After the matches, these girls and the guys go to a motel up in Prospect Heights, and they have orgies.” (Again, pronounced with a hard “g.”) The most popular of these was reportedly Gloria, a tall, pneumatic redhead of uncertain but rapidly advancing age; Luce confided, “She will do anything.”

The matches themselves were something to behold. I’d usually watch them in the company of WSNS’s young, jaded camera crew, from the dilapidated press box high above the ring in the center of the Amphitheatre. The crowd – thousands of poorly dressed, myopic, malodorous, and steeply inebriated men – was a product of what may be called the pre-ironic era of pro wrestling. There was no such thing as a suspension of disbelief among these spectators. Disbelief did not exist. Though the matches were as closely stage-managed as a production of Richard III, these rubes accepted every feigned punch and bogus drop kick as the McCoy.

Pro wrestling is the eternal contest between virtue and evil, and the wrestlers were identified in equal number as good guys and heels. Most of the good guys on the undercard – there were usually half a dozen matches, with one main event – were young “scientific” wrestlers whose Greco-Roman moves were no match for the brazenly illegal play of the dirty heels, who almost invariably won their bouts with tactics that would not pass muster with an elementary school playground monitor, let alone a legitimate referee. About the only one of these “babyfaces” (or, alternatively, “chumps”) who was vouchsafed an occasional victory was Greg Gagne, son of the promotion’s star attraction and part owner.

By the early ‘70s, Verne Gagne had been wrestling professionally for more than two decades; drafted by the Chicago Bears and then rebelling against team owner George Halas’ prohibition of a sideline on the mat, he had chosen the ring over the gridiron. He was 46 years old when I started working for Luce; he was still in decent shape, and, unlike almost all of his opponents, he still had all of his teeth.

I only managed to spend time with him once. For some reason now lost in the dense fog of time, Luce dispatched me to meet Gagne at the elegant Pump Room of the Drake Hotel near Lake Michigan. There, as cabaret star Dorothy Donegan serenaded us on the piano, the 16-time world heavyweight wrestling champion of the world got me brain-dead drunk, and then poured me into a cab home. He was an excellent guy.

Many of the other good guys on Luce’s undercards were reliable patsies for the baddies. Pepper Gomez, one of the domestic game’s few Mexican stars, was a venerable attraction who was allowed the rare triumph; billed as “the Man with the Cast-Iron Stomach,” he once allowed a Volkswagen Bug to be driven over his gut on Luce’s TV show, where he was a frequent guest.

One of my favorites was Yukon Moose Cholak. Then a veteran of 20 years on the mat, Moose owned a bar not far from the Amphitheatre, but he still worked regularly for his close pal Luce in the AWA. Huge, pot-bellied, and benign, he boasted a ripe Sout’ Side accent rivaled only by Dennis Farina’s. He was hardly an exceptional combatant: He moved around the ring with the fleetness of a dazed sloth. He was a regular on Luce’s show, and often appeared with the host in his TV spots.

The only time I appeared as a guest on All Star Championship Wrestling, Moose was the victim of the on-camera carnage that was a requisite feature of the show. At the time, conflict of interest be damned, I was writing a column about wrestling for a short-lived local sports paper called Fans, and was brought in to lend something like legitimacy to the proceedings. Luce offered me a chair on his threadbare set to push a forthcoming match between Cholak, who appeared on camera next to me, and Handsome Jimmy Valiant, a new heel on the rise in the market.

I figured something ugly was going to happen, but I went about extolling the virtues of Moose’s nearly non-existent mat skills in the front of the camera. Suddenly, Valiant crept up from behind the black scrim behind us and whacked Cholak over the head with a metal folding chair. To this day, I believe my expression of outraged surprise was worthy of a local Emmy, but a nomination eluded me.

I was actually very fond of Valiant, whom I interviewed with his “brother” and tag team partner Luscious John Valiant for Fans. Jimmy was a peroxided, strutting egomaniac in the grand Gorgeous George manner, and he had some classic patter: “I’m da wimmen’s pet and da men’s regret! I got da body wimmen love and men fear! And you, you’re as useful as a screen door in a submarine, daddy!” A rock ‘n’ roll fan, he went on to a very successful solo career, appropriately enough in Memphis, the capital of all things Elvis.

After Gagne the elder, the AWA’s biggest attraction was the tag team of Dick the Bruiser and the Crusher. Bruiser had gotten his competitive start as a linebacker for the Green Bay Packers, but had been a top wrestling draw since 1955. Somewhere along the way, he had been converted from heel to hero, and the Chicago fans adored him. Among the merch sold at the Amphitheatre were Dick the Bruiser Fan Club buttons; measuring six inches in diameter, they could either be pinned on one’s chest or, with the aid of a built-in cardboard stand, be displayed as a plaque. I kept mine on my desk at my straight job to freak out my co-workers.

Early in my gig with Luce, I was taken to meet Bruiser in the locker room. He sat on a table smoking a huge cigar. When I was introduced to him, he exclaimed, “Hey, you’re Ed Morris’ kid? You got more hair than your old man!” My father, who was in fact almost completely bald, had been known to associate with winners of the Nobel and Pulitzer Prizes. I was a little surprised that he ran in Bruiser’s circle.

The Crusher’s career in the squared circle dated back to the late ‘40s. I was even more impressed by him than I was by the Bruiser, for he had been the inspiration of the Novas’ wrasslin’-themed single “The Crusher,” a huge 1965 radio hit in Chicago for the Minnesota garage band the Novas (and later eloquently covered by the Cramps). Bruiser and Crusher were a unique combo: They were “good guys,” but they earned their keep by being badder than the “bad guys” they gutter-stomped.

The villains in that era of pro wrestling were often the object of atavistic xenophobia and hatred. Long before the U.S.’s conflicts in the Middle East, the Sheik (né Ed Farhat in Lansing, Michigan), who took the ring wearing a burnoose, was among the most reviled of heels. Some of the older fans were World War II vets, and they lustily booed Baron von Raschke, who climbed through the ropes with a monocle in one eye, draped in a Nazi flag. He was actually a U.S. Army vet born Jim Raschke in Omaha, Nebraska. His fake German accent was utterly feeble.

The AWA’s all-purpose villain, who would go on to bigger things as one of McMahon’s first WWF stars, was “Pretty Boy” Bobby Heenan, dubbed “the Weasel” by the Bruiser. Heenan was featured in his own matches, but he was most reliably entertaining as a manager, of the most duplicitous and cowardly variety, in another villain’s corner. You didn’t need a script to know what was going to happen: Just as it looked like the good guy was going to triumph, Heenan would leap into the ring and smash the apparent victor’s head into a turnbuckle or hit him over the skull with a water bucket.

Heenan featured in the most outrageous story I heard during my brilliant career in wrestling. One night I was sitting with the film crew when Al Lerner, the mustachioed, shaggy-haired, bespectacled WSNS sports reporter, entered the press box with a portable tape machine on his shoulder and a stunned look on his face. “I’ve interviewed people in front of burning buildings,” Al said. “I’ve interviewed people as they were jumping out of airplanes. But I’ve never interviewed anyone while they were getting a blowjob.”

It seems that while Al was in the locker room recording some audio bites from Heenan, a voluptuous girl standing nearby walked over to the wrestler, kneeled down in front of him, pulled down his trunks, and began giving him the kind of pre-match service Mickey Rourke probably dreamed of but never received. As she went about her business, Heenan continued to spout invective to Al as if nothing extraordinary was transpiring. With that moment alone, Bobby Heenan earned his place in the Professional Wrestling Hall of Fame.

I visited Heenan in the locker room on a somewhat less eventful evening, but that night I learned the secret of many pros’ mat success. As I was talking to him, I noticed that his forehead was crosshatched with tiny scars, some of them new and still livid. I later mentioned this to one of the crew, and was told that these wounds – referred to as “juicing”  -- were actually self-inflicted, so that the wrestlers could easily draw blood during critical moments of violence in their matches.

As Heenan said in a later interview, “If you want the green, you gotta bring the red.” Gore was a staple of pro wrestling, and there was nothing like sitting in an arena filled with 10,000 or 15,000 crazed spectators and hearing a drunken chant go up as a good guy pummeled a heel to the mat: “WE WANT BLOOD! WE WANT BLOOD! WE WANT BLOOD!”

My last hurrah in pro wrestling was one of Luce’s rare alfresco promotions, a multi-bout 1974 card at old Comiskey Park, the White Sox’s stadium, which climaxed with a 16-man battle royal. I don’t remember who triumphed in the main event, but I do remember that someone on the crew brought a bat and some softballs along, and we ended the evening shagging fly balls under the lights where Nellie Fox and Luis Aparicio once played.

The outlaw era of regional pro wrestling is a dim memory for most. The racket would get wilder after I left it: In an interview with Nashville wrestling figure Jimmy Cornette, Heenan said that a fan at a 1975 Amphitheatre match pulled out a pistol and began firing at him, but the shooter only managed to wound four people in the rows in front of him.

McMahon’s WWF brought the regional promoters’ day to a close, pillaging most of the big names in the game in the process. Today, the WWE has been displaced in popularity by the even gaudier UFC contests. Most of the stars I met – including Bruiser, Crusher, and Cholak – are dead now. Heenan, a throat cancer survivor, has been in poor health for more than a decade. Verne Gagne died this April; in 2009, suffering from dementia, he accidentally killed a 97-year-old fellow resident in a Minnesota assisted living facility. Even the old stomping grounds are gone: The Chicago Amphitheatre was razed in 1999.

Bob Luce passed away in 2007, but his wild-ass legacy may live on via an unlikely champion. There are many analogs between pro wrestling and rock ‘n’ roll, and this April, mat mega-fan Billy Corgan of Smashing Pumpkins announced on Twitter that he had bought Luce’s memorabilia and an archive of 9,000 vintage wrestling photos. Maybe he and former Hüsker Dü front man Bob Mould, a fellow wrasslin’ aficionado who once worked for McMahon as a writer, can make something of it. That would rock. 

[shera-dnd]

Face Turn - Heel Turn

Well that was silly to write as a title

ANYWAY now that I’m done humiliating myself on the internet how about we just move on to the next chapter of that fic

Now featuring the most fantastical element of this entire fic: How well the wrestlers are treated by their employer

AO3 link as usual and let’s get going

Amity Arena, the headquarters of Remnant Wrestling… something or other. Weiss had to admit that she didn’t much care about whatever overly complicated name they gave this company. As long as the contract didn’t include any dumb shit she didn’t care how they managed to contrive the “R.W.B.Y.” acronym.

As for the place itself, it looked surprisingly clean and organized. From the clips Jaune showed her the backstage area always looked messy and dirty, so they either cleaned it up for her or that part too was completely fake.

The office they were invited to, on the other hand, was covered wall to wall in pictures, posters, souvenirs, and just random knick knacks, all framing the older man in the middle.

“Miss Schnee. Mister Arc,” he greeted with a smile, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Ozpin, sir,” Jaune replied awkwardly as they took their seats. He sat to her left so she knew exactly who would be in her blindspot. She was quietly grateful for that gesture, “the pleasure is all ours.”

Weiss disagreed.

“So you’re the one running this circus?”

She heard a chair skidding to her left as Jaune nearly jumped up, apologies already spilling out of his mouth, but Ozpin simply laughed at her comment.

“Oh no need to apologize, Mr Arc,” he said with a smile, “a circus is but a collection of skilled performers joined in the purpose of entertainment, and for that I’m honored to be their ringmaster.”

It took a lot from Weiss not to scoff at that.

“Now don’t be worried, Ms Schnee,” he assured her, “I have no plans on giving you the role of the clown. I know better than to insult a consummate professional with such a proposition.”

Weiss sighed, “then what do you want from me exactly? I’m not signing anything until I know you won’t humiliate me in front of countless people.”

“Of course, here at R.W.B.Y. we prioritize the mental well being of our performers far above any of our ongoing plotlines. You would have complete freedom to veto any unwanted plot beats as you work with our team of esteemed writers.”

She nodded. This arrangement was certainly better than she expected, but something not being the worst didn’t make it good.

“As for your starting role,” he continued, “you would be a Face, our term for hero, one of the good guys. Your role may change with time of course, but I think this would suit you well for starters.”

“So do I just get in the ring and punch people in the name of truth, justice and the american dream?” She asked, trying to see if there was any way of mocking this farce that would make him show any emotion other than ‘passive understanding’.

“If you so desire,” was his response.

She studied the man for a moment, trying to find that manipulative hint that nearly everyone seemed to have around her. Finding that had been one of the few things Jacques ever taught her, not on purpose mind you, but she still learned it through continuous exposure to the despicable man.

It was only when she found nothing that she allowed herself to respond.

“Alright,” she took a deep breath, “looks like you have yourself a new star.”

Ozpin smiled brightly and Jaune let out a breath he had probably been holding since the moment Weiss opened her mouth.

Everything else was handled simply and cleanly. Weiss was given an unreasonably long contract to read through, which she tried to thoroughly - another of Jacques accidental lessons - but she had only made a few pages in before her head started hurting from the eye strain.

Jaune took it from there.

A week later, with everything else handled, Weiss sat down with one of those ‘esteemed writers’ to discuss her big intro. Said writer was a woman by the name of Blake Belladonna.

Blake seemed to take her job very seriously, regardless of the absurdity of it all, and had a calm air of professionalism to her. Weiss could appreciate that. Though her ideas were a bit too fantastical for her at first, after some back and forth, the final product did manage to please the both of them. 

She was to be a white knight, recovered from her injuries, returned to the field of battle, unburdened by her scars, and ready to fight once more. It was completely absurd when she put it like that, but so was just about everything else happening in that damn ring.

In practice this just meant that she was gonna come in, do some silly speeches about inspiring hope, win a few matches, and see where they would take things from there. It was a simple and easy plan. What could possibly go wrong?

The answer was apparently, Weiss’s temper.

Things had gone smooth at first. Sure, her heart hadn’t really been into it, but she didn’t expect it to be, and people seemed to buy it anyways. She was the big MMA star returning to the ring once more to kick some ass, and they were loving every second of it. Weiss on the other hand, felt miserable.

Fighting used to be so freeing for her before. It was the one thing she had that was out of reach of her father, that she did for herself and no one else. Somehow it was only when she was put in the cage that she truly felt free.

Not anymore.

Now the ring just felt like a different prison, a different stage for her to perform on. It wasn’t hers anymore, it was everyone else’s. She tried to focus on work anyway, she tried to keep the show going, but at some point it became too grating for her.

She was meant to start this friendly rivalry with this Yang Xiao Long lady. They were going to be very competitive with each other while both claiming they were the best of the best, and in the end they would work together in a tag team match in a show of the true power of friendship or something of the sorts.

It was halfway through her first promo that she realized that she couldn’t keep that act going or she was gonna go insane. Ozpin said she had the power to veto stuff she didn’t like, so it was time to put that power to good use.

She took a deep breath, held that microphone like she was gonna snap it in half, and let her old fierceness come out to play.

“Actually, screw this!” she started, at least having the decency to not swear on live television, “I don’t care if she thinks she’s the greatest around. I don’t care if any of you think she’s the greatest!”

The crowd grew silent as she caught them by surprise. Good.

“None of you have ever even seen a real fight!” She accused, “you really think any show off with a pretty smile is somehow a real fighter? She spent more time naming her moves than she spends training.”

That’s when it started. The booing. She had to admit, she liked that sound.

“You want a real fight? You wanna watch me put that show off in her place?” She challenged and someone in the crowd actually cheered this time, “then sit down and watch, because she’s only gonna be the first!”

She expected to be scolded when she returned backstage, maybe even have her contract threatened, but instead she was met by a very amused Blake.

“You know, that’s gonna be a pain in the ass to salvage if you wanna keep the baby face act,” she commented.

“Don’t even try it,” she responded, walking past her, “let them be angry.”

“Good,” Weiss couldn’t see her face, but she could hear the grin in her voice, “you make a far better heel anyway.”

[mae-gi-writes]

Deobi Playlist (EP 2) | The Boyz Imagine

The Boyz x Hospital Playlist inspired drabble series.

Episode 2: in which Hyunjae is a drama queen.

Genre: fluff, friendship, slice of life

EP 1 | EP 2 | EP 3 | EP 4 | EP 5 | EP 6 | EP 7 | EP 8 | EP 9 | EP 10 | EP 11

--------------

Hyunjae is in the middle of playing a battle game when the sound of someone busting the door open causes him to yelp, fingers slipping over the keyboard as he watches his character die in front of his very eyes. 

He swivels around in his seat, glowering with anger, “KEVIN!” 

“Oops,” the said man slides in, totally unfazed by the glare that would’ve killed anyone else off, before looking around at the empty office that is stacked with piles of paperwork, most of them probably belonging to Hyunjae since he had always been messy. 

“Where’s everyone?” Kevin frowns while checking his watch, “I thought we were having dinner tonight.” 

“Too slow, romeo,” a voice chimes from behind. The pair turn around to see Mae holding up three takeaway bags. Kevin squeals in delight, rushing over to throw his arms around her in a hug.

“You are the best,” Kevin singsongs before grabbing one of the bags. Mae tuts at him, “woah wait a minute Kev, that’s not--” 

Too late, for Kevin’s hands have already opened up the box. He stares at the multitudes of shrimp on a bed of fried noodles, and a grimace falls over his face, “ew no, that’s not mine--”

Mae proceeds to snatch it away, “that’s why I told you to wait,” she huffs, handing him his rightful dish; fried pork and vegetables with rice. 

“Wouldn’t mind having him choke on some shrimp,” Hyunjae mutters gloomily, still sulking in his desk chair like a five year old child being denied cookies. Mae’s brow quirks up in curious amusement, before they flicker towards Kevin. 

The latter, already stuffing his face in like he hasn’t eaten for days, mumbles out through a mouthful of rice and meat, “he’s mad ‘cause I distracted him and his character died. The usual.” 

“You always lose, anyway Hyunjae. It wouldn’t have made a difference,” Mae opens up her own takeaway, a Chinese Korean dish named Jajangmyeon. She motions him over, “come on.” 

But Hyunjae’s pout only deepens. He slides into his seat, unwavering.

“You sure you don’t want it?” she taunts him, “I ordered it specially for you.” 

Still, the caramel-haired man twists his head away adamantly. Mae huffs, turning back to roll her eyes at Kevin, “fine then, suit yourself. I’ll just--” 

Hyunjae’s out of his seat in mere milliseconds, grab his dish, and sits down onto the shared couch with crossed legs and face looking as though he’s going to murder anyone who even tries to get within touching distance. 

“By the way, you remember the patient I was telling you guys about?” Kevin says, chewing on a mouthful of food, “the one that had a weird extra bone in her foot?” 

“The one who kept asking you to marry her?” Mae confirms. 

“She mustn't have high standards,” comes Hyunjae’s mumble, causing Kevin to cluck his tongue at him in disapproval before answering, “yeah, we had to shave it off cause she’s a rising ballet star. Her mother was livid when she heard that she wouldn’t be able to dance for a good six months.” 

“Sunji, was it?” Mae asks. 

“She came to see me today,” Kevin beamed, warmth practically alighting over his face, “gave me flowers and a box of chocolate.” 

“Did she give you a ring too?” Hyunjae adds mockingly.

“At least she likes me,” Kevin retorts while sticking out his tongue.

“Please! It’s not like she had a choice. You’re the only doctor she sees.” 

"Just a game, Hyunjae," Kevin reminds him, gesturing towards the computer with a roll of his eyes since he knows exactly why the older man is being salty at this particular moment. 

“Do you know how much time and effort I took into staying alive all that time?!” Hyunjae shoots back, leaning forward in his seat, “It was my fifteenth time!” 

“It. Is. Just. A. Game,” Kevin’s words punch through like staccato notes.

“I care about that game, like it or not!” Hyunjae moans, “now my life is over!” 

“Shakespeare needs to see this,” Mae mumbles behind her bowl of noodles, “he would’ve loved to write a story about you.” 

“I think that’s the greatest compliment you’ve ever given me,” Hyunjae smirks.

“It’s...not a compliment.” 

“I hate you. I hate you both,” Hyunjae sniffs before pouting and looking away, once again the very picture of a spoiled brat. The pair meet each other’s eyes before Kevin throws Mae a shrug. 

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t raise him.” 

-------------

The week, it seems, keeps getting worse for the titled drama queen, who proclaims that the heavens must be against him this week and that his astrological must be definitely off balance. Hyunjae’s shifts seem longer, tougher to handle this week, while the line of patients have suddenly multiplied by a tenfold the moment he thought that he could use a bit of a break. A few nurses have taken some time off for some last-minute vacation, meaning that he’s had to scramble around for help with no assistant by his side to jot down his every day needs. 

Most of all, he still hasn’t been able to finish that damn game, and he has no one else to blame but dear Kevin for that. 

“You look like shit,” is the first thing that pops out of Juyeon’s mouth the moment he stumbles into their shared office. He’s looking particularly dapper, with his freshly cut bangs and his usually hooded eyes alight with a sparkle that can only mean one thing:

“Did you guys kiss or something?” 

Colour blossoms across Juyeon’s cheeks, hooded eyes widening in alarm, “What?” 

Seemingly undisturbed by lack of sensitivity, Hyunjae proceeds to shrug off his beige coat as he opens his locker, “you look like freshly snogged material." 

“I--That’s--That’s not--” Hyunjae can’t help but smirk at the flustered expression on the younger man’s usually bland face. One of his favourite pastimes is to make fun of Juyeon, mainly because he seems so much younger than what he appears to be, for they are only a few months apart in age. Not to forget the fact that he's so innocent, despite his mature, bedroom eyes and the lazy, sensual smile he gives to women. It's, as Hyunjae had once stated, incredibly misleading.

"Want to shadow my surgery?" Hyunjae asks, picking up his clipboard to scan the patient's profile. The younger man stretches out in his seat and yawned, "what kind?" 

"Brain tumor I believe."

"Hm, I might shadow noona--"

"Oh right, loverboy's got a girlfriend now," Hyunjae rolls his eyes and lets out a soft sigh, "ah well, I'll just get one of the newbies on board. I love teasing them."

"They're all scared of you, you know," Juyeon can't help but point out.

"Oh really?" Hyunjae flashes a wicked grin.

Juyeon proceeds to roll his eyes, "that is not a compliment."

"You know, Mae said the exact same thing."

"No surprise there."

A few hours and a long trail of patients later, Hyunjae lets out a loud, noisy sigh when he finally allows his body to flop in his office chair, his feet aching from constantly running back and forth between wards. Mondays are always especially tiring, but he's quite satisfied that most of his patients seem on the track to recovery. 

His hand quickly darts towards his mouse, when his phone suddenly rings. 

Pressing the device to his ear, he murmurs out a quiet, "hello?"

"Son," his mother's terse soprano echoes through the receiver, "how are you?"

"Are you stressed, Ma?" Is the first thing that pops into his mind. There's only two reasons why his mother would call; either 1) she wants to give him food or 2) she has fought with his father yet again. 

It is no secret that Mr. And Mrs. Lee have been living apart for more than seven years now. The scar that Hyunjae still bears is now covered by nonchalance, and the fact that his two parents have kept an amiable relationship has helped balance out his upbringing. He has to admit that for a child with divorced parents, they handled him pretty well.

"Can't I call to ask about my son?!" Mrs.Lee retorts back. 

"Ma."

"Alright alright," she huffs, "I might have made some extra Kimchi stew and--"

"Ma, I told you not to cook so much," Hyunjae groans, one of his hands going up to ruffle his hair, "can't you just freeze it?"

"Freeze Kimchi Stew? Are you insane? I would never! Anyway, I already let the leftovers with--"

Knock knock!

Hyunjae glances back just in time to spot Mae standing in the doorway,  holding out a cooler towards him. 

"Ah," Hyunjae gestures for her to come in, "you met Mae?"

"Right right! Such a wonderful girl that one! Are you sure you've never had anything for her?" 

"Ma--"

"No no, if you're going to tell me that you're just friends, I don't want to hear it."

"Listen Ma, she's--"

"I can't believe you didn't even try it out with her--"

"Hey Ma, I got a surgery soon," Hyunjae hurriedly says while watching Mae stuff the cooler inside the fridge he shares with Juyeon and two other doctors. He holds out a finger for her to wait, "I'll talk to you soon  okay? Okay. Bye."

Cutting off the call right before she's about to keep on insisting how amazing Mae would be as a wife, Hyunjae lets out another trepid sigh before shaking his head at the said woman, who's gazing at him with raised eyebrows. 

"My mother really wants me to go out with you," Hyunjae rubs a hand over his face, clipboard in hand, before following her out into the corridor.

"Yeah I know, she told me the exact same thing when I bumped into her in the lobby," Mae shoves her hands in her pockets, smiling slightly. 

"I mean, if you weren't so much into Kevin, maybe--"

He doesn't get to say anything more because of Mae's hand slamming down atop his mouth. He groans in part pain and part protest, "that hurts!"

"I should've sewn your lips shut when I still had the chance," Mae hissed under her breath, careful to drop her hand and smile as they pass by a group of older doctors. 

"You guys are like turtles. By the time you ask him out, you'll both be dead," Hyunjae mutters loud enough for Mae to hear. 

She scowls back, "last I checked, I was the only one who decided what I could and could not do with my love life."

"You're doing a terrible job of it."

"I am not!"

"Okay, then where are the four children you said you wanted!? That's all you could talk about in college!"

"I was young and stupid, as were you."

"Ah, to be young and in love again--"

"Hyunjae?" 

The pair turn instinctively towards the sound only to fall upon a familiar face, a face that Hyunjae remembers almost instantly as one of the girls who had pined after him for years' on end. He briefly recalls breaking her heart once and for all when she'd decided to give him a box of chocolates during their second year Valentines. 

"Oh," Mae seems to be thinking the same thing as he does, for she doesn't waste time to smile up at him, clap him on the back and say, "see you then!" 

 And she's off, running down the hallway and leaving him to deal with the awkward aftermath of a rejected confession. 

-------------

I honestly just love Hyunjae because he's so loud and annoying and straight up transparent. Surprisingly, I wasn't attracted to his physique as much as I was to his natural genuine personality.

Hope you enjoyed this one! Next Ep will be out on Monday!

Episode 3: in which Juyeon has a complicated relationship with food.

[lilulo-12fanfiction]

More Than I Can Say

More Than I Can Say- Dean Winchester x Reader

So here is the finished copy. I didn’t proof the rest of it so please ignore any mistakes. I mean...I wanted to include more...but I kind of got stuck and I didn’t want it to take me longer to post. It’s little snippets of events. Soooo if you’d like a Part 2 let me know!

As always your likes, reblogs, comments etc. are all appreciated. Please let me know if you would like to be added to any of my tag lists. As always- Requests are open!

a request for @chevyimpala00067​ with Dean Winchester. Prompts: 57: “ Is that my shirt? ” & 66: “ Is that a new perfume? ”

SPN Tag List:  @deans-baby-momma @fandom-princess-forevermore @magssteenkamp @blancastans @jn-wolf​ @waywardsistersandpie​

SPN Masterlist

Falling in love with Dean Winchester hadn’t been easy or simple. It hadn’t been expected. You were living your life as a college student with your mother at one moment and the next you were in Sioux Falls with your estranged father. And you  didn’t have the best start to your father-daughter relationship.

You had been the result of a fling your father had with your mother after Bobby’s wife died. Your mother had kept you a secret for most of your life. You had begged her to tell her who your father was. She continually told you that it was a tree you didn’t want to bark up.

When you were 20 years old and half way through your degree, your mother died of cancer. It had devastating effects. 2 days after her funeral you received a package in the mail. It contained a letter from your mother telling you about your father and it included some letters and a few pictures of the two of them. You thought it was a joke. Your mother had been a hunter and worked with Bobby Singer. When she found out she was pregnant she cut ties and disappeared determined that you wouldn’t grow up like that. “It’s the greatest regret of my life that you don’t know your father. He’s a good man.”

You sold the house and everything you could besides a few pieces of jewelry and a handful of keepsakes from your mother, packed up your Jeep and drove from upstate New York to Sioux Falls.

He slammed the door in your face. I mean you couldn’t blame him. Some random shows up claiming to be his daughter. Little did you know at the time, he thought you were a demon of Crowley’s trying to get one up on him and the Winchester boys. You steeled yourself as you stared at the door in your face. You put one of the photos and one of his letters in an envelope, taped it to the door with your cell number and the hotel you were staying at written on it and left to find a place to stay. You needed to figure out your next move. How stupid you had been to think that your long lost father would welcome you with open arms. How naive to think you could have started a new life with him. Now you had to figure out what to do and where to go.

“Hey Bobby- this was stuck to your door.” Dean Winchester looked at the neat handwriting with intrigue. Bobby yanked it from his hand mumbling about con artists and demons but tore into the manila envelope anyway. Sam and Dean watched as the color drained from his face. His hand ran from his forehead down to his chin.

“Bobby- are you okay?” Sam stepped towards him, face laced with concern.

“She was telling the truth…I have a daughter.”

“I’m sorry- what?!” Dean stood wide eyed and slack jawed.

“She was here. I was horrible to her and slammed the door in her face. I thought it was Crowley playing his games. I didn’t believe her.” Dean grabbed the envelope.

“Well looks like she’s willing to give you a second chance at a first meeting. I’ll be back. Sammy help Bobby get his wits about him. I’ll go get her and bring her back here.”

“What if she won’t come?” Bobby looked heart broken and self-loathing all at the same time. Dean grinned at him.

“Who can say no to this face?”

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          * You sat at the table in your hotel room staring at nothing in particular at all trying to decide where to go and what to do next when there was a pounding at your door. You tentatively turned the door handle and yanked it open. You were expecting the cranky old man, but instead were met with a cocky grin and smiling green eyes.

“Sweetheart, you need to learn how to drop a truth bomb.”

“Excuse you? Wait who are you?” Annoyance was dripping from your voice, but sadness was written all over your face.

“I’m Dean. Here to fetch you for your Daddy who is kicking himself for being an asshat. You must have gotten your looks from your mother. Lucky you.” You scoffed.

“Fetch me? I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t even know you!”

“I’m a good friend of Bobby Singer. A surrogate son- luckily not blood related.” He gave you what you would begin to call the Dean Winchester Wink. As you rolled your eyes, Dean would never need a blood test to prove you were Bobby’s daughter. He saw it in your attitude.

“You must go after some low hanging fruit with those lines. Clearly being good looking makes it so you don’t have to try very hard.” He grinned at you, the cheesiest grin you’d seen in a long time.

“You think I’m good looking sweetheart?”

“Not enough to excuse all of this.” You waved your hand in his general direction. He threw his head back and laughed.

“There’s something to be said for nature vs. nurture. You may have never spent a day with Bobby but damn do you have his attitude. Listen, he found your envelope and feels like crap. Come back. Give him a second chance.” You hesitated for a moment. “C’mon sweetheart. I promise if you want to leave I’ll bring you back anytime you want.

“Let me grab my stuff.” You turned to get your purse and jacket, paused and turned back to him. “Stop calling me sweetheart.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you and you shut the hotel room door behind you. You felt his hand find the small of your back to lead you down the hall. You didn’t know it then, but that would feel like home a few years down the road.

Dean pulled into the salvage yard and turned off the Impala. You were impressed with the car but you’d be damned if you’d let him know that. He was about to get out when he saw you staring ahead and not moving. He got out, came around to the passenger side and opened your door and squat down next to you.

“Look- I don’t know your story, I don’t know your mother or why she kept you and Bobby apart. What I do know is Bobby is one of the best men that I have ever known.  He’s been more of a father to me than mine own father was sometimes. I’m sure his initial reaction scared you off. But you left him your contact info for a reason. He’s good people. I promise you- you decide you want out of here and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Give him a chance.” He put his hand out to help you out of the car. You studied his face for a moment, while he was smug and obnoxious when he showed up at your door, he was nothing but sincere now. It was your first glimpse into the real Dean Winchester. You were comforted by the sincerity coming from his expression. The way his eyes crinkled when you smiled would end up being one of your favorite things in the world to see. You nodded and placed your hand in his and let him lead you to your future.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

You surprisingly took the truth about the supernatural well. While the story of Dean going to hell and the Angel Castiel gave you pause, you knew it deep down to be true. Maybe it was because your mother had told you in her letter first. Truth be told you thought she had lost her mind to the chemo, but then you started getting hit with memories from your past, or well her past. While she had given up the hunting life, you remembered her conversations with other hunters who would stop by for advice or to rest- including John Winchester.

Bobby had been livid when you told him you had met John. There was no way John hadn’t known you were his. If John Winchester hadn’t already been dead, you were sure your father would have done him in. Now 6 months later you were in deep. He was already in a mood and you had just made it worse.

“You are NOT going on the road with Sam and Dean.”

“Yes, I am. I can’t sit around this place doing research telling them how to kill monsters when I can actually do it.

“Listen- if Bobby doesn’t want you to go, sorry sweetheart but you’re staying here.” You were seething.

“You know what, fine. I’ll go out on my own. I can find cases.” You stormed past Dean and gut punched him. “And I told you not to call me sweetheart”. Sam stood watching like a deer in headlights not wanting to say anything and piss you or Bobby off even more. He decided to stay put instead of following you out to your car. A few minutes later her heard you scream.

You were going to murder Dean Winchester. He must have anticipated your going on your own declaration because he had messed with your Jeep. The oil was leaking and when you hadgotten down on the ground to check it out you had gotten covered in oil.

You came charging back into the house and Sam had bitten back his laughter. He didn’t want any of your wrath pointed at him. Dean would eventually pay for his sins. Sam wanted to make sure all of your anger was directed accordingly.

“Sweetheart-“ Dean made sure to put emphasis on the unwelcomed pet name. 

“Is that new perfume? Eau De Grand Cherokee?” He belly laughed. Sam was sure he saw homicide in your eyes, and then he caught the glint. You snatched the Impala keys off of the counter and ran out of the house.

“Y/N DON’T YOU TOUCH MY BABY!” Dean roared after you. Bobby’s anger had dissipated.

“I supposed I should get used to the idea of the two of them.” Sam raised his eyebrows at Bobby. “C’mon Sam- don’t tell me you don’t see it. Those two are falling head over heels for each other.”

“You’d be okay with that? Dean and Y/N?” Sam was surprised. Bobby wore the “Over protective father” outfit well.

“Sam- your brother is a good man. I couldn’t ask for someone better to take care of her. I’ve seen how he takes care of people he loves. I’ve watched him take care of you. The two of you are the best men I know. She’ll be in good hands. They just have to get out of their own way to see it.”

“You know if she goes out with us, we’ll die before we let something happen to her.” Bobby nodded.

“I know. I just want to keep her safe here. But hell, It ain’t safe here either. The only way she would be safe is if she never found me.” Sam was about to respond but covered his mouth as he laughed as he watched Dean, also covered in car oil carrying you across the yard over his shoulder.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

A milk run. A freaking milk run he had told you. A simple salt and burn. A great way for he and Sam to show you the ropes.

This was not a milk run. The person they thought was doing the haunting, the bones they salted and burned, was the person trying to protect innocents from the spirits haunting the house. The brother of two evil twin sisters and they couldn’t find their bodies. They had somehow separated you from him and Sam. Why couldn’t things just go their way for once?

Dean was trying to get the door to the room that you were locked in open. The creepy sisters had some murder ritual that they were holding you for. Sam was searching for the bones to salt and burn.

“DEAN!!” You screamed his name, he could hear the fear and tears in your voice. You weren’t a crier and you were one of the bravest people he knew, you didn’t scare easy.

“Hang on Y/N. It’ll be okay.”

“I’m out of salt rounds and there’s no God Damn iron in this room.

“Sammy is gonna find the bodies and I’ll get this damn door open.” Your voice was closer, you must have move towards the door.

“You can’t open the door. They shut it. It’s not a lock you can pick. Tell my dad I’m glad I got to know him. Even if we only had a little time together.”

“Don’t you start that goodbye shit. This isn’t over!” He yelled the last part.

“Yes it is.” He felt the coldness from the room on the outside of the door. You must have been freezing.

“Bring it bitches.” Your voice was fearless. You’d only broke when you knew it was just the two of you. He was beating down the door, renewed strength. He felt encouraged when it started to splinter. Moments later he froze in fear when he heard screaming. At first he thought it was you but then the door popped open. There you stood with a container of salt in your hands. You must have been throwing it at the sisters. Dean saw the faint remains of flames and ashes.

“Sammy found the bones” You cried and dropped the salt. Dean ran forward and slipped his arms around you, pulling you tight to his body, one hand cradling the back of your head. Another feeling you’d come to associate with love, safety and security.

“It’s okay sweetheart. It’s over. I’m so sorry.” Sam watched from a distance with a smile on his face. He was thrilled you were safe and that he had stopped the terror twins. Dean was different with you around. Good different. Your body relaxed in Dean’s arms.

“Can we not tell my dad how bad it was” Dean laughed and hugged you tighter.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

“You knew Sam was alive?!” Dean raged.

“I wanted to tell you. I didn’t find out until recently. My dad kept it from me too. I called you as soon as I found out. I left you a message but by the time you called me back Sam had gotten to me. He said he wasn’t ready. He said you were happy. I wanted to call you and tell you so many times. I’m sorry.” You wiped a few tears from your eyes. “They said you were happy Dean. Really happy. I couldn’t be the one to ruin that. You, more than anyone, deserve real happiness. And honestly, it wasn’t my place to tell you. It was Sam’s. He came back and didn’t want to tell you. I couldn’t do that to him. I was screwed no matter what I did.

Despite his rage, he couldn’t stay mad at you. And you weren’t wrong. He sighed and looked at you. "It's okay Y/N. It's not fair for either one of us to put you in that position" It was a terrible position for you to be in. He pulled you in for a hug. His hand found the back of your head. He loved Lisa, he truly did. But you, you felt like home. He didn’t know what the hell to do.

"You're not mad at me?" Your voice was almost a whisper.

"You're right. You were screwed either way. You did the right thing by staying out of it. I'm sorry for yelling at you." To be honest, you were pretty shocked. You expected Dean to rage at you at least a little bit longer.

"I'm glad you're here now. I"m sorry that Lisa and Ben were put in harms way, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss you."

"I missed you too, Y/N. You could have come to see me, you know."

"I didn't think you wanted to be a part of this life any more and I didn't want to take the chance of anything following me to your family." You looked away from Dean, trying to hide the hurt expression on your face after calling Lisa and Ben his family.

Sam had hinted to Dean that he wanted him to go off an live a normal life with Y/N. Dean knew that if they stayed together, they'd never give up the life. So to honor Sammy, he had let and went off to Lisa and did everything he could to get Y/N out of his mind. Now his heart belonged in two places, but he had to honor what he had with Lisa.

"You will always be my family too Y/N. Always." Dean wanted to say more, but you had just given him a quick nod of your head and rushed off into the other room.

The idea of Dean with anyone hurt. The two of you flirted relentlessly and always got jealous when the other had the nerve to talk to someone else at a bar after a hunt. This was a hard pill to swallow. You hadn't expected Dean to walk away. You had thought you were in it together. Then he was gone. Sam was gone. Even Castiel was essentially gone. You had your father and the two of you continued his work, helping other hunters and occasionally went on a small case.

Then you found out Sam was back. You had been elated and then confused as to why he wasn't going to Dean. Then he told you how happy Dean was in his new life. How he had started over like you didn't exist. Like none of this had ever happened. You had accepted it and tried to move on. Now he was back, and he was still looking at you like he did before he left. You leaned against the door and pinched the bridge of your nose. You had to get it together. Dean wasn't really back, he was here to take care of his family and then he would be gone again. You would be alone, again. Dean watched you slowly disappear knowing that he made a mistake leaving you behind. His heart belonged to you, it had since the day you sassed him at that hotel and it always would.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

You should have stuck with Sam & Dean. The most recent case brought the three of you back to your old stomping grounds in Upstate NY. Sam and Dean had encouraged you to go off and see some of your old friends while they worked the case. They could handle it. You deserved some fun and you needed a break. 

It had all been too much. Sam without his soul was tricky. Dean had tried to make it work with Lisa but realized quickly that he couldn't have that family and be a hunter. Dean Winchester was a hunter. The "Apple Pie Life", as he put it, would never be for him. You had known that, but hated seeing him hurting all the same. The three of you were in this weird funk and it was stressing you out. You felt like you couldn't breath and the powder keg that had become your life was ready to blow. You were eager to pretend this wasn't your life, even if it was just for a day or two.

That fun had blown up in your face. You held the phone to your ear willing him to pick up. You felt a flood of relief wash over you when he finally did. 

"Dean...."Your voice came out in a cry. "I need you. Something happened." After a few reassurances that everything would be fine, you gave him directions on how to find you and the warehouse you were holed up in. You should have known that you wouldn't ever get a break. This life would haunt you until the end of your days.

Dean had Sam circling the outside of the warehouse as he went in to find you. He could smell the blood and death. He was hoping that a few days with your old friends would breath some life back into you. You had seemed like a shell of the girl he first met. You had put an effective wall between the two of you. He knew it was because he had left. The flirty banter was a thing of the past. You seemed to be operating on auto pilot. The past year had taken its toll on you. As he stepped quietly, holding his gun, he saw her. Your best friend from college laying on the floor, eyes wide open, throat ripped out and lifeless. Dean closed his eyes for a moment and felt the loss for you. He leaned over and used his palm to shut her eyes. At least now she looked like she was sleeping. He slowly moved to the back of the warehouse and that's when he saw you. Sitting against the wall, skinny jean clad knees pulled to your chest with your chin resting on them, glassy eyes and covered from head to almost toe in dried blood. He would have been worried it was yours if he didn't see the headless corpse a few feet away from you. He tried to assess the situation. A vampire must have gotten the jump on the two of you. He assumed the vamp attacked your friend first and met its unfortunate end at your hand and the blade on the floor to the right of you.

"Y/N." Dean rushed to your side. You looked at him with watery eyes. He put his hand on the side of your face, despite it being covered with dried blood. "Are you hurt?" You shook your head no and stared forward.

"She's dead."

"I know." He sighed.

"This vamp- knew who I was, knew I was Bobby's daughter. Apparently Bobby and Rufus had taken out their family. He had gotten away and tried to live his "best life" or whatever." You air quoted as you spoke. "Then he heard some demons talking, Crowley's inner circle, that Bobby had a long lost daughter. So he started looking into me. Before...Bobby didn't have anyone to lose. With a daughter, the douche bag thought he could get his revenge. He chased us and we ran into this place to try and get her someplace safe." You scoffed. "I had my back turned for two seconds and I was too late. After he killed her, he attacked me. He had me pinned to the ground. Luckily I had a knife with me."

"Did you...did you saw his head off with that tiny knife." You nodded. "While he was on top of you?" Dean took your lack of response as a yes. "Damn that's bad ass. Explains you being covered in blood." He tried to joke. You closed your eyes and a few tears fell. "Listen to me, Y/N...you did the best you could do. her death isn't your fault." You tilted your head to the side.

"It is. Because in this life we don't have the luxury of having relationships with people that aren't hunters. With people that can't defend themselves. I shouldn't have come here." You looked up and saw Sam watching the two of you.

"She's okay Sammy...go get the car." Sam nodded and ran out of the warehouse. "C'mon, let's get you out of here and get you cleaned up. Sam and I will take care of her and the vamp body." You nodded and let him pull you to your feet. Your torso was soaked in blood. It was like you had been standing under a red waterfall. He studied you for a moment. Your skinny jeans were paired with ankle boots, a black tank top and a red and black plaid shirt. "Wait...is that my shirt?" You gave him a hint of a smile and let him lead you out of the warehouse giving your friend one last longing look on your way out.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

The imagine of you screaming and falling to your knees in the hospital as Bobby flat lined would haunt Dean Winchester for the rest of his days. The 4 of you barely got away from the Leviathans. You had been frantic when Dick Roman had gotten his hands on your father, but the 4 of you had gotten out of that building. Dean and Sam were celebrating in the front seat when they heard you cry out, holding your father, begging them to get to the hospital. 

There had been a glimmer of hope when Bobby had opened his eyes. His last act was trying to help the 3 of you save the world...again. His last action had been to look at you with loving eyes and squeeze your hand. Dean knew what he was saying with that. "Thank you for coming into my life." Bobby loved you more than anything. The bond the two of you had forged in a short period was strong. It wasn't fair, the two of you deserved more time together. Dean found himself blaming Cas again. If he had just listened to Dean, none of this would have happened.

But then Cas took Sam's burden, effectively giving the younger Winchester back to Dean and Y/N. You had told Cas you forgave him before he did that. You, who had lost yet another person you loved, could forgive the Angel. You understood he thought he was doing the right thing. You appreciated his regret and were thankful for the sacrifice he was making for Sam. Dean could only wish to have your empathy. His feelings were complicated. Cas was...his best friend. Like his brother. And like his brother, had betrayed him. You had shown Dean how to really forgive Sam. He was hoping he could follow your lead with Castiel.

The three of you were holed up in an abandoned house trying to hide from Dick Roman and his band of morons. Dean didn't want this for you. He wanted you safe but you wouldn't go. You were clinging to Dean and Sam, the only family that you had left. Dean was sitting against a wall, slowly stroking your hair as you slept with your head in his lap. Sam had given him a raised brow look when he walked in,  but said nothing and went back to his research. This was the only way you would get any restful sleep these days, if you were with him. As long as he was with you, you slept. Otherwise you were plagued with nightmares. Dean knew too much about nightmares. He would suffer though a thousand sleepless nights making sure you had peace.

After Lisa, Dean was sure he would never let anyone close to him again. He couldn't risk anyone's safety. His life wasn't meant for love. Then Sammy had to point out that you were already in this life and in danger. He had to point out he knew how much Dean loved you. That Bobby had known. That Bobby had approved. Sam was certain that you loved Dean too. Dean was a coward though and he couldn't say anything, so Sam continued to needle him. Finally Dean agreed to tell you how he felt, but after you had time to grieve the loss of your father. Dean refused to take advantage of your fragile state. He wanted you clear headed when he told you. He had decided that if and when they got rid of Dick Roman, that's when he would tell you. He looked down when he felt you stirring.

"You okay sweetheart?" You blinked a few times as you looked up at him. "I'm with you. I'm always okay with you." He smiled down at you. "Dean...you need to try and sleep."

"I'm okay. You rest sweetheart." You had long stopped demanding he not call you by his favorite pet name. You did notice that it was now reserved for you, whereas before it was what he called just about any female.

"Dee, you need to sleep too."

"How about this, you sleep and then I'll let Sammy drive tomorrow and I'll sleep in the car."

"I don't believe you."

"I promise okay?" You pursed your lips and studied his face. "Do I ever break my promises to you?"

"No...you don't." He watched curiously as you pulled yourself up and  knelt next to him. He turned to look at you and you placed a hand on his face and stroked his cheek with your thumb. "Thank you for taking such good care of me. I know loosing him was just as hard on you as it was on me."

"I'll always take care of you." he leaned his face slightly into your hand. "I promise." The two of you stayed like that for a moment and then Dean pulled you into his lap and had you settle in between his legs with your back pressed against his chest. He claimed it was to keep you warm as you slept. In reality, he just wanted to hold on to you without having to admit he was afraid that Dick Roman would take you from him too.

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“Sam where did they go? Where did HE go?” 

Sam wasn’t sure what was more painful. The moment you lost your father or the moment you lost Dean. You couldn’t compare them, not really. The loss of each had been deep. You had loved them both in very different ways. All he could do was replay your heart broken voice in his head. The moment you realized Sam was packing it in you were gone. You didn’t stick around to try and convince him. You didn’t even say a real goodbye. All you left behind was one line.

“He wouldn’t stop looking. Neither can I.”

You couldn’t believe Sam was throwing in the towel. He and Dean had come back from Hell. There was no way he was just gone. He and Cas has vanished into thin air. There was only one person who could tell you where he was. Crowley.

You were a multitude of things- desperate, confused, lost, hurting and most of all angry. Or maybe it was that anger allowed you to focus. You were so disappointed in San and so pissed at him. Dean didn’t go and try to live a normal life until he tried to get Sam back first. Sam was just willing to accept that he was gone.

Not you. You had lost your mother, your father, your best friend, Cas had been lost more than once and in more than one way and now Dean. You were getting him and Cas back. Your desperation and anger made you reckless. You knew the only way to get to Crowley was to start knocking off his demons one by one. You didn’t look for cases or people to save. Your only objective was to get answers.

You had been slaughtering Crowley’s Demons for the better part of a year when the King Of Hell finally showed himself.

“Hello Poppet.” His smarmy voice made your skin crawl. “You’ve been busy.” He looked around the room at your latest kills. He had to admit he was impressed. Dean Winchester has taught you well. “Well Darling, you got my attention. How can the King help you?” He was entertained by what he saw come out of you. The hardest eye roll he’d ever seen and a acids that would give Bobby Singer a run for his money.

“You know what I want.”

“He’s dead.“

“He’s not. I would feel it if he was gone.” That intrigued him. He wanted to see how this would play out.

“He’s in Purgatory. Apparently killing Dick Roman yanked open a portal.”

“How do I get him out.” Now it was Crowley’s turn to scoff and when you didn’t relent he rolled his own eyes.

“There’s a portal in the back woods in Maine. It’s exit only darling. Purgatory doesn’t like human offerings.” He saw the sheer determination on your face. A map materialized and he handed it to you. “Be careful poppet. And stop killing my men.” And in a flash...his majesty was gone. Anyone else he would have incinerated for killing so many of his demons. She was intriguing to him. She was fierce. It was curious to Crowley that Y/N Singer, who hadn’t been a hunter for even half a decade could demolish so many of his demons. Even more curious was the fact that Sam Winchester wasn’t fighting for Dean Winchester by her side. Dean’s reaction to that, to Sam running away, was all the reason to help get the hunter back.

God you were tired. All of the fighting, hunting and scheming was taking its toll on you, but you were too close to quit now. You were trekking through the woods in Maine to find where the portal opening to Purgatory was. You had stopped to rest for a moment when you felt your phone vibrating in your pocket. Shocked shadowed your features as you saw the caller ID.”

“Sammy.” Your greeting was flat. It had been almost a year since you had last spoken.

“Guess again Sweetheart.” Your heart started pounding as his gritty voice filled your ears.

“Dean?!” His name came out as a cry. “How are you back? Where are you?”

“It’s a long story, I’d rather share in person. I’m at the cabin. I’m dying to see you. Where are you.” You laughed.

“But I was coming to rescue you.”

“Rescue me? Where are you?” He pressed again.

“Maine. I’m hiking through the woods to find the portal to purgatory to save your ass.” It was Dean’s turn to laugh.

“Oh sweetheart. I’m so glad I got out before you stepped foot in that place. Wait- how did you know?”

“Crowley finally told me. I’ve spent the last year killing every Demon I could looking for answers.I’m on my way to you now.” Dean swelled with pride. He wished he could have seen the shit storm you had kicked up for Crowley. Though he was thankful Crowley didn’t retaliate.

“I can’t wait to see you.”

There were no tests when you arrived much to Sam’s protest. Dean knew it was you. You were barely in the door before he had scooped you up in his arms. A year of nothing but killing and fighting had finally caught up with you. The walls broke and you found yourself sobbing as Dean buried his face in your neck.

”Sweetheart it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

”I didn't think I would ever see you again.” Dean pulled away to look at your face. 

He placed both hands on the sides of your face and wipes your tears with his thumbs.

”I will always find my way back to you.” Sam shuffled and the moment broke. He thought Dean’s anger had been unbearable, but the way you were looking at him sent a shiver down his spine. You didn’t have to say anything. Your look said it all.

I told you he was alive.  

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It was one of the rare quiet moments you and the Winchesters had. It had been a roller coaster since Dean had been back. Everything with Kevin, the auction, all of the sniping between Dean and Sam and then you and Sam. Benny. You still couldn't get over the fact that Dean Winchester had befriended a vampire. Though you were grateful that he got Dean out of that place. Dean trusted him, that was good enough for you. You wished it had been good enough for Sam. It just caused more friction in an already tense atmosphere.

It was the middle of the night and you were sitting in an arm chair staring out the window, a spot you often took when you couldn't sleep, which was almost every night. Your nightmares were plagued by images of your father dead, or watching his ghost burn up, or Kevin and his mother. You had nightmares of Cas suffering in purgatory. The most frequent were of Dean and Sam dead. You were pissed as hell at Sam still, but the idea of anything happening to him tore you up inside. The idea of Dean no longer being in this world was too unbearable to even think of. You felt Dean's calloused hand slide over your shoulder. Things had been different since he had gotten back. He had been more closed off. The closeness between to two of you after your father had died was still there, but it was different. It was like he didn't want anyone to get too close now that he was back. All the killing he did in Purgatory had taken a toll on him, but the loss of Castiel had been what  broke him. You knew he blamed himself, but he wouldn’t tell you what happened. Being at arms length was killing you.

"You need to sleep. You sit here like this every night." His voice came out as a husky whisper.

"I can't. I can't close my eyes and see what I see every night." You put your hand over his as he went to remove his hand from your shoulder. "Please don't pull away from me." You could feel his body stiffen for a moment and you let his hand go. He sat in the chair next to you, he leaned over with his elbows on his knees, quiet for a moment. 

"I have to. That place changed me. I'm different." You leaned forward and put your hand on his cheek so he would look you in the eyes.

"You're still Dean. You're still MY Dean. I need you. Please." You watched a variety of emotions pass through his eyes.

"Y/N..." his tone was warning.

"Don't Dean. We've danced around this for years. I almost lost you." Your voice came out in a sob." He adverted his eyes.

"Don't say it. Please don't say it. I'm no good for you. You deserve better than me." He looked back into your eyes and he looked shattered.

"You are the same Dean Winchester that came and got me from my hotel room. You are the same Dean Winchester that has been protecting me since the day I met him. You're the same Dean Winchester I fell in love with." You watched his eyes widen. "I think I've loved you since the moment I opened that door. And I've been too scared to admit it."

"You can't."

"Dean...you are a GOOD man, despite any mistakes you have made. You're the best man I know. Look me in the eye and tell me you don't love me and we'll never talk about this again."

"You know I love you." He looked down.

"Then don't be a coward." His eyes snapped back up to yours. No one was ever brave enough to call Dean Winchester a coward. "We're in this life together. I'm not in any more danger if you love me or you don't. I don't want to be alone in this anymore." a tear slipped from your eyes. Dean lunged forward and kissed you. You felt every single piece of your broken heart come back together. It may be scarred, but Dean Winchester would make you whole again. You both knew the future wouldn't be easy, but you would face it together.

[spooky-raccoon]

Road Trip (Finale-Part 14)

The finale!  Part 14 of Road Trip!

Rufo x Female Reader

Bold is Rufo’s Perspective

Non-bold is Reader Perspective

Tag List: @the-clown-crypt​ @chii2blog​ @booklover2929​

         I heard Albert walking around in the early hours of the morning and I figured I’d give him a little bit more time.  He could be a bit of a sourpuss in the morning depending on the day.  I was already wired from my now empty thermos of coffee and knew he would need his few cups too to get started.  (Y/N) seemed to be doing alright from what I could tell so I slipped out to take a bathroom break and see if he needed help with anything.  He had me help with breakfast.  Both of us were quiet as we cooked away.  The stress of the day was already so thick in the air that I could cut with the butter knife I was using on some toast.  

        Albert finally spoke though.  “After we all eat, I’ll start getting the living room ready.  You and her freshen up.  And Cecil.”

        “Yeah Albert.”  I looked over to him from my simple task.

         “I’ll need some of your blood for some of the symbols I put on her. You and her have a strong connection so it’ll help keep her anchored.”

        “Whatever you need Albert.”  I perhaps sounded more groggy and the yawn I let out didn’t help.

         “You didn’t sleep a wink did you?”  Albert said without missing a beat as he started to slice oranges for orange juice.  The man knew me well.  I couldn’t help but chuckle as I went to flipping the eggs.

        “No.  Not a single wink.  Been too wired after yesterday and what almost happened.”

        “Can’t say I blame you Cecil.  I’ve seen what this sort of thing does to someone.  It’s not pretty.  Not even your hands would have stopped what would happen if you were alone or still at that hospital.  Angry spirits get what they want after all and they don’t care how.  You know that very well.”  There was a hint of a smile on his face that I caught out of the corner of my eye.

       “I had a little bit of help.  Even the greatest escape artists has a great assistant behind the scenes.”

        “And it’s been one of the best investments I’ve ever made, Cecil. I consider you a friend besides just someone who works for me. You know very few have that title.”

       “Albert, I think you need more coffee.”  I cracked a smile, a genuine one since a few days ago.  “Either you’re still tired or you’re getting just a bit mushy in your old age.”

       “If that was the case I would be goo a long, long time ago.” Albert let out a chuckle while we wrapped up breakfast.  “Now, go make sure she eats and then we’ll get started.”

        I grabbed the plates he offered to me along with another cup of coffee for myself.  I probably didn’t need it after the thermos, but I have a hard time saying no to a good cup of coffee.  I didn’t really touch my food.  Instead I made sure she ate, and she seemed fine as she took each bite.  Almost like the other day didn’t happen and she didn’t almost spew some too powerful spirit energy from her mouth.  She was still like a limp doll but that would change soon. Soon she’d be back to normal and she would smile with that sparkle in her eyes.  She would hug me tight and I’d hear her voice again.  We could take silly pictures again on her phone and I can take her to diners when I go to bring her home.  I cupped her cheek and gave her a feather like kiss on her lips then looked into her eyes.  I hope she could see right back into mine.

       “We’re gonna get you right as rain (Y/N).  It’ll be alright soon.”  I knew she couldn’t answer me back, but I just wish she could say something.

       With a heavy sigh I scooped her up into my arms, bridal style, and made my way with her to the living room.  The furniture had already been pushed to the sides and Albert was busy drawing a variety of symbols on the floor in chalk.  For now he had me set her down on the couch.

       “Your hand Cecil my boy.”  He held out his hand and I offered mine to him.  “This will hurt just for a brief moment.”

       “Don’t worry about me Albert.  Not the first time I’ve been cut up.”

       Albert chuckled before grabbing one of his knives he had at the ready and gripped my wrist.  He made a few quick cuts and the blood that came from them he gathered in a small bowl. I had already healed as he knelt down by (Y/N) and collected some of hers.  Did it irk me a little as I watched the knife cut her next?  Maybe but I had to remember it would help.  I watched as he mixed the two together and pour in a mix of various concoctions.  I didn’t understand what he was doing but I didn’t need to.  As long as it got her back.

       “Lay her in the middle Cecil.”  He gestured and I did as instructed.

        He got beside her once more and with a small paint brush he started to paint symbols on her visible skin.  I was almost mesmerized as he made sure he got each one right.  I could barely hear him start to mumble under his breath, but he was saying some sort of chant.

       When he covered most of her chest that's when the screaming started. It wasn’t like the ones I heard in that run-down cabin that were hers.  No. These were like a beast got its leg stuck in a trap and was being stabbed by hunters.  She started to thrash, and Albert barked at me to get her pinned down.  I could barely hear him over the howling, but I moved.  I had her arms pinned down and he positioned himself to sit on her legs though she still managed to rock us both around.  That’s when I saw a light come from her mouth.

        “Albert!  Hurry up!” I moved quickly so my knees were keeping her arms down so my hands were now free to clamp her mouth shut.

        “Haven’t had anything so feisty in a while.”  I could hear Albert mutter as he dropped the brush and opted for a knife instead.  “She won’t like this but right now I don’t think she gives a damn.”  With her shirt hoisted up he started to cut into the flesh of her stomach more symbols and he spoke more words in forgotten languages. As he chanted he yanked my hands away just in time for her mouth to open and a series of orbs came from her mouth that flew around the room and fizzled away.

      The strange growls that were coming from her suddenly died down and I watched as her eyes came back into focus on the world around her.  I moved off her arms and stayed to her side, my hands going to cup her cheeks.  Her skin felt so hot and after the strange clamminess it had felt not an hour ago I was relieved.  She looked so exhausted and like she was about to pass out.  Though I couldn’t blame her if she did right there.

       “Doll?  Talk to me (Y/N).  Let me know it’s you and not some rube in there.”  I didn’t mean to sound hopeless or to beg but after everything I just wanted to see her back to normal.

       “Rufo?”  My throat felt sore, almost like I had been on roller coaster all day and screaming the whole ride.  “Where.. where am I?”  I tried to sit up, but my body felt stiff and weak.  Rufo moved to help me up and I saw a man standing in front of me.  Looking around I could see a bowl of a red liquid and then there was a pain in my stomach.  When I looked down I saw weird symbols etched into my skin.  “What the fuck happened to me?”

       “You, my dear, got caught in something nasty when you played hero for our dear Cecil.”  The man went to gather the items that were around.  With the things put away he offered me a hand for a handshake which I took.  He had a firm grip though I expected as much from a man who was built like a middle-aged truck driver.  His eyes seemed friendly, but something was off in them.  “Albert Miles.  You can call me a longtime friend of Cecil’s.”  His hand let go of mine and he helped Rufo get me up onto my feet then sitting down on the couch when we realized my legs weren’t ready just quite yet. “He brought you too me after the little incident with Crowley in the cabin.  It’s a good thing he did, or you certainly would have been lost.”

       “I don’t know how to thank you but, well, thank you.”  Rufo put a blanket around my shoulders which I held tighter onto me before grabbing something to clean my cut into stomach.

       “No need for thank you’s (Y/N).  It’s not often Cecil brings a friend over so I’m happy to help.”  There was that smile again that almost sent chills down my spine, but I smiled back at him.  His eyes went to Rufo who now slipped an arm around me.  “You two clean up then get some rest for a few days before heading back.  And take your time to bring her home.  We don’t need anything to be rushed.”  With that Albert turned on his heel and walked toward what I saw was most likely the kitchen.  “I’ll make us a lunch.  Exorcism’s always leave me hungry.”

       Lunch passed with a blur and the rest of the day followed suite.  Seeing the smile on Rufo’s face was the main thing that was consistent though.  Even as he helped me shower or get into bed there was always a smile on his face.  Albert had been a kind host and I found myself thanking him maybe a little too much as he and Rufo were getting the car ready for the drive.

       “Now, now (Y/N), I’m happy to help.  Besides, Cecil and I have an agreement so I’m always pleased when we can both benefit from it.”  Albert handed me a small leather satchel.  I could hear the clanking of vials inside as I took it.  “There’s some medicine in here in case you start to feel a little off.  There may be some aftereffects but keep up with it and you’ll be just fine.  Only a few sips each time mind you.”

       “Thank you, Albert.  For everything.”  I managed one final thank you before Rufo ushering me to the car.  We both gave Albert a wave goodbye and we were off.

        The drive was mostly quiet but the occasional song singing and light chit chat.  It was almost like nothing happened, but I knew Rufo was keeping an eye on me.  I could see from the corner of his eye how often it would flick over to me.  He even reminded me a few times to take the medicine before I realized I needed it.  It was good to be back again though I had questions.

        “What happened after I hit you out of the light?  I only remember pain and then not being here.” We were sat in a diner, far from others though it wasn’t exactly busy.  Rufo raised a brow while he was taking a mindful chew from his burger.

       “Crowley and I immediately took you to a hospital.  I was too angry to go inside so he took you in. We realized this was something regular treatment wouldn’t fix so he had me take you to Albert.”  He leaned back in his seat as he spoke, and he fiddled with his glass in his free hand.  “I honestly expected him to try to fight me while he had the chance but seems you said the magic word that turns that little switch in him when you just lost consciousness of yourself.”  He could see my confusion clear on my face and there was a small smile on the corner of his lip.  “You said one little word.  Please.”

       I sat there for the rest of meal, both a little confused and thankful. To be fair, a lot of this strange world I was exposed to left me very confused ever since Rufo revealed his clown face to me.  Even when Crowley first sat down across from me at that small diner and warned me about Rufo.  Maybe one day I’d get the answers about some things but for now I was ready to wrap up this vacation and get back home.

       It was almost nice to get back into my town and then to see my small home on the block coming into view.  Rufo pulled into the driveway and despite me saying I could get it, we spent a few minutes getting my things either in the house or in the garage where I could take care of it later.  The whole time though there was an odd look on his face.  He looked almost lost and perplexed.  When the last of it was put away we found ourselves standing in my driveway.

       “(Y/N) promise you’ll take care while I’m gone.”  His hands rested heavy on my shoulder and my gaze went up to his face.  He was already looking down at me.

        “I promise, Rufo.  Don’t worry too much about me.  Promise me that you’ll take care as well.”  That made him crack a bit of a smile.

       “Oh, don’t worry about me doll.  I’m hard to get rid of.”  His brows raised, eyes widening a bit like he remembered something, and he quickly reached for something in his pocket.  “I, well, I got this for you for when you woke up, but it slipped my mind to give it to you then.  I wanted you to recover and rest first.”  He slipped out a small box and he handed it over to me.  

        “Rufo, you didn’t need to get me anything.”  He slipped it into my hand, a move insisting I take it regardless my protests.  With everything that’s happened and how he’d been, I couldn’t really say no.  I opened it and revealed inside the lovely locket inside.  “Rufo, it’s beautiful.  Thank you.” I went to flip it open to make sure the hinge worked properly, and I saw a picture of the two of us inside.  The selfie from the cliff.

         “Albert must have put that in.”  Rufo chuckled and I could see him shaking his head.  “He’s always been a sly man.”

        “I’ll have to thank him again another time.”  Rufo slipped the necklace from my hand and helped me put it on.

       “I need to get going.  I promise to come back.”  Rufo’s eyes roamed over my face like he was trying to make sure he remembered every little feature.  “And when I do, I’ll take you on another trip and I’ll show you all the best sites out there. Coney Island, every fun little museum and we’ll do anything else you want.”

        “I’d like that a lot, Rufo.”  My hands went to hold the back of his neck and we shared one last kiss.  It was deep and I felt my heart skip wildly in my chest.  Everything in me didn’t want to let him go but I knew he couldn’t stay.

       I felt my heart sink as he gave me one last smile before turning and walking down the street.  I watched him until he was a speck on the horizon.  

 A FEW WEEKS LATER

        Rufo had been gone for a little over a month now and he kept in contact when he could.  Usually always by a different phone number but it was always nice to know he was both doing well and to just hear from him.  He always said he’d be back soon though it felt like it would take longer and longer.  Either way, I’d be patiently waiting.  Our last conversation he was nearly all the way across the states but the good news he was almost done with his job.  Almost.

        The next morning I found myself sitting at the dining table with breakfast fresh on the table.  And then a knock on the door.  Usually the newspaper delivery boy just hit the door but perhaps he was trying a different approach.  I got up, still in my pajamas and somewhat messy hair, and answered the door.

        “Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes doll.”  Rufo in his human look was there and he had a duffel bag in hand. “Miss me?”

       “Rufo!”  The duffel bag fell to the ground as I nearly tackled the man to the ground, and he had to quickly grab me.  “You’re here!”

        “I had to lead you on a little bit.  I needed to make sure you were surprised when I came back.  I think it worked pretty well, don’t you think?” He let out a laugh and he smiled down at me.  “Finish what you were doing and get ready to go.”

        “Where are we going?”  A look of confusion replaced my excitement but that only made him smile even wider.

        “Just on a little road trip.  I got it all planned out and set up for us.  It’ll be a blast (Y/N).”  He grinned before planting a gentle kiss on my smiling lips.  

       I used to ask myself if I would have agreed all that time ago if I would still let the man at the gas station into my car when he asked for a ride. As we drove down some random highway in the back way of somewhere that question popped into my head once more.  The answer has always been yes.

[theonceoverthinker]

When Will My Life Begin? (Fair Game, 13/?)

Summary: Tangled AU. Clover Callows has been confined to a tower for all of his life, and given the threat that his Uncle Tyrian says his semblance poses to his safety, he accepts that fate. It’s the only life he’s ever known, after all. But when he’s offered the opportunity to fulfill his greatest dream after a chance encounter with a thief -- or bandit, as Qrow Branwen insists there’s a difference between the two -- both Clover and Qrow will discover joys that they never knew life could offer them before. AO3

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Let it never be said that Qrow Branwen was ever either without a plan or very far from concocting one.

Developing plans was a skill that certainly helped him as a bandit, and in a matter of minutes, that skill would faithfully serve him once more as he and Clover proceeded to Lil’ Miss Malachite’s.

Qrow took pride in the fact that he knew the world well, that between his intelligence and his semblance, he was able to manipulate the knowledge he possessed as well as his own ‘charms’ to do all manner of things for him.

In fact, the only aspect of the world Qrow felt that he couldn’t say he completely understood was anything regarding Clover -- nor that grouchy raven of his -- but even with Clover, he was starting to make progress on that front. 

After all, most people didn’t show nearly as much of their personalities as Clover did in just the three hours they’d known each other, and there was plenty that Qrow gleaned from what he saw there. Qrow wouldn’t deny that he had more pressing matters to attend to regarding the very satchel Clover was keeping him from, but as he studied Clover as to best redirect him towards that end, he couldn’t help but take some interest in the mystery that was Clover. 

Sure, Clover was without a doubt the oddest person on the planet, his poorly-named bird had done nothing to curry Qrow’s favor in either of their directions, and of course, he was still holding Qrow’s satchel hostage.

But honestly, for someone raised all alone in a tower, Clover was pretty impressive in his own right -- strong, smart, witty, handy with that fishing pole of his, and unfortunately for Qrow, not bad at holding someone to a deal. 

It was almost something of a shame that after this stop and the return to Clover’s tower, they’d be rid of each other for good. 

Still, it had to be done if Qrow was to get that satchel of his back. 

But that didn’t mean Qrow couldn’t allow himself to muse on his traveling companion for the time they still had left together, if for no other reason than it gave him something to do besides just navigate through the forest that stretched on as far as the eye could see.

Clover was...absolutely unlike anyone else Qrow had ever known before -- naive, but only to a point, curious, but also scared easily, and determined, but clearly conflicted as to what he should be determined about. 

“Did you get us lost, Qrow?”

Finally, apparently, he was patient, that is, until he got hungry.

There was an inescapable patronizing -- though almost teasingly so -- tone in Clover’s voice as he spoke, a tone that was well reflected in the deadpan accusatory look he gave Qrow.

“No.” Qrow said, half grumbling as he waved a dismissive hand. “It’s close by. I just know it.”

“You sure about that?” Clover shot back. “Because you said that five minutes ago.”

Oh, and cheeky. Clover was undeniably, borderline groan-inducingly cheeky.

Qrow was about to show Clover a bit of his own cheekiness when he suddenly spotted something.

“I see the roof,” he said, pointing just above a hill as a recognizing smile grew on his face. “This way, muscles.”

Yet again, Clover huffed at the nickname, but Qrow didn’t care -- he loved it, for no other reason than how it riled Clover up just enough to get an annoyed pout out of him.

Qrow could watch Clover make that look all day.

“There it is! Lil’ Miss Malachite’s, in the flesh!”

Qrow half expected Clover to pull out a double dose of cheekiness and correct him by saying that buildings didn’t have flesh, but upon glancing at Clover, Qrow saw he was too entranced by the building to bother.

True to Qrow’s word, but three feet from them was a sign for the establishment, green letters against a blue background that read ‘Lil’ Miss Malachite’s,’  and just beyond that sign was the tavern itself.

Qrow had to hand it to himself -- even though he’d been in and out of this place more times than he could count, its quaint outer surface still even managed to fool him for a second into thinking the pub was...different from its current reputation.

Seemingly crafted nestled against the large oak tree that curled behind it, Lil’ Miss Malachite’s was simply lovely looking. Within the clearing where it stood, a purple and green speckled roof covered the restaurant’s wooden front alongside colorful carvings around every window and door.

For Gods’ sake, there were even horses in front of it!

How much more picturesque could it get?

Clover had clearly fallen in love with the place. Right now, he was marveling at the horses.

This guy…he clearly liked nature and animals a lot.

Qrow considered seeing if he could find that puppy they spotted earlier on their way back to the tower after this and give it to Clover as a little animal friend.

It would certainly be an improvement over that bird on his shoulder, no matter what Clover thought.

Then again, that uncle of Clover’s didn’t know he’d left on this trip, so there’d be no way he could sneak a dog up the tower without giving that little detail away. 

Maybe he’d just grab Clover a butterfly or something.

That would make him happy, right?

Well, either way, he’d decide on that after his plan worked.

And it would work.

“Isn’t it just picture perfect?” Qrow asked, turning to Clover. “Nice and quaint. After all, no need to scare you off from this trip of yours, right?”

“It is beautiful,” Clover admitted, smiling. “I mean, if we’re going to stop somewhere to eat, this looks like a good spot.”

Qrow smirked. “See, muscles? Who knows better than Qrow Branwen?”

Clover snorted amusedly. “With all that bragging you do, you’re more like a peacock than a crow, if you ask me.” He seemed pretty happy with the quip, and apparently couldn’t help but burst out into laughter at the deadpan look Qrow shot his way for it.

He was not a peacock.

“Well, let’s not wait any longer,” Qrow said, gesturing his hand towards the restaurant and dodging Clover’s quip.

“Sounds great!”

They made their way to the restaurant’s door, and with a creak, Qrow carefully opened it.

“Table for two!” he called out, though confident that over all the ruckus of the tavern, he wouldn’t be heard.

For his money, Qrow preferred that it would have stayed that way, especially by the management. 

If he had timed their arrival right -- and he was certain he did -- one particular part of that management team wouldn’t be here. The window was tight, but Qrow believed he could manage it.

After all, as long as he had anything to say about it, luck was decidedly not on her side.

How unfortunate would it be for her to have missed them.

Oh, well.

Clover walked halfway through the now opened door...and then he stopped.

Qrow knowing exactly why, smirked, as he looked into the dark tavern.

Unlike its quaint outskirts, Lil’ Miss Malachite’s interior was anything but quaint -- unless your definition of ‘quaint’ was closer to anyone else’s definition of ‘seedy.’ Dark wood covered the walls and through the inclusion of some olive green curtains, only a handful of candles and a small fireplace in the back provided light for the tavern. 

However, the most interesting feature of the place -- like any place -- was its people. As far as the eye could see ahead, people occupied the tables and standing space, all with tones and looks that came across as rowdy as the day was long.

Speaking from experience, Qrow could attest to the fact that the impression was one well earned by Lil’ Miss Malachite’s patrons.

They looked like crooks.

They looked like miscreants.

They looked like everyone that that uncle of Clover’s had probably ever warned him about.

And Qrow, putting his hands on Clover’s shoulders from behind him, inched him towards them.

Finally, his plan was in motion.

Clover immediately took out Kingfisher, brandishing it close to his chest with shaking hands as he and Qrow waded through the unruly masses.

Everyone had a weapon -- spears, hammers, tridents, sharp crossbows with sharper arrows, and more blades than there were hours in a day. Granted, those weapons largely weren’t in use -- most in sheathes and lazily left on the floor -- but it was their sheer presence and numbers that Qrow was counting on.

And oh, did those miscreants come through for him.

At this point, they’d probably be out of here before they even got a table.

He could practically hear every word Clover was thinking, but it really just came down to three words.

‘Damn it, Qrow…’

Happy to play the role of the devil when thought of, Qrow leaned in his head close to Clover’s left ear.

“Smell that, muscles?” he asked, absolutely rhetorically. “Take a deep breath of that through the nose. Lots of different types of stinks around here. There’s man stink, ma’am stink, and good old regular stink stink.” Qrow took a pronounced deep breath of his own, content laced in his voice like dirt in a puddle of mud. “Mmm. Gotta love that stink stink.”

No, no Clover did not seem to love that ‘stink stink’ at all, nor did he likely feel any obligation to love it.

“What do you think?” Qrow went on. “What’s your favorite of the stinks?”

Clover, scowling in front of Qrow, turned back to him, clearly about to tell him to shut up when all of the sudden, he stopped.

Qrow looked ahead.

Someone was touching Kingfisher’s tip, and their team had assembled to inspect the bar’s newest occupant alongside her.

Oh, this was likely going to do him in.

The people surrounding Clover -- the Juniper Jaggers -- they weren’t mean or cruel or even necessarily all that scary, but what they were was loud, brash, boundlessly energetic, and in regards to the girl who presently touched Clover’s weapon, lacking in almost any regard for personal space.

They’d been pains in the asses for Qrow to share a bar with in the past, but for the purposes of this particular mission, they were exactly what he needed.

Clover was frozen in place as he looked at the source of the tug.

When he found it, he saw the team’s four members -- two boys and two girls -- standing two to each of his sides -- undoubtedly far too close to him for his liking. 

Then, they started asking questions.

“Where are your shoes?” one of the girls asked. 

“Forget that, Phyrra,” one of the boys dismissed, “Where are your sleeves? We get it, you’ve got muscles -- no need to show them off so much.”

“Looks like someone’s jealous, Jaune,” the other girl teased. “But what I want to know is what’s up with the fishing pole?” She flicked Kingfisher’s rod backward on her finger before releasing it, creating a ‘boing’-like sound. Raven squawked. “Ooh! And your bird! Tell me all about her!”

“And how do you keep your clothes so clean?”

“Ren! This barefoot, muscle-bound guy with a weird fishing pole and a bird walks in, and his cleanliness is what you choose to ask him about?” 

Ren shrugged. “I can’t help it if my curiosity is more inclined to ask about his laundry skills, Nora.”

The four of them continued, mixing arguments amongst themselves with the questions they kept coming up with for Clover.

The initial questions flew at Clover like rapid fire, and others in the bar, while not joining in the questioning, did feast their eyes on the scene, and specifically, Clover.

While the questions themselves were harmless enough, Qrow could tell they were coming at Clover so quickly and with such a large audience that it was overwhelming.

Qrow was tempted to pull him back right there and then -- albeit with much laughing on his part because of how relatively benign they were -- but before he could, Clover took an action all his own.

He ran away.

Unfortunately for him though, the only clear direction to run in was ahead, further into the tavern, so that’s where he went. The Juniper Jaggers, seemingly too caught up in their own musings to realize that the subject of their curiosity had fled, continued arguing amongst themselves.

The laughter bubbling in Qrow’s belly couldn’t contain itself any longer, flowing out of him like water out of a destroyed dam.

Bringing Clover to ‘Lil Miss Malachite’s was a stroke of pure genius.

It was perfect. The folks here weren’t dangerous, per se, but what they were was energetic, weapon-clad, and menacing enough looking.

And Clover was absolutely freaked out by them.

Looks like he knew Clover well after all.

Qrow walked over in his direction, ready to end his plan before Clover ended up passing out, when suddenly, a voice called out to him.

“Well, hello Qrow,” a woman behind the counter scoffed as her hands cleaned a glass with a rag. “Haven’t seen you around here in a long while.” She had cream colored hair and a cream, green, and dirt colored apron.

Among all of the other things Qrow knew, this woman’s identity was one of them.

“Robyn, always a pleasure,” Qrow greeted, bowing his head in an over-the-top manner before shrugging. “Haven’t had a reason to be here in a long while.”

“Oh?” Robyn asked, a rhetorical nature in her words as clear as glass. “What about that tab of yours? I think you forgot to pay that off before you went to do...whatever it was you did.”

“I didn’t forget,” Qrow excused, raising a countering finger. “I just...need a bit of time to get the funds together.”

At that, Robyn sighed. It was an excuse she probably expected, and if Qrow was being honest with himself, it was a mindset well merited. This hadn’t been the first exchange they’d had over this very topic, or even at these very spots they currently stood in.

No, those aspects of the conversation were similar, at least. Others...were different.

Suddenly, he remembered a whole different reason he wanted to be out of here as soon as possible...

“Look,” she said, “I’m not gonna say anything to anyone, but if Lil’ Miss Malachite herself sees you, your time’s gonna be up. You’d better get out of here fast.”

Qrow was about to thank her and ask how much time he had before she was due to get back, but before he could, he heard the now unmistakable sound of Raven squawking at someone who was approaching Clover from behind. 

Jeez, even half a tavern away, he squawks came at his eardrums with the force of an anchor falling into the ocean.

Robyn snorted. “Who’s that guy? White clothes, a fishing rod, a bird on his shoulder, looks scared out of his wits -- what kind of weirdo did you bring to my bar? We’ve already got more than enough of them to go around.”

“Him?” Qrow started, thinking up a quick lie. “He’s just a tourist browsing. I told him myself the nicest pub in all of Remnant was here, and he wanted to see for himself.”

Looks like it was about time to bring this plan home.

“But,” Qrow continued, “I think he’s had his fill of the scenery. I’ll go get him out of your way.”

Robyn shot Qrow a deadpan look, clearly not believing a word of what he said, but Qrow just innocently shrugged as he headed once more for Clover.

He looked terribly freaked out, and so small. If he were in any actual danger, Qrow wouldn’t have been as amused as he was. Even still though, he did take some pity on him.

“Clover,” Qrow said, approaching him, feigning an innocent and concerned tone in his voice. He took a gentle hold of Clover’s shoulder -- the one without Raven on it -- and tugged him in the direction of the exit. “You don’t look so good. Should we turn around, maybe get you home? I mean, this place is a five star joint, and if you can’t handle being here, it might just be best for you to get back to your tower.”

“I know what you’re trying to pull, Qrow, a-and it’s not going to work,” Clover said. “I’m not going back to my tower without seeing those lanterns.” 

Qrow smirked. “Then may I ask why it is you’re following me out of this lovely establishment?”

“I’m still going to see the lanterns,” Clover asserted. “I’m just not going to eat here on the way to see them.”

“We’re gonna have to see people eventually once we get to the capital, and believe me, there’s only more like this crowd to come. What are you gonna do, then?” It was a lie, but one that wasn’t completely a work of fiction by a longshot. After all, while the kingdom’s capital was home to plenty of perfect normal folks such as himself, it also had characters that ranged from as eccentric as the Juniper Jaggers to as shady as Mercury to as uppity as the Ace Ops.

Much to Clover’s evident frustration, it was a legitimate question he’d asked.

“Well,” Clover started, clearly not prepared with an answer. “I’ll-”

“Hold up!” a voice called, interrupting Clover. It was the shout of an older woman with a drawl, and like Robyn, Qrow knew its source all too well. “I’d know that raspy voice anywhere. Branwen! Where are you?”

Crap. He’d taken too much time.

The boss was back.

“Well,” Qrow said, playing up a happy tone, “if it isn’t Lil’ Miss Malachite herself!”

Qrow turned around to shoot at Lil’ Miss Malachite a fake, yet charming enough to him smile, only to pause towards the end of his rotation upon seeing what she held in her hand.

“Looks like you got yourself into a little bit of trouble,” she said, showing off a copy of Qrow’s wanted poster to all of the tavern’s patrons. She then pointed to the bottom of the poster where the word ‘reward’ was listed. “Ooh, and look here! You’re actually worth something. Who’d have ever guessed. After all the money you’ve stiffed me of over the years, I think this reward will settle our debts quite nicely.”

Qrow, urging Clover to get behind him with an arm of his raised cutting off Clover from the rest of the bar, stepped back slowly to try to get out the door.

However, before he could, the door slammed shut. 

“Cardin!” she called out to a young man who stood by the door, watching the scene play out with eager anticipation. “Go get the royal guards. That reward for his head’s gonna have us set for life. Monkey boy, you go guard the door in his place.”

In the blink of an eye, Cardin zoomed out the door and into the forest. The door had been left closed, but abandoned. However, it was only for a second until a blond boy dropped down from the ceiling to block the path to it.

“And you, Robyn!” Lil’ Miss Malachite shouted once more. “Have that motley crew of yours go capture Branwen!”

From behind him, Qrow could feel Clover staring at him, but not with the heat of a glare. 

Instead, it was with worry.

Qrow couldn’t turn back to look at him, whether to assure that they’d be okay, or to give Clover warning before something...less than pleasant happened, for Robyn had jumped up from the bar, whistled for her friends to surround Qrow, and approached him herself.

“Robyn,” Qrow protested.

As she was just a few steps away from him, Robyn bit her lip. 

“Sorry, Qrow,” she said, remorse heavy in her voice. “But a job’s a job, and I can’t afford to lose mine.”

Immediately, Qrow rushed to grab Harbinger, but his arm was grabbed midswing by Robyn’s teammate Fiona, the tips of his fingers only gliding over the blade’s handle for a fraction of a second. The other arm was grabbed a second later by another one, Johanna. Qrow kicked his legs in an attempt to free himself, but they were grabbed all the same by the final member of Robyn’s group, May. All the while as her teammates kept him in place, Robyn looked over the scene to see if they left any stones unturned that could lead to his escape.

And dammit, they didn’t.

He could see Clover in the distance, at a complete loss for what to do.

Qrow couldn’t blame him. Clover had been outside his tower for what -- maybe three hours. To see his guide of all people grabbed and bound, ready to be arrested had to be scary stuff, on top of being surrounded by nothing but miscreants and crooks as far as the eye could see. Clover was strong, but he wouldn’t instigate a fight, not under these circumstances.

Now, the only one of them he knew he could count on to not let him get hurt was captured, likely to be arrested within the next hour.

What was he going to do now?

Completely captured, Qrow tried looking around for a means of escaping his captors, but found none. 

Qrow was good at working with things and qualities he had to find solutions, but at that moment, he really didn’t know what to do next, nor was any idea appearing. 

For the first time in a long time, he was completely left without a plan.

[maatryoshkaa]

Stray Kids as Roommates | Thread

some roommates-to-lovers fluff coming at you!

Bang Chan

You guys are the pair that n e v e r sleep

Turned his room into a home studio; probably would have thrown out his bed and turned his room into an office if you hadn’t stopped him

You often fall asleep to the sound of his humming and tracks muffled through your bedroom wall

You see the most of him during exam season, while pulling all nighters

He’s always in the kitchen making his 14th cup of coffee when you get up to go to the bathroom at 3 am

Lots of deep, meaningful conversations over late night snacks

You swear you’ve heard him talking to his Goku figurines during the unearthly hours of the morning

You’re the only one Chan lets ruffle his fluffy dandelion bedhead in the morning

Takes care of you more than he takes care of himself

Always asks you how your day went when you get home and insists on listening even when he’s been awake for over 48 hours

Always there to give you advice and comfort you when you’re feeling down! A living breathing mental health hotline

Walked into your room when you were studying for finals at 2am

You were in your pajamas, hair a mess and eyes barely open

And that was when Bang Chan decided he was in love with you

Ah, the couple with matching bags under their eyes.

☽ Read the rest of the boys under this cut! 

Woojin

Fried chicken takeout for dinner is a big Friday night thing

Kind of like a big moral support teddy bear, his hugs are the greatest

You steal half his closet in the winter because his hoodies are the comfiest

Literally the dad of your household

Checks up on your health and how you’re doing every now and then

Pushes you to finish your work and makes sure you’re not procrastinating

Honestly, your grades are soaring thanks to him

Helps you with homework

Your parents love him

Always saves and brings you good things to eat

Tucks you in at night when you can’t sleep nyahh i’m soft

And a couple times, when you wake up shaking from nightmares, homesickness or stress, he’s always there to comfort you, lying there until you fall asleep again.

“Woojin?”

“Yeah? Shh, don’t worry, I’m here.”

You always sit outside the bathroom and listen to him sing in the shower

Until he suddenly opened the door in nothing but a towel and you couldn’t face him for weeks

He thought your furiously blushing face was the cutest thing he’d ever seen and teased you about it, 

Until you finally kissed him to make him shut up

Hint: it worked wonders.

Minho

Saturday night dance battles are a t h i n g

Doesn’t do any chores unless he notices you’re feeling tired

Tried to cook once and probably accidentally gave the both of you food poisoning

Remember when he cooked rice cakes in the unwashed metal pan I’m--

Likes you a lot more than he lets on

Like, you’d mention craving a certain food or not having saved up enough money for something, and voila, the next day it’d be sitting on the kitchen table.

“What? It was on sale, just lying around. Don’t think too much of it.”

Clowns you for every little thing, but the moment he hears someone make fun of you, it’s on sight

Bicker like an old married couple, lots of back and forth catfights

Evenings falling asleep on the sofa, both tipsy and giggling while his two cats snuggle up around you

Arguing over who the cats love more

Endless crackhead antics; the neighbours probably hate you

Insists on walking his cats around the apartment complex, when in reality he just wants to spend more time with you

Everyone already knows you’re basically dating but you’re both too stubborn to admit it

Probably hooked up once or twice, or more than once or twice ;)

Changbin

Honestly when you first got him as your roommate, you were terrified

Because this 5’6 ball of dark is intimidating as frick

Realized how soft he really was when he whipped out his Munchlax plushie

Petty arguments with him are impossible because he speaks so fast

So you just let him win

Makes you kill the spider

Always manages to convince you to watch horror movies at 1 am

Probably as an excuse to have you in his arms if you get scared ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) he thinks he’s slick

Perfected the “stretch and put his arm around your shoulder” move

Made a special playlist for everything you do together: good vibes for breakfast, upbeat jams when doing the chores together, chill indie mixes for cozy evenings in doing work

Insists on helping you around the house

Bringing you fresh ice coffee, cookies, and convenience store hauls whenever he gets off work

“B-but the Peperos were on a buy one get one free sale 👉👈”

Suggests playing the pocky/pepero kiss game to which you smack him in response

But you end up giving him a quick peck anyways, and he freezes, stunned

You run off, face red, Changbin chasing after to you with a wicked grin

“What was that? Is that buy one get one, too, because I want another oneeee!”

Hyunjin

The chillest roommate, but when he gets hyper oh m y

I ain’t gettin no sleep cos of y’all, y’all not gettin sleep cos of me

You have to wake him on the weekends because this boy would sleep until the evening

You want to let him rest, though, since he’s always out and working so late ;(

Secretly takes so many candid, soft pictures of you and saves them as his wallpaper

Loves to take you shopping and dress the both of you in matching #OOTDs

Hypes you the heck up

“She’s sister snatched today! Skin glowing, outfit on point -- oh look at that SMILE! Do the thing again -- oh my gosh. You’re killing it, y/n!”

Gives you fashion advice and beauty tips, although you keep bugging him for his skincare routine cuz damn

Probably share skincare products

Always do face masks together but fail at keeping them on because the two of you keep laughing at the stupidest things

Sometimes he has to put you to bed when he comes home late, and you’ve fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him to get back

Can’t resist kissing your forehead sometimes when tucking you in

At moments like these, he finds himself wishing for a sliver of a chance that you might feel the same way he has

He’s honestly so damn obvious though, getting you matching “roommate” things when he goes out -- plushies that remind him of you, little snacks when you’re down, cute accessories, you name it

This boy also forgets that he talks in his sleep -- and is very hard to wake up

So one morning, you’re leaning over his bed, about to shake him awake, and hear him mumble

“y/n, y/n, y/n...i like you sooo much...what do i do?”

You nearly choke on your toast, effectively waking the boy up, and he stares at you, half-awake and mortified.

“What? Did I--did I say something in my sleep?”

The smug, blushing smile spreading over your face is enough to send him diving back under the covers as you begin to tease him

Jisung

So comfortable to be around, he’s basically your best friend from day 1

Except for the fact that he’s so. Damn. LOUD

Noise complaints filed from the neighbours, the landlord, the neighbour’s dog, you name it

Another soft bean whose bedhead you love to ruffle

I mean have you seen My Pace dance practice? That boys mane has a mind of its own--

Brings you lots of cakes and pastries from cute bakeries when you’re stressed

A responsible boi™ ! always helps you out around the house.

Grocery shopping together? What a concept

Except he piles the cart with chips and snacks when he thinks you’re not looking

Lots of late nights binging movies on Netflix

This boy loves moves

But he loves them even more when he watches them with you ;D

Afterwards, you’re both too lazy and comfortable to move, so you end up falling asleep cuddled up against each other

Always runs away and hides when you ask to see his songs

You find scraps of hastily scribbled lyrics and ideas strewn around the house all the time

Little phrases like “i think i love you” and “my heart beats impossibly fast when i’m with you”

So you manage to collect enough to bring them to him and tease him about it

Jisung gets all quiet, though, instead of whining like he usually does, and you quickly apologise, thinking you’ve gone too far

You reassure him his writing is amazing

“It’s not that.”

He finally looks you in the eye, the intensity of his stare making your heart stop for a moment.

“They’re about you.”

Oh, how the turn tables.

Felix

i hate him sm, blease

Why did you even agree to room with him

Rooming with Felix is a one way trip to insanity -- we going ✈️✈️ acid trip

You can hear him yelling yeets and yeehaws when he plays Fortnite while you do your homework, and you swear you’re t h i s close to putting his head straight through his screen

Video game marathons when you’re not busy though, you have to admit, are the bomb

Probably convinced you to make TikToks with him

Makes you do all the viral challenges, including the couple trends

Honestly the most fun guy to be around ever

Your daily dose of memes and sugar

Knows when to be down to earth and serious, though!

Gives the best massages when you’re overworked and runs you a bath, promptly ordering your favourite takeout and making sure to feed you

Building pillow forts together on rainy days and snow days, and having sleepovers!

Binging vine compilations together during said sleepovers

Sending each other memes at 1 am when you’re both simultaneously procrastinating on homework

You basically became a couple without really going through the confession stage; it just sort of happened

“Hey, ‘lix?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“I think I kinda like you.”

A sideways smirk. “Well, yeah, you’ve dealt with me for this long.”

The best-friends couple: soulmates, and, more importantly, partners in crime vine

Seungmin

Sweetest roommate!! Honestly you feel bad for even asking him to do chores

Has a bit of an evil side, though

One second he’s flashing you an angelic smile, the next he’s roasting you for your selfie skills on your recent Instagram post

You make one (1) complaint about the living room being messy, next thing you know you wake up and it’s spick and span

Cooks?? Really hecking well?

Sometimes you wonder if you signed up for a roommate or a housekeeper

Your apartment is so clean

Taking evening strolls together after dinner and taking pictures at the park

Walks you to and from work/school like a little puppy, and gets anxious if you’re late coming home

Doesn’t know how to show how much he cares about you and gets frustrated with himself

So he indulges in the little things, like packing you cute little lunches with sticky notes on the containers

Little notes around the house on days he stays out working late, like make sure you’re eating! And don’t sleep too late!

Honestly, you fell for him the moment he first smiled at you

Once, he was working overtime nonstop, and you didn’t get to see him for over two weeks

When he finally came home on time, you couldn’t help tackling him in a big bear hug

After he got over his initial heartbeat racing a thousand miles per hour, he dropped his head into the crook of your neck, hugging you back tightly

No words were needed, you missed each other’s presence so much, it seemed to say itself

I love you, and I missed you.

Jeongin

Is this boy even old enough to rent out a room? He is babie

So incredibly shy when he first meets you, but warms up quickly

Owns animal-printed pajamas and onesies

You both had a mini celebration when he got his braces off, complete with banana milk and animal crackers

You are both babie

An early bird, always wakes up before you

You wake up to him shaking you and laughing at your scrunched up face

“Wake uuppp, y/n, you’re going to be so late!”

“Ergghhhh.”

Can’t clean to save his life; always ends up breaking something or knocking things over

So he’s in charge of doing the laundry

Had a fat mental breakdown when he realised that meant your underwear

Your apartment is littered with figurines and plushies that both of you collect and don’t have the heart to clean out

“Jeongin, where are y----” you stop. “Why are you lying face down on the ground?”

“...we’re out of banana milk.”

Another hidden evil bean who clowns you for everything you do once he warms up to you

Baby boy!Jeongin switches to Savage!Jeongin in a matter of seconds

Also makes you kill the spider

Helps you cook, but only if you tell him how to do everything or he’ll freak out

Putting mukbang channels on the TV while eating together and watching in comfortable silence

Loves watching you eat and has a million derpy pictures of you saved on his phone

Poor boy has no idea how to tell you he’s falling head over heels with you

Accidentally blurts out “I like you” during a screaming contest

Lots, I mean LOTS of awkward laughing as Jeongin feels his face heat up, watching yours do the same

The longest moment passes, and Jeongin is getting ready to disassociate when you’re finally able to open your mouth and scream back,

“I like you, too!”

Baby boy found his soulmate.

[thorbunni]

heartbeat

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader, natasha romanoff x steve rogers (platonic)

warnings: cursing, mentions of torture, angst

summary: you’re kidnapped in order to torture and lure the black widow, but it becomes a trip down memory lane for the both of you.

a/n: sorry about my short hiatus, life has been a stressful place for us all as of late. i started this a while back, but i randomly got the inspiration to finish this early this morning. this is set in the time frame right before the winter soldier, when both steve and nat were working for S.H.I.E.L.D. enjoy!

The door to Natasha’s room was thrown off it’s hinges, revealing a disheveled Steve Rogers standing in the hallway. His eyes were bloodshot with defined bags underneath them, as if he hadn’t slept in days. Sweats hung low on his hips and his shirt was loosely splayed across the muscles of his upper body. 

“Nat, come on. You’ve been at this for days. We’ll find her, but you need to sleep first. Tired eyes and terrible judgement will do you no good once we find her location,” Steve said as he flipped on the light switch. The red-haired woman winced at the sudden influx of light into her corneas. 

Steve took this opportunity to look at her surroundings while she desperately attempted to find something to cover her eyes. The walls of her room were covered in pictures of you, all connected by pieces of red yarn and sticky notes. Every mob boss, every criminal, every high-level enemy the Avengers have ever fought (including Tony Stark) had their portrait and information stapled onto the wall above her bed. The furniture had been shifted and there was a shattered lamp in the corner of the room. Steve gawked at the mess that was unusual of Nat to create. However, he couldn’t be surprised, as you made her do things that Steve would never have thought she would do. 

“I can’t, Steve,” she spoke softly, voice cracking as she looked up at the super soldier with teary eyes. “You know I can’t do that.”

“But you can,” Steve walked over to sit next to her on her unmade bed, carful to avoid the dirty clothes and hidden pieces of glass. “Look, you haven’t been getting anywhere. Maybe a pair of fresh eyes will help you discover something useful that would lead us straight to her.”

Natasha said nothing in reply. Her endeavor for something to cover her eyes led her to smother her head in a bed sheet, and her body gave into her exhaustion. Steve placed her entire body into her bed, tucking her in for the night. He rose from the bed, turning off the light and picking up the broken door, resting it on the doorframe. 

“Miss Romanoff, Director Fury wished for me to inform you and Captain Rogers that we now have a location on Miss Y/L/N,” F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voiced blared through the overhead speakers. The morning drowsiness was wiped from her system as soon as she heard those words. She rushed from her place in bed to get her suit, almost throwing onto her body while she awkwardly hopped down the hallway. 

The Quinjet ride was longer than usual, even though they were flying halfway across the world. Somewhere in Southern Europe, Nat thought she remembered hearing Fury say. She wasn’t listening during the briefing, her mind consumed with the thought of getting you back. You hadn’t been gone for very long, just under two weeks, in fact. But Natasha was a mess without you. You were the only stability in her life. You were her light. You were the only positive thing her life had ever seen. So when you went missing, her mind crumbled. Natasha was so obsessed with getting you back, that she no longer took care of herself. As far as she was concerned, you were probably being beaten and tortured to get to her, so she shouldn’t waste any time on things that took time away from finding you. 

Finally, the plane touched down on the snowy ground. The door unfolded, the frigid air flooding the Natasha’s senses. Steve placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Nat, you okay?” he asked of her. She nodded timidly, just barely hearing his question.

The cold didn’t affect the two agents, as Tony had a heater sewn into all of their suits to prevent them from dying. Their trek through the snow lasted for what seemed even longer. Every thought that dragged through Natasha’s head revolved around you. Except for one. She thought of what she was going to do to the person that took you. Natasha would use every ounce of her training to ensure that whoever had you was going to die a slow, agonizing death. She would make them suffer until death seems like the best possible option. Lost in her head once again, she didn’t realize that she had arrived at the base. Natasha would’ve ran straight into a wall had Steve not taken her by the shoulders and forcefully moved her in front of the gateway. It was a normal-looking, abandoned military base, mainly comprised of bricks and steel beams. With a nod of agreement, the two pulled out their weapons and stealthily marched up the steps and into the base, determined to bring you back home. 

Not long after forcing the heavy door ajar, Natasha found the base completely empty. Every corridor, room, hallway, and staircase was barren and left devoid of evidence that anyone had been there recently. A particular room caught their attention more than the others: the library. Still remaining on high alert, she began to flip through the pages of the open notebooks that sat on the wooden desk in the center of the room. The walls were lined with bookshelves, most tall enough to require a ladder to reach the top levels. 

“Hey, Nat,” Steve whispered from the elaborate doorway, “Come here. I think I found something.”

Natasha placed her hands on her gun once again, raising it to eye level as she moved towards Steve. The super soldier pointed down a dark, narrow corridor with a gesture of his head.

“Can you hear that, Nat?” Steve said, lowly. She closed her eyes, trying to listen out for footsteps or any other sign of the enemy approaching. For a split second, the assassin could’ve sworn that she’d heard classical music playing deep down the hallway. The kind of classical music that the Red Room would slowly train the girls to hate as their bodies crumbled to the floor in exhaustion. 

The farther Nat and Steve travelled down the hallway, the more prominent the music became. In just a few seconds, the faint music filled Natasha’s ears. A loose brick in the wall caught her eye. Steve held his shield out in front of her as she felt around the wall, finally pushing the brick into the wall. The sound of Nat’s quick-paced heartbeats echoed off of the walls, possibly the only sign that gave away their position. She released her hand outstretched hand from the wall. At this point, the Black Widow was desperate for any trace of you or your presence. 

The wall slid to the side, making the entire room tremble around them. Steep stairs heading down into a basement now laid in front of the two agents in place of the large wall. She descended down the staircase without a second thought, foregoing all of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s protocols and all of her training. When it came to you, fuck protocols. The red-haired woman no longer held her gun and completely ignored Steve’s silent warning signals. She didn’t care. All she had to do was get to you and get you home safe. Only then would she be okay. 

As soon as the tip of her boot touched the base of the last stair, bright lights cut on. In the exact center of the room was a table and a chair setup in a classic forceful interrogation manner. Little blood splatters covered the entire concrete floor. A two-way mirror had been installed into the wall to the left of where they had entered the room, but they had no time to peer into the tinted glass. 

“Nice of you to join me, Miss Romanoff and Mister Rogers,” a stout man revealed himself from behind another door in the room. He couldn’t have been much over five feet, complete with a thin bone structure and sparse, scraggly hair. A set of oval-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his wrinkled nose and a white lab coat seemed to smother his skinny frame. He struggled to stand upright, and instead leaned on his right leg more often than the left. Overall, a classic bad-guy-mad-scientist look. 

“Where is Y/N?” Steve’s deep voice boomed in response to the feeble man. Natasha’s throat went dry. She had allowed a man like this to take Y/N. Her Y/N. She was supposed to be the greatest and most efficient killer in the world, but she couldn’t even protect you. Tears began to prick her eyes at the thought, but Natasha knew she could not let them fall. Not in front of a man that was going to be dead as soon as she found you. 

“And I suppose you would also like the answer to that question?” the old man inquired sarcastically. He continued his statement after being met with a glare in response to his question, “I had her brought her so I could have a little chit-chat with at least some of the Avengers.”

“What would you like to speak about?” Natasha spat, “Because I can guarantee you that you have exactly 15 seconds to live after you tell me where you put my girlfriend.”

“Is that a threat, Miss Romanoff?” the man smiled knowingly, eyebrow cocked in a manner that could only be executed by the most evil of evil. 

“A promise,” she replied, crossing her arms while keeping a gun in her hand. 

“Anyways,” he clears his throat, but that only leads him into a major coughing fit that leaves him wheezing, “I suspect that you also want to know why I took her.”

Natasha took a handful of his lab coat and brought his entire body extremely close to her face, ensuring he could hear her say, “Tell us the location of the damn girl before you’re struggling to breath for a different reason.”

Psychotic laughter fell from the lips of the estranged scientist, a chuckle only a madman could even think of doing. Natasha then looked into his eyes for the first time, only seeing the insanity within his green orbs. A permanent grin was painted across his face as he gestured towards the two way mirror. 

“Why, Miss Romanoff, she’s just in that other room,” he said maniacally. As if it was connected to it’s words, the mirror cleared, revealing a simple ballet studio. On cue, the music became much more climactic and dramatic as he continued his words, “She seems to love dancing. She even panics when I turn certain compositions on. It’s adorable.”

A leotard-clad woman comes spinning into view, body bent and elongated in ways only a Red Room trainee could achieve. Natasha panicked, feeling her catsuit get incredibly tight when she saw your strained face. She finally has sight of you, but only in pain. Weeks and weeks of no sleep brought her here in the same room as you captor, but not you.

Natasha dropped the scientist and jolted forward, fists pounding on the tinted glass, “Let her out, you bastard! Let her out!”

“If you can get her out, you can have her. But I believe I should be taking my leave,” he confessed before he began foaming at the mouth. His eyes glossed over before his body hit the ground with a quiet thud. Steve rushed over to feel for some kind of pulse, but the dead guy was the last thing on Natasha’s mind. 

In half an hour, Natasha had tried everything. She ignored the dastardly memories of her training just so she could get to you. You continued to dance, terrified of the guns that were aimed directly at your heart. Nat continued to attempt to pry at the edges of the mirror, hoping that it would amount to something. 

“No bombs, triggers, anything on the premises,” Steve announced as he waltzed back into the room and laid his shield on the table, “Everything dangerous is in that studio.”

“Well, big guy, I’m going to need you to punch this glass really hard because that’s my girlfriend in there and I can’t get to her.”

Steve nodded and lined himself with the glass. His fist connected with the glass: nothing. The captain pulled his fist back once again, with the same end result. On the third try, his fist connected with the glass and it shattered on impact. Natasha jumped through it and dragged you back into the room. Your exhausted body slumped into her arms, little whines coming from your mouth as Natasha guided you to the floor. She knew you’d never cry in front of anyone, but she didn’t need tears to know that you were struggling. It broke her heart to see you so broken. The assassin wrapped her toned arms around your body, and smiled as she teared up herself. 

“Shh, shh,” she whispered into your hair, “You’re okay now.”

What she didn’t notice was the foam dripping from your mouth onto her suit. 

[prouvaireafterdark]

Earn It

Finally finished that Malex sex dungeon fic!

Inspired by @acomebackstory‘s post 

Can also be read on AO3

***

The number of secret, underground hideouts in Alex Manes’ life has, at this point, reached a level which some might consider excessive.

Alex would be inclined to agree if he and his friends didn’t have so many secret, underground things to do.

After all, Michael needs his bomb shelter alien lab to do his research, and Alex and Kyle might as well consider the Project Shepherd bunker a second home what with all the hours they’ve been logging going through the data they pulled from Caulfield. They’re essential, really, to every facet of their efforts to protect the pod squad from the government and Alex’s almost comically homicidal family.

Jim Valenti’s underground rehab retreat, however, is another matter entirely.

When Alex had first discovered it with Kyle and seen the bed front and center, for a brief moment he’d thought they’d just climbed into Jim Valenti’s own private sex dungeon. In those few seconds before all the pieces fell into place, the thought was… uncomfortable, to say the least.

Months later, as Alex watches Michael struggle against the ropes holding him in place on black satin sheets, the prostate massager in his ass causing him to leak a steady stream of pre-come, he thinks maybe, just maybe, converting that room under the cabin into a kinky sex dungeon was the greatest idea he’s ever had.

It started with a carefully planned coffee date at Bean Me Up. Alex had led Michael to a table tucked away in the back corner of the place next to a shelf with battered board games he’s never seen anyone use. Alex waited until the couple at the table next to them left before he brought it up.

“So, I’ve got something to ask you,” Alex said, idly swirling his spoon around the edge of his mug.

“About?” Michael asked, taking a sip of his own coffee.

“The bunker in my basement,” Alex preambled. He waited until Michael swallowed his coffee before he leaned forward and asked, “What do you think about turning it into a playroom?”

Michael’s brow crinkled in confusion. “A playroom? What, you got some nieces and nephews coming to visit or something?”

Alex laughed before he could stop himself and the expression on Michael’s face soured a little. Alex shook his head, grabbing Michael’s hand across the table. Letting his voice drop to that pitch that drives Michael crazy in the best way, he clarified, “Not that kind of playroom, baby.”

Alex saw it the second comprehension dawned on him.

“Alex,” Michael gasped, eyes wide and the grip on his hand tightening. His head swiveled to look at the empty tables around them before it snapped back to him.

“Is that a no then?” Alex asked, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

“Uh, no, it’s a ‘Why the fuck is my boyfriend asking me about building a room specifically designed for him to fuck me in when we’re in public?’” Michael whispered back, leaning closer over the table so no one would hear him.

Alex met him nearly halfway, a few inches of space between them as he shot back, “You know as well as I do that if we were having this conversation somewhere private, you’d already be under the table with your head in my lap.”

Michael hadn’t even looked ashamed at the accusation. Instead, he fixed Alex with a hungry stare, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.

“You’re thinking about it right now, aren’t you?” Alex asked, and damn him, but now he was too, could see it clear as day in his mind: Michael on his knees under the table with his arms tied behind his back, his mouth open and begging to be filled by Alex’s cock.

“‘M always thinking about it,” Michael said, shifting in his seat. “That’s a problem because…?”

Not a problem, baby, never a problem, Alex wanted to say. He loves how much Michael wants it, loves how soft he goes when he gets it.

Instead, he’d said, “Because I want to actually talk about this, Guerin. I want to know what you would want in a space like that, what you would expect from me, what things you’d want to try. Think we can do that without getting too distracted?”

“I make no promises,” Michael says, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, “but I’m all ears.”

The sounds of Michael’s wet gasps ricocheting off the concrete fill Alex’s ears like music. He’s three fingers deep in Michael’s ass, a fourth teasing at his rim, and Michael’s desperately rocking his hips into his hand as much as the ropes tying him spread-eagle to the bed allow.

Just when that delicious chorus of ah-ah-ah’s is reaching a crescendo, Alex pulls his fingers free from Michael’s body.

Not for the first time tonight, Michael practically screams in frustration.

“Alex,” he moans at the ceiling, chest heaving. “Please, you’re killing me.”

To his credit, Alex doesn’t laugh—they both know Michael can get out of these ropes any time he wants. Instead, he moves further up the bed and places a kiss over Michael’s forehead before leaning back to really look at him.

Michael is a vision like this; body flushed and glistening with sweat, his curls wild and damp at his temples, a few desperate tears beginning to gather at his lashes. His trembling thighs are covered in bruises that Alex had spent the better part of an hour lovingly sucking into his skin as he played with Michael’s hole using everything from his fingers and tongue to the fancy new prostate massager that came in the mail this morning.

In all that time, though, he hasn’t let Michael come once.

“What’s your color, baby?” Alex asks, stroking over Michael’s cheek with his hand that isn’t covered in lube. He watches Michael’s face carefully, looking for any sign that this actually is too much for him.

“Green,” Michael answers, nuzzling his face into Alex’s touch like a cat. “So fucking green, but—please, I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.”

He doesn’t say it, but Alex hears the I don’t want to disappoint you all the same. Alex loves him so much it takes his breath away.

He leans down to kiss Michael again, on the lips this time. “Do you think you deserve to come?” he asks against his lips. Michael shudders at those words, a crease forming at his brow as he tries to figure out how Alex wants him to answer.

Alex kisses his way down Michael’s body, particularly relishing the hitch in Michael’s breath when he places a single open-mouthed kiss to the shiny swollen head of his cock. He doesn’t linger and instead sits up and watches him, sure hands soothing his quivering thighs.

“I asked you a question, Michael,” he prompts firmly. “Should I let you come?”

Michael bites his lip and nods.

“Do you think you’ve earned it?”

Michael hesitates a second before he nods again.

“I think you have too,” Alex agrees, releasing Michael’s ankles from the cuffs keeping his legs bound. Michael breathes a sigh of relief so heavy that Alex can’t help but fuck with him a Iittle longer.

“Thank you,” Michael sighs as Alex settles between his newly-freed legs, hauling his hips up and onto his lap. He reaches around for the lube laying on the bed.

“Don’t thank me yet, baby,” Alex says, flicking off the cap and pouring some into his hand. He slicks his cock with it as he adds, “You haven’t heard my condition yet.”

“Which is?”

“You can come whenever you want,” Alex says, “but it better be before I finish or you don’t get to come at all.”

“Alex that’s not—,” Michael starts, but then Alex is notching his cock at Michael’s abused hole and pushing, sliding inside in one smooth movement, and Michael gasps, “Oh, fuck.”

Alex holds Michael close by the hips, leaning over him as he starts thrusting with no hesitation—Michael’s been ready for ages and Alex knows he can take it. Michael’s heat surrounds him, scorching and so tight, even after everything he’s done to him tonight that Alex can’t help but groan, “God, you feel so perfect, baby, so perfect every time. It’s like you were made for me.”

“Pretty sure I was,” Michael says in agreement, wrapping his legs around Alex and bearing down into his lap. Tenderness for Michael seizes Alex and he leans forward to capture his mouth in a kiss, pouring into it everything he’s feeling, all the love and lust and pleasure he has to give.

They part eventually and when they do, Alex drinks his fill of the gorgeous picture Michael makes, stuffed full and panting, sweat beading on his forehead and collecting in the hollow of his throat.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Alex whispers, grinding his cock as deep as it’ll go.

“Fuuuuck,” Michael practically squeals with pleasure as Alex gets the angle just right on the backstroke to nail his prostate. “Right there, fuck me, oh my god.”

Alex does just that, targeting his thrusts as much as he can until Michael is a fucking mess, frantically pulling at the bonds keeping his hands above his head.

“Fuck, Alex, Alex, Alex,” Michael chants his name like a prayer. “Please, ‘m gonna come, don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Alex pants, feeling Michael’s walls start to clench around him. “That’s it, baby, come on, you’ve earned it. Been so good for me all night. Come for me, Michael.”

Alex reaches between them for Michael’s cock and starts to jerk him off. He gets a grand total of four strokes in before Michael is screaming, his back arched clear off the bed as rope after rope of come shoots from his dick, painting his own chest and dripping down Alex’s fist.

Alex fucks him through it, leaning down to lick up a stripe of come that managed to make it onto Michael’s chin. Michael turns his face down to steal a breathless kiss, moaning at the taste. His ass is like a vice around Alex’s cock and it sets off his own climax, Alex’s body shaking with the force of it as he spills hot inside him. He collapses, gasping, against Michael’s chest, not giving a single fuck about the mess.

They lie there for a minute, catching their breaths, before Alex can even think about moving again. Suddenly there are hands cradling the back of his head, fingers carding through his hair. Alex looks up to find that Michael has released himself from his cuffs. He can’t even bring himself to be put out about Michael breaking the rules, not with the soft look on his face.

Alex props himself up on one elbow and uses his free hand to gently grab each of Michael’s wrists, inspecting them in turn to make sure they aren’t bruised. Satisfied, he presses a kiss to each one and smiles at Michael’s sleepy face before he pulls out. Michael whimpers when he does, but doesn’t say anything as Alex rolls them over so Michael can rest his head on his chest.

“You still with me?” Alex asks softly after Michael’s had time to wind down some more.

Michael nods.

“We’ll talk more about it later, but are you okay?” he asks, running a hand down Michael’s back. “How are you feeling?”

It takes a moment for Michael to find his voice. “Like I just got edged into oblivion,” he says, ending on a laugh.

“You like it?” Alex asks, already sensing the answer.

“Yeah,” he sighs, snuggling closer. “Like you having that power over me. Felt good.”

“Good,” Alex says happily, kissing the top of Michael’s head. “Me too, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

Silence washes over them as they lie there, wrapped up in each other, neither of them ready to start cleaning up just yet. After a few minutes, Michael lifts his head from his chest to look at him.

“I love you,” he says. It’s not the first time, but it makes Alex’s heart flutter. He can’t resist running his fingers through Michael’s soft curls, eyes drifting closed as Michael leans up to kiss him.

“I love you too,” Alex says against his lips, “so much.”

Michael kisses him again, sweet and deep, until they have to stop because they’re both grinning too much.

“You know,” Michael says lightly when they pull apart, “for a minute there I thought you weren’t gonna let me come.”

“Well, it’s like I said,” Alex smiles, his thumb moving down to rest against the plush cushion of Michael’s bottom lip, “You earned it.”

[j-j-ehlby-writes]

Meet Me at the Chalet || bonus.

Eventual pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Jenessee Borosi)

Word count: ~3.4k

Summary (I suck at these): Jenessee goes on a solo vacation after the release of her first novel. She got a little more than she bargained for when she gets snowed in with her biggest celebrity crush.

Warnings: Fluff but what’s new?

A/N: Because I have slight OCD, I decided to write just one more chapter so this series can be an even 10 parts. Now I can put this story to rest at last. Thank you for reading this series. It means more to me than any words could say.

night one. || day one. || day two. || day three. || day four. || day five. || day six. || last day. || one year later. || epilogue. || bonus. ||

three years later…

Light buzzing of the airplane’s engines fill the air as it flies us through the air to an unknown destination. My wonderful man has refused to tell me where we are currently flying to, ever the lover of surprising me.

The last five years have been the hardest but most rewarding of my life. After my relationship with Tom became public, my life changed overnight. Suddenly, everyone wanted to know who I was, where I came from, and everything that was happening in my life. My followers and book sales skyrocketed after the Late Late show which thrilled my publicist to no end. Every media outlet wanted to interview me and do a story of “the woman who snatched one of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors.” I had interview after interview having to repeat our love story countless times for everyone who asked. It grew tiring but I was also exhilarated. I finally got the opportunity to boast about how amazing Tom truly was. The fans got a glance at the man behind the mask, so to speak.

Wherever I went, people would follow me and want to take pictures and ask me questions about Tom. At first it was overwhelming. There were a lot of difficult days following. Especially when I read the negative comments and reactions. I knew there would be and I tried to brace myself for the worst possible thing anyone could say about me but nothing could have prepared me for the real thing. Faceless people calling me a gold-digger among other comments on my appearance, saying I’m using Tom for fame and how we made up the story for publicity claiming that since I’m a writer I could “spin anything to make it sell.” It seemed to be never-ending. Every time I tried to focus on the positive, supportive people one of the negatives would pop up and ruin any sense of confidence I had built.

Tom would try and distract me from it as best as he could, but when he wasn’t physically there with me, nothing could shake the depression it would send me into.

After a few months, I had had enough. I disabled the comments on my Instagram posts and turned off all notifications for all social media. I no longer wanted the negativity to take over my life as it had.  It was also having an adverse effect on my relationship. That was our first hurdle that we faced together. He didn’t want to tell me what to do, knowing I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself no matter how much he wanted to protect me, but he finally drew the line. He made a statement on his social media, telling the fans he loves so much to stop with the outrageously false comments, to consider my feelings and how their words affect me when they start typing, and that if they weren’t going to be supportive of the woman he is choosing to spend his life with then they are not true fans of his. Following his statement was when I disabled everything. From that moment on, our relationship went back to how it was before we went public.

A pair of lips awoke me from my daydreaming. “How’s our littlest flier?” Tom’s baritone whisper invaded my ears but not disturbing the smallest passenger on the private plane.

I glance down at the sleeping 7 month old with my dark hair and Tom’s curls. “He’s sleeping like a champ as usual.”

He smiles proudly as he sits next to me, reaching for my hand. He plays with the rings that adorn my ring finger that he gave me 2 1/2 years and 1 1/2 years ago. “And how’s my beautiful wife?”

Memories of those two magnificent days always bring me the greatest joy.

Seeing him slowly go down on his knee in front of the fireplace at the Chalet, him declaring his “everlasting love” and how much his life has felt “more fulfilled since meeting me at the chalet,” how big of a surprise I’ve been to him, how much he’s loved every minute of our lives together, and how he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with me. The pure love and joy he exhibited on his face the moment I said yes will forever be etched in my mind, making me fall in love with him that much more than I already was.

Hearing the words “I do” in the most confident manner with the biggest smile on his gorgeous features will also remain a constant memory of one of the best days of my life. The tan suit he wore, the stunning dress that I still love to this day, the warm sand under our bare feet, the sun setting behind us as our family and our closest friends watched us begin the next chapter in our lives.

A kiss to the back of my hand brought me back to the present, “She is confused as to where her husband is taking all of us.” I raise my eyebrow in question towards him eliciting a chuckle from his lips.

“You trust me, darling?”

“You know I do.”

He squeezes my hand in affirmation, “Then will you please believe me when I tell you that you will not be disappointed?” He places another kiss on the back of my hand, ending this discussion in the most gentlemanly way possible. Damn him.

I decide to trust him as I have since the day we met, resting my head on his shoulder, careful not to wake our most precious gift and catch some much needed sleep before we land in who-knows-where.

Upon the pilot’s message about our upcoming decent, I was instructed to put on a blindfold by my husband, adding to the surprise he has in store for us. I was hesitant, skeptical of being robbed of my site for the time being but I trusted him enough to know he wouldn’t let anything bad happen.

He took an anxious Bobby and our gray cat Sadie out as soon as the door to the plane was opened and put them in the awaiting car. Listening to him coo at our son who was undoubtedly upset about being removed from my lap melted my heart. I wish I could have seen it instead of just heard it.

“Alright, my darling, your turn.” He guided me down the steps of the plane into the chilly atmosphere before he gently placed me into a car. He hopped into the drivers seat and we began the second leg of our journey.

The drive was peaceful. He had soft music playing so it wouldn’t wake up the baby in the back and he probably thought I would want to sleep a little more, too. I happily accepted the heaviness again, taking full advantage of not having to fuss over my son.

I was awoken by his soft whispers, “you can take the blindfold off now, darling.” I sat up in my seat before untying it. In front of the car, I see a gate. Tom sticks his arm out the drivers side window, inserting a key into a keyhole effectively opening the gate. I look around and see the bright snow covering everything around. As he drives through the gate, I recognize the area immediately.

“When did the Chalet install a gate?” I ask Tom who has a shit-eating grin on his beautiful weathered face.

“Actually…” He trails off as we pull up to the Chalet and into a brand new garage built off to the side.

“Is this why it was under construction for so long?” I exit the vehicle, putting Bobby on his leash and grabbing Sadie’s carrier before rounding the car to the side Liam is on. Tom is already working to take his car seat out. Tom had told me right before we got married that the Chalet was under construction and would be for a few years. It broke my heart to know we couldn’t go there for our honeymoon, but where we did go was the most wonderful experience. Malaysia, Australia, and Bora Bora… the most fun and relaxing three months of my life. It was a God-send after the stress of planning a wedding and reception. We had a small ceremony with just us, our family, and our closest friends followed by a big reception a week later inviting everyone we know for a night of fun.

Tom ushered us up to the front door, unlocking the door with another key.

“When did Sal give you a key?” was my last question before we entered the building. My jaw dropped. 

Everything looked completely different. There no longer was a front desk, but a foyer with benches and cubbies for coat hooks like a mud room. It opened up to the grand living room that Tom and I have made many memories from sitting together while reading and writing to when we sat by the fireplace after my midnight breakdown the night before to when he proposed to me right in this very spot. 

The view of the mountain below still took my breath away even after all of this time and the many visits we’ve paid since that first time. As I took in the room I loved, I noticed the small details that weren’t there before. Pictures of us- me and Tom- from our first time here to our wedding day and our first family of three photos, solo pictures of Bobby, Sadie, and Liam I’ve taken over the course of the last few years. 

I also noticed a few pieces of furniture that weren’t here before. A papasan chair was placed in the corner just like our home in London had. It’s the best place to sleep when I have a headache and Liam loves sleeping with me in it. There’s a picture of one of those occurrences hanging above it as to remind me of the first few weeks he was born.

Tom appeared next to me, having Liam in one arm, he wrapped the other arm around my waist pulling me closer and whispered in my ear, “Welcome home, baby.”

“Wait, what?” I gasped as the realization hit me. I turned to meet his eyes, “You bought it?!”

“Sal was looking to retire and I said I’d take it off his hands. He gave me a great deal considering we were his favorites.” He kissed me tenderly before pulling back again. “I wanted this to be our home; a place we raise our family, make memories in. What better way to unveil the finished renovations by bringing us all and spending the holidays here?”

I wrapped my arms tightly around his waist, squealing in excitement. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I could call this place “home.” It’s always been a home away from home. Every time I would have to leave, I’d feel like I was leaving a piece of myself behind. But my wonderful, thoughtful husband made it happen. He made this place that holds a special place in both of our hearts into our dream home where we will raise our son and our future children, where we will start family traditions that will be passed down to our children when they have children of their own, a place where our families can come together for the holidays, birthdays, and vacations… a place to call home.

“Do you approve?” He purrs into my ear.

“Do I approve?” I ask incredulously. I pull back to face him, “This is one of the best surprises I could have ever asked for.” I place a quick kiss on his lips. “Thank you.” I turn my attention to our beautiful son who was wide awake now, “did Daddy buy us a new home?” My baby voice came out, “did he?” I took possession of him, kissing his scrumptious chubby cheeks repeatedly. Tom chuckled at how ridiculous I sound but he’s gotten used to it now. “We’re going to be so happy here.”

Tom brings us on a tour to show me all that was done to make it work for us as a family home. Two of the rooms were combined to give us the most incredible master suite I’ve ever seen, including a spa-like master bathroom and a see-through fireplace that connects the two.

Two of the other rooms were redone into bedrooms for Liam and a future child with closets and their own bathrooms. Two other rooms was changed into guest suites for family or friends who want to come stay with us.

But the most amazing surprise out of all of this was the last room was my dedicated writing space. A serene room including a desk, a bookcase that contained all of my books and my unfinished works, cups filled with my favorite kinds of pens, plenty of loose-leaf printer paper, other notebooks I’ve yet to use, anything I could possibly use or need. The real kicker was in what looks like a wardrobe was a Murphy bed. I had always said that my ideal office would include a Murphy bed because I do my best writing in bed. I spend most nights up until the wee hours of the morning writing and I didn’t want to keep my future partner awake with my habit. I couldn’t wait to get started.

The kitchen was converted into a beautiful chef’s kitchen with quartz counter tops with a gorgeous chevron backsplash, normal-sized stainless steel appliances, white cabinets and cupboards and a banquette that was build into the large island that could fit our growing family. It opened up to the living room and dining room now which made the space seem so much bigger than it already is.

I could picture Tom at the stove, making breakfast for us on Saturdays while I watch from either the island or on the couch in the living room. I could imagine both of our families flying around the room busying themselves with whatever dish they were in charge of for the holidays. I see Tom and I enjoying quiet midnight snacks while sitting on the island or on the floor and mid-day food fights like we had during our first encounter.

The gym was also revamped and the laundry room was scaled down to accommodate a family instead of a hotel. It was all so perfect. It felt like a dream, but it wasn’t a dream. It was our new reality.

As we start this new chapter in our lives in Colorado with our little family, I can’t believe how my life has turned out…

In six years, I went from a single, aspiring writer who just released her first book going on a solo vacation for solitude and inspiration to a best-selling novelist, the wife of one of England’s finest gentleman who also happened to be one of my biggest celebrity crushes, and the mother of his unbelievably adorable son.

Never in a million years would I have thought this was where my life would end up after being stuck with him in a beautiful secluded Chalet. Our time in seclusion would be the catalyst for the ride of a lifetime. Half a dozen years later with a painful, but eye-opening year separation, five more published books and book tours for me, five movies and long press tours for him, a long awaited wedding plus reception, and a beautiful baby boy later… here we are in the same Chalet we met converted into our dream home with our son, dog, and cat. Life couldn’t be better.

The holidays in our new home were better than I expected. Our moms fussed over Liam as much as they possibly could when they weren’t concerned with cooking for all of us. When they weren’t all over him, Tom’s sisters were. It gave us some much-needed alone time in our brand new master suite. To say we took full advantage of our built-in babysitters was an understatement.

Thanksgiving came and went far too quickly. Our moms stayed after wanting as much time watching Liam discover something new every day and spoil him as much as they can since neither of us live close to our families with his in England and mine in the states. Our busy schedules don’t allow for us to see them as often as we’d both like. But ever since Liam was born, we’ve both taken tons of time off- no movies, no press tours, no auditions, no publication meetings- and we’ve gotten the opportunity to see them more.

By Christmas though, Tom and I were ready for it to be over so we could go back to our normal. We love our moms, more so now that we have our own child, but they were beginning to become “smothers.” Thankfully by Christmas Eve, Tom’s sisters were back and they could focus on more than just us. That night we decorated the tree with ornaments from our respective childhoods and the ornaments we made to commemorate Liam’s first Christmas and our first as a family of three. We drank cider and eggnog around the fireplace as we watched the snow fall, sharing stories of our favorite memories and our most memorable present. Christmas morning was full of excitement with our nieces and nephews tearing open their presents and Liam wanting nothing to do with his. For dinner my mom’s famous Swedish meatballs were made and devoured by everyone. Our family’s Jell-O dessert with strawberry Jell-O with strawberries added, whipped cream and pretzels was a big hit with the whole family, even Liam had a small taste and he continued to suck on Tom’s finger trying to get every last morsel of flavor. It truly was a day of merriment.

The next day the chaos had ebbed. We finally got back to our quiet household with our routine. We spend New Years Eve watching the fireworks through the multi-story, floor-to-ceiling windows. A picture perfect site made for the best New Years I had ever had.

By the time we were leaving in mid-January because Tom was due on set for his first movie after the baby, we discovered our family was going to gain another member.

When the holidays came around again, our daughter Julia was the apple of everyone’s eye who met her, completing our already-perfect family. She has Tom’s ginger locks and her blue-turning-green eyes are like mine but so much more to die for. She has the sweetest temperament, just like her brother. I can tell already that they completely adore each other. I can’t wait to watch Liam be the protective big brother I always wanted growing up. With a father like Tom, I know he will be the best man- sensitive, caring, soft- everything I love about him. Julia will be the most headstrong and stubborn woman just like me. For now though I’m good with them staying my babies.

As I sit in the papasan chair in the corner with my sweetest little girl sleeping in one arm, I have a pen in the other hand. Words were flowing out of me as if a levee had just given way. Finally getting some peace and quiet after the busy holiday season, I’ve had time to come up with an idea for my next book.

“I see some things never change.” I look to see the love of my life standing where the doorway used to be, where he said those exact same words to me after our year separation. This time however, he was holding our son on his hip, matching smiles on both of them. My handsome boys.

I can’t hide the smile that seems to be a constant on my face nowadays, “But would you really want them to?”

His smile grows bigger as he makes his way over to me, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss on my lips. He pulls back a hair and whispers, “Never,” in the huskiest tone instantly reminding me of the God of Mischief. 

I can’t help but giggle like a schoolgirl when he talks like that. This man still gives me butterflies even after all these years. He still makes my heart race every time he looks at me or touches me. I still get goosebumps when he tells me he loves me, which is multiple times a day. I still love him- I’m still IN love with him- even more than I was yesterday but less than I will be tomorrow. I sigh in complete and utter contentment.

Meeting at this Chalet was the best decision we both could have ever made. The blizzard that stranded us here was the best thing in the world that could have happened to us. I can’t wait to see what the next chapter of our lives has in store for all four of us.

.

the end.

.

Taglist: @the-marvel-wars​ @elusive-beauty​ @drakesfiance​ @im-a-slut-for-an-accent​ @fantasy-is-my-reality​ @hiddlephile​

[girlinthepictureframe]

The Briefest Kiss Part 9

P9

Alex lay on the couch in his parents' living room, absentmindedly playing with a remnant of wrapping paper left over from the holidays. Christmas had, once again, come and gone. Same old, every year. He'd never been a big fan of it all, the ceremonious acts, the guests, the cards, the gifts, the dishonesty of it all. But this year, Christmas had put him in a particularly bad mood. Rolling his head to the side, he looked at the single gift left lying underneath the slowly decaying tree.

The rectangular box, wrapped in bright red, tied with a golden ribbon and adorned with a gold-dotted card that had none more than two words written on the inside – For Miles – now served as a gaudy reminder that he and the one person he so desperately longed to see were no longer speaking with each other. They hadn't talked in months. And there was so much that Alex wanted to talk with Miles about. Boring stuff. Inane things that he'd seen and heard. Lyrics that had come to him and that he couldn't make sense of. Jokes that he wanted to share. Silly rumors that he wanted to gossip about. Miles loved silly rumors and gossiping!

And, of course, all those feelings that he was experiencing. He wanted to explain to Miles that he'd never meant to walk out of him that night. He wanted to explain to him that he'd simply been unable to remain in the room, waiting, in silence, for him to wake up, not knowing how Miles would react when he inevitably would wake up. He wanted to tell him that his greatest fear that night had been to find Miles staring back at him with regret. Or worse, disgust.

But if he said all that, if he told him all that, using those words, Miles would know that Alex had feelings for Miles that went far beyond the realms of their friendship. If he explained to Miles what had been going on in his head that day, Miles would know that Alex had fallen and most like would forever remain in love with him. And that was an admission he couldn't make, at least not without putting the well-being of his badly damaged heart at risk. How would he deal with Miles' reaction if his reaction wasn't what Alex wanted it to be? And what did Alex want Miles’ reaction to be?

At the moment, Alex was trying to figure all of that out. But the figuring-out part was taking longer than he had expected. He had believed to be done with it all before Christmas. He had expected them to be friends again by this point. A part of him had expected, maybe even hoped, to have fallen out of love with Miles by now. Then it would have been so much easier to go to Miles, explain it all and ask for another chance to prove himself as a friend.

Hence the Christmas present. A hand-stitched, one of a kind, monogrammed pajama, made for Miles. Alex had personally looked up the best tailor in Paris, had hand-picked the fabric, had given detailed instructions and had gone back and collected the finished result himself. The perfect gift. But Miles wasn't here to unpack it. Why? Because Alex hadn't fallen out of love yet. And he was still trying hard to select the right words. “Bloody holidays,” murmured Alex and crumbled the piece of wrapping paper beyond recognition.

“Pauline wishes you a wonderful, if belated, Christmas,” Alex's mother Penny called from the hallway of his childhood home. “She wants you to know you're welcome to drop by whenever you want and hopes that you and Miles get over your silly, little argument as soon as possible! Which, dear, is a sentiment I quite share! I'd like to see Miles again some time. It's been a while. He has always dropped by around Christmas!”

“I told you,” grumbled Alex, “it's not a silly, little argument. That I would have been able to fix! It's a bit more complicated than that!”

“Maybe,” suggested his mother, using that stern, trust-me tone that she had perfected and loved aiming at him for as long as he could remember, “you should tell me what happened. That way I can fix it.”

Alex thought about that idea. It had its entertaining notions. How would his parents react if he went and spilled it all? How would they react if he served them the hard, cold truth?

Mom, Dad, here's what went down: Miles and I fucked until we couldn't see straight anymore, fell asleep, then I snuck out without a word. Naturally, things went downhill from there. Ideas?

The mere thought of that made him laugh.

“Something funny, dear?”

“Could you stop calling me that?”

“No.”

Mothers.

“He's in London, you know? He's staying there for a bit. Pauline told me,” explained Penny. “In case you want to go there. To fix things,” she added pointedly. “Did you insult him? Did you say something bad about his music? Did you break one of his guitars again?”

He rolled his eyes, not moving an inch from the couch. Oh, he had no intention of doing anything anytime soon. He was planning on spending the next days wallowing in self-pity, smoking, drinking, and in general, not giving a damn about anything. “No, I didn't know. No, I did not insult him.” Even the suggestion that he would have done that was bizarre by itself! “I did not say a bad thing about his music! And could you please stop bringing up that guitar-thing? We were jamming out to the Sex Pistols. I got him a new guitar, didn't I?” He sighed heavily. “May I remind you that he broke my window. How come you never hold that against him?”

“He paid for the new window. And he apologized profoundly for it. Besides, if you hadn't filled him up with Tequila, he wouldn't have tried to play basket ball with a brick.”

Alex's jaw dropped. “Is that what he told you? He bought the Tequila himself! He filled me up that night!”

“Oh dear, don't bother. Miles wouldn't do that,” said his mother, amused. “He's too nice for that.”

Too nice? Alex scoffed. Miles? His Miles? Well, he wasn't his Miles any longer, but the idea that Miles Kane was too nice was ridiculous. Alex's mind drifted back to that night last fall. Images of himself, face down, holding onto the cushions for dear life while Miles was having his way with him filled his head. His entire body heated up at the memories. He could still feel Miles' hot breath on his skin, still hear the filthy, provocative words as he came deep inside of him. No, too nice wasn't a term Alex would ever use to describe him. He'd go with hard, wild, passionate, or ravenous. Gentle and kind, but vigorous and rough at just the same time. Fucking addictive, that's what Miles was! Alex swallowed hard.

“Alexander?!”

“Huh?”

“I asked, will you stay for dinner? And what about your girlfriend? When will you bring her around?”

“Uh...soon. Some day. I don't know. Dinner...I don't know yet.” As he watched her make her way back towards the kitchen, he wondered if somewhere in London there was a gift waiting for him. Just as hideously wrapped. Selected by Miles. Unlikely. Judging from the expression of complete and utter disappointment in Miles' eyes last time they saw each other, Alex could be lucky if Miles ever looked at him again.

He got up, grabbed the red-wrapped gift and took it with him upstairs, into his room. How odd it felt to be in here again. The walls still carried the wallpapers from the time he'd gone to school. His old desk sat empty in the corner. His small, single bed, however, looked far more inviting than the massive one he had in his house in France, or the one in his London apartment. This one was made for one person only and it didn't make him feel lonely when he spent his nights alone. He put the gift down on the comforter, sat down on next to it and let his eyes drift around the room.

How much time had passed since he'd moved out? Years. A decade. More, even. The walls were covered in polaroids, pictures taken during their first gigs, when they had been unknown and sometimes booed at. Those times had passed. Which, in a sense, was sad. He still remembered the energy he got from the hecklers, from wanting to prove them wrong.

Alex's gaze lingered on the bookshelf next to the bed. The upper rows were filled with old journals and note pads, filled with lyrics and notes. The most unorganized selection of unreleased songs imaginable. Every once in a while, when he was stuck writing new material, he found himself venturing back to the shelf, digging through some old lines, hoping for inspiration. The lowest shelf carried his old school books. His fingertips traced the creased spine of his old biology book and he smiled. He should throw it away, he thought. He'd never use it again anyway. He was about to pull it out when his eyes caught something shiny below his bed.

A guitar pick. A used, old one. Miles' old one. Alex could tell by the chewing marks on one side. Whenever Miles was struggling with a new melody, he would chew on his guitar pick. It used to drive Alex insane. Now he considered it one of Miles' most endearing little quirks.

Miles.

Alex placed the pick in his pocket, then lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. He wondered what his friend was doing at the moment. Was he wasting the day away as well? Was he writing new material? Was he meeting people? Was he having a good time, or where good times eluding him in the same manner they were eluding Alex at the moment?

2014

“Make your decision, babe. My planet, or yours?”

Alex's head snapped up, meeting Miles' slightly-tired gaze fully. “What did you just say?”

“I've been asking you for minutes wether you want to stay here or if we should head back inside,” spoke Miles with a bit of a grin.

“Yes, yes,” said Alex as he waved his hand, “that's not what I...the words, Mi, the precise words, say them again!”

Miles laughed, but relented, no doubt used by now to his odd requests. “Make your decision, babe. My planet, or yours? Were you paying attention to my words, then?”

“I always do when you play,” assured Alex as he walked over to Miles. “I love those words.” He sat down next to him on the sun lounger by the pool, leaned back and got comfortable. “You've just begun writing this new song of yours, but I swear I can already hear it all in my head. It'll sound so good, Miles!”

Miles placed the guitar away and reclined as well. The lounger was big but not that big and so their sides pressed against one another. Alex didn't mind, and neither seemed Miles. “This night marks the seventh consecutive New Year's Even which we've now spent together!”

“That many?” wondered Miles and chuckled. “I'm surprised we can still stand each other after all that time.”

Alex's lips twisted in amusement. “Yeah, me too. Considering how little you care for me these days. Always touring, hanging out with other musicians, spending your spare time on this twittering-thing...”

“Just Twitter,” laughed Miles and wrapped his arm around Alex's shoulder, pulling him closer. “Besides, if anyone's ignoring anyone, then it's you ignoring me! Always touring, hanging out with other musicians, spending your spare time reading those things they call books...”

Now it was Alex's turn to laugh. And his turn to deepen their contact. He leaned his head against Miles' and looked up, as always fascinated by the firmament. “Did I ever tell you the story about the lonely planet?”

Miles shook his head softly.

“Once upon a time,” began Alex, “far, far away from here, there was a big, beautiful cluster of planets and stars. It would have been a magnificent sight to see, no doubt. But, one day, something happened. I can't tell you when that was, or what precisely occurred. And even the scientists can only guess, but they assume the planets no longer got alone with one another. So they split up. One of the planets took a leap and decided to continue his journey through the endless universe on his own. The rest of the cluster remained behind. One would think that people would find the cluster more interesting than the solitary traveller, however, it's the lonely planet that's capturing the hearts and minds of the curious.”

Alex tilted his head to the side and found Miles giving him the most attentive, interested expression. So close to him, against his side, warmed by his warmth, he felt more content and at peace than he had in a very long time. “Sometimes I watch the sky all night, trying to spot the lonely planet as he journeys on, forever moving forwards and never looking back, and then I think of you.” Their eyes met. “You're the bravest person I know, Miles.”

“No,” whispered Miles, shaking his head so gently that Alex couldn't see, only tell my the movement against his cheek. “I'm scared all the time, Al. You're the one who has never shied away from anything. If it weren't for you, I don't even think we'd be friends today. I didn't have the guts to walk up to you. You walked up to me!”

“That's because you left me no choice,” explained Alex. A soft chuckle escaped him as he remembered their early days. “Here's a secret for you: You're the only person in my life I ever walked up to. All my life I've been lucky enough that I never had to make the first move. Jamie, Matt, they were all just there as long as I can remember. My first girlfriend walked up to me and told me she liked me. So did every other one after that. And those who didn't come to me, never much interested me to begin with. But then there was you. You so stubbornly refused to acknowledge me! No matter how hard I tried, how good I played, or how much of a fool I made out of myself whenever you were near, you just wouldn't budge!”

“What? That's not true.”

“Don't deny it Miles!” Alex rolled to his side, out of Miles' embrace, and propped his head up on his hand. “I tried to catch your attention all the time. From the very moment I saw you!” As he looked into Miles' eyes, Alex spotted the confusion and the surprise. “You really don't remember? The other Monkeys and I had just finished playing our set and I was walking off stage when I saw you sitting in a corner. You were wearing headphones, which was pissing me off, because we had performed really well that night and you had the guts to ignore our live performance for some shit on your iPod. I was watching you for a long time. Your foot was tapping on the ground to some melody and I tried to figure out if I knew the song, tried to decipher what song was so good that it was worth ignoring us for. I couldn't do it. Couldn't figure it out.” He saw it all vividly in his head, almost as though he was back in that club. “There were quite a few people there that night. It was loud and a bit crazy. But you didn't notice any of that. You were so lost in that song that you didn't even notice the girl sitting next to you, trying to talk to you. All of you was focused on that one song coming from your headphones. You were the most fascinating thing in the entire club,” admitted Alex a bit sheepishly, trying not to blush under Miles' gaze. “I swore to myself that one day I would write a song so good that it would capture your attention just like that song did that night.”

Miles mirrored Alex's position, a bit of a shocked expression on his face. “I wasn't—”

“No, no! Don't deny it!” Alex looked away and grinned, but in truth, Miles' undivided attention was too much for him. He hadn't intended to admit any of this to him, but the words just kept coming. Still did. “It went on for so long! You ignoring me? Lasted for weeks! We ran into each other a few times, but never really talked. Sometimes I'd get a little nod from you or something like that, letting me know that, at the very least, you recognized my existence. But never more than that! And so, one night, I was so fed up with it that I swallowed all of my fears, and just walked up to you. I was so scared you would find me weird or boring or even laughable. I remember blurting out my words, asking you to teach me that guitar part, not really saying much else. And I remember your smile. You nodded, I grabbed my guitar, and for the rest of the night, we played together.” Laughter erupted from him. “It occurred to me hours later, long after I had the riff down, that I had yet to give you my name. But, by then, it really made no sense at all to just randomly drop it and you hadn't directly addressed me so I couldn't tell wether or not you already knew my name. All of that really confused me and made me mess up all the notes you had spent the night teaching me.”

“So that's why you gave me that piece of paper?” Miles' eyes were still glued to him.

Alex nodded. In retrospect it must have seemed so odd to him at that time. But back then? “I considered it the perfect solution. I wrote my name and number on a piece of paper and handed it to you at the end of the night. It's the only time in my entire life that I ever did that. You're unique in my life, Miles. In every sense of the word,” added Alex, his voice soft and quiet.

He didn't do this with any other person in his life, family, friend or lover. To speak so vulnerably and openly about his actions, his motivations and his feelings scared him for it left him defenseless and put him in a position where he could easily get hurt. But with Miles, he was safe. Miles never laughed at his admissions, never made fun of him for being emotional or made light of his words. Instead, he let Alex know that he was deeply appreciative of being trusted so profoundly.

“I said a thousand million things, that I could never say this morning.” Miles's hushed words broke the silence into which Alex had drifted. At the sound of his old lyrics, Alex's attention perked up and he stared at Miles in surprise. Miles' cheeks carried a soft blush. “That's the line I was stuck on. That night, in the club, when you watched me wearing headphones, I was trying to figure out what made you write those words.”

Alex sat up straight, staring down at Miles. “What?”

Miles took a deep breath. He lay backwards on the lounger and continued, avoiding Alex's eyes. “It wasn't that crazy that night. And it wasn't really crowded, either. I saw you on stage, I heard you playing in front of an half-empty club. You were almost done with your set and even though you guys weren't superstars back then and people had yet to print your names on shirts, the ones that were there to watch you loved you and were in awe of you. Back in those days, you were still trying to find yourself. It would be a while until you'd become your sassy self. But even then there was this aura around you. Something magical. I remember seeing some girls in the audience who were desperately trying to catch your eye. They all failed miserably. Your whole attention was on the music and finding the perfect way to deliver it just right. I don't know why, but in that moment I promised myself that some day I would catch your attention while you're on stage, just because it seemed so very elusive and unattainable, like a unicorn. So there's a secret for you, Alex. You had me hooked around your little finger long before I even knew your number.”

Timidly, Miles searched for Alex's gaze. And found it. “I'm probably not supposed to tell you this, but I was listening to an illegally downloaded bootleg version of 'From the Ritz to the Rubble'. And that piece of paper with your number? I still have that.” The last part came out almost too low for Alex to hear. “My mom found it in my pocket a few days later and asked me if I had any intentions of calling this 'Alexandra'? I told her you were a guy, named Alex, and before I could even begin to tell her about your band and our evening, she asked me if you looked cute and whether or not I planned on bringing you around one day.”

Alex laughed out loud as he lay back down next to Miles. Closer, this time. He bent one arm, laid it on Miles' chest and began playing with one of the buttons of his shirt. “Well, did you say I was cute?”

“I believe I did. You know, in that baby-rockstar kind of way.”

“Hey!”

Miles stuck out his tongue and smirked. “You should have worn a leather jacket that night and not that old varsity sweater. Maybe then I would have described you as hot.”

Alex grinned, quite happy with the fact that Miles remembered their beginning in as fondly a manner as he did. “Think I look hot in a leather jacket, huh?”

Miles rolled his eyes, but smiled. “You know you do. That's why you have so many!”

After a few moments of companionable silence, Alex leaned over Miles and reached for his acoustic. He handed it to him. “Play it again for me, will you?”

“The riff? It's really all I have so far.”

“Doesn't matter. I fear I might have irreversibly fallen in love with your melody.”

“You're such a bloody flirt,” said Miles with a playful wink, adjusted the guitar and begun strumming. “Enjoy.”

Present Day

Alex pulled out his phone, scrolled through the contacts and pushed dial. “Hey, that invitation for New Year's Eve? That still goes?”

“Of course,” said his friend James. “I'll text you the address. Hey, um, he'll be there. Just so you know. There's some rumors and–”

“All's fine,” reassured Alex and hung up. This year would be the twelfth New Year's Eve he and Miles would spend together. And even if they weren't talking at the moment, at some point in the future they would be talking again. He'd make sure of that. Somehow, down the road, he'd find a way to fix them. It would be a shame if they broke their tradition just because a bit of sex and love had gotten in the way it.

Alex got off the bed and grabbed his big duffle bag. The first thing he put in there was Miles' gift. Around that, he stuffed some shirts, a few pants, his favorite pair of leather boots and, naturally, a leather jacket. His favorite one. Miles owned the same one. They had gotten it the same week, in separate cities, unaware of each other, until they'd shown up to some party wearing matching outfits. They had spent the entire night laughing about it.

Once the bag was full, Alex sat back on the bed, took a notepad from the shelf, grabbed a pencil and flipped through the pages until he spotted an empty one.

“Dear Miles,

Speaking my mind, as becomes clearer to me day by day, is, for now, entirely unmanageable. As I have told you last fall, I could fill a series of albums with the amount of truths I'd like to share with you. But it's not the notion of being honest that makes me avoid doing so, it's the part that follows. I quite fear for your reaction. We've always been brutally honest with each other and there's never been a moment in which I've regretted it. Until now, though, there has never been a truth as big as the one which is currently burdening my shoulders. I'm in love with you. And not just a little bit. Imagine that. I want to be your friend, but in your presence my heart's desires overpower my mind's demands. I want you to trust me with your friendship, but how can I ask that of you when I don't trust my own self to keep a platonic distance towards you? I miss our nearness, our comfortable proximity, I miss the warmth I received in your arms when you held me as your friend, but how do I return into your friendly embrace when the longing for a different heat makes me seek out your arms in an utterly carnal manner? These are the questions I need to find answers to before I can figure out how to make amends for the mess I've created. I hope that yo—”

“Alex,” his mother called from downstairs, “your Dad needs your help. Can you come down for a moment?”

Alex rolled his eyes, stuffed the notepad back into the shelf and made his way downstairs. “What's he doing?”

“He tried playing that Bowie song that you and Miles used to perform and he used your guitar for that. The brown one? With the hideous strap? The loud one, Alex. You know which one I mean. Anyway, he messed around with the silver thing, the shiny – the whatever you call it—”

“Bigsby?”

“It won't make any noises anymore. Can you help him?”

“Of course,” he said, chuckled at the idea of his dad playing Bowie on his electric, and made his way towards the garage. “Oh, I won't stay for dinner, by the way,” he called over his shoulder. “I'll be leaving for London later.”

“Good decision, dear. Give our greetings to Miles, will you?”

“I won't...oh whatever.”