#no seriously houdini what the fuck man

[realhankmccoy]

Boi has laid another clutch of egglets. Mini Trump is really in control. It doesn't take a Harry Houdini or even a microscope to show how deeply the Mini Trump virus has permeated him and his mothering. Just shift thinks over to the concept of Trump's American Way:

Trump's pain matters. Trump's loved ones pain matters. Trump lives have value. Trump has long know this. Mini- Trump's direction is that if we all became Trump, we too would finally be 'safe'. This is a myth. Even the Black Lives Matter movement has not found safety for blacks in America merely by asserting that pain matters, loved ones matter, and lives have value.

IT IS NOT SO SIMPLE AS A BUNCH OF ASSERTION OF THE VALUE OF SELECT HUMAN BEINGS HAS VALUE, AMERICA, ESPECIALLY WHEN TOTAL COMBAT AND BLOODSPORT AND DESTRUCTION OF OTHER HUMAN BEINGS IS BEING PREACHED BY THESE TRUMPERS.

So fucking stupid. Boi is as unaware of his mixed messages which rabidly contradict each other as Trump is. This is how status quo stasis in the American dumpster fire is replicated, kids. They preach the self and the self's chosen loved ones of value, then wage war against the rest of the country. At junctures of important policy change or unfair oppression, only then do they hoot BOTH SIDES.

It is so patently irrational and as emotional as Trump wants his Minis to be, for Trump is nothing if not an emotional male over a rational man... just like America is emotional rather than rational.

Compared to Europeans and Asians, America is not rational.

God, will this fucking country ever get out of the diapers and into the adult conversation... never.

Anywho...

Mini-Trump is pushing Trump's American Way as the solution:

if you don't boostraps yourself seriously, nobody will.

you boostrap your own luck. you boostrap your own hope.

you boostrap the course of your destiny.

boostrap control of your life, bro.

That's a lot of bootsrapping. Talk about not knowing your own generational audience. Millennials are sick of being told to bootstrap.

And yet... Trump persists. Even if we revert to the symbolic real of this clutch of eggs:

TAKE MAKE AND DIRECT are the actions he wants you to engage in... the same three simple actions America has always preached. MAKE YOURSELF UP AND TO SAFETY TAKE YOURSELF UP AND TO SAFETY DIRECT YOURSELF UP AND TO SAFETY

But here's the thing, kids. What Trump and his Minis are pushing is a bourgeois lie. There's not room for everyone in the bourgeosie. There's not room for everyone at the top. You cannot just magically lift yourself up by your own straps. This is why the bootstraps solutions is roundly mocked.

The data is in from the University students and it is all quite clear. Trump and his Minis are pushing a lie. Trump honestly think that you just haven't been trying hard enough. Trump honest think you haven't been kicked in the ass enough to realise the bleakness of the world -- a bleakness the Republic seems to think it needs to impress upon you.

Trump and Mini Trump see you as a stupid sheep, one too stupid to realise the world is your oyster if only you reached out and grabbed it.

Trump says TAKE / AMERICA IS YOURS FOR THE TAKING Trump says MAKE / MAKE AMERICAN GREAT AGAIN ONE INDIVIDUAL PURSING HIS OWN LIFE, LIBERTY AND HAPPINESS AT A TIME Trump says DIRECT YOURSELF. This is what corporate America always says they want. SELF STARTERS. BOOTSTRAPS!!!!! howls Trump to the void, truly convinced he has the answers. BOOSTRAPS NOW!!!! howls the Mini Trump virus within Boi's eggs. LIVE, DAMN IT! USE EVERY BOOTSTRAP FOR YOUR LIFE! BE A KILLER FOR YOUR LIFE! SOMEWAY SOMEHOW! BOOTSTRAPSSS! MAKE TAKE AND DIRECT YOURSELF TO SAFETY LIKE JOHN WAYNE AND TRUMP DID!

Do you see how hollow this advice is, kids? I sure hope you do. A grown adult provides actionable intelligent and deepening information, as well as presumes his audience to not be so fucking stupid as to not even be capable of trying to take things or make things without direction. America is plenty good at Taking things, and simply isn't very motivated to Make things... MAKE A MILLION BUCKS isn't bad advice to people who aren't even getting off the couch, mind you.

Anyhow, Trump doesn't know shit, and no amount of screaming the same old status quo messages of Trump's America is going to do anything other than keep America precisely as infected and as status quo as it is.

Ho Hum. Another day, another Mini Trump virus shat into another clutch of eggs. Will Trump's American Way ever meet its Waterloo? Empires only last roughly 250 years, kids. America's approaching the big Two Five Oh in 2026.

#abba #waterloo #trump #mini trump #america #usa #Youtube

[mxbitters]

made a really shitty powerpoint about harry houdini but anyway these are my sources thank you goodnite

#no seriously houdini what the fuck man #he had. PROBLEMS #teamed up w l*vecraft to disprove literally anything paranormal after the whole dead mom thing #jumped at everybody he used to look up to trying to expose all their secrets and shit #also he fucking copyrighted the milk can act. who DOES that #listen houdini probably wasnt queer but he definitely had something going on #better yet he was just super fucking depressed. he needed serious therapy and perhaps hobbies he can do alone without an audience #hhhhhhhh he used escapism as a form of escapism hahahahhah see how i did that one #this mf claimed to be able to dematerialize and that was how he got out. and then he gets pissed with MEDIUMS??? #also he hated literally every other magician under the sun. sir who hurt you. #i still can't believe he teamed up with fucking L*VECRAFT

[dropsofletters]

get a grip [pcy]

—summary: working for park chanyeol, one of the favorite soccer players of the entire country, is damn right exhausting. taking out his obvious good looks and his charming smile, there is nothing more she can enjoy about him when she has to walk his demonic chihuahua through his rich neighborhood and get a sightly lower than average paycheck at the end of the month.

but it’s expected. he’s rich, successful and he probably bought the dog just because he could. all she has to do is her job. she barely even sees him, either way.

a lost chihuahua later and a few excuses spewing out her lips, the least she expects is for this year’s soccer promise to say he’ll be staying at home the rest of the summer, and that she better get his dog back to normal, if not, she’ll lose her job.

as if that barking demon isn’t enough of a problem, now she has to deal with her intense yet misunderstood attraction towards chanyeol. that isn’t such a promising summer.

—title: get a grip — pairing: park chanyeol x reader — genre: dog walker!au ; professional soccer player!au ; boss!au ; strangers to enemies to lovers!au — type: fluff ; angst ; humor ; suggestive — word count: 11,196 — note: this is a gift for one of my kofi supporters. thank you!

No matter how spacious this mansion is, it always remains empty. Pine green vines curl against the grass while her cheap sneakers step on it, shortened breaths leaving her lips in hopes of releasing the stress that accumulates inside of her.

Think, five thousand square feet worth of space in this house, and one tiny chihuahua had managed to slip the confines of its collar to run away as if he was on the brink of winning the goddamned Olympics.

How difficult could it be to find a beige-toned, short-haired, teeth-baring chihuahua in the middle of Park Chanyeol’s mansion? Well, extremely so, much more when said chihuahua belongs to him and she can’t find it anywhere.

She turns to the left, watching some of the chefs taking a break by one of Chanyeol’s balconies, cigarettes slipping through their lips to let out clouds of smoke. Three of them, to be exact, one shorter and fuller, one extremely buff and tall, and the shortest one the slimmest of them all.

“Guys!” Waving her hand in the air, she tries to recollect the attention of the trio. The shortest one stops smoking, waving back as he screams out her name. “Have you seen Messi?”

Yes, that’s the dog’s name. God bless Park Chanyeol for the ironies of his train of thought.

“The chihuahua?” The chef shouts back, and she has to blink away the eye-roll that almost emits from her. As it turns out, she is the dog-walker for a reason, the only individual she’d have to deal with here is…well, Messi. Not the soccer player, but the dog.

“Yeah. Have you seen him?”

“No!” Her bones grit against each other, practically seeing it all in the back of her eyelids. Unemployed, again, with a dog missing and someone gaining way more than she has in this job once they find him, somewhere along this unnecessarily expensive neighborhood. She’s guessing thousands, that’s how important this dog is. What she’ll get? A kick in the ass. “Maybe ask Junmyeon? He’s around the household.”

“Okay. Thanks!”

The recognition should go to the architects that worked in such masterpiece or the painters and designers that turned this mansion into a daydream. Tall white walls, curling trees and flowers spread across the front yard, the sun falling across the entrance—all emit beauty, accompanied by twelve bathrooms, nine bedrooms, one cinema, a bar and whatever else she hasn’t managed to hear about. She can go around the main spot, though, going through the living room and stepping on the almost-too-pristine marble flooring as she inspects around the room.

Chanyeol is never here, a shadow whenever he passes by to change his clothing and get on another plane. Most of the time, he lives in Spain. She doesn’t know why he bothers keeping this place when all his business with soccer is dealt with over there, but his house remains intact, leaving people to grant his every wish. Chefs that work on prepping meals that sometimes he eats, sometimes he doesn’t. Dog-walkers, such as herself. Gardeners. Cleaners. Maids. The list is endless.

Maybe, his dog is not everything Chanyeol has lost.

In the second living room, on the right wing of the house, she finds the figure that the chefs had been talking about. Junmyeon hunches over a table, inspecting through a folder before he jots something down with his pen. His black hair, moved away from his face, rests just below his ears, wearing his typical sweater—this time, champagne-colored—and jeans.

Chanyeol’s physiotherapist doesn’t spend much time around the mansion. Unless Chanyeol is there, of course. But the times that he has been around, she has enjoyed his presence. Some kind of friendship had blossomed—quite ironic, to be exact. Her mouth runs on speeches of ‘eat the rich and Park Chanyeol’, while Junmyeon defends him. Something about him having a deeper heart than she could ever judge.

Yeah, right.

“Jun,” She calls out, panting when she spreads her fingers on her knees to catch a breather. “Have you seen Messi?”

The man’s rounded cheeks lift when he gives her a smile, hanging his pen from the collar of his sweater. “May want to check in Argentina.”

What’s with this mansion and the stupid jokes? “Junmyeon, I’m serious. Messi slipped away from his collar…” Her hands lift the white and blue collar up in the air, the elegant decorations making it seem ridiculous. “And now I can’t find him. He’s gone.”

Junmyeon’s smile falls, going over to where she is. “Shit, Chanyeol will lose it.”

Her world crumbles down to pieces at that moment. The chefs are always here, maids upon maids that welcome her for each walk in the morning with a chihuahua that jogs and jogs and never gets tired, but if Junmyeon is there, it’s because he needs to tend to Chanyeol.

“Fuck, is he here?!” Panic starts to creep up on her, opening the doors of the living room to lead herself to the pool place in the mansion. God forbid that little dog is swimming in a pool the size of an average family’s house.

Junmyeon scoffs, though helping her lurk through the bushes and the seats. “It’s the end of the season and his meniscus are killing him. If I’m here, it’s because I need to tend to Chanyeol—”

Smacking her hands against her thighs, she looks around the place. Where had that little thing gone? “Well, excuse me for thinking you’d be visiting me for once.” The sarcasm drips from her tone, trying to find a defense mechanism for her endless anger. “We—We walked five blocks, all the way back and just when we got to the door, that fucking Houdini decided to slip away from the collar.”

“It must’ve been loose. I don’t think a chihuahua named Messi can just go like that.” Junmyeon answers, and she shakes her head, worrying her lip between her teeth.

Job lost. That’s it. She may want to start to buy the newspaper again just to check what’s available.

“It wasn’t loose.”

“Okay, damn, don’t use that tone on me.” His hands spread on his waist, harsh rays of sunshine falling upon his olive skin before he sighs deeply. “Where did you see him last?”

“Blasting towards the gardens.” She points towards the entrance door. “But I checked there, Jun. He’s not there.”

“He’s hiding or he left. Let’s hope it’s the first option.” The man is already walking ahead of her, getting out of the pool area and returning to the living room as she follows after his steps. He seems to have a plan, and she was starting to run out of options. “His favorite snacks are in the kitchen. We’ll just make a trail of food for him to follow and he will. He just came from a jog, he’ll be hungry. Or thirsty, we could add some water there.”

Bonus points for the man who actually graduated from university. Light transcends through her body, relaxing her every muscle as they get towards the kitchen. The chefs are not there, so the embarrassment will lessen, as well.

“I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Because you never think when you’re panicking.” A year of working in this household does that much. Hours spent with Junmyeon, waiting for Chanyeol to arrive because of his early appearances and her late outings with the chihuahua had led to some friendship to blossom there.

“You know how much I need this job.” Seriousness bathes over her statement, dragging through every syllable of what people don’t notice. They see the woman with the graphic t-shirts and jeans, looking unfitting in this exquisite place, that walks the dog every morning. They don’t see the reality of why she needs this job, and why she’s never as put-together as the others.

“I do.” He pushes the wooden doors of the kitchen open, turning around to give her a relaxing smile. Those that make his brown eyes twinkle, pushing his lips closer together. “And Chanyeol just left, so he’s not going to notice Messi gone.”

“I’m sure. It’s not like he ever pays attention to his dog either way.” She pushes the door of the kitchen open with her back, continuing to walk backwards as she speaks. “Seriously, why does someone get a dog when they are never going to take care of them? He doesn’t even live here, and when he does, he’s out and about. That’s like having a child and never taking care of it.”

The shadows in Junmyeon’s face cast down just like the smile that falls down from his features, widened eyes concentrating on whatever is inside that kitchen. She stops when her back collides with the island in the middle, turning around upon his horror. There, with its barking ways and humongous eyes is Messi, hugged tightly to Chanyeol’s chest.

Which, speaking of the man, he doesn’t seem pleased.

What’s the part that bothered him? The bad father part? Or the part where she questions why he even got a dog on the first place?

Messi doesn’t stay still on Chanyeol’s trained arms. He twists and turns until Chanyeol drops him on the floor, and she takes this time to stare at him. Sure, she has never been too fond of people in surprisingly well-established positions, and those who live such lavish lifestyles when others are completely devastated in what consists of economy, but Chanyeol is a sight to look at, nonetheless.

Brown hair that falls just over his forehead, tossed from practicing, his skin a bit tanner than when he stays in on winter. Protruding ears tinge in a blush thanks to the frown on his features, wide eyes dead-set on her. His lips push together, stifling whatever curses he wants to throw her way, arms crossed over his toned chest. A black t-shirt covers him, and she sees the strength of his calves in his basketball shorts.

“Ah, Mr. Park—” She tries to laugh through the issue, pointing towards Messi. “He was giving a walk on his own.”

“I found him barking at my car when I parked here. I forgot my phone, thankfully.” Never had he looked so serious, fire flaming from his eyes when he steps forward, spreading his hands on top of the island to look at her face to face. “I didn’t hire you to lose my dog, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t.” She responds after swallowing thickly. “He just slipped away—”

“Well, that’s my child. You can’t just let it slip away and expect me not to notice because I’m never here.” Ouch. The words must have hurt him, a long sigh leaving his nostrils when he shakes his head. “He’s developed anger issues.”

Her eyebrows raise on her forehead. That dog has always been one little barking thing. He’d bite, grunt and scratch whatever gets in his line of sight. He was like that one year ago, when he was a mere puppy, and the story goes on.

“He’s always been like that…” She replies, parting her lips in an amused smile. “That’s not my fault. I’m not a dog trainer, I’m a dog walker.”

Chanyeol points at the dog, now growling at him and scratching at his legs, as if trying to get to the top of the Everest. For someone so small, Chanyeol’s legs must be the road to heaven, too close to the sky for him to even try to get on him. “He never did this before. He’s—he didn’t even bite me in the past!”

Maintaining her stance, she crosses her arms across her chest. It doesn’t matter that half the country has popularized Chanyeol with a fame that even himself couldn’t control. Gold never blinded her enough not to realize the stain on a ring—so, that won’t be the case with Chanyeol. “Try thinking like him. He doesn’t recognize you. He doesn’t even recognize me. He must be acting up because he is always left on his own.”

Frowning deeply, he shakes his head: “No. You’re the one who has been with him the longest. You must have put him through some shit if he’s running away like that—”

Junmyeon lifts his hand in the air, like a student in the middle of class, staring at his two bickering teachers, practically throwing daggers at each other from their positions on that island.

Fuck Park Chanyeol, and not in the good kind of way. Fuck him in the sense of fleeing him away to a far, very far island where no one can find him and cannot hear his absolute bullshit.

Seriously, Messi developed anger issues because of her?

Junmyeon’s theory is a bit more factual. “Maybe, he’s just acting up because he is alone a lot of times.” He complements, shrugging in the process. “You know, like how kids do when their parents are never home. They start, I don’t know, not going to school, biting kids in elementary, probably thinking they’re a dog? I know those things happen.”

Chanyeol shakes his head, kneeling down to try and pat Messi’s short hair, but the dog clings onto his fingers, not biting as harshly to cause him pain, but enough to stick to the skin. “He wasn’t like this with me when I was here.”

“What, a trillion years ago?” She mumbles, widening her eyes when Chanyeol connects his gaze to hers. Fire radiates from those brown irises, standing up and moving to her side of the island.

Bye-bye dreams of a bigger apartment.

Farewell her curriculum.

Goodbye to her dignity.

See you later gossip mornings with Junmyeon.

“Sorry.”

His taut and trained arms cross over his chest, pushing his hair away from his eyes before returning to his scolding position. “If you know so much about my dog, why don’t you teach me how to be a great father?”

She snorts out a laugh. “It’s a dog, Mr. Park. I’m sure he doesn’t have enough braincells to—”

“He does.” Chanyeol utters, quirking one of his eyebrows. “Now that I’ll stay here for the summer, I want you to reconnect me with my dog. I’ll walk him with you every single day if I have to, but Messi…Messi changed with you and that fact stays.”

“Just listen to yourself. This is ridiculous!” She exclaims, expanding her hands towards the dog. “He was like that when I met him. Just—I don’t know, you’ve got money. Hire a dog psychologist or—or, I don’t know? A family counselor? A therapist? Don’t include me on this—”

“You want to keep your job?” The jab of his tone has her closing her eyes tightly. Okay, so she has to keep the job, but walking goddamned Satan on a leash every morning is not the job of her dreams. She hums, opening her pupils to show him her interest. “Well, stay and teach me how to be a dad. If by the end of the month it doesn’t work, I’ll have to find someone else for your spot.”

Eat the rich.

They are fucking ridiculous with the things they wish for. It’s a dog. All he wants is food, attention and a bone thrown his way from time to time. He can’t connect with him because Chanyeol is never here. Period.

Or because he’s a chihuahua. Shit, Paris Hilton’s dog mustn’t have the best attitude either.

But she extends her hand, interlocking it with his to give it a shake. “You’ve got it, Mr. Park.”

“Great.”

“Excellent.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He swings his hand towards the door, absentmindedly and relaxed. “We’re done here. Thank you for…uh, walking my dog and almost losing him?”

Poor dog doesn’t know what kind of person he just came back to. She tries to give a tight-lipped smile, nodding once and turning around to get out of that goddamned kitchen, cursing Chanyeol’s name inside her head endlessly.

###

Give life a mask and a stage and it’ll take anyone’s breath away, dramatic as it gets, bleeding out the pure execution of a wrongly written script. It’s a comedy, one of those dark ones that have people on the brink of feeling bad because they laughed.

Hell, but everyone has been laughing at him for the past week. The gin burns with the friction it leaves on his throat, clearing it once or twice when he leans back on one of his plenty of couches in his mansion. The King of Red Cards, the media had called him—and sure, Chanyeol knows not everything is fair in soccer, and most players use dramatics to earn the others some extra time or simply, when the shot of competitiveness settles inside of them and they use every touch against their skin to win the game.

Chanyeol? He doesn’t do well with red cards. They match his face when someone points it at him, and he’s all shouts and widened eyes. He knows where he touches, how he does it, and while he may seem like it, he’s not malicious. His body isn’t trained to extend his leg far enough to hurt someone non-accidentally.

But the media has done two things with the last three matches of his team. Mock him with endless pictures of his angered face as he tried to explain himself. Blame him for his team’s loss, and, how to forget? Tell him he’s not worth the money he earns.

That has him tipping his head back and downing the rest of the gin, listening to Sehun’s laughter as he tells him what had happened this morning.

Sure, the championships are over, he’s back home, there is nothing to worry about…but here’s the thing: he hasn’t been home, every day, since well over a year. The couches are practically new, the bed is spacious enough to hold five people in it, and he hates it. He had been taken for so long that his somber thoughts almost irk him.

Jesus Christ, how does one turn off that voice inside his head that repeats: An entire summer, Chanyeol, you can’t leave this mansion for an entire summer—?

“You really made that scene just because of your dog?”

Sehun has a point. He’s not half as tipsy as he is, still downing his first drink, one leg crossed over the other when he speaks. Amusement had covered his enigmatic features, long nose scrunched up after hearing him speaking about the fucking dog-walker.

Sure, Chanyeol had just gotten the news of his long-vacation, as announced by his manager, that morning…but he really shouldn’t have taken it all out on the girl.

Red card for that one, too.

“Messi wasn’t like that.” Chanyeol says, putting the glass down on the white coffee table, matching his leather couches and spacious bookshelves, filled with books that bring a tinge of color to this white lounge room. “You know, the dog.” He intensifies with some hand movements. “…I…He wasn’t like that when I was with Sohyun. When we adopted him—”

“And left him to be taken care by other people? Yes, that’s when he was tiny and sweet.” Sehun chuckles at his own words, leaning forward when parting his legs and serving himself some gin. “Chanyeol, be honest with yourself. Sohyun was a little, petty, spoiled bitch and you bought her a chihuahua because she wanted one. None of you were home to take care of the pet equivalent of a child, come on.”

His lips part, lifting his index finger in the air to form a debate before lowering it slowly. “Sohyun was here for the first three months of Messi’s life.”

And she really shouldn’t have picked that name, now he thinks. The poor dog is probably made fun of when with other dogs, in their own language.

One thing that should be known about Sehun, his best friend and actor, is that there is not a single hair on his tongue. He uses it to get women, and he definitely uses it to put Chanyeol in his place. “Tell me,” He starts, taking a sip of his newly served drink. “When was she taking care of Messi? During those three months, when she lived here, and all she did was cheat on you…or was it when she, clearly, put the dog away from her room to fuck your publicist?”

Talk about harsh.

His life should have never intercepted with Sohyun’s. With her long-bleached hair, small shoulders and wide hips, she had made her way through the world of modelling. A socialite with pretty lips, a soft voice and the most sensual of touches had practically put him to his knees in the matter of seconds. One week of dating, a month of locking himself up in his room after practice just to spend hours and hours between her legs had turned into a relationship.

He should’ve never gone to that party he met her to. Shouldn’t have moved in with her so soon. Shouldn’t have given her the benefit of the doubt when she promised she’d stay by his side while he was in Spain.

This mansion is haunted with the ghost of the plenty of men that passed by this couch, his bed, his rooms, his kitchen, the bathroom.

Someone, call the ghostbusters, because he’s not entirely pleased with still living here.

“I know I overreacted.” Chanyeol says, tracing the outline of his empty glass. “But…he really wasn’t like that. She has made him more aggressive.”

“Says who?”

“Me. I say so.” His eyes widen, resting his hand against his forehead when he leans back. “Sehun, I’m having the worst day of my life and I have to live in this fucking mansion for an entire month, just…let me be.”

His friend squints his eyes, inspecting his features for a few seconds before humming.

“Is she, like, the woman that comes around here every morning…at around seven, and takes Messi with her?”

Chanyeol scoffs. “That’s what a dog walker does, ain’t it?”

With that, he’s settled. Sehun melts into his chair, pleased with the scent of his gin when he closes his eyes and tries to muffle his laughter. “You’re being a kid.”

“Why?” He asks. “She—I may have not been good with my words, but my point stands. He’s—”

“Let me remind you, Chanyeol, I was with you when you hired her.”

He doesn’t recall the exact day but he uncovers his forehead to look at him properly. “What about it?”

Sehun shrugs. “I don’t know, bro. You were looking through the pictures of all the people trying to walk your dog to hell and back if you asked them to, and you only hired her because you thought she was hot.”

Oh, now he remembers.

Maybe, it was one of those judgement-clouded, ego-hurt, post-break-up decisions that he had made. Sohyun’s bags packed, she had left their dog behind, wanting to do nothing with him now that they were separated, for good. Of course, some ties unite him to the small, little puppy that now hates him to bits, but at the time, he had to go back to Barcelona.

His manager arranged it all, and Sehun was planning on helping him with the interviews when he came across her picture. All he had to do was point and say:

“I said she was cute, not hot.” Chanyeol corrects, half-drunken in his slurred voice.

“Same thing.” Sehun fights back, but Chanyeol shakes his head.

“It’s not the same thing.” He says. “Besides, she’s a back-talker and extremely disrespectful. There’s this air of arrogance to her—”

“That battles yours? What a match!” Sehun claps his hands together, laughter escaping his lips when he shakes his head. “Park Chanyeol, look at you. Haven’t gotten laid in a while and now you’re not sure how to get a girl. Have to act like a kid pulling at his crush’s braids.”

Chanyeol scoffs. Sure, she’s not half bad looking in her simple clothing with that troublesome smirk on her lips, but she is definitely not enough trouble for him to be spending every single day with her just because. “Dude, seriously, I would never do that.”

“You wouldn’t have done that before, but you haven’t been in the game for a while.” Sehun stands up, tugging at his jacket to put it on before giving a sugar-sweet, teeth-rotting smirk. “I’m betting my sweet little ass something is going to happen, and not on her side of things, but in your side.”

“Why?!”

Sehun opens the door, cackling in the process. “Because it’s obvious, douchebag. She hates your guts!”

He grabs one of the pink cushions on the couch, throwing it towards Sehun only to be stopped by the man closing the door behind him.

“That’s it, go away, asshole!”

As if he could really absentmindedly go all those extra miles just to get some…some arrogant dog-walker that thinks he hasn’t tried to establish a relationship with his dog.

Sehun’s really on some hard shit. He’s betting acid—with his sweet little ass, as Sehun would say.

### 

Books are a bunch of bullshit. Crap. Manure. Shit.

Or, maybe she’s just thinking about her breakfast—that also looks like absolute shit.

Some mixtures just don’t go well. The soft texture of black beans, somewhat dulcet and creamy on top of a crunchy, half-bitten toast is not what anyone would call an ideal breakfast. It doesn’t bring any source of happiness or energy to her day, much less when accompanied by lukewarm water. Her small bed works as her dining table as she munches on her breakfast as quickly as she can, reading a romance book once of her friends had given her to pass time.

If life was good, she’d have a house as big as Park Chanyeol. Another thing that doesn’t go well with her morning. She sighs deeply, leaning back on the bed and bringing the book up to her eyesight. The bodyguard, meaning the main man, has decided to leave everything to protect his princess, rushing through fields of people just to get to her before the bad guys do. Heroic, so inherently…false. No one is like that.

The neighbors next door have decided to prove her right. It’s six in the morning, and it seems like the couple is still on their honeymoon phase. Her bed’s headboard slams against the wall when she hears the first few moans and whines, the neighbor’s old bed squeaking with each word that escape the couple’s lips.

“Oh fuck, right there—”

They’re on their fifties. Maybe, they don’t know it’s six in the fucking morning.

“Harder!”

And the headboard actually slams harder against her wall.

Who would have thought old Mr. Lim still had it in him?

“Har…der!”

Okay, time to get to work earlier.

She grabs her hoodie, pulling it over her head and pushing her phone inside her pocket before getting out of her apartment. Even in the hallway, consisting of equally as small apartments, she can hear the Lim’s going at it like rabbits. Good luck for the other neighbors who have to wake up to realize that Mr. Lim doesn’t have an erectile disfunction. Not yet, at least.

That dick is up-and-at-them.

The book was left behind, because if life was like a book, someone would have already come save her—or there would have been some nice man, looking like he is Leonardo DiCaprio’s long lost relative, telling her that he’ll pay her whatever thousand or million dollars just to pretend to be his girlfriend. Life would be good then, because she’d have a happy ending and she wouldn’t have to worry about putting bad food on her plate.

But it’s not how life works.

Luckily for her, she doesn’t have to wait long by the bus stop, getting inside it to greet the driver. From then on, she concentrates on the atmosphere, the most dangerous part of the city melting into the center, far more packed and prepared for the day. From then on, she has to get off and walk towards Chanyeol’s rich neighborhood. The muscles of her thighs thank her for the workout but it’s damn right exhausting—this routine, that is.

Crisp air wraps around her arms, moving her hair when she finally crosses the gates to Chanyeol’s neighborhood. Fifty minutes later, but she’s there. The neighbors are not more normal than others, even when they are rich, living in their grand mansions. A woman is taking the sun in in her front-yard, pinned back hair and almost nonexistent bikini cladding her body.

Good for her, she looks nice.

Kids are rushing in mini cars. Men are working out where everyone can see them. It’s all about image in this place.

The white walls of Chanyeol’s spacious mansion finally welcome her, sweat pooling at her forehead when she wipes it off and greets the guards by the entrance. She doesn’t even ask if Chanyeol is here—of course, he is not going to be here. A ghost in his own home, he probably exaggerated when speaking to her yesterday.

So, she opens the doors of the mansion, inviting herself in when Messi comes rushing towards her.

“Hello, my boy—” Her voice heightens because he may be a headache and the devil at the same time, but Messi looks cute with his big chihuahua eyes and his swinging tail early in the morning. “I need to find your leash first, babe. Follow me.”

He does as she says, at least, he seems to be happy today. She moves towards the main living room, humming a song under her breath. Some rock tune from the eighties that she can’t quite recognize, but she doesn’t pay much attention to it, getting to the corner of the expansive living room and opening the drawers to get one of the many leashes out.

She feels like pink today. Perhaps, she needs to feel like she’s the main character of Legally Blonde today.

Yet, when she closes the drawer and she turns around, she hears a guttural groan. Mr. Lim is nowhere in sight, and he would kill to sound like that, so that only leaves her with a few options.

A man lays on the couch, half-dead, maybe, he doesn’t move much, but she knows exactly who it is. One of his toned, muscular arms spreads on top of his eyes, covering the light that rakes through the glassed doors and windows, his dark hair done a mess on top of his head, lips plump and swollen from the amount of alcohol he had taken. Shit, it stinks like whiskey or gin in here—

The empty bottle of gin on the table tells her it’s the latter.

Her eyes go towards his worked, toned stomach, uncovered…because of course someone like Chanyeol just had to sleep without a shirt on, and his long legs spread on the otherwise tiny couch—at least, for him—, cladded in gray sweatpants.

He opens one of his eyes, groaning at the sight of her once again and she closes her eyes tightly.

Forget the sound.

She’s not there to think as Chanyeol as anything other than fucking annoying.

“What are you doing here?” His voice has a rasp, barely lifting his head to look at his phone on top of the coffee table before dropping it again. “It’s seven in the morning.”

“I’m doing my job. I always walk Messi this early.” Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Messi rushes towards the living room, swatting his tail like a maniac. “Don’t worry, Mr. Park. You can keep sleeping, I’ll walk the dog and leave.”

But Chanyeol doesn’t take it, sitting up and running his fingers through his hair, and it takes all the will in the fucking world not to look at his contracting biceps.

“I said I’ll accompany you, and I will.” Though, when he stands up, something switches in Messi, barking uncontrollably towards the tall man. “Yes, boy. Who’s a good boy? You are!”

Even those words don’t seem to tranquilize Messi, and she does her best to kneel down and take it in between her hands, but he slips away easily. “Hey, come back here!”

Just like yesterday, Messi scavenges and she’ll give him something—

Boy got quick legs.

He runs away from the living room and towards the entrance. Her eyes connect to Chanyeol’s momentarily, rushing after him only to hear his loud footsteps behind her.

“See? He can’t see you because he already goes crazy!” Chanyeol exclaims behind her, and she swears she hears his little paws tapping against the flooring. He may be going to the entrance door, again.

“Excuse me?” She questions, seeing the swing of the dog door on the entrance door before shaking her head at Chanyeol. “He went crazy when you woke up.”

“Then, you plotted him against me!”

“I didn’t do shit, Mr. Park.” She opens the door before looking around.

Chanyeol moves quicker, thinks faster, asking the guards by the entrance of his mansion. “Have you seen Messi?”

One of them frowns. “…In Argentina?”

If she wasn’t so worried about the goddamned dog, she would’ve laughed.

Chanyeol spreads his hands on his hips, elbows crooked. “No! My dog!”

“Oh, by the pool!”

“Thanks!”

Her boss is already a few steps ahead, speaking to her as he waits for her to follow after him. Shit, some people just are really insufferable—

“Stop cussing me out all the time. You don’t know me.”

“Well, you don’t know me, either.”

“I know you don’t like me. I think that’s enough.”

“It wasn’t a requirement for the job to be your absolute fan, Mr. Park. I’m just not very fond of how you point fingers at everyone when—”

“Shh!”

Upon reaching the pool, they see Messi swimming with his little paws, the sun raking down his small body as he enjoys the summery day.

She spares him a glance, as if asking him if he thinks the same way as her, and he nods. Okay, so he agrees, she’ll be the one to catch him.

Only that when she moves forward to grasp Messi in between her hands, Chanyeol does so at the same time. And then, everything she feels around her is water.

When she rises up from the pool, she feels someone’s body pressed right to hers. In front of her, she realizes after pushing her hair away from her face, is Chanyeol, in all his half-naked glory, droplets of water clinging to his face and chest as he frowns at her.

“I was going to get him!”

“Sorry for not knowing silent language…” Asshole is how she wants to finalize the sentence, but when she sees Messi paddling away by their side, as if laughing at their antics and enjoying his time by the pool. Her hands wrap around his small body, caging him in between their chests. “Nu-uh, my boy. You’re not going anywhere else.”

Each breath Chanyeol takes connects to her body, moves her as he tries to catch his breath. Sooner than later, he’s no longer pointing fingers—at least, not directly, but worried over anything else he feels.

“Why does he keep running away?” In his voice, the deflated optimism is noticeable and she looks up at his eyes before sighing.

“I think he just wants your attention.” Prompting, she looks away from the man. It’s not the first time that she realizes Chanyeol is above average-looking people, but that doesn’t give him in the benefit to just barge into her head like that. “You know, you gave him a hard time by leaving him with the sitter for so long and now he wants revenge. Or, he’s holding a grudge. One or the other.”

Messi bites at her hair, pawing at it to see the wet strand of her hair.

“But what do I do?” A pout takes over his features when he leans forward and his dog bites at his finger. “Ouch, Messi, bad boy!”

She huffs. “Maybe, try changing his name? No one is going to take him seriously if you call him Messi.” With that, she moves towards the edge of the pool, getting out with the dog between her hands. “I think he senses you and feels like running. Maybe, you could leave us on our own? At least, until he gets used to you again.”

His wide shoulders deflate. “That’s it? I can’t do anything?”

“I’m not sure.” She answers, sitting at the edge of the pool and wrapping the collar around Messi’s neck. “I’ll go walk him now. Just…let me do my job?”

Though, once she stands up, her skin becomes aware of the fabric of clothing clinging to her body, uncomfortably outlining every curve and imperfection.

“You want to walk around the neighborhood like a wet dog?” A charming smile takes over Chanyeol’s features and all she wants to do is wipe it off. Get some Kleenex and poof, clean it away before he continues with that confidence that both irks her and interests her.

She lifts Messi up slightly, who is blinking back at him as if judging him. “That’d make two wet dogs.”

“No, no.” And God, he makes a show out of getting out of the pool, his arms flexing when he pushes himself away, running his fingers through his hair to push the strands away. “I’ll lend you some of my old clothes and you can leave after.”

“It’s not necessary—”

“I wasn’t asking. I was offering.”

“And I’m denying. Thank you, but no thank you.”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes, tugging her by her arm to pull her with him. She doesn’t hesitate to go after him, after all, she knows he could very well drag her away. “Pride, pride, pride. It’s a bad thing to hold onto that, you know?”

“…Are we talking about you or about me?”

The warmth of Chanyeol’s mansion makes her sigh in delight, briefly letting go of him to lock the dog’s door and let go of Messi. He shakes his body before sprinting away with his barking ways.

Sure, he’s not usual, but he’s cute in his own way.

Chanyeol goes up the set of curved stairs, too long for her own good, but perhaps one of the many reasons why Chanyeol’s legs are to die for.

“You.”

“I’m not prideful, Mr. Park.”

“If that lets you sleep at night…”

Gasping, she catches up with his steps, walking alongside him, cringing at the squeaking of her shoes. “I’m sorry that everyone but me would die to have your clothes on them, but I’m not sure I want everyone here to think I’m just wearing your clothes because we—” She stops herself then, pressing her lips together because she may be bantering with her boss, the man that signs her paychecks…and now, he’s chuckling at her words, low and deep and somewhat, alluring.

“You don’t want anyone to think you’re fucking me?” Chanyeol questions, and she hums. Then, his shoulders lift in a shrug, moving through the hallways to get to his walk-in wardrobe. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing someone could think of you.”

She breathes out, almost wheezing: “Over my dead body.”

He opens the doors of the closet then, turning to look at her. “Is that really what you think? Am I the most undesirable man in this world for you?”

Okay, she really does try to not swallow thickly when he says those words, because one thing is difficulty—and another thing is having Chanyeol, shirtless, asking her if she deems him attractive.

“Yes.”

His eyes inspect her features, walking into the closet with a waltz on his steps. “Lies.” While he mutters that simple word, he looks through his clothing, racks after racks of fabrics pushed around by his big hands.

“Think what you want.” Tiredness takes over her mind because she’s damp and smells a little bit like a dog. All she needs to do is finish her job.

“I just know you’re lying.”

“I’m not.” She bites back through gritted teeth. Chanyeol snatches something away from a hanger, then something else from his folded clothing before tossing it her way. Quite a master looking through this closet when it’s three times bigger than her apartment.

“Either you lied or you had a basketball in your throat. That swallowing ain’t covering up well for you.”

“I have a sore throat.”

“May want to get it checked up.” With that, he moves towards the door, taking the handles between his hands and only closing them when he says: “I think it’s an allergy. It only happens when I am the one around.”

With that, he’s gone.

And thankfully, he’s not there when she goes out wearing one of his black sweatpants, tied around her waist, and a violet hoodie, miniscule scarlet letters reading out ‘sexual fantasies’. The worst part? It smells like him.

She walks seven blocks wearing an outfit Park Chanyeol may have sported some other time, with his dog and his scent lingering on her.

What a curse.

###

“Your friend is a feisty one, isn’t she?”

What the hell is Chanyeol doing thinking about his employee? He has no idea, much less when the question lingers with a hiss when his physiotherapist bends his knee to the side slightly, having him curse and lull his head back. The pain takes his curiousness away for once, too early in the morning for him to even be thinking about the woman that has been the reason behind his headaches for the past five days.

Worst part is that his dog, sleeping soundly on his bed as Junmyeon works on his knee, is tranquil before his walk of today. Messi always picks her instead of him, rushing away whenever she passes by those doors.

Junmyeon looks up from his knee, one that isn’t entirely injured…but Chanyeol overworks himself with practices at times, much more with the latest championship that had taken place.

“She kind of has to.” He describes, simplistic as ever and guarding a few secrets, shrugging his shoulder when he folds Chanyeol’s long leg and brings it up to his chest, then extending it and repeating the process. A huff leaves his lips when he tries to get used to the pain, worrying his bottom one between his teeth.

“Why?” He questions, and he swears he is just trying to concentrate on something else. It isn’t like he’s curious—

Because he isn’t.

“Lives in a bad neighborhood, I guess. She’s tough as bricks if you ask me, but she’s gotten tougher this past year.” Those words have him frowning. Sure, her paycheck is not the best…but it’s enough to live somewhere in the center of the city, like the rest of his workers.

Truth be told, Chanyeol feels bad at times. He was recruited for soccer since he was a child—grown and prepared to be one of the best players in any team he found himself in. Never alone, always cheered on for, Chanyeol knows what difficulty means—but the conceptualization is different from one person to the other.

“Really?” Chanyeol questions, looking up at the chandelier in the ceiling before he frowns. “Is the paycheck not enough?”

“…Chanyeol, if you’re really curious about her, maybe try to be more approachable and ask her yourself?” Junmyeon retorts, shaking his head as a laugh leaves his thin lips. “Seriously, you’ve been bitten by your dog enough times for it not to hurt if she does decide to bite back.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me!”

Junmyeon sighs deeply, putting his leg down on the soft mattress of Chanyeol’s bed before rubbing his hands together. He seems to be finished with his therapy. “She doesn’t know you…and what she knows is that you’re here, and then you’re not.”

“And that’s bad?”

“Not really. It just isn’t her cup of tea, I guess.” He shrugs his shoulders, putting his equipment inside his spacious dark leather bag before turning to look at Chanyeol. “If you really want to know why she doesn’t like you, don’t ask me. I can tell you the path she walks every day to get here…but nothing else.”

Chanyeol purses his lips, looking over to the side before extending one hand to try and pet Messi. He’s asleep, so he probably won’t even bite him. “I don’t want to know.”

Then, the small dog growls and grasps one of his long fingers between his teeth.

“Okay, I’ll leave now.” Junmyeon instructs, moving towards Chanyeol’s bedroom door until he hears him speak again.

“Wait—!”

He stops on his tracks, turning around to quirk one of his thick eyebrows. “You want me to tell you where to find her?”

“…If you don’t mind?”

Okay, so maybe his vacations are boring and he just needs a distraction. One with a bite in her tone, amusement in her pretty lips and that will help him not lose a finger to Messi’s bared teeth.

###

The day is perfect for a cup of tea under an umbrella, cladding her from the sun as she reads a book. Instead, she’s jogging down the sidewalk, late to her job and now she knows Chanyeol is waiting for her at home. Her chest heaves up and down as her shoes clank over the pavement, the wind and harsh sun clashing against her hair and skin, highlighting in her most atrocious stance.

Turns out that the Lim’s work for something. They are helpers for when her alarm doesn’t even dare blast off in the morning, but they had either fallen asleep today or, for some reason, sex wasn’t on the table today.

Or, they took it to the table, just it wasn’t on the bed.

Whatever. She doesn’t think she has ever been this bummed about being late to work.

Though, just as she is starting to lose her footing, far too tired to continue, she hears the sound of a car honking by her side, loud and clear. She would’ve continued with her stance, forgotten all about the eyes inspecting her, probably some creep trying to get a hold of her, but when she sees that charming smile that she has tried to erase from her brain the past week, she really stops on her tracks.

“Chanyeol?!”

She’s not in his neighborhood yet, but she’s well into the city, his Ferrari blending into the gray buildings surrounding him far too well. One of his hands rests on the steering wheel, the other spread on the seat next to him, his striped shirt clinging to his chest when he lifts his dark eyebrows up.

“Come on, get inside. Someone is going to crash my car if I keep standing here.”

“How did you know I was here?”

Chanyeol sighs, looking up at the ceiling of his car. “Certain bird called Kim Junmyeon told me you took the bus and then walked all your way over here and I felt bad.” He tilts his head to the side, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smirk before he adds: “And then I remembered that you would probably die to ride on my Ferrari, so I took the chance.”

She scoffs. “Get a grip, Park Chanyeol. I wouldn’t die to ride on anything that belongs to you.”

She knows how to stand up against people. Debt had brought her lower and lower, from one bigger apartment to a medium one and finally, the lint she dares call a home now. With neighbors that fuck like rabbits and one or two robberies happening once a month, she acknowledges that Chanyeol is just…annoying. Not bad. Not malicious. Just plain out stupid.

He opens the door of the car then, a barking dog seated on the passenger seat, practically jumping at the sight of her. Messi. “Do it for the kid.”

And she looks around the sidewalk, thinking about all the kilometers she has to walk just to get to Chanyeol’s place, and there’s air-conditioner in his car. Definitely so.

So, she takes Messi in between her hands and takes a seat on the warm, soft leather of Chanyeol’s car. A smile taking over his features when his fingers spread on top of her head to pat her hair. “That’s it.” He replies, only starting the car when she crosses her seatbelt on top of her body, sparing one glance at her before chuckling. “You know you just called me Park Chanyeol, right?”

She stops for a moment.

Get a grip, Mr. Park. No, that’s not what she said.

Oh fuck.

Her hands come cover her mouth, as if stifling what had already been told. “Oh shit.”

“And that you wouldn’t ride on anything that belongs to me.” Then again, maybe that was a bit too harsh. If Chanyeol dared pass in front of a group of people, there would be at least one person who would jump on his lap if he dared invite them. Though, she’s not quite accepting of the idea that crosses her head—the one that tells her that if he asked nicely enough, maybe she would think about it.

“I—You have to understand me here.” She replies, petting Messi’s fur as the dog lulls into a deep slumber on her lap. Today, he’s tranquil. “You like teasing me a bit too much.”

“Because your replies are good.” Chanyeol announces, turning on a corner away from the road towards his home. “I’ll take you to some breakfast before we go home, though. I think Messi doesn’t mind the ride.”

Pensive, mindful and a little bit of a charmer, Chanyeol seems to have it all together this morning. “Thank you.”

“Continuing on…” Chanyeol trails his voice, looking over at her for a fraction of a second before returning his gaze to the road. Everything about him is polished, relaxed, tapping his free hand against his thigh to the rhythm of the soft song on the radio, the other driving them to whatever place he had deemed welcoming for breakfast. “I have the feeling that you hate me.”

“I have the feeling you reciprocate it.”

“Something that soccer teaches you,” He starts, a smile on his face. “If someone fights you, you fight them back. And you fought me first.”

“You were the one pointing fingers!”

“You were talking shit about me.”

Well, guilty as charged.

She looks down at the dog on her lap, rubbing her lips together as she voices out the one thing she would have never imagined herself saying:

“I think I’m envious of you.”

The world clashes in so much silence that it almost echoes around her. Envy, a sentiment that lingers within us, inside of her, burning and snatching away the pretty parts of her. There is always one lingering look, a diamond too bright, a sigh too loud that takes her attention away from her own road and she sees the mud in comparison to the complete cleanliness of someone’s life.

Chanyeol has it all together, and maybe, that made him pompous inside her head. Privileged, and the worst kind at that.

“…You are?” Chanyeol breathes out, a confused frown taking over his otherwise dulcet yet attractive features when she sighs.

“It’s one of those things I can’t explain.” She tells, scratching the back of her head. “You spend so much time in debt that you look at everyone who is rich as the same thing. I’ve had people take me away from my home, give me deadlines when they know I’m unemployed. I’ve seen the divisions of class, and I guess I just assumed you’d be the same.” A scoff leaves her lips. “You told me I made your dog have anger issues, and that was enough to make me lose it. I had made a mistake once and you immediately lashed at me—”

His fingers hook around the steering wheel a little too tightly, smiling in the process. “You know, it’s one of those things…” His grin is not similar to the ones he sports. This one is uptight, as if forced. “When…When everything goes wrong and you want to lash at the first person you see.”

“Bad days for both of us?”

“I guess.” He replies, humming at the sound of the song on the radio for a few seconds before looking at her from his peripheral. The day is gorgeous, matching him in every way, beaming sunlight and growing flowers. He blends well with summer, makes his skin shine brighter, his eyes look fuller. “I don’t want this to be a bad summer…but I don’t know what to do in that goddamned house.”

She turns on her seat, her cheek pressed to the leather as she hears his every word, inspects his profile with utmost interest. “You want someone to live there meanwhile? Because I could get used to a mansion, for sure.”

That steals laughter away from him, but she knows better than to poke him. Even with his money, he must have some issues of his own. “The championships went terrible. I was…I guess I just wasn’t in the best mood and got three red cards.”

“Oh yes!” She widens her eyes, reminiscent of the days she spent laughing at the pictures she had seen on her phone. “With your face all red and all.”

“You find it funny?”

“Hilarious, but go on.” She swats her hand, only to have Chanyeol breathing in deeply.

“…I’ve lived in Barcelona for well over a year. I thought I wanted to keep this mansion because Sohyun wanted it. I did everything I had to just to keep it to myself. I didn’t sell it, didn’t have anyone else live in it, just because I wanted to have something she didn’t.” The revenge in his tone reminds her of that name. Sohyun, she has heard it before.

“Your ex?” A model passes through her head, but she isn’t quite sure she remembers her features to utter perfection.

He nods. “She cheated on me a bunch of times. With my friends, my publicist, people I didn’t know about. All in that mansion.” The somberness in his voice is different, deep and tranquil, as if he has learned to live with this. “So, when I came back, I expected it to be all glued together. For my heart to be back, for my dog to love me, for every memory to be trashed away…and…you were there at the wrong time.”

“As per usual.”

Chuckling, he says: “Maybe, I’m the right-timer between the two.” Pointing with his long fingers in between their bodies, he explains. “I came to pick you up when you were Usain Bolt-ing that sidewalk.”

“Right time, right moment, wrong guy.” She replies, turning around on her seat to stare towards the road ahead.

With his lips pursed, like she has learned he does when he pretends to be angry, he asks: “Who would be the right guy?”

“If you get me his number, I swear you’ll be the best boss ever.”

“Who is it?” Chanyeol questions.

“Son Heungmin.”

“No.”

“Wait, why?”

“Because…no.” He replies, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to be with Heungmin.”

“He’s hot, successful, kind, a soccer player. Got legs for days…”

The man in question squints his eyes, parking in front of a very famous, yet unvisited by her café before unhooking his seatbelt. “…Are you sure you’re not describing me?”

Therefore, more words can’t leave her lips when she realizes that the descriptions fit him a little bit too well.

“Get a grip of reality, Park Chanyeol.”

###

“I’ll teach you how to kick some balls today.”

“Oh,” Placing her hands on her waist, she quirks her hips to the side, smiling at Chanyeol’s presence in his own wide field for practicing at his home. “I know how to kick some balls. Want me to show you? I’m not sure about soccer-balls, but the hairy ones, kind of soft? Those, I do work well with.”

Trees swish around him, blotches of red appearing on his cheeks and ears thanks to the harshness of the sun, holding a soccer ball in between his expanded hands. Though, he rests it against the hard surface of his abdomen, chuckling at her words.

“You work well with them?” He asks, inspecting her features up and down. “What kind of working are we talking about?”

“Definitely not the kind you’re thinking of.”

“Bummer.” Chanyeol rests the ball on the grass in front of him, trapping him with his Adidas shoes before sighing. “I’ll try to score a goal and you have to stop me, I want to see what you’re made of.”

“Isn’t it enough that you drag me for coffee every morning?” She wants to continue fronting, pretend that there isn’t a small, numbing warmth that has her staying in the same spot by the sidewalk for him to pick her up in. Maybe, there’s spot for friendship in whatever mess they have been part of for the past two weeks. “I don’t want to.”

“I’m training you.”

Her hands clasp together, a faux smile appearing on her features. “To meet Heungmin?”

His jaw tightens, a frown appearing on his features. “I am not introducing you to him.”

Though, he moves towards her side, sprinting with the ball and catching her off guard, her hand extending in the air as she exclaims his name. “Hey! Stop! I need to keep up with you.”

“If you really want to meet Heungmin, you better start getting in shape.”

One would never think about it, but Chanyeol is more than the pictures catch of him. He’s not the competitiveness or the frown that overtake him on the field. He’s not the polished suits he wears or the tight smiles he sports when taking pictures with people equally as rich as him. The beam on his face when he scores goal after goal, even breaking some of the rules of real soccer to let her have fun, is exactly what she would imagine the real Chanyeol is like. Far away from the own judgement he has of himself or the way he has fitted his big frame into a tiny box of misconceptions and pretentiousness.

Time is one of the most beautiful things in life. We fear it, but who doesn’t? It’s in the wrinkles around our smiles, in the weight of our shoulders, in the imminent fear of an end that is not as happy as we want it—so unknown that it makes us scared, but it’s the only thing that is promised. Time with another person, whatever short or long, is important…and she notices that with the time she spends with Chanyeol every day. That his banter makes her feel lightweight, and his instructing ways bring something out in him. Something that even his dog manages to realize.

For the first time in a year, Chanyeol is not thinking of the time he lost. He’s thinking of the time he has left. Of enjoying the ‘now’.

Limbs spread on each side of her body, she lets the sun engulf her when her lungs expand to take a breather. Chanyeol remains fresh, a shadow cladding her body when she looks up at him. Her eyes don’t squint, but they almost burn at the harshness of his beauty. The raw side of what is left within him that still palpitates with hope. The child in him that had all this as a dream, not as a job.

“You’re not as bad as I thought you’d be.”

“Compliment?”

His dog steals a breath away from her when he plops his tiny body on top of her abdomen, her fingers absentmindedly coming down to pet him. “Pretty much, yes.” Chanyeol comments, his hair falling on top of his forehead when he asks: “Why Heungmin?”

“What?” She asks, a smile appearing over her features. “Are you really asking me that?”

“If you want his number, I’ll really give it to you. I’ll set you up, even.” Chanyeol’s voice becomes tranquil, hitting her bones in soft trembles, making her shake underneath him, eyes widened, smile dulled. “…But why him?”

Because he’s not you.

Because everyone is not as dangerous as you are, as close as you get, as burning as your smile.

Because it feels impossible, but you’re right here.

“Because I like to tease you.” She sits up then, fluttering her eyelashes to him before looking to the side. “He—He’s not really my style, I guess.”

“He’s not? You just said—”

“I know what I said.” With that, she stands up, giving Messi over to Chanyeol before shrugging. “I guess he’s not really my style anymore. I want more bite, less boy-next-door.”

She wants more of Chanyeol, but she won’t ever admit that.

###

“You have to take five things with you to an island. Just physical matters. What do you take?”

Pouring rain flashes against the windowsill, down to the glass, hammering their way down until they fall into a puddle. It’s well over the afternoon and the pet she should be taking care of is long asleep on Chanyeol’s lap, on her third week spending every day with him—and the rain has come, made a home out of this mansion to keep them trapped, seated with warm mugs in between their fingers, staring at the perfectly ruined day of summer.

He’s there, pensive, trailing after his train of thoughts to organize them, with his hair recently washed, raking the scent of jasmine and vanilla, sweetening her. She would’ve never thought she’d get used to his presence, his existence, the way he breathes in before answering:

“Three survival kits, my guitar…and a blanket.”

“You’d die of starvation.”

Chanyeol’s eyes twinkle when he looks at her, nudging her side as they sit close together, the wood creaking under the weight of fire in the fireplace. “Good thing I’m not being left on an island, isn’t it?” He questions, falling into silence when he licks his plush lips. “It’s…I don’t know. I would’ve said my phone before, or asked to have some sort of entertainment…but physical matters are not as important to me anymore.”

She chuckles, taking a sip of her warm drink. “Because you have it all?”

“Because having it all never made me better, or never made me feel less lonely.” Chanyeol confesses, looking into her eyes before giving her a small smile. “Without knowing, you’ve made this summer one hell of a lot better.”

“I know I have,” She tries to shrug it off—pretend that she doesn’t care that he is saying those words, but each one pierces through her with more force, claiming a spot for Chanyeol inside her brain, her heart, the core of her being. “…But why?”

The question is so small that it feels like a whisper between their bodies, a hum leaving his body. “Because I’ve gotten to know someone who doesn’t care about who I am, but cares about me enough to stand going out for breakfast with me every morning.”

Coffee cups shared along with stories, Chanyeol’s puzzle has started to take some shape—to rearrange itself into something she wants to know. “…Well, that’s going to change once you leave.” Once again, she stares at the droplets of rain, watching them fall…like how she doesn’t want to do with Chanyeol. It’s an abyss, and she doesn’t have the sources to put herself together. “You will have someone else to have breakfast with.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not…they are not like you.” He instructs, putting his cup down in between his crossed legs before sighing. His hand splays behind him, his vision burning the side of her face. “They won’t bite me in the ass if I do wrong.”

“And you like that?” She questions, a smile appearing on her features before she sighs. “Chanyeol, you’ll leave to Barcelona once this summer is over…and…and I don’t…I don’t want to get attached to this, you get me?”

Chanyeol shrugs his shoulders, biting his bottom lip as he thinks of his words. “You know what’s magical?” He says. “Trying. Living. It’s a thing we just…don’t think about. We’re so set in our routines, in the things we know and what we think is fitting for us that we never try. Shit, I thought Sohyun was worth giving it a try—and maybe, I’m damned, I like trying things, like a new drink or a new meal…but I don’t want to go one day thinking: ‘I wish I had been better. I wish I had done that. I wish I had made that mistake so I would have learned’. I want to think I always do my best to live the life I want.” Chanyeol answers, extending his hand towards her and planting his palm on top of hers, warm skin scalding her own, leaving her breathless at the mere touch. What’s with him today? “And I want to try, having breakfast with you until we get tired of it, get to know each other so much that we never stop bickering…I want to get a grip of what reality is like…just for once.”

“You’re serious?” Her voice becomes vacant, soft in its approach when Chanyeol wraps an arm around her shoulder, bringing her closer to his chest. Sturdy, tranquil, there for a moment but then gone—it’s in the magic of trying, of letting the flame die down if it has to…feeling something real and raw for once, though unexpected. That’s the magic of the world.

“Why not?” Chanyeol asks, leaning his cheek against her head before pressing a kiss to her hair. “If it rained during summer, why can’t we try to go out on a date? The world is filled with impossibilities, let’s be one.”

###

Chanyeol doesn’t leave with the passage of the harsh sun of summer. Time passes by and falls like the leaves of the trees that scatter around the mansion. One she’s staying in at the moment, reading a book with Messi laying somewhere on the bed that she shares with Chanyeol.

Some would call it quick, unexpected; they would say it’s an atrocity for opposites to be together, but they don’t feel what she feels with him. Confidence, control, warmth, even with the patter of the rain right outside the mansion.

The world is tranquil, only cutting through the silence when her throat gasps out at the words written on the last page of the book, scribbled in black ink. Fuck Park Chanyeol and his ways of always ruining her books with some words of his own.

This time, it’s a romance. He bought it for her when they were going out on a date last month, right before he left for another soccer event. Now, he’s miles away, but she swears she can hear his voice, right next to her ear, thanks to his messy handwriting.

“I hope our romance makes you swoon like this one day. Love you, Chanyeol.”

Little does he know, it already does.

#chanyeol scenarios #chanyeol #exo scenarios #exo #kpop scenarios #writing #exo fluff #exo angst #exo au #chanyeol fluff #chanyeol angst #chanyeol au #soccer player!au #dog walker!au

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.4 (BAON)

Summary:  Jeff doesn't know where they are or where they're going, but he knows one thing. It's probably not good.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships,  Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags To Come

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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By the time the van came to a stop, Stretch still hadn’t woken up. Not that it mattered very much, there wasn’t a thing Jeff could have done to change their situation. At the moment, they were very much outnumbered, overpowered, and even if he’d had a clue where they were, it wouldn’t have done them any good. Before they dragged him out of the van, one of the thugs yanked a bag over his head. Blinded, he struggled to stumble along as two guys pulled him out, trying not to cry out as they led him barefoot across crumbling asphalt into a building with rough carpet.

He kept as quiet as he could, trying to not only listen in case they said anything useful, but also for Stretch, praying to a God he hadn’t spoken to since he was fifteen and his father threw him out that they didn't hurt Stretch. Jeff could survive a few bumps and bruises, but he didn't know how much Stretch could withstand. Intent was key when it came to Monsters, he knew that much, and these guys seemed to have plenty.

At first, he tried to keep track of where he was being led. An impossible effort when the twists and turns of being dragged along left him too disoriented to know his way up or down. They seemed to walk forever until his captors suddenly stopped and Jeff was shoved down into a chair. Rough hands grabbed at him, rope suddenly binding his wrists and ankles. He didn’t struggle as he was tied, only tried to tense his muscles as much as possible, some shitty internet meme he vaguely remembered reading said that it could help slip free later.

Turned out memes weren’t the best source for escape plans. When they were done, Jeff subtly tried to move and the best he could manage was a painful rope burn. The ropes felt like they were wound through the slats in the chair and unless Houdini decided to make good on his possible return from the other side, Jeff was going nowhere fast.

He could hear their captors moving around, muttering too low to be understood and the other sounds might have been more rope. Tying up Stretch, maybe, he hoped that’s what it was; at least if they were together, that was something, hell, that was everything right now.

The bag suddenly getting ripped off his head made him gasp, flinching from the glaring light pointed directly into his face. Squinting, he could barely see the shadowy figures standing behind it, but he was sure he could see a cell phone pointed in his direction.

“Say your name,” a rough voice demanded.

“Andy—” he began automatically. “No, Jeff, I’m sorry, Jeff! My name is Jeff!” There was nothing else and Jeff shifted, grimacing as the ropes dug in. It was on the tip of his tongue to go on, to blurt that he worked in public relations, that he was nobody important and not worth ransoming. He bit the inside of his lip to keep those rambles from pouring out. Partly because it was probably stupid to tell kidnappers your value or lack thereof, and partly because of Edge. He’d always told them to never offer more information than was necessary and yeah, he’d been talking about board games at the time, but Jeff doubted that Clue was where Edge learned that particular rule. If these assholes wanted more info, they could damn well ask.

Either his name was all they wanted or they already had whatever other info they needed. Jeff didn’t even have a chance to try squinting through the too-bright light when one of them came towards him and yanked the bag back over his head. He sat there, sweat beading on his face and his own breath threatening to smother him as he listened to their captors moving around next to him.

“He can’t talk,” one of them said disgustedly. “He’s still wasted.”

Stretch. That meant he was right next to him, thank fucking god.

The rough sound of a slap made Jeff tense, protests bitten off when the same voice cursed and there came the sound of someone rubbing their head, “What the fuck, man!”

“That’s exactly how we want him, dumbass! He doesn’t need to talk, all they need is a good look at him. Come on, they’re waiting.”

Footsteps and then the sound of a door closing. Jeff strained to hear if anyone was still in there with them around his own breathing loud in his ears, his pulse thundering. There was nothing, no shuffle of feet against the floor or the creak of a chair. Jeff waited a little longer, curling his chilly toes against the rough carpet.

Nothing. Jeff took a long, slow breathing, trying to calm his racing pulse. He needed to be cool right now so he could try to think of something. Even if the Embassy was willing to give these assholes whatever they wanted, they sure as hell couldn’t count on that saving their lives. He was no strategist, his degree was in sociology, for fuck’s sake, but. Stretch always called him Handy Andy and it made him feel like someone different, someone braver who could stand up to a violent asshole on a bus and help Stretch with crazy experiments involving swinging bottles of Diet Coke rigged with automatic mentos dispensers. Jeff might not be the best for this situation, but Andy was sure as hell gonna try.

“Stretch,” Jeff said softly. He waited for someone to shout or a slap followed by a demand that he shut up. When none came, he went on, soft and urgent, “I know you can't hear me, but, just in case you can. It's gonna be okay. I know you're big on promises and I'm promising you right now we're getting out of this. I promise you." If he could glean anything of what Jeff was saying, he hoped he could hear that much. At least maybe he wouldn't be afraid.

"i sure hope so, i didn't get this far in life to get dusted by a low rent group of third rate scooby doo level villains. seriously, they tied us up with rope, were they out of packing tape at ‘kidnappers ‘r’ us’ or were they just eager to try the knots they learned in boy scouts before they got kicked out."

Okay, that wasn’t quite the last thing he’d expected, but it was close.

"Stretch?" Jeff gasped out. He couldn’t see a damn thing through the bag, but he could hear a muted popping sound. Suddenly, the bag was gone, far gentler than before and then he was blinking up into Stretch’s smirking face.

Jeff looked around a little wildly and next to him was another chair, the still-tied ropes hanging from the rungs in loose coils.

“yeah, sorry. i woke up back in the van, didn’t want to tip them off. wherever they buy their roofies must not have given them a dosage chart.” Stretch settled his hands on Jeff’s shoulders. “hold still, this is a lot easier than fighting with knots.”

It was the gentlest and shortest teleport he’d ever felt. Only a brief disorientation and when his vision cleared, he was sitting on top of the ropes that had just been binding him.

Jeff scrambled to his feet, swiping his sleeve across his sweaty forehead. Holy shit, maybe he should take up praying again more regularly, this was the fastest service he’d ever gotten. “Can you get us outside?”

His heart sank as Stretch shook his head. “that's gonna be a no. with the bags on our heads, i couldn't see where we are. shortcutting is tricky, it's dangerous to teleport blind. that's how you end up stuck in walls or halfway inside a table or some shit.” Stretch waved a slender hand at the chairs. “dangerous, not impossible. a few inches above where i was sitting was a pretty safe bet to get out of the ropes, but anything else is more likely to get us dead than on the street.” He frowned, glancing around the room thoughtfully. “plus, i'm not going anywhere without a little intel. they’re fucking idiots, but they knew enough to drug me and how to do it. that's not information you can just look up on a wiki-how.”

“Okay,” Jeff took a deep, steadying breath. "So, what do we do, then?” He glanced at the door. “Can you pick locks?"

"sure,” Stretch said absently. He was looking around the room. It was a storage room of some sort, there was more dusty furniture aside from the chairs, including a rickety desk, and metal cabinets lined the walls. “but i can't do much about the door being barred. i heard something get braced against it when they went out.

"Oh. Right."

“yeah,” Stretch agreed, “at least one of them has a brain cell or two rolling around up top, enough to get them this far. but the road trip is over and it’s time to pay the tolls.” Stretch shook his head disgustedly. "first rule of kidnapping is never leave the kidnappees alone. seriously, i'm getting my cues from netflix and even i know that.”

His eye lights paused in their survey of the room, brightening. Jeff followed his gaze and saw in one corner there was an honest to god old-fashioned rotary telephone pushed into the far corner of the desk, nearly buried under the clutter.

"can't be that easy, can it?” Stretch marveled. He picked it up the handset and held to his skull, then sighed unhappily. “nope. no dial tone, no surprise there, no one has a landline anymore. don’t you worry though, little phone.” Stretch gave it a soft pat. “you’re gonna be real useful in just a minute. seriously, this is just embarrassing. my first kidnapping attempt and they locked us in a room with an entire arsenal.”

“I must be missing the vendor in the corner willing to hand over gear if we do a mission for them,” Jeff joked weakly.

“everything is an arsenal if you’ve got the skills.” Stretch rummaged through the desk and came up triumphantly with…a paperclip? He set it on the desk, adding a pencil, some scotch tape, and what looked to Jeff like an old tube of superglue. “kidnapped by the ebott equivalent of the america’s dumbest criminals, fuck me. edge is going to be up my ass for a month.”

“I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit.” It was easier to be calm in the face of Stretch’s ease. “I think six months is the bare minimum.”

“i really wish you weren’t right.” Stretch glanced around the room again, this time directing his gaze upward. “hm, that’ll work.” Tall as he was, the ceiling was still out of reach even for him. Stretch pulled one of the chairs over, ropes trailing behind it like tentacles, and stood on it, reaching for the smoke detector. Jeff could only blink in confusion as he yanked it right off the ceiling.

"You're going to burn down the building?” Jeff asked. Not that he didn’t trust Stretch, but, uh, that seemed extreme for a first escape attempt. “That’d get us out, but I don't think we'll be any more alive."

"nah, just need some parts,” Stretch jerked his head towards the door. “keep an ear on the hallway, will ya, in case they remember that leaving us alone is probably stupid."

“Got it.” Jeff went to the door but before he could press his ear to it, Stretch called his name.

"hey, kiddo, i'm gonna get us out of this." Stretch offered him a familiar, lopsided smile. "i know i don't look like much, but i've been known to keep my head in a bad situation."

"You already saved me once,” Jeff said honestly, "why wouldn't I believe you now?"

Stretch’s pale eye lights flickered with memory, his expression briefly tightening. How did he remember that horrible night in that parking lot, Jeff wondered, what nightmares haunted Stretch’s sleep? He knew something happened after the ambulance took him away, but he’d never heard the entire story. After he’d been released from the hospital, he’d been wrapped up in healing enough to start his new job at the Embassy and as time passed, he hated to ask, didn’t want to dredge it all up again, not when everyone was slowly getting past it. Besides, the others had their own shit to deal with, what with the attack in California and everything happening in Ebott. His trauma was his to handle and that was the end of it.

At the desk, Stretch got to work, humming the ‘mission impossible’ theme under his breath as he dissected the phone and smoke detector with a makeshift screwdriver made from a bent paperclip taped to a pencil. His hands were as deft and easy as any demonstration he’d done for the local kids and Jeff could only marvel at his ease.

“How can you be so calm?” Jeff blurted, wincing even as the words escaped. He hadn’t meant to say it, didn’t want to distract him. Stretch only flicked a glance his way, both browbones raised.

“me?” Stretch snorted, “i am not calm. beneath this gorgeous cookie crust exterior is a honey pie of a person who would start shitting themselves if i could grow the prerequisite equipment. but we're gonna be okay.”

“How do you know?” Jeff hated the faint pleading in his own voice, he shouldn’t be distracting; Stretch was as stuck here as he was and with his HP, it was even worse. He was supposed to be the one helping Stretch, he’d promised, and the best he could do was lookout.

“you seriously think red isn't already on it?” Stretch asked and as terrifying as Red could be, thinking about him right now eased some of the aching fear that was settled in Jeff’s stomach. “all he needs is a clue and we’re gonna get him one. i only hope he can keep edge from razing the city and salting the earth beneath it until then. people might be a little tetchy about that and i’m not even sure you can come up with a press release that’d cover ‘sorry about starting city-wide armageddon, my bad.’”

Before Jeff could think of a reply to that, either an agreement, or a protest that a little chaos could be excused considering the circumstances, he heard footsteps coming from down the hallway. Panicked, he hissed out, “They're coming!”

“fuck, okay, okay.” Stretch scrambled over and set some kind of contraption on the floor near the door that was all waggling wires and circuit boards. He grabbed Jeff by the wrist and dragged him along. “over here, come on, this a harder trick, but you can do it. i need you to hold as still as you can. if you move, they might see you, you get me?"

Jeff managed a hasty nod as Stretch shoved him into a corner, cramming them both in tight, out of the way. "don't move, don't talk,” Stretch reminded him, a low murmur close to his ear. The slim, bony arms around him were comforting and even knowing that Stretch couldn’t physically protect him, having him towering overhead as he caged Jeff against the wall felt oddly safe.

Then something happened. He didn’t know how to describe it. It felt like a heavy curtain fell over the world, everything going distant and muffled, even his vision greying like he was about to faint, only he’d never felt so awake. There was a sudden popping explosion as the door swung open and collided with Stretch’s contraption, but it sounded miles away, the kidnappers’ curses as muffled as if they were speaking from another world.

He didn’t move, held perfectly still even as that curtain slowly grew claustrophobic, nausea starting to churn. Jeff closed his eyes, swallowing convulsively and just went he thought he couldn’t stand it a moment longer, that he either needed to move or he’d start screaming, it was suddenly gone and Stretch was stepping back.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Stretch was pale, sweat showing visibly on his skull. "are you okay?" Stretch asked.

“Me?” Jeff blurted. He caught hold of Stretch’s arms to brace him as he wobbled on his feet. “I’m fine, what about you!”

"i’ll be okay.” Stretch wiped his face on the sleeve of the crummy shirt he’d been forced into with a grimace. “i pulled us halfway into the void. it works, but it burns a lot of juice. the assholes booked it out of here, but more importantly, they left the door open."

The door was opened, they could leave, and yet, Jeff found himself blurting out, “They’ll get away!”

“no,” Stretch said grimly. “they’ll look for us first, thinking we couldn’t have gotten too far. these guys aren’t gonna ditch and run that fast, they know too much. think about it. drugs work on monsters but how do they know what kind and how much? lucky for me, skeleton monsters are different. our systems are finicky, we’re hard to drug. whoever tipped them off about how to roofie me didn’t know that.”

His sockets narrowed suddenly, Stretch turning away to look in the rusty cabinet next to them. “oh, honey,” he said gleefully, “jackpot.”

Jeff joined him, peering into the cabinet as Stretch cautiously wrenched it open. “What did you find?”

He held up a bottle of bleach and said, smugly, “just some nice, normal household chemicals. they can be lots of fun if you know how to mix 'em up and i'm a one hell of a bartender. but first.”

On the desk was another little contraption that was mostly wires and tape. Stretch picked it up and walked over to squat next to a wall outlet. Carefully, he pushed it into the socket. There was a sputtering spark and a tiny red light blinked to life.

“there we go.” Stretch stood, dusting off his hands. “i don’t even want to think about how pants-shittingly angry edge probably is right now, but we can’t let them get the ransom that asgore is probably going to pay and we sure as hell can’t let them get away.”

He grinned then, wickedly sharp for all that his teeth were blunt. “so, how’s about we have some fun, yeah?”

Jeff nodded determinedly. Fuck, yes. If he was going to add to his repertoire of nightmares, he was damn well going to make sure someone else paid for it, in spades.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

[flamencodiva]

Who Do You Think You Are? 5 - Mutual Pining

Description: Y/N Y/L/N and Dean Winchester seem to bump into each other quite frequently. What happens when these two hunters rub each other the wrong way?

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Bingo Square: Mutual Pining 

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Mentions of Child Neglect, Mentions of Drug Abuse.

A/N: For SPN Dean Bingo Round One

Divider by @talesmaniac89​ 

“7” a voice called out as the sounds of slicing filled the warehouse. 

“10,” a female voice called back. “You’re getting slow in your old age Dean.” 

Y/N laughed as she turned and sliced the head of a vampire ready to charge at her. 

“11,” she sang. 

“You’re cheating!” Dean called as he sliced two vamps back to back. 

“Could you two not turn things into a competition?!” Sam’s annoyed voice called back. “Seriously I think I liked it better when you guys were angry at each other.” 

“Shut up, Sam!” Dean and Y/N shouted. 

The trio moved their way around the warehouse. Once they determined that the warehouse was clear they cleaned up the chaos and made their way out. Y/N and Dean leaned against the Impala drinking beer as Sam watched them. He could see the stolen glances between them and the lingering touches. But he could also see where Y/N pushed Dean away, and Dean allowed it. 

“I so, beat you,” Y/n smiled as she took a big gulp of her beer. 

“No way sweetheart,” Dean shook his head and nudged her. “I chopped off more heads than you.” 

“Oh Geez,” Sam sighed. “Are you guys really going to do this?” 

“Sam,” Y/N shook her head. “You just need to get laid.” 

“So do you,” Sam retorted. 

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. He glanced over at Y/N, she looked more relaxed now than she had in months. Since that time in the motel room where they relaxed and started their friendship over. She didn’t talk much about what happened, but he heard her crying some nights. Whatever it was he wanted to hurt whoever hurt her. 

“Trust me, Sam,” She gave him a wink. “I get plenty. Especially with the battery-operated ones.” 

“Oh, geez Y/N come on!” Sam groaned. “I mean you and Dean were--” 

Sam was interrupted by the familiar sounds of Ozzy’s ‘Crazy Train’ coming from Y/N’s pocket. 

“Uncle T?” Y/N straightened her back. “Calm down, what’s going on?” 

In California, around five hours earlier. 

Nikki Sixx was returning home from his day at physical therapy. His shoulder was healing nicely and he was working hard to make sure he could get back to work. His wife, Courtney, was in charge of giving him his medications and keeping them out of reach. As a recovering addict, Nikki trusted her to keep him safe. Walking into the foyer, he found his youngest daughter, Frankie Sixx, waiting for him. 

“Hey, Frankie,” He gave her a hug. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah!” She returned his hug. “I came to drop off something I bought at an antique store!” Frankie took her Father’s hand and led him to the living room.  

There on the coffee table sat a rosewood and jade jewelry box. It gave Nikki a weird feeling that there was something wrong with it. Walking up to it he used his good arm to let his fingers dance along the wood. He studied the small doors on the box with the jade paneling.  

“I-- It’s,” Nikki rubbed his chin as he studied the jewelry box. “Where did you find it?” 

“There was this antique store on the strip and I just thought it would look cool in the living room.” Frankie shrugged as she made her way towards the couch. 

“Thank You,” Nikki chuckled. 

The two of them talked for about an hour before Frankie decided it was time to head to her apartment. Being a freshman in college was hard work. And Nikki was proud of all his kids, even the one who didn’t want him. Once Frankie had left, Nikki found himself alone in the house. Cortney was doing a photoshoot and wouldn’t be home until later. He decided to make himself a sandwich and settle in with a movie. 

As Nikki was watching the movie, the lights began to flicker slightly. Rolling his eyes he gave a small huff. 

“Must be an earthquake messing with the power,” he looked at his dog Houdini. The dog gave a small whine, almost as if he was afraid of something. “What’s wrong Houdini?”  

The dog let out a small whine before padding off out of the room. Nikki looked around wondering if something was amiss. With a heavy sigh, he settled back and concentrated on the movie. Not a minute later and he was shivering. The room began to feel cold.

‘Thief,’ A voice called.

“What?” Nikki said as he winced, sitting up straighter and looking around. “Who’s there?” 

Nikki shivered and let out a breath. His eyes furrowed together as he saw his own breath. 

“What the fuck?” he muttered. “When did the temperature drop?” getting up from the couch he made his way to the thermostat and tilted his head in confusion. “It’s at 75°,” he scratched his head and grumbled. 

‘Drunken murderer, and thief!’ the voice wailed again. 

Nikki turned to see a woman dressed in what he could only describe as a Victorian era dress, hair pinned up and her eyes glared at him. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed as he stood frozen in fear. 

‘Thief!’ it screeched before charging at Nikki and knocking him backwards. 

He winced in pain and held on to his repaired shoulder. Scrambling for his keys he didn’t want to stay and figure out what was going on. But he needed to get out of his house. Rushing to his car. He drove as fast and carefully as he could to Tommy's house.

“He said it was a ghost?” Y/N asked slowly as she looked at Dean and Sam. 

Rolling her eyes she let out a small huff as she heard her uncle explain everything that her father had told him. 

“And why would he want to call me?” she huffed and froze at whatever her uncle had said. “Mom? He mentioned my mother?” 

Dean watched as she scrunched her face up in confusion. He could tell she was trying to digest whatever her uncle was telling her. When she hung up, she looked to Sam and Dean and sighed. 

“Do you guys think you can help me out with a case?” she asked. “But I know it’s probably nothing. Last time I got a call like this, my brother tried to trick me with an EMF generator.” 

“Yeah,” Dean said, immediately earning a glare from Sam. “Sam and I can go as FBI or as some Detectives if you want?” 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” She made her way to her car before turning to them, “Just don’t use your Motley Crue aliases, or any of the rock aliases.” 

“Any reason why?” Sam asked as he raised his eyebrow at her. 

“Let’s just say that my dad and uncle are die hard rock fans and will tell right away when something is up,” she reasoned. 

“Sounds fair,” Sam said with a smile. “What’s the address?” 

After Y/N gave them the location, Sam and Dean couldn’t help but look at one another. 

“Is it me,” Dean let out in a huff. “Or did she seem nervous about us meeting her family?” 

“I mean, she’s told us plenty of times that her dad hasn’t been the best,” Sam reasoned. “Could be that she’s doing it as a favor to her uncle. She seems to get along with him.” 

Dean hummed softly as he nodded, “Yeah, maybe.” He stayed closely behind Y/N’s car as they made their way to their next hunt. 

“California,” Sam breathed. “We were last there…” 

“Was that ghost case on that movie set?” Dean breathed. 

“Yeah, you banged that movie star,” Sam let out a chuckle. 

“Those were good times,” Dean sighed as he reminisced.

“So you and Y/N are just friends?” Sam let out as he flipped through his book. 

“Yes, Sam, just friends. Can you drop it?” Dean growled. 

“I mean, you guys were pretty hot and heavy for a while and then--” he trailed off. “Did something happen?” 

“We’re better off as just friends, that’s all. It’s no big deal.”  Dean brushed him off. 

“Dean--” Sam began. 

“Don’t,” Dean spat. “We tried the benefits thing and it didn’t work. We decided being friends is better.” 

“That’s why you keep giving her the puppy dog look,” Sam muttered under his breath. 

“I do not!” Dean said as he looked at Sam. “one, I don’t have to give her the puppy dog look. And B, we’re just friends!” 

“You keep telling yourself that Dean,” Sam chuckled. “Besides, you guys keep sneaking glances at each other. I think it’s cute.”  

“We do not!” Dean scoffed. “I mean sure she can’t keep her eyes off me, but I do not sneak glances at her.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Sam said as he lifted his hands up in defeat. “Just saying. You two are good together. So what’s the harm?” 

“You know the harm Sam.” Dean sighed. “We tried and it failed.” 

“No,” Sam argued. “You had an agreement and it failed. It is not the same as a relationship.” 

“Look can we drop it please?” Dean mumbled. 

Sam nodded and sat back in his chair. The drive to California and to Y/N’s uncle’s house was not too long, but it wasn’t a short ride either. Dean and Sam both whistled as Y/N’s car pulled up to a gate leading to a mansion. Slowly following behind Y/N, Dean wondered what kind of family Y/N came from. He knew her mom was a hunter, but she never talked about her dad being rich. Parking the cars, Dean watched as Y/N grabbed her bags and made her way towards them. 

“Okay,” she breathed. “Promise you won’t freak out.” 

“Why would we--” the question that was on Dean’s lips was answered the minute the door to the house opened and a tall skinny man with short black hair and a beard came running down the steps.

“Booger!” he called out as he enveloped Y/N in his arms. “Glad you came when I called. Your dad is shaken up. I mean he keeps talking about a ghost and I figured you could talk some sense into him.” 

“You could have called Gunner, Storm, Decker, or Frankie,” Y/N grumbled. “Why me?” 

“He insisted,” her uncle sighed. “Said that it had to do with your mom and that you would believe him.” 

Dean watched as Y/N nodded and motioned for him and Sam to get closer. 

“These are some detective friends of mine,” she said with a smile. 

“Detectives Smith and Smith,” Sam said with a smile. “No relation.” 

“Tommy Lee,” Dean let out in a high pitched choke. “You’re Tommy Lee. Your uncle is Tommy Fuckin Lee, Y/N!” 

“Yeah I noticed,” she smiled. “Unless he was taken over by aliens.” 

“Wait,” Dean pulled her back. “Your dad. You kept calling him--” the realization hit Dean like a ton of bricks. “You kept calling him Nick, holy shit your dad is Nikki Sixx!” 

“Please don’t remind me,” she breathed. “Look let’s get inside, deem it a hoax and that he’s on his pain meds and call it a day, okay?” 

Sam and Dean walked behind Y/N and Tommy making their way inside the drummers house. Dean couldn’t help but feel giddy at meeting some legends of rock. He was in Tommy Lee’s house! He was going to meet Nikki Sixx. Fuck, Y/N was Nikki Sixx’s daughter? He wasn’t sure how he should feel. On one hand, he loved the bassist. There was no doubt that his songs were hits. But then, there was the way Y/N talked about him and how she grew up. Dean stood back as he watched Y/N standing in front of her father, Nikki Sixx! But the look on Y/N’s face told Dean she wasn’t happy to be here. 

“Okay, let’s get this over with,” she sighed and looked to Dean and Sam. “Sixx, these are some friends of mine, Dean Smith and Sam Smith, no relation. They deal with this kind of thing.” 

“Y/N I was hoping that--” 

“Talk to them,” she snapped, “Whatever drug induced hallucination you got yourself into I want no part of it,” She spat. 

“Y/N your dad has been sober for years now! Trust me, this isn’t a drug induced hallucination,” Tommy said as he tried to plead with her. 

“It’s okay, Tommy,” Nikki sighed as he waved him off with his good arm, “This is my punishment for what I did to her during her childhood.” 

“Excuse us, Mr. Sixx,” Sam interrupted as he cleared his throat, “As your daughter said we are experts and we’d like to help,” he held out his hand for Nikki to shake. 

The bassist raised an eyebrow at him before reluctantly shaking Sam’s hand. “You can call me Nikki, Mr. Sixx makes me sound old,” the bassist joked, “How do you two know my daughter?” 

“Not your daughter! Only someone who shares your DNA,” Y/N huffed. 

“We work closely with her on certain projects,” Dean explained, “I gotta say, I love you band! I mean Kickstart My Heart is the ultimate get pumped song to really start your day. Also Take Me To The Top is a classic!”  

“Yeah,” Nikki shook Dean’s hand while looking at him curiously, “good to know you’re a fan. So… about my situation?” 

“Yes!” Sam said as he nudged Dean with his elbow, “Is there a place we could all sit to talk about what you experienced?” 

“Yeah, You guys can use my living room,” Tommy announced as he smiled at them, “Nikki can lead the way.” 

Y/N watched as Nikki led Sam towards the living room while Dean stayed behind. She couldn’t help but notice the look of concern over the hunters face as Tommy walked towards her. 

“Y/N, you okay?” Dean asked as he made his way towards her. 

“Fine,” she huffed, “you got follow after them, I’ll be right there.” 

“Okay if you’re sure,” Dean gave her a reassuring smile before turning around and following after Sam and Nikki. 

“He likes you,” Tommy spoke up, “And you are so crushing on him.” 

“Shut up,” Y/N scoffed, “We had a thing, it got complicated so I stopped it.” 

“Your dad is really spooked, Kid,” Tommy said running a hand across his face, “He really thinks he saw a --” 

“Ghost?” Y/N let out a small huff, “Please, Gunner got me back during his surgery and said the same thing only for me to figure out it was all fake. This is just another attempt to get me to talk to him and forgive him.” 

“Holding in all that anger isn’t good for you, and your mom--” 

“My mom died because of him,” she hissed, “He couldn’t protect me and she dumped his junkie ass!” 

“Hey--” 

“No! I brought my friends to help him and that’s it,” She growled, “I’m not here to make up with him, or be his daughter,” she clarified, “He never wanted me in the first place, and the guy you claim I’m crushing on? I’m not the type of girl he would go for in a relationship anyways.” 

Before her uncle said another word, Y/N stormed off towards his living room. She passed Dean who had squished himself against the wall having heard everything she said. Shaking his head, he took a deep breath before following behind her. Reminding himself that while she was wrong in not being his type, she was right about them trying. But then again, they didn’t really try to begin with. 

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[pastrnaks-sainz]

Prompt List!!!!

So to make my life a bit easier, I decided to throw together a quick prompt list. You guys can use this when you’re requesting fics, and I’ll pull from it occasionally if I need some inspiration. I’ll sort into fluffy and smutty prompts so you can have your pick of which one you’re in the mood for!

(also the ones in bold are ones that I’ve added)

Fluffy

“Your hair is softer than mine”

“Stop moving!”

“Go to sleep or I swear to God I’ll make you chamomile tea and cuddle you”

“Is that my sweatshirt?”

“I’m so not jealous”

“Use my conditioner”

“Is that a new perfume?”

“You changed shampoos”

“Поцелуй меня” (kiss me)

“Let me rub your back”

“Take my jacket”

“It’s okay, I was awake anyway”

“Wanna go down to the arcade and play Pac-Man until we get in trouble?”

“How is it the moonlight makes you look that much prettier?”

“You were talking in your sleep”

“I learned a new language for you”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“He told me if I didn’t come talk to you he would take away my PlayStation”

“Read to me”

“I didn’t want to wake you up. You’re adorable when you’re asleep”

“Let's adopt a puppy”

“Have you been hanging out with my mom?”

“Sorry, your bed was just really warm”

“Use my phone”

“When I look at you I get this fuzzy feeling in my chest and I don’t know why”

“You got popcorn just so you could feel like a teenager again, didn’t you?”

“Say that again, but in English this time”

“Please don’t leave me”

“Who gave you permission to go out in public looking like that?”

“Kiss me again”

“You looked miserable, I thought I’d come save you”

“I’m not one for all this fancy ballroom stuff, let’s go hang out in our pajamas and get wine drunk”

“Thunder is just the angels getting excited whenever they score a goal”

“I saw you in the stands last night”

“You got a new haircut”

“That’s my seat” 

“Quit being such a baby and let me put a new Band-Aid on your face” 

“Because I love you and I don’t when it happened” 

“You gotta tell her, man. She’ll driver herself crazy if she doesn’t know there’s a puppy in your locker” 

“So... are we supposed to like, kiss now?” 

“I’ve seen the way you look at him” 

“You fell. Hard” 

“Will you two just kiss already?” 

“You’re my everything” 

“Shut the fuck up and hold my hand, loser” 

“I need a hug. Just a hug from a big, tall, strong hockey player who smells really good after he gets out of the shower”

“You keep a photo of me in your wallet?”

“I can’t think of a life  where you’re not by my side” 

“You look good in white”

“I’ve never, and will never, be happier than I am with you”

“Your laugh is my ringtone” 

“Isn't this how most romcoms start? Two hot people stuck in an elevator?”

“What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

“Big bad *team name* player and you’re afraid of spiders” 

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Come on, we’re going ring shopping” 

“I do” 

“I was going to try to be smooth and all but you’re super pretty and now I’m nervous”

“You look at her like she hung the moon” “To me she hung the galaxy” 

“Are you gonna kiss me or not?”

“We are so not getting matching Halloween costumes” 

“My mother always said athletes make the worst boyfriends. I can’t wait to tell her how wrong she is” 

“Can you- do you want to- please stay with me, I don’t want to be alone” 

“That was dramatic” “You loved it” 

“Will you to fake-prom with me?” 

“Sure puppies are cute and all but have you looked in a mirror?” 

“I can’t believe you're the guy I decided to spend the rest of my life with” 

“I have got to be the luckiest guy in the world” 

“They told me you’d kick my ass, I wanted to see if they were right” 

“If you laugh at something I said then write a fake number on my arm I win twenty bucks from each of them. Help a guy out?” 

“How many episodes of The Office have you watched today?” 

“Be the Pam to my Jim?” 

“You’re lucky you’re cute” 

“Sorry, I’m replacing you with this kitten” 

“You have a poster of me on your wall? Do you kiss it before you go to bed every night?” 

“Stop talking and kiss me” 

Smutty

“You are so hot when you’re mad”

“Damn, I didn’t realize you were so flexible”

“Yoga does wonders for the body, you know” 

“I can’t wait to mark you up” 

“As good as you look in that dress you’d look better without it” 

“Don’t stop” 

“Wait for me” 

“A beautiful sight, you wearing nothing but my jersey waiting for me” 

“Take it off” 

“Right there” 

“I wish I could see you right now but phone sex is gonna have to do it” 

“And you didn’t touch yourself?” 

“Can I tie you up?” 

“No touching” 

“Pull my hair” 

“After that picture you sent me I could barely focus on the game” 

“You look so hot with that scratch on your cheek” 

“So sexy with all your tattoos” 

“This apartment doesn’t have thin walls” 

“Come on, I want the team to know whose you are” 

“I barely even touched you and look at the mess you made” 

“Be gentle” 

“Look at me” 

“You dressed up for me” 

“You tease me during my game, I tease you now. It’s only fair” 

“You might wanna use my foundation and cover that bruise up” 

“I don’t wanna hurt you” 

“Bed. Now” 

“Honey I got all the time in the world” 

“It’s not like your parents are home” 

“I can do it in under five minutes” 

“Shut the door behind you” 

“If you don’t stop staring at my ass I will take you right here on this workbench” 

“Tell me what you want”

“Shower sex is complicated, but lucky for you I’m an excellent teacher” 

“That accent is the sexiest thing about you” 

“Don’t act all innocent, you had me pinned against that wall ten minutes ago” 

“Where’d you learn to do that?” 

“What were you dreaming about?” 

“Tonight is all about you, now put your hands above your head for me, baby” 

“The last time you did that I couldn’t walk for three days” 

“Your hands all over my body was the only thing I could think about at work today” 

“Take your shirt off” 

“You’ve always been my favorite meal”

“I was in the middle of an interview when you sent me that picture”

“Get a room, you two!”

“Don’t cover your mouth, you sound too good to do that”

“You’re the only thing that’s gone right today”

“You’ll be my first”

“I want to watch you touch yourself”   

“I promise you I’m not going to break” 

“Did I stutter?” 

“You have a tattoo?” 

“You and I are the only ones in here, baby” 

“I’ve never known you to be the shy type” 

“I didn’t mean to see you in nothing but panties and a bra, but you left your door open” 

“I never knew you could do that” 

“And in what frat house did you pick up that little trick?” 

“Somehow you’re sexier tonight than you were last night” 

“Has anybody ever touched you before me?” 

“I’ll take good care of you, baby” 

“You are officially on the naughty list” 

“I haven’t been home for more than five minutes and you’re already on your knees for me” 

“I knew you'd want dessert” 

“There are only two reasons you’d call me at one in the morning and judging from the way you’re dressed nobody’s dead” 

“Am I your first?”

Seasonal Prompts

Halloween

“It’s officially spooky season *insert character*, you know what that means” “Pumpkin everything?” “Pumpkin everything”

“Who ate all the candy?!”

“You're not going trick or treating, you’re too old for that”

***“I plan on getting more than one kind of freaky tonight”

“What the hell are you supposed to be?”

“Nope, I’m not scared. Why would think I’m scared? I’m totally not scared”

“I’m pretty sure I have claw marks from your nails”

“Please tell me that’s syrup”

“This haunted house was fifty bucks, I better die for that kind of money”

“Supernatural marathon at my place later, you’re bringing the candy”

“Are we about to make out in a graveyard?”

“Did you seriously injure yourself carving a pumpkin?” “Hey, the knives are sharp”

“Pumpkin spice is the love of my life” “I thought I was the love of your life”

“Don’t you watch horror movies? Splitting up always ends up with someone dead”

“We should do a couples costume” “Yeah, no”

“Nothing in this world is more satisfying than that crunch when you step on a leaf”

“It’s staring at me, *character* why is the scarecrow staring at me?”

“If someone asks, that skeleton of the Werewolf in my front yard is decorative”

“You can jump in the leaf pile if you help me rake”

“How can you love Halloween but hate horror movies?”

“Yeah, bring out the Ouija Board, what could possibly go wrong”

“We are not dogging up Harry Houdini’s grave”

“I think that zombie just grabbed my ass”

“First question; is that fake blood? Second question; if it isn’t is it your blood?”

***“The movie isn’t the only reason you’ll be screaming tonight”

“What are you gonna do? Burn me at the stake?”

“If you find an eyeball, don’t worry it’s not human”

“Ten pumpkins seems a little excessive” “It’s not excessive, it’s festive”

“Did that scarecrow just move or have I had too much punch?”

“My fangs just fell out”

“Yeah, let's go for a walk in the woods. I’m sorry, did you see Blair Witch Project?”

“It’s official, the house is haunted”

Christmas/New Years

“That has got to be the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen”

“I told you I couldn’t bake, you didn’t listen”

“Look up, there’s mistletoe”

“This was my dream as a little kid, decorating a Christmas tree with a hot guy who just so happened to be my boyfriend”

“You should wear red more often”

“This is exactly how I envisioned you meeting my parents” “You envisioned me meeting your parents while running away from a flaming Christmas tree?”

“Tell me again, slowly this time, how the table cloth caught fire”

“You had the window seat on the way to Thanksgiving dinner, it’s my turn”

“This feels like the start of a rom com, two people stuck on a chair lift with a blizzard coming in”

“So you’re the one with the obnoxious light display”

“If I have to fake a smile for any longer I might actually commit murder so get me out of here as fast as you possibly can”

“My grandmother will not hesitate to force feed you Christmas cookies”

“I’ve always dreamed of having my first kiss on New Years Eve at midnight”

“Looks like we’re gonna have a white Christmas”

“Did you even use any wrapping paper, because this looks like it’s ninety percent tape”

“All I want for Christmas is you” “Cheesy”

“I never said I could skate”

“I thought a sleigh ride would be romantic”

“How the hell did you manage to hurt yourself putting up Christmas lights?”

#nhl fluff #nhl smut #mat barzal x reader #matt grzelyck x reader #william nylander x reader #david pastrnak x reader #anders bjork x reader #jake debrusk x reader #jakob chychrun x reader #tyler seguin x reader #charlie coyle x reader #charlie mcavoy x reader #sean kuraly x reader #brandon carlo x reader #mitch marner x reader #vince dunn x reader #jonathan toews x reader #anthony beauvillier x reader #nolan patrick x reader #travis konecny x reader #jamie benn x reader #william karlsson x reader #tom wilson x reader #roman josi x reader #josh anderson x reader #ryan murray x reader #pierre-luc dubois x reader #brock boeser x reader #mainlypastrnaksbae

[peteywillproceed]

Falling

Author’s Note: Hi guys! Whew, this was a journey! Over 6k words and I am exhausted! It’s been through like ten name changes and five rewrites and I still think it sucks ass but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! x

Summary: You made the mistake of falling for a guy. He broke your heart. Moving on was the easiest thing in the world - until it wasn’t.

Word Count: 6.2k

Your breathing was heavy, ragged as lips trailed across your skin and sucked bruises on your ribs. You gasped as his fingers trailed across your chest, gathering you in his arms when he crawled back up to your lips and crashed into you like a wave breaking against a shore.

You were happy.

So happy.

Your heart swelling with joy as he laced his hands in yours and whispered quiet promises against your lips.

You didn’t know if it was light or dark. Morning or night. All you knew was the fire flooding your veins and the electricity setting your nerves alight.

The ‘I love yous’ and the promises of forever.

And then it all came crashing down.

*three months later*

Lights blared bright in your eyes, music so loud it stung your ears. Your hands were sweaty, wrapped around a beer bottle you’d held for so long it was warm and frothy. But it was the only thing keeping you grounded as you tossed your hair on the dancefloor and moved through the crowd of writhing bodies.

“You know how much trouble we’re in, right?”

You swung around, arms in the air and sight tainted by the haze of vodka. “Stop being such a buzzkill Houdini! Twat isn’t back till Tuesday.”

“Houdini? That’s a new one,” Harry raised an eyebrow and ignored your swipe at his brother, eyeing you warily as you stumbled over his foot. “Maybe cool it with the shots now?”

You cackled, pink and blue strobe lights slicing through your best friend’s body as you twisted and curved in time to the music. “Maybe cool it with the mothering, Harriet.”

“I’m only mothering you because you threw an illegal party in my brother’s house.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, finally stopping dancing when he gave you the ‘I’m serious, you’re an idiot’ look he’d perfected the first time you’d thrown a party. Except that time, it had been in your own house, and not your secret ex…whatever’s.

“Come on, like goodie-two-shoes-Tommy is ever gonna know.”

“He might, Y/n,” Harry shrugged, widening his arms “how are you planning on hiding the fact that three hundred people trashed his house?”

“By not telling him. Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this,” you grinned, moving your hips and dragging him back onto the dance floor “for one night your brother isn’t breathing down your neck, enjoy it and live a little! We can figure the rest out in the morning.”

He started to protest, pushing against your hands, but you strengthened your grip and pulled him into the crowd, ignoring the grunts from the people nearby. You loved Harry, you really did, you’d grown up with his annoying-as-fuck tendency to be a tattle tale, put up with the refusal to go out on a school night for years, and until you’d gotten involved with Tom you’d never questioned it.

But one night was all it took for everything you thought you’d known about your best friend’s brother to be completely shattered. And since then? Well, you didn’t exactly give a shit someone had smashed his Rolex tonight.

“You realise you could just admit the break-up upset you, right?” Harry laughed as you forced him to move “you don’t need to go full on Wild Child instead of talking about your emotions.”

“It was one night, there wasn’t a break-up, and your brother can get fucked,” you replied a little too quickly, wishing you were talking about anything else.

“I’m just saying, there are healthier ways to deal with getting your heart broken than destroying his house.”

You snorted and took a sip of your beer, almost gagging at the staleness. “The bloke already hates me, what’s a little property damage between enemies?”

“About £50,000 worth of legal fees.”

“Wow, you’re really bringing the heat tonight, aren’t you Holland?” you smirked, widening your eyes “almost like you learned from the best.”

“Yeah, Sam’s really good at one-liners,” he grinned in reply, and you punched his shoulder playfully.

Suddenly, you felt eyes on you, the unmistakable sensation of someone looking you over. You spun in a circle, zeroing in on every distracted party goer until you found the bright blue eyes burrowing under your skin and making you burn all over.

Nudging Harry, you pointed over his shoulder and forced him to turn around. “Hey, who’s that?”

“Err…I think his name’s Josh?” he gave you a funny look, like he couldn’t quite figure out the sudden change of topic. “He’s one of Sam’s mates from catering.”

“Is he single?”

Harry sighed at your smirk, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Jesus, Y/n, why would I know? If you’re so determined to get over Tom, go snog him or something.”

“For your information,” you grinned, starting to back away through the crowd “I’m completely over the heathen, but if it takes me snogging a cute guy to prove that to you, I guess I won’t complain.”

Harry had all but disappeared by the time you finished your sentence, but you knew he’d heard you when his middle finger shot up from somewhere in the middle of the heaving mass of partygoers, and you chuckled to yourself. You needed a distraction tonight, anything to not have to think about Tom and the trail of broken hearts he’d left in his wake three months ago.

Turning around, you were fully prepared to go and find Josh and put this whole mess behind you, when you slammed into a chest so hard you would’ve fallen over if it wasn’t for strong arms pulling you back up.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean…” you trailed off, spotting the sandy blond hair and cocky smirk “actually, you know what? I totally did mean to do that.”

“Just like you totally meant to loudly shout your intentions to make out with me?” Josh raised an eyebrow, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks. Thank God for foundation.

“Obviously, how else would you have known?”

Before he could answer, you’d pulled him down to your height and slammed your lips against his, surprise jolting through your body when you realised he was actually a good kisser. You were just getting into it, letting your hands slide into his hair, when a loud shout brought the room to a standstill and silenced the music.

“What the FUCK is going on?”

You jerked away from Josh, you’d recognise that voice anywhere, and spun towards the kitchen table. Tom was on top of it, his face livid and full of thunder, his eyes searching the room for an explanation. “Well?”

You gulped, goosebumps erupting across your body as the realisation of what you’d done set in. But then you remembered, Tom wasn’t even meant to be back from filming for another three days - why the hell was he here?

“It’s just a party, man,” someone shouted from the crowd.

“Yes, I’m aware of what it is,” Tom replied drily, his eyes finally landing on you “and I know exactly who’s responsible for it.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, the eye contact more than you’d had in three months from him. It felt funny finally seeing him after all this time, like you’d found a missing piece to a puzzle you couldn’t finish, but the cold look he was giving you was barely any different to how you’d left him.

He was looking between you and Josh, his tongue pressed against his cheek, and for some inexplicable reason you felt guilty. Like you’d been caught doing something illegal instead of just exercising your right to kiss as many damn people you fancied.

Finally, Tom set his jaw and tore his eyes away from you, the loss leaving you empty.

His voice dropped dangerously. “All of you – get the fuck out of my house.”

***

A few days later, you were hanging your clothes out to dry when your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pushed a peg into your mouth and dragged it out cack-handed, juggling the pile of washing and the box of clean clothes as you struggled to read the caller ID.

“Have you heard from him?” you asked earnestly into the phone, barely breathing as you waited for a response.

“Nice to talk to you too, cheery,” Harry grumbled, the sound of sleep clogging his voice.

“Are you seriously just waking up? It’s eleven o’clock!”

“Did you forget I was twenty-one yesterday?” he replied “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t in bed until six am.”

“Oh, right, yeah I saw those pictures.”

“Yeah so you’ll forgive me if I’m not completely awake yet.”

You ran a thumb over your lip, your eyes dropping to the pile of crinkled washing on the grass. You’d only meant to put it there for a second, but you’d forgotten how much it had rained last night and now the edges were stained with mud and your once clean bedsheets were stained green.

“Typical,” you muttered, trying to dust some of it off. Why did it always feel like this? Like when you were finally taking a step forward, something else was dragging you back two. It was only a minor thing, you could always just rewash them - but it wasn’t just the sheets, was it? Ever since…that night, you’d felt like you were walking through treacle, balancing on a knife’s edge you hadn’t seen before stepping into the unknown.

“What was that?” Harry asked, the sound of pots clanging in the background jerking you back to your conversation.

“Oh nothing, I just um, I just dropped some washing. Are you cooking?”

“Um…yeah, sure that sounds good – oh, Tom, hey.” Your best friend’s tone suddenly flipped like a switch, the audible gulp ringing through the handset. You barely had time to wonder why he was acting so cagey about cooking when a rugged voice began muttering in the background. You froze, your grip on your basket loosening as you stepped through the door.

You could barely hear what they were saying, but then Harry’s voice reappeared on the other end of the receiver, a slight nervous wobble creeping in. “Hey, err Y/n?”

“Yeah?” you replied, shaking off your shock and beginning to throw the ruined sheets back into the wash.

“Tom wants to talk to you.”

“Well tell him that-”

“He’s not an owl, Y/n,” Tom cut you off. “He doesn’t have to pass messages back and forth.”

Heat rose in your cheeks, frustration flowing through your veins as you balled your hands into fists and raked them through your hair. Somehow his voice was even more annoying than before. “Don’t quote Harry Potter at me, Thomas, especially when you’re just as guilty of doing it.”

“Doing what, exactly? You’re the one that trashed my house.”

“Passing messages through Harry! You didn’t exactly have the balls to tell me yourself you were running off to Colorado for three months.”

“Because you blocked my number!”

You sighed, eyes flicking towards the timer on the washing machine. It was true you’d blocked Tom’s number, but three months ago you’d been lying in his bed talking about how you felt and finally, finally admitting everything you’d kept bottled up since you were fourteen.

And then the next day he’d told you it was a mistake.

Went running off to America like a coward.

Leaving Harry to pick up the pieces and you to realise that everything you thought you could’ve had was pure fantasy.

So yes, you’d blocked his number. But it wasn’t like you hadn’t had a reason, and he had to know that. There was no way he could be that thick.

“What do you want, Tom?” you said at last, leaning against the machines. Maybe if you just let him say what he had to say this would all be over and you could go back to not giving a fuck.

Suddenly, the line clicked and the monotonous hum of the phone shutting down rang in your ear.

“What the…?” you trailed off, pulling the phone away from your ear to stare at it in shock. Had he…just called you…to argue with you…and then hung up on you?

Beside you, the door began to creak open and you jumped into the air, your phone flying across the room and landing face up on the tiles. You swore under your breath, bending down to retrieve it just as you felt someone else step into the room behind you.

“Sorry, I’ll just be a- Tom? Your mouth fell open at the sight of the boy stood in front of you, the brown curls you’d run your hands through only months ago gone, the light you’d known in his eyes dead and scattered amongst the ashes.

“I think we need to talk,” he said slowly, holding his hands up as if you were going to shoot him “about everything.”

Your mouth began to move, words flying around in your brain, but no sound came out as you struggled to piece together any semblance of thought. “What are you doing here?”

“I just…after the other night I figured we needed to talk. Properly talk.” He reached for your hand but you snatched it away, your heart beating loudly in your ears.

“Y/n, I know…I know what I did was shitty. But I just need you to hear me out.”

You scoffed, backing away from him until you were pressed against the garden door. “You think now’s a good time for this?”

“I think the best time was three months ago when you were next to me in bed,” he bit his lip, and this time you looked at him. Like, really looked at him.

His jeans were stained in all manner of dodgy areas, his shirt the old Tesco one you’d got him as a joke for his birthday. He had huge, purple bags beneath his eyes, and his socks were two different colours, like he’d been in such a rush he’d forgotten to check; you didn’t even bother to ask about the crocs.

“Well,” you whispered, letting out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. “At least you finally realised that.”

He nodded earnestly, moving towards you and freezing when you threw up your hand to stop him. “I did. Oh God, I did. I spent three months feeling like the shittest person in the world and I didn’t know how to call you to explain.”

“So you thought you’d accost me in my laundry room?”

“It…wasn’t my best plan. But you didn’t exactly make it easy for me to contact you.”

Your mouth fell open, your hand flying to your chest. “Watch it, Holland, or I might think you just tried to blame me for this whole mess.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, it sure as hell sounded like that was what you meant!” He flinched as you raised your voice and your arms, but you didn’t feel sorry for it. You’d spent months feeling like a complete idiot, wishing you’d never even told him how you felt. And here he was, trying you blame you for the mess he caused. “So tell me, Tom, just what exactly you think you’re doing here.

“I came to apologise-”

“That’s a good start.”

“And to say that I meant what I said…y’know, before I left.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the door frame with your arms crossed. Tom was halfway across the room now, his hands curled in front of him as he swiped them on his jeans. He was biting his lip, the glasses he didn’t need halfway down the bridge of his nose and it took every inch of you not to break and run to him, fall into the arms you knew so well and forget it had all happened.

You knew what it was like, the vanilla and the cinnamon that would waft up your nose and remind you that you were home. The strength of the arms that would ground you and hold you to Earth. It was so tempting, so inviting to just go back - but where would that get you?

No, going back wasn’t an option anymore. There was only forwards, where the path behind you was well trodden and full of tears.

“That’s nice,” you said at last, shaking your head. “But you can’t really expect me to believe you.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping when he realised you weren’t giving in. You wondered if he knew how deep he’d cut you, what those words had meant to you and how you’d felt when he’d snatched them away. You wondered if Harry had told him everything that happened over the next few months, how you’d almost broken and yet from the outside you looked happier than ever. You almost hoped he knew how you’d bounced back. How you were fine now.

Or at least, how you pretended to be fine.

“Maybe this isn’t the best place to do this,” he cast an eye round the room warily, and your skin bristled when his gaze finally landed on you. “Can we go up to your place?”

“Absolutely not.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could think, shocking yourself more than you shocked Tom.

“Well…will you come to mine?”

“Sure, if I need to see Harry,” you responded as the washing machine pinged “is there anything else? My laundry’s done.”

“Y/n, we need to talk about this,” he replied, his voice barely more than a whisper “you can’t just ignore me.”

You fixed him with a look, throwing the clean sheets into your basket with more force than necessary and walking towards him. You were so close you could smell his aftershave, different from his normal, more minty than you would have liked. You could see every hair, every line on his face, but it was the look in his eyes that broke you, the sadness that you’d felt for so many months hovering just within him too.

“No, Tom, we don’t,” your voice broke and fresh hot tears began to stream down your face. “The time for talking about it was before you left for Colorado. Now…now’s the time for me to move on, because you broke my heart Tom, you broke it.”

You were full on sobbing now, choking on your words as you spluttered through them. “You smashed it into so many pieces that I couldn’t find them all. And now you’re trying to smash it again, but I won’t allow it. I won’t allow you to take anymore of my heart than you already have.”

“I didn’t-”

“I don’t care Tom!” you screamed, but he barely flinched. You threw the basket down so hard it bounced on the floor and spilt the sheets again. “You had all that time to find out, all that time to do something about it, and you didn’t! So you’ll have to forgive me when I say I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“So that’s it then? Everything you said all those nights ago means nothing any more?” his voice was filled with a pain that cut you to the core, the wobble in his throat making your heart ache more than you expected.

“It means everything, and that’s the problem,” you sniffed, dropping your head to the floor.

You felt Tom draw closer, his body so close to yours that you could feel his heat. He lifted his fingers to your chin, catching your jaw and raising your head so your eyes met his.

“Why does it have to be a problem?”

You paused, almost not saying it. “Because I can’t let you break me again.”

He nodded, backing away, his fingers leaving your chin and you felt empty from the loss. “I’m sorry.”

It was barely a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear but not quite deep enough for it to mean anything. He turned and started walking away, pausing at the door to look back at you. He opened his mouth to say something, his bottom lip wobbling, but he shut it again before any words came out.

Then he disappeared and let the door bang shut behind him.

Relief flooded your body, seeping through every crack in your bones and every fragment of your heart. You were done with the excuses, the comments, the desperate pleas from Harry that his brother was an idiot and too caught up with work to realise what he’d done wrong. You were busy too, but that hadn’t ever made you spew a bunch of crap about loving someone since you’d seen them in the lunch room. It had never made you fill somebody’s heart with hope only to crush it in the morning with just a few simple words and excuses blamed on alcohol.

The final click of the lock was enough to make you slide against the door. Sink down to the floor. Bury your head in your hands.

It was relief, that was what it was. That was what you had to tell yourself. So you could get back up again and walk back to your flat and make everything okay again.

It wasn’t sadness.

It couldn’t ever feel like sadness.

So why did it feel like it was?

***

“Are you sure you want to go tonight?” Harry asked as he watched you smudge your lips with red. “Nobody will notice if you’re not there.”

You rolled your eyes at the dramatics, capping the lipstick tube with a satisfying click and spinning on your heel. “Oh please, it’s a party – we’re not storming off to war.”

“Yeah but it’s…Tom’s party.”

“And last I checked we weren’t exactly on speaking terms,” you shrugged, grabbing your bag from your bed. “He’s not likely to come anywhere near me, there’s going to be hundreds of people there.”

Harry shook his head and pushed himself off the door frame, fixing you with the look you were tired of getting. It had been two weeks since Tom had come to your flat and you were still nowhere near over it; not that you’d ever admit it, but you’d never been over it in the first place.

When Harry had mentioned that Tom was throwing a party to celebrate the release of his new movie, your immediate reaction had been words you couldn’t repeat in front of a three year old. But then he’d turned on the puppy dog eyes and you were suddenly feeling bad about making him go it alone.

“You could make friends with a plant pot, what do you need me there for?” you’d asked.

“Yeaaahhhh, but who’s going to stop me falling face first into that plant pot when I’m pissed?” Harry had replied, grinning at your annoyed face.

“Fine, but I’m drinking the first thing in sight and you’re keeping Tom away from me.”

“What is it with you two? You spend half your time acting like you hate each other. Wouldn’t it just be easier to, I don’t know, suck it up and get together already?” Harry interrupted your thoughts, jerking you back to reality with a flick of his wrist.

You snorted. “We tried that, didn’t exactly work that well.”

“Well it might work a lot better if you actually talked to the guy.”

“Damn it Harry,” you slammed your palm against the door. “I don’t want to talk to someone who told me he loved me and then ran three thousand miles away the next day!”

You could feel the sob building up in your chest, the one you’d buried so deep you’d forgotten it was even there. The walls seemed to tilt towards you as you stumbled into the hall, barely noticing as you slid against the kitchen door frame and forced air into your lungs. God you didn’t want to talk about this, not now when everything you’d done to bury this had worked so well.

“But you do want to talk to Tom! Maybe not the guy that broke your heart, but the guy you’ve been in love with since we were fourteen,” Harry said, exasperated. “You’re going around pretending like you’re over him, like you haven’t thought about him in months. But you threw that party for the same reason you kissed that bloke for, and you know it!”

“Are we seriously fighting over your brother right now? Are you back to being the damn messenger, because I can’t…I can’t keep…” tears were spilling over your cheeks, searing your eyes and stinging the familiar patches of skin that had been stained with the same tears only a few months ago. You tried to breathe, tried to refocus your mind but the world was swimming and you could hardly see anymore through the blurry glass of your tears.

Before you could think, Harry had pulled you into his arms and smothered you against his chest, his hand coming up to stroke your hair. “Sod the party, let’s just watch a movie and get some pizza.”

“No, no, I want to go,” you mumbled against his chest “I need this…I think. Just to see him and know that it’s all done, so I can move on and forget it ever happened.”

“Fuck that, Y/n, let’s just stay here.”

“Please? I really need this.”

Harry pushed you back gently, running a finger under your mascara stained eyes as he took a deep breath. You could see the indecision, the uncertainty at letting you step into the unknown written across his face. In this moment, it was you or his brother, and you hoped to God it was the latter. “This is the last time?”

“The last time,” you promised.

“Well,” he sighed, checking his watch, the long moment fading and passing into the night “I guess we have a party to get to.”

***

When you pulled up to Tom’s house, the lights were out and the curtains were drawn. You threw Harry a look, surprised that there was nobody spilling out of the doors and no music shaking the walls, but he didn’t seem to notice it.

“Err, where is everybody?” you asked, peering out of the window for signs of life.

“Haven’t the faintest,” Harry replied, pulling the handbrake on and reaching over you to open the door. “Do you wanna go in and I’ll catch up? I need to sort something quickly.”

You rolled your eyes and gathered your things from the backseat, feeling uneasy about the lack of people. “I can’t believe you’re sending me in there alone.”

“It’s just for five minutes, you’ll survive.”

“Or maybe I won’t and you’ll be reading my eulogy.”

“I look forward to it,” Harry smirked “I can finally tell people how nasty you are.”

You punched him in the shoulder and stepped out of the car, taking a deep breath before starting towards the house. You felt stupid in the heels, the red lipstick suddenly feeling to garish and over the top.

You rolled your shoulders and set your jaw, running a hand nervously through your hair whilst the other clung tightly to your bag. The clack of your shoes against Tom’s gravel set your teeth on edge, and on impulse you reached down and pulled them off, enjoying the bite of the winter air against your hot feet.

By the time you reached the door, your confusion had only grown, because the house was completely silent and there were certainly no signs of a party. You spun around to find Harry and demand that he take you home, because it was nine o’clock, there was obviously no party, and you weren’t facing Tom alone.

Except his car was gone.

You bit your lip in surprise, looking up and down the street in case he’d just moved the car to park it somewhere safer. But he was nowhere to be seen - the road was empty save for a man running to his van at the bottom. You rolled your eyes and reached for your phone, realising the guy was taking the piss and figuring that if you called him before you saw him again you might not actually murder him.

But your phone was gone and come to think of it Harry hadn’t even been dressed for a party. What the hell was going on?

You debated knocking on another house’s door and asking to borrow the phone, call for a cab and just go home. But it was late and you felt bad about disturbing people that were probably sleeping, all because your best friend was an arsehole and you were too much of a coward to knock on Tom’s door. At last, you gave in and walked back up the drive, pausing at the front door and bracing yourself to see him.

How the hell were you going to explain it? “Oh sorry Tom, no I didn’t actually mean to come here, Harry just thought it would be funny to play a prank and don’t worry I’ll kill him myself the next time I see him.”

At least you looked nice, you thought, raising your hand to knock. At least he wouldn’t think you were ugly and a bitch.

As you moved your hand towards the door, it suddenly swung inwards, the hallway dark and unlit. You gasped, stumbling backwards, peering fearfully into the house in case some burglar was about to come running straight past you. But as your eyes began adjusting to the light, you noticed something strange about the floor.

It was covered in rose petals.

“Tom?” you called out nervously, stepping into the house. “Tom? It’s Y/n. Your front door is open…?”

You moved deeper into the house, quietly closing the door behind you so you didn’t wake him if he was sleeping. Keeping your hands against the wall in case you slipped, you made your way down the hall, noticing a soft glow coming from the kitchen. You paused when you reached the doorway, wondering if you should’ve grabbed your keys or a weapon in case there really was a burglar in here.

But at the last second, you lost your footing and stumbled through the doorway, falling into the kitchen with a soft thud and gasp.

It took a second for you to process it all, but when you finally did you almost felt your heart stop. Fairy lights glittered over every inch of the wall, the floor here too covered with rose petals and flowers. The kitchen table, bowing in the middle just like everything else Tom had made on that bloody wood work course, was covered in a cloth, two plates and a single candle decorating the surface. You stared transfixed at the setup, your mouth falling open in shock.

And then Tom appeared.

Clutching the biggest bouquet of daisies you’d ever seen in your life.

“You like it?” he whispered “I know daisies are your favourite.”

“What…what is all this?” you breathed, still gobsmacked by the softly glowing room.

Tom smiled, moving closer to you and setting the flowers on the table. “A really over the top apology.”

“This is for me?”

“Obviously, dummy,” he laughed, flinching when you smacked his arm. “Hey! I spent money on these flowers, I’ll have you know!”

“And what a dreadful waste, Holland, don’t you care about our environment?” You were joking but your breath was still caught, your brain trying to play catch up as the scene played in front of you, like you were watching this all happen to someone else. Someone luckier.

“I care more about you,” he replied, and somehow he was even closer than before. “I care more about you than anything else in my life. And I couldn’t quite figure out how to explain that three months ago.”

“And you know now?”

He nodded, pulling you towards him. “I think I do, yes.”

“Then say it.”

His lips parted, his eyes caught on yours as he reached to cup your cheek. A waft of his aftershave made its way towards you, the mintiness of before replaced with the warm vanilla you remembered so well. The glasses were gone and he was wearing the burgundy suit you’d had too many dreams about to remember. 

But in that moment, none of that mattered. 

All you could think about in that moment was the way he was staring at you.

Like you were the most precious thing on Earth.

“Three months ago I told you how I wanted to spend forever with you, how you’re all I’ve thought about for years. How you consume every part of me, spend your days dancing in my mind and reminding me of everything we could have. But what I didn’t tell you was why.

“Because I didn’t know. I didn’t know why it is that I love you so much, and that’s what scared me – the fact that I could feel something so deeply for you and have no rational explanation for it. So I thought the logical thing was that the feelings weren’t real and they weren’t that powerful, that if I tried to move on then we’d eventually forget and nothing would be lost.

“Those months away from you were torture, not knowing how badly you were hurting and why you’d blocked my number. I didn’t realise how much of an ass I was until Harry flew out to America and practically beat down my door.”

“Harry went to America?” you interrupted him “when?”

Tom smiled, his thumb rubbing your cheek in slow circles. “That weekend you thought he had that photography competition. He flew out to kick my ass and ask what the hell happened.”

“I wondered how he knew so much,” you chuckled quietly “it was like he came back from that weekend and he knew exactly what to say.”

“Because that’s Harry, he always knows exactly what to do,” Tom shrugged.

“Tonight was his idea, wasn’t it?” you grinned, watching as he blushed fuchsia.

“Well, the idea was. But I take full credit for putting it together!”

You laughed at his face, the crinkles in his smile and the dimples in his cheeks so familiar you could have drawn them blindfolded. You reached up to trace them, still not quite believing this was real, when just two weeks ago you thought he’d left that laundry room and walked out of your life forever.

“Hey Tom?” you murmured, wrapping your fingers around his. “Two weeks ago when you came to see me…how did you get there?”

He frowned and looked at you like you’d gone insane. “Harry dropped me.”

“So he wasn’t cooking?”

“If Harry was cooking the fire brigade would’ve been called.”

You giggled, knowing it was true. He’d tried to cook pancakes for you last year and you’d had to throw out the pan because you couldn’t scrape it off.

“Why would you think he was?” Tom asked, smiling softly in the dim light.

“Well, it sounded like there were pans clanging in the background,” you said “I just figured he was making breakfast.”

“I told him to say that,” Tom admitted, his cheeks still red “I actually bought you a present back from Colorado but I broke it in the car.”

“You never were very careful, were you Tommy?” you smiled, reaching up instinctively to brush his curls behind his ears. When all your fingers found was stubble, your hand settled in the curve of his neck, cupping his cheek as you tried to find the words to explain what would happen next.

“All I know is that you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time,” he replied, not taking his eyes off you “and if getting you back took Harry lying about making breakfast? Then I’m not going to complain. I don’t want to waste another second that I could be spending on you.”

You laughed, nestling your head into the crook of his neck as he drew you closer. Vanilla overwhelmed your senses as you sank into his familiarity, overcome by the sweetness and homeliness. You’d had so many questions, and so little time to ask them, but after it all there was still just one that remained answered.

“Why me?” you asked, looking up at him through your lashes “why me when you could have literally anyone else?”

“I-” he stopped himself, stumbling over the knee-jerk reaction as he took a deep breath. “Because there’s never been anyone but you.”

“And this is real?” you whispered, feeling the unknown stretch in front of you as your heart skipped a beat. “Because if you say it is, that you want this, I can’t go back again. I’ll be jumping without a parachute.”

Tom smiled, tilting his head to the side. He caught your gaze, his hands wandering to your waist and pulling you closer whilst your heart beat faster than it ever had before. You held your breath as he leant forward, catching your lips with his.

The moment they touched was like he’d lit a bonfire inside you; your skin burned and your lungs filled with the smoke. You could hardly breathe, feeling your nerves spark alight and race with electricity, every touch bringing you closer to how you’d been three months ago. Memories of that night danced across your vision, playing like a record you’d longed to open – every kiss, every touch, every whisper on replay in front of you.

At last, he pulled away, taking the fire with him while electricity crackled in your veins.

“Then I guess, darling,” he whispered, hushed under his breath “I’ll simply have to catch you.”

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[ironhusband]

Just Friends?

Who else is feeling angsty? 

~~~

“We’re just friends.” 

Stephen hears those words at least once a week, and still, they don’t ever stop stinging. It’s not that Stephen hates being friends with Tony. No, being friends with Tony means laughing at some joke only they can understand, it means creating new things with ease only they can manage, it’s having race cars like they just got their license in a way only they don’t consider reckless. So, no, Stephen doesn’t hate being friends with Tony. 

It’s just that he wants more than that. 

Sure, he already gets the easy chemistry, the flirting, the sex. But he wants more than that. He wants Tony cuddling with him until Stephen’s eyes drift close, he wants arguments in the kitchen and the living room about which dinner and which movie, that end with Tony kissing him, and he wants being told by Tony “I love you” and being called by him honey. And most of all, he wants that longing look that Tony gives Pepper and Rhodey, the look Stephen hopes Tony secretly gives him. 

“Stephen is my business date. Y’know, we made these prosthetics together, I think he deserves a dinner and a movie,” Tony jokes and the investors laugh. 

Stephen forces out a smile, and teases back, “only if you don’t choose the movie.” 

Tony smiles at him, oh so brightly. Stephen almost sighs with longing. “Ah, well, I guess just dinner then.” 

The investors continue chuckling, and the topic of the conversation moves back on to the reason they are all here today. Stephen drones it out as Tony talks details with the investors. 

To be honest, he should be listening. After all, it’s his project, and he should be a part of persuading these buyers. He cares so much about the prosthetics, he and Tony worked for six months on it, sacrificing other parts of their career and social life. But as Stephen looks at Tony, as Stephen remembers how Tony thinks of him, as Stephen knows all this flirting isn’t serious... it turns out he cares more about Tony. 

He hates it. 

“-I’m just the showman, though. Stephen knows more about this part, honestly. So, Stephen, would you care to jump in?” 

Stephen blinks, focusing back on the present and less on his thoughts. He clears his throat and improvises on the spot, “actually, you seem to be handling it as good as you can. I think I might go talk to some other people.” 

Before Tony, or anyone else could object, Stephen cuts through the crowd and heads straight out of the room. 

~~~

Stephen has known the solution to this problem for a while. He has known it ever since he realized he was in love with Tony. 

The solution was to run away. Cut things off with Tony and focus back on his career. It was the easiest way to fall out of love with Tony, to stop this path to heartbreak, to not wear his heart on his sleeve. It was the smart thing to do. It was what he usually does. Why isn’t he doing it? 

Tony is like the sun. Everything and everyone orbits around him, whether they like to or not. And Tony? Tony pretends to like it, Tony pretends that it’s by design, pretends that it’s how it’s supposed to be, but underneath all that, when you know the real Tony... he’s not the sun. You’re not drawn to regardless of your choice. He’s just someone you feel lucky to be near. 

Stephen likes to think he’s different, but Tony continues proving to him again and again, that he’s not. 

“Hey,” Tony pops out of nowhere, and Stephen tries to bring back that mask. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Trying the disappearing Houdini act?” 

Tony’s smile is the kind of smile to make you think he’s the most charming man alive. When his smile is real... the effects are even worse. 

He doesn't show it, however. “Always count on Tony Stark to avoid his responsibilities of impressing a room full of people, to chase a man who disappeared.” 

Tony’s smile becomes a little less wide, but no less bright, “well, you know how those rich people are. Fun to play with, but get boring very quickly after they give you their money.” 

Stephen looks pointedly at Tony, “yes, I do know those rich people.” 

Tony gives him the finger and Stephen chuckles. “You’re an asshole. I was just about to say I’d much rather be with you.” 

Stephen softens. Tony has a way of making him do that. Stephen hates it more than everything. So of course, he ruins it, “well, of course, you would want to be with me, I’m the only one asshole enough to match you.” 

Tony laughs, sitting next to him, looking directly at Stephen. 

A lot of people find Stephen to be a jerk, or heartless, or hiding his emotions with sarcasm. Some of it isn’t untrue but... Tony sees through all that. He knows that him being a dick is just a mask for him being a sweetheart. He knows because he does the same. 

At least that’s what Stephen thinks the look Tony is giving Stephen right now means. 

Tony looks intently into his eyes, his stare soft and soul-searching. His gaze falls to Stephen’s lips, and Tony leans in, calloused fingers on Stephen's chin gently encouraging him to do the same as Tony. When their lips evidently touch it’s different. It’s... slow and relaxed. All they do is kiss, a mess of lips, and muted desires. It’s gentle butterfly kisses. No one is trying to angle their heads for better access, no one is trying to involve tounges, no one is trying to make it anything deeper than a gentle kiss. It’s just lips connecting with lips. 

Stephen should hate it. It’s intimate and destructive and barely a kiss. They’re kissing like two teenagers scared to do anything more. But instead, he doesn’t hate it. Instead, it’s everything he’s ever wanted. 

Then Tony tries to sneak in his tongue, and Stephen is immediately reminded that they don’t have those kinds of kisses. 

Stephen breaks it off. 

Tony watches as Stephen stands up, seeming in the midst of his own personal storm, as Tony is too shocked by the rejection to process it. “Hey, are you-” 

“Seriously, Tony?!” Stephen snaps, cutting him off, “Is that what I am to you? A friend you can flirt with and tell all those romantic things to, and then fuck and leave like you don’t give a shit?” 

Stunned, Tony replies, “I thought... I thought that was the agreement, yes.” Stephen glares at him, unamused, “stop it.” 

“Sorry,” Tony mutters, and then a little louder, repeats, “sorry. Stephen, what is going on with you?” 

Stephen paces, too upset to stand still, “you know, I thought I could be okay with this, but it turns out I can’t. I can’t just be some whore you’re fucking. I can’t just be a friend to you, either. I want to be with you. Completely with you.”  

Tony’s mouth opens and closes a few times, until he finally settles for, “where is this coming for?” 

Stephen stares at him for a moment, stopping his pacing, trying to see how serious Tony is. And then he realizes... it's obvious. He’s totally serious about never being serious about him. Stephen laughs, “of course! How could I ever think you’d want to be with me? I’m not Rhodey or Pepper after all! How could I even compare?” 

“Hey, you leave them out of this!” 

“Then you leave the bullshit behind and answer my question!” Stephen challenges back.

“What question?”

Stephen snorts, “what question...?! The question of if you want to be with me or not!” 

“Why are you getting so pissed off?!” Tony yells right back, “from the moment you confessed your feelings for me, you’ve done nothing but be a complete piece of shit!”

Stephen pauses, realizing Tony was right. If he ever wanted a chance with Tony... he picked the worst possible way to word it. Stephen inhales, trying to gather the courage to look honestly in Tony’s eyes and say the words that feel to him more like an admission of guilt and not love. “I...” Stephen carefully says, trying not to look away from Tony’s eyes, emotions he can’t explain in them, “I want to be with you. I’m in love with you.” Stephen knows the emotion in Tony's eyes right now is hesitation. “Do you feel the same way? Do you want to be with me, too? Yes or no?”

Tony takes a while to answer, thinking long and hard, seemingly preparing some sort of speech in his head. Stephen wants to yell the answer out of him, but before his patience is brought to its limit, Tony answers. 

“No,” he says only.

Stephen takes a deep breath, trying to force back tears that were coming. “Okay,” he replies, “then we’re done here.” 

Stephen doesn’t wait for Tony to respond (if he even bothered to do that) as he walks away from him, preparing to leave the building. 

There is nothing Stephen wants more, however, than to look back.

~~~

Stephen doesn’t know, maybe he never will know, but as he walked away, Tony looks at him. The same kind of look Tony gives Pepper and Rhodey. The same kind of look Stephen wants. The same kind of look Tony never dares to do expect when Stephen isn’t watching.

Tagging mutuals: 

@salty-ironstrange-shipper @lgbtonystarks @atypical-snowman @carrottheluvmachine @van-dyne @amethyst-noir @babywarg

#ironstrange #stephen strange #tony stark #iron man #doctor strange #stephen strange x tony stark #tony stark x stephen strange #strangeiron #iron family #ironstrange family #supreme family #iron fam #implied #pepperony #ironhusbands #ironstrange fic #ironstrange fanfic #druwrites

[goldenraeofsun]

in my defense, I have none

A redo of the first installment of this verse!

Castiel scrawls his name on a nametag and offers Becky at the makeshift welcome desk a hesitant smile.

She beams back. “Hope you enjoy the reunion!”

Castiel strides down the familiar halls of Edlund High School and does his best not to regress to his teenage self, dodging glances and hunching his shoulders to make himself smaller. It’s been ten goddamn years; he has changed. 

He passes a couple of his old classmates - he doesn’t recognize them - pointing at a poster with old pictures, excitedly naming names.

“Look at Dean Winchester, oh my god, I haven’t thought about him in years! I had the worst crush on him, you know?”

Her companion snorts. “You and everyone else.”

Castiel snorts. Everyone else, indeed.

He walks deliberately on, following the music to the gym. The bass thumps in a vaguely-familiar rhythm, but Castiel can't name the song or singer for the life of him. In high school, he didn’t listen to much contemporary music. His mother preferred the classical stations at home, and Dean, of course, only played his version of the classics in his car.

“Music stopped being good after the mid-80s,” Dean said as they drove down the dark highway, no headlights, only them. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you any different.”

Castiel doesn’t remember what he said in return, but he remembers the way Dean laughed, how his eyes crinkled, how he tapped his fingers along the steering wheel, how he looked, looking back at Cas.

Castiel steps into the reunion. The gym has been festooned with what looks like old prom decorations. Streamers hang off the walls in Edlund’s school colors, and bunches of mostly-inflated balloons are taped along the collapsed bleachers spelling out their graduating year. A slideshow of old yearbook photos flashes against the far wall of the gym.

Castiel stares out at a room full of strangers.

Inwardly, he sighs. He was hardly a social butterfly in high school. The exact opposite, actually. He can’t name a single person - except one - that would be able to put a name to his face. 

“Clarence!”

Make that two. 

Castiel spins around at the familiar voice. “Meg?”

He should have known. But if Castiel has learned anything over the past few years, it’s Meg Masters defies all expectations. He’d been surprised enough when she marched right up to him at his old school - Morning Star Academy - and asked him out to lunch.

After listening to him awkwardly explain that he was gay, Meg rolled her eyes and told him she just wanted to catch up. They had gone to the same high school, she said.

She didn’t seem very bothered when he said he didn’t remember her. All she did was make him pay for that first lunch, and that was the extent of his punishment for forgetting. 

When Castiel took his current job at Carver Preparatory in their hometown school district, they started meeting up for drinks instead of lunch.

Meg smirks. “I didn’t think you were going to this little shindig.”

“It didn’t come up,” Castiel says distractedly as he scans the gym.

“Yet here you are, skulking the old hallways.”

“I didn’t skulk.” Castiel turns to her, offended.

“Unlike some people, my memory of high school is impeccable,” Meg says loftily, “You skulked in that coat with all those books in front of your face. I was always surprised you didn’t mow down more unsuspecting freshmen.”

“I -” Castiel breaks off, unable to deny any of her accusations. It’s true he wore his old trenchcoat nearly every day (in his more poetic moments, he saw it as a foil to Dean’s everpresent leather jacket) and he tried to shut everyone out by reading while walking from class to class.

“Don’t worry about it,” Meg says with an easy pat to his shoulder. “Teenagers are the worst. I thought I was so cool back then, with the boots and the bleached hair.” She shudders at the memory.

“I’m sure you were very cool,” Castiel says diplomatically.

Meg snorts. “You bet your ass I was not cool.” She tips her head over to where a group of well-dressed alums stand below the basketball hoops. “They were cool. And now look at them.” She sighs. “I would still set their extensions on fire if I could. Oh well, some things never change. Look at Victor. Talk about aging like fine wine.”

Castiel vaguely recognizes some of them from the poster outside the gym. But for the life of him, he can’t identify which one is Victor.

Meg smiles at his clueless expression. “You seriously didn’t pay attention to anything but your books?”

“I - ” Castiel breaks off, the faintest twinges of embarrassment curling in his gut. He paid attention to exactly one thing outside of his studies in high school.

Meg eyes him critically. “You’re usually chattier than this. I think you need a drink.” She steers him towards the makeshift bar on a folding table.

With newly acquired drinks, they retreat to the far end of the gym. Meg makes a game out of forcing Cas to try to name people from their class.

“I want to say, Jeremy?” Castiel guesses as Meg not-so-subtly points out a man at the end of the drinks line.

“Close,” Meg says with a smirk. “That’s Gordon Walker. He was captain of the football team.” She subtly points to a very pretty woman scrolling through her phone near Gordon.

“She looks like a Mina to me,” Castiel says critically.

Meg throws him an incredulous look. “How did nobody know you were gay in high school?”

“I’m guessing her name isn’t Mina.”

“Bela Talbot,” Meg corrects. “You don’t remember her English accent? Pretentious as fuck. Just like Principal Crowley - not that you have to deal with him any more, since you’re over at Carver, you lucky bastard.”

Crowley was one of the main reasons Castiel left Morning Star. In tightening the budget, he cracked down on students’ late lunch bills among other unacceptable measures. Crowley was not pleased when he found out Castiel regularly squirrelled away peanut butter and a loaf of bread in his desk for emergencies. 

Castiel tried to explain it was for his lunch emergencies, but Crowley wasn’t hearing any of it. Castiel was fired, and, after a harrowing year of substitute teaching, he used his family connection to get his current job at Carver Preparatory. 

“Eliot,” Castiel tries next.

“There isn’t a single Eliot in our class,” Meg says, laughing. “How can you not remember Lee Webb? He wore that stupid cowboy hat all sophomore year.”

It continues. The only person Castiel gets right is Tessa, and that’s because they had gone to the same church.

“You have to remember him,” Meg says as waves over a newcomer entering the gym.

Castiel’s mouth goes dry. Yes, he does recognize Dean Winchester. How could he forget?

Castiel might have been a friendless loner in high school with only his books for company, but he wasn’t dead. He knew who Dean Winchester was, with his leather jacket, muscle car, and stunning green eyes that would make a romantic portrait artist weep.

Castiel can recall with perfect clarity the moment he found out he’d been assigned to tutor Dean in Latin in the beginning of their senior year. A mixture of elation and dread filled his stomach before Ms. Siege had even finished speaking. He’d get to see Dean. He’d have to spend time, probably alone, with Dean Winchester. And, most terrifyingly, he’d have to open his mouth and actually say words in front of him.

When Castiel looks at Dean for the first time in ten years, he doesn’t think about when Dean would do his damndest to distract Castiel from tutoring and tease him to lighten up. Instead, Castiel remembers Dean’s flushed cheeks and grasping fingers the first time Cas made him come, and the way the Impala’s windows had fogged up, just like in the movies.

* * *

Castiel can tell the exact moment Dean spots him because he nearly trips over his feet.

“I - I need to go,” Castiel says to Meg, sheer panic flooding his veins.

“What?” she asks. “Already?”

“Bathroom,” Castiel blurts before he can think of a better excuse.

“That time of the month?” Meg asks with a faux-sympathetic frown.

Castiel doesn’t bother dignifying her question with an answer. Instead, he spins on his heel and makes for the second gym exit, the one that leads to the locker rooms instead of the rest of the school.

He breathes deep as the door closes behind him. Shivering from nerves with the close call, he takes a moment to get his bearings. Are his legs shaking?

At one of the sinks in the boy’s bathroom, he turns on the tap and pats his heated face down with a damp paper towel.

He’s such a mess, and he hasn’t even spoken to Dean yet.

What a goddamn joke. He hasn’t changed in a decade. Still running away from Dean like a coward.

Castiel has been - well, he wouldn’t say looking forward to this reunion - but he’s been mentally gearing himself up for it. Castiel promised himself, ever since he heard Dean took a teaching position at their old high school, to go to their next reunion and formally apologize.

He splashes more water on his face, grimacing as dark spots dot his tie. Somehow it’s already gotten turned around. Castiel halfheartedly fiddles with it, trying to get it to lie straight.

The door opens behind him. Castiel freezes, but it’s not Dean.

The stranger shoots him a weird look before slipping into one of the stalls.

The man’s belt unbuckles, and Castiel inwardly sighs. He can’t hide in here forever. He leaves just as the sounds of a clearly painful bowel movement start up behind him. 

Right outside the gym, he steels himself. He owes this to Dean; the worst Dean can do is make a scene, and it’s not like Castiel has any plans to ever set foot in Edlund High again, anyway. He teaches at their rival school, after all.

He’s here for Dean. He can do this and go home.

Back inside, he spots Meg without difficulty. She’s alone and tapping away on her phone.

Castiel approaches her, already bracing for a wave of uncomfortable questions. “Hello, Meg.”

“Hey,” Meg says distractedly. She squints up at him. “What was with the Houdini act?”

Castiel shifts his weight to the other foot. “Where did Dean go?”

Meg jerks her head to where their ‘popular’ classmates congregate, now with one added Dean Winchester. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

Meg places both hands on her hips. “I think you forget that as a fellow educator, I have a stellar bullshit radar.”

“It’s personal.”

“Come on, Clarence,” Meg says, the faintest note of pleading in her voice, “This reunion is boring as hell. Nobody’s gone into porn or killed anyone since we graduated. I’ve been robbed. You have to tell me, what did Dean Winchester do to you way back when?” Her eyebrows raise as she takes in his conflicted expression. “Or should I say, what did you do to him?”

Castiel sighs. He frowns at the floor. “In senior year we were… involved.”

“Involved how?” Meg asks, her eyes gleaming. “Don’t tell me he broke your heart.”

Castiel slowly shakes his head. “The other way around.”

“Holy shit,” Meg breathes, her eyes as round as the balloons festooning the walls. She sneaks a peek over at Dean, still standing with his group of old school friends. “You’re serious.”

“I never pegged you as a gossip, Meg,” Castiel says dispassionately.

“Call me desperate,” Meg says, waving his criticism away with an idle hand. “It’s either ten-year-old gossip or watch that fucking slideshow for the fifth time in a row. If you have anything else you’d rather talk about, I’m all ears.”

Castiel jumps at the opening. “I have been wondering,” he starts, “how other schools have been integrating the state board’s recommen-”

Meg interrupts him loudly, “Anything except work.” 

Castiel snaps his mouth shut with a glare.

“Come on,” Meg wheedles, “You got the class loner act locked down, but it’s not like I particularly want to see any of these people ever again.” She gestures around the gym.

“Then why come at all?” Castiel asks, honestly baffled.

Meg smirks. “Did you not hear my comment about the porn and murder?”

“If anyone did, I hardly think they’d advertise it at their class reunion.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She shoots him a pointed look. “But we’re getting off topic. You and Dean Winchester. Spill, Novak.”

Castiel sighs. “I was assigned to tutor him in Latin at the beginning of senior year.”

“Ohh,” Meg croons, “Somebody got hot for teacher?”

Castiel grimaces at the crude reduction of Dean’s feelings. “You could say that,” he says cagily.

Meg turns to look out across the gym, her dark eyes zeroing in on Dean. “I imagine your little heart wasn’t made of stone either.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Meg claps her hands delightedly. “What happened?”

“I ended things,” Castiel says hollowly. “We were about to graduate, and I had plans to go to college.”

“And he did not,” Meg surmises.

Castiel shakes his head. “He was considering community college.”

To set a good example for Sam, Dean had said. He didn’t particularly care for higher education one way or another, not like Castiel, who saw college as his one way out of their hometown, out of his family, out of everything he hated about his first 18 years of life.

But somehow Dean wound up getting his degree anyway - he must have, or he wouldn’t be teaching English at their old high school.

Castiel has so many questions, but the likelihood of getting answers from Dean dwindles smaller and smaller the longer he puts off doing the very thing he came here to do.

When Dean breaks off from the group to grab another drink, Castiel seizes his chance.

Meg lets him go with a half-mocking, half-supportive, “Go get ‘im, champ!”

Castiel flips up his middle finger over his shoulder as he takes off after Dean.

He shoves his tingling hands in his pockets, finds walking with his hands in his pockets awkward and removes them, and somehow doesn't bolt in the opposite direction. By the time he catches up to Dean, it’s hard to think through his cloud of anxiety.

He just needs to tell Dean he is sorry; Dean was right; Castiel should never have ended things between them like he did.

Dean always did like being right - that can’t have changed much over the past ten years.

Castiel waits for Dean to see him, staring hard at the side of Dean’s head until he’s noticed.

Dean’s eyes go round, and he almost drops his cup of beer. “Christ,” he says, staggering off to the side of the bar table. “Someone should put a bell on you.”

“My apologies,” Castiel says gruffly.

This is not how he would have liked to start his first conversation with Dean Winchester in ten years. Not that Castiel had expected much better - if he learned anything from their tutoring sessions and later hookups, Dean always had at least one surprise up his sleeve.

Dean inhales a deep breath. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

* * * 

Castiel swallows nervously. All that preparation at home and in the bathroom, and not a single word comes to mind.

“How, uh, how’ve you been?” Dean asks first. He takes a quick sip of his beer.

“I’ve been well,” Castiel says stiffly. “And you?”

“Can’t complain.”

The conversation is almost unbearably awkward, even for him. How in the world did Castiel get stuck making smalltalk with Dean Winchester? So much for best laid plans. 

 “I heard you teach here now,” Castiel says.

“I do,” Dean says, his eyes wandering around the gym. “English. Started this year. You?”

“Latin and French at Carver Preparatory.”

Dean’s eyebrows rise. “No shit,” he says, a bitter note to his voice. “You’re teaching those elitist assholes?”

Castiel blinks. True, he didn’t expect Dean to exactly welcome him after everything, but the deliberate antagonism is a surprise. “I wouldn’t - they’re not all assholes,” he stutters. He can’t bring himself to deny the elitism. He’s loyal, not blind.

“Hm,” Dean grunts, not giving an inch. “I hope you’re not here to sabotage anything.”

“Between Carver and Edlund?” Cas asks, baffled. “This is high school, not Soviet Russia.”

Dean tips back his beer and takes a large gulp. “Tell that to the seniors who got sued over a prank.”

“They stole five hundred dollars’ worth of Carver uniforms,” Castiel says incredulously, “for an internet fad.”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “I think you mean a meme. And it was hilarious.”

“A what?”

Dean snorts. “Never mind.” His expression closes off again. “And the seniors only borrowed them. All the uniforms were returned - no harm, no foul.”

Castiel has to put a sincere effort into not letting his disgust show on his face. The whole fiasco did not endear Castiel to anyone at Carver who called for the legal case. Even if they did not make up the majority of the faculty or parents, they had the numbers (and the money) to push it farther than it should have gone.

“The parents who paid for those uniforms definitely didn’t see it that way,” Castiel says to Dean.

“Sucks to be them,” Dean smirks, “If their biggest worry is leftover sweat from an Edlunder, better not tell them how bowling shoes or vintage clothing works.”

From Castiel’s parent-teacher conferences, he’d be surprised if any Carver parent had ever stepped foot in a bowling alley. He’s positive the Naomis and Bartholomews that make up the PTA would sooner give up their second homes than voluntarily wear a pair of bowling shoes.

Dean tosses back his drink. “Anyway, it’s not like they can’t afford to get the douchey uniforms dry cleaned.”

“I didn’t say they were right,” Castiel says carefully, “In fact, I think Carver’s reaction was completely overblown, but you probably don’t want to hear about our administration politics behind the decision.”

“Nope,” Dean says, lips popping.

After a beat, Castiel asks, “How do you like teaching here?”

“Can’t complain,” Dean says as he eyes the dregs of his beer. “Bobby - Principal Singer - retired last year, but he put in a good word for me with Principal Mills.”

“I’ve heard good things about her ideas for Edlund.”

“She’s all about finally bringing us into the digital age. She’s been talking with Charlie - do you remember her?” Dean explains, “She was in our history class junior and senior year.”

The name rings no bells for Castiel. He shakes his head.

“Really?” Dean pauses. “Red hair? Queen of the Nerds?”

Castiel gives another headshake, eyes narrowing.

Dean tries again, “You gotta remember her novelty tee shirts.”

Castiel says dryly, “I think you’re vastly overestimating how much attention I paid to our classmates.”

“But-”

“Dean,” Castiel says impatiently, “You are the only person I remember from high school.”

Dean balks for a moment, his cheeks flushing. “No way,” he says flatly. “You can’t seriously - I saw you talking to Meg Masters a while ago.”

Castiel eyes the mostly-depleted drink in Dean’s hands enviously. He doesn’t have enough alcohol to discuss his social deficiencies as an adult - or as a teenager. “We worked together briefly,” he admits, “at Morning Star.”

Dean whistles. “Well, I guess Carver is a step up from that.”

“Indeed,” Castiel agrees wryly. “I was only there a year. The administration at Carver is a nightmare, but at least they’re not sadists.”

“I haven’t heard great stuff about Morning Star,” Dean admits.

“There isn’t much good that goes on in that school,” Castiel says wearily. “Principal Crowley - well, the less said about him the better. Meg hates him. The students, though,” he swallows, “they deserve better.”

Dean’s expression hardens. “They always do.”

“Anyway,” Castiel says quickly because going down that road always makes him want to smite something - preferably Crowley’s smirking face, “I didn’t remember Meg either until she told me we went to school together.”

Dean lets out a surprised laugh. “I guess you always did have your nose in a book.” He makes a face and gestures around the gym. “Then why come to this snoozefest? The whole point is to catch up with old friends.”

“According to Meg, the point is to discover who went into pornography or to prison over the past ten years.”

Dean chuckles. “You can mark me down for ‘no’ on both counts.”

“I - I had thought so,” Castiel says awkwardly.

“Oh, so…” Dean drifts off, for once at a loss for words.

As the silence ticks on, Castiel’s reason for coming to the reunion crowds at the tip of his tongue. But he can’t make the words come out.

Dean drains his beer. He lets his gaze drift away from Castiel, lingering on someone or something over Castiel’s left shoulder. “Well, it was nice seeing you, Cas, I’ll see you ar-”

“I came here to apologize to you,” Castiel blurts.

Dean’s eyes snap to Castiel’s face. “What?”

Castiel swallows nervously. “For high school.”

“Okay,” Dean crosses his arms across his chest. “A lot of things happened in high school. Specifics would help.”

Castiel inhales a deep breath. “I’m sorry for how I handled our… relationship.”

Dean’s mouth twists, his expression darkening. “I wouldn’t call what we did a relationship.”

“Right,” Castiel says, biting his lip. “Our arrangement, then. What I did - what I did to you - it’s one of the biggest regrets of my life.”

Dean purses his lips. “What would’ve you done differently?”

“Excuse me?”

“Humor me,” Dean asks, and it doesn't sound like a suggestion. “If you could go back. Get a do-over. What would you do?” His eyes narrow. “Would you have come out? Or maybe stopped me before we got down and dirty in the Impala in the first place? ‘Cause I’ve played this game a few times, and I know which one I would’ve gone for.”

Castiel thinks it over. “Rationally,” he says,slowly, sounding the word out as he tries to put the rest of his thoughts into words, “I should have kept our interactions to our tutoring sessions.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. He nods.

Castiel can’t tell if his explanation is hurting Dean further. He feels like he’s been dumped out at sea while only knowing how to doggy paddle. Mouth dry, he barrels on, “But realistically, there’s no way that could have happened, so I probably should have asked you to wait for me.”

Dean blinks in surprise, his hardened exterior cracking the tiniest fraction. “Wait?” he echoes faintly.

“I couldn’t come out in high school,” Castiel says dully. What he wouldn’t give for another drink. “If my mother got wind of my sexuality, she would have put conditions on my college tuition without another thought, or forced me to take a gap year to do churchwork or something equally horrendous.”

Dean’s tense shoulders sag. “I didn’t know that.”

“I was ashamed,” Castiel drops his gaze to the floor, “You clearly loved your family, and your father… well, even with his flaws, he seemed to accept you. My situation was nothing like that.”

“Dad didn’t know about me either,” Dean mutters. 

“Sorry?” Castiel asks, raising his head.

“Dad didn’t know I went for dudes and chicks,” Dean explains. “But he was hardly around, so if I didn’t tell him and Sammy didn’t tell him, odds were he’d never find out.” He bites his lip as he meets Castiel’s stare head-on. “How long?”

“How long?” Castiel repeats, confused.

“How long would you have asked me to wait?” Dean asks, a hard edge to his words.

Castiel hesitates, wrong-footed at their backtracking conversation. “Until I had started my first semester at college.”

Dean’s mouth falls open. “What?”

Castiel frowns. “I had no plans to be in the closet after I moved away. My mother has too many connections here, with the junior league, the civics board, HOA, and who knows what else. But in my college town, she knew no one. I could finally be myself.”

Dean splutters nonsensically before he says, “You didn’t think to ask me to wait one measly summer for you to get your head out of your ass?”

“But I wasn’t just asking for ‘one summer’,” Castiel protests.

Dean’s outrage falters at Castiel’s air quotes.

“It would have been one summer and four years of long distance. I knew you had… feelings,” Castiel doesn’t pause at Dean’s wince at the word, “for me, but I had already taken so much from you. Are you saying you would have waited?”

“I don’t know!” Dean says, sounding slightly manic. He runs a hand through his hair distractedly, muttering to himself under his breath. 

Castiel inhales a deep breath to calm himself down. He forces himself to look Dean straight in the eye. “A part of me was looking forward to a completely fresh start, too. But, of course, I was the same as ever,” Castiel chuckles without a trace of humor, “friendless, caught up in the details, narrow-minded. It didn’t take long to realize I was only ever a different person when I was with you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean says, staring right back, “I had no idea.”

Castiel shrugs. “I never told you.”

“You should’ve,” Dean says shortly.

“I should have,” Castiel agrees.

Dean bites his lip, looking conflicted. His gaze flits around the gym, behind Castiel, where undoubtedly more of their classmates vie for his attention. And, that’s good, because Castiel finally said his piece. He can go home, and never think about Edlund High School or Dean Winchester again.

(Because that worked so well when he left Dean the first time.)

Castiel takes a step backwards. Personal space, he remembers. Stiffly, Castiel says, “Anyway, that’s why I came to the reunion. To see you. To tell you that. I shouldn’t keep you any long-”

“Are you single?” Dean interrupts.

Castiel’s brain takes an embarrassingly long moment to understand the question. “Yes?”

“Do you want to get out of here?” Dean asks, a strange glint in his eye.

“I do,” Castiel says truthfully. “I don’t like social engagements.”

“Some things never change,” Dean says with a small grin. He gestures to the door. “What do you say to a drive?”

Castiel blinks.

“For old time’s sake,” Dean says, with a fucking wink.

Castiel’s mouth falls open. “I - is this a joke?” His brow furrows. “Retribution for refusing to see you outside of our… trysts?”

Dean’s face goes through a multitude of expressions Castiel can barely hope to read - shock, guilt, perhaps cautious optimism? “God no,” Dean says quickly. He coughs and shifts his weight to his other foot. “Shit, I was trying to make a joke. Sorry. Not there yet.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“Look,” Dean starts, “since we’re apparently crap at asking for what we want - we’re both single,” Castiel’s eyebrows rise because this is news to him, “and this reunion is boring as hell, so I’m asking if you want to do something else instead.”

“With you?” Castiel asks because it sounds implied to him, but he can never be too sure when it comes to Dean Winchester.

Dean glares. “Yes, with me, Cas.”

Castiel chews on his lip as he tries to figure out why Dean would initiate an activity with him, apart from the obvious. As Castiel fails to come up with any sensible reason, and Dean’s foot tapping becomes audible in its intensity and speed, Castiel has to ask, “Are you asking me on a date?”

Dean throws both hands in the air. “I swear, you’re being dense on purpose. Since you need everything spelled out for you: will you go out with me, Castiel Novak?” Without waiting for an answer, Dean tacks on, “Jesus Christ, high school really never does end.” 

But he doesn’t really seem all that mad. So Castiel tells him, “Yes, I’d like to go on a date with you.”

Dean grins. He jerks his head towards the door. “Wanna go?”

“But,” Castiel waves one hand in the direction of the multitude of people behind them, “aren’t there people you’d rather talk to first?”

Dean shakes his head. “Not right now, no.”

* * *

Dean takes the steps down to the parking lot at a bit of a jog. He makes a beeline to the very familiar hulking beast, parked at least three spaces away from any other car. 

A frisson of anticipation thrums up Castiel’s spine at the sight, a dormant instinct he’d thought ten years dead. Castiel pauses outside the passenger side of the Impala and tries not to fidget as he waits for Dean to notice him. 

“Everything okay?” Dean asks as he yanks open the car door.

Castiel asks bluntly, “Does this mean you forgive me?”

Dean braces both elbows on the Impala’s roof, his face serious. “You were seventeen.”

That’s not an agreement. It’s an excuse.

“I was old enough to know what I was doing to you was wrong,” Castiel counters.

“Come on,” Dean rolls his eyes. “If there’s anything I learned from teaching, it’s that teenagers are morons. Uncle Sam allows them to go to war and vote, but I sure as shit don’t. Kids are idiots.” His mouth lifts into a tentative smile. “Even the ones with a 4.0 GPA and perfect attendance.” 

Dean taps his fingers on Impala’s roof, but he doesn’t seem impatient, more pensive. It’s a look Castiel never saw on teenage Dean. “I’m sure you were doing the best you could’ve under the circumstances. I might not have got it then, but I get it now.”

“It wasn’t perfect,” Castiel mutters as he gets in the Impala.

“Sure it wasn’t,” Dean says sardonically as he slams the door behind him and starts the engine. “It’s not like I can’t hack the old attendance records and see for myself.”

“That seems like a lot of work to make a point.”

“If you think I wouldn’t do it, you don’t know me at all,” Dean says gravely, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, I don’t doubt you’d do it,” Castiel says, “You broke into Principal Singer’s office to steal back the switchblade that you brought to school for some unfathomable reason.”

“You remember that?” Dean asks, surprised.

“Your detention derailed an entire week’s worth of tutoring,” Castiel says dryly. “We couldn’t finish Cicero in time for your exam.”

Dean chuckles. “Figures you remember that part.”

“I had also recently fingered you for the first time,” Castiel reminds him, “I was very put out about waiting a whole week to do it again.”

Dean chokes on air as they come to an abrupt stop at a red light.

“I forget very little when it comes to you,” Castiel finishes placidly.

Dean shakes his head as the light turns green. “Christ,” he says, his eyes flitting briefly to Castiel’s face before settling back on the road. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” Castiel asks. It seems they got into this whole mess precisely because Castiel refused to say exactly what he thought about Dean Winchester.

Dean opens his mouth, but no words come out. A ruddy flush crawls up his neck and face, just visible in the darkened car interior.

Castiel runs a disbelieving hand over the dash, reading the minute grooves and divots like he’s rediscovering his favorite book. “I never thought I’d be in the Impala again.” 

“You were the one who wanted to wait,” Dean rolls his eyes, “I think ten goddamn years is long enough.”

#destiel fanfic #fanfic #destiel #profoundnet #teacher castiel #teacher dean #high school reunion #human au #the story of us verse #can i joss my own fic #if so thats whats happened to the first version of this #rae writes fic

[waverly-gossip-academy]

ND Replay #7: Ghost Dogs of Moon Lake

Wow, three games in one day. I too have surprised myself. I forgot how beautiful Moon Lake is, and I regret that I’ve underplayed this game in the past. Onward. 

We are brought to Moon Lake by Sally. Sally is the least competent boss that we have, or will ever have in these games. Sally wants us to take off in the middle of the night on her boat. Sally does not, or maybe does???, have locks on her door in her cabin in the woods. Sally has done zero work on her death trap of a house. Sally hasn’t even tested the well water. Anyways, Sally is scared because of some dogs with glowy eyes keep attacking her house. Fair. 

A few things I love about this game: 

1. The location is gorgeous. Seriously, the moon? Gorgeous. The speakeasy? Gorgeous. 

2. I like the gangster story. 

3. There are lots of dogs. And people love that crap. 

The characters in this game are a pretty good group. I don’t ever believe that anyone has a motive other than the actual culprit (whose name I literally just forgot, which says a lot!) Less characters than normal in this game as well. Only 3 suspects total, which sort of sucks. Ranger Akers? Another annoying thirst trap. But he is pretty nice and helpful. Red Knott? Annoying yet cute old man. Emily? An annoying podunk lady who runs a pretty neat looking shop and likes skimming for old treasures to make monies. Respect. Let her do what she wants Jeff! Sally is bonkers, but that’s ok. Mickey Malone seemed like a cool dude who just wanted to drink and rob banks, and had a pretty fun girlfriend who hangs out with Harry Houdini’s relatives! Fun callback. Too bad we never hear from them again. 

As I mentioned at the top, Moon Lake is beautiful. And the speakeasy is easily one of the best secret rooms we’ve ever discovered. The woods maze does get annoying after awhile, but I like exploring and looking for birds at the top. And while the boat rides are way too long, the other locations fit into the game super well (looking at you SSH!).

The puzzles in this game work really well. I love the dog poem! And Roman Numerals make an appearance. HeR fucking loves Roman Numerals. I think the soda puzzle is pretty fun and again, they all fit within the context of the game. 

The story line of this game is actually linear. There’s not really a side quest since everything is legitimately tied to the investigation. I wish that we got a bit more about Mickey’s past, but I like the Akers tie in. And while the culprit and her motive is SO obvious and boring, I respect someone after cold hard cash. But seriously, she was so forgettable. Scary for 5 seconds. Animal abuse. Sigh.

7/10

This was the first game that I’ve replayed in order so far where I liked it a lot more than I remembered. The puzzles all fit into the game, the case, while lacking in numbers is fun to interact with. I love the phone characters and the story line is linear. A solid ND formula game.  

#Nancy Drew #ND games #clue crew #cluecrew #spoilers #dog

[balmacedapascal-archive]

an undrafted fanfiction

“Ooo-kay, we’ve got hot dogs, we’ve got popcorn, we’ve got nachos, and ooh they had Airheads, four for a dollar. I got us each a mystery flavor one. Y’know for nostalgia reasons. That and they’re still like the best cheap candy around.” Kira couldn’t help the snort of laughter as her friend rejoined her on the scuffed up metal bleachers, arms filled with a mess of food from the little stand over by the picnic tables. Molly was already more in her element than Kira was thanks to three older brothers and a lifetime of sporting events but that was okay. She was pretty sure she could get by just fine from what little she remembered from her childhood viewings of The Sandlot. A foil wrapped hot dog was handed to her along with some ketchup and they both settled in to watch the last couple innings of the game. “Y’know I’ve missed concession stand food. It’s just kind of the best in the worst possible way.”

“You do remember we’re getting dinner after this with your family at your insistence, right?” Kira asked as she took a bite of the dog. Molly just shrugged and started work on the nachos as she scanned the guys on the team they could spot. It was comical to see the 5′10″ beanpole that was her roommate going to town on the junk food like she hadn’t eaten in a week despite the full spread breakfast that had been in their kitchen that morning. “Keep going like that and you’re gonna puke, Mol.”

“Stop mothering me and figure out which one is the cute neighbor.” She felt her cheeks heat up at the comment, the whole reason they’d actually dragged themselves down to the ball fields even though it was hot as balls out and neither of them really had any major interest in baseball. It had been just over a week since the first time she’d met Patrick, the awkwardly cute guy in 3F and Molly had been teasing her mercilessly ever since. And they’d only spoken twice. Once when she’d had to retrieve said pain in the ass roommate from his apartment after she came home from a bachelorette party three sheets to the wind and insisting that his apartment was actually theirs and the other time when she’d been trying balance a bag of paint supplies and a ten foot long roll of canvas into their building and he’d been kind enough to help out. That encounter had led to a mention of the summer league and now they were sweating on hot metal bleachers on their Sunday afternoon. 

“I dunno, he’s on the team in the red. He didn’t tell me his number or anything.” That was the team currently up to bat, number 42 at home plate and one strike away from being out. That much she remembered when it came to how the game worked. The strike came, followed by what she guessed was some grumbled swearing and a polite scatter of clapping from the crowd.

The nachos were gone by the next batters second swing and it left Molly free to look at her with an expression of mild disappointment. “Seriously, K? ‘He’s on the team in the red’? What kind of bullshit is that? You got his skinny ass to carry your canvas all the way up to the fourth floor and you didn’t even find out what his number was? Not even the name of the team? Have I taught you nothing??”

A couple of heads turned as the blonde’s voce rose an octave and her hands were thrown dramatically in the air. Thankfully it had been years since she’d managed to be embarrassed by the more over the top tendencies of her best friend. “You’ve taught me plenty - how to make French toast the proper way, the difference between a French braid and a Dutch braid, and the perfect right hook for when a guy gets handsy at a bar. I feel like you’ve successfully educated me in a variety of ways.”

“You’re hopeless,” she groaned with a roll of her eyes, making her way down the bleachers with the popcorn bag and a look of determination. 

“Where are you going now? If you get anymore food, you really are gonna hurl.”

“Ha-ha. Hilarious, Baker. Don’t mind me, I’m just gonna do all the work for you and figure out which one of these is your man.” And then she was off, leaving Kira alone on the bleachers with a handful of other spectators to watch as number 20 managed to get on first base. By the time she’d finished her hot dog and had started nibbling on one of the mystery flavored Airheads, there’d been another out and another guy on base. They didn’t seem to be too terrible but she was also basing her knowledge off a children’s movie from the 90s. Molly came back as the next batter stepped up, a big grin on her face as she pointed to number 15 at the plate. “That’s him! K, that’s him! Your boy’s up to bat.”

“He’s not my boy,” she reiterated, despite the fact she perked up when she recognized his profile as he glanced back at the umpire. “How’d you figure that one out Houdini?”

“Oh, I bumped into his dad. Super nice guy, his name’s Brian, we chatted. He was more than happy to point out his son, especially when I mentioned that there was a lovely lady in the stands here just to see him play.”

Kira blanched at that, eyes wide as she looked over at the blonde. “You didn’t. Please for the love of all that is good, tell me you didn’t. I’ve talked to this guy twice, I don’t even know his last name, please tell me you did not just make me look like some weirdo stalker baseball groupie to this guy’s dad.”

“Oh lord, will you chillax for like ten seconds. You’re gonna give yourself an aneurysm if you keep making that face. I was perfectly chill about it. Told him we lived in the same building and he’d been super helpful and we were here to show our support and appreciation. Happy?”

“Fucking ecstatic.” 

“And it’s Murray, by the by.”

“What?”

“His last name. It’s Murray. I asked and you’re welcome.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“The love has faded.”

“STRIKE THREE! YOU’RE OUT!”

The conversation had been enough to distract them both that neither had actually seen any of Patrick’s time at bat. Not any of the pitches or swings or strikes until the umpire made the final call and they both focused back at the game at hand. He stood there for a moment, stiff as a board before stomping back towards the dugout, shoulders tense. And before either of them could blink, he swung hard, letting the bat go flying straight into the metal fence in front of where his team was sitting. Both girls jumped at the sound it made when it hit, eyes wide as they could easily hear a long succession of “fucks” being yelled as the rest of the team made their way out onto the field.

“Ho-ly shit,” was all Molly had to say as they watched carefully, following him as he left the dugout and headed to the outfield.

“No kidding,” Kira mumbled under her breath, nibbling at the Airhead with her eyes on him.

“Cute neighbor’s got a bit of a temper.”

“No kidding.”

“...is it just me or is it kind of a little hot though?”

“No, it’s definitely not just you...”

author’s note: okay so this is like an excerpt of what could potentially be a longer story if I can stay motivated and people are interested but yeah, I’m obsessed with Undrafted and Joe’s portrayal of Patrick Murray and this is actually something I really had fun writing so I hope you guys like it.

#undrafted #joe mazzello #patrick murray #undrafted fanfic #joe mazzello fanfic #i had a really good time writing this #and i really loved writing the two oc's #and i realize people probably don't give a shit about just reading a couple oc's #and i doubt anyone will read this #and this is probably gonna get like zero notes #but like this makes me remember why i enjoy writing #so maybe by some stroke of dumb luck #someone will enjoy this #end rambling #*mine #fic: closer #chara: kira baker

[captainpikeachu]

ENT 1x14 Shadow of P’Jem

Ohhhh back to the judgy Vulcans again, blaming my boy for the mess at P’Jem, so typical of Vulcans to avoid responsibility

Who is this Captain Gardner?

Yeah Admiral Forrest, you tell these Vulcans they don’t get to assign commands of Starfleet officers around here BOO VULCANS BOO!

Joint Fleet Operations suspended? Is the Vulcans trying to blackmail us? Seriously? FUCK VULCANS

Jon and Trip’s eating scenes are always just…making me hungry for food DAMMIT

Coridan? Ohhh 3 billion humanoids, NICE

Largest starship construction yards in the sector? Oh now you’re just purposely pulling Trip’s leg about not taking him on the mission

Uh oh, message from Forrest – oh so the Temple did get bombarded by the Andorians, but hey at least they gave the monks time to get out

Can’t get involved in interspecies conflict – man we are such tiny babies during this time period

More bad news????

NOOO THEY ARE TAKING MY T’POL AWAY?????? NO! GO AWAY BAD VULCANS! BAD!!!!

I love Jon getting all protective, he’s just like “NOBODY IS USING MY SCIENCE OFFICER AS SCAPEGOAT!” *clings to T’Pol like koala and hisses*

Oh now Trip knows T’Pol is being transferred, and so does Phlox

Aww Phlox thought T’Pol was getting promoted ☹

Ohhhh Phlox giving us some info – Vulcan High Command has tried posting Vulcan officers on human starships and most haven’t lasted more than a few weeks, but T’Pol has been here for more than 6 months and she’s not merely tolerated the crew but has become a part of it

PHLOX GIVING MY GIRL CREDIT!!!!!!

Aww several crew members wanna give T’Pol a going away party! That’s so precious!

So Jon is taking T’Pol with him on this mission, aww he just wants to try to spend more time with her before she has to leave

Uh oh, someone is after the shuttle, dammit these people just cannot go outside without some drama

Well now Jon and T’Pol are tied up and Jon is talking about Houdini LOL It’s amazing how many people the Vulcans seem to have pissed off in this quadrant lmao 

T’Pol is getting really good at this lying business :D ME LIKEY

Ohhhh Trip and the others are not happy with the Coridan Chancellor, looks like Enterprise crew is off to do their own little rescue mission

Jon and T’Pol trying to escape, lol this is most amusing to watch

Aww Jon is trying to goad T’Pol into fighting against the transfer

Well, that was an unnecessary guy falls into boobs gag, but I guess it was the early 2000s

At least these two are free, ohhhhh nice back flip/kick from Jon there, where was this fighting ability when the fighting part actually mattered?????

Nahhhhh they’re back to being captured again

Oh Enterprise is now being hailed, lol 40 phase pistols, poor Enterprise crew don’t even have 15

Another hail? A Vulcan ship…hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm oh great, now Vulcans wanna take over the hostage situation, MASSIVE SIGH

Vulcans don’t negotiate with terrorists hmmmmm, swift and decisive response hmmmmmmmm, yup I am starting to see how the Vulcan Hello became a thing against the Klingons

Well Trip and the others are still gonna go at this rescue mission

At least these hostage takers are nice enough to give their hostages food

Ohhhh what is the red blinking thing?

LOL Vulcan ship hailing because Trip and the others have run off on the shuttlepod

Hoshi is getting better at lying too :D

ANNNNNND Trip and Malcolm got caught….nicely done boys

Ohhhhhhhh MY ANDORIAN CHILDREN! A WILD SHRAN APPEARS!!!!

Lol Shran doesn’t like being indebted to Jon :D ah this beautiful friendship just continues to blossom lol

Woohoo Andorians and Humans team up rescue mission!!

ANNNND the Vulcans ruined the rescue plan by having an assault….yeah, I’m starting to see this Vulcan tendency to RUIN EVERYTHING OMG

Shran just wants a good night’s sleep now that he’s paid his debt to Jon lol Tau-ceti accords? LOL what is even the point of accords, y’all are breaking accords left and right anyways

Oh no, one of the rebel faction people is still moving

NO T’POL!!!! You totally did not need to save that grumpy mean Vulcan!!

“You should be the one dying, not her” – YEAH YOU TELL THAT BAD VULCAN, SHRAN!!!!

OMG JON AND PHLOX TOTALLY TRICKED THAT VULCAN CAPTAIN INTO SPEAKING TO THE VULCAN HIGH COMMAND TO CHANGE THEIR TRANSFER ON T’POL BY GUILTING HIM ABOUT T’POL TAKING THAT BULLET FOR HIM!!!!!!!

I love it when my bbys are sneaky :D

Yay T’Pol is staying with us, and she WANTS to stay too!!

THAT’S EP 14!

And that’s actually gonna be the last one I’m gonna be doing before I go on a bit of a break with my brother coming to visit, when I come back, I’ll be doing 15, 16, 17, and then after that, 18, 19, 20, 21)

#liveblogging star trek marathon #ent 1x14

[jackieboywynand]

Uhhh, some fic ig

Clutching onto his worn crossbow, Jack cautiously edged towards an apartment. He heard a hauntingly familiar tune coming from within, beckoning him to enter. He held his breath as he slowly slid the door open. Upon entering, he immediately knew who had lived here. He was met with a small circular stage with a microphone on it, posters were placed up in pride around the entrance. The name on all of these posters struck a nervous chord from deep inside. Cohen. God, he thought he had escaped that lunatic. He hesitantly moved into the building and cursed his luck as his radio crackled, coming to life.

"I hear your wings flapping in my home..." Jack felt himself tense up. "Flip flap, flip flap, flip flap.", came the obnoxious voice. "Come into the light, little moth, come in..." He had hoped he had heard the last of Cohen back in Fort Frolic but that wasn't the case.

He began moving further into the house and flinched when he heard a loud, maniacal laugh coming from a woman somewhere within the apartment. He peered around the stage and poster to see a pair dancing. He assumed the female was the culprit for the laughter that set him on edge. They were dancing under a light which acted as a spotlight, shining upon them amongst the dimly light room. He tightened the grip on his crossbow as he drew nearer to the pair, careful not to trip over any of the piles of unfinished musical pieces and staves strewn about on the floor. He heard the male humming. It was nothing like the tune they were dancing to but it didn't stop them.

"I see you're still testing your wings, little moth." The unwanted voice sounded through the radio again. "Stay and enjoy the dance, if you wish..." Jack contemplated the offer. It was an almost surreal scene. He had only endured chaos and nightmares since being in this city and this peaceful scene was eerie and out of place. "But don't dare RATTLE. THEIR. RHYTHM." Cohen's voice grew louder, angrier and far more punctuated with each word that came through the radio. Jack chewed on his bloodied, lower lip. He heard the couple muttering to each other and whistling. It was hard for him to try and listen to their mumbling as the music grew ever louder. It was almost unbearable and it made it difficult to think. It was becoming deafening and Jack could feel himself growing agitated. His eyes kept going between the couple and the phonograph that was causing all this racket. He frowned. His eye twitched. It was too loud. Unwanted. A cacophony. He growled. The all too annoying whistling of the man was interrupted by the whistle of a bolt, before being followed by the noise of the bolt making itself home in the man's head and hurtling him towards the wall where it pinned him. An ear splitting scream erupts from the woman's lips as she had her partner ripped away from her. Angry, vicious words were spat out from her lips as she hurled a ball of flames towards Jack. She was quickly put down by another carefully aimed bolt to the head.

"WHEN WILL YOU EVER LEARN TO TAKE INSTRUCTION?", he heard Cohen shout over the radio. He was surprised that he could also faintly hear the voice from within the apartment. "I'M COMING DOWN THERE, LITTLE MOTH... COMING DOWN TO TEACH YOU. TO. DANCE." The radio cut after that and Jack could hear a door open. Next thing he knows, he's got fire balls hurtling towards him and a very angry Sander Cohen in the room with him. He heard the telltale sign of Houdini as Cohen blinked out of view to reposition himself to try and get the jump on Jack. He frowned and listened out for the sound that will tell him that Cohen has reappeared. The music is grating now. He shoots a bolt into the phonograph, effectively causing it to explode. This angers Cohen further as he reappears and immediately attacks Jack with his flames.

"I'M SANDER FUCKING COHEN."

Just like that, the pair begin their own dance. It's a dance of fire and malice as the two aim to kill. Jack, teeth gritted and brows knitted, fires a bolt that catches Cohen's arm. The man glares at Jack. He is fuming. He hurls as many fire balls as he can muster at Jack before disappearing again.

Jack prepared himself for the next volley of fireballs. He readied himself and listened out for the telltale sound of Cohen coming to attack. He spun on his heels as he heard Cohen re-emerge behind him. A painful hiss left him as a fireball singed his body. He immediately fired back at Cohen, enraged. Jack swapped over to steel tip bolts and began during at the manic man in front of him. He caught his shoulder and felt a smug satisfaction as Cohen stumbled back from the impact and pain. Their battle continued like this for what felt like ages for Jack. He was getting low on ammunition. He looked up at Cohen and noticed the bolts, glistening with crimson, decorating Cohen like a hedgehog. How the hell this son of a bitch was still alive? He didn't know. He lunged forward and yanked out one of his bolts from Cohen, watching the blood pour out of the wound as he did. He quickly reloaded the bolt into his crossbow and fired it back at Cohen.

Jack was getting annoyed. Frustrated. He was using up far too much ammunition that he was saving to murder the bastard that had used him. Chewed him up and spat him out. Jack wasn't anyone's plaything. Frank. Fucking. Fontaine. Jack tossed his crossbow to the side and immediately felt a chilling cool spread through his left hand. He didn't need to see the blades of ice sticking out of him before he began assaulting Cohen. He didn't stop until Cohen was just as frozen as Jack had been when hunting down Cohen's disciples and doing his dirty work. He watched as Cohen slowed down and froze up. He approached the man, wrench in hand. He raised his weapon and slammed it down across Cohen's head. He listened to the sick sound of the ice crunching and the head being moulded into a new shape. He kept hammering down on the artist. He let his rage take over him. Cohen. Fontaine. Ryan. Fucking Rapture. It pissed him off. It angered him and when Cohen thawed and collapsed to the floor, he didn't care that he fell down with him. Nor did he notice that he had changed his wrench for his bare fists. Only did he realise when his fists grew numb, caked in blood, and when Cohen's face was no longer recognisable. His sweater was now a brownish-red and his face and hair had flecks of blood covering them. There was a buzzing in his ears. He looked down at the body beneath him and just stared. He had lost himself again. He sighed. Mentally gave himself a slap on the wrist. He picked himself up from off Cohen and went back to gather up his weapons that he had haphazardly thrown about the room during his fit of rage. He began go leave but not before he noticed the door to Cohen's room was wide open. His curiosity was piqued.

Jack saw a pink glow bathing the room and leaking out into the rest of the apartment. He entered the room, clenching his wrench. Upon first glance, he was met with a long staircase and so he began to ascend. As he reached the top of the staircase, Jack noticed more of the plastered "sculptures" that had been littered throughout Fort Frolic. He paled at remembering the moving, attacking statues. He closed his eyes and exhaled when he saw two giant plastered rabbit masks at the foot of a king-sized bed in front of him. Cohen was really into rabbit symbolism for someone that "wanted to take the ears off". What a nutter. Jack shook his head. As he observed the room further, he noticed large framed posters and bottles of alcohol strewn about the room. He thought to himself that Cohen truly was married and obsessed with his work. Jack turned around and saw a doorway leading into another room. He walked through, wrench at the ready.

Through a thin veil of steam, Jack saw numerous sinks lining up against a wall on the left, a glass divider in the middle of the room, and a porcelain bath which was on elevated ground. Jack noticed something whilst walking past the bath. He stopped and turned to inspect it. To his horror, it was yet another sculpture. He gave it a hesitant whack with his wrench; sighing when some blood splattered but the sculpture remained still. He slowly inched backwards, still anxious about the sculpture despite his confirmation on it being a corpse.

When Jack next turned around after exiting the bathroom, he came face-to-face with a Power To The People machine and thanked his lucky stars. His anxiety began to melt away. He always enjoyed working on his weapons. They were his babies and they deserved the best. He really wished there was an option to upgrade his wrench; his first and favourite child. He grabbed his trusty crossbow and selected the option to give it increased damage. He leant over the work station and got to work, applying the new piece. His tongue stuck out a little as he concentrated on perfecting his crossbow. He wondered whether he should even attempt to make his wrench rocket propelled for when he murdered the son of a bitch that dragged him into all of this. He scowled at the name written up in the machine in front of him, feeling repulsed. The bastard was everywhere. There was no escape. It was driving Jack beyond mad. He tried his hardest to busy himself in his work to prove himself a distraction.

Jack took a step back to admire his hard work. He was happy with this newest addition! He turned from the machine with a grin on his face, placing the crossbow back where he had placed a holder for the weapon. He began to head towards the door when his radio crackled and came to life as a voice came through. One he really didn't want to hear.

"Hate to see you this way, kid." The Bronx accent filled him with dread. "Hell, I was there when you were born." His expression soured. "You ever have a dog you gotta put down?" Jack scowled. Was he seriously being compared to a dog? "Breaks your heart." The radio cut off as Jack's week h went hurtling across the room, shattering a sculpture upon impact. How DARE Fontaine talk about heartbreak?! What the he'll did he know about having a broken heart?! Jack glared down at the floor as his vision began to blur. He tried to blink away his tears but they still began to roll down his face. He clenched his fists. The hot tears mixed with the dried blood on his gaunt cheeks. He let out a shudder and collapsed to the floor. Fontaine had no right! Jack still felt his anger through his sobs. He wasn't born! He was created! A scientific experiment that was sold off. Fontaine bought him for top fucking dollar just as a means to thwart the plans of Jack's biological 'father'. It was petty. Ryan was an unwilling donor who didn't know- hell, he probably didn't even want a child. Jack was a genetically modified freak and heir to the damn throne of this hellhole. Jack hated the purpose of his existence. He hated snapping that puppy's neck. Of course he knew what it was like to put down a dog. He bet Fontaine knew he had to involuntarily put down that sweet, innocent puppy. The sick fuck. Jack's face was soaked with fat tears that had turned a slight, pale crimson from the blood dried onto his face. His sobs were loud and echoed within the suite. Jack choked. How dare Fontaine have the sheer nerve and audacity to call Jack a kid? After everything they had gone through? It made Jack sick, right down to his very core.

He gazed around the room. Nothing really mattered to him anymore in his solemn state. Through his tears he saw the bottles of alcohol that were laying about the room. He wanted to forget his worries and troubles. He made a pathetic attempt to crawl over to the bottles. He picked one up and opened it, shaking. His body was still racking from tears. He desperately chugged the liquid before grabbing the next bottle. He grabbed another bottle and began pouring it down his throat. He chugged and he chugged. He didn't care. Nothing mattered. He didn't matter. His only function now was to down as many bottles as possible and hopefully, he would soon die. Pass out, at least. He didn't know how much he had drunk when he found himself nursing a bottle and spilling confessions to the sculptures in the room. He confided in them and told them all his problems and secrets. He kept necking bottles as he did. He found himself accompanied by piles of empty bottles. His vision was blurred. His head was fuzzy. He was stumbling over his words. Slurring. Everything was buzzing. The room spun. His mind blanked. He was soon met with unconsciousness.

#bioshock #jack ryan #jack wynand #neutral jack is best boy #i really enjoyed this scene #i spent so much time on this #and i am so proud #crossbow best weapon #winterblast to contrast to that incernate #umf #hope this is okay tho lmfao #sander cohen #frank fontaine #olympus heights #rapture #fight scene #fanfic #yeet

[statesmanillusionist]

Hope County | pt. 5

This was probably the worst possible thing to happen, besides Whiskey and Miller going down in the helicopter. Houdini was being kept at Faith’s… home? Safehouse? Somewhere along the river where the Cougars and the resistance clearly were fighting back, given the gunfire crackling outside.

“Seriously, I get this is great for my anxiety but… can you let up just a little bit?” She laughed, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. “I feel like everything you’ve given me just keeps making it worse, and I’d love to stop throwing up in that garbage can.” It took everything out of her to walk from the couch she had slept on, down the stairs and into the kitchen, garbage can in tow.

One of Faith’s henchmen, for lack of a better word – a man named James – chuckled and shook his head, looking back down at the map spread out on the kitchen counter.

“Please?” Houdini was pleading at this point; everything from the tea to the water had been tainted with Bliss. How could anyone live like this? Faith and her family seemed unaffected, and the same could be said for those higher up in rankings of Eden’s Gate.

James ignored her begging and kept staring at the map. Houdini felt as if she were going to cry, pulling her knees to her chest. Sitting against the floor grounded her against the effects of the Bliss as much as she could possibly manage. Everything felt dizzy and was now moving to the point of numbness. Perhaps Whiskey and Miller were having better luck, landing far from the fields of flowers.

She made herself as small as possible, arms wrapped around her knees as she pressed her back to the wall. 

“You will grow to like it here,” James said, startling Houdini. She looked up too quickly, seeing double, and immediately reached for the garbage.

“I’m not so sure about that…” she groaned. The Bliss used here was much stronger than what she was originally dosed with, and she struggled to keep her head. 

Hopefully, she’d be able to wiggle her way out of the building – she just needed to be off the Bliss long enough to clear her head and run. Her legs were too heavy to carry her faster than the patrol squad could manage, and the dizziness and double-vision definitely did not help. Faith seemed to trust her enough not to keep her bound, so that was good. No need to get herself out of that situation… but if she couldn’t keep her head cleared long enough, and tried to make a run for it, she would be in it.

--

Time passed strangely while high on Bliss, and the more she had, the more Houdini saw butterflies around her. James filled her glass consistently, urging her to drink.

“This can’t be good…” she muttered, laying down on the floor. In what had only been a day, it seemed like three had passed. Faith reappeared – had she ever left? – and brushed the stray hairs from Houdini’s face.

“Don’t worry, Elizabeth. Everything will be okay, I promise,” she smiled, sitting next to her on the floor. She crossed her legs, humming a tune from the radio wordlessly. “Do you know why I brought you here?”

Houdini groaned and pressed her face into the floor. It felt cool, a reprieve from the heat the Bliss brought. “To protect me?”

“To protect you. Do you know why?” Her voice was gentle, matching her movements.

“No…” 

“Because it’s what you need. The Father saw redemption for you, upon your return to Hope County, and it was my purpose to guide you to it with the Bliss. But he said – he said..” Faith paused for a moment, her hand stopping as she found herself hung up on Joseph. Her tone shifts, as if something deep down terrified her. “He said that danger lurks everywhere for you. He saw it in your eyes, and I see it too. You need protection.”

Houdini lifted her head and squinted up at Faith at her words. “Like I said, in the woods, I can protect yourself.”

“There’s more than what’s in the woods and in the river that you need protection from.” 

For a moment, Houdini thought Faith was talking about herself. She blinked, and the other woman was gone from her side.

--

After that exchange, Faith seems to pull back from her dosing, as if she was distracted by something bigger than the new girl in town.

The dosing patterns shift; her food wasn’t tainted, but the water was. Houdini remembered that the entire water system was contaminated, and only took small sips from the glass that James presented to her.

He seemed distracted too.

It gave Houdini the opportunity to wander the safehouse, unwatched, though it was a struggle. The drastic change in Bliss dosage caused left her feeling… different. Different from when she woke up in her own bed a few days ago, different from when she woke after being taken from the woods. It’s not a good kind of different, either. 

Houdini started asking questions now that she could think somewhat clearly again. How many days has she been in this safehouse? How much Bliss had she been given?

She noticed the windows were always left open on the second floor, onto a balcony she remembered Faith sitting on the day before while taking a phone call. There’s someone posted at all of the doors, and one poor soul patrolling the perimeter of the house at all times. 

A door slammed and Houdini stumbled, tripping over herself as she turned from the balcony. 

“How many times have I told you not to do that!” Faith shouted, sounding rather angry – her tone surprised Houdini as she listened in to the commotion downstairs. 

The perpetrator seemed to simply grunt in response, heavy footsteps echoing through the kitchen. They stopped, and Houdini pulled herself off her ass to carefully walk downstairs. It was a harder struggle than she anticipated, her legs for some reason still jello, and she sighed. 

“Fucking Bliss,” she cursed under her breath, waiting for the day she could escape the feeling – this feeling of healing and acceptance, according to Faith – and ditch the bad trip.

As she rounded the corner into the kitchen, Houdini focused enough to finally hear a pertinent discussion.

“John is taking care of things. We must be sure to prepare –” Faith said, grabbing one of the markers. She seemed… different. As if this were the real Faith, planning and giving directions, and not spewing garbage about the Father and forgiveness. “These plants, they can multiply like rabbits. We just need a bit more land and –”

“Fine.” It seemed that the door-slammer was a man of few words, and as Houdini scanned the room, it was then that she realized why.

He was massive. Absolutely fucking massive. Like a bear, really. The room tilted and Houdini nearly lost herself again. 

Faith turned her head after drawing on the map, marking places for new Bliss flowers to grow and smiled at her.

“Elizabeth! I hope you’re okay,” she said, the sweetness back in her voice. “This is my brother, Jacob. Jacob, this is Elizabeth Flood. She’s the new girl who moved back home a few weeks ago. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Jacob stared at Houdini as if she were a piece of meat, and offered no greeting as he slowly turned his gaze back to the map.

Faith rolled her eyes, and Houdini swallowed the lump that had crept up her throat.

“I’ll send some of the Angels that way, over towards that end of the river to start the new plot over there. You and I should visit Joseph, inform him and  --”

Jacob turned on his heel and walked out the door, towards the armored car. He slammed the door once again – but this time, while Houdini jumped, she noticed Faith did too. It shook the other woman for a moment, causing her to clench her fist before smoothing out her dress and walking towards Houdini.

“I’ll be back after sunset, okay? I can braid your hair again, if you’d like..” she said softly, cupping Houdini’s cheek. 

She nodded, and Faith was gone again.

It would be hours until she returned, and though there were soldiers posted at every door, and one wandering the perimeter of the house…

It was time for a magic trick.

#hope county #far cry 5 au

[lucarioisinthevoid]

oo, this looks interesting! alright, Dave, can you imitate Harry Houdini and escape a straitjacket while hanging upside down from a tall-ass building?

“Pal, I can just bite the straps off and use the rope to spider-man myway off the building like a pro! Wouldn´t even the first time I´d do that, tobe honest with ya… now, provide me with a REAL challenge!” Phone Guy crossed his arms at that amount of boasting. “Okay- Funtime Freddy!” “Yeah, Ph-oney-y? What do-do-do you w-want?” “Your “dad” wants a challenge!” “Uh…” Dave started to regret his situation. “Actually I´m good-“ But Old Sportwas watching. He couldn´t back down like a bitch in front of Old Sport!  “No, we´re going to “challenge” you today. Freddy, do your weird thing were youkeep people in your stomach!” Freddy hesitated and looked towards his creator for the go, who grinded histeeth and swore to get back at the Phone. At least he could trust that OldSport would keep an eye on things. “Do what he says, Imma be fine.” After Dave was tied up and cramped into the small space, constantlycomplaining, Phone Guy closed it. “So, now we´re going to need… ah! Freddy, nowjump into the ball pit.” “That goes too far!” Orange Guy was worried. “So, you don´t believe in him? We could… uh… we´ll just tie a rope to him, incase he gives up.” “That´s still…” “Employee?” “Yeah, okay.” “Good.” Freddy slowly descended into the bottomless pit, never to be seen or heard ofagain. Just kidding of course, but for Old Sport who refused to leave the side of theball pit, it sure felt like it… he knew the danger of that thing too well. Hours passed. Until finally-I HAVE ACHIEVED GODHOOD. The whole place began to rumble and the balls of the pit began to form avortex, out of which the form of a plastic-ball-spirit-bunny emerged. OLD SPORT. THE WORLD SHALL BE CLEANSEDIN OUR NAME. WE SHALL WALK AMONG MAN AND BE LOVED AND FEARED THE SAME.  “DAVE, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED!? CUT THAT BULLSHIT, I WAS GETTING WORRIED ABOUTYOU!” “You were WORRIED about me?! SPORSTY!” Instantly the balls all fell down againas a purple bolt struck the Orange Guard and he was tightly hugged by hispsycho-friend. Relieved he hugged him back. “No seriously, what happened?” “I dunno, I managed to get the ties of and bite my way through FuntimeFreddy- well, at least to the point where he released me and then there wasthis pulsating glow in the middle of nothing, talking to me and then myfavorite coke dealers came around, offering me omnipotence for a life-timesupply of licorice and I said fuck no, you lil´ shits, you ain´t gettingnothing from me! Anyway, there was an animatronic down there that I fought,Old-Bear-consequences or something, turned out it was actually a being feedingon toddler souls or something and when I said I don´t care about noconsequences and beat him first at scrabble and then square in the maw, Isuddenly knew everything, including how to ascend— but I forgot it allalready, fuck! WAIT NO, ONE THING I REMEMBER! THE MOST IMPORTANT FACT!” Overwhelmed Old Sport stared at him. “A-and what´s that?” “I KNOW WHERE WE CAN GET THE BEST KEBAB IN THE WORLD! LET´S GET GOING OLDSPORT, HURRY!” With that he picked his best friend up like a sack of potatoesand jumped through the windows. Phone Guy just stared. Well, one thing he could take down from his “Possible-ways-to-kill-Dave-Miller”-list.Well, at least springlocks still seemed pretty much inescapable for the man…but how would he get him locked in there?

#Phone Guy #Dave Miller #Purple Guy #Orange Guy #Old Sport