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barzzal · 3 years

Text

between halls and thin walls → part four

summary: friends who fool around almost never works. almost.

↳ pairing: mathew barzal x you

↳ warnings: idiots, that’s all <3

↳ genre: fluff, angst, smut, roommates au, best friend’s best friend, friends with benefits, 18+

↳ length: series; part one, part two, part three, part four (6.7k), part five, part six

↳ masterlist: the barn

↳ track: my favorite part by mac miller, addicted by jorja smith, someone to spend time with by los retros

note: finally got myself to update this fic oml zzz quick psa tho, this will now be a six-part series! hope that’s okay and yenno as always, would love to hear what you think about this (validate me in the tags pls im lonely) happy reading babes! <3

“Yo, grandma. Haven’t you had too much tea to drink?” his voice echoes in the room as soon as he walks into it. You carefully set the cup down on the dining table and looked at him exasperatedly.

“Haven’t you had too much care to give?” you snark back, earning yourself a disappointed look from him.

“Really, y/n? That’s the best you’ve got?” he shakes his head at your appalling retort. What a shame.

You were good at pissing him off to be fair. You just weren’t in the mood to throw teases back and forth especially now that you’re feeling particularly vulnerable.

The week has been far too dreadful for you and you know that you’re willing to grovel your way into the weekend to finally have the time to slack off, not worry about taking a bath, and just go crazy with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

However, just like always, Mathew seems to never run out of ways to get on your nerves.

He carelessly puts his stuff on the table, causing a fairly loud thud on the surface.

You let out a deep breath, massaging your temple.

“Somebody’s cranky.” he grins. Not necessarily the kind you’d want to see from him.

You try to ignore him for a few minutes but you can’t help noticing how his build easily took over much of the space you’ve already been occupying. You irkingly look up at him, closing the book you were reading. You meet Mat’s eyes who just innocently looked back into yours. Waiting. Possibly plotting on yet another sophisticated way to toy with you.

“You’re a child.” you roll your eyes and return to your reading. He says nothing and instead rests his chin atop his enclasped hands, continuing to bother you with his ridiculously beguiling eyes. He presses his lips together before sighing dramatically.

“What?” you snap, finally shutting your book down as you look at him.

“I wanna go out.” he looks up at you in an effort to make his huge physique smaller than it really was.

“Then go out. You’re a big boy.” you breathe.

“You just said that I’m a child.” he coos, mimicking a five-year-old’s voice.

“Stop that.” you glare at him. Mat props himself back and laughs, “Come on. I’m bored.”

You open your book again just as you reply in a tone that Mat’s getting used to hearing. “Boredom doesn’t give you the right to pester me, Barzal.”

And as an exchange, he speaks in the same tone rather mockingly, “And so is that attitude, Y/L/N.”

“Come on, y/n. Let’s go out.” he now pleads, looking up at you with what seems to be his worst impression of a ‘puppy eye’.

“Fine.” you finally concede and you see Mat’s beaming smile instantly.

“Where’d you want to go?” you ask as you take your reading glasses off.

“Dunno.” He shrugs, obviously teasing.

On the edge of being irritated, you say, “Are you kidding me?”

“Grandma.” he mumbles before saying, “Do you have anything you want to do? And please don’t say book hunt.”

You suppress a smile and maintain your composure. “I’m craving for pancakes right now but I also wanna drink. Go to a bar or something.”

He nods in agreement. Already stitching his game plan.

“We can do both.” he bobs his all too fine brows.

He didn’t have a hard time getting you on board with his spontaneity. You actually haven’t gone out in a while and the thought of a possible night out doesn’t seem to be so bad of an idea.

You’ve been with Mat to parties and while the two of you don’t mingle as much as the other guys did, he does know his way around the club. The dance floor, however, he tries. He really does.

For about an hour Mathew waited patiently in the living room as he scrolled endlessly on instagram liking a few photos and laughing at posts the fans tag him occasionally. His eyes were peeled away from the screen when he heard the door to your room click. His irises trail onto your body even if he didn’t plan to originally.

Mathew, albeit dressed simply in his black turtleneck sweater and a beige overcoat exudes just about the right ‘swag’ (as per how he puts it) to stop you in your stupor. Although what you didn’t know was how you weren’t any different in his eyes. You were dressed quite nicely in a black lace bodysuit with a pair of blackpants accentuated by the black boots you usually wear on a night out. Your coat was slung on your forearm whilst you held your clutch purse in your hand so you could close the door with the other.

“What?” you blink just as you look down to eye yourself. Feeling a tad self-conscious under his gaze.

Mat immediately breaks it off. He clears his throat, pretending to wipe off the non-existent dust on the accent table.

“What?” he mirrors with an arched brow.

You shrug off his demeanor, snatching your keys from the accent table before putting it in your purse.

“Have you called a lyft already?” he nods, absentmindedly scratching his temple.

“You ready? You look— decent.” He says, trying to act casual and distant when he gives you the compliment.

Not noticing the unfamiliar look his eyes had, you return the compliment and say, “And so do you. Good job for not looking like you came straight out of an H&M catalogue.” you wink at him with a grin. A thing which was then reciprocated by a deadpan look on his end.

Before he could even come up with yet another clever way to come at you, you start walking towards the door, looking at him once as you motion the way by curling your finger.

“Haul ass, buddy.”

𖥸

10:15 PM

Mat decided to bring you to the usual place he goes to when he wants to be alone and just enjoy a couple of beers while he chats with River, the bartender he eventually befriends after years spent drinking in solitude.

The bar had a rustic feel filled with wine barrels in the corner of the room. The seats were leather (mind you, it wasn’t the kind that gets easily worn out through time) and everything looked new to you regardless of all the vintage stuff displayed articulately on the brick wall. A turntable was set on the table stacked with vinyl records, most of which were from the 70s to 80s underneath.

It was obvious that it wasn’t the kind people would know about. Aside from it being located at such a secluded street leading to the suburbs, it wasn’t the type of bar kids would want to hang out in. It only had a few customers and most of them wore suits and came with company. No one really gave a hoot when you walked in with Mathew, aka, the face of the New York Islanders. Which is basically the reason why Mat kept coming back to the place. He felt comfortable and at peace. Almost in retrospect to being at home hanging with his father.

“I can’t believe this place exists.” you say, mouthing your thanks to River as he hands you both of your drinks. The man that’s definitely aged like fine wine smiles, nodding his head over to Mat who was doing the same before he headed back to mix another set of drinks.

“Me neither.” he grins, reminiscing about the time he’s found the small pub by accident.

“This place looks expensive though.” you whisper, making Mathew laugh.

“Well, it kinda is.” he sheepishly chuckles. “River’s filthy rich.”

“Is he really?” your mouth falls and you look back over the build of the old man. The way his salt and pepper hair was neatly slicked back makes quite a compelling case for what Mat had just said.

Mat eventually explains who he was. Apparently, he was just another bored fancy man who happened to love making people drop dead and drunk with his over the top mixes. His dark deep set brown eyes are quite of a crowd favourite too. Case in point, the group of ladies seated from across you and Mathew.

“Hey.” you absentmindedly call on Mat who had just sipped on his drink. “I know what we should do.”

“All right.” he puts the glass down, “Lay it on me.”

“Let’s fix you up with one of the girls over there.” you suggest, leaning towards his body so you could get a better view upfront. Mat does not move and instead follows your finger subtly pointing at the other end of the room.

“What’s with the sudden fixation of getting me bagged tonight, huh?” he smirks, shaking his head at the idea of having to go home with some random girl. You give him a side eye as you move away from him.

“Fixation is an overstatement. We’ll be here long enough for us to get sick of each other.” you explicitly told him.

Mat eyes you intently. Searching if there was even the slightest doubt in your eyes.

Long enough to get sick of each other.

He clears his throat instead and looks across the room. “Which one?”

A gleeful cheer erupts from you just before you look over the girls in question. “What’s your type?” you ask him, not sparing a glance.

Mat looks down on you underneath the bar lights accentuating your features. Your eyes had a certain glint in them that Mat still can’t get a grasp on. Something that was just enough to spark something inside him. He didn’t want to overthink it nonetheless. It must have been just the lights.

Once Mat sensed that you were about to look at him he immediately turned his gaze forward, squinting his eyes a little pretending to check out the women you’ve been eyeing for the last minute.

“I don’t really have a type.” he shrugs, casually taking the fragile glass to his mouth.

You dismiss what he said at once, “Do I look like a child to you? Just answer it.”

Mat shakes his head, “I told you. I don’t have one. If we vibe then we vibe. Simple as that.”

You did not believe him but you decide to drop it off. Instead, you look back and return to your new found mission. Across the bar, seated were three girls busy talking to each other.

“Got it.” you tell Mat, nodding your head towards the clueless girl sitting right across from where Mathew was. “The one in the center.” you add. “The one wearing a white bodycon.”

“She’s pretty.” he nods, validating your taste as his potential wingman. “Nice smile.”

Your hand met a firm slap on the table as you went on cheering for him. “Well? Go then!” you give him a nudge, taking it back quickly when you feel a slight hesitation on his part, “Don’t tell me you need me to introduce you?”

He takes the remainder of his glass and shaked off the kick it had in his throat. “You just sit and watch, babe.”

You do as you’re told and lean towards the bar, your elbow carrying all your weight whilst you sip on your half-full martini.

Mathew’s stance and the way he carries himself immediately caused the girls to notice him coming. Of course, you weren’t really surprised. You watch him approach her,– reading along the words leaving his mouth. There was an exchange of proper ‘hello’s’ as Mat introduced himself to the girls. He reaches out his hand and the curly noirette in the center gives him a firm shake.

Mat’s eyes momentarily locked with yours just as you see their hands linger in the air— tangled long enough for him to make a quick segway. He winks your way as he sees you grin from your seat, shaking your head just after you felt the need to take a deep breath. A thing you assumed to be because of the drink. So, while Mat leads the girl to one of the empty booths and sits across from her, you call on River and ask for another drink.

Mathew must have lost track of time by the second drink he shared with Zoe. He learns that she’s from upstate and was just on the island to visit her friends. She’s still working on her major at NYU; coincidentally in the same field as Lianna so that was one of the things they’ve talked about first hand. She wasn’t really into sports so Mat steered clear of his job because he didn’t want to bore her.

“So…” Zoe smiles and tucks her hair behind her ear. “What’s the deal with you and the girl you’re with?”

By the time she asked about you, only then did Mat remember who he was originally with.

“Oh! She’s—” he looks over to where you’re seated only to find you laughing— no giggling with a man that was obviously a few years older than you. He’s wearing a neat black suit and a button down shirt with a couple of its first buttons opened. Zoe sees him frown, evidently losing his train of thought.

She calls him with her sweet voice, “Mat?”

“Yeah?” he absentmindedly answers, not wanting to take his eyes off of your hand that was now gently pushing the man’s arm whilst the two of you continue to burst into laughter.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

What’s so funny?

Finally, Mat hears Zoe’s distant voice that eventually took him back to his seat.

“Oh. Y-Yeah.” he apologetically smiles. “Sorry. What were you saying again?”

She hesitates to ask about you after taking a quick glance your way upon seeing the way Mathew looked at you. Nevertheless, she decides to go for it.

“Aren’t you two together? I don’t want to come off strong here or anything. It’s just that I don’t want to get in between something if there ever is.”

Mat looks at you one more time and as if you’ve felt his eyes all along you turn your way and meet his gaze. You shoot him a quiet smile, eyeing the guy sitting beside you, mouthing what he assumes to be an exaggerated “So hot!” on your end. He reciprocates your smile and gives you an approving nod.

Once you looked away, that’s the only time Mat finally answered the woman waiting patiently for his attention.

“What?” Mat shakes his head wildly, blowing out air off his lips defensively. “No no no. We’re just friends. She’s my roommate actually.” he shrugs you off his mind and instead tries to put his entire focus on her.

The remaining hours were spent with you and Mat getting along with your respective potential hook-ups. Not that it wasn’t the endgame either of you were hoping for at the back of your minds.

He’s got to admit that Zoe was the kind of girl he’d be interested in. Another fact he’s kept a mental tab not to mention to you because he knows you’ll just get cocky.

She was sweet and obviously eloquent. He knows she’s way smarter than he’ll ever be. But out of all those qualities, she was just as passionate at her craft as someone he likes to think he knows well enough. And that alone made a small smile creep on his lips.

Nonetheless, despite all the aforementioned, Mathew found himself a bit more reserved than he usually is whenever he gets to meet and talk to his potential ‘lady friends’ as how you’ve put it countless times. He just wasn’t his exact self. And he was beginning to question it.

There were no fancy hockey plays thrown subtly into the conversation. Neither mentions of golfing nor over the top league events. No butchered french pet names swiftly tucked in his sentences. And no endless questions that would eventually lead to something along the lines of ‘Do you want to get out of here?’

Well, not until Zoe’s friends got up their seats and she told him herself.

“Hey. The girls and I are meeting up with some friends in Brooklyn. D’ya wanna come?”

Mat’s eyes trail down to her hand now gently caressing his. He raises both his brows thinking of a possible ‘out’ because he wasn’t sure if it was a smart thing to leave you alone with a stranger.

He hums, “Sure.”

Zoe shows him a delighted smile before eventually sliding out of the booth to walk towards the bar she and her friends were formally seated.

“I gotta use the restroom first. Please excuse me.” she gives him a nod before going back to chatting with her friends.

You, on the other hand, see Mat leave the table aiming for an archway you presume to be where the loo was.

“Hey,” you call the man whose name you’ve already forgotten. Your pause was long enough for him to acknowledge the chances that you actually did forget who he was. Obviously.

“Chris.” The man in his early 30s answers with a submitting grin.

You shyly laugh, squeezing his forearm as you try to apologize for forgetting.

“Would you mind if I use the restroom?” you politely ask.

“No, not at all.” he replies and immediately stands to help you get on your feet. Gentleman.

Once you are in front of the men’s room, you anxiously wait for your wingman. You hug your purse close to your chest. Not a whole minute after, the door finally opens and you meet Mat’s irises with quite a gleeful look.

A look he wasn’t a fan of for he knew what’s about to come next.

“Are you taking off?” you eagerly ask, almost hopping on your feet.

Mat eyes you from head to toe, looking for signs that would stink from a drunk y/n. When he sees none, that’s when he decides to say that he was.

“Mkay good. I’ll be on my way too. Chris is taking me to New Jersey.” you tell him, briefly looking through the archway to see if there were people listening.

Once you know you’re clear, you lean towards Mat, your lips dangerously close to the sensitive skin of his ear. Mat feels your heated breath sending a familiar tingle up his spine. “I’ll get to ride a yacht tonight.” you bite your lower lip and giddily smile as if you were a cheeky 16 year-old usually depicted in a coming of age movie.

“Who’s Chris?” Mat, in spite of taking rounds observing you all night, finds the need to ask. “And why are you coming with him to NJ?” he further questions.

“Uh– okay, dad.” you step back for a second. You let out a scoff, checking if he was being serious about it. “I thought we’re supposed to go get laid tonight? Weren’t you about to take off with that girl yourself?”

Mat averts your gaze and starts to scratch the corner of his brow. “Well yeah. It’s just that— he looks sketchy.” he pauses, “plus… isn’t he a little too old for you?”

You roll your eyes as you’ve already expected to hear the words from him.

“He’s 31. He’s not that old.” you say rather defensively so you turn the ball back on his court. “And what if he was? Didn’t you ask one of the moms out??”

Mat’s eyes widens and you try to bite back a laugh. He whispers with a biting tone, trying to save himself. “She didn’t look like one! I’m gonna kill Beau I swear to god.”

“Come on Barz. Don’t be such a killjoy. Text me if you need anything, okay? Wrap things up while you’re at it.” you say at once. Mat doesn’t get the chance to talk you out of such a stupid idea because before he even could, you’ve already planted a kiss on his cheek and started walking away.

Mat waited for the sound of the heavy doors of the bar, signaling that you and your friend have gone, before stepping back to where Zoe was. She waves him near the coat closet.

“Hi.” Mat greets her friends before eventually turning his attention on the unsuspecting lass. She meets her with a smile (just like what she’s been doing all night). The same smile, however, drops the second Mat opens his mouth. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Zoe nods and willfully abides, letting Mat take her gently by the arm.

“What’s up?” she innocently asks.

“Something came up.” he says a little too fast than what he’d originally intended. He was going to let her down either way might as well get it over with and rip up the asshole band-aid.

“Oh.” she says in a tone Mat knew that she completely understood.

“No worries.” she looks at him with a knowing look in her eyes. “I’ll see you around then.”

He gives her a kind smile and nods. “Take care.”

Mathew walks towards the bar, catching River’s teasing grin whilst he cleans up after the bottles left on the center of the counter.

“What?” Mat reacts defensively, taking a seat in front of the lone bartender. River faintly shakes his head to leave just enough curiosity in Mathew’s mind.

“You’re such a tool, old man.” the kid says aiming for the cold beer River has put away for himself. River did not mind because he’s grown fond of the star player for the past years he’s spent going on late night drinks at his bar. Years that even justifies a proper amount of time for him to know the in’s and out’s of one Mathew Barzal.

“I haven’t said a thing.” he shrugs amidst the already wide grin on his face.

There’s wisdom in his eyes that Mathew has always admired. He wasn’t the guy who’d want to talk about what’s going on inside his head but with how River’s pub seems to be just the right place, he eventually concedes and takes a shot to pick on the old man’s brain.

“Come on, spill it out. I know you’re going to anyway.” Mat gives in, running his thumb on the moist label of the bottle.

River wipes his hands before resting it atop the counter. “Well, it’s just that– I ain’t used to seeing you turn down ladies like that too often. And you’re definitely not one to stick around watching me clean up.”

Mat stays silent for a moment, as if to gather the exact reason as to why he chose to stay. He still has a long way to go before figuring that one out. He wasn’t exactly as sharp as he was on the ice.

“I don’t know, man.” he chuckles tirelessly, “I guess I wasn’t in the mood. That’s all.”

“You?” River shots a brow and dismisses him, shaking his head. When Mat doesn’t answer, he carefully picks on his choice of words and lays it down carefully for him. After all, Mathew should have known that River was old enough to not know what’s going on.

“Though I gotta be honest with you, hijo. Never imagined you’d bring someone here.” he starts.

What must have been a shot in the dark for the old man was just enough to tear Mathew’s eyes away from staring at the water beads on the bottle.

“What?”

“The girl, Barz.” he says, banging on the head of the bottle to knock the cap off. “She a friend?”

“What? Y/N?” Mat quirks his brows trailing off where River was exactly headed, “What about her?— Oh, her? Yeah, no. She’s just a friend.”

“She pretty.” he speaks in a sound accent, not wanting to let Mat know he’s growing to like catching the young lad off guard. Mathew nods casually despite the continuous blabbering. “She’s y/n. But yeah— I guess, she is pretty.”

“Then what are you doing being just friends with a pretty girl?” River inquires, taking a sip of his beer. When he sees him trying to register what he’d just said he then adds, “Why not be with her? Date her?”

“Psh. What? Date y/n? That’s crazy.” Mat shakes his head furiously, “You’re crazy.”

“What’s so crazy about that?” River takes offense, laughing at the child’s naivete.

“I can’t date her. I mean— I won’t date her.” he takes the bottle to his mouth, taking a large gulp before continuing, “We’re in this weird relationship thing. A setup, actually, and it’s— it’s crazier than dating her. I swear, you of all people won’t get it.”

“What makes you think I can’t?” he smirks, “I’ve had my fair share of crazy.” River points out despite the hesitation in Mat’s eyes. “I got all night, kid.” he adds, letting him have the floor to himself.

“You really want in on this?” he second guesses, not wanting to bore the man with his personal life.

River leans against the brass counter just below the lit rack of vintage scotch displayed on the bar. He then gestures him to give a piece of his mind and Mat finally submits to his offer.

“We’ve been in a few… prior engagements,” he starts trying to find the appropriate word. “Well, sort of.”

River hums, not necessarily getting on the same page as him so he decides to be upfront about it.

“We’ve… slept together.” he confesses.

“So you used to date her?” the old man asks.

“No.” he answers, “I told you we’re just friends.”

With furrowed brows, River takes a minute. And once Mat hears an all too familiar “Oh.” he sees him break a chuckle, shaking his head at the thought of what Mat had just told him. “You kids have way too much fun these days.”

Mathew shrugs, “Hey, I warned you. Told you you wouldn’t get it.”

“Okay, make me understand something here. You two sleep together, fool around, do all that shit.” he says, “and you swear you’re not in a relationship?”

“Nope.” Mat answers with pride, popping out the word with a hard ‘p’.

“Huh.” River clicks his tongue, “How long have you two been… engaged?”

He rolls his eyes when River uses his word, “About two months.” he answers shortly.

“Is she seeing anyone since you two started this thing? You know, casual dates, the ones I presume she’s been getting before you got her into this mess?” he asks him in a tone that only fathers would ever dare to use.

Mat thinks for a moment, trying to recall the last time he’s seen a guy pick you up for dinner besides the old man you’ve successfully bagged for the night. He firmly shakes his head no and simply says, “At least not in my recollection.”

River willfully nods, walking Mat right into the trap. “Well have you been seeing anyone lately?” he asks again, this time slipping a hint of assertion. He hears a crystal clear ‘no’ from the forward and that’s when he broke a goading grin.

“And you’re telling me you two aren’t together?” he asks yet again, getting on Mat's nerves as he continues to flood him with biting queries, building up the final point he was about to break on Mathew.

“Rivs, for the hundredth time, no. We are not.” he clarifies.

Mat watches River pour himself a glass of scotch, still wearing a smug grin. “Imma give you a piece of advice, yeah?” he smiles rather teasingly and doesn’t wait for Mat to rebut, “I’m a happily married man so I don’t know a single squat about dating nowadays, but if you’re telling me that you kids aren’t sleeping with anyone else but yourselves? Looks like a damn relationship to me.”

With his brows all quirked in confusion (and denial in the very least), Mathew gathers all his might just so he could refute whatever madness River was trying to inflict on him and screw him up in the head. But before he could even open his mouth, the sound of the heavy doors was all it took to tear up both River’s and Mat’s attention.

“Hi.” you say the moment you were welcomed by unsuspecting men talking by the bar. River acknowledges you by raising his drink, his gaze landing on Mat the moment yours did.

“Hi.” Mathew mirrors you in an attempt to drown his already racing heart. A smile impending to break loose at any moment but he manages to suppress it. Instead of dealing with his adrenaline, he gestures for you to take a seat beside him.

“Where’s the sugar daddy?” he laughs the moment you drag yourself from across the room, mocking every word he said.

“His wife called when I got into his car.” you cringe.

“Oof. Lovely.” Mat makes the distinct expression on his face just before the two of you share a laugh.

“He’s not very smooth with adultery. He needs more practice.” you casually state sarcastically, clicking your tongue.

As you find the narrative funny, you take a sip on Mathew’s beer. “How are you not drunk? You’ve been drinking way too much the entire night.”

“Well. I’ve got some things to think about—” he cuts himself off upon seeing your mouth ajar, “And no, you’re not allowed to ask because none of it concerns you.”

“I wasn’t going to.” you dismiss him, excusing yourself to River which he gladly took as his cue to leave.

When he disappeared into the kitchen, you turned your gaze on your friend wearing another one of your mischievous grins, “Hey, wanna get pancakes?”

“Y/N, it’s almost 3 AM.” Mat sighs, the tiring night starting to creep up to him.

“So?” you question, swatting his hand away when you catch him checking on his watch.

“Come on. Stop drinking that.” you insist and take the bottle from his hand before putting it over to the side.

The two of you said your goodbyes to the lone bartender who was just starting to clean up again. River gives the two of you a nod of acknowledgement before landing a knowing look on Mathew. One that he’s thankful enough not to be discerned by you.

As you walk alongside Mathew, he unconsciously places a hand on the small of your back— feeling it graze on the fabric of your coat as if to guide you towards the door in an almost romantic type of way. Perhaps, a way someone would behave if they were actually in a relationship.

Mat notices your body tense but he doesn’t move an inch. Instead, his hand travels to the curve of your waist just as he leads you through the brass doors.

Once you’re out on the streets, he lets go.

𖥸

After almost half an hour of fighting over which diner is better to eat and get sober at, you and Mat decide to just try the new diner three blocks from your apartment. Being that it was an ungodly hour, the diner was good as closed when you got in. There were a few people inside and besides the student studying alone in the corner booth, the people lounging in the vacant seats were mostly just staff. Too bad they had to work the grave shift.

Mathew, who was rather preoccupied digging in his breakfast platter, gets interrupted when you call his attention.

“So tell me,” you ask as you take a forkful of syrupy pancake into your mouth. Finally satisfying your cravings. You put the food modestly in the insides of your cheeks when you ask him a question, “What are you like on dates?”

Mat disgustingly looks at you. You easily get what such a look meant and you immediately roll your eyes. You let your hand fall in mid-air amidst still holding a fork in it to prove a point. “I’m not trying to ask you out, dumbass. Don’t be so delusional.”

He puts his silverware down and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Why the sudden interest?”

“Just curious.” you simply say.

He hums, thinking about how he pulls off a first date. He then clears his throat as he takes you down that road. “First, I’m not bringing her to a 24/7 Diner.” you nearly gag. “She deserves a formal one just in case there won’t be a second date.” he explains.

You sit there, nodding your head every now and then as he further goes on the details of how he’s like on a date. “Of course, I’d put my best foot forward all the time. Talk about her stuff more than mine and make sure she has a good time.”

“Have you ever had a bad first date?” you curiously ask. To which he only answers with a stubborn look on his face, the one only Mat Barzal could pull off. “What? me? I don’t do bad first dates.”

“Oh, fuck off.” you flick his forehead as you laugh. The sound of his laughter echoing in your ears, drowning all the existing noise inside the lone diner.

But as the laughter dies down, Mat catches your eyes as soon as it falls on his. And just like that, there it was again, the exact same glint it had back in the bar. This time, illuminated by the pink shaded light lining up the wall accents of the diner.

When he realizes that he’s been staring for too long, he settles on turning the tables on you.

“How about you?” he props in his seat, “What are you like on dates?”

“You know, apart from the fact that you’re obviously into old men.” he snickers and you throw a curly fry on his forehead.

“Excuse me, I don’t.” you say sticking up for yourself.

Mat takes the curly fry that has fallen on his plate and proceeds to eat it. “Sure you do.”

You roll your eyes, finding it hard to suppress the fact that you might actually do. “There’s a reason why women like old men, chico.”

He leans back and answers with a level headed and quite teasing reply, “And why’s that?”

“Because they’re men.” you look at him with a jerky grin as you continue, “And men, especially of River’s kind, definitely knows how to eat his french fry.”

Mat’s mouth falls wide in disbelief, appalled that you’ve actually found a way to pick up a stone and throw it straight to his face just to rub more salt on the fact that you had to teach a 23-year-old grown man how to eat cunt.

“You’re an ass.” he says, rolling his eyes. You let out a laugh and shake your head. You were proud of yourself, sure; but showing just that is far too much for a boy’s already hurting ego. Who would have known humbling this man was such a task.

“I’m playing! You know how to now.” you tell him, “Thanks to me, of course.”

He scoffs and takes a bite off his pancakes, “Cocky.”

“But you still haven’t answered my question.” he reminds you whilst he wipes off his lips with a napkin.

“There’s not much to tell. You know I’m not high maintenance.” you tell him, ignoring the fact that you haven’t been on an actual date for so long you’re almost sure you’ve forgotten how to be in one.

“I know it’s cheesy and corny but I do think it’s still in the littlest things, you know?” you sigh. Trying to remember the last relationship (date even) you had wherein those little things, the ones that are merely the bare minimum, were actually given to you.

“You know, it’s not much, really. Maybe just a good talk without having to watch him watch me talk all night when he’s really thinking about how I’d look naked, you know what I mean?” you laugh it off, “I know, it’s stupid.”

The arrogant man sitting before you was silent for once, profusely wanting to wash the pool of melancholy he sees in your eyes. There must have been a shit ton of guys who overlooked how great of a woman you actually are just because they couldn’t stop thinking with the head in between their legs even just for a second.

Mathew knows. And he hates that he’s been ‘that’ guy at some point. Probably until now considering him thinking with his balls on was the very thing that got the two of you here in the first place.

You take a deep breath, smiling. “Anyway, that’s better than almost getting with a married man. Right?”

“Right.” Mat laughs, his gray eyes bright under all the lights as he plays with his silverware,— devoid of how much he looked like as if he was utterly and undeniably in awe of not just the energy of the woman sitting in front of him alone nor the fact that she was by far the most unbelievable woman he’s known, but most importantly, he’s yet to realize how much in deep he’s beginning to be for the woman she actually were.

Just as she is.

𖥸

You left the diner a good hour before the sunrise and what must have been a quick five minute drive if you had only taken a cab, became a twenty minute foot race between you and Mathew.

You knew that walking was a bad idea but somehow, Mat’s charm and persuasive antics had a better hold than you thought you had on your very capable cognition.

As you drag your feet into the confines of the elevator in your complex, you hear Mathew chuckling behind you with a firm hand securely placed on your waist supporting your balance.

“You know— and not just ‘cause I’m an athlete, can I just say that you’re in a very bad shape?” he says almost a whisper in your ear, his voice low and deep.

You roll your eyes, leaning on the steel cold mirror once he pulls away, “You do it in heels then tell me who’s in a bad shape.”

“Fair point.” he chuckles yet again, shying away. He presses the number for your floor before resting across from you. As Mat watches you catch your breath, he jokes in the hopes of breaking the ice between the two of you.

“So…” he clicks his tongue, playful eyes looking at you, “Wanna tap?”

Disgusted to your very core, you let out a scoff just as you shake your head. “You’re fucking sick.” you laugh upon meeting his dumb grinning face. Seconds into laughter, Mat’s silence kills off the humor. The two of you exchange glances, the smiles on your faces receding into quietude.

Mathew didn’t want to end the night letting you in the apartment not knowing what he’s been feeling the moment you’ve let him drag you out for an impromptu night out. And stupid as it was, the only thing he could think of was to slide his foot across the enclosed space embracing the two of you, nudging on your boot. You on the one hand were rather puzzled as to what caused such language. You send him a mental query by arching a brow. He lets his head fall back on the cold metal surrounding the elevator finally deciding to speak his truth.

“I’m glad we get to hang out now. You know, just like friends do.” he genuinely says.

“Me too.” you say, smiling. “I really had fun tonight. Thank you.”

As you meet his eyes, you see a glimmer of softness in his gaze.

“Good thing I got bored, eh?” he says with a smirk.

“Good thing I came back for you.” you reply.

A quiet smile parts from his lips.

“Yeah. I’m glad you did.”

It was a few seconds when you and Barzy parted from your respective walls to meet the sliding doors as it opened on your designated floor. You were pulling him closer by the tie of his coat whilst his hand was instinctively placed on your hips letting him press his body on you. Your faces were inches from each other’s, evident of not wanting to prolong the totally unplanned foreplay that’s about to go down in a communal lift.

But just like every film you’ve watched your whole life, the inevitable cliché befalls the two of you when the next words that filled the enclosed walls you’re currently caged in came from the man who has yet to miss a morning jog.

“What the hell is going on here?”

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fic #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal smut #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #hockey fic #nhl fic #hockey smut #letters to barzy #barzzal imagines

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1ddotdhq · 4 years

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🦋Wed 11 Nov ‘20🐀

It’s 11/11, make a wish! Well, hmm, let’s see...I wish for concerts to come back sooner rather than later, that’s for sure! And so, apparently does Ticketmaster: in the face of a possible COVID vaccine, Ticketmaster is changing concert going policy to include new requirements for concert attendees. After buying a ticket, you will have to verify that you’ve either been vaccinated or tested negative for COVID in the 72 hours leading up to the event. You send the test result to a third party company which would confirm the health status to Ticketmaster; TM says they will not have access to other medical information and that the info will be securely encrypted. Okay, look. I can’t wait to get concerts back, right? But registry lists and the issues of privacy and demonizing that come along with that are going to become a big part of the landscape around COVID in the years to come, and this is part of a larger picture. However badly we want concerts back, let's keep an eye on all the privacy policies and implications: historically, registry lists have NEVER been a good thing for the people that are on them.

Harry, psychically foreseeing the discourse about Larry baiting and wanting to defend his title as Larry Baiter Supreme against the always fierce competition from Louis, put on his Blue Bandana and headed out to be Seen recently (hopefully before he went into quarantine!). He paired the much discussed hankie with a bright orange button down with lacey white patterns on it, his cross necklace and pearls, some sunglasses, a black mask, and a single surgical glove on his right hand. Despite the odd conglomeration of Styles, I'd definitely call this a better look than the pastel joggers and walrus hoodie he was wearing last week! In an interview today with Joellen Lapidus (she specializes in making folk instruments, including famously for Joni Mitchell and for Harry who sought her out because of the Joni connection), we learned that Harry has not just the one dulcimer from her that he talked about using on Fine Line, but a collection of them! She says that she names every single one she makes and that Harry bought ‘the Crying Seahorse’, which is decorated with - you guessed it! - crying seahorses (also butterflies and seagulls, all inlaid in gold, blue, and green), which was inspired by an experience with unrequited love. Harry thought it had a “soulful history” and liked the sound, and bought it alongside four more, including an adorable one that looked like a tuxedo. So let’s talk about, um, seahorses for a second (that’s not something you expected me to say today right?): seahorses ARE fish, and they are one of the few kinds of fish that are fiercely monogamous - they mate for life. It’s the male seahorse that gets pregnant, after the female plants the fertilized egg in his, uh, pouch (I’m sure Harry wishes this was him, don’t worry, H, you’ll get there). Each seahorse also has unique identifying markings: the patterns on their bodies are different for each seahorse, kind of like a tattoo! OTP: if ur a fish, I’m a fish STRIKES AGAIN (grrr, the larrie baiters).

Liam came back with some more watercolor rats, and they’re all really cute! This one is a brown and white one with a pen and ink outline and filled in with watercolors, adorably chewing its own tail. He says “ watercolors are now my fave” and “think rats are becoming a thing too.” And! He got on a zoom call with fans earlier this morning. What fans? How? Dunno, but it's probably the same thing as last time we saw this, when fans who had bought the most expensive LP Show bundle tickets got Zoom M&G calls. He asked one fan if she liked the “story driven” aspect of the Halloween show, and she told him his acting was great. To that, he replied, “that’s because it wasn’t acting. About 90% of the time, I just didn’t know what was going on - though that could be because I don’t read my emails”. Me too, friend! He also wrote a ‘thank you’ to military members and their families and friends on his instagram for Armistice Day. Celebtm continues to larrie bait and use Louis’ name for clout without any involvement from him. People, please, they’re not doing anyone any favors, and they’re certainly not helping Louis. Let’s just ignore them and they’ll go away - it’s certainly what I’m trying to do! Louis liked Liam Gallagher’s post about his on the river “Why Me? Why Not” boat concert, which will be on the 5th of December, and *I* learned that you could resize pictures within your instagram story, which is useful, because it tells me that I know NOTHING about whether a story pic was taken in the app or is from the camera roll: Louis’ picture from yesterday, for example, could have been either. Niall is going to be on the Late Late Show tonight with Ashe, and he posted a picture of them in the Royal Albert Hall in Gucci! Niall is wearing a mustard yellow jumpsuit (no, not something I thought I’d be writing about, either) and Ashe is barefoot in the same golden Gucci golden overcoat Harry has. Honestly, what a mood! Look, they’re such a dynamic duo but if they don’t perform more than one song together tonight then HONESTLY what even IS THE POINT!!! (I know, I know, but consider this: an Ashe/Niall cover of ‘Seeing Blind’. I would literally die.)

#harry styles #liam payne #louis tomlinson #niall horan #ugh celebtm #sighhhh #well as we all know if they publish a part 4 I’m on strike again #I really hate the whole story #Louis WONT be taking this Pat test guys sorry #and I so just wanted to spend the day looking at dogs on insta sighhh #anyways!#song of the day!#Road to You by Five for Fighting

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heyheydidjaknow · 4 years

Text

I would’ve posted this earlier but, alas, I passed out early. This is a longer one, but tumblr got its act together so I can post it all in one part. You guys know where the other chapters are, and if you don’t, they’re at the end of the chapter. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go eat straight Nutella.

Chapter 10

“I’m thinking about getting some gloves.”

He looks over at you as he laces up his skates. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling slightly to yourself as you look your hands over, trying to imagine what they would look like. “Like, badass, fingerless gloves.”

He smiles. “Dude, those would look metal as fuck.”

“Totally, right?” Your smile widens. “With studs and shit.”

He gets to his feet, hopping onto the ice. “Hell yeah.” He drops a puck to assault as you go back to your backed-up coursework the best you can—your handwriting has gone to hell, but you are working with what you have.

You flinch at the crack of his stick, the cross of the T ending up underneath the letter somehow. A cheer from Casey tells you the rubber cylinder’s fate.

‘I swear I learned this.' You squint at the basic algebra, the pencil, crudely held in your fist, hovering over the packet. ‘Why can’t I do this?’

“How’s your pile coming along?” Another crack.

“It’s comin’.” You run your fingers through your hair. “Just… trynna remember how to do ne—… subtraction.” ‘Not debate. Negating is debate.’

He laughs. Another crack. “Man, that thing really fucked you over, huh?”

“Thoroughly.” You decide against continuing to torture yourself, having been at it for the past five hours—most of it in the library before Casey invited you to watch him practice some more— and set the large stack of homework back in your bag. “Are you actually making the shots?”

“Casey Jones doesn’t miss shots.” Another crack.

“Pardon me, oh almighty king of the ice.” You stand on your good leg, grabbing the side of the wall to watch as he went back to collect his pucks.

You two have managed to bond over a mutual respect/love of heavy metal and hockey and, seeing as you are staying out of the Hamatos’ hair for a while—not upon request, but out of courtesy—you have managed to spend a lot more time with him than you may have otherwise. Your school has not assigned Biology any big projects yet, so, until you are assigned it, you do not have anything other than your health to stress about.

“Pardon accepted.” You watch his form as he performs another slap shot.

“You…” you trail off, trying to remember what you were going to say.

“What?”

You shrug. “Dunno.” You lean your head on your arms. “I’ll remember eventually.”

He drops the second puck. “Got any plans after this?”

You sigh. “Nope. Probably gonna head home and try not to cut my fingers making dinner again.”

He takes another shot. “Then let’s go out after this. You and me.”

You smile. “What, don’t have any plans either?”

“Nah.” He drops the third. “Dad doesn’t care if I’m home late anyway.”

“True, true.” You have decided against prying into his home life; it is not your place and does not concern you in the slightest. “Where do you wanna go?”

“Wanna catch a movie? Heard there was this new pizza place just a couple blocks down if you wanna try to sneak it in.”

You snicker. “In the box and all?”

“Yes.” He grins mischievously and hits this one off the walls. Some way, somehow, it still makes it into the goal. “I bet your sweatshirt is big enough to stick the box under.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Not in the mood for burns on top of scars, Jones,” you reprimand him teasingly. “That just ain't it.”

“Then you can wear mine under that one and—”

“Your sweat-soaked hoodie you’ve been practicing in all day?” You cringe at the thought. “Over my dead body.”

“I mean…” he licks his teeth, smile widening, “it’s not exactly like you’re in the best—”

You laugh. “So not cool!”

He puts his hands up in defense, gliding over. “I mean, am I wrong, though?”

“That is completely besides the point, you ass.” You balance on your foot, crossing your arms. “Damn. Making fun of the girl with the broken leg.”

He leans against the wall. “Man, you were dying before the crash.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, whatever, Jones.” You lean against your hand. “How’s Johanna,” you sing.

He presses his hand against your face, pushing you away. “Annie is doing fine.”

You grin, steadying yourself on the wall. “Do you feel her, Johanna?”

“I’m gonna tell her you call her that if you don’t quit it.”

“Do you think that walls can hide her? Even when you’re at her window?”

He pushed his arm all the way out. You hop back.

“Her name isn’t even Johanna.”

“But she is Johanna,” you whine in protest, not bothering to hide your mirth. “She has the hair, the voice, the disposition. She’s an ingénue and you know it.” You have been teasing him about this for a while now: the girl in question—Annabelle Halshaw, a year below you two—had caught his eye when he had heard through the grapevine that she was the lead singer in some indie band. When he had shown you a picture and told you the story, you insisted on calling her Johanna for her golden hair and soft, sweet singing voice he had proudly had you listen to.

“She’s not.”

You roll your eyes, sitting back down as you grab your bag. “Lie to yourself all you want,” you goad, “but deep down, you know in your heart that the truth,” you put a finger up, “is apparent.”

He hops off the ice, sitting next to you as he unlaces his skates. “Whatever.” He smirks. “How’s The Don?”

You avert your gaze. “I haven’t seen ‘im.”

“Boo.” He tied the laces together. “Some girlfriend you are,” he ribs.

You go red. “Not my boyfriend. Not even friends with benefits.”

“Yeah, sure.” He sets the skates into his bag. “That’s why you already know his family.”

“That—”

“And why you’ve had him over to your place.”

“If you don’t cool your tits, I’m telling Lucy you’re crushing on her friend.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“What,” you simper, “think I won’t?”

He grabs his bag. “If you do, I’ll show her that video.”

You laugh, following him out of the rink. “You’re the worst.” You note how strange it is that he spent so little time on the ice as you two walk out, but you do not say anything about it.

“Hey, you’re the one throwing threats around.”

“Yeah,” you argue, “but my threat is clearly better.”

He rolls his eyes, pushing you again.

You two keep chatting on the way to the theatre about anything and everything, from new bands to upcoming games to the newest blockbuster horror movies. You are not personally on the hockey team, but, as his friend, it is your duty to care. Besides, you figure, it gives you something to look forward to.

The movie is fine. You convince him against sneaking an entire pizza in, you split a bucket of popcorn, and you give him shit for getting freaked out by the disembowelment scene. It is payback for him teasing you about crying during the last movie you two went to a couple of days ago.

You two stand at the streetlight.

“Dude, it’s like eight,” he groans. “It’s not even late.”

“True,” you agree. “Counterpoint: I still have another week’s worth of work to do by Friday on top of the homework I’ll have to do anyway, so unless you wanna help—”

“Forget I asked.” He pulls his hood up against the autumn wind. “Need me to walk you back?”

“Nah.” You shrug. “If someone mugs me, they’ll give me an excuse to not do my homework.”

“Murdered?

“I’m already halfway there.”

He grins. “See ya tomorrow, Y/N.”

“See ya, Jones.” You wave as he runs off.

The walk home is quiet and considerably easier than it was a couple of weeks ago. Seeing as you now get queasy whenever you get into a car, you have been limited to taking the subway and walking, which, among other things, has contributed positively to your physical strength. You know that you should probably at least try to take the bus or a cab around town to build your tolerance up, but the last time you tried, you had almost tripped and fallen from how shaky your legs were getting out. Oddly enough, you note as you go through the door, you do not have a considerably larger fear of heights than you did before, or of fire, but cars were tripping you up, even though you were the one that crashed it. You feel thankful that, at least, you do not think your fear is crippling. At least, you reason, you can still get into the car.

You lock the door behind you, debating whether you feel like adding to the collection of cuts you now possess— they are self-inflicted, but not intentionally so; you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge the fact that you physically cannot use your hands to cut things. You decide against it tonight, tossing your bag on the bed as you sprawl across it, admittedly exhausted. You allow yourself a couple of seconds with your eyes closed before you pull yourself up with a groan and get back to work.

A part of you wishes that you had the physical energy to stay out longer. You are always trying to find excuses not to sleep, and although the mountain of homework and readjusting your timelines for things you missed is certainly one way to keep yourself preoccupied, it is not exactly what you would consider fun. Then again, reliving your greatest traumas while you sleep is not exactly fun either.

You catch yourself peeling at the newly applied bandages on your fingers, fingernails catching under the crudely applied adhesives. Applying bandages properly requires more dexterity and patience than you currently possess, and you are hardly going to ask someone else for help with something as stupid as that. You have lasted this long without needing too much help. People can live by themselves. You will live, probably. Well? Not your concern.

‘I should eat something.’ Your eyes strain to focus on the piece of paper in front of you, your mind wandering aimlessly as you try to impress the actual importance of finishing this upon yourself, but you find that is an insurmountable feat.

You drop your bag off the side of the bed, reaching down and pulling your shoe off, leaning back into your pillows, the weight of the day practically immobilizing you. Fumbling hands switch the lamp off, bathing your room in momentary, blissful darkness before the gravity of your decision sets in.

“Alright, me,” you breathe to yourself. “What’s it gonna be today? My folks? Bradford? What’s his face? Hell,” you chuckle, “why not all three? I’m sadistic enough, I’m sure.”

You close your eyes. “Give me your worse,” you challenge as you slip into unconsciousness.

Two weeks.

He had kept his distance for about two weeks. It was not as if he did not care or was not morbidly curious what the crash had done to you—his glances through the curtains did not tell him much-- but, after some debate, he had figured you needed time to recuperate before you would want his company. Two weeks, he figured, would be enough time for you to get back on your feet or, at least, for you to start wanting company.

His excuse to see you had come in the form of his brother’s newfound prideful boasting. Feigning insult was as good an excuse as any to go see you; after all, he just so happened to be in the neighborhood anyway, and it was normal to pop in to see someone if you were already just a couple blocks down, right? Sneaking away was easy enough—they would not mind his absence—and he, after much prep work, knew exactly how and why he was going to say the things he would to get in your good favor. The plan, he knows, would have gone swimmingly.

His plans seem asinine when he hears you crying.

His brothers do not cry much. He does not, either; it was a habit that they had all thoroughly bullied themselves out of when they were much younger and, if they still did, he knew nothing of it. His master did not encourage this, per se, but talked, then, frequently about the importance of maintaining a more stoic disposition and not allowing emotions to cripple you in battle. Practically, Donatello was satisfied with that explanation, having not properly cried for more than a year now. To hear the sound again, especially coming from you, was novel.

Novel, too, is how you are crying. The sound is less of actual sobbing and more of you being strangled, quiet gasps for air escaping your lips as you shake on the bed, curled in on yourself and clutching at your chest as if whatever pain you are experiencing is centered and can be relieved by something between your collarbones. His eyes, for the first time, trace the lines on your skin, your sleeves riding up your arms to reveal them to him, tears racing down and along the gash in your face. Everything about the scene, from the soft gasping of panic to your position to the heavy scarring, is completely foreign to him, rivaled only by one or two particularly hard nights when he and his brother were much younger.

He slides in through the window, leaning onto the bed. His fingers flick your lamp back on as he grabs your shivering shoulder tightly, shaking you awake as he mumbles words of encouragement. He is not sure if his help will be appreciated, if snapping you out of it was even what he is supposed to do in this situation, but now is not the time to think of that. You are in pain. He can offer you this kindness. “Wake up,” he pleads, not thinking of how this would look until your eyes snap open to look at him.

Immediately, the reality of the situation sets in, and he scrambles off the bed. ‘Why did I think that would be a good idea?’ Panic. ‘You just walked into her room like a fucking creep. See, now she’s going to—’

“Sorry.”

He blinks, looking up at you from his place on the floor. “Huh?”

You clear your throat, wiping the tears from your eye with your sleeve quickly as you bring your knees to your chest, voice hoarse. “Sorry,” you repeat. “That you… I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for, but I know I should be apologizing.”

He is completely dumbfounded.

Your eyes glance to the open window. “I should probably start closing and locking my window, right?” You rub the back of your neck, voice clearing the longer you talk. “It didn’t occur to me since I’m so high up, but if you guys can get in, The Foot can too, right?”

‘Why is she apologizing?’

You push the hair out of your face. ‘You need something, right? I—uh—need to stop saying ‘right’ so much.” You shake your head to clear it. “’ Sup?”

He hears himself mumble some bullshit out about being in the neighborhood.

You sigh. “Sorry.” You close your eyes. “I’m usually up later; I’ve been so tired lately.”

‘Is she serious right now?’ He is completely lost. ‘She was just crying her eyes out in her sleep and now she’s apologizing? Did I miss something?’ You are smiling now, eyes still bloodshot, as if the whole thing is a figment of his imagination, still shivering where you sit.

He rises to his feet, kneeling in front of you on the bed. “What was it about?”

You blink, seemingly confused. “Huh?”

“Your nightmare,” he clarifies. “You were crying. What was it about?”

You avert eye contact. “Nothing too crazy,” you shrug. “Just about the crash. Nothing too exciting.” If possible, he thinks the bags under your eyes are worse than the last time you saw him.

He takes your hands loosely, turning them palms up to look, for the first time, at the patchwork quilt that is now your skin. “What happened in it?” He runs his thumb along the lines, keeping his voice low; he remembers how that used to help when Mikey used to have fits when they were younger. Leonardo and Raphael were never good at that; they took better to being more violently snapped out of their moods, but, then again, they never had this kind of breakdown; theirs were always more driven by loathing, self or otherwise.

You pause, still not looking him in the face as your muscles relax. He remembers, vividly, how he had done something similar when you two had first met, how much better, health-wise, you looked. ‘How long has it been since then? Three months? A little less?’

You take a deep breath. “Just… family shit,” you mumble, eyelids drooping as you trace his frame loosely. “Fire.”

Your gaze is piercing as you finally look at him properly. He feels something catch in his throat as you bow your head.

“It’s my fault, you know.” Your voice is so soft, barely a whisper. “That they’re dead, I mean.”

The air is a suffocating blanket that smothers you both.

“I never told you, did I?” Your focus does not shift as it might have a bit ago. It is locked solely and intensely on him, taking in every detail of his expression. “How I died? How they died? Why I died?”

Hesitantly, he shakes his head. He thinks it best to just be quiet and let you talk. He does not think he has ever heard anyone speak in quite the same tones, ever looked at him quite the same way you are.

You take another breath. “I wanted to try my hand at baking.” You force your eyes to stay focused on his. “I was—still am—not good about sleep. I always slept bad, and never at the right times. I used to take pills for it, to try to get myself back on track.”

He sees where this is going.

“I thought I could still stay up as late as I was used to.” You glance to the side, stealing yourself a second before focusing back on the boy in front of you. “I sat down in my room, turned on a movie. I set a timer. I fell asleep.” You swallow, hands shaking in his. “I can’t smell well, either. I must not have smelled the burning.” Your lips curl in a bitter smile. “Sure as fuck felt it, though, when I woke up.”

He lets you finish.

You try to blink the tears out of your eyes. “They were asleep,” Your voice rises ever so slightly. “I fell asleep at two something. I woke up when they started yelling.” You purse your lips, face reddening in shame as your nostrils flair. “They were trying to get someone out of bed when the roof caved in above them. My door got blocked.”

You feel yourself smile.

“So,” you strain not to cry, “that, Donatello, is why I’m here and why I’m dead, and why I really do deserve to burn again.” You laugh. “Hell, my body count is rivaling some serial killers, so that’s… that’s certainly something.”

He lets go of your hands, face blank.

You lean forward, placing your hands on your knees. “I don’t blame you,” You wipe a wayward tear out of your eyes, trying to swallow the frog in your throat. “Fuck, man, I’d think less of me, too, if it were me.” You nod towards the window. “I get it if you want to leave, but I thought you might want to know why—”

He stops you mid-sentence, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to him.

Your arms lay slack at your sides as you try to process what is happening.

He does not say a word.

You break.

You burry your face into him, tears welling in your eyes as you let out a strangled sob. You hold onto him tightly as you struggle to breathe, body shaking as you wrap your own arms around him the best you can. The sound roars in your ears like thunder, the deafening quiet of the apartment punctuated only by your own cries. He gently holds you there, resting his head on top of yours. Each sound you make sounds as though you are physically being choked by your guilt, and his chest feels as though it is being crushed by an invisible hand as he listens to your pain.

Neither of you knows how long you stay like that.

He considers telling you a story from a long time ago, about some training he and his brothers had back then, but thought better of it; he does not want to upset you any more than you already are, and being in good company with someone like him may not be exactly what you need right now. Granted, he does not know what you do need, but he knows listening to him talk about bashing brains would not help your sensibilities any.

Instead, he stays quiet.

You pull away after a while, wiping your face off again as you mumble out an apology.

“Don’t apologize.” He clears his throat. “It’s good to cry; it releases endorphins.”

You smile at that. “Well,” you giggle tearfully, “if it releases endorphins.”

He smiles back, face flushing. You look good, he thinks, even with your face all red. He knows that, scientifically, there is probably a reason, but he cannot think of it right now.

He stands up. “I’ll get—”

You grab his hand tightly.

He looks back at you.

“Can I ask a favor?”

He blinks. “Of course,” he agrees easily. “Anything.”

You glance off. “Promise not to take it weird?”

He feels his heart rate increase. “Y-yeah,” he nods.

He feels you pull him gently back on the bed. “Can you stay here tonight?”

His eyes widen as they flicker between the mattress and you. “What,” he clarifies breathlessly, “like sleep with you?”

You nod.

“In the same bed?”

You hesitate, nod again.

He clears his throat, face heating again. “Like, actually?”

“If it wasn’t actually, I wouldn’t ask, would I?” You grip his hand tightly. “I just really don’t want to be alone tonight.”

‘Oh.’ He mentally kicks himself. ‘She’s scared. Don’t make her uncomfortable.’

“It’s alright if you don’t—”

He is extremely quick to reassure you that he is more than happy—‘Bad choice of wording.’—to stay tonight until you fall asleep, but that he would not stay the whole night as to not worry his brothers.

You nod in agreement. “That’s fine.” You rub the back of your neck. “Not sure I would be good company when I wake up, anyway; I still have class.”

“Oh, right.” He nods in understanding, pushing himself further onto the bed. “Which side…?”

You shrug. “Which way do you face?”

“I usually lie on my stomach.”

“Then it doesn’t matter.” You slide your sweatshirt over your head after a bit of squirming around, tossing it onto the couch.

His face is now scarlet. “Okay then,” he mumbles, laying down on the side away from the window. ‘Is she going to—no, stop that.’

You look over at him, face down on the mattress. You can almost feel the heat coming off him. “Are you alright there, buddy?”

He nods.

You shrug, laying down under the blanket and curling into him, facing the window. “Mind getting the light?”

He reaches over, clicking it off.

You sigh in content, turning to face him, teetering on the edge of the mattress. “I’m not venomous,” you inform him teasingly. “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: of the two of us, you should not be the one who’s a nervous wreck.”

“You dunno that.” His voice is muffled by the bed.

“You’re the strong one,” you argue.

“So?” He turns his head to look at you. “I’m the guy laying in the—I’m just gonna stop that sentence.”

“It’s only bad if it isn’t consensual.” You smile reassuringly. “I invited you to lay with me, right? So, unless I make you uneasy, then we’re all good.”

He breaks eye contact. “So,” he clarifies, “you don’t mind if I move closer to you?”

You shake your head.

He hesitantly slides himself further onto the bed. “Can I move closer than this?”

“You’ve already seen me bawl my eyes out. You’re doing me a service. Move as close or as far as you want.”

He moves to press his side against you. “Is this fine?”

You nod. “Look, how about this?” You rest your arm under your head. “If you do something I’m uncomfortable with, the safe word is pina colada.”

‘We already have a safe word?’ He was not sure if he is on cloud nine or just terrified of you.

You are very confused why he looks so warm. “Do you need me to turn the AC on?”

He shakes his head. “I’m good,” he assures you tightly. Slowly, he reached an arm out and over your waist, pulling you closer. You do not seem to resist in any way, wrapping your good leg around one of his to pull him closer.

‘Conscious touching.’ He glances down at you, trying to act cool. ‘Conscious, intentional touching. She smells so nice and she feels—okay, this is not going to work if you keep being a perv.’

“Thanks,” you mumble, humming softly. “I appreciate this more than you know.”

Cloud nine. Definitely on cloud nine.

“Every time.”

You giggle.

He blinks. “What?”

“Every time,” you note, already nodding off. “Like in that book.”

‘Which one?’ “They wrote it down for a reason, right?” The longer he spends like this, the smoother he feels.

“Totally.” You smile, closing your eyes. “Just know that this goes both ways, alright? If you ever need help like this, you know who to call.”

This is new. ‘Help like this? What, like crying?’ His eyebrows furrow as he tries to understand what you mean. ‘Or he means if I ever need company in my—what did I just say?’

You pick up on his confusion. “Emotional help, I mean.” Your fingers trace the indentations in his shell absentmindedly. “I mean, I know sometimes I didn’t want to go to my family about stuff. I dunno if you have that…” you trail off, realizing that you might be unintentionally bashing his brothers. You sincerely do not want to blow this.

“I mean,” he says after a bit, “I think I get what you’re talking about.” He sighs. “You mean stuff that they’d make fun of me for, right?”

You nod.

He feels his heart melt a little. “I’ll have to take you up on that.”

You forgot how safe he makes you feel. “Goodnight, Donnie,” you mumble sleepily.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You pass out not long after that. If he has to estimate a general amount of time, he will clock it in at about five minutes. He does not move, however, until about thirty minutes before sunrise, too busy listening to the sound of your breathing and memorizing how exactly your body feels next to his. As he slips out of the window, early morning air waking him back up completely, he wonders if, someday, he could stay to see you wake up next to him. Not out of necessity, but just because you both wanted to stay like that for a while more.

‘I hope so. It’s a nice dream to have, anyhow.’

Table of Contents

Chapter 9

Chapter 11

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Take You for a Ride (Crystal x Gigi) - Catrina

A/N: hi! it’s been a long while since i posted here. my mental health had a lot to do with that, but here i am again, hopefully as a better writter lmao. apparently i’m obsessed with gigi and crystal and since it’s still crystal’s birthday here i wrote this inspired by dua lipa’s levitating (thanks gigi’s performance at wtw tour). hope you enjoy it and share your thoughts with me. thanks for reading!

Summary: It’s Crystal’s birthday, and nothing comes out as she expects.

Disappointment. That’s the definition of Crystal’s day.

Disappointment and alcohol… maybe some red velvet cake Jan bought for her. She tastes the bitter liquid and sweet frosting in her mouth as she stumbles in her way to the backyard of Jaida’s house.

She’s sick. Sick and tired, of both the party behind her and her day in general. It had really worn her off, first with her teacher grading her project with a humiliating score of 67 points out of 100, then the ridiculous fight with her mother over the phone (she can still listen to the woman screaming at her if she focuses enough) and her cat destroying her One Direction album with her small and deathly paws, and now — oh fucking now, with some idiot pouring their drink all over her dress in a party that she didn’t even want to attend, or happen for that matter.

This isn’t how her birthday is supposed to be. This isn’t even how any birthday is supposed to be, in fact. Crystal doesn’t get how Jan could get to the conclusion that a party at Jaida’s house would make her feel better.

“It’ll be fun!” Jan had said. “You deserve to celebrate your birthday. I’m sure it’ll improve your mood!”

Spoiler: it didn’t.

Crystal feels just as miserable as she would feel in her dorm. Being in bed and watching bad tv was her original plan for today. Was too much to ask for? Why did she let her friends drag her to a party full of people she doesn’t even know?

Right, because Jan and Jaida had made her puppy eyes and Crystal felt terrible for rejecting such a gentle and thoughtful gesture from her friends.

She groans, sitting down on the grass of Jaida’s backyard and rubbing a tissue over the huge stain in the blue fabric of the area over her chest, groaning again when she realizes the stain isn’t moving at all.

Perhaps more miserable.

It’s a sequin blue dress she had purchased a while ago. It wasn’t really expensive, and it isn’t even her favorite, but fuck, it hurts. It’s like today everything in the universe accorded to make her feel terrible. She usually would shrug it off and continue as if nothing has happened, and she can’t quite understand why her natural sense of positivity can’t wash the sadness away.

Giving up, she tosses the tissue to a side and lets the upper part of her body give up to lie down completely on the grass. She’s lucky everyone else is inside, enjoying the music so loud it makes the whole house pound in rhythm, the intermittent lights that must hurt their eyes, the colorful drinks served by Jan and the closeness of dancing bodies rubbing against each other, so she doesn’t have to worry about someone going out and seeing her throwing a tantrum.

The party is a success. She shouldn’t ruin it with her bitter existence.

The sky is quiet tonight, with some stray stars and the moon shining bright. It makes Crystal breathe heavily, over and over again, until she’s sure she’ll be okay.

But, as her breathing regulates, imagines of every earlier moment when she felt everything but okay flash through her mind, and her lungs are not cooperating anymore.

Her heart feels heavy, stupidly hurt. She knows tomorrow her terrible grade will still be there, and her mother will still be pissed at her for whatever she even got mad about, and her favorite album will remained ruined and her fucking dress won’t be wearable anymore, and it’s fine, because she can make work for extra points to improve her final grade and text her mom an apology and replace the material stuff that isn’t even that important whatsoever, but that won’t help her stop feeling so helpless.

Helpless — that’s a good definition for her.

“Crystal?”

Gigi Goode looking down at Crystal interrupts her pathetic thoughts.

More than the interruption, her mere presence is what makes Crystal blink twice and wonder, for a brief moment, if she fell asleep on Jaida’s backyard grass and she’s dreaming.

She’s used to see Gigi everyday, but since today has been a short taste of hell, it wasn’t surprising when Gigi texted her to say she had to miss part of her classes and Jaida’s party because she needed to find someone to fix the broken temperature system in her apartment.

She hasn’t come to terms of how she feels about Gigi yet, and it’s not something she would like to do at all. For the past two months, Crystal has noticed the way her heart starts pounding violently in her chest when Gigi smiles at her, or takes her hand to lead her through the corridors or when she simply looks at her with those big eyes full of emotion and it’s ridiculous but somehow fitting that the only person she craved to see today was the one she couldn’t.

“What are you doing here?” Gigi tries again at her lack of response, not hesitating to offer her hand to help her up.

Crystal takes her hand without thinking (she doesn’t do a lot of thinking in Gigi’s presence) and lets her pull her up in a sitting position.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking what are you doing here? I thought said your temperature system was giving trouble.”

Gigi chuckles, crouching to be at the same height as her.

“Well, I really wanted to come and Heidi said she could manage it. The girl knows about mechanics, did you know that?”

Crystal shakes her head, breathing out a laugh. “I never would’ve guessed.”

Gigi hums thoughtfully. “Well, she does, thank fuck, because I really wanted to see you, birthday girl.”

Heat creeps up to Crystal’s face incredibly fast, leaving her cursing the power something so small can have over her.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I asked Jan where you were, actually. She said some dickhead poured all his drink on you and you were probably in the bathroom but you weren’t there.”

Crystal opens her mouth to vent about her now ruined dress, frowning as soon as a different thought crosses her mind. “But there are like five bathrooms here. You went all around the house looking for me?”

Confused, Gigi nods. “Is that weird?”

It’s extremely sweet, is Crystal’s first answer.

“No, of course not,” she giggles instead. “But why were you looking for me?”

Gigi looks suddenly flushed, as if she was caught doing something she shouldn’t.

“Well, I…” she tears her eyes away from Crystal to look at the party behind her through the glass doors. “What happened to you?”

The change of topic takes Crystal aback.

“What? What about me?”

“Yeah, you’re here all alone, looking like a child who dropped their candy, when you’re usually a little happy ball, and in your birthday,” Gigi remarks, although not harshly. “Had a bad day?”

Crystal hates this how easy is for Gigi to read her. She knows she looks terrible, beside her dress the signals of her terrible day surely mark her face in dark bags under her eyes and pale tired skin, but Gigi has always had a talent to read her beyond that. The simple fact makes her feel even more embarrassed.

“A horrible one,” she finally confesses in a low whine. “A straight up disgusting, draining, fucked up, impossible day! And, I know I shouldn’t feel so pressed about it, but birthdays are supposed to be happy and I — I am not. At least not now.”

Gigi snickers, taking Crystal’s hand in her own to give it an affectionate squeeze.

“It’s okay to have bad days. Now, to have a bad birthday is really fucked up, but it is what it is. Wanna tell me about it?”

“I’m not really in the mood of talking about me being mediocre in life,” Crystal means to joke more than to actually vent, and she loves the way Gigi giggles.

“Dramatic much?”

“Oh,” Crystal’s eyebrows raise as she laughs. “I can be more dramatic.”

But Gigi doesn’t laugh along this time. She purses her lips, and then stands up, offering her hand to Crystal again.

“Let’s go.”

Crystal looks puzzled. She takes Gigi’s hand, allowing her to pull her back on her feet. With her hand still covered by the other girl’s, Gigi begins dragging her back to the house.

“Where are we going?”

“Let’s go for a ride,” Gigi suggests, looking back over her shoulder just to give her a smile that reassures everything.

In the middle of the dark since the backyard lights don’t reach there, the path changes; Gigi takes Crystal through a small hallway that connects the porch with the patio to the front of the house. They meet a few people in the way; some passed out on the ground, others drinking in their friends and some couples making out. Crystal turns to watch them before she realizes they’re crossing the garden.

“Gigi,” she breathes as she spots the motorbike parked on the sidewalk.

The blonde reaches in the pocket of her jacket, her hand still on Crystal’s. She finally pulls out her keys and twirls them on a finger.

“Every time I’m sad, or mad… or high,” she grimaces and Crystal laughs, “I get on this thing and ride away. It usually works to clear my mind and calm me down, so I thought it could work on you too.”

Crystal feels something very close to gratitude. Instead, she knows it’s pure adoration for one called Gigi Goode.

“Okay,” excitement starts filling her face as she smiles. “Oh my god, I’ve never been close to a motorcycle before, wow!”

Gigi laughs, rolling her eyes. “You’ve literally seen it everywhere with me.”

“I know, but—” she eagerly motions to Gigi and then to the motorcycle. “I always see it as, I dunno, part of you. Like, yeah, there’s Gigi and her bike, you know? I’ve never seen it up close.”

Gigi’s light hearted laugh is the answer she receives again. “Well, now is your chance.”

The motorcycle shines in its black neat color, with not a single particle of dust on it or sign of being neglected; Gigi’s perfectionist personality reflecting. Crystal finds herself so absorbed by its beauty that she doesn’t realize when Gigi lets go of her hand and gets on the bike, using her legs to adjust herself as she takes the two helmets from the space behind her on the seat to make room for Crystal.

She reaches forward to pull the key in the ignition, and it only takes a firm move from her hand for the motor to start growling. The sound makes Crystal gasp.

“You think you can get on? I don’t want you to fall,” Gigi warns, but Crystal is already jumping behind her.

Of course, the gravity plays a cruel trick and she has to grab onto Gigi’s jacket to prevent her from sliding off, but Gigi doesn’t seem to care as she snuggles closer. She offers one of the helmets to Crystal, smiling.

“Safety first.”

“This is so pretty,” she drawls, passing her fingers over the shiny, baby pink surface of the helmet.

“Thanks. Heidi suggested me to get it customized that way,” Gigi comments as she puts her own helmet, of a white color, on. “She’s pretty much the only person who I give a ride, so I thought, why not?”

A tinge of jealousy pops in Crystal’s chest, but she forces herself to ignore it as she notices Gigi reaching over the hand grips, preparing herself to move. She rushes to put the helmet on and forces the image of Heidi taking her spot behind Gigi to fade away.

“You’ll probably resent the motion, so please hug my waist as hard as you can and hold your legs onto the sides of the seat,” says Gigi, so easily it makes Crystal think it’s something she has memorized. “I’ll go slowly anyway, since it’s your first time.”

Crystal complies immediately; she wraps her arms around Gigi’s waist and the stupid butterflies in her stomach seem to fly all the way up to her throat, suffocating her for a second, until she realizes it’s just Gigi’s perfume.

Fuck, she thinks bitterly. She smells really good.

The short heel of Gigi’s boot kicks on something at the same time she rotates the key one more time, and the motor growls fiercely.

They start moving — it’s almost magical. At first, Crystal can’t really feel it. It starts as such a gentle motion, but when she looks around, she sees Jaida’s house becoming smaller and smaller in the distance, and the houses around moving around them. That’s when it hits her; they’re moving.

Gigi speeds up once they’re out of the block, turning on the left and then right and moving smoothly until they’re exiting the neighborhood, but Crystal doesn’t mind in following their path.

She’s too busy giggling at the wind hitting her face and making her hair twirl, creating ginger waves at the sides of her head.

The world around them is moving so fast, and all she can recognize in the city at night are deformed street lights and bright colors everywhere she looks at; everything seems so distant but so close at the same time as they slide on the asphalt, and the late life of Los Angeles never looked so appealing.

Nothing seems important now. Her grade, the fight with her mother, her album nor her fucking dress. Her mind is full of Gigi; of her beautiful hair, her endearing voice, her flawless face and how soft she feels under Crystal’s hands; almost as if she belongs there, in her arms.

If Crystal wasn’t starting to feel dizzy for the speed, she would probably never think such a thing; her feelings for Gigi are something unexplored and feared, threatening to destroy their friendship because Gigi is everything and Crystal is barely something that exists. And Crystal isn’t ready to lose her.

It’s the little things, like the fact she went all around the house looking for Crystal or that she even wanted to see her, that she thought of a way to cheer her up, that make Crystal’s stomach coil and tie itself in a too tight knot that won’t probably never be the same. Gigi has some kind of security aura around her that, as Crystal learned, was impossible to ignore. She’s confident, sure, but there’s something more to that attitude; something that demands to be trusted under that bitch façade. She’s kind and loving and funny, and if Crystal has to swallow her feelings to make sure Gigi is always at her side, then she will.

As they speed up into a steady pace, Crystal notices how Gigi relaxes and leans back into her just a little, and without a second thought she leans on her as well.

“You okay back there?” Gigi asks, voice muffed by the violent wind and motor growling under them.

“Yeah!” Crystal exclaims. “Oh my god, Gigi! This is amazing!”

“Wait until you see this!”

Crystal is about to ask what she means, when they turn into an empty street, where a tunnel leans out. There are no more cars or motorcycles around them and Gigi speeds up even more as they approach the tunnel, lights flying around them.

A raw “puff!” echoes in their ears as they storm into the tunnel, and Crystal laughs as she feels the force the motorcycle is traveling through it. She feels light, like the butterflies flying around her stomach, levitating at the right speed and watching the world around them as secondary.

Gigi starts slowing down at the middle of the tunnel.

“Hold your arms up,” she tells Crystal, eyes locked at the front. “Just for a second, so you can feel the wind.”

At first Crystal hesitates, but the speed is steady and there are no more vehicles around, so she slowly pulls her arms away from Gigi.

She raises both arms, wriggling them at her sides. She makes a quick mental note to remind herself to thank Gigi later, because the air hugs her limbs in a way that almost tickles her, the soft touch running on her naked arms and she closes her eyes for a moment, wondering if she could fall asleep like this.

Of course, when the motorcycle runs over a bump and she has to hold on Gigi’s torso to avoid jumping out of the seat, that idea is quickly denied.

“Oh, right,” Gigi laughs. “I should’ve warned you about that.”

Crystal huffs, sleep knocked out of her as they leave the tunnel behind.

The rest of the way is calm; Gigi decides to go slow this time, so Crystal has the chance to see everything in a clear way (according to her, it’s very important to appreciate the view) and Crystal takes the moment to rest her chin on Gigi’s shoulder and wrap her arms around her middle, just like before, but this time without the messy rush of fearing being thrown out of the motorcycle by a bump.

The proceed to threat a way through town messily, going around buildings and onto streets Crystal doesn’t even know, but Gigi moves skillfully, like she knows exactly where she’s going, and Crystal trusts her. Soon she noticed that Gigi actually knows where they going.

She recognizes her surroundings as they approach the apartment complex where Gigi and Heidi live. She’s always complained saying that her place is small, but the few times Crystal has come over, she’s loved the cozy feeling that takes over her as soon as she crosses the door, which makes her feel even more excited.

Gigi parks carefully on a spot near the front gates. She pulls the key out and the motor shuts down, as she leans back with a pleased smile.

“I didn’t ask you if you wanted to come here, but I thought you didn’t want to go back,” she whispers, barely having to turn around to see Crystal’s face resting on her shoulder blade.

“You thought correctly,” Crystal sighs with content before a thought crosses her mind, making her gasp. “Shit, I gave Jan my phone before going out—”

Gigi reaches on the inside pocket of her jacket, pulling out Crystal’s phone.

“She gave it to me when I asked for you,” she explains to a stunned Crystal. “She thought we would leave together eventually.”

“How smart,” Crystal mumbles.

She unlocks it while Gigi takes her helmet off, noticing the time; almost two in the morning. She tugs on Gigi’s sleeve, pointing at the screen.

“It’s late, won’t Heidi be pissed if we come in? She could be sleeping.”

“The girl wouldn’t wake up even if a rock fell in her head,” Gigi rolls her eyes, gesturing for Crystal to take her helmet off as well. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”

Crystal shrugs as she does so, too wrapped in the thought of spending more time with Gigi to care. She gets back on her feet with a little jump, following her inside the building as they carry the helmets with them. Gigi talks about her day while they’re making their way to the third floor through the stairs, blame the elevator that never came back to the lobby, by Crystal’s request. She wanted to know how she had been doing while she was miserable, and Gigi complies, walking through the empty building.

“I noticed this temperature thing was broken because, c’mon, California will never be hot enough to make fucking ice cream almost boil,” she says just when they walk into the right corridor, Crystal trailing behind her. “It was a nightmare, everything was so fucking hot. I hope Heidi could fix it.”

The metal of her keys knocking makes the only sound that fills the air as Gigi opens the door. She reaches for the switch and the small living room lights up, cool air receiving them.

“She fixed it,” Crystal muses, smiling.

“God bless her,” Gigi sighs, taking off her boots. “Could you leave your shoes by the door and the helmet over the coffee table please?”

Crystal steps on the soft carpet on her short blue socks, watching as Gigi makes her way to Heidi’s bedroom door. She opens it just enough to poke her head inside. After exchanging a few words with her roommate, she turned back to Crystal, closing the door behind her.

“Heidi was just going to sleep.”

“Oh,” Crystal’s eyebrows raise. “Tell her hi?”

“I’m not sure she’ll appreciate me bothering her again,” she giggles. Her mouth opens again, but she closes it seconds after, thinking for a second on what to say. Finally, she gestures at the kitchen. “You want something to drink?”

The apartment is small, Gigi’s right. The living room has barely enough space for a couch and a coffee table and is too close to the kitchen. The bathroom is that white door carelessly next to the television hanging on the wall, and Crystal bets Gigi and Heidi’s rooms are just as small, although she has never seen them. The few times she has been there, with Jaida and Jan, they simply preferred to stick to the couch and a barstool they would drag from the kitchen.

Gigi’s room suddenly becomes source of her curiosity, but she nods, remembering Gigi’s question.

“We’ve got a great menu tonight, in honor of your birthday,” Gigi hums as Crystal sits on one of the stools of the kitchen bar. She opens the fridge, eyeing the content blocked to Crystal’s view by the fridge door. “We have… well, we’ve got beer, and pretty much nothing else.”

Crystal laughs. “Beer! Just what I wanted!”

Gigi is beaming under the kitchen lights as she tosses her a beer and takes another one for herself, nonchalantly kicking the fridge closed. She leans a hip on the kitchen bar, worryingly close to Crystal, and holds her beer up.

“Cheers,” she clicks their cans together.

“Cheers,” Crystal repeats. She stops right before taking a sip, frowning. “But what are we exactly cheering for?”

Sipping her drink, Gigi breathes out a laugh.

“You just killed the moment, babe.”

Babe. Crystal’s ears burn with the name, and she attempts to conceal her surprise by pretending she’s genuinely confused.

“Well, who cares?” Gigi shrugs, holding her beer up again. “Here’s to terrible birthdays, a broken temperature system, and…”

“Motorcycles,” Crystal fills in for her.

“Yeah,” Gigi grins at her. “Motorcycles.”

Crystal leans back to take a long sip of her drink, savoring the slightly bitter taste going down her throat. She notices Gigi staring at her when she places the beer back over the bar, with the ghost of a smile on her glossy lips.

“What?”

“What,” Gigi repeats, snickering.

“You’re looking at me,” Crystal points out, smiling to cover her worsening blush.

“I like looking at you,” the blonde simply says, as if it’s obvious. “I always wanna look at you.”

“That’s creepy. Do I need to call the cops?”

Far from looking bothered, Gigi shrugs. “Who knows. Maybe.”

Crystal scowls with no genuine annoyance, but her face softens as Gigi’s smile somehow widens.

“You’re weird, miss Goode. I thought being weird was my gig,” she jokes, making Gigi throw her head back in laughter.

Internally, Crystal is praying this moment never ends. Seeing Gigi under the dim lights of her kitchen, toying with that beer and looking so effortlessly gorgeous is having the same effect as when she was feeling the air hit her face on the motorcycle, and her head already feels lost in space, far away from the apartment.

“Why were you looking for me earlier?” Crystal asks, voice small.

The intimate atmosphere created around the two is beginning to feel suffocating. Crystal can feel Gigi so close, like she’s the only real part of a dream and the rest of the world was nothing but a wallpaper for her wonderful figure to stand in front of and lead Crystal through the rest of the night.

“Nothing,” Gigi doesn’t even look taken aback by the sudden question.

“Oh, c’mon. It can’t be nothing,” she whines as Gigi takes another sip, purposely taking a long fucking time doing so. “Gigi, c’mon. Tell me!”

She leans forward, making her lower lip stick out in an exaggerated pout. It seems to work catching Gigi’s attention since her whole face seems decomposed when she glances over.

“Don’t do that.”

Crystal frowns. “Do what?”

“Don’t pout.”

“Why not?” she quirks en eyebrow.

“Because it makes me wanna kiss it off your lips,” Gigi deadpans. She takes a final sip from her beer before walking to the fridge again, not minding if Crystal just froze on her spot.

Crystal laughs nervously, trying to convince herself she just misheard. Her heart is beating so fast on er chest, if she watched any medical tv show she might be worried for it to pop out of her body through her nose at any second.

As time passes, she wonders if that’s possible.

“What did you say?”

Gigi sighs, returning with another two beers. She looks uncharacteristically shy, sheepishly placing the new beer in front of Crystal, eyes glued to the carpet.

“This is dumb,” she blurts.

“Gigi—”

But Gigi leans in to kiss her, and suddenly any word forming in Crystal’s head dissolves.

It’s slow and tentative at first, but any doubt disappears when Crystal’s hands move to cup Gigi’s face, pulling her even closer.

She feels light. So light, like when she was holding her arms up in the tunnel to feel the wind, and everything moved so far away from her, she felt ethereal. And now, moving her lips against Gigi’s and feeling the texture of her lipstick between them makes her wonder how Gigi can make such raw sentiments be born in her, riding a goddamn motorcycle or kissing her in the tiny kitchen of her apartment.

Gigi’s hands are tight at the sides of her waist, tugging a little tighter as she pulls back to grab some air.

“That’s why I was looking for you earlier,” she confesses after a while of comfortable silence.

Crystal feels pulled out from a deep trance… or rid over by a bus. Whatever sounds romantic as she stares at the blonde’s deep blue eyes and runs her fingers over her shoulders.

“I think I’ve felt this way with you for a while… I mean, you’re pretty, and I have eyes, so I can tell that you’re pretty,” Gigi continues and if Crystal wasn’t focusing on breathing she would’ve laughed, “I thought that I could keep it friendly, but this morning, when I knew the temperature system was broken and I couldn’t make it to class or the party, I was so pissed. I didn’t wanna let you down.”

The butterflies in Crystal’s stomach have eaten her tongue. Yes, that’s why she’s speechless.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Gigi finally asks and everything fits in Crystal’s head.

“Why would I be mad at you? You’ve literally described how I feel for the last semester with this crush I have on you,” Crystal blurts out.

Before regrets covers her entire face, she notices Gigi raising an eyebrow, with a smirk threatening to form on her lips.

“Last semester, huh? That much?”

“Shut up,” Crystal tries to sound pissed, she really does, but with Gigi being so close, her blushing cheeks betray her initial expression.

“Don’t be embarrassed, you’re flattering me.”

They both laugh. A warm feeling spreads across Crystal’s chest at the fact.

“This day… it was hell,” she mumbles, and almost smiles at how Gigi looks at her, having her entire attention, “and I also was thinking of you. It was weird… like, as I said before, birthdays are supposed to be happy and while I was sad and grumpy I couldn’t help but think ‘I wish Gigi was here, because she would make everything better; she’d make me laugh or help me or just make me feel like I’m not alone’ and I hated the idea of not getting to see—”

“The love of your life?” Gigi suggests, sounding way too hopeful.

“I was gonna say that blonde bitch,” Crystal grimaces, “but if that works for you…”

Gigi laughs, mumbling something about who was the real bitch is as she reaches over for her second beer.

Leaning her side on the kitchen bar, freshly open can in hand, Gigi smiles again. It’s a show of her teeth and little wrinkles at the sides of her eyes that Crystal remembers noticing the day they met that morning at History of Art class.

Glancing at that very smile, Crystal’s pretty sure she’s dreaming. Did she fall asleep on Jaida’s lawn? That’d be pathetic. Someone could think she’s dead tomorrow morning when everyone’s hung over and oh, the idea frightens her, but she has to be dreaming. She can’t be this lucky — she’s never been lucky. What are the chances someone like Gigi can have a crush on her?

This flawless, beautiful girl with a golden personality that Crystal’s been making heart-eyes at for months has a crush on her.

God, she thinks. If I fell asleep Jan better never wakes me up.

“Crystal?”

The redhead blinks a couple of times, meeting Gigi’s eyes in the process.

“You were lost in thought, babe. You alright?”

The fucking pet name again. Crystal isn’t dreaming; her brain wouldn’t be mean enough to make up scenarios like this.

“Was I? Sorry.”

That’s not the answer Gigi wants. She drags the other barstool from the other side of the kitchen bar to Crystal’s side, sitting down with her beer still in hand.

“Stop overthinking.”

It’s not a suggestion. Crystal attempts to laugh, but no actual sound comes out of her mouth.

“Well, I can’t,” she babbles, “it’s hard. This doesn’t feel real.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No,” she whispers, more to herself than to the other girl. “I always thought that you were… romantically different than me.”

Gigi looks utterly confused. “Please elaborate?”

The butterflies are not dead. They’re flying around Crystal’s stomach now, begging her to not fuck it up.

“I never thought you’d feel the same,” she admits, too quietly for her taste.

Vulnerability is not a good look on her, she has decided years before, and definitely not in front of Gigi. She has all the time in the world to be a cry baby in the comfortable privacy of her dorm, not right now, for Christ’s sake.

“This is real,” Gigi gestured at herself, then at Crystal. “We’re real. Everything is. I can’t understand why you’re so impressed about it, but I know for sure it’s not enough of a reason.”

Crystal nods. Gigi’s right, as always, and she’s just wasting time questioning why has her day taken the path it did instead of enjoying it.

“I’m just being stupid.”

Gigi rolls her eyes, pulling her again for another kiss — a shorter one, but Crystal can’t help but try and memorize how her lips feel against hers. She’s never stopped and think of how it would be to kiss Gigi, and she’s somehow glad; none of her expectations would have been better than the real thing.

“I like you stupid,” Gigi comments once they part, receiving a smack on the arm by Crystal. “You know I’m kidding; you’re never stupid, but I do like you.”

“I like you too,” Crystal breathes, feeling every of her limbs relaxing. Gigi doesn’t say more, and maybe it’s the end of their conversation, but there’s something else forming in Crystal’s throat and before she knows it, she blurts out, “thank you.”

Gigi looks up, puzzled. “For what?”

“For the ride. It was the best birthday present ever.”

Under the dim lights of a small kitchen in an even smaller apartment somewhere in Los Angeles, Crystal knows there’s nothing better than Gigi Goode.

#rpdr fanfiction #crystal methyd #gigi goode #college au #lesbian au #fluff #catrina #concrit welcome #crygi #s12

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millennial-star-gazer · 4 years

Text

A Fire Dragon, His Princess and The Not-So-Terrible Party Aftermath: Chapter: 1 (Nalu Week 2020)

A Fire Dragon, His Princess and The Not-So-Terrible Party Aftermath

Nalu week 2020 Prompts: Voice, Flirt, Charm & Smile(All implied)

Genres: Romance, Humor, New Adult Fanfiction

Pairing: Nalu/Endlu (Natsu x Lucy & E.n.d. Natsu x Lucy)

Rating: M for language, steamy and mature/adult sexual content (all consensual) in these and future chapters. Reader Discretion is advised.(You've been warned!)

Summary: God knows it was all fun and games at an outdoor guild party until a drinking contest results in a not-so-great time for a certain celestial wizard much to the dismay of a protective dragon slayer and company. Even worse is Lucy's hangover with some kind of mild flu and busted ankle to boot . At least a doting Natsu is more-than-willing to provide his mate plenty of TLC. One of my entries for @nalu-week 2020 and part of the Nalu-centric anthology series The Dragon Demon and His Celestial Princess anthology series (slight au/ canon divergent).

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Chapter 1: A Worthwhile Distraction

A/N: Hey guys, it's me again with my third entry for @nalu-week 2020 in the form of a new story and is also part of The Dragon Demon and His Celestial Princess anthology (TDDAHCP); series which is set shortly after the events of 100 years quest with said quest being completed in a matter of weeks or a few months (hence why it's slight au/canon divergent). Special thanks to @mannyegb again for helping me to edit and further develop this chapter. Now without further ado, here's the story-enjoy!

Scroll Down Past The Read More Button/cut for designated links and the actual chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fairytail which instead belongs to the one and only Hiro-sensei instead!

Read More of This Fic and on other Platforms

Note: Copy and paste links into another browser tap if reading on desktop site

1. A Fire Dragon, His Princess and The Not-So-Terrible Party Aftermath

A. Tumblr

Chapter: 1 Next (Chapter) (Click Here:) (or here: https://millennial-star-gazer.tumblr.com/post/624773467606319105/a-fire-dragon-his-princess-and-the)

B. Fanfiction (Click Here:) (or here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13623735/1/A-Fire-Dragon-His-Princess-and-The-Not-So-Terrible-Party-Aftermath)

C. A03 (Click Here:) ( or here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24802591/chapters/59983813)

3. Master Post Of All My Writing And Profiles (Click Here:) (or here: https://millennial-star-gazer.tumblr.com/post/179665258923/master-fic-rec-post)

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Legend

Italics: Fantasy, flashback & literary/ song quotes

Bold: First Person Thoughts

Bolded Italics: empathized word

Bolded Italics: outside of main story): A/N

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" The friction between my words and your fantasy is making the atmosphere erotic."

(Soraya Marcelo: Twitter)

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"There you go baby - everything's ready now. It should be perfect for tonight. A guild picnic at dusk and bonfire under the stars, was it?"

"Yep, that's what Mira told us. Even said so on the Magicbook * page for the event. My friends from other guilds like Sabertooth will be attending too— a bunch responded."

"Awesome baby!"

"It really is. Thanks for helping me get ready by the way, Cancer!"

"Anytime. Have fun tonight!"

"Will do— thank you! "

"All right-catch you later, baby!"

"See ya!"

" Wow—- You look beautiful, Luce."

Natsu's arms encircled Lucy's waist from behind with the soft pressure of his lips on her shoulder; which sent a tingly shiver down her spine.

"Not that ya' didn't before. He amended, a fond smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Not to mention those striking emerald eyes the celestial mage could drown in. "You always do."

Major fan of this whole look.

"I still can't believe I got such a gorgeous angel as my mate and queen. How am I this lucky?"

"Dunno. How'd you ever get so sentimental?" Lucy shot back, a teasing lilt to her words. (She couldn't help but lean back into his arms ). "If Gray could only hear you now ...but yeah, I really like all this too ."

Golden half-braided hair framed the face of Lucy's reflection in a floral-mini, skater dress; who was gazing back through a mirror. Topping the whole ensemble together was a pair of Grecian-style wedges on her feet that were to die for.

"Still can't believe you're officially mine" the dragon slayer breathed, voice thick with reverent awe. "I love you so much."

"L-love you too... hmm."

The celestial wizard let out a soft hum of bliss from the peppering of feathery-light kisses on her neck leading to her collarbone just after a nuzzle.

"Y-You trying to distract me Natsu?" she inquired, voice coming out as breathy to her own ears. God, the sensation of Natsu's scorching lips on the celestial mage's creamy skin was scattering all train of thought— almost too much to handle!

It's really hard to think right now...

"Hmm.. just maybe I am, sweetheart," came the dragonslayer's reply, timbre, a languid drawl against her skin. "Is it working?"

"Yes," was all Lucy could utter, eyes drifting shut from the sweep of his hand up the curve of her neck in a single caress. Oh and the appealing sensation of a blonde tendril being dragged through his deft fingers was an added bonus too!

"Good," The vibrations of the fire wizard 's throaty chuckle sent sparks ripping across the summoner's nerves; which effectively turned the celestial mage's knees to mush.

"That's what I was aiming for ."

"It is?"

"Yep. Did I mention how amazing you smell?" He rumbled, pulling another shiver out of his mate. "Your natural scent now permanently mixed with mine..."

Dear God, the enticing charisma of this man- so natural! Who was she deny the incredibly overpowering ecstasy exploding through her veins with how the demon hybrid's nose was pressed against the crook of her neck?.

"And is that a hint of jasmine perfume I'm catching a whiff of?"

"Mhmm..." Goddamn- how extremely apparent that Lucy was pretty much rendered incapable of forming any type of response other than a single ,answering hum.

"Thought so-pretty intoxicating if ya' ask me."

"Um..."

It was then Lucy couldn't help but wonder what Natsu's ultimate end game was. No doubt the man was successful in efforts to ensare her with his devilish charms— but where did he intend for it to all lead? Did any of his plans entail steamy kissing marathons on the couple's bed? Slow-burn love-making beneath the sheets, wild romps all over their apartment? Just what if it could be?

Holy hell— that pulsating of liquid heat pulsating that shot between to the keyholder's core from the scintillant flash of images flooding her mind .

Supple digits unzipping the back of her dress, an insatiable Natsu pinning her against a wall, being lightly tossed onto the bed by said dominant dragon slayer, all-too-welcome lips leaving a high-voltage trail of electricity down her bare form before...

"Crap... the time."

Just for that little fantasy bubble to burst once Natsu pulled away from Lucy; who bit back a noise of protest at the loss of contact.

"Eh sorry, Luce," he apologized, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "Didn't mean to lose track of the time like that. Either way, we should probably start heading over if we don't wanna be late."

"Okay..." Lucy let out a sigh, not able to stop the wave of mild disappointment from washing over her.

"Aw come on now, weirdo!" Natsu wheedled, light-hearted amusement coloring his tone. "No need to be so glum! Tonight's gonna be fun, remember?"

"I know." Lucy conceded, with a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Should be great to spend time with our friends from Fairytail and other guilds. " Her spirits couldn't help but be lifted by the pyro's sunny mood.

Him and that infectious grin of his...

"Great! That's the spirit!" He crowed , planting a light peck on Lucy's cheek;aka the reason for the slight flush of scarlet .

"Tonight's gonna be awesome !"

"It sure will ."

"Definitely!"

"Oh, and one more thing," Natsu paused to shoot Lucy a lingering glance. "Just a little tiny something."

" What that might be?"

"Your outfit. I was thinking that maybe it could use a little extra piece to complete the look? Like, say that necklace I gave you?"

" Oh… that gorgeous pendant? You know what, yeah! Great idea-Thanks Natsu!"

"My pleasure. And pretty sure I saw said pendant in your jewelry box. Lemme' grab it for you."

"Sure thing!"

"Great then- so it's settled!"

"You bet!"

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A/N: Magicbook is a fictional social media app and site for all magic users and citizens in Earthland- aka the Fairytail equivalent of its counterpart in real life Facebook- in case anyone was wondering. Just a little sidenote about the chronological order for the timeline each fic in my TDDAHCP anthology series.

1. Fire And Gold(prequel)

2. Tantric Flames

3. A Dragon, His Princess and the Not-So Terrible Party Aftermath(this fic)

Figured I'd provide a little guide about the chronological order in terms of how each fic in this series takes place. Anyway, that's pretty much all for now until the next chapter. Hoped you enjoyed the first installment and please free to let me know what you think by dropping a review/comment!

Once again, don't forget to check out my other Nalu week entries along with the rest of my writing! Also be sure to stay tuned for chapter 3 of Fire and Gold which will be posted ASAP once I have a chance to finish the edits and format! Did I mention my other upcoming Nalu/FT projects in the works! Bet you're all fired now as Natsu would say! Oh and why not check out the rest of Nalu week submissions from the other incredibly talented writers and artists while you're at it? (Corresponding links to all my writing and profiles can be found above in this post, the navigation bar and bio if reading this on tumblr. Also on my respective FF and A03 accounts.) Thanks again to everyone for their incredible show of support ! Until next time-take care!

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just-my-sickly-pride · 5 years

Text

Problem-Solver || Roger Taylor x fem!Reader & Brian May x fem!Reader

summary || you thought that brian and roger would be able to share, but their jealousy starts to get the better of them. maybe having a friends-with-benefits arrangement with two guys who live in the same house was a bad idea.

rating || some heavily implied sexual content, but that’s all. plenty of talking about feelings, though.

word count || 4.7k

author’s notes || and finally, another instalment in the try series! although this can be read on its own. i do a lot of changing and shifting with timeline stuff as i edit, so if there’s so discrepancies in that regard, please let me know! it’s hard to keep track of it. this instalment is more of an exposition-y thing, but i liked writing it, and it needs to be posted for the upcoming instalments to make sense.

masterlist

“You’re what?”

You took a sip of wine, nodding. “Yeah.”

Veronica stared at you with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. Then she laughed, a high-pitched, disbelieving laugh. “You’re sleeping with both of them.”

“Yep.”

“Brian and Roger.”

“Uh-huh.”

Veronica laughed again. “I– How? I mean, I know how you and Brian… Well, I know that you and Brian were – doing that, but I found that out from Roger. Who told everyone because he was making fun of you.”

You hummed in thought, taking another sip of wine. “As if turns out, Roger was making fun of us because he was jealous.”

“And how on Earth did you find that out?”

“I slept with him.”

Veronica made a strangled sound of surprise, and then leant back on the couch, shaking her head. “I am… shocked. Absolutely shocked.”

“Are you, though?” you said.

Veronica’s eyes went even wider. “Yes, I’m shocked! You’re casually sleeping with two of your friends. Who live together.”

“That’s not that weird, is it?”

“It’s fairly unusual, yeah!” Veronica sighed heavily, and gulped her wine. You waited in silence, letting her process it.

She looked to you. “Do they know about it?”

“Does who know about it?”

“Does Brian know that you have this thing with Roger, and vice versa?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” you said with a shrug. “It’d be ridiculous to try to hide it from them. Schedule clashes, y’know? Couldn’t exactly hide why I’m over at their place from the other person either. And anyway, the way I wound up sleeping with Roger in the first place is because Brian and I decided that I should try to. To find out if he… was jealous or not.”

“Blimey,” Veronica muttered into her wine, shaking her head. “Honestly, I find one boy is enough to keep me busy. I can’t imagine two.”

“Yeah, but Deaky’s your boyfriend, that’s different,” you said. “There isn’t that extra emotional stuff. I don’t have to worry about date night or meeting the parents or anything like that. It’s just casual sex.”

“How do you even have the time?”

“I figure it out somehow. And Brian and I do some of the same subjects, so he helps me study.” Not that all of those study sessions wind up being that productive, you thought to yourself with a smile.

“Well, is it going all right, then?” Veronica asked. “They’re not fighting over you?”

You sighed. “Uh… For the two weeks, it was fine, no problems. A bit of negotiation around who I see and when, but it settled down well enough by the second week. Then after that, things started getting a little… I don’t know.”

“Wait, how long has this been going on for?” Veronica interjected.

“Me and Brian?” you said. “About, um, almost six months? And Roger, a month-ish. Just under.”

“And you’re only just telling me?”

You pouted. “Yes, I know, I’m sorry.”

Veronica tutted. “Okay, well, go on.”

“They’re not… fighting over me,” you said. “It’s not that, like, territorial. Ugh. It’s more like they’re – I dunno – unsure? Like they don’t know how to deal with everything? I don’t know if they talk about any of it in private, but right now, when the three of us are in the same room together, even if other people are there, it feels like there’s this big, huge elephant in the room. I don’t expect them to talk about it or anything, but I’m just hoping it doesn’t become a bigger problem. I’m more than happy to discuss whatever they like, and we do these check-ins where we ask each other how we’re doing, like, emotionally and stuff, which Roger took some getting used to, honestly, but it’s always only in relation to each other and the friends-with-benefits arrangement. Not with anything else, you know? So Brian’s name wouldn’t come up in a check-in with Roger, for instance, because it’s more about what’s between me and Roger in that moment. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Veronica said slowly. “But what if Brian’s this sort of unspoken thing between you, and Roger just hasn’t said anything? Or the other way around?”

You frowned. “Usually we’re all pretty good with check-ins. I’ve never had reason to doubt their honesty before.”

“It’s not being dishonest, necessarily,” Veronica said. “Just… I don’t know. I’d be wary if the tension between them got any worse. Just be careful, okay?”

“I am being careful,” you said.

Veronica chewed on her bottom lip, staring at you with a mixture of caution and curiosity.

“What?” you said.

“Roger said that you, um… you and Brian – the whole ‘Daddy’ thing? Is that really true?”

“Ah,” you said, setting down your glass. “Well, um…”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Veronica said quickly. “It’s just curiosity.”

You sighed. “Um, no, it’s true. It’s a little more complicated than that, but, uh, yeah, we do that sometimes.” You hesitated, and then added with a cheeky smile, “Turns out Roger was pretty jealous of that, too.”

“Oh my fucking…” Veronica said. She laughed. “You astound me.”

“Oh, why, thank you,” you said, picking up your glass again to gesture to her in thanks. “But this stays between you and me, all right? Don’t tell John about any of this. God forbid the boys find out that I’ve been gossiping about them behind their backs, and then they’ll be asking all these dumb questions like, ‘Did you tell her how big my dick is?’, ‘Did she tell you any whack, freaky shit about Deaky?’”

Veronica snorted. “No. John and I have tried a few things here and there, but I’m sure we’re as tame as can be in comparison to whatever wild shit you three get up to.”

“‘You three’,” you scoffed. “You make it sound like we’re all sleeping together at the same time. That is not happening.”

Veronica quirked an eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”

It was moments like these that you could see why she and John were such a good match. “It isn’t, thank you, you snide cow,” you said, and Veronica giggled.

“Oh, we’ll see,” she said.

“Fuck off!” You shoved at her, and she cackled. “As if Brian and Roger would ever willingly see each other naked.”

“That’s your only barrier?” Veronica said. “Not the whole try-to-handle-two-guys-at-once thing? The fact that you don’t think they’d be down for it?”

You scoffed at her, pushing her knee, more lightly than before. “Stop twisting my words.”

“You still haven’t denied it.”

“Ronnie!” you exclaimed indignantly.

“Say no! Look me in the eye and say you’ve never thought about it.”

“Get fucked.”

“You can’t. You can’t do it. You’ve so thought about it.”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, and then, far too belatedly, said, “I have not.”

Veronica grinned at you. “And have you mentioned it to either Brian or Roger that this is on your mind?”

You gave her a look. “No! Of course I haven’t, are you mad?”

“It’s a fair question.”

You shook your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Me?” Veronica cried. “You’re the one with this whole… business!”

You clicked your tongue at her. “Can we drop this now?”

“You brought it up.”

“And now I’m ending it.”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

You raised your eyebrows at her. “Yeah, well, what are you gonna do about it?”

She laughed, and curled her legs up against her chest. “Okay, gosh, message received. Can we watch this stupid movie now?”

“Yes, please,” you said, leaning forward and pressing the space bar on your laptop. The Kissing Booth began to play.

A few nights later, you had a small get-together at your place, just with Veronica, the boys, and a couple of uni friends. You didn’t want to say you’d jinxed anything in your conversation with Veronica, but it was hard not to think it when you noticed Roger and Brian getting increasingly testy with each other as the night went on. Every time you were alone for more than two seconds with one of them, the other would find an excuse to barge in. You weren’t even looking to hook up tonight, and they both knew it, but apparently, having a one-on-one conversation was too much to bear.

It was royally pissing you off.

Your other guests started to notice, too – especially Veronica, who kept giving you smug, knowing looks, which weren’t helping your increasingly sour mood.

But you let it slide for tonight. It wasn’t unusual for Brian and Roger to bicker, and, although you did seem to be the root cause of their fighting, you decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, just this once.

The next week, it was your night with Roger. Wednesday nights were Veronica and John’s date night, Freddie had a class that went late and he always went to the pub with his classmates afterwards, and Brian had a study session. So you and Roger made use of the empty house, making out on the couch. Neither of you were in a hurry to escalate things at this point – Roger seemed far more invested in trying to find your most ticklish spot with his tongue, making you laugh.

“Oh, wait,” he gasped. “Can you lie down?”

“Flat?” you said, shifting into position, Roger standing up to give you room.

“Yeah. Like that.”

You gave him a look. “Okay. And?”

“I knew a girl once who had a really weird thing…” He held your hip, and began curiously prodding the flesh around your hipbone with his thumb.

“What weird thing?”

“She was really ticklish, like, here?” He pressed his thumb hard into you, and you yelped far too loudly, batting his arm away.

Roger laughed. “You’re ticklish there too!”

“I – I never knew,” you said, laughing, but deeply confused. “Wait, do it again.”

He did, and, sure enough, your nerves went wild, and you squeaked. “Oh, whoa,” you said, looking down at your hip with wide eyes. “That’s so weird.”

“I know, right?” Roger said. He grinned, waggling his eyebrows, and knelt on the couch, slotting his knee between your thighs. “Can crack that one open later.”

“Sure, if you want to take me completely out of the mood,” you said dryly.

“Tickling can be sexy, can’t it?”

“Not to me. Why, do you find it sexy?”

“If I can watch you and another equally hot woman to tickle each other while in your underwear, sure.”

You slapped his thigh. “Arsehole.”

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” Roger said. “I don’t mind it sometimes, but I can’t say it really gets me going, personally.”

“So we agree.”

Roger hummed, and lent forward, hovering above you, the conversation clearly already forgotten. “Do you ever get tied to the bed?”

“Yeah, all the time.”

“And we haven’t tried it yet?” Roger shook his head. “Despicable.”

“Have you ever been tied to the bed?”

Roger’s eyes went dark, and he sucked in a breath. “No.”

You bit your lip, slipping your hands under his shirt. “Well.”

Roger hummed again, a thoughtful noise, and leant down to kiss you softly.

You were just getting lost in the kiss when there was the sound of keys in the door. You and Roger barely had time to react, scrambling away from each other, when the door slammed open, and Brian strode in.

“Oh,” he said, far too casually for how aggressively he’d opened the door. “Hey, guys.”

You sighed in relief. You didn’t really ever want to get caught in a situation where you’d have to explain your arrangements to Freddie or John. That being said, you weren’t all too pleased about interrupted, either.

Brian gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Forgot you two, uh… Forgot it was your night.” He closed the door firmly behind him, and tossed his keys onto the kitchen table. They clattered against the wood.

Roger cleared his throat. “Well, yeah, it’s our night, so.”

“Yep.”

“So you’re heading out again soon, I assume.”

“Uh.” Brian cocked his head, thinking. “Mm, nope, don’t think so.” He seemed a little out of breath, like he’d hurried home.

“Well, that’s fine with me,” Roger said sharply, reaching for you. “We’ll just continue where we left off. You don’t mind, Brian, do you?”

“Rog,” you said lowly. “Let’s go to your room, yeah?”

Roger seemed all too happy to give you his attention, although it seemed a little too attentive to be entirely natural. “Sure, sweetheart, whatever you like.”

You both got to your feet, and Roger took your hand and started leading you to his room.

You could feel Brian’s heavy gaze on the both of you, but, luckily, he stayed silent.

On Friday, it was your night with Brian. You should have guessed that a similar event would have happened as on Wednesday, but it didn’t occur to you until Roger kicked the door open, his arms loaded with a twenty-four pack of beer. “Hey guys,” he said amicably. “Sorry, I assumed you’d be in Brian’s room by now. Taking your time tonight, are we, Brian?”

As it was, you and Brian were sitting on the couch, just chatting. You liked to play with Brian’s hands on nights like these, liked to see Brian’s eyes drink in your face. Liked to let the tension build.

But the tension was gone now, like a burst balloon.

A dark cloud swept over Brian’s face. “Fuck off, will you?” he said to Roger.

“Just making conversation, mate.” Roger set the case down on the table. “Either of you want a beer?”

Brian sighed, and turned to Roger. “Can you just bloody leave us alone?”

Roger raised his eyebrows. “Oh, sorry, it’s all right when you do it…”

“I’ll have a beer,” you cut in sharply.

Brian gave you a quizzical look, and it gave you an idea.

Maybe it was time to nip this whole stupid thing in the bud. “Actually, Roger, why don’t you join us?” you said.

Roger paused, taken aback. “Huh?”

“What are you doing?” Brian whispered.

“Yeah, come on,” you said, waving Roger over. “Grab us a couple beers.”

Roger’s gaze flicked between you and Brian, and then he said, “Um. Ye– All right, yeah.” He tore open the case and grabbed three cans.

He sat down on the single couch, and handed out the beers.

You cracked yours open and took a big gulp. “Cheers,” you said, licking your lips. Your heart was hammering away with nerves – you didn’t quite know why you were so nervous, but perhaps it was the prospect of a big argument breaking out – and you took another drink to calm yourself.

Neither Brian nor Roger had opened their drinks, staring at you unsurely.

“Well, go on, then,” you urged them, and, mechanically, they both opened their beers and started drinking.

“So,” you said with a contented sigh, “how was your day, Rog?”

The boys slowly warmed up to the idea of just sitting and having a drink and a chat. You could still feel Brian’s frowns on your face – he probably felt a little cheated out of the evening that he’d pictured – but you were able to ignore it well enough.

The beer helped lubricate the conversation.

After an hour, you wondered if you could genuinely get away with avoiding a big talk about everything. Maybe Roger and Brian were fine. They seemed to be getting along perfectly well now. Maybe they’d just been having a rough time, or maybe they’d been in disagreement about something else and that was leaking into their arrangements with you, maybe–

“So what kind of stuff have you two done?” Roger said, gesturing between you and Brian with his beer. “Y’know, the weird freaky shit?”

You swallowed an exasperated groan.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, actually,” Brian said tersely.

“Nah, come on. We’ve done so much already, haven’t we? And it’s only been a month.”

“Roger,” Brian sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “we have clearly done far more than you two would have done. By far. It’s not even a competition.”

“You’ve just been fucking for longer,” Roger said. “Doesn’t count. You have to go from the first month. No, the three weeks, even. Just the first three weeks.”

“I can’t remember all the stuff we did in the first three weeks,” Brian said. “It was so long ago. Because we’ve been fucking for so long.”

“I bet, in the three weeks we’ve been fucking, we’ve done just as much as you have in your five months of fucking.”

“God,” you muttered into your drink.

“Six, actually,” Brian said. “And I bet you haven’t.”

“I bet we have.”

“Bet she hasn’t fucked you up the arse yet.”

Roger’s mouth fell open. “She what?”

You gave Brian a bewildered look. “Brian!”

“With a strap-on,” Brian said proudly.

Roger turned to you, a look of betrayal on his face. “Why haven’t you fucked me up the arse yet?” he protested. “I’d be so good at it, I promise.”

Jesus Christ. “I di– I haven’t fucked anyone up the arse, thank you,” you said, shooting a pointed look to Brian. “Brian’s just lying.”

“I’m not lying,” Brian said.

“She just said she hasn’t fucked you up the arse when you said she did,” Roger said.

“We’ve talked about it,” Brian said. “Right? We’ve talked about it.”

“We… Well, yes, we have,” you muttered. “But that’s very different to actually doing it.”

“Have to talked about it with Roger?”

“Maybe,” Roger jumped in. “We– We might’ve. Maybe? Have we? I think we have.”

“Can we stop?” you said. “Please? This is already weird and uncomfortable.”

“I can’t believe you,” Roger shot at Brian. “You’ve made her uncomfortable.”

“She wasn’t talking about me, clearly,” Brian said.

“And can you both stop talking about me as if I’m not here?” you snapped. “‘She’ the cat’s fucking mother.”

The boys fell silent.

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Of course there are going to be – differences. Between my… relationship with you, Brian, and my relationship with you, Roger. It wouldn’t make any sense if they were the same, because you two are not the same, and how I – how I interact with you and… what makes me feel – makes us feel happy and comfortable and all that good stuff is different for each of you. With each of you. You’re not in contest with each other, all right?”

Brian and Roger glanced at each other.

“I can’t believe I even have to spell this out for you,” you added, and, oh dear, here comes the big talk. “I thought it would be – manageable, at least, to have this sort of relationship with the two of you, because I thought you both would be mature enough to handle it. Honestly, my only thoughts were how you both – how we all would deal with the risk of getting in too deep, emotionally, rather than you two squaring off like– like some kind of animal. Like…” You shook your head. “Whatever… Whatever male animals fight each other in the wild. Moose. Do male moose fight each other?”

You looked to them, and they stared blankly at you.

It took them a second to realise they expected an answer, and they both spoke at the same time.

“I– I dunno,” Roger said.

“Yes, they do,” Brian said.

“You’re like a pair of… mooses. Mooses?”

“Moose,” Brian supplied. “You just said it before.”

“Whatever.” You sat back on the couch, and raised your eyebrows at the boys. “Honestly, right now, I’m struggling to understand why I could be bothered to deal with any of this. We’ve had a good run, right? Maybe it’s time we all let this go.”

Brian and Roger spoke at the same time again.

“Whoa, hey, let’s not…”

“That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

You shrugged. “Friends-with-benefits are temporary, anyway. We all knew that going into this. Maybe I want to start looking for an actual partner, y’know? Actually date someone.”

“But do you?” Brian said. “Or are you just tired to us fighting?”

You chewed on your bottom lip.

If nothing else, he could read you like a book.

“If that’s really what you want,” Roger said carefully, “then we’ll respect that–”

“Of course,” Brian said, nodding emphatically.

“–but, I don’t know, we haven’t even tried talking it out.”

“This is starting to sound awfully like an actual relationship,” you muttered.

“But it’s not,” Roger said. “Because I… We don’t…” He looked to Brian, lost.

Brian watched you with soft eyes. “Check-in,” he murmured.

You matched his gaze, and sighed. “Honestly? No, I don’t have feelings for you, and I never have. Same with you, Rog. But I don’t know if I’m entirely happy with how things are right now. It’s been more stress than I want, or need.”

Brian nodded once. “Okay,” he said. “I don’t have feelings for you, either. But I care about you deeply. You’re one of my closest friends, and I really enjoy the time we spend together. No matter what we’re doing. And…” He took a breath. “And I admit that I have been feeling jealous of Roger lately. Irrationally so. I think part of me thought that you started your arrangement with Roger because you were growing bored of me, or I wasn’t good enough in some way, and instead of talking to me about it, you’d decided to start sleeping with my flatmate. To…” He swallowed, dropping his gaze to his hands in his lap. “To annoy me, maybe. Even though I know – I know that’s something you wouldn’t do, because you care about me, and you’ve been extremely open with your feelings since day one, which is something I respect. A lot.”

Veronica had hit the nail on the head, it seemed. “How long have you been feeling like that?” you asked.

Brian hesitated. “A while. Not at first, but maybe after a week or so.”

“So during our check-ins, you were, what, lying? About how you were feeling?”

“I wasn’t… lying,” Brian said. “I just wasn’t saying the whole truth. And I’m sorry. That wasn’t right, or fair, and it wasn’t respecting our rules, I understand that.”

You sighed, thinking this over. Your eyes flicked to Roger. “Rog?” you said. “What about you?”

Roger drummed a frantic beat on his knees. “Uh…” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, that’s– I’ve been jealous of Brian. I know how much history you two have, and I – I think I wanted that, maybe? Or felt like I had to live up to it somehow? I… I guess I just felt that I’d never be able to compete with that, so you’d ditch me soon enough. Guess I wasn’t really thinking about the fact that what we have is so different from what you and him have.” He rubbed the back his neck. “I’m sorry.”

You nodded to yourself, then took a drink. You swallowed, felt it slide down your throat, a faint coolness brushing down the centre of your chest. You could feel two pairs of eyes watching you, like skittish horses eyeing up a snake.

You set the can down on the coffee table, and then said, “Okay. Well. At least we’re all being honest now. About fucking time.”

“So… what’s next?” Roger said.

You thought for a moment. “I’m not sure,” you admitted. “But I think you two should apologise to each other, for starters.”

Roger and Brian looked to each other, and then away, both muttering apologies.

“Properly,” you said. “Haven’t you two ever apologised to each other before?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Brian said.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Jesus, that explains a lot.” You nodded towards them. “Go on, then. Kiss and make up.”

They met each other’s eyes. “Sorry,” Brian said.

“Sorry too,” Roger said.

They looked to you.

You stared back. “Don’t look at me,” you said bluntly. “What am I, your mother?”

Roger sighed, and turned to Brian again. “I’m sorry for being a prick,” he said. “I was acting out when I should’ve – talked about how I was feeling. You’re my mate, and you’re all right most of the time, and it wasn’t right of me. So I’m sorry.”

Brian’s face softened. “I’m sorry too,” he said, and he sounded so sincere that you saw a blush of embarrassment crawl up Roger’s neck.

Good Lord, they truly hadn’t ever properly apologised to each other.

“I was being just as much of a prick as you,” Brian continued. “I wasn’t thinking about how you would’ve been feeling in this situation, and that was shitty of me. I should’ve talked about it, too. And I’m sorry that it’s taken someone else’s intervention for us to actually properly apologise to each other for the first time literally the whole time we’ve been friends.”

“Yeah,” Roger said with a chuckle. “We should… We should work on that.”

“Yeah, probably,” Brian said.

You couldn’t help but smile. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

“Feels gross, actually,” Roger said, screwing up his nose, and you laughed.

“It does feel… It feels good,” Brian said. He patted Roger on the knee, slightly awkwardly. “I… I care about you, Rog,” he said. “You’re a good mate, and I’m lucky to have you around.”

“Oh, shut up,” Roger said. “Bloody sentimental old man.”

Brian laughed.

It was time to help lighten the mood. “Now kiss and make up.”

“We just did,” Brian said.

You waggled your eyebrows. “No,” you said slowly, “kiss and make up.”

Both boys took a moment to understand your meaning, and then they broke out into spluttering and stuttering, leaning as far away from each other as they could, shaking their heads dramatically, both of their faces turning red.

“I’m joking!” you exclaimed. “I’m joking, I’m joking. Jeez. Sorry for making such an offensive suggestion.”

“It’s not offensive,” Brian said. “It’s just–”

“Weird and disgusting,” Roger said. He looked to Brian. “No offence, mate. You’re just not my type.”

“Oh, none taken,” Brian said. He shook his head at you. “You’re filthy.”

Your mouth fell open as Roger laughed. “Brian! I was just making a joke, you pig!”

“I knew you were into some weird shit, but watching your two male friends kiss each other…”

“I was joking.” Aw, fuck. You’d really walked right into this one.

“This is what you were leading up to the whole time, weren’t you?” Roger said. “I knew it. You couldn’t help yourself. Brian and I are just too bloody delicious for you to resist.”

Brian burst out laughing. “Eugh, don’t call me delicious!”

“I’m not calling you that, I’m saying that–”

“You just called me that!”

“I called us both that, Brian, I didn’t just sit here and call you delicious.”

“That’s what you did!”

“I di– We’re on the same side here, you fucking bastard!”

You were laughing, hard, but the tense ball of anxiety had just relaxed in the pit of your stomach, and the beer was starting to get to your head, so you couldn’t help it if you laughed a bit more than the banter really warranted.

sorry we didn’t really have the night u were expecting, you texted Brian the next day. did u want to make up for it?

It’s all right, he replied an hour later. It was a night that needed to happen. And I always like spending time with you, so I count it as a night well spent, regardless.

You smiled to yourself. i think it needed to happen too. i’m glad it did. can u two legit talk about shit if it starts getting in the way again? please?

Yes. I’m sorry you had to do that.

it’s fine, I just don’t want to have to make a habit of it ok?

I completely understand. But thank you, anyway.

it’s ok.

You went to put your phone away, but then it buzzed once more.

Not to go back on what I just said, but can I show you how grateful I am? Brian had texted. Or perhaps tell you over the phone tonight?

A thrill bubbled through you. I think I can make time for that.

I’m glad to hear it. I’ll text you later.

You grinned, and pocketed your phone.

#try verse #brian may x reader #roger taylor x reader #rpf #mine

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onthevirgeofdestruction · 4 years

Text

Prompt: Burnout Virgil and Roman with creative burnout comforting each other

Words: 4,370 Warnings: Bad-Self Talk, Self Hatred, Alcohol/drinking, drugs/drug use, food, cussing, creative burnout, stoner, deep Kissing, massages, misunderstandings Characters: Roman, Virgil, Janus Changed Identities: Non-binary Virgil (voi/void/voids) Ships: Prinxietceit/roanxceit Universe: Burnouts/Life sucks Genre: Gay AF

Audience: 16+ (for Alcohol, recreational drugs, make-outs)

AO3 Link

ngl it was supposed to be prinxiety with more drama, but like have you met me and my need for anxceit? Also, maybe Roman has suffered enough lately. I had rolled dice for some prompts but used the concepts and abandoned the phrases completely so i didn’t bother including them, just what I was originally interested in doing. Anyway then there was 4k of gay that nearly got 18+. my writing demon went ham. I left Roman’s creative passion vague so he could be more widely relatable.

Roman sighed and tapped the back of his pencil to the paper laying blank on his desk. He knew he should be productive with this rare free time. But everything he had done lately was met with criticism, or nobody had looked at it, or it was just so bad he couldn’t even bring himself to post it. This was supposed to be what he enjoyed doing. But the blank page was daunting. It made fun of him, even. It reminded him that he failed at what he loved so badly that he could no longer find solace in it. It used to be his escape. An empty page was just an opportunity, a blessing, a wish. But now it was his tormentor.

He leaned back in his chair. He didn’t feel like trying anymore. Maybe dreams are stupid. He already had a job that paid the bills. It wasn’t what he wanted to do, but he didn’t want to do this anymore, either. Maybe he was stupid for trying. Too stubborn to stop. Too dense to realize the support he got what felt like so long ago was just placating nonsense and people humoring him. Roman ran his hand through his hair in frustration and dropped his pencil. There was no point in trying if it wasn’t purposeful and didn’t pay the bills. It was just him wasting his time. He needed to find something else to do with his free evening, then. Maybe a new hobby. But he didn’t feel like doing anything productive at all. He may as well get in touch with the person he knew could teach him to be chill the most and see if voi was busy. Roman sent off the text and got up from his desk to go put on something more comfortable. If he would hang out with void, he couldn’t wear his work clothes and pick up any smells.

Roman changed into some old work out clothes- a soft shirt and some track pants. Easy to wash and also even if voi didn’t want to hang out he could just be a comfortable piece of trash in his own apartment. Roman wandered into his kitchen and checked the fridge, more out of boredom than any hunger or desire. He opted to drink some orange juice out of the carton. As he twisted the top back on he got an alert on his phone. Roman pulled it out of his pants pocket and smiled. Great, he was glad he didn’t have to be a singular piece of trash twiddling his thumbs on the couch alone and going to a worsening place every minute. If anybody knew how to forget your problems, voi did.

—

“Ro!” Virgil called brightly while Roman stepped into the front door. “It’s been, like, ages,” Virgil leaned back on to the couch with a goofy smile.

“I saw you last week,” Roman laughed, flopping down on the couch next to Virgil.

“Time isn’t real, dude, don’t lie to me,” Virgil fake scowled and pushed Roman lightly on the shoulder. “How’s it been?” Virgil kicked back on the couch and threw voids legs up over Roman’s lap.

“Bad,” Roman shrugged.

“Oh, mood,” Virgil nodded. “What’s bad?”

“I’m shit at everything I do and my dreams are dead,” Roman threw up his arms in defeat, shaking his head dramatically.

“Holy shit, we’re so vibing right now,” Virgil laughed as voi pointed voids finger between the pair of them. “But you’re not shit, I love the stuff you do,” Virgil objected, looking slightly confused.

“That’s nice and all, but one person isn’t exactly a fanbase make,” Roman huffed. Virgil furrowed his eyebrows at him.

“You just want to feel like shit, then, huh? I get that,” Virgil nodded after a pause. “You wanna be a piece of shit with me?” Voi asked casually and crossed voids arms behind voids head.

“How do you mean?” Roman asked, looking at Virgil in confusion.

“You know, get stoned and pretend life doesn’t suck like I always do,” Virgil shrugged.

“I refuse to believe you aren’t high already, you’re off work,” Roman said airily and flipped his hand.

“Eh, the buzz is wearing off,” Virgil lolled voids head to the side. “Jan! Get the bong!” Virgil called across their apartment humorously.

A muffled “You suck!” came through one of the bedroom doors. Virgil laughed at his reaction. Roman didn’t really get why they liked to rile each other up, but he thought they were cute together, nonetheless.

“Shit, I dunno if we have munchies,” Virgil muttered after voids laughter died down.

“I’ll be fine,” Roman rolled his eyes. He didn’t need anything.

“No, no, if we’re gonna get you fucked up we’re gonna do it proper,” Virgil shook voids head. “Jan! Going to the corner store! Text me what you want!” Virgil called out again.

“Fuck you!” Came from the bedroom again, though it was possibly the most affectionate ‘fuck you’ he’s ever heard. Roman raised his eyebrows, impressed.

“God, he’s such a sweetheart,” Virgil laughed and pulled voids legs off of Roman. “You wanna have a pity party on the couch or you wanna come with me, lover boy?” Virgil winked and Roman’s ears heated slightly. “Speaking of, is kissing on or off the table tonight?” Virgil leaned down and whispered into Roman’s ear and his entire face grew hot.

“On. I’ll come with you,” Roman said weakly. Virgil was good at riling him up too, honestly.

“I’m more into enthusiastic consent, Ro. If you don’t wanna make out you don’t gotta. We can watch Adventure Time or something. Make nachos and forget about them. You know, all that classic burnout shit,” Virgil laughed and pulled Roman off the couch.

“No, I want to. You and Janus are sweet and I like hanging out. It’ll be a pleasurable distraction,” Roman said, trying to sound more into it. He was just feeling down and had trouble sounding enthusiastic, even if he was interested in mixing it up. He hadn’t spent intimate time with anyone in a long time and probably needed some contact.

“No, you’ve gotten enough half-assed bullshit lately, we’re not going to be a distraction, it’s going to be an event. If we make out I’m going all out. Some fuck-tunes and everything. Red wine. Chocolates,” Virgil offered temptingly into Roman’s ear. He had to admit the offer was tempting. “Maybe a massage, even,” Virgil winked and grabbed voids wallet and a taser out of a bowl near the door.

“Suddenly feel like spoiling me tonight?” Roman asked, feeling kind of confused at the sudden proposition. He would have been fine with making out and eating some chips. Hell, he was fine with just watching TV or something together, originally. He just didn’t want to sit home alone without anything to do.

“Eh. You just look like you could use something nice, and you like that romance stuff. You actually reached out to me first and told me outright that things sucked instead of dancing around it. That means you feel like as much of a pathetic heap as me and need a break,” Virgil shrugged and wrapped voids arm around Roman’s waist as they left the apartment.

“I contact you to hang out!” Roman said defensively. Though it probably had been a while. It is usually Virgil or Janus messaging him first since Roman tried to spend his free time creating. It wasn’t because he didn’t like them, though he clearly gave them, or at least Virgil the wrong impression because of it. Roman slid his hands into his pockets awkwardly.

“Sure you do,” Virgil drawled derisively after staring him down. “Look, I know you don’t feel the same way. I’m not bothered,” Virgil shrugged, though there was something about voids tone that made Roman have trouble believing void. “I still get to kiss you sometimes and Jan continues to tolerate me so it’s not like I’m forever alone or anything,”

“I do like kissing you,” Roman muttered. “I just… I don't know,” Roman trailed off. He really didn’t know. Maybe he just wasn’t that into the casual thing? He did enjoy the casual thing. But Roman was always a romantic at heart and always hoped a prince charming would come sweep him off his feet. There was no reason Virgil and Janus couldn’t be that prince charming, but they’d never done anything that made Roman swoon. They usually snarked at movies and complained about work.

“Yikes, no need to rub it in. I know I’m a piece of shit who isn’t good enough. I’m too scared of life, so I ducked out ages ago. You deserve someone who isn’t always stoned and stuff like that,” Virgil shrugged. Roman didn’t agree with getting high as soon as one got off work, but he never blamed Virgil for wanting to, either. Roman had been spectacularly bad at communicating that, apparently. Good thing it was piece of shit hours, because he somehow felt worse. He didn’t think that was possible.

“I don’t think you are piece of shit, and I’ve certainly never said it, either. And I do like you,” Roman sighed and shook his head at Virgil. Virgil continued to look nonplussed.

“I don’t need to hear you say it to know it. Just like how I disagreed about the quality of your work and you didn’t believe me. There’s a monster in our fuckin’ heads and it’s bigger and louder than all of us. So instead of being all weird, we can just get stoned to shut it up and eat some truffles. Butterscotch body oil. Whatever piece of shit wine we can get at the corner store,” Virgil pulled Roman closed as they walked down the street.

“That sounds… pretty awesome,” Roman said, feeling a little more hopeful. “I really don’t think you’re a piece of shit,” Roman offered again. He didn’t like leaving things where they were, despite his interest.

“Can it, my liege. First rule of piece of shit hours is we don’t refute being pieces of shit. Sometimes you gotta be a piece of shit. The right now the difference between you and me is that tomorrow I’ll still be one,” Virgil said firmly. Roman shook his head but decided not to protest further. Virgil was clearly still stoned enough to not mind making a scene in public, but voi would have a panic attack about it when voi finally came down if Roman let it escalate. Voi didn’t like going out or being affectionate in public wouldn’t be within five feet of Roman without being at least a little high.

Virgil checked voids phone for the things Janus wanted as they entered the corner store. Voi grabbed a wipe to disinfect the handbasket before heading into the snack aisle. Roman made a beeline to the little selection of wines, determined to find something halfway decent. He eyeballed the cooler for any brands he recognized. It was mostly ones he recognized as garbage wines. He did manage to find two bottles of red that were passably drinkable, and the price wasn’t bad. Virgil came up with the handbasket full of chocolates, chips, some candy, and a thing of orange juice.

“Do you still subscribe to that theory that OJ makes the high better?” Roman asked, eyeballing the basket as he carried the wine bottles up to the front of the store.

“I mean, it’s a great excuse to get some nutrients in my body,” Virgil laughed. Roman really couldn’t argue with that. He pulled the juice out of the basket to pay for that along with the wines, and Virgil paid for all the snacks so they could split the costs.

Roman still felt tense walking back, even though he knew there wasn’t really anything to be tense about. Other than the fact that maybe Virgil was assuming the worst about their friendship, but voi didn’t want to listen to any protests. Virgil had described a really amazing evening. They had all the supplies in hand. Maybe that was just part of piece of shit hours. Roman's usual confidence and glitter were gone tonight. Virgil would probably know though, as someone who has a terrible opinion of voidself.

“Is still feeling like shit even though I’m objectively about to have a good time a part of piece of shit hours?” Roman laughed awkwardly as he walked along.

“Oh, definitely. That’s why the need for weed. And the good shit and not whatever you can get for twenty bucks at the other corner,” Virgil motioned with his head to an unlit abandoned and boarded up bank across the way. Roman shuddered and picked up the pace. Virgil and Janus didn't exactly live in the best neighborhood.

Janus was sitting with his legs primly crossed on the couch when they got back with their haul. He gave them a breezy smile when they entered, waving slightly and looking pleased.

“Hey, Jan,” Roman waved with his free hand and went to go put the drinks in the fridge.

“Evening, darling,” Janus smiled. “I’ve got a hit loaded up for you. Guests first,” Janus said, motioning to the bong on the coffee table.

“Thanks. Are you going to join us?” Roman asked hopefully.

“If you’ll have me,” Janus smirked knowingly. He probably knew Roman wanted him there and was just being polite. Virgil dropped everything on the counter unsurreptitiously and bent over the back of the couch to give Janus a kiss hello.

“I’d love to have you,” Roman smiled flirtatiously and bent over the other side to kiss Janus’s cheek after Virgil turned back around to the counter. Janus passed over the bong and lit it for Roman to take a hit while Virgil went into the kitchen to chug some orange juice. Roman did his best, but he wasn’t exactly practiced and ended up coughing. Janus snickered at him and took a hit while Roman went to go get a glass of water for his extremely raw throat, passing Virgil to get the water filter in the fridge. Orange juice would just burn his throat more right now. He grabbed a glass out of the cabinet and had to down two full cups to soothe his throat. Virgil was pulling like a champ on the couch when he came back.

“You want to give it another shot, Roman, or wait it out?” Janus asked, leaning back to look up at Roman.

“I’ll try again,” Roman shrugged and sat down between the two. Virgil passed off the bong and held the lighter for him while he took another hit. He took a smaller hit this time, just in case. He’d stay the night like he always did when he joined them, so he wasn’t worried about driving, but he didn’t need to melt his brain or anything. Virgil took it back and finished the hit for voids ridiculous tolerance before putting the bong on the coffee table and taking out the empty bowl.

“So what snacks did you get?” Janus asked, putting his arm around the back of the couch behind Roman.

“Chips, your gummy snakes, truffles,” Virgil exhaled a puff of smoke. “They’re probably not the best ones, but I’m lookin’ forward to the truffles,” Voi smirked lazily and leaned against Roman. Roman could already feel his brain starting to slow down as he stared at the wall ahead of him. Thank goodness it was hard to take too much. Virgil and Janus would make sure he’d be safe if he got too weird. Roman leaned against Virgil took a deep breath. “Bong works fast, huh?” Virgil chuckled and Roman realized he was pressing into Virgil and playing with his hoodie strings.

“Yeah,” Roman muttered. “Thanks. Monster’s quiet,” Roman said lazily and curled more into Virgil.

“I’ll grab the wine,” Janus volunteered, grabbing Roman’s free hand and dusting his knuckles with a kiss before getting up.

“So what do you think, my liege? You still want that massage?” Virgil asked silkily.

“I like it when you call me that, even when it's sarcastic,” Roman muttered and closed his eyes. “Yes, please,” Roman smiled at Virgil, and it was assuredly a doofy smile with how he was feeling. Virgil smirked and sat up straighter before pushing Roman over on the couch. Roman landed with a soft thud and laughed before sitting back up to take off his shirt and lie down. The couch was old and beat to shit, but honestly it was so unreasonably comfortable he could sleep on it. Roman settled in while Virgil came back.

“It definitely needs to breathe,” Janus said, coming back into the living room with a few wine glasses and the open bottle. “Not the worst gas station swill I’ve ever drank, though,” He chuckled.

“You’re welcome,” Roman smirked smugly. Virgil leaned in to kiss Janus before he cracked open the bottle of body oil and the butterscotch smell hit Roman’s nose right away.

“Holy shit, that smells good. Tell me you picked out butterscotches at the store,” Roman asked desperately, because that smell made him want to eat one right away.

“I had to. I mean it’s technically edible body oil, but drinking it isn’t the best idea and it smells too delicious,” Virgil said blithely.

“Voi speaks from experience, of course,” Janus snickered.

“Oh, shut up,” Virgil stuck voids tongue out and turned on some music. It was some smooth R&B as prophesied. Virgil sat on Roman’s butt and poured out some oil in his hand and heated it up between his palms before moving in a wide motion across Roman’s entire back. Roman melted completely and garbled out some nonsense words as Virgil started massaging him. Janus sat on the floor in front of Roman and unwrapped a butterscotch slowly, then popped it in Roman’s mouth.

“You’re going to kill me,” Roman moaned and sucked on the candy appreciatively while getting a back massage.

“Sound like fun,” Janus smirked and slowly slipped a butterscotch into his own mouth, keeping a smoldering eye contact with Roman that set his face on fire. Janus looked amused by the reaction, though.

“It’s all part of our evil schemes,” Virgil leaned down and whispered in Roman’s ear. Roman got goosebumps across his skin.

“Whatever it is, I completely agree. I’m yours,” Roman sighed pleasurably, closing his eyes and basking in the warmth of Virgil’s hands all over his back.

“That was easy,” Janus chuckled. “Butterscotch kiss?” He asked and leaned close to Roman’s face. Roman nodded lightly and Janus planted a tender kiss on his lips before moving in for a deeper kiss. If Roman’s brain had absolutely any functionality left in it, Janus’s sugary kiss completely removed all of it.

“Don’t get him too worked up or we can’t be all romantic and shit in the candlelight,” Virgil chided and worked on Roman’s shoulders.

“I don’t care,” Roman murmured against Janus’s lips when he pulled away.

“Too bad,” Virgil hissed quietly against his ear and caused another fresh wave of goosebumps. Janus got up and lit the candles on the table with the lighter from earlier and switched off the living room light. Virgil massaged Roman’s back for a few more minutes in the dim light and Roman relaxed deeper than he felt like he had in years. “Feeling any better?” Virgil asked, slowly sliding his hands back down Roman’s back to sit back.

“Leagues. Oceans. Lightyears,” Roman said appreciatively. “You’re an angel in black. A siren to my doom, that I will happily crash my ship into the jaunty rocks for,” Roman cooed. Virgil laughed and climbed off of Roman. Voi helped him sit up on the couch.

“You’re so weird, beautiful,” Virgil purred and reached up for Roman’s face. Roman leaned into Virgil’s palm and let himself be drawn closer for a tender kiss that felt like fireworks in his chest.

“After the massage and the kisses I’m not sure I even needed the weed,” Roman said softly as Virgil pulled away. Janus sat on the couch next to Roman and pressed the now filled wine glass into Roman’s hand before passing one to Virgil as well.

“Nonsense, then how would you appreciate this cheap chocolate?” Janus asked lightly, pulling at the edges of the wrapper on a truffle and pressing it to his lower lip before pushing it into his mouth. Roman moaned with delight. It was much more delicious than it had any right to being for the cost.

“I concede,” Roman chuckled as the last bit melted on his tongue. Janus held a truffle in his teeth and Virgil tittered before leaning in and stealing a kiss to take the truffle. The kissing right next to Roman’s face was surprisingly intense to watch, and he had to sip his wine just to keep from overheating.

“So, darling, overworking yourself, or under-appreciated?” Janus leaned against Roman on one side and Virgil came in on the other. Cuddles when you are completely relaxed and stoned are otherworldly. He took another sip of wine that was more decent than he remembered. Though, maybe that was also the weed.

“Both, maybe? I don’t know. Under-appreciated makes it sound like I’m being a brat or something. I don’t feel like I am being bratty. It’s just so hard to get validation in creative fields and I feel like I’m sick of trying. I’m not throwing a fit or anything, just tired of the effort with no return,” Roman huffed slightly, but he didn’t feel like he was capable of being upset right now. Not while sandwiched between two cute people who were dead-set on spoiling him.

“There’s nothing bratty about feeling under-appreciated,” Janus kissed Roman’s temple.

“Thanks,” Roman muttered and sipped his wine again. Virgil basically slithered up under his arm to steal another kiss. The three of them enjoyed another truffle as they worked on their wine in the candlelight.

“You know what’s fun?” Virgil smiled mischievously as voi put a butterscotch in voids mouth.

“Hmm?” Roman hummed curiously and looked to Virgil. Virgil came in and kissed him deeply, and by the time they both came up for air, Roman had the butterscotch melting in his mouth.

“That,” Virgil smirked. Roman smiled and pecked Virgil’s forehead as he enjoyed the gifted candy. They laid closely together and sipped their wine in the candlelight, and Roman struggled to find anything bad in the entire world while enveloped in their warmth.

“You know darling, if you want to feel more appreciated we can do this more often,” Janus murmured gently as he handed Roman another truffle to delight in. Roman plucked it out of Janus’s fingers with his teeth and smirked to Janus, who raised his eyebrow in interest.

“Jan,” Virgil groaned and shot Janus a warning look.

“What?” Janus asked, sounding every hint of innocent that he probably was not. Roman laughed as he watched them.

“I mean it can’t be spoiling me every time, that’s unfair,” Roman shook his head humorously.

“You’re welcome to give me a massage and tell me I’m pretty, I won’t stop you,” Janus smirked and reached around to hug Roman around the waist. Roman leaned into it and pressed his head against Janus’s neck happily.

“Jan, stop it,” Virgil pouted and crossed voids arms. Roman looked up with a quizzical face. He wasn’t sure what Virgil was objecting to.

“I’m just saying,” Janus shrugged and kissed Roman’s ear. A shiver went up his spine and discombobulated him momentarily.

“You know he doesn’t- never mind,” Virgil huffed and leaned away from Roman, looking upset.

“I don’t what, Virgil?” Roman asked and pulled Virgil back to kiss voids hair. Voi flushed slightly and downed the rest of voids glass of wine.

“You don’t like us like that,” Virgil muttered quietly. Roman handed off his glass of wine to Janus, who released Roman’s waist. Roman pulled Virgil in for a kiss; one that he tried his damnest to communicate his feelings with since he was clearly failing with words. He ran his hand through Virgil’s hair and slid under voids shirt. Virgil returned the passion just as amorously after a moment of hesitation. Voids hands glided across Roman’s back affectionately while they kissed. Roman slid down to Virgil’s neck and voi moaned softly as Roman kissed and nipped at it. Virgil looked absolutely dazed when Roman came back up with a smug smile.

“I wanted to be swept off my feet. But you’ve left me in orbit and I don’t plan on coming down,” Roman said and softly held Virgil’s face, looking into voids eyes affectionately.

“Ro, I’m too stoned to follow your wordy nonsense, what in the world are you saying?” Virgil furrowed voids eyebrows.

“I’m saying let’s never stop. Piece of shit hours are over because you took me out of the gutter and launched me over the moon. When I wake up and leave tomorrow, I come back and take both of you on a date to pay you two back for tonight. And I show you you’re not a piece of shit still in the light of day. And then I ask you both out when I’m not stoned because you’d never believe me while I was, which is good of you,” Roman leaned in to kiss Virgil on voids forehead again, as tenderly as he could.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” Virgil looked to Roman suspiciously when he pulled back.

“Well, whether or not you believe me, we intended to have fun tonight. And I believe I owe Janus a kiss if you would like to join me,” Roman raised his eyebrow and pulled Virgil close in temptation.

“You do,” Janus purred and leaned past Roman’s shoulder to kiss Virgil’s head before planting a kiss on the nape of Roman’s neck. Virgil smiled up to the pair of them hopefully and got up to come around behind Janus and wrapped voids arms around Janus’s chest before kissing the side of his neck. Roman turned around and ran his thumb along Janus’s jaw before leaning in, intending to kiss Janus so hard he’d look just as dazed as Virgil did.

#tsss #sanders sides #tsss fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #tsss fanfic #prinxietceit #roanxceit #ts virgil #ts roman #ts janus #gay af #polyship #rated teen and up #ayri writes #nonauprompts

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logicalbookthief · 6 years

Text

Game Night

So I actually had most of this written before 15x18, and then the episode gave us great Maggie + B team moments, so I figured, well, now I have to deliver.

Featuring drunk interns, Schmico, canon-compliant Jaggie (barely but for the sake of, yanno, canon) and teeny-tiny hints to potential future Caggie because @schmicoismysunsword has convinced me it ships.

Now cross-posted on ao3!

Maggie doesn’t make a habit of mixing her professional life with her personal one. Aside from the fact that her sisters work at the same hospital as she does, as does her boyfriend, and her ex-- Look, the point is, Maggie tries to keep her private life a private one, albeit not with the passion of Dr. Bailey.

Just -- she has the unfortunate tendency to babble. Aloud. To anyone nearby, who might be listening.

Which meant unintentionally venting to interns, who were always around, and always eager to listen. It starts with Parker, who, if not sworn to secrecy, at least has the decency to pretend he isn’t hanging off every word that comes out of her mouth. Schmitt is one of the more eager of the bunch and he happens to be on her service today.

“Game night,” she mutters long-sufferingly. “Why tonight, when Meredith and Amelia are busy, and apparently, I don’t have enough of a life where I have any excuse to be somewhere else.”

“Oh, right, the football game is tonight. Nic-- Dr. Kim mentioned that was a thing-- a thing Dr. Avery does,” Schmitt stutters, casting some furtive, flustered looks her way. Honestly, Maggie isn’t paying attention.

“I hate when I have to pretend to care about sports on TV. You know what else is on tonight? The Magicians. But you don’t see me making a night of it with friends.” Not that she has any, apparently. At least, any without kids or prior commitments.

Maggie deflates, more self-conscious than she means to be. “April enjoyed watching sports. Or maybe she was better at pretending than I am...”

Something dejected in her tone must spark a bit of nerve in Schmitt, who clears his throat. “Hey, you could -- uh, you could come out with us tonight,” he says, shrinking a bit under her stare. “Uh, if you wanted.”

“Us?” she echoes critically.

“Oh, um, well there’s me, Doctors Helm, Qadri, Parker--” All interns, Maggie mentally concludes, at the exact moment Schmitt realizes he’s asking an attending to tag along with his friends.

“Never mind, it--” Finding an extra burst of nerve, Schmitt spews out in a rush, “It’s trivia night at this pub we like and you’d make a great ringer.”

Then he goes on ahead to the next patient on their rounds, as Maggie blinks. Has she sunk so low to consider to hanging out with a couple of kids?

Except, she thinks with a wince, that sounds exactly like something Kiki would’ve said to her. After all, it isn’t as if the interns are that much younger than she is. Maggie’s so far ahead it only feels that way. She was always the kid to talk to the adults rather than friends her own age. And when she attended her first year of medical school still in braces while her peers were all adults, she had no choice but to grow up fast.

Sacrificing one night of professional integrity probably wouldn’t tarnish her career forever. And a trivia night is exactly the sort of brain flexing she would prefer over an evening of her male coworkers yelling about a ball not making it over the right line.

“What happens outside of the hospital, stays outside of the hospital,” Maggie springs on a stunned Schmitt, ending any further discussion with a firm glance. “I’ll be there at 7.”

“Dr. Pierce, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Qadri begins, and then, with the utmost reverence, “You fucking rock at trivia.”

Schmitt and Parker whoop in agreement.

“I do,” Maggie asserts, flushed with victory. And it’s probably the jalapeno poppers, too.

“I can’t believe you argued with the guy asking the questions,” Schmitt admits. “And you won.”

“Well, if you don’t have an encyclopedia knowledge of Happy Potter,” she preens. “Don’t try me.”

Helm returns with the celebratory round of shots, including one for her. Is it unethical to take shots with your interns? While on the clock, yes, definitely. Then again, it’s a little unethical to sleep with interns, too, and yet--

Maggie downs the shot.

Parker hisses as the burn of alcohol slides down his throat. “I need at least three more of those after the study session I pulled last night,” he says, winded.

“Right, your intern exams are coming up.” A swell of fondness rises in her chest as she remembers toiling over her textbooks, the ease of assessment, the pride of passing with high marks. “You guys excited?”

A chorus of groans answers her question. Oh, right. Not everyone was a child prodigy who gloried in tests. Maggie flinches and figures to hell with it, she’s already in this deep. She orders the next round of shots.

“I’ve read so much I wore out my contacts,” Schmitt mumbles, his cheek plastered against the table.

“Did you fall asleep wearing them again?” Taryn huffs at his miserable nod. “Dude, you’re going to go blind.”

“And fail your exam,” Parker adds, prompting another groan.

Maggie has the weird urge to pat his head consolingly. Luckily, Qadri does it instead. “At least if you fail you have a hot surgeon boyfriend to support you,” she mutters enviously.

“You could be a house-husband,” Helm proposes, raising her glass at Maggie and Qadri. “Because it’s 2019 and that’s equality.”

Schmitt seems to consider this seriously.

“You wouldn’t have to shave fish,” Qadri tacks on, wrinkling her nose. “No offense.”

It takes a full minute for Maggie to realize the remark is directed at her. “Oh! None taken,” she says quickly. “I take no responsibility for that exercise. Or the smell.”

“Which still hasn’t come out of my hijab,” Qadri mourns. Seeing Qadri look any amount of sad, Maggie decides suddenly, should be a crime listed under do no harm.

“I’m sorry,” she offers. “I’ll make Jackson buy you a new one!”

For some reason, that sets them into a fit of giggles.

“Drunk Dr. Pierce is the best,” Parker declares, and then blushes, bright and splotchy. “Except for, uh, sober Dr. Pierce. She’s the most wonderful, uh--”

“Careful, don’t hurt yourself,” says Helm, wryly.

“Sober Dr. Pierce would be at home, pretending to care about sports,” Maggie scoffs.

“With Link, Dr. Avery and Dr. Kim?” Dahlia grins. “Sounds like a dream.”

“Pretty sure we’ve all had that dream,” Levi snorts.

“Uh, hello?” Helm pulls a face, jerking a thumb at herself. “Lesbian.”

“Everyone except Taryn has probably had that dream,” he amends.

“Her, and me,” Maggie says blandly. Alcohol loosens her tongue almost as much as bullies and outrage. “As if our free time isn’t limited enough by his projects, and my environmental research, now Jackson’s gone and bonded with his new buddy Link, who loves sports, and camping, and nature, and -- bikes, I guess?”

“Nico says Link’s got a man-crush on Dr. Avery,” Schmitt whispers in what’s not really a whisper. Parker snorts messily into his drink, which she finds weirdly endearing.

“Please tell me Kim also has one of those secret bro handshakes with Link?” Maggie begs.

Schmitt nods. “Yeah, no, they do. He tried to show me it once, but I, um, accidently hit his chin with my open palm.”

Fits of laughter overcome the group while Schmitt flushes. “Aw. Did you kiss it better?” Parker wheedles.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” says Schmitt, tight-lipped.

“You do so,” Helm snorts, shoving him in the chest.

“Hey,” says Qadri, noting how Maggie’s spaced out. “At least if he’s watching sports and -- I dunno, crushing beer cans? -- with Dr. Link and Levi’s ortho god, then you don’t have to act like you want to hear about baseball.”

“Football,” Parker corrects.

“There’s a difference?” Qadri wonders.

Maggie would try to answer, except the implication has finally sunk in. “His ortho god?” she asks, gesturing skeptically at Schmitt.

“Yuh huh. Dr. Kim is his boyfriend,” Helm shares with relish.

“Oh!” What she means to say is congrats, yet what emerges is a clumsy, “Wow. Good job.”

Schmitt only shrugs. “I don’t know how,” he confesses in a slightly dazed tone. “Sometimes I think I died in that freak windstorm and this is just the last of my synapses firing off one last wet dream.”

“Dude, that’s dark,” Parker murmurs.

“I haven’t slept or had sex in...” Schmitt pauses, clearly wracking his brain. “What’s today?”

“Preaching to the choir,” Maggie mutters. Huh, maybe that has something to do with her mood.

“Oh, God,” Dahlia exclaims, as if she just cracked the code. “What if that’s why. What if Link is sleeping with Dr. Avery??”

Parker nods sagely. “That makes sense.”

“Oh, God,” Maggie echoes. After a couple shots of tequila, the theory seems totally plausible. “Oh, no, what do I--”

“Don’t worry,” Schmitt interjects, radiating a suspicious amount of calm. “Link is too busy fooling around with Dr. Shepperd to sleep with your boyfriend.”

Maggie exhales in relief. Then it dawns on her, what he actually said. “Wait,” she yelps. “What? He’s sleeping with my sister?”

Schmitt blinks. “You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t know!” Maggie gapes. “How did you know?!”

“He’s fucking the other ortho god,” Helm and Qadri chime in.

“Right,” says Maggie, slowly and with effort. “Right, okay, I’ve got to remember that detail for tomorrow. So maybe, only … one more round of shots?”

Helm’s eyes light up. “Dr. Pierce is the coolest,” she declares, and the rest unanimously agree.

Maggie Pierce has never been named the coolest anything -- the most impressive, sure, and the most talented by far -- so she can’t help the thrill that shoots through her, headier than any glass of alcohol.

“We’re taking a Lyft.” Parker has emerged as de-facto leader of the drunk brigade, voted in as least likely to order an axe-murderer for a driver. “Levi, you in?”

Schmitt shakes his head, wincing as it jostles his precarious balance. “Nico said he would pick me up if I wanted.”

Helm snickers. “House-husband,” she sing-songs at him.

“Breadwinner,” Schmitt fires back. Neither of these are insults, Maggie notes, uncertain if she should point this out.

“Ma--” Parker catches himself with another blush. “Dr. Pierce, do you, uh, need a ride?”

“Hey!” Schmitt says like he’s had a full-on brainblast. “You can wait with me and Nico can get you, too.”

“Really?” Maggie perks. It saved her the trouble of calling anyone liable to embarrass her; namely, either of her sisters or worse, Karev. “That would be fantastic.”

“Sure, he’s already at Jackson’s place,” Schmitt replies confidently. If she were slightly more sober, Maggie doubts that logic would hold up to scrutiny. As it is, it makes perfect sense to wait for Schmitt’s ortho god to drop her off at the place he drove in from.

Turns out, Dr. Kim is a sexy sight to behold, even with a proprietary arm wrapped around Schmitt, who’s too busy mumbling grateful nonsense into his shoulder to notice the adoration in his boyfriend’s gaze.

If he is surprised to catch Maggie in a similar state of inebriation, Kim has the decency to make no mention of this. Instantly, he’s her new favorite attending-level doctor. He is also a gentleman, offering Maggie his hand as she clamors into the backseat of his car, all the while still steadying Schmitt with a hand clasped over his waist.

Maggie marvels at the coordination and strength, wonders if he could carry them both simultaneously, should the need arise.

“He’s awesome at carrying people,” Schmitt brags, meaning that, whoops, she said that aloud.

Kim chuckles. “Thanks, babe,” he says, wryly. “But at the risk of oversharing, maybe don’t go into detail.”

“What, that it’s a sex thing?” Schmitt says in what he clearly believes is a whisper for their ears only, before he collapses back onto the seat, supremely self-satisfied. At exactly the same volume, he adds, “See? I can be discreet.”

“Great job,” Kim snorts, unimpressed. And yet unable to resist pressing a kiss into his boyfriend’s brow before he starts up the engine. They’re cute, Maggie thinks blearily, and hopes she managed to keep the thought inside her head.

Judging by the grin Kim shoots her out of the corner of his eye, she probably didn’t succeed.

Jackson looks surprised to see Nico at his door again, not that long after he left. “Hey, man. Did you forget something?”

“Nope,” says Nico, cheerily. “Just doing a drop-off.”

“You--” Jackson stares in bewilderment, until Nico moves aside, allowing his passenger to sidestep his bulk. “Mags?”

Maggie stumbles to the door, using one of his sturdy biceps for balance. “Thanks for the lift, Kim,” she waves over her shoulder.

He nods, still smirking as he walks back to his car, away from the bewildered Jackson.

“Mags, are you -- you good?” He hovers close behind as she carefully navigates the stairs, forgoing the temptation of the couch for the queen-sized bed.

“I,” Maggie begins, slurring with great dignity. “Fucking rock at trivia.”

The morning-after is almost worth the hangover. Watching Jackson try to puzzle out what she got up to last night -- and exactly how Dr. Kim fits into the picture -- is too funny, since Maggie deigns to tell him only the bare minimum, lest she look as silly as she feels when she walks into work with a lingering stuffiness.

“Wow. You look as though you need at least a double-shot,” says a familiar voice, rippling with sympathy, but also a fair bit of humor. “Good thing I got you a triple.”

Maggie stares blankly at Kim and at the to-go cup suddenly placed in her hands. Truly he is a kind and benevolent ortho god. “What’s this for?”

Kim grins. “Last night my boyfriend went on about how cool Dr. Pierce was, and how hungover you’d be, and that it was his fault,” he explains, obviously quite amused. “And this morning he groggily demanded I make amends by being especially nice to you this morning. Hence, coffee.”

“That is--” A level of thoughtfulness that made all boyfriends, including her own, seem like total jackasses in comparison. Nico smirks as if he knows exactly what she’s thinking and enjoys the high ground very much. “So unnecessarily sweet. Thank you.”

“No problem,” he says, and leans in, a sheepish twitch to his unfaltering smile. “I’d also appreciate if he didn’t get fired over whatever you may or may not have heard last night.”

Maggie laughs.

“Honestly, I’ve forgotten a decent amount already,” she admits, for the sake of all three of them. “Except the part about Dr. Link and my sister?”

Kim chokes on his sip of coffee. “Ah, you didn’t hear that from me.”

“No, I heard that from your drunk boyfriend,” she replies, picking up the pace to follow his long strides. “But I absolutely need to hear more from you!”

At his reluctance, Maggie pulls out her trump card. “I’ll buy you a bagel.”

Nico stops to considers her. “Multigrain, veggie cream cheese?”

Evidently, Kim has a price. Maggie appreciates in someone who is still, until further notice, her favorite attending.

Petition for more of what 15x18 gave us with Maggie and the interns? And for Maggie and Nico to become friends?? Hire me Grey’s

#schmico #schmico fic #maggie pierce #levi schmitt #nico kim #b team #grey's anatomy #taryn helm #casey parker #dahlia qadri

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a-splash-of-stucky · 6 years

Text

Priorities | Two

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky breaks his promise.

Warnings: Implied smut, nudity, language. Angst. The ‘baby talk’

Word Count: 3.2k

Notes: Written for @buckyofthemyscira‘s 5k Disney Writing Challenge.

I said the angst would get worse and it does! Brace yourselves :D

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist | Tags are open, add yourself here

“Let’s have a baby,” says Bucky.

You’re about five minutes post-orgasm, still trying to catch your breath and calm your galloping heart, so it takes a few seconds for your brain to actually register and process what he’s just said. You lift your head from where it’s pillowed on his chest and look at him through narrowed eyes.

“You wanna what-now?”

“A baby,” he repeats, as he rolls onto his side, forcing you to scoot back and give him some space. Bucky slings an arm over your waist loosely, fingers idly tracing the bare skin at the small of your back. You prop your head up one elbow so that you can look at him properly.

“Why?” you ask.

Bucky shrugs. “Maybe ‘cause we’ve been married for almost two years? I dunno, I just feel like...we’re in a good position financially, Tony’s all but guaranteed me a promotion, your business is thriving — maybe it’s time, y’know?”

You bite your lip as you mull over his words, not yet convinced. “I dunno,” you mumble, “Having a kid is a pretty big commitment.”

“I know, but—we’re in a good place, aren’t we?” he asks, shifting forward to press his forehead to yours.

“I guess so,” you reply hesitantly. “I just...I need some time to think about this, okay? I want that with you, don’t get me wrong but...I’m not sure if I’m ready, yet.”

Bucky smiles at you, soft and tender. For a moment, he looks exactly like the boy you fell in love with, all those years ago. “Of course, honey,” he murmurs, bending to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’m not saying we gotta do it now — whenever you’re ready, doll. It’s no rush.”

You flash him a smile in return, and pray that he won’t see past the mask that you’ve painted on your face.

Sensing that the conversation is over, you slump into the pillows, groaning in relief as you stretch out your pleasantly-exhausted muscles. Bucky rumbles low in his chest as he slides his hands down your naked back, stopping to cup the swell of your ass.

“Maybe...maybe we could start practicing, though?” he asks hopefully.

You bark out a laugh as you turn to glare at him playfully. “You’re insatiable, Mr Barnes,” you tease.

“Can’t help it, when I’ve got such a pretty wife,” he replies, moving to cage you in with his forearms, forcing you to roll onto your back. You hum as you loop your hands over his neck and tangle your fingers through his hair, bringing him in for a filthy kiss.

“Perhaps you should try your best to convince me — I might make up my mind, sooner,” you say huskily, as you nose along his stubbled jaw.

Bucky pulls back, eyes dark with lust and gleaming with promise. “Challenge accepted, sweetheart.”

—

a-sprinkle-of-sunshine posted at 2.36PM: Kids??

I know I don’t usually make posts on a Sunday, but something’s just happened and I’d really like some advice.

In my last post, I talked about the current status of my marriage (btw, many thanks to everyone who left a supportive comment/piece of advice!). Today, I’d like to share with you a further development.

This morning, my husband brought up the subject of children. Specifically, he brought up the subject of us having children. Basically, hubby said that he wanted to have them. I should also say that he wasn’t in any way pressuring me to have them soon, which I appreciate.

Why am I telling you this?

Well, you all know that I’d like to have some children of my own, one day. I want to raise kids with him, but I do have some reservations.

A friend of mine sent me an interesting article a couple of weeks ago (link), which it got me thinking. From observing my friends and acquaintances, I think that this is an issue that applies to many of us in long-term heterosexual relationships.

So many women are basically “married single mothers”. They’re single mothers, despite having a husband or male s/o at home.

Let’s assume that mom and dad are both working (as is the case for hubby and I). In most families, when dad comes home, he puts his feet up on the table and chills out by playing on his Xbox or phone or whatever. He doesn’t offer to help with the dishes, he’s not cooking dinner, he’s literally just sitting there. Sometimes, dad doesn’t even come home until it’s almost midnight.

Meanwhile, mom’s there trying to make sure that dinner’s on the table, that the kids have done their homework, that they’re doing okay in school, that they’ve packed their bags for the next day — looking after the kids, basically. My point is, in most heterosexual families as I’ve described, there’s a clear gender split in terms of child-raising responsibilities.

I don’t want that. Yes, even though I work from home and could devote a lot of time to child-upbringing, that’s not what I want. I want my husband and I to raise a child together, to have equal responsibility, to share the burdens and joys. I don’t want my children to see my husband as a stranger, y’know?

But, with the way that hubby is getting busier and busier by the day, well — I think it’s quite likely that, if we have kids, I’m gonna end up as a married single mom. In my heart of hearts, I believe that our marriage will suffer if we have a baby now. I’m scared that my husband won’t be there to watch them grow up

I know, I know — I NEED TO TALK THIS OUT WITH HIM, and I will, I promise. I’m just...I don’t know what I’m gonna say. I need to think about it, for a bit.

Anyway. Any and all advice on this matter would be much appreciated, especially if you’ve been through a similar situation.

—

Sundays are for chilling out, but apparently, Bucky didn’t get that memo.

You’ve been trying to get him out of the house all day, to no avail. The two of you had rolled out of bed at around lunchtime and, after sharing a long shower, had wandered to the kitchen to cook up some pasta. In the middle of your meal, Bucky had gotten a call from Tony, which was filled with clipped sentences and terse voices. Since then, he’s stationed himself at the kitchen island, laptop open and papers spread out in front of him, frantically making last-minute changes to his designs.

“I’m sorry, honey — maybe later?” he’d said, when you’d suggested going out for a walk.

“Sweetie, I’m busy right now, I’m sorry,” he’d said an hour later, when you’d asked him if he wanted to watch a movie with you.

“Sorry, doll, this code’s got a major bug in it, I gotta try and sort it out, I can’t go right now,” he’d said, when you’d asked if he wanted to go somewhere for dinner.

You want to scream at him in frustration.

You know that you need to confront this issue sooner rather than later, but you don’t have the strength to deal with it right now. After ordering dinner from a nearby Chinese takeout place, you curl up in front of the TV for — yet another — quiet night in, alone. The fact that you’re having dinner by yourself is kind of ridiculous, given that your husband is literally sat twenty feet away from you.

Since you’re not getting much company from Bucky tonight, you decide to head to bed early.

You sigh as you curl up on your side of the king-sized mattress, frustrated by the fact that your husband just — doesn’t seem to have time for you, anymore. A part of you feels guilty for being angry at Bucky, given that he’s only working so hard so that he can save up more money and give you a good life. Nonetheless, you can’t help thinking that there must be a limit to how much he should be working.

It takes two to have a marriage, after all.

You lie in bed, dozing in and out of dreams whilst you wait for your husband to call it a night. Sometime after eleven, you’re awoken from your light slumber by the feeling of the bed dipping with Bucky’s weight as he climbs in. He presses a kiss to your temple as he slides under the covers and curls himself around your back, slipping an arm around your waist to pull you closer. You reach back to give his hip an affectionate squeeze.

“Hey, doll, sorry — didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers.

“S’okay,” you mumble sleepily. “You got your work done?”

“Yeah,” he replies, burying his face against the back of your neck. “Sorry our Sunday got ruined, though. Tell you what — my schedule’s free on Tuesday evening, why don’t I make a reservation at Giovanni’s and take you out for dinner, huh?”

You hum in agreement, lacing your fingers with Bucky’s where they lie over your stomach. “M’kay,” you murmur, “G’night, Buck.”

“Sweet dreams, doll.”

—

When Tuesday evening rolls around, you find yourself sitting at your dressing table, putting the finishing touches to your eye makeup.

You’re in a good mood, today — you had a productive meeting with Peter earlier this afternoon, and he’d gone away promising to look into some of the problems that you’ve been having with your website. Your supplier has gotten back to you with a reasonable price quote for the limited edition notebooks that you’re selling for autumn/winter, and you’ve scheduled the blog post that’s supposed to go up tomorrow.

All in all, a fulfilling day.

Despite being buoyed by your high spirits, there’s a lingering seed of worry in your gut. Your reservation for Giovanni’s is at seven, and Bucky still hasn’t texted you to say that he’s left work, even though it’s already half-past six.

You’ve dressed up nicely for the occasion, putting on a blue dress that compliments your skin tone and fits your body perfectly. You’ve paired the dress with some strappy heels, and have put a little extra effort into your hair and makeup too.

Your phone rings just as you’re swiping on your lipstick.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky says breathlessly. “I just checked the time.”

“Are you on the way?”

“Uh...no,” he says slowly, “I’m still tied up at work.”

You set your tube of lipstick down on your vanity, his sentence settling in like a boulder at the bottom of your stomach.

Of course he’d say that. Of course he’d have to go and ruin what was otherwise a good day.

“You’re coming home late?” you ask, voice a little shaky.

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, honey. I really can’t wriggle my way out of this one.”

You purse your lips. “Okay. I understand.”

“You do?” Bucky asks, sounding relieved.

“Yeah, of course. Your work’s more important than your wife, I see that,” you say sharply. It’s a low blow, but you’re pissed off, and you want your words to wound him deeply, just as he has hurt you.

His sharp inhale on the other end of the line tells you that you’ve achieved your goal.

“No, sweetie, c’mon, just try to understand what I’m—”

“No, you try and understand how I’m feeling, James,” you hiss, fighting to hold back the hot tears of anger brimming in the corners of your eyes. “Am I not — important to you?”

“No,” he says fiercely, “Sweetheart, don’t think like that, I’m just making sure that when we have kids—”

“Oh, when?” you say angrily, “It’s a ‘when’, now? We’re having kids, that’s confirmed, is it? Are you even gonna be there to watch them grow up?”

Bucky exhales harshly. “Honey, we’re not having this conversation on the phone—”

“No? Then when the fuck are we gonna have it, James Buchanan? Hmm? Because you’re hardly ever home, and even when you are, you’re too busy thinking about work to listen to me, anyway.”

“Doll—”

“No, don’t fucking ‘doll’ me. I just—just whatever,” you sigh tiredly, as you scrub your hand over your face, the fight suddenly bleeding out of your system. You’re tired of this. You don’t want to deal with this shit anymore.

“Our reservation’s at seven,” you say, “I gotta go, or I’ll be late. Bye.”

You hang up before he gets a chance to reply.

You want to hurl your phone against the wall. You want to scream and shout and tear your hair out. You want to rip this fucking dress to shreds, all because of Bucky. He’s just so — ugh.

With an exasperated harumph, you turn back to the mirror and fish a tissue out of your makeup bag, using it to dab at your eyes. You won’t cry, right now; Bucky’s not worth your tears. You finish putting on your lipstick, spritz on a little more hairspray, then pick up your purse and flick off the bedroom lights.

Bucky might not be coming on this date night, but you might as well treat yourself. God knows you deserve it.

On impulse, you pull out your phone and speed dial Wanda. Natasha’s on a business trip to Milan this week, so she won’t be able to join you, but you haven’t caught up with Wanda for a while — this might be a good way to salvage a bad situation. You’ve known Wanda since high-school, and you consider her to be one of your closest friends.

“Hello?” she answers, after a few rings.

“Hey, it’s me,” you say, “Listen, I know this is kinda random, but are you busy tonight?”

“Uh...like now? No, why?”

“You wanna go out for dinner with me?”

“Uh...Wait, like now now? Where? Why?”

“Giovanni’s, and I’ll tell you why when we get there.”

Wanda pauses as she thinks over your offer. “Yeah, why not, they’ve got good wine — lemme just text Vis and I’ll be right over, ‘kay?”

“Cool. Reservation’s for seven, under the name ‘Barnes’.”

“Okay. See you in a bit.”

—

“So, you gonna tell me what this is about?” Wanda asks, as the server clears your menus and re-fills your wine glasses. “You’re all dressed up, but I have a feeling that that’s not for me.”

“Bucky was supposed to take me out on a date,” you reply, as you take a sip of your wine.

“And? What happened?”

You shrug your shoulders indifferently. “He got caught up at work.”

Wanda leans back, folding her arms across her chest as she looks at you critically. She’s wearing a black shift dress, and has piled her long brown hair into a loose bun on top of her head. In addition to her favourite lace choker, she’s also wearing her signature dark lip and smoky eye-liner.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there somewhere. You’re not telling me something,” she says, after a long pause.

You chew on your lip hesitantly as you fiddle with the edge of your napkin. “It’s nothing, just—we kinda had a fight over the phone.”

Wanda clicks her tongue sympathetically as she leans forward to rest her elbows on the table. “What was it about?”

You shake your head, unwilling to talk about the fight when it’s still so fresh in your mind. “It’s nothing, forget about it.”

Wanda arches an eyebrow, clearly displeased by the fact that you’re bottling up your emotions. “I mean...if it was actually nothing, I wouldn’t be here right now, would I? Something’s clearly up. C’mon. Spill.”

You sigh, internally admitting defeat. “Well...okay. He’s been working on this big project, and — uh...actually, it’s not just that.”

She waits patiently as you try to find the right words.

“He’s busier lately...like, a lot busier. It’s been getting worse the last few months, but it all started about a year ago, I’d say. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for him, and I know that he’s doing this for both of us, but—I feel like I’m not the most important thing in his life anymore.”

You huff dryly. “That seems ridiculous to say, ‘cause if you think about it, he’s working so hard because he wants to give us a good life, but...I feel like he went and did this without me, y’know? Without talking to me, I mean. Like, I don’t need a fancy house with a backyard and a garden and whatever — I just want my husband, at home, with me.”

Wanda nods sagely. “He’s doing what he thinks is best, which — fair enough, that’s great, but that’s not necessarily what you want or need from him.”

“Exactly.”

Wanda hums thoughtfully as she takes a sip of her wine. “Sounds like you guys need to have a heart-to-heart.”

“I know, but he’s never home!” you whine, “How am I supposed to talk to him if he isn’t there for me to talk to?”

Wanda sighs as she shakes her head. “I dunno, babe, I can’t help you there.”

“I know you can’t,” you sigh, “It’s okay, we just need to work things out between us.”

She nods in agreement. “So was this date night supposed to be his way of making things up to you?” she asks.

“No. Well — kinda. He was busy doing work on Sunday, and he said he’d take me out tonight, but, well. I guess that didn’t happen, huh?”

“So that’s why you had a fight?”

“Basically,” you reply. Just then, the server comes over with your food. You get one whiff of the fragrant, delicious smell and already, your stomach rumbles in anticipation.

“Well, babe,” Wanda says, as she digs into her pasta, “If you ever need a place to stay — like, if you need to be away from him for a while or whatever, you’re always welcome to use our spare room.”

You smile at her gratefully. “Thanks, Wan. I hope I won’t need to, but thank you for the offer.”

“No probs. Are we getting dessert after?”

“Sure, why not. I’m paying for this using his card anyway, let’s cash out.”

She cackles gleefully.

—

Bucky doesn’t get home until it’s half past midnight.

He’s exhausted from a day dealing with catastrophe after catastrophe, but more than that, he feels like shit for not taking you out like he’d promised. You’d sounded really upset on the phone earlier, when he told you that he couldn’t make it. Bucky’s tried calling you about half a dozen times since then, and left you several texts, but you haven’t responded to anything.

He’s not sure what kind of mood you’ll be in.

When he shoulders open the door to the apartment, Bucky is greeted by pure darkness. With a weary sigh, he toes off his shoes and turns on the lights.

His eyes are immediately drawn to the blanket and pillows piled up at the end of the sofa, clearly meant for him. You’ve been kind enough to leave him a pair of sweats and a t-shirt to change into, but there’s no note or anything else with the items.

He knows that if he were to try the door to your shared bedroom, he’d find it to be locked.

Well then. A night on the couch it is.

#sams5kdisneycelebration #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky angst #my writing #fic: priorities

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lazywonderlnds-blog · 7 years

Text

FIC: What’s My Age Again?

Pairing: Harry/Draco Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 12,249 Kinks/Tropes: Top!Harry, Bottom!Draco, Quidditch Player!Harry, Ministry Worker!Draco, Confident!Harry, Bisexual!Harry, Hung!Harry, Rimming, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Rough Sex, UST, Flirting Warnings: Minor recreational drug use Summary: Harry Potter has had enough of pleasing the public, and his reckless tendencies are finally getting out of hand. The Quidditch World Cup is only a week away; as Captain of the English National Team, Hermione has assured him that his immaturity won’t be tolerated by the Ministry. And then Malfoy shows up. (Inspired by the blink-182 song of the same name.) Links: AO3 Notes: WOW, I’ve been working on this forever and here it finally is! Likes and reblogs are, of course, greatly loved and appreciated. ❤️

* * *

“ No one should take themselves so seriously With many years ahead to fall in line Why would you wish that on me? I never wanna act my age

What's my age again? ”

- blink-182

* * *

Harry’s flat was in utter shambles; Hermione had come by in the middle of her work day to help him restore order.

Some time last night while he had been out having a pint with Ron and Dean Thomas, somebody had come into his London apartment and trashed the place.

Not just somebody, though — it had been Emily, the cute little blonde-haired witch he’d been dating a year now, who had turned out to be not so much cute and little as she was needy and suffocating. This disaster was the proof, if he’d needed it.

With a wave of his wand, Harry repaired an electric lamp that had smashed into a million pieces across his hardwood floor, sending it flying back into place on an end table. The leather couch beside it had been slashed to ribbons, as well — the stuffing had been everywhere — but Hermione had already taken care of that one, and an hour later it looked good as new.

“I suppose this means we’re not dating anymore, does it?” said Harry, lifting an eyebrow as he surveyed the flat, trying to spot anything they’d missed. Hermione finished straightening the clock that sat on top of his mantel and then turned to look at him.

“That seems like a safe bet considering the 'WE'RE OVER' in red lipstick on your bathroom mirror,” she agreed sardonically, looking exasperated. “What happened? Just a fortnight ago Emily was telling me she thought you might be thinking of proposing. How do you get from that to this? I mean, my goodness, Harry.”

“Proposing?” he echoed, latching onto the word and ignoring the rest of Hermione’s question. “She said she thought I’d be proposing?”

“Well, yes.” Hermione took a seat on the newly-repaired sofa, brushing some hair out of her eyes and fixing Harry with a probing stare. “You’ve been together a year and a half now, she seemed to think that was the direction it was heading. I did, mind you, bring up the fact that you continue to refuse to move in with her, which hardly bodes well for a marriage, but you know Emily.”

“Selective hearing,” said Harry dourly. He felt his irritation mounting. “Well, bollocks to her, then. Crazy wench.”

“Harry!”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, though he wasn’t. He was confused, yes. Monumentally pissed off, absolutely. But sorry? Not even a little bit. “Good to be rid of her, to tell you the truth. Couldn’t bloody stand it having her here every time I came home from practice. Didn’t even let me take a bath without bringing me a sodding tray of tea and biscuits. Like I can be arsed to eat biscuits when I’m trying to have a fucking soak.”

Hermione, to his surprise, had started chuckling.

“It’s not a bloody joke, Hermione! You try having a relaxing bath with soggy bits of food floating around the bubbles.”

“Why hadn’t you broken up with her, then?”

Realizing he didn’t have much of an answer, Harry merely shrugged.

“So, then, what was it?" she scoffed. "What could you possibly have done to provoke the bedlam we just spent an hour cleaning up?”

“It wasn’t just one thing,” he said, rolling his eyes as he sat down beside Hermione. She lifted an eyebrow. “She’s been cross with me all week. Last Saturday night it started, because of that Ministry event. The fundraiser one, can’t remember what it was for.”

“The one you didn’t show up to,” Hermione said dryly.

“She went off on me like you wouldn’t bloody believe when I told her I wasn’t going,” he went on, ignoring Hermione’s tone entirely. “Should’ve heard the things she was saying. Told me that I haven’t got my priorities straight and I ought to start living up to my name.”

A hand flew up to Hermione’s mouth, suppressing what was clearly laughter. Harry didn’t bother hiding his own grin.

“It was really something, I’ll tell you that much. I guess what finally did it, though, was, er — well, I may have forgotten we’d had a date the other night and gone out with the team after practice. It wasn’t on purpose or anything, though!” he said quickly. “Not like I deliberately blew her off.”

“Harry,” Hermione deadpanned, reminding him forcefully of their years at Hogwarts together. He might have blown off a Transfiguration essay for all the reproach that was soaked into her voice. “While I don’t condone this tantrum she’s thrown, I really do think you owe her an apology. That was incredibly insensitive.”

“I know —”

“And if you were so fed up with her, you should have just broken up with her —”

“I know, Hermione —”

“I mean, really, Harry, there’s just no point, you’re making yourself as miserable as you’re making her —”

“I know, Hermione!” he barked, exasperated.

“Well, why didn’t you do it, then!” she retorted immediately, looking beady-eyed and disapproving. Any trace of humour had drained from her countenance. “You could have saved us the trouble of repairing your entire flat this afternoon!”

“I dunno, do I?” he said irritably, standing up from the sofa and dragging a hand through his wildly messy hair. This was a lie, though — he did sort of know why, he just wasn’t keen on discussing his aversion to engaging in any sort of serious conversation. “I didn’t want to deal with it, I suppose. I’d bet you a hundred Galleons she’d have done the same thing if I’d broken up with her, anyway, she’s barking. At least this way it saves me a row.”

Hermione made a throaty noise of disbelief. “What, you think you’re just never going to talk to her again? Harry, you still have to properly end it!”

“You’re joking, right?” Her face made it very clear she was not. Harry scoffed. “This is what she did to my house, Hermione. Imagine what she’ll do to me.”

“You know, Harry, you are being a bit immature about this —”

“Oh, not you too,” Harry snapped, mood plummeting the instant the word ‘immature’ had left her mouth. His temper was not easy to stoke these days, quite the opposite of the way he’d been before the war — although Harry supposed that might have had something to do with the fact that, in the last few years, he’d stopped taking anything all that seriously. “Like the Prophet isn’t bad enough.”

“I’m just talking about your relationship, Harry,” Hermione said sharply. She stood up now too, and there was a stern look on her face like she’d moved past exasperation and on to genuine annoyance. “But, you know, if you want my honest opinion, I do think you’ve been acting incredibly immature these last couple years, and it’s only been getting worse.”

“Funny, I don’t remember asking your honest opinion,” he sniped, but Hermione, apparently, had had enough.

“I knew something like this was going to happen,” she snapped, gesturing around the flat which had only an hour ago looked like a nuclear test site. “It was bound to, eventually, the way you’ve been acting! Like a — a —”

“Go ahead, say it,” Harry bit out. He knew the word she was dancing around — it had been used in conjunction with his name for months now in the media, ever since some sneaky, pathetic reporter had stalked him long enough to get a candid of him hitting a joint, and then sold it to the Daily Prophet for what Harry was sure had been a very large sum of gold.

“Like a teenager!” she yelled, face pink with emotion. Harry scowled. “You miss nearly every Ministry event you’re invited to, and when you do go, you end up completely sloshed and saying something controversial; you get caught doing Muggle drugs and don’t even make a statement about it, not even an attempt at smoothing things over; and now you’re blowing off dates with your girlfriend and driving her to destroy your flat! Honestly, Harry! I’ve been maintaining for years now that you need to go about this post-war stuff in your own way, get it out of your system, whatever this is, but … but this is where I draw a line! Harry James Potter … I am disappointed in you!”

“Great!” Harry yelled, and his unchecked emotions caused the lightbulb in the electric lamp he’d repaired to explode. Hermione jumped. “Brilliant! Only would you mind being disappointed in me somewhere else? I was looking forward to lighting up a couple joints and premeditating my next really immature publicity stunt!”

Hermione swelled like an angry cat. “Oh, I can’t stand when you get like this! It’s completely useless arguing with you!” Snatching her purse up from a chair, she marched over to the fireplace. “I have to get back to work. Do not forget to be at the pitch at six tonight for the first dry run. The other team will be there to see the stadium and the Israeli Head of International Wizarding Relations will be there as well to meet Kingsley. And Malfoy, since Bosley won’t be there.”

The name sent another burst of irritation flooding through Harry’s veins; in a fit of childishness that the Prophet would dearly have loved to know about, he grabbed a nearby candle and chucked it across the room, where its glass holder shattered against the opposite wall. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Remind me again why he’s going to be there? Did Bosley and everyone else in the Department die, or something?”

“Bosley’s got a terrible case of dragon pox, so he’s appointed Malfoy to go in his stead. Do not start a fight with him, Harry, I have never been so serious in my life. So help me god, I will hex you within an inch of your life if you make us look bad in front of the Israelis. It’s unprecedented for the Cup to be held in the same country twice within such a short time span, and since the last one here was in —”

“Ninety-four, yes, I’m well aware of that, Hermione, thanks.”

“Then you know you need to be on your best behaviour if you expect it to be hosted here again within this century!”

“I’m not gonna start anything with him! Merlin’s fucking tits. I thought you had to get back to work, I’ll see you tonight.”

Hermione, lips pursed and eyes narrowed, took a handful of Floo Powder from a vase on the mantel and disappeared into the green flames. Harry looked around at the glass all over his floor and, with a deep, resentful sigh, went to clean it up.

* * *

The Cup was especially exciting this year; not only was it being held in Britain, but the English National Team was playing. Hermione, who had quickly risen to become Senior Undersecretary to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in their years after Hogwarts, had been deeply involved in the process of getting ready for the 424th Quidditch World Cup.

Traditionally held every four years, the Cup had been postponed in ’98 due to the British Ministry’s need for recovery following the end of the war. Spain had been the winners of the last Cup in 1999, and with Britain in place now to nab the 2003 trophy, Harry had been feeling the pressure from all sides, particularly Fancourt — the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports — who never missed a chance to let Harry know he’d be counting on him in August.

And now it was August, the Cup was a week away, and the only thing spoiling what should have been the best week of Harry’s life was Draco sodding Malfoy.

After finishing a makeup year at Hogwarts and graduating with only one less N.E.W.T. than Hermione, Malfoy had, in spite of his déclassé name (and because of his excellent marks), managed an entry-level job at the Ministry in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Within four years, he’d risen far enough that he’d become a prominent figure in the Department, and had apparently been hand-chosen by the Department Head — Cadmus Bosley — to represent him tonight when his Israeli counterpart came in.

The stadium was in exactly the same place as it had been when Harry had gone to see the World Cup at fourteen. Only a week away, hundreds of witches and wizards from all over the world with cheap tickets had already begun to gather on the campground outside. Harry arrived at an Apparition point specifically for Ministry officials and the players themselves.

It was ten after six when he walked out onto the pitch, flooded with lights. He saw a good deal of people high up in the air, soaring around the stadium on their brooms, while those in more professional-looking robes were standing in a group in the centre of the field. The only immediately-recognizable one out of the group from a distance, white-blond hair shining like a beacon, was Malfoy.

“There you are!” Hermione said when she saw him, looking incredibly exasperated. Kingsley shot Harry a wink, and Harry smirked at him in return. He glanced once at Malfoy, who lifted an arrogant eyebrow, and then looked away again with every intention of pretending he didn’t exist. Fancourt grabbed Harry’s hand in his turn and shook it once, firmly, with a jovial little “Good to see you, Harry, good to see you!” With those greetings (or lack thereof) out of the way, Hermione directed Harry’s attention to the Israeli wizards. “Harry, this is Moshe Mizrachi, the Israeli Minister for Magic. Minister, this is Harry Potter, our Seeker and Captain.” There was the inevitable lift of eyes to take in his scar, and Harry only just managed not to scowl. “And this is Noam Peretz,” she went on, indicating a second wizard, “their Department Head for International Wizarding Relations. Mr. Peretz, Harry Potter.”

“Delighted, Mr. Potter, truly,” Mr. Peretz said warmly, shaking Harry’s hand and looking up at Harry’s forehead once again. When he tore his eyes away, they landed back on Hermione, then shifted to Malfoy. “I was hoping to go over security details, then …”

As the talk shifted back to business, Harry figured he’d be allowed to sidle off and join the rest of his team, a few of which had landed once they’d seen the Ministry officials wandering off. Harry spared one last glance at Malfoy, who was pointing something out in the stands to Mr. Peretz, before turning and spotting Killian Vance — one of their Beaters — landing a few feet away.

“All right there, Harry?” he said, grinning brightly. “Bradley and I were taking bets on whether you’d show up or not.”

“The hell kind of Captain do you think I am?” Harry scoffed, halfway between amusement and guilt. It was always fairly easy to ignore what the media had to say about him, but when his reputation began cropping up like this, among his friends and his colleagues — when he was forced to face the consequences of his rapidly-deflating sense of responsibility — Harry always felt a small pang of uncertainty.

But he didn’t like to think too much about that if he could help it.

“You’d’ve got away with it if you hadn’t,” Killian said, and judging by the conspiratorial wink, he thought he was paying Harry quite a compliment. Harry tried not to let his exasperation show.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was engrossed in a deeply complicated conversation with Jeremy Fowler, England’s Keeper, revolving around tactics for the game next week. This made it even more irritating when Malfoy interrupted them.

“Potter,” he drawled, cutting Fowler off mid-sentence, and Harry felt his hackles instantly rise. Fowler looked nonplussed, and after going back and forth a few times between the looks Harry and Malfoy were giving one another, he apparently decided scarpering was prudent. “We need to discuss —”

“I was in the middle of a conversation, Malfoy,” Harry snapped. “You’ve got no fucking manners, do you?”

“Language,” Malfoy said breezily. Harry clenched his jaw and forced his fists to remain at his sides. Malfoy seemed to have noticed them, because a look of dark amusement crossed his arrogant face. “As I was saying, we need to discuss your behaviour over the following week.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your behaviour, Potter. I’m referring, of course, to your penchant for acting like a moronic teenager every time you’re out in public these days.” Harry opened his mouth, ready to start yelling if he wasn’t allowed to throw a punch, but at the very last second managed to swallow back everything he wanted to say. Hermione was about twenty feet from them with the Israeli Minister, and she’d given him a sharp look after having spotted him with Malfoy. He could feel his nails digging into his palm and wondered if he’d broken the skin. Malfoy watched him through all of this with narrowed eyes, perhaps waiting for his outburst; a smirk touched his lips when he appeared to have decided it wasn’t coming. “Very good, Potter. You’ll want to continue exercising discretion until the Cup is over. I know the only thing that comes naturally to you is acting bull-headed and reckless, but if you embarrass the Ministry this week, there will be hell for you to pay. Is that clear?”

“If that’s the case,” Harry retorted sharply, “you should stay as far away from me as possible, since you’re the only thing that’s making me feel like doing something reckless right now, Malfoy.”

“I’m flattered, truly,” Malfoy said with an ostentatious roll of his eyes. “Do I have your word, then, Potter? No drinking in public, no Muggle drugs, no —”

“What, I can’t smoke any weed this whole week?” he said, mock-surprise colouring his voice with sarcasm. Malfoy’s pouty lips thinned with irritation and Harry could see a muscle working in his jaw. “I dunno, Malfoy, I really can’t promise something like that. You know me, bull-headed and reckless is all I know. Besides, how else do you expect me to relax? It’s like me telling you not to take it up the arse anymore — would you really be able to give that up, Malfoy? Be honest.”

The sight of Malfoy spluttering incoherently was so satisfying it nearly made up for the destroyed flat that morning.

“That’s what I thought,” Harry said solemnly, ridiculously proud of the way he was successfully holding back his laughter. Laughter, of all things — to think he had been only seconds away from getting drunk instead of coming to this thing seemed impossible now. “Before you ask me to give up something I love, think first about how you’d feel if someone asked you to give up something you love —”

“Shut the fuck up, Potter!” Malfoy shouted; then, seeming to come back to himself, took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Harry thrilled to know how quickly he’d gotten right underneath Malfoy’s skin.

“Language, Malfoy —”

“Potter, I swear to god, one more word,” Malfoy snapped. Harry’s teeth clicked shut and he grinned broadly over them. “Since you are utterly incapable of taking anything seriously —”

“That’s not fair, Malfoy,” Harry interrupted him. Malfoy looked ready to tackle Harry to the ground. “I would seriously love to eat your arse right now —”

“Oh my god,” Malfoy threw his hands up in capitulation, cheeks positively flaming. Harry simply couldn’t hold back a bark of laughter. “You’re completely fucking incorrigible. You know what? See if I care. In fact, I hope you make an arse out of yourself, Potter; then Hewitt can play instead of you.”

“You’d rather see me put in my place than win the game?”

“Oh please, arrogance looks terrible on you, Scarhead.” Malfoy made a tch-ing sound of disgust in his throat. He looked completely flustered, the blush on his face having spread down his neck, and Harry was only mildly interested to note a stirring of arousal in his belly. Arrogant and intolerable as he might have been, the reality of Malfoy’s physical appeal was unavoidable, and he looked especially delicious right now, worked up on nothing more than Harry’s taunting. He supposed he really wouldn’t have minded eating Malfoy’s arse, in fact. “Anyway, seeing as this is utterly pointless — goodbye, Potter. I so look forward to seeing you watching from the sidelines next week.”

Harry didn’t bother saying anything else, and Malfoy didn’t bother waiting anyhow. His eyes found Malfoy’s arse as he sauntered away, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. Shagging that contemptuous sneer off his face was unrealistic, maybe, but thinking about it suited Harry just fine.

* * *

He’d only smoked marijuana three or four times since the incident six months ago when that incriminating photograph had appeared in the paper, and before having had his row with Malfoy, he’d had no intention at all of lighting up between now and the Cup.

Of course, there was nothing so tempting as the forbidden fruit, and Harry had always been particularly susceptible when it came to things he wasn’t supposed to do.

There were two things on his mind that night as he sat drinking a lager amongst a rather large group of his friends, in a pub just down the street from Ron and Hermione's flat: Malfoy, and the eighth of weed trapped inside an airtight jar in his bedroom closet.

The latter briefly shifted to the back of his mind, however, when the former walked into the pub ahead of a nameless, dark-haired bloke who was holding the door for him.

Nobody else seemed to notice Malfoy’s presence; Malfoy saw him within moments, though, and Harry smirked as soon as their eyes met.

For having chucked a glass candle-holder across his flat that morning, he was remarkably pleased to be seeing Malfoy now. And perhaps he was acting like a teenager, to be getting off on something as trivial and petty as a schoolyard rivalry; maybe it was immature to be thinking about how good it would feel to have his cock buried in Malfoy’s perfect arse when he should have been thinking about keeping his head down until the Cup was over; but for the first time, it occurred to Harry that maybe, if it meant enjoying himself this much, he rather deserved be childish while he was still young.

Didn't he?

He swigged back the rest of his beer and banged the empty glass down on the table. Dean hollered cheerfully.

“Harry, that was your third, wasn’t it?” Hermione said in a voice of forced casualness; beside her, Ron snorted into his own glass. She shot him a quick, disgusted look before leveling her watchful gaze back on Harry. “Just remember you’ve promised to cut yourself off after three —”

“Oi! The man just got dumped, Hermione, let him live a little tonight,” said Dean, to which Harry laughed and Hermione merely scowled. “What’s he gonna do, go streaking through London?”

“Don’t make me out to be the bad guy, Dean!” Hermione snapped. Harry rolled his eyes, but nobody seemed to have noticed. “I’m looking out for him. Something which I hope you take into consideration,” she added suddenly, whipping around to look at Harry with blazing eyes. “Getting broken up with was a direct consequence of the way you’ve been acting and you know it.”

“Yeah, well, you know what?” said Harry tightly, standing up from the table. “I’m only twenty-three fucking years old, Hermione. I spent eleven years in a cupboard under some stairs and the next seven working up to the task of killing an evil fucking maniac, so guess what? If I feel like acting like a teenager, then I’m gonna act like a bloody teenager, all right?”

“Harry,” Ron said stiffly, standing up as well and dropping a protective arm across Hermione’s shoulders. “Slow down, mate.”

Hermione, for her part, looked completely gobsmacked and even more horrified; a pinch of guilt settled in Harry’s stomach immediately and he let out a little sigh, thumb and forefinger lifting to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I’m sorry, Hermione — I just … really need you to lay off me for a bit. It’s a bloody pain in the arse being hounded by reporters and having my life splashed across the news for everybody to judge at their own fucking leisure. It's worse than ever with the Cup around the corner.” He paused, saw Hermione’s lower lip wobbling precariously, and sighed. “I’m sorry, ‘Mione. Really. It’s not your fault I’m on edge.”

“It’s all right, Harry,” she said softly. One of her small hands found his arm and squeezed. “I … well, we can talk tomorrow. Go on and get another drink.”

He flashed her a grateful smile and, not needing to be told twice, headed off towards the bar.

Malfoy’s back was to Harry, facing the bloke he’d come in with; he looked positively edible in a tight pair of trousers that clung to his arse perfectly, and his date seemed to be well aware of this, for there was a hungry look in his eyes. Harry was a little surprised by the surge of irrational possessiveness this created, but only a little.

Three beers in and having only that afternoon been reminded of the sort of passion Malfoy could inspire in him, Harry thought it was actually rather unsurprising he should feel jealous of anybody else commanding the blond’s attention.

When he got to the bar, Harry ordered loudly enough that Malfoy would hear, and on cue he spun around. Harry laughed delightedly even as his groin tightened.

“Brilliant,” Malfoy sneered, sizing Harry up with narrowed eyes. “Front row seats to watch you make an embarrassment of yourself once again, Potter. I’ll just get a letter ready to send to Fancourt, shall I? He’ll be devastated — I know for a fact he was looking forward to wanking himself raw at the sight of you on your broomstick next week.”

“Are we talking about Fancourt or you, Malfoy?” Harry said pleasantly. Malfoy scoffed loudly, his eyes going impossibly wide. He had turned to fully face Harry now, having apparently forgotten the bloke standing behind him. “Because Fancourt has kids; meanwhile, you were blushing like a schoolgirl at the thought of me eating you out today, so …”

“Potter!” Malfoy screeched. The blush had returned, and Harry barely managed to keep from punching the air in triumph. God but Malfoy looked good like that. His date was scowling deeply now, but Malfoy still did not turn back to him. “You’re an uncivilized fucking brute.”

“You’re blushing again, Malfoy.”

Malfoy spluttered, and the flush deepened prettily.

“Erm — Draco?”

Malfoy turned a withering glare on his date, who shrank back in surprise. “I’m in the middle of a fucking conversation, Connor,” he said hotly. Harry didn’t bother hiding his laugh.

“Well excuse the fuck out of me!” Connor scoffed. “We’re supposed to be on a date, are we not?”

“Meaning what?” said Malfoy, sneering. “I can’t talk to anyone but you? Merlin help me if that’s the case.”

Connor looked to be somewhere right in the middle of bewildered and angry.

“I’ll just bloody leave then, shall I?! Since you’d so much rather flirt blatantly with Harry fucking Potter in front of me!”

“Flirt?!” Draco screeched. The barkeeper set Harry’s beer down in front of him — Harry took it with a little nod and a smile and leaned back against the bar to watch Malfoy ream into his date with an expression of polite interest and his free hand stuffed casually into his jeans’ pocket. “Don’t be an idiot, Connor. First of all, I came here with you tonight because you asked me out four separate times and finally wore me down like some useless, lumbering moron. Second, that was fighting, not flirting, halfwit, but it’s no wonder you can’t tell the difference. And third, even if I were flirting with Potter, I hardly think it’s within your jurisdiction to get upset about it, so you can shove your indignant little tirade right up your arse, Connor.”

Wide-eyed and dazed-looking, Connor seemed unable to form speech for a moment. Harry took this opportunity to chime in.

“If I were you, I’d hightail it out of here,” he suggested mildly.

Malfoy glared at him. “You’re next, Potter.”

“And I’m beside myself with enthusiasm, Malfoy, believe me.”

With another scoff and a resentful sweep of Malfoy’s body, Connor slammed his drink down on the bar and stalked away.

“Was that completely necessary, Potter?” Malfoy said waspishly.

“Me?!” Harry laughed incredulously. “The hell did I do?!”

“You stood there like an arrogant toerag!”

This gave Harry pause; he blinked rather owlishly at Malfoy, who spotted the look and scowled.

“As vapid as ever, aren’t you, Potter?” he said. But Harry wasn’t really listening; a smile was coming over his face, for a memory had surfaced — or rather a memory of a memory. At one time, it had caused him greatest despair to know what his mum had once thought of his dad, but as he’d gotten older, and as he’d learned how little black-and-white there was to the world, he’d grown rather fond of knowing his parents had overcome a history of … not getting along.

His mother had once referred to his father as an arrogant toerag — Harry could recall it perfectly now, it had been one of Snape’s memories, he and Lily in their fifth year at Hogwarts.

I know James Potter’s an arrogant toerag, she’d said. You don’t have to tell me that.

He didn’t know why it should feel so delightful that Malfoy had unwittingly described him the exact same way Lily Evans had once described James Potter. It just did.

“Malfoy, d’you wanna have a cigarette with me?” he asked suddenly. Malfoy blinked several times in succession.

“What?” he said finally.

“A cigarette. Do you want to have one. With me.”

“Wh —” he started, and then broke off, looking irritated and a little bit interested, although Malfoy probably didn’t intend for him to see that last bit. “A cigarette?”

“Yes. With me. I don’t know how else to explain it, Malfoy.”

“Don’t be a smartarse, Potter,” he snapped. Harry grinned. “Fine … since you’ve done away with my date for the night anyhow. Lead the way, then.”

Harry drained the rest of his beer and gestured towards the door with his head. He pulled a pack of Marlboros out of his back pocket and waved it at Hermione, who had spotted him and Malfoy from across the pub and looked puzzled. She looked like she very much wanted to follow him and ask what was going on, so he was relieved when she didn’t get out of her chair or alert anybody else at the table to what was going on.

He and Malfoy walked to the edge of the building, where a very thin alley divorced it from an overflowing diner. Pulling two cigarettes out, he placed both between his lips, used a Muggle lighter to spark the ends, and then handed one over. Malfoy took it with a strange, indecipherable expression on his face.

“What’s that look?” Harry half-laughed, cigarette between his thumb and first finger as he took a long drag.

“Nothing,” Malfoy insisted too quickly. His cheeks reddened, and Harry knew he’d realized how it had sounded. “You’re being irritatingly charming.”

“Aw, you’re just saying that, Malfoy.”

Malfoy scowled. “It was an insult, Potter.”

“How was that an insult?” Harry laughed.

“Because I’m saying you’re not usually charming!”

“Malfoy, you don’t even know me, how can you say what I’m usually like?”

“I’ve known you since we were eleven, moron.”

“We’ve spoken three or four times in the last five years.”

“Exactly — there’s not much to know about you, Potter. You’re all surface-level.”

“Is that why you’ve been blushing around me so prettily all day?” Harry smirked.

To his credit, Malfoy rolled his eyes rather believably, but the instant color in his cheeks was a dead giveaway. He must have felt it there, because he scowled again.

“Think what you want,” he said, sucking on the end of his cigarette and letting a lazy trail of smoke out from between his full lips. Harry was visited by a sudden, powerful urge to lick inside Malfoy’s mouth and taste the acrid, bitter tobacco on his tongue. “I would never pay you a compliment, Potter — it would give me hives.”

“You know, you’re really rather cute when you’re annoyed with me.”

“I’m not cute, Potter,” Malfoy said tetchily. “And I’m always annoyed with you.”

Harry leaned one shoulder against the brick wall of the building and flicked away the ash at the end of his cigarette. He said nothing, and watched in amusement as Malfoy began fidgeting under his scrutiny. How had he never noticed before how responsive Malfoy was, how beautifully he reacted to Harry’s relentless teasing? He wondered now how far beneath Malfoy’s shirt that flush had spread.

“Why did you ask me to come out here with you, Potter?”

Harry considered the question a moment, and then he pushed off the wall and tossed his half-smoked cigarette into the street. Malfoy’s eyebrows drew together. Grinning, Harry plucked the cigarette from Malfoy’s hand as well, cupped his soft cheek with his free one, and without even a suggestion of reluctance leaned in and kissed him hard on the mouth. Malfoy froze, but within seconds he began responding to Harry’s coaxing, drawing his lips apart with a gasp and letting Harry slip his tongue inside. He felt a moan vibrate between them and threw down Malfoy’s cigarette so he could get a hand on his waist instead.

It tasted bitter from the tobacco and whatever he’d been drinking, but underneath that was the distinctly sweet taste of Malfoy, and it was this that Harry couldn’t get enough of. Their tongues twisted and curled around each other, panting breaths passing frantically between them as they devoured one another. Harry bit down sharply on Malfoy’s pouting lower lip, earning a hiss and a shove in his chest, but Harry held him close and fused their mouths back together impatiently. Malfoy actually whimpered into the kiss, hands fisting in Harry’s worn-out English National League t-shirt.

“Come back to my flat,” Harry said against his jaw, kissing and nipping his way down to Malfoy’s neck now, itching to taste that flushed skin. Malfoy shivered and tightened his fingers; Harry felt sharp nails piercing him through the thin material of his shirt.

“Why?” Malfoy demanded croakily. Harry slipped his hands down from Malfoy’s waist to the swell of his arse and squeezed, pulling their hips together. He could feel Malfoy’s hard cock slide against his own and groaned into the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“Why the fuck do you think, Malfoy?” he growled. “I can’t eat your arse out here in front of The Red Lion, can I?”

“You’re very presumptuous, did you know that, Potter?” Malfoy said breathily.

“D’you really want me to back off?” he mumbled into Malfoy’s neck. “Because I will.”

Malfoy didn’t answer right away; his head tipped back slightly to expose his long, pale throat as it was sucked and licked at, and Harry chuckled against his skin.��

“No,” he said finally, in a weak, helpless sort of voice. “I don’t.”

“Brilliant. Take my hand.” He pulled away and held his palm out, meeting Malfoy’s eyes challengingly with a smirk — after a moment of hesitation Malfoy took it and they spun on the spot, Harry leading him through the unbearably tight pressure of time and space to his flat.

* * *

He Apparated them directly into his living room, and they weren’t there for more than a few seconds before Malfoy pounced on him.

He laughed delightedly, twining his arms around Malfoy’s slim waist and pulling their bodies flush, hips slotting and cocks rubbing together through their clothing. Malfoy moaned into his mouth, having apparently abandoned any reserve he’d still been holding onto back at the pub.

Harry licked hungrily between his lips, tasting the silky-smooth lining and marveling, somewhere in the back of his mind, at the fact that just this very morning he’d come home to find the living room in a state of utter disrepair — a present from his ex-girlfriend. And now here he was, in the very same room, backing Malfoy up towards a couch which had been slashed to ribbons before Hermione had mended it.

“This is completely moronic,” Malfoy breathed, even as Harry began hurriedly popping the fastenings on his shirt. When his fingers slipped for the third time, he growled low in his throat and simply tore the shirt open, buttons flying haphazardly and landing noisily all across the hardwood floor. “Potter, you fucking barbarian, are you kidding me!”

“First of all,” Harry said lightly, nipping at the corner of Malfoy’s jaw as he pulled the shirt off his bony shoulders, exposing an unearthly amount of gorgeous pale skin. Striped gruesomely across his front were the faded scars from a hex cast long ago in a Hogwarts bathroom. Harry determinedly ignored them for now. “I hardly think moronic is the word to use; second, I’m obviously not kidding, and if you promise to stop whingeing long enough for me to get my mouth on you, I’ll repair the bloody shirt for you later.”

“As if I’d trust you to handle silk —” Malfoy started, but he cut off with a beautiful little gasp when Harry cupped him through his trousers, squeezing lightly around the outline of his cock.

“Malfoy?” Harry said into his ear, stroking him slowly, nowhere near enough. Malfoy whimpered, hands lifting helplessly to Harry’s shoulders and digging his nails in. “Shut up.”

And finally, Malfoy did.

Harry kissed him soundly, sucking at his lips and biting teasingly at the lower one, a vivid shock of heat coiling his belly tighter when Malfoy started fingering at the hem of his tee and then lifted it over his head. Those delicate, slightly cold hands immediately started mapping out his hard torso, but Harry didn’t give him long to explore before he was pressing Malfoy back onto the couch and falling to his knees between his legs.

Malfoy arched up obediently to let Harry drag his trousers and pants down his long, slender legs, and at the sight of his stiff, leaking cock curved up against his tight stomach, dribbling pre-come onto the sparse trail of fine blond hair leading down from his navel, Harry felt a little bit of his sanity drain away.

“Shit, Malfoy, you look so fucking good.” He lifted Malfoy’s legs under the thighs, propping them securely over his shoulders and using his thumbs to spread his arse immodestly, the sight of his tight, pink little pucker making Harry’s cock throb painfully where it was still trapped in his denims. He leaned forward and breathed hotly across it, in reaction to which he felt a full-body shudder move through Malfoy’s willowy frame.

“Potter,” he moaned weakly, shifting his hips like he was trying to get Harry’s mouth on him faster. “This is … this is …”

“Long overdue?” Harry supplied cheekily; he used the pads of his thumbs to stretch Malfoy’s hole just barely, too tight to open him up much more than that. Malfoy made a high keening noise that brought a satisfied smirk to Harry’s face.

“I was going to say absurd.”

Harry snorted but didn’t reply — instead, he passed the flat of his tongue hard across Malfoy’s clenching hole, cock twitching at the sharp, musky taste of him. He groaned and tightened his grip on the fleshy globes of Malfoy’s perfect arse, holding him open and prising his hole as far open as he could. He used the tip of his tongue to trace around the rim and had to redouble his efforts when Malfoy bucked against his face.

He took his time, ignoring his fattening cock in favour of paying his full attention to working Malfoy’s dusky hole open with his mouth. He stabbed the pointed tip of his tongue shallowly inside, dipping slowly, methodically in and out, only stopping long enough to place a glob of spit onto his twitching pucker and then work it inside with his tongue. Malfoy let out a wrecked sob that went straight to Harry’s cock.

“Don’t touch yourself,” Harry snapped, having seen Malfoy’s hand snaking down to his prick, slim fingers an inch away when Harry spoke. “Keep your hands where I can see them, Malfoy, or I’ll stop.”

It appeared to cost Malfoy a great deal to comply, but the fact that he did made Harry feel dizzy with lust. His cheeks were filled with a pretty pink color and some of his golden blond hair had fallen in his face, giving him the appearance of some beautifully-debauched angel, one which Harry was frantic to continue tearing apart.

He pushed in farther this time, dropping his jaw open and pressing his tongue as deeply inside as it could go. He felt Malfoy clenching spasmodically around the wet muscle as he fucked him with it, his hands now gripping his thighs both to assist in holding himself open, and because Harry could see them there. Saliva dripped copiously out of the corners of his mouth and slicked Malfoy’s arse, making the slide easier and loosening him by degrees.

“Fuck … Potter, if you don’t stop I’m gonna — god, I’m gonna come …” The last word was elongated into a devastating moan. Harry’s fingers dug into the meat of his arse but he pulled himself back, swiping a thumb across the loosened hole and rudely dipping it inside, all the way to the knuckle, causing Malfoy to buck and cry out.

“Stop moving,” Harry said, mild yet brooking no argument. Malfoy let his head fall against the back of the couch, chest heaving, eyes shut, golden lashes brushing his effeminately high cheekbones. He looked like he was praying for patience. Watching him closely, Harry pulled his thumb out and replaced it with his middle finger, gliding it in easily through the wetness he’d put there. Malfoy keened but stayed still. “You’re doing so good,” Harry breathed, stuffing a second finger in beside the first and placing a wet kiss to the inside of Malfoy’s thigh.

He built up a rhythm with two fingers, occasionally leaning in to add more spit and ease the friction. Malfoy gasped and moaned beautifully each time Harry brushed deliberately across the sensitive little nub of his prostate, making sure to give it a firm rub on every third or fourth stroke, keeping Malfoy at the very edge of an orgasm.

“Potter!” he sobbed out when Harry squeezed in a third finger and only sped his pace up further. “I’m serious, if you don’t stop I’m gonna —”

“Good,” Harry bit out, slamming his fingers into Malfoy’s arse with brutal enthusiasm, reveling in the slick squelching noises they made. Malfoy’s prick was bobbing helplessly, untouched, smearing pre-come across his hard belly with nothing to rut against but air. “Come for me, then. Go on.”

Harry looped an arm around Malfoy’s thigh, using the leverage to hold him down, and stilled his fingers deep inside his arse, rubbing relentlessly against his prostate. Malfoy’s back tried to arch off the couch only to be held in place by Harry, a moan ripping savagely from his throat as his body convulsed through what looked like an immensely powerful orgasm, ropes of come shooting out of his twitching prick and landing on his chest and his chin. Harry pumped his fingers through it, slowing down as Malfoy’s body first loosened and then began trembling.

“S-stop, please, stop,” he gasped, trying to fumble away from Harry, but Harry continued to hold him down, moving his fingers leisurely through Malfoy’s still-clenching hole. He sobbed weakly, the muscles in his stomach fluttering visibly beneath the skin.

“Did you just say please?” Harry smirked. Malfoy scoffed feebly and Harry finally pulled his fingers out. He got to his feet and bent over him, brushing their lips together.

“Fuck off, Potter.”

Harry laughed against his mouth. “It’s terrible manners to cuss at somebody who’s just given you an orgasm.”

“Have I told you how much I hate you?”

“Not recently, no,” Harry said, kissing him again. Malfoy lifted his neck into it eagerly. “I gathered as much, though,” he added, smiling and pulling back. “Get up on your knees and turn around for me.”

Malfoy let out a tiny huffing breath that seemed as though it was meant to convey annoyance but really just sounded adorable. Harry grinned dopily to himself as Malfoy lowered his legs and shifted onto his knees, turning to face the back of the couch and tentatively resting his hands on it.

“You’re unreal,” Harry said reverently, leaning over him to sweep some of the hair away from the back of his neck and press a kiss to the warm skin there. Malfoy mewled and arched back into him, but Harry stopped him with a firm hand on his lower back.

His cock was painfully hard at this point, and it was with an audible groan of relief that Harry finally pulled it out of the confines of his jeans and divested himself of the rest of his clothing, wandlessly conjuring lube onto his pulsing shaft and stroking the length of it several times before stopping himself. Malfoy, he saw, was looking over his shoulder, eyes wide and rosy lips parted as he watched, the pink flush of his cheeks deepening to a hearty red that made him look much younger.

“Jesus, Potter,” he exhaled, a whiny quality to it that made Harry’s cock twitch in his hand. “What the fuck.”

In spite of himself, Harry laughed as he grabbed Malfoy’s arse again and spread his cheeks, pushing his cock between them slickly.

“You couldn’t just be the bloody Chosen One, could you?” Malfoy said weakly, hands gripping hard at the back of the couch when Harry gripped the base of his straining cock and lined it up with Malfoy’s loosened rim. “Couldn’t just be sodding Boy Who Lived. You had to have a massive prick too, didn’t you?”

Instead of responding to this, Harry tightened his hold on Malfoy’s hip with one hand, and with the other guided his thick length past the twitching muscle of his hole. Malfoy let out a wrecked moan as Harry sank into him, slow but steady, not stopping until every last inch was being relentlessly squeezed by Malfoy’s sinfully tight walls. His pale hands were gripping the back of the sofa so hard they lost what little colour had been there in the first place.

“Shit,” Malfoy hissed, even as he pushed his hips back, forcing Harry’s cock deeper. “Shit, shit, shit …”

“That good?” Harry laughed, bending forwards to press a series of wet kisses between Malfoy’s sharp shoulder blades. “Fuck, you feel fantastic. How are you so tight?”

“Because I’m not a slag, Potter.”

Harry pulled out slowly and then rammed back inside, wrenching a gut-twistingly erotic gasp out of the slim blond beneath him.

“Are you insinuating that I am a slag?” Harry asked casually. He’d stopped moving, buried to the hilt inside of Malfoy’s arse; he could feel Malfoy shivering, and without really knowing why he was doing it, he found himself stroking his fingers soothingly down Malfoy’s sides. Or perhaps worshipfully was a better word.

“Yes,” said Malfoy, though the biting sarcasm was lost amongst the trembling of his voice. “That is exactly what I’m insinuating. Now do me a fucking favour and start moving, you utterly incorrigible twat.”

Grinning broadly, Harry slid his fingers through the back of Malfoy’s hair and gripped hard, pulling his head back so his throat was bared vulnerably. It was a devastatingly appealing sight to behold. He could see Malfoy’s eyes widen, could even feel his breathing increase again, but didn’t let go.

“Do you think demanding things is going to work out for you right now?” Harry whispered, leaning over his body and letting the heat of his breath ghost across the side of Malfoy’s neck. “Because from where I’m standing, you have very little leverage at the moment, kitten.”

“Fuck you, Potter!” It came out as more of a whine than anything else. Malfoy must have been aware of this, because he let out a shuddering breath. “Fuck, just … fuck me already!”

“Can you say please again? I quite liked the sound of it before.”

“Who the fuck are you?!” Malfoy ground out. He tried to thrust his hips back again, but Harry held him steady with the hand not tangled up in his hair. “Just move your cock!”

“That didn’t sound like a ‘please’,” Harry said lightly, and for good measure rocked his hips, knowing by the way Malfoy shuddered that his cock had passed across his prostate. “Come on, kitten … it’s not hard. Just say it, and I’ll fuck you stupid.”

“Stop calling me that!” But again, Malfoy’s words came out as more of a whine than anything really forceful or commanding. Harry let go of his hair and instead moved his hand so his fingers were wrapped gently around Malfoy’s throat; not tightly enough to feel pressure, but firm enough so it would be impossible not to imagine what the pressure would have felt like. To his utter delight, Malfoy responded to this beautifully, arching his back and digging his fingers deeper into the couch.

“Say it,” Harry breathed into his ear. Malfoy whimpered. “I know you wanna come again. I’ll make it so good for you. Just say it.”

He tightened his fingers minimally and felt Malfoy’s Adam’s apple bob when he swallowed.

“Please,” he rasped.

“Please what?”

Malfoy made a sound halfway between a moan and a garbled wail. “Fuck me, you bastard! Please, please fuck me!”

Grinning in triumph and with a powerful surge of possessiveness making his spine tingle, Harry let go of Malfoy’s throat, gripped his hips hard, and started pounding into him with little abandon. Malfoy’s hands scrabbled frantically before gaining purchase and he looked to be holding on for dear life as Harry incessantly pulled out and slammed back in, ceaselessly burying his aching cock in Malfoy’s perfect arse with a reckless sort of urgency. The slick, wet squelching sounds of the lube and Harry’s own pre-come with each devastating thrust only heightened the whole experience.

Malfoy was making the most delicious gasping sounds each time Harry pounded into him, his cock hard again and beading pre-come at the tip. He seemed to have figured out that Harry wasn’t going to let him touch himself, because he wasn’t even trying. At the edge of his own orgasm, Harry waited until he felt Malfoy start shuddering and shaking beneath him to pull out all the way. This earned him a high, mewling sound of protest out of the blond.

“What the fuck!” Malfoy sobbed, pressing his forehead into the couch as his body shook. Harry could feel his heart slamming into his ribs and took several deep breaths, sweat dripping down his back.

“Turn over,” he said a bit breathlessly. Malfoy looked over his shoulder and Harry saw that his full, sensual lips were bitten raw.

“What the fuck are you talking about?! Why did you stop, I was … I was so fucking close!”

Huffing out an impatient breath, Harry manhandled Malfoy onto his back, lengthwise across the couch, and climbed on top of him, between his spread thighs. Their cocks slid together when Harry bent over him, crushing their mouths together into a searing kiss that Malfoy instantly deepened with his tongue.

“I can’t fucking stand you,” Malfoy breathed when he pulled away for air, and even as he said it his fingers were twisting around the black mess of hair at the back of Harry’s head, tugging lightly. Harry chuckled and nipped at his jaw, moving his hips, dragging their pricks together wetly.

“Ask me how much I care.” Harry licked a broad stripe up the side of Malfoy’s neck and shifted his hips, using one hand to line himself up again and start pushing inside that unbearably tight heat.

“There’s not much you do care about these days, is there, Potter?” Malfoy said faintly, voice breaking as he was stuffed full once again. His back arched up off the sofa, hands coming around to Harry’s back where his nails dug in sharply. Harry hissed at the pain.

“Sure there is,” he said tightly, bottoming out and rocking his hips, biting his lip to hide a grin when Malfoy gasped, knowing he’d found his prostate again. “They’re just not the things everybody expects me to care about.”

He started up a tedious rhythm, pressing in deep and then pulling out just as slow, savouring every sensation, every little nuance as Malfoy opened up for him and let some of his uptight façade fade away. His eyes kept fluttering shut despite an obvious effort not to let that happen, something which tugged strangely at Harry’s chest. His nails dug into Harry’s back each time his prostate was grazed.

“Fuck …” Malfoy whimpered after several minutes of this, moving his hips impatiently and bringing his hands around to Harry’s chest, digging his nails in there instead. “God, Potter, I’m close again … faster, please …” The bratty, demanding quality had almost entirely disappeared from his voice, leaving him sounding breathless and desperate and fuck, the sound of it went straight to Harry’s cock.

“I’ve got you,” he said gruffly, losing his own teasing tone as well, the orgasm he’d only temporarily pulled back the reigns on creeping up again with a vengeance. Malfoy’s slender cock was straining between them, smearing their bellies with slick, and Harry finally wrapped a hand around it, tearing a broken cry out of Malfoy’s swollen pink mouth. He dragged the foreskin down, exposing the sensitive, reddened head, and flicked his thumb across it. Malfoy’s hips bucked and his nails dug into Harry’s skin harder.

“Don’t stop,” Malfoy whimpered frantically, and this time, Harry had no plans to. He increased the speed of his thrusts and tugged relentlessly at Malfoy’s throbbing, weeping prick. “Don’t stop, oh my god, I’m coming, d-don’t stop!” Indeed, the words had barely left his mouth when Harry felt his walls clenching down around his cock, body tense and jerking as Harry worked him through his second orgasm, sharp nails drawing blood where they’d latched onto his biceps. It took only moments for Harry to tip over the edge as well, burying his face in Malfoy’s neck as his cock pulsed and throbbed and spilled out what seemed to be an endless amount of come into Malfoy’s clenching hole. It was leaking out around him as he slowed, rocking his hips each time he bottomed out, and finally stopping altogether even as his heart continued to throw itself feverishly against the walls of his ribcage.

He lifted his head when he’d gotten some semblance of a normal breathing rhythm back and looked down at an oddly open-faced Malfoy, whose grey eyes were, for the first time in memory, not cold and calculating but bright with wonder.

“That was … something,” he said, and Harry laughed before he’d even realized he was going to.

“Something,” he echoed, nodding his head and letting his eyes roam freely across this new Malfoy’s face. “Yeah. Definitely something.” He paused, and then leaned down slowly to kiss him again, glad when he met no resistance. It was messy and unhurried and utterly opposite to any other kiss they’d shared so far tonight. When he pulled away, he felt something essential shift between them, and he couldn’t find the necessary will power to stop himself asking, “D’you wanna smoke a joint with me?”

He expected scoffing at the very least, and so was extremely surprised when he received nothing worse than a lifted eyebrow.

“You’re not serious?” Malfoy drawled.

“Er — I think I am, actually, yeah. It’s great after sex, and I’d really like to see you high.”

“Muggle drugs, Potter?” Malfoy lilted. “Really? You’re supposed to be refraining from doing anything stupid until the Cup is over.”

“C’mon, Malfoy, just this once? It feels great, I promise. I won’t tell anyone.”

Malfoy scoffed. “I should hope you wouldn’t. I’ll hex your bollocks off if you tell anyone about this, either.”

Harry rolled his eyes but smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it. So is that a yes?”

Malfoy paused, looking up at him uncertainly, and finally said, “How long does it last?”

“Dunno, like … couple hours, I guess. Definitely no more than that.”

Another, longer pause. “Fine,” Malfoy said suddenly, and Harry nearly whooped with enthusiasm. He could plainly see Malfoy holding back a smirk even as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

After Vanishing their messes, Harry pulled nothing more than his pants back on and waited with a smirk on his face as Malfoy tried to put his shirt on as well, only to have Harry grab his hand and pull him away.

“I’m cold, Potter!” he said as he was dragged to Harry’s bedroom. Harry pulled a jumper out of his dresser and tossed it to him. “What is this?” Malfoy asked, and Harry looked over his shoulder to see him sneering at the Nirvana logo on the front.

“Muggle band,” he explained. He pulled a glass jar from the back of his closet and brought it over to the bed. “You can sit down, you know.”

Malfoy did so hesitantly, his eyes fixed on the jar Harry had just opened.

“What’s that called again?”

“Weed,” said Harry, pulling an already-rolled joint out and closing it back up to set on his bedside table. “It’s really not a big deal. Muggles have got some really nasty shit they do; this stuff is harmless.”

“So it’s legal, then?” Malfoy asked sceptically.

“Well … no, but —”

“Didn’t think so,” he said airily, but Harry definitely thought he could see a smirk lurking beneath the arrogance. “You’ll never change, Potter. If there’s a rule, you’ll find it and break it.”

“Yes, well, all the fun things are against the rules, aren’t they?” He crossed the bed to where Malfoy was sitting and held the joint up for him to see. “Look, it’s like a cigarette, except it’s got weed in it instead of tobacco. Tastes better, too.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He narrowed his eyes at it suspiciously. “What does it feel like?”

Harry stuck it between his lips, grabbed a green Muggle lighter off the nightstand, and sparked the end to life with a few deep puffs. He held it in several seconds and then blew it out in a hazy cloud.

“It, er — feels sort of fuzzy, I guess?” he said thickly, holding it out for Malfoy to take. “Try not to take too big a hit, though. It’ll burn your throat first couple times.”

Malfoy took it daintily between his thumb and first finger and held it to his lips. Harry knew immediately that warning him had been the wrong thing to do, because Malfoy had clearly taken it as a challenge and sucked in a deep breath that immediately came back out as a hacking cough. Trying his best not to laugh too loudly, he Conjured water into an empty glass and handed it over.

“I told you that would happen,” he said, grabbing the joint and taking another hit for himself while Malfoy soothed his throat and came down from the fit.

“That’s fucking bollocks,” Malfoy rasped, and snatched the joint to try it again.

It took only fifteen minutes for Malfoy to wind up on his side, cheek pressed into a pillow, eyes bloodshot and half-lidded. They’d smoked through the whole joint and Harry felt as pleasantly buzzed as Malfoy looked.

“You have really soft pillows, Potter,” Malfoy sighed, nuzzling his nose into it briefly and then letting out a highly contented sigh. Harry smiled and scooted closer, tangling their legs together and even boldly dropping an arm across Malfoy’s waist. Malfoy didn’t seem to mind one bit. “It’s like … a cloud or something. Did you Charm them to feel like clouds?”

“No, you’re just really fucking high,” Harry laughed.

“Oh.” Malfoy wrinkled his nose, and then he did something Harry couldn’t have anticipated: he moved even closer, and kissed Harry right on the mouth. “I can’t believe we fucked.”

“I dunno,” Harry mused, brushing a piece of silky hair away from Draco’s face. “I can sort of believe it. I mean, we were eventually gonna either fuck or kill each other, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re too charming to be the real Harry Potter.”

Harry snorted. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“Take it however you want, Potter,” Malfoy saw around a yawn. He’d begun rubbing his foot against Harry’s leg. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he said. “I reserve the right not to answer, though.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but it was half-hearted. “When you said earlier that you don’t care about the things people expect you to care about … what did you mean by that?”

He hadn’t been expecting that, and for a moment it gave Harry pause. He dipped his fingers beneath the Nirvana jumper and trailed them lazily across the warm skin of Malfoy’s back.

“Just … the whole thing, I guess,” he said finally. “It’s like they expected me to keep being the fucking Chosen One even after the bloody thing I was chosen for is done. I mean, look, I’d fight Voldemort a hundred more times if that was what I had to do, but that doesn’t mean I wanna spend my life being everyone’s personal goddamn hero. I just want a fucking break, y’know? They want me at all these stupid fucking Ministry functions just because it gets people interested when they know I’m there.”

“Typical,” Malfoy drawled.

“Yeah, it is bloody typical. Fancourt would probably pay me to settle down with some bird and start a family. Every interview I’m forced into, that’s the question: ‘When are you getting married?’ and ‘Will you be an Auror when you stop playing Quidditch?’ and ‘How many kids do you want?’ It’s never-fucking-ending. I’m only twenty-three, I mean, fuck. Give me a fucking minute to enjoy the first time I’ve ever been able to do whatever the hell I want, you know?”

He realized suddenly that he’d worked himself up and let out a long, slow breath. His head was still fuzzy, however, and it wasn’t difficult to bring himself back down. Especially not with a high, sleepy-looking Malfoy right there, curled into him.

“So was this some sort of rebellious act, then?” Malfoy asked. There was something unreadable in his eyes when he said it. “Bringing me back to your flat and fucking me?”

“No,” he said at once, studying Malfoy’s pretty face and delicate features while something utterly familiar but long since felt began growing in his chest and making it tight. “You are … wonderfully unexpected, Draco.”

The use of Malfoy’s first name was a tangible presence between them, especially potent when their eyes met. Harry tried his hardest to ascertain what was going on in his head but found it impossible to read his expression.

“What do you care about, then?” Malfoy said; it could have been a deflection, but Harry fancied there was a note of genuine curiosity in his voice.

“I dunno … enjoying myself?” He shrugged one shoulder as best he could when he was lying on his side. “Just … living, y’know? Having fun. It’s why I decided to play Quidditch instead of becoming an Auror. I guess maybe one day I might do that, but I doubt it.”

“What’s ‘one day’?”

Harry heaved a sigh and removed his hand from Malfoy’s back, using the pad of his thumb to drag down that bitten lower lip he’d been so focused on all night. Malfoy nipped lightly at the tip, bringing a fond smile to Harry’s face.

“No idea,” he said. “I’m only twenty-three. I’ve got time to figure it out.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” Malfoy yawned again, the fingers of one hand idly tracing a scar he’d found on Harry’s chest. “As long as you win us the Cup, you have my permission to make an arse of yourself however you see fit.”

“And that’s all I need, is it?” Harry said, smiling helplessly. “Your permission?”

“If we’re going to continue shagging, then yes.”

Harry’s chest seemed to expand and he knew that if he could look at himself, he’d see a hopeless tenderness in his eyes as he raked them over Malfoy’s face. “And are we? Going to continue doing this?”

For the first time tonight, Harry saw a hint of something uncertain, even anxious, appear on Malfoy’s face.

“Only if you want to,” he said quietly.

Without hesitation, Harry leaned in and kissed him; he felt Malfoy smile into it and a hurricane of butterflies erupted in his stomach.

“I definitely, definitely want to.”

Malfoy nodded, clearly trying to suppress his grin. “You know, Potter, those Muggle drugs are useless.”

“Why do you say that?” Harry laughed.

“Because all it’s done is make me tired.”

“And adorable,” Harry added, smoothing a thumb across one pink cheek. “Really adorable.”

“I’m always adorable, Potter. Don’t be stupid.”

With that, his grey eyes disappeared behind his lids, and Harry felt his heart must surely burst right out of his chest when Malfoy tucked his head under Harry’s chin, let out a deep, satisfied-sounding breath, and went to sleep.

* * *

He managed to make it all the way to the day of the World Cup without any bad press, although Harry thought this probably had something to do with the amount of time he and Malfoy spent in his bedroom. The ease with which they fell into a comfortable routine of being around each other might have been eerie had it not felt so utterly, perfectly natural.

True to his word, he didn’t say anything even to Ron and Hermione. It didn’t bother him, mostly because his evenings spent shagging Malfoy breathless had brought him around to the conclusion that he liked him — quite a lot, in fact — and had every intention of making him his boyfriend before August was over. It was a refreshing feeling, being so into somebody, for he realized now that he hadn’t felt this way since he had dated Ginny. The fact that it should be Malfoy to make him feel this way again became less surprising the more he thought about it and the more time they spent in each other’s company.

On the day of the match, there wasn’t much time to see one another. Malfoy was up to his ears with work to do and Harry was busy talking his team through their repertoire of plays one last time. However, just ten minutes before the crowds were due to be let into the stadium, Malfoy pulled him away under the guise of needing to speak with him; they went up to the top box, empty for now, and Harry wasted no time at all shoving his tongue inside that sweet-tasting mouth.

He was absolutely, unequivocally convinced that it gave him his edge during the game, and when they won by a landslide (Harry catching the Snitch forty-five minutes in, when his team was down twenty points), he screamed himself hoarse sixty feet in the air with the weakly-fluttering Snitch clasped tight in his fist and his head full of Malfoy.

One of England’s Chasers, Nerissa Murray, hosted a celebration at the enormous flat she shared with her girlfriend, and it was here that Harry was finally able to get Malfoy alone.

The flat was on the twenty-fifth floor of a building in the heart of London; it was nearing midnight when Harry, clutching his third beer, pulled Malfoy away from a bloke who was attempting to chat him up and out onto the balcony.

The view was stunning, and yet all Harry found himself looking at was Malfoy.

“So,” Malfoy said airily, leaning back against the railing and looking far too pretty to be allowed, “Defeater of Dark Lords and now World-Famous Quidditch Star to boot. Not bad, Potter. Not bad at all. You might even say I’m impressed.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry laughed, digging his pack of smokes out of his back pocket and handing one to Malfoy. As was his wont, he used his green Muggle lighter to spark the end of it before lighting his own. “That’s my lifelong goal realized, then.”

“You’re very funny.”

“That means a lot coming from you, Malfoy,” Harry teased, blowing out a long stream of smoke and then kissing his soft cheek. “I have something for you, by the way.” He pulled the Snitch from the game out of his jumper and pressed it into Malfoy’s free hand.

“What — the Snitch? Potter, this is … this is your World Cup Snitch, don’t be ridiculous. It’s a trophy in and of itself.”

“Yeah, well … I figure, you know, you’ve never got to touch one before, have you? Seeing as I always beat you to it in school.”

"Oh, ha bloody ha," Malfoy scoffed and elbowed Harry hard in the ribs. “Twat,” he added, but when he tried to hand it back, Harry closed his hand around it again.

“I’m taking the piss, Malfoy,” he chuckled. “Really, I want you to have it.”

“Why?”

“Because I fancy you, you great bloody git. Fuck, why do you have to be so difficult all the time?”

Malfoy’s jaw hung open and there was a suspicious look in his eyes that couldn’t entirely hide the burgeoning hopefulness Harry saw underneath. It made him feel warm all over and he had to use a massive amount of willpower to stop from kissing him again.

“Remember you said if I won the Cup for England I’d have your permission to make an arse of myself however I wanted?” he said, tapping some ash off his cigarette over the railing. Malfoy merely lifted an eyebrow.

“I … might recall having said something of that nature. However, I was indisposed thanks to your stupid Muggle drugs, so I can’t be held accountable for any claims I made.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry said pleasantly. “You said it, and I caught the Snitch that won us the game. Now I’m going to exercise my right to make an arse of myself.”

“And what is it, exactly, you plan on doing?” Malfoy drawled.

“I was thinking I’d ask you on a date, for starters.” He grinned widely when once again blatant shock registered on Malfoy’s face. “Maybe see if you wanted to do dinner tomorrow night after you’re done with work. Go from there, see what happens.”

“This is arse-backwards, Potter!” Malfoy hissed, voice low to avoid anyone inside hearing them (although it was doubtful over the blaring music). Fist still clutched around the Snitch, he whacked the back of his hand into Harry’s shoulder. “You can’t just fuck me for a week straight and then ask me on a date!”

“Well, why the hell not?” Harry retorted. “Never heard you complaining while my cock was up your arse. Besides, I wasn’t supposed to do anything reckless until after the Cup, remember?”

Malfoy opened his mouth like he was going to argue and then seemed to fall short of anything to say. Instead, he smacked Harry’s arm again, harder this time.

“You bloody wanker,” he said, and a moment later he’d crushed their mouths together so hard Harry dropped his cigarette in surprise. He laughed into the kiss and wound his arms around Malfoy’s waist, pulling him close and working his tongue between those ludicrously addictive lips.

“Is that a yes to the date tomorrow?” Harry said against his mouth a minute later, delighting in the little irritated huff Malfoy let out in response.

“You’re very persistent, aren’t you?”

“Only when I’m serious about something,” Harry hummed, and for good measure slid his hands down to Malfoy’s arse and squeezed. He leaned forwards again and brushed their lips together, loving the way he could feel Malfoy shiver in his arms. “C’mon … say yes. I’d really like to take you out, Malfoy.”

Malfoy must have dropped his own cigarette as well, because he lifted the hand that wasn’t closed around the Snitch and brushed some of Harry’s fringe away from his forehead, not scowling anymore but not smiling either. He looked contemplative now.

“When you say you fancy me …”

“I mean I really, really like you,” Harry said.

“You said yourself we don’t know each other, Potter. All you’ve done is shag me the last week, you can’t know you like me.”

“Well, that’s why I wanna take you on a date, isn’t it?” Harry pointed out, eyebrows raised. “To get to know you better?”

For a long minute, Malfoy said nothing. Then —

“All right.” He gave a little nod, and Harry broke into a megawatt grin.

“You mean it?”

“Yes, you insufferable, gorgeous prat. I mean it. And you’d better take me somewhere nice, or the deal’s off.”

“Brilliant,” Harry laughed, and nearly lifted Malfoy right off his feet when he kissed him again.

The hell of it was, maybe twenty-three wasn’t going to be so bad, after all.

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #top!harry #bottom!draco #anna writes

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my-one-love-is-music · 7 years

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It Takes Two Ch. 8

Hope you're ready for a new chapter!!!! Because I am. :D Can't wait for where I get to go from here. It's super exciting.

Also On AO3!

The sound of Tim’s phone ringing broke through the post-meal bliss that he was experiencing. Eating Jason’s cooking had been a surreal experience and was the best thing he’d had since the last time he was over at the Manor for dinner. It had been too long.

He reluctantly sat up from his comfortable position of becoming one with the couch and grabbed his phone from the table. He groaned when he saw it was Bruce calling. They’d practically just left the Manor, though not really when it was the end of the day, but that wasn’t the point. They’d barely gotten used to their restricted sense of freedom and now they were going to be checked up on like irresponsible kids.

“Hello?” Tim asked before settling back onto the couch.

Jason rolled his head to the side and looked over at Tim. His eyelids were drooping and Tim knew the carbs were getting to him as much as they’d affected him.

“Have you gotten settled in your apartment?” he asked, voice gruff.

Tim could tell that he was getting ready for patrol. Not that he was never not ready, but it was the voice that came out when he was between being Bruce Wayne and Batman.

“For the most part. Jason and I finished dinner a while ago. Neither of us have tried to sneak out and Jason hasn’t irritated his injuries.”

Jason huffed a breath, but didn’t comment, not wanting Bruce to know he was nearby.

“Good. There’s just one problem,” he continued.

“What’s that?” Tim asked, dread filling his stomach.

“I’ve gotten a notification that you hacked into the GCPD police files. Specifically, missing person’s reports.”

Tim cringed, but didn’t say anything.

“I thought I told you to leave the case to the rest of us until we could figure out how to reverse the connection between you and Jason?”

“Well,” Tim said. “I had something I wanted to look into and-“

“No more,” Bruce said, cutting him off. “No more looking into the case files. Once you pass on all the information to me, you are not permitted to do further work on this case. I’ll be by tonight to pick up the flash drive of your files. If you’re desperate to find something to do, you’ll have plenty to keep you occupied with school and W.E. Understood?”

Tim checked a sigh, not wanting Bruce to hear it.

“Understood?” Bruce repeated.

“Yes,” he said, hiding the reluctance in his voice. Jason shifted next to him and he was sure his change in mood hadn’t gone unnoticed by him even if he was able to keep the cues hidden from Bruce, but even then he couldn’t be entirely sure he’d been successful.

“Excellent. I’ll see you tonight,” Bruce said, cutting off the line.

Tim sighed and tossed his phone onto the table before falling back against the couch cushions.

“What’s up?” Jason asked, slinging an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close.

Tim didn’t have the energy to protest the action or think about it beyond the warmth it enveloped him in.

“Bruce knows that I hacked into GCPD to get the missing person’s reports and he’s not happy about it. He basically reemphasized that I’m not allowed to do anything while being benched expect, apparently, school and stuff for W.E. He’s also stopping by tonight to pick up the flash drive with all of my intel.”

“Which you’re not happy about because it means he’s going to be keeping feelers on you to make sure you’re not doing anything you’re not supposed to be doing.”

“I don’t know if he’ll be satisfied with only the feelers. He might have Oracle block all of my remote access which means no getting in at all.”

“Just think about it this way,” Jason said with a smile. “Now there’s really nothing keeping you from relaxing and having a good time while you’re benched. Yeah, sure you have school and work and all, but someone as smart as you won’t have to take too much time with shit like that.”

“Yeah so what else am I going to do?” he groaned.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Learn to have fun.”

“I know how to have fun,” he objected.

“I highly doubt that, considering you’re so torn up about not being able to do work. Like seriously, you’re supposed to want to slack off work. But, since you insist on not being able to enjoy anything good in life, I’m going to teach you how to have fun.”

“And how do you expect to do that?”

Jason shrugged. “I’m still working on a plan, but I figure the first thing I can do is teach you how to cook decent food. That way you won’t starve by the time you no longer get to appreciate having me around.”

“You seriously want to teach me how to cook?” he asked in disbelief.

“Sure. And if cooking doesn’t turn out to be your thing, maybe you’ll have a knack for baking. I could definitely use an endless supply of chocolate chip cookies.”

“That’s flirting with disaster. Especially after having Alfred’s cookies.”

Jason draped a hand over his heart. “There will never be anything as great or as wonderful as Alfred’s cookies and no one will ever replicate them, but that doesn’t mean I can’t use other cookies to fill the void his have left.”

Tim laughed. “You’re so dramatic.”

Jason scoffed. “I can’t believe you would ever suggest such a thing.”

“Please,” Tim said, smacking his knee, which was probably the only safe part to hit. “If I hadn’t worked with you before, I would ask if you’re always like this, but we both know you are.”

Jason got Tim into a headlock and rubbed a fist against his hair, much to Tim’s dismay. “That’s only because life’s more fun that way. It’s better to be dramatic than boring.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim said, pushing him off which wasn’t hard when Jason was still aching and sore from the night before. “Just go do the dishes while I get the drive ready for Bruce.”

Jason scoffed. “Hell no. I cooked, so you can clean.”

“You can’t be serious?” Tim asked.

“Of course I’m serious. It’s only polite. Why make the person who cooked do all the work? I cooked so you get to do the dishes.”

Tim grumbled something under his breath. “Fine,” he sighed. “Let me just get the drive ready and I can go clean up your mess.”

“No,” Jason said, pulling the laptop from his hands. “I can take care of this. You just get cleaning.”

Tim rolled his eyes, but grabbed a blank drive from his desk and passed it off to Jason before he made his way into the kitchen. The dirty dishes had been piled next to the sink and he flicked on the water, turning it up as high as it would go before pouring some dish soap into the sink.

He got to work scrubbing at the dishes. The rhythmic movements and the warmth of the water somehow managed to silence the thoughts that would usually be rampaging through his brain. He felt calm and maybe that’s why Jason had pushed him towards this. It was a chance to ignore everything else that way trying to grab his attention and was giving him a moment of peace.

If this kept up, he might actually be able to handle not working on the case until it was solved. Or he was just kidding himself and was tired enough that his brain had finally given up on any attempts to make sense of his life.

Tim left the dishes to dry and plopped back down on the couch next to Jason. His laptop had been shut and left to the side with the drive on top of it. Jason held the remote in his hands and was flipping through the channels, searching for something to watch.

“Anything good?” Tim asked.

Jason huffed. “Of course not. Why would there be anything good on T.V.?”

“I dunno. Seems like there should be if they want people to stay entertained and keep watching,” Tim shot back.

Jason glared at him and Tim couldn’t help but smirk.

“Whatever. What movies you got?” he asked instead.

“Plenty. What do you want to watch?”

“Something good.”

Tim rolled his eyes and took the remote from Jason’s hand. Instead of getting up to sift through his collection of DVDs he pulled up Netflix instead. Surely there had to be some show or movie on there that would satisfy him.

“Here,” he said, passing the remote back. “Find something you want to watch.”

Jason huffed and propped his cheek against his fist as he slowly scrolled through the titles. After several painful moments of silence, he finally settled on a show and hit play. Tim shifted into a more comfortable position and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyelids felt heavy and he knew it was from dinner, but he wasn’t sure if he’d get through this without falling asleep.

“Tim. Hey, Tim.”

He was nudged and groaned.

A sigh rattled loudly next to him. “Come on, you need to wake up.��

He was poked again and Tim swatted at where the rogue hand had hit him. “Leamme alone,” he grumbled.

“Look, I think it’s great you’re sleeping, but if you want to actually pass the flash drive onto B you’re going to have to be awake to do it.”

Tim’s brow furrowed. “Flash drive? Shit,” he exclaimed, bolting upright.

He looked around his living room, expecting Bruce to be there in full Batman glory, but found it empty of any vigilantes. Jason was looking at him and trying to suppress a smile, but his grin broke through and he started chuckling.

“For someone who never sleeps, you’re sure difficult to wake up.”

Tim rubbed his eyes and pouted. “Shut up. I thought Bruce was going to be standing in the middle of my living room in his cowl.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Oh please, like he’d ever risk himself by coming in here. You know you’re going to have to go up to the roof and give it to him anyway and if you don’t want an angry call from him about keeping him waiting, you might want to get up there.”

Tim turned towards the window and saw that night had fallen and it had been dark for a while. He huffed and swiped the drive from where it was sitting on top of his computer before moving over towards the window. He thought better of climbing out how he was and hurried into his bedroom. He pulled on a black hoodie, keeping the hood up, and shoved his feet in a pair of converse. The last thing he needed to do was freeze his feet off while waiting around for Bruce.

As he walked back into the living room, he flipped the overhead light off, plunging the room into mostly darkness aside from the blue glow of the television screen.

“Are you seriously going to be that paranoid?” Jason asked.

“Might as well take as many precautions as I can. And don’t complain, you get to sit here and lay around on the couch while I have to go wait in the cold.”

He could almost hear Jason’s eye roll. “Well if you’d just given the drive to Alfred when he brought us here you wouldn’t have to go out and stand in the cold until it’s convenient for B to make an appearance.”

“Nah, if he’s that desperate he’ll be waiting up there for me.”

“Doubtful. You said he was upset that you hacked into GCPD when you’re supposed to be resting. Prepare to freeze your scrawny ass off.”

“Whatever,” Tim said, moving over to the window. He quickly shut down his security systems and crawled through. The cold Gotham wind bit through his hoodie and he shivered. He hoped Jason was wrong and he wouldn’t be waiting long.

He hurried up the fire escape and landed on the roof without a sound. Not that there was anyone around to hear it if he made one anyway. There was no sign of Batman. Tim’s eyes scanned the horizon, searching for some sort of movement that would only be seen from the rooftops, but hidden from the people below. When he didn’t catch anything he sighed and walked around the gravel top to try and keep the cold at bay as long as he could.

He stuffed his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and balled them into fists. Minute shivers were already shaking his frame and he knew that if he was out here much longer he really was going to freeze. He never understood how he could handle swinging around Gotham in nothing but a tight Kevlar suit, but as soon as he had to step outside in civilian clothes, they never seemed to mask the chill or stop it from seeping into his bones.

Just as his shivers were getting more violent, he spotted movement on the horizon. It was entirely by chance he saw the flutter of Batman’s cape, but it was enough to keep Tim motivated until he landed on the rooftop opposite him. Tim squeezed his hand tighter around the drive as he approached, waiting until there was only a foot of space between them until he pulled his hand from his pocket.

“The drive,” he said, holding it out to Batman.

He took it without a word and secured it in a pouch on his utility belt. Tim checked the sigh that wanted to slip out at all of his hopes and dreams slipping away from him.

“Get back inside,” he said, voice gruff as he turned away.

Tim didn’t bother arguing or saying anything else. His nod was lost on Batman who was already running to the edge of the rooftop and grappling away.

As much as he’d wanted to get back inside and out of the cold a few moments ago, he didn’t move his feet, letting his eyes gaze at the horizon over Gotham. The lighted windows blurred together as Tim’s eyes moved in and out of focus. His mind wandered, thinking of the drive and all of his research and of the side effects he was waiting to start experiencing because of his connection with Jason.

Maybe Bruce would have more luck with solving the case, but Tim doubted it. Not when he didn’t seem to care about what they were going through at all. But maybe he would after he got a look at the research and saw what they might be dealing with.

As Tim came back to himself, he realized how bad he was shaking. His legs were stiff after having stood still for so long and he forced them down the steps of the fire escape, having to make a conscious effort that he didn’t make any noise. He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip harshly to keep them from chattering and pushed the window of his apartment open.

He stumbled inside and shivered violently as warmth spread over his skin from the warm air and he hurried to close the window behind him. Even with the lights off, Tim could see Jason raise his head and look at him from where he was on the couch.

“Are you not able to retain any body heat at all?” he quipped.

“Shut up,” Tim literally bit out because his teeth were moving so fast.

Jason sighed. “Just get your ass over here so we can thaw you out.”

Tim didn’t hesitate moving forward. He kicked off his shoes and curled his feet underneath him as he pulled his hoodie more tightly around him. Jason wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close. Tim shivered at their difference in body temperature and curled closer, seeking more warmth. Jason settled back into the couch so he could turn his attention back to what he was watching.

The more violent shivers subsided first, leaving Tim with a slight tremble from the cold that had settled deep in his bones.

“Wait here,” Jason said before sluggishly pulling himself up off the couch.

“Where are you going?” Tim asked, confused as to why Jason would shuffle through his apartment in pain when he didn’t have to.

“Doesn’t matter, just wait there.”

Tim wrapped his arms around himself and let his eyes settle on the T.V. He stared at it and tried to grasp what was going on even though he was picking up the plot in the middle of the episode.

When Jason came back into the living room he flipped the light on and Tim blinked against the sudden brightness, rubbing his eyes as they began to water. A heavy blanket was draped around his shoulders and Tim looked up at Jason in question. He smiled crookedly and ruffled Tim’s hair before moving back into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Doesn’t matter, just watch T.V.”

Tim rolled his eyes, but pulled the blanket tighter around himself, sighing happily as it drove off a little of the chill that was still pulling at him. He heard the clanking of dishes, but let Jason do what he wanted. He’d already cooked for them so maybe he was making dessert or something. He wouldn’t have minded a bowl of ice cream, but he knew that Jason probably hadn’t bought any of that. And he’d argue Tim shouldn’t be eating ice cream when he was already shivering on the couch.

Tim was finally becoming more comfortable by the time Jason shuffled back around the couch. He held out a pair of mugs for Tim to take and once he was free of them he eased himself onto the couch rather roughly. He took one of the mugs back and took a sip, sighing happily. Tim stared at him and then looked back at his own mug.

“Don’t just stare at it, drink it before it gets cold,” Jason scoffed.

Tim looked into his mug at the creamy, steaming hot chocolate. He took a sip, warmth spreading through him from the liquid. He sighed and relaxed against the back of the couch.

“Hey,” Tim protested when Jason ruffled his hair again.

Jason chuckled and settled his arm back around Tim’s shoulders, jostling him just barely. Tim smiled down at his hot chocolate and took another sip, a different warmth spreading through him as he settled down for the rest of the night.

#jaytim #molim writes #fic: it takes two #fic update #excited for what's coming next

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vindictivegrace · 7 years

Text

Sloppy Seconds

(Bucky Barnes x Reader) x Steve Rogers

Notes: THE TITLE IS SELF EXPLANATORY, PWP, one shot, smut. Established relationship (Bucky x Reader), unlabeled relationship dynamic, explicit sex scenes, messy sex, threesome, DP, the author is going to hell for this, her bags are already packed

Summary: You and Bucky head home, ready to place the finishing touches on your date night. Steve calls, and everyone gets what they needed.

A/N: I needed this, too. Partly because I’m procrastinating on another story I should be writing, partly because I haven’t posted any new fics in a while, and partly because I needed this. Did you need it too? Let me know what you think, and as always—enjoy! ^_^

Bucky held your hand gently with his flesh one, leading you down the hallway to his room. You were both quiet but giggling innocently. Date night had gone well. It was a simple night out—movie and a dinner. You always preferred it in that order instead of the other way around. Watching the movie first meant that dinner didn’t have to be rushed. But you two skipped dessert to save time anyway. The real treat would come later in the night.

You were back in Bucky’s room. The lights were dimmed and soft ambient music filtered through Bucky’s computer speakers. The mood was set just the way you liked it. He approached you quietly, eying you sweetly. Both of your clothes came off easily, and soon Bucky had you on the ground in the nest of blankets and pillows set up in the corner. He rested his muscular, naked body between your equally naked legs and leaned over you. Bucky peppered kisses wherever he could until he finally met your lips. He ground his pelvis against yours, feeling your pussy get slick against his cock without slipping himself in quiet yet. He wanted to warm you up first.

Off in the pile of discarded clothes, Bucky’s phone began to ring. Neither of you noticed until it stopped and your phone started ringing right afterwards. Then Bucky’s twice. Back to yours again.

Bucky grinned against your lips before getting to his feet. “Oh right, our treat.” His semi-hard bobbed from side to side as he walked over to the clothes and dug out his phone. It was Steve.

The phone rang again and Bucky answered immediately.

“Hey Steve, you ready to come over?”

“Well what do you think, asshole?” The room was quiet enough that you could hear Steve’s tinny voice through Bucky’s phone. He sounded eager and impatient. You laughed.

Bucky toyed with Steve. “Well I dunno, man,” he replied. “I haven’t even asked Y/N if it’s okay yet.”

Bucky already knew you could hear Steve over the phone. He pulled the phone away to ask you, loud enough for Steve to hear. “Is it all right with you, Y/N? Sounds like he really needs it tonight.” He tried to hold back the sly grin growing in his face, but he couldn’t help himself. You noticed his semi-hard is growing.

You couldn’t help yourself, either.

“Of course, Bucky,” You played along, even though this was the plan the whole night. “It’s been awhile since Steve’s come over, anyway.”

Bucky returned to the call and gave Steve the OK to come over. Not even five minutes later, there was a frantic knocking on Bucky’s door. Either Steve was already in the hallway waiting for you and Bucky to say yes, or he was so desperate he ran over.

As soon as Bucky opened the door, Steve rushed in, flustered, rosy cheeked, breathless, and determined. You were never able to completely prepare yourself for the hurricane of Steve’s lust crashing through. He took off his clothes immediately, and in an instant he was completely nude and occupying the same space between your open legs that Bucky had not a moment ago.

Bucky let out a chuckle. He always got a kick out of Steve when he was like this. Bucky’s expression grew darker as he made his way to the nearby armchair. He made himself comfortable, settling with a sigh and his now large, rock hard cock in his hand. He stroked himself idly, ready to watch as Steve hurriedly had his way with you.

Steve was rough. He shoved himself inside you right away and began thrusting, whether you were ready for him or not. Luckily, Bucky’s little warmup with you made you wet enough to handle it whatever Steve was going to give you. You screamed out anyway.

Steve gripped your upper arms and had you pinned down to the ground hard while he plowed into you relentlessly. He shoved his lips onto yours and kissed you just as wildly. He broke the kiss to lap at the sensitive spot on your neck and sucked hard. You knew your neck would bruise there later. He moved to suck one of your nipples until it hardened between his lips, while he kneaded your other breast as much as he could. His thrusting pace never once faltered.

When he broke away from your chest, his hazy lust filled eyes bore into yours. You gave yourself up to Steve, your body just lax enough to let him have complete control. Soon you were able to catch up with his hurried pace and you were matching him thrust for thrust.

Steve’s hips starting jerking in and out erratically. He was getting close. The first round was always the quickest. That was fine with you (and Bucky) because Steve would be ready for round three in no time.

You reached up to palm the back of Steve’s head and pull him close so yours. “C’mon, Stevie,” you coaxed. “Cum in my pussy. I know you wanna do it. I’m right here for you. Fill me up right, big boy. Make me feel good, big boy. I wanna drip all over with you. Yeah, Stevie, yeah! That’s it! Yeah! Yeah!” you kept huffing.

“Y/N…I…AH!” You felt Steve’s body spasm against yours and his hot cum gathering deep inside you. When he was done, he dropped his full weight on you for a moment. He was breathing hard. His whole face was red, and rosy blotches peppered his large frame. He was glistening. The scent of sweat and spunk already lingered in the air.

Bucky walked up to the nest of blankets and kneeled over to place a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You okay bud?” Steve nodded. “Why don’t you take a rest over in the armchair? I’ll take it from here.” Steve rolled over and sighed deeply, his forearm covering his face. His softened cock was already hardening again. He’d be back in no time.

Bucky shook his head at the spent super-soldier and assumed his position up against you anyway. If Steve wanted to lay right next to you two and watch, or listen, or pass out, or whatever he was doing on the ground, then so be it, Bucky thought.

“How’re you doing, Y/N?” Bucky checked in with you.

“I’m doing great,” you sighed. “But I would feel better if you got on with it.”

“Of course, doll.” Bucky slid himself inside your pussy and moaned loudly.

Sloppy seconds was Bucky’s absolute favorite—that’s why despite being your boyfriend, he always let Steve fuck you first when the three of you were together. Steve knew how to fill you up just right, and having his cum and your juices coat Bucky’s cock made Bucky’s mind reel with intoxicating pleasure. Bucky liked to go slow and savor the feeling. Your core was so wet and slick and ridiculously hot, and each time he pushed his cock in he could feel Steve’s cum spill out around the edges. It dripped onto Bucky’s balls and splattered up his lower waist and covered your thighs and his. Nothing felt better to Bucky. He lulled his head down and connected his lips to yours, moaning loudly as if he was devouring his first meal after being lost in a desert for weeks on end. Apparently Bucky needed this tonight, too.

Bucky pulled away from your lips and brought his thrusting to a comfortable, sensual pace. It was just enough to keep you wanting for more and a nice contrast to Steve’s jackhammering moment ago. Bucky’s cock moving in and out between the extra cum and your juices made you feel so damn hot down there. Obscene squishing sounds filled the air while Bucky kept fucking you. You were gasping and moaning so much now.

Bucky picked you up, leaned himself back into a seated position, and rested you on his sturdy thighs. He held you down by your ass so he could grind into you more forcefully. Steve’s cum was dribbling out everywhere. Bucky was groaning along with you now and kissing you wherever he could. He made sure to shift you just right so his grinding rubbed up against your clit. When he found the right angle, you shuddered violently and strings of gibberish and curses fell out of your mouth.

“Mmmm…It’s your turn, Y/N,” Bucky breathed out. “That’s it. Just like that, doll. Yes…you’re doing great. You make me feel so good. I wanna make you feel good too. Cum for me, baby. You’re almost there. Yes… I can feel it. You feel great, doll. You feel so good with Stevie’s cum all over my cock. Making a mess all over me,” Bucky cooed against your ear.

Bucky could feel your walls tighten around his cock. Your breath quickened. You and he both were covered in a thin layer of sweat. You wrapped your arms around Bucky’s neck and gave him a messy, tongue-filled kiss right before you broke away groaned out your orgasm.

“Ah…that’s it doll. Mmm…You’re so beautiful when you cum,” Bucky said through your release. He kept fucking into you through your orgasm. Your walls pulsated around his cock through each wave of pleasure, and soon he too was releasing into you. You could feel spurts of warmth blossom from inside your core and the wetness overflow past your entrance and ooze wherever it could go.

“Oh my god…” you huffed out, ecstasy and exhaustion laced in your voice. “Oh my god…” You flopped back onto the pile of blankets and pillows. Bucky fell over to lie next to you. You were both doing whatever you could to catch your breath.

But Steve, who had been jacking off while lying on his side the whole time during Bucky’s round, was alert and ready to go. You turned your head to the side, locking eyes with Steve, and you laughed.

He shrugged at you, and himself, and the whole situation you three were in. “Sorry, Y/N. I can’t help it!” Now he was laughing too. His cock head glistened. Precum was steadily flowing from his slit and pooling onto the floor. Steve always produced so much that he had an unbelievable amount to share. You clenched your legs, fully aware of the fact, feeling his and Bucky’s heated cum and your juices mingling inside your pussy and slowly finding its way out.

You rolled to your side and scooted your body closer to Steve’s. When you got close enough, you reached out with your top hand and laid it over the hand Steve was using to rub himself. He slowed down the work he was doing to himself, opting to let you guide his hand back and forth over his engorged cock.

“Y/N…” he breathed out. The warmth behind his voice washed over your face, and you sighed. You weren’t ready to get fucked again, not yet, and Bucky was still out of it. But you thought of something else you could do to help Steve out in the meantime.

You motioned for Steve to get up and kneel. While he did so, you leaned up and got on your hands and knees right in front of him. You used your hand to encourage Steve let his hand go of his cock, and holding Steve at the base, you took him into your mouth.

“Oh fuck, y-y-yess…” Steve stammered. You were thorough with him. You brought his cock deep into your mouth and pulled out slowly, licking the underside of his member with your flattened tongue. You went back and forth this way, again and again. When only his cockhead remained in your mouth, you massaged it between your tongue and your lips. Steve’s precum soaked your lips and dribbled down your chin as it filled your mouth.

You sucked Steve’s cock deep into your mouth again and swallowed his precum, making sure Steve could feel every movement inside your mouth. You closed your eyes and hummed around him, savoring his taste and the whimpers escaping his mouth. Steve’s hands palmed the sides of your face, only allowing it to follow your movements and no more. He was trembling from trying so hard not to fuck a hole through the back of your head like he wish he could.

You yipped. Suddenly you felt a cool palm stroking your ass.

“Mmm, what are you doing, doll? You helping Stevie out like a good girl?” Bucky was kneeling next to you now, looking down Steve’s cock disappearing repeatedly into your mouth. He looked at Steve. “Is that what she’s doing, buddy? Making you feel good? Does her sweet little mouth feel good, pal?” Steve was trying to steady his breathing so he could talk. “Yeah, Buck. Y/N’s mouth feels—oooh!” You started sucking more deliberately and hollowed your cheeks. “Her mouth is amazing,” Steve continued.

“Hey, Stevie. Don’t you think Y/N is amazing?”

“Yeah, umph, she...ah! She is, Bucky. She really is…” “Let’s show her how amazing we think she is then.” Bucky crawled over to kneel behind your ass. He slipped his metal index and middle finger into your core and pumped in and out. His whole hand was immediately coated. Bucky’s actions made you moan around Steve’s cock, causing Steve to groan along with you.

Bucky pulled his fingers out and sucked them into his mouth, lapping up everyone’s intermingled essence, savoring the nuances of the hybrid flavor. He then lined himself up and slipped back into your oversoaked pussy.

No one was talking anymore. Only the sound of skin smacking against skin, squishy wetness, and moans and sighs filled the room. The music had stopped playing long ago, but none of you cared. Steve tightened his hold around your cheeks and snapped his hips against your mouth like he wanted to, and Bucky ground into your pussy from behind, his movements much faster than they were before. The two super-soldiers fell into a rhythm that left you breathless and incapable of pulling back and recuperating—exactly how you liked it. You were surrounded by sex. You needed this. You were looking forward to this all night. You moaned and keened the loudest out of the three of you, and the loudest you had all night.

Bucky smacked your ass hard and picked up the pace. You cried out, trying desperately to call out his name, but only Steve’s cock caught your muffled gag. He sped up too.

There was so much cum everywhere. While he kept jerking hips against your bottom, Bucky had no problem swiping some up around his metal fingers again. He used his index finger to toy with your exposed entrance between your butt cheeks. You twitched at the sudden sensation, understanding what was about to happen. You lowered your front half and raised your ass higher, presenting yourself to Bucky’s whims in the back. Bucky fingered the ring of muscles before padding at the opening, and then gently pushing his finger in. He looked at Steve on the other side and watched his partner’s hazy eyes look down your body to what he was up to. Steve got the hint, too. He looked up at Bucky and winked. A sultry smile spread across Steve’s face. Bucky matched Steve’s smile with his own.

Soon, Bucky was able to fit his whole index finger in your asshole, followed by another finger, and another. It didn’t take so long considering everything the three of you have been up to all night. You were about to lose it. All three of your holes were stuffed and stimulated in the right spots. You could feel your release coming closer. You tried to warn your boys, but it was difficult to speak when your mouth was stuffed with cock (like you wanted it to be). Steve and Bucky could feel something happen though, and probably traded nonverbal cues, because they both slowed down and eventually pulled out before you could drown in your orgasm.

You were trembling violently. You needed that release, but you were also grateful for the short reprieve. You knew what was coming. Everything between your legs clenched hard in anticipation. You could feel Bucky rub his cock up and down between your butt cheeks. He then touched the tip of his cock to your prepped entrance and pushed in slowly, more slowly than he had with his fingers before.

You swore loudly. It was intense, almost painful, and you could feel every bit of Bucky’s cock shifting into you inch by inch. After several minutes of heavy panting and patient movements, Bucky was finally flush against your ass. He held you by your shoulders, pulled your back up to his chest, and guided you to lie back on his reclined body. Bucky spread his legs out to each side of you, opening up his pelvis and helping him slide up inside just a little more. Your knees were up, your feet were flat on the floor and your legs opened almost as wide as Bucky’s. You two sat like that for another minute so you could get used to his cock.

When you were ready, Bucky hooked his arms under your thighs to pull your legs back, your knees next to your head and your feet in the air, presenting your pussy to Steve. Steve crawled into the space between yours and Bucky’s legs and kissed you passionately on the lips. He pushed himself in carefully, slowly, and then he too was inside you to the hilt.

The three of you waited, this overloaded and powerful sensation alone threatening to make everyone cum. This wouldn’t last much longer, at least not for you, double stuffed and sandwiched in between Steve and Bucky like that—exactly the way you all loved it.

“Do it,” you panted out.

Bucky ground his pelvis against you in all the circular patterns he could think of, while Steve pulled his cock almost all the way out and slid all the way back into your pussy. It was slow and methodic and the two super soldiers were perfectly in sync with each other. You begged loudly to whoever could hear. Bucky and Steve were huffing and groaning around you. Each incidental graze between their cocks near your openings made them shudder. They could feel the ghost of their movements deep inside you too, the boundary between both of your centers being stretched thin.

Bucky whispered hotly against your ear. “You see what you do to us, Y/N? You see how badly we want to fuck you? We can’t even wait our turn, we have to go at it at the same time. Open your eyes, Y/N. Look at Steve fuck you. Look at his cock come in and out of that messy pussy of yours.” You did as Bucky said. Each time Steve drew back, you could see his large thick cock coated with all the slick inside you and all over you from tonight. You looked up at Steve through your hooded eyes and he leaned down to kiss you, deeply, moaning into it, encouraging you to keep enjoying the moment just a little longer.

Bucky kept grinding against you, his cock hot and pulsing deep inside your asshole. He could feel you tightening again. You were so close. “That’s it, Y/N, cum for us. One more time, doll. Let’s see your pretty face cum for us, one last time.”

Your last orgasm for the night quickly rushed in. You were shaking and clamping down on both Steve and Bucky now, and they each rode into you until they too had cum inside you. They pulled out slowly, and all three of you collapsed in a disheveled heap.

When you recovered moments later, you saw them together on the other side of the nest of blankets and pillows. Bucky was between Steve’s legs now, forcing his cock in and out Steve’s ass and clutching Steve’s member, stroking in time with his hips. Steve was keening and whining softly, while Bucky growled encouragement to help Steve and himself to their final release.

You studied them, feeling the arousal pool in your core and radiate out, but too exhausted to do anything about it. Bucky and Steve always described themselves as best friends, but the way they fucked clearly told a different story. The way the three of you messed around, repeatedly, exclusively, told a different story. But the meaning behind it all was a conversation for another time. You were content here in the moment.

When they finished resting, you saw Bucky and Steve get up and head towards the bathroom. Soon, Bucky was by your side with a warm, moistened washcloth. He cleaned up all the mess he and Steve made with you over your body and between your legs, all the while whispering sweet nothings. Steve kneeled over you with another damp washcloth to help clean you up, too. He leaned over to kiss you gently, sighing words only the three of you shared.

—End— My Masterlist My AO3

#bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader x steve rogers #smut #reader fic #reader insert #you fic #fanfic #fanfiction #captain america #winter soldier #marvel #mcu #vindictivegracefanfic #once again i can't believe i wrote this #i'm going to hell #my bags are already packed

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fishdavidson · 7 years

Photo

Dream Journal: MULTIPLE DAYS EDITION!

Last night, my excuse for not posting was that I fell asleep on the floor. This happens more often than I am proud of. However, it has also come to my attention that I missed some blogging some dreams nearly two weeks ago FOR THE SAME DAMN REASON. Luckily for you, dear readers, I have both notes for these (relatively ancient) dreams as well as a memory like a well-oiled steel trap. So tonight, you shall get four dreams for the price of one! And coincidentally, three of those dreams are school-related.

2017-05-12: Fish Davidson Acquires New Hobbies (Which Happen To Be Trivia and Murdering)

Do you ever take an introspective look at your life and wonder “How did my life turn out like this?” Those are the kind of thoughts I found myself thinking in this dream. For some reason, my life was profoundly unfulfilling in this dream. I lived alone in a dingy apartment in New York. I ate terrible food and didn’t talk to my neighbors.

My life’s goal (in the dream at least) was to appear on as many trivia shows as possible. The reason I had chosen to live in New York was simply because that’s where NPR’s trivia game show, Ask Me Another, was located. I was a repeat contestant, because I am pretty awesome at such things (real life mileage may vary).

After my most recent appearance on Ask Me Another, I went out for celebratory drinks with the other contestants. We were walking back to our respective apartments in a big group when I turned to someone and showed them my watch. “Do you know what time it is?” I asked them. “It’s murder time.” Yes, I literally said that.

This next part is really hard to describe, because it doesn’t really translate into reality very well. The end result was that I murdered every one of my fellow contestants. But I didn’t do it with a knife or a gun or anything like that. The closest thing I can think of was that I thought of the word “murder” and the meaning behind the word coalesced into an invisible force-field that I could grab with my hands. Dream logic declared that everyone was killed by the intangible sentiment carried by the word “murder,” but it looked like I just spun around in a circle with an invisible piece of lumber and everybody around me happened to drop dead.

After murdering time was over, I nonchalantly shoved all the bodies into a storm drain. You have to be nonchalant about these things, because otherwise people will notice you and start asking questions. I remember feeling pretty disappointed at my life choices at this moment and saying to myself “I should probably get a new hobby, because this one is pretty unfulfilling.”

2017-05-13: Boring School Dream Time!

This is the most disappointingly banal dream of the entire month. I went to school, sat around in a desk for a while, and did nothing notable. Although I could pad this entry out with all the pointless details I remember, your time is more valuable than that. TIME FOR THE NEXT DREAM (WHICH IS WAY BETTER THAN THIS ONE!)

2017-05-23: Research Grant Problems

Here’s another new career choice for me to pursue in dreams: grant writer for a local university. In this dream, I was one of those lovely people who attempt to woo government investors with my words and convince them to give me money to perform impractical research. I don’t remember what I was writing a grant for, but I know I wrote that funding proposal like a boss. My words were well-formulated and elegant like something written by a famous dude who wrote words for a living. Not like the words I’m writing now, which sound like they were written by a random white guy who does not write words for a living. It was only after I submitted the manuscript that I realized a terrible and irreversible mistake:

THE BIBLIOGRAPHY SECTION OF MY PRELIMINARY RESEARCH PROPOSAL WAS FORMATED IN THE APA STYLE, BUT IT NEEDED TO BE CHICAGO STYLE.

There is nothing potential government benefactors like more than being able to disqualify an application because of a technicality. I’d like to say that I put up some sort of fight and tried to claw that email back from the far reaches of the internet with my bare hands, but that would be a lie. The reality is that I just gave up and pretty much immediately made peace with my mistake. Pretend I’m imparting some sage advice about the transient nature of all things here.

You can’t miss what you never had... or something like that.

2017-05-24: Last Exam Of The Semester

Welcome to another round of Various School Dreams with Fish Davidson! In this episode, Fish Davidson plays the role of student and grown-ass adult. Because I am an adult, I am afforded the privilege of dressing myself for school. And because I am prone to fits of extreme impracticality, I did not do well at dressing myself. My clothing choices do play an important role in this dream, though, so sit tight.

I ended up wearing a long-sleeve white t-shirt with a blue t-shirt layered on top. Blue jeans were also involved, and maybe some flip-flops? That part doesn’t sound too unusual, but that’s because we haven’t gotten to the impractical part yet. I also decided to pin an entire sleeping bag to the back of my jeans that was either coiled around my legs like a weird skirt, or billowing out behind me like a cloth beaver tail depending on my mood. When asked why I chose to affix a sleeping bag to my clothing, the only answer I was able to give was this:

“SCHOOL CHAIRS MAKE MY BUTT HURT.”

That’s as good an answer as any, so my parents drive me to school (because apparently I still live at my parents house and they are just totally cool with how hopelessly weird their son is) for my last day of class before school lets out for the summer.

At this point, I am aware that I will have to take the final exam for a psychology course if I actually show up at school. The good news is that I was doing relatively well in the class, but the bad news is that I did zero studying for the exam and I spent most of my free time trying to get my sleeping bag beaver tail just right.

When I get to class, I pick up the test. It seems difficult, but not impossible. But I don’t feel like taking the test today, so I unleash my sleeping bag beaver tail and gyrate my hips all over the classroom.

“FISH DAVIDSON, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” the teacher asks.

“WHAT IS THE NATURE OF TRUTH AND REALITY?” I scream back at the teacher. This may not have been the literal question I asked, but it was something very close to that and equally pretentious. My beaver tail is flapping about and slapping fellow students and test papers alike. People are evacuating the room due to the chaos I have caused.

The teacher demands to see me in his office, and thus we appear in a tiny office whose walls are lined with bookshelves. “Why did you even show up for class today, Fish Davidson?” the teacher asks. “You don’t even need to take the final.”

“AWESOME,” I say, and then walk out the door to his office and never look back. I AM SO GOOD AT SCHOOL, GUYS. SO GOOD.

P.S. Here’s a funny psychology class anecdote for you: when I took my intro to psychology class all those years ago, I did so well in the class that I only had to make higher than a 25% on the multiple-choice final exam. And I put my money where my GPA said my mouth could safely be, didn’t study for the test, answered the first page of the exam, and then marked ‘B’ for every answer in the hopes that the probability gods would give me enough credit from my random answers to push me over the 25% mark. My gamble paid off and I left that class with top marks.

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The header image is of Mitchell Royce, the chainsmoking editor from Warren Ellis’s

Transmetropolitan

comic series. He is not a good role model, but he is a damn fine editor. I dunno why, but it just seemed like I needed to have this image on this post.

#fishdavidson #dream journal #beaver #ask me another #trivia #game show #grant writing #bibliography #school #school dreams #transmetropolitan #mitchell royce #warren ellis #hof

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knockoutlives · 7 years

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Whatever they offer you, don’t feed the plants.

Josh: Mom just told me. congrats.

Troi: I am so proud of you Vinny! Congratulations babe! I've never been happier for you, for us!

Spencer: Congratulations Vinny! When Adam gets back from his Medical Retreat we need to go for drinks! Congrats!

Abby: Congrats big brother! I can't wait to come visit and see you on stage!

Amelia: Congratulations! I’ll see you at 2 for lunch and you can tell me all about it! Mak: Congratulations Vinny!

Kevin. MY. GOD. VINCENT ANDREW DEPOLA HOW ON EARTH DID YOU KEEP THIS HIDDEN FROM ME?!?! CONGRATULATIONS ON BEING CAST AS SEYMOUR!

Unknown Number: Congratulations!

V: thanks, who's this?

(718) 565-3489: you know who this is, we met up for drinks the other night in Queens.

(718) 565-3489 : had to get out of Manhattan to make sure your boyfriend didn't hear anything about it.

V: oh ya, thanks.

(718) 565-3489 : that's it? I'll remember that the next time we hook up, and you wanna fuck me.

Vinny sighed and looked from the phone in his gloved hands, to the city street in front of him. Scanning the empty street for anyone he could potentially know. As if even seeing them would allow the other to know who Vinny was messaging. The sender's comments made him recall the night in questions, and the corners of his lips pulled into a smile as he replied.

V: listen, I've got some things to do today. So I'm going to have to cut this short. But, I expect to see you at my place tonight at 6. He’ll be gone for a few hours.

(718) 565-3489 : fire escape, or front door.

V: fire escape, just so you don't run into him. I don't need that

(718) 565-3489 : Your wish is my command - T

Upon sending his last message Vinny locked his phone and let out an even heavier sigh as he leaned on the concrete wall of the building he had just walked out of prior to the bombardment of Text message - well wishes. Pushing off of the wall Vinny began his walk down the street heading towards Times Square, and the subway. There was a slight chill in the air, causing Vinny to wrap his arms around his midsection, and pulling his leather jacket closer to his body to conserve warmth.

A smile began to tug at his lips again as he recounted the morning.

The day had already began to speed by, though when one wakes up at six to be out the door by seven the time just begins to fly from the second you actually leave the bed. He had left Troi in the warm blankets that morning, to make his way to the gym to beat the rush. (The treadmill he liked at his gym always seemed to be taken if he was late, even If it was by five minutes.) So arriving precisely at seven fifteen gave him enough time to get his workout, shower, and get dressed into human attire by eight. Today had been no different until he left the gym and his phone began buzzing, like a virgin's vibrator on crack.

“Hello, This is Vincent….”

“Vinny, it's Camille! Would you be able to stop by the midtown studio space this morning?”

“Of course I can! What time?”

“Now, would be nice”

“I'm on my way, I’ll be there by nine!”

Jumping on the subway almost immediately after the phone call, Vinny had arrived at the rehearsal space to find his agent Camille in the lobby of the building looking as if she had just ran down the stairs of the familiar building from the rehearsal space on the fifth floor.

“Vinny!” The woman said with a grin as she took the boy into her arms. Camille was quite short, so she normally came up to Vinny's shoulder, but in her heels today she was almost at eye level. “I'm so glad you could make it, I have two people who would really like to speak to you. It was last minute but apparently they're on a tight schedule. So they needed to get a hold of you A-S-A-P.” “Oh, alright?” Vinny said confusion clear on his face. “Vinny..” Camille said her grin still growing as she stepped into the elevator and dragging Vinny in with her, the door closing behind them “...you got the part! You’re Seymour!”

-- 2:30 PM Cilantro - Upper West Side, New York City

“Oh, the second your mom read that Playbill article, it got plastered all over Facebook and you were tagged EVERY TIME. If I didn't get the call from Chrissy, I would have seen at least one of the 25 posts your family made!”

“God Amelia, I'm glad we weren't friends when I made it into Idiot. She went crazy. You would never have let me live it down. I mean I shouldn't complain though. She is my mother, Troi’s is just as bad.”

“I mean I would kill for my mom to be half as excited about a part I get. But that my friend is a totally different story. How was Troi when he found out?”

“Oh, he was happy. He had a bunch of errands to run earlier before he got to the studio earlier. So we haven't talked much just yet.”

Amelia took a sip of her mimosa and smiled across the table at Vinny. She was probably the oldest friend he had in the city, nonetheless the only one here who knew almost all of Vinny's past with and without Troi. The pair had met when Vinny was touring with American Idiot, and freshly single. In a different time and place Vinny felt Amelia might have been a perfect girlfriend for him, but with her lack of the desired plumbing and the fact that on one drunken night they may have made out, she held the coveted best friend spot and nothing more. But, of course Vinny never told Prima he might have been replaced. “Im glad things are finally working out between you guys. It was rough for a while on tour there. Until, you and Travis were a thing for a bit. You know he's in the city now, I dunno for how long but he’s got a place in Queens.” “Ya don't say?” Vinny said grabbing his Margarita and taking a large gulp of the drink.

“Ya, but we all know how you feel about taking the W into Queens. Vincent Depola doesn’t leave Manhattan unless it’s for a good reason.”

Almost instantly Vinny placed his drink down with a little too much force, and looked from Amelia to his phone. “Looks like I struck a nerve?” “No, I’m just not really in the mood to deal with any drama. And, you know drama follows him.” “Oh I know, I was living through the times of you guys screwing around AND the months following when y’all were just hating fucking. Thank god thats over” “Amen” Vinny added as he looked down at their empty plates. “So when are you going back on tour? Or, are you looking more for something more stable in the city?” “Well it depends on how the next two weeks go on Raph’s residency. I’ve got a few auditions lined up either way. If he’s leaving the city, I might jump on a tour, but there are also some workshops in and out of the city I could hop into if he stays. Why? Are you already going through withdrawls from me?” Laughing Vinny added “No! Well sort of.. I dunno.” “What’s eating at you?” Amelia responded, her tone switching almost instantly from upbeat to concern. “Nothing really, I mean it’s just weird to finally be tied down…” Sipping at his drink he continued. “...Like literally I went from the tour, to spending time home for a few months, and now I'm with Troi in New York. This isn't little old Trigger, this is the real world. And believe me I have never been happier with Troi but I just, I'm by myself too much. Granted now that I'm in the show I'll be able to rehearse and spend time with other people. But, until then it was just Troi and I, and on occasion Spadam. And you know how it is dating a dancer, or at least someone in a similar field as you. If your schedule don't align sometimes you're lucky to see them at night, again if you're lucky.”

“You sound perfectly normal Vin! It sucks, you know I know it. And that’s why I’m engaged to a doctor now. But, this is just your nerves from being pent up this long without anything really happening. Ya, you had the audition grind going, but until something happens you're on edge waiting to snap. You're in a Broadway Show now, you're going to be fine.”

Sighing, Vinny looked over at Amelia with a smile now. “I am. I'm in a Little Shop of Fucking Horrors. Finally!”

“And that's why this is on me” She added placing a credit card on the check.

--- 4:45 PM

Stepping back into the cold afternoon air the two embraced in front of the store for a moment, and then Vinny began his walk towards Central Park. Though the park wasn't too crowded this time of day, Vinny didn't mind the people that much. And, it was the fastest way to get home even if it did take him almost an hour at his leisurely pace. He enjoyed his time alone, it was something he got a lot of. But, ever since the tour ended and he went back to Trigger, it hadn't felt like he had taken a moment to just breathe, even when he was alone.

One moment he was single, and moving back home, the next he had a date with Troi. A date, that put them back on each other's radars. It took some time before he was even capable to even think about kissing Troi. Then it just happened, and happened, and happened. Numerous times, sometimes multiple at a time. Things just fell back into place, as if it was a four piece puzzle, not the complex thousand piece jigsaw their lives really were. It’s not that the two forgot about their previous qualms, but they spent almost a month just accepting the past was in the past, taking a tip from a popular ice queen and just ‘letting it go’. Most importantly though Blaise Monroe was out of their lives, and one thousand two hundred and eighty four miles away living a poor excuse of a life in Trigger, what a wash-up.

There were some days though that Vinny wondered what would have happened if he was still in Trigger? If the couple hadn’t rekindled and moved back to NYC to share Troi’s loft apartment. Would he be on another tour? Would he just be living the same washed up life, that Blaise Monroe was currently living? Or, would Travis still be in the picture, or at least in more then---

“Watch it man!” a cab driver shouted as Vinny stepped back onto the curb, lost in his thoughts and almost catching the cab’s drivers side mirror. “Damn it” Vinny mumbled under his breathe as he regained his bearings. About Halfway through the park, he could see the back of the Metropolitan Museum of Art on his left, and knew he had to go a bit more south if he wanted to get into his neighborhood without leaving the park. Walking on the streets around the park was almost as bad as Times Square. Why people flocked to this place, not even he knew. It was a beautiful park, but there were other wonders to see in the city. That were not inhabited by homeless people pissing all around, or thirsty gays cruising the bathrooms. Turning passed the Alice in Wonderland statue, Vinny felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist and Troi’s voice enter his ears. “Hey there handsome” Leaning back into the other man’s arms Vinny felt his cheeks rise into a smile. Turning around he placed his hands around Troi’s neck and kissed him softly, letting his short beard rub against Troi’s stubble ridden face. “How’s my boyfriend? No excuse me how’s the new Seymour Krelborn in the Little Shop Revival!“ “I’m fine! I’m fine! Still letting it all sink in!” Vinny responded to Troi’s enthusiasm with his own. “Of course you are!” “How’d you know I was here?” Vinny added as he laced his hand into his boyfriends and continued the walk towards their apartment. “ I mean I’m far from complaining at all, I just thought you were going to be at the studio for most of the night teaching” “I was talking to Rhea about finding out you got the part, and she said she’d cover my night class. Under the conditions that I take you out to celebrate.” “ I will never feel bad about getting to spend more time with you babe, but that is entirely your call.” Looking away from his boyfriend and around the street to see where they had exited the park. Stopping for the light Vinny sighed softly, inaudible to anyone but himself,

“Of course I want to take you out tonight! Do you mind if I take a run to the gym first though?”

Almost immediately Vinny smiled at Troi and nodded his head. “Ya, totally!” Vinny added with a little too much excitement.

“Wow, someone's happy I'm not just at the studio,and actually going out of my way to put a little extra muscle on.”

Vinny couldn't help but laugh at his boyfriend's response as he reached his free hand over to jokingly feel Troi’s abs.

“Not enough yet.”

-- 5:55 PM

(718) 565-3489 : I should be there a little after seven ;)

“Vinny! Have you seen my shaker?”

Quickly locking his phone, Vinny looked up from the couch towards his boyfriend in the bathroom. “Uh, probably in the kitchen, or maybe your gym bag?” He added hopping up from his place on the couch and moving towards the window to unlock it. “Do you need a protein shake today? I mean we are going for dinner afterwards. I don't want to be the one eating a five course meal and then you have a carrot. Those days are long over.”

Emerging from the bathroom Troi was in a pair of joggers and a t-shirt, tugging on a hoodie while almost walking into their kitchen counter. “You're right I guess, I'm only gonna be gone for forty five minutes max.”

“Good! Now go! I'm hungry” Vinny shot back playfully at Troi, as he wrapped his arms around the other and kissed him softly. Biting Troi's lower lip gently, Vinny pulled away and ran his hands over Troi's abdomen once more. “I love you.”

“I love you too!” Troi added with another quick peck, as he gathered his keys and drawstring bag and headed out the door.

As soon as the door shut Vinny practically ran too it to lock both the deadbolt and chain the door, making sure there was no way of potential disruptions. From the door, he made his way to the bathroom to throw some water on his face and check his reflection. He had changed when he had gotten home, from his casual wear to his Grade-A bum attire. Sweat shorts, an oversized hoodie, and his thick framed glasses Because, contacts just hurt after a while.

Staring at himself in the mirror Vinny closed his eyes tightly and ran a hand through his messy hair. Then he heard it, a light rapping on the living room window. The window had opened as he returned to the room to see his guest finishing his window entrance. Brushing himself off and placing his bag on the floor, Vinny’s eyes trailed up the familiar body and he smiled when he reached the man’s face which was covered in shadow from his hood. Not caring about the cold breeze coming through the open window, Vinny stepped closer and placed his lips to the other man’s. Wrapping his arms around him, Vinny broke the kiss to place his head on the others shoulder. The other man did not hesitate to place his stubble ridden mouth onto Vinny’s now exposed neck, tugging lightly on the skin with his teeth. Swatting the back of the man’s head Vinny dragged them down to the couch, where he was straddled by the other male. “No marks!” Reaching around the others waistband, Vinny let his hands wander across the other’s ass and playfully squeezed. Catching the other's mouth in his own Vinny began to remove the others hoodie when --

“Fighting evil by moonlight, winning love by daylight, never running from a real fight. She is the one named Sailor Moon!”

“Fuck, Fuck, Fuck,” The other said un-straddling Vinny as the latter ran his hands up his face and began laughing softly. Standing up and closing the window; the other man leaned on the counter top, one arm on the counter the other rubbing his face.

Laughing still, Vinny bent down and fished out two phones from the bag by the window and brought them over too the counter. Placing his hand on the other’s neck he ran it north towards the man's hair, and in doing so he pushed down the hood revealing Troi from the shadow.

“Babe, next time you decide to seduce me as a stranger. Turn your old phone’s ringer off ,maybe?”

Grinning at his boyfriend Troi grabbed Vinny's waist to pull him into his side, and kiss the other's forehead while on the balls of his feet. Still biting back laughter Vinny pulled Troi into his chest and kissed the top of the shorter boys head.

“Jeeze, I wish I could say this was the first time I've been cock blocked by Sailor Moon.”

“Hey, it's probably my mother trying to get a hold of you in the first place.”

“Even better! I wish I could say that this was the first time getting cock blocked by your mother.”

Picking up the iPhone in the Sailor Moon case, Vinny saw the missed call was in fact from his future mother in law, and handed the phone back to Troi; before returning to the foreign phone still on the counter.

“So this, is what's finally given you a New York area code.” “Surprise!” Troi added sarcastically as he relocated by hugging the other from behind. Vinny, while toying around with the phone, felt Troi run his hands down his sides and under his hoodie. “ I can give you the entire tour of it, after we take care of something else.” Letting,his hands lower from Vinny’s abs, Troi slipped under the waistband of Vinny’s sweatpants and began searching for his target.

“Oh really now?” Vinny said as he turned (not gracefully) to face his boyfriend, and caught Troi’s lips in his own. Running his own hands across the other’s chest, Vinny straightened himself up and walked Troi backwards to their room. Breaking the kiss, as they crossed the threshold into the dark room Vinny softly pushed Troi onto the bed, and closed the door behind him. “I mean you still need to get a workout in before dinner” “I mean I could use a protein shot.” “Oh ya? Like you needed one the other night at that shady speakeasy in Astoria?” “Hey, that dinner was painful, a little exciting sex in a seedy bathroom livened it up a bit” “God I love you..” Running his hands down Troi’s sides Vinny noticed that in the time it took him to close the door, and make the room completely black Troi had removed his shirt and hoodie. His skin warm, as Vinny felt the smaller boy quiver under his touch. Tracing designs along the other’s chest, his hands teased the soft skin of Troi’s nipples. Where he tweaked the other softly, gaining an audible gasp from the boy under his touch. ‘I thought you weren’t going to follow through with your texts when Rhea let you out early.” Leaning down towards Troi’s left nipple Vinny placed his lips and began teasing the other with his tongue and biting softly on the erect flesh. “And miss out on this? Why did you think I decided to go to the gym? Babe,” Troi gasped and tried to regain his composure. “...today is my off day. I was at the studio all morning. You’re lucky I was able to climb the fire-escape at all.” As Vinny continued to work on Troi’s nipples, and enjoyed the soft sounds of pleasure his boyfriend was making; he began to run his hands up Troi’s muscular arms. Tracing where he knew the other’s key tattoo was, and up his shoulder where his right hand gripped the soft skin that led to Troi’s neck and jawline. Reaching down past Troi’s stomach and into the other’s sweatpants, Vinny squeezed the package that was clad in only a jock-strap. Removing his hand from near Troi’s neck, Vinny leaned up and let his lips mash against Troi’s hungry mouth. Troi wrapped his legs around Vinny’s waist as his boyfriend began to give his neck the same treatment he had previously did on his nipple. Removing his hand from Troi’s sweatpants, Vinny shucked his hoodie off while Troi greedily pulled his muscular boyfriend towards him. Vinny’s skin warming the other’s cold skin under him. While their lips waged war upon each other, their bodies worked together to have Vinny grind on Troi in ways that made the smaller boy moan through their kissing. “And to think, I used to be The Screamer.” Vinny added between panting, as Troi began to suck on his shoulder while his hands need-ily pushed Vinny’s sweat-shorts down. Leaving him exposed to the room, and in position to finish the job the two had set out to do from the beginning. Troi’s sweatpants were next to go as the warmth of their skin on skin began to drive the two wild. Reaching for the lube they kept in the bedside drawer, Vinny’s length pressed up against Troi’s grundle sending the other a bit over the edge. From the touch of Vinny’s length, and the restraint of his jockstrap Troi moaned louder than before, as Vinny silenced him with his lips covering the others. Managing to open the bottle of lube with one hand, and steady Troi with the other, Vinny was about to finish his preparations when --- “Fighting evil by moonlight, winning love by daylight, never running from a real fight. She is the one named Sailor Moon!” Troi let out a groan as he heard his phone go off again, using both of his hands he grabbed Vinny’s waist and looked for the others eyes in the darkness. Feeling Vinny’s nose rub up against the bridge of his own, he looked into where the others eyes were, and pleaded with him. “Forget it, and Fuck me.” Troi all but whispered as he slid his lips once more over his boyfriends.

And Vinny did.

#Vincent Andrew Depola #Troi Bently Vaillancourt #Trinny #Our babies are all grown up and fucking #fuck tags #OneShot:Dontfeedtheplants #OneShot:Trinny

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