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snackhobi · 4 years ago

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pairing: yoongi x reader // word count: 15.8k // genre: smut

summary: your idea of a good night certainly doesn't involve being stood up by yet another blind date and finding yourself alone in a fancy bar; fortunately for you, there's an attractive man playing the piano to keep you busy, instead.

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), cursing, minor consumption of alcohol, oral (m and f receiving), protected sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, pet names, slight exhibitionism, slight praise kink, light dom/sub undertones if you squint ig (reader is kind of subby)

– –

Throughout the years of your life, you've learned a few things. Some of them are pretty obvious (buying suspiciously cheap sushi from a petrol station is like playing Russian Roulette with food poisoning and diarrhoea), some of them are less so (just because something is 'on sale' doesn't actually mean that it's cheaper if they'd increased the overall price beforehand), but one thing that you're only just starting to learn is that— for all that Jimin says otherwise— blind dates will always stand you up.

jiminnie is he there yet??

you to my entire lack of surprise, no. i'm starting to wonder if this 'hoseok-hyung' of yours even exists tbh i should have been suspicious from the second you called him a 'friend' bc that implies that you HAVE friends

jiminnie ok RUDE. we're friends??

you suddenly i can't read

The two of you had been outrageously drunk after a night out on the town, once, and Jungkook had come to collect his tipsy boyfriend, and you'd seen the fond way he'd watched Jimin despite his messy behaviour— how he'd given Jimin a piggyback even though it must have been hard with the way Jimin had been squirming and laughing and kicking his legs back and forth— and your heart had squeezed tight in your chest. (You'd been so drunk.)

It had honestly been a slip of the tongue when you'd revealed to Jimin that you were kind of maybe feeling somewhat lonely, a little bit, potentially. You'd had one night stands and short flings but it's been a long time since you've been in an actual relationship, a long time since you've really clicked with someone. Maybe part of you had been missing it, that connection with another person. Normally you're fine with being single, but Jungkook and Jimin are so in love that it spills out from them and you guess in the moment you'd wanted to feel that, too.

You blame the alcohol. You also blame your own loose lips. And Jimin, you blame him too, for persuading you to go clubbing in the first place. You don't even remember what you'd said, waking up with a headache the weight and size of a tectonic plate, groaning at the pain of the morning light stabbing into your eyes, but with no recollection of your admittance that maybe you were tired of being single. Your best friend, however— despite having drunk more than you— could recall the previous night with crystalline clarity, much to your horror and embarrassment. And, because Jimin is Jimin, he'd latched onto what you'd said with the tenacity of a dog with a bone.

Fast forward to where you're sitting now, on yet another arranged date that he's planned for you— and once again, you've been stood up.

you i'm starting to wonder if any of the people you've tried to set me up with are even real

jiminnie omg they ARE you had a nice time with lisa??

Okay, so you hadn't been stood up for every date. Lisa had been the only person who'd shown up, and she was cute and friendly and you got on like a house on fire, but you'd very quickly found out that she was actually head over heels for her best friend Jennie. You being you, your first date had rapidly turned into you giving your new friend a pep-talk and hyping her up— and suffice to say you've been having weekly girl's brunches with Lisa and her now-girlfriend Jennie ever since. So, yes, technically you haven't been stood up every time, but still.

you yes, my ideal first date involves telling the other person that their best friend is definitely in love with them too :))

jiminnie I'VE ALREADY SAID THAT I'M SORRY :(

you LMAO it's fine, it's always nice to make friends but seriously minnie, like,, if your friends are going to stand me up, could you at least have had the decency to organise the date somewhere less fancy? i spent ages getting ready and noah fence it kind of feels like i just wasted a bunch of my time,,

Jimin doesn't fuck around. From the outside the bar, Dionysus, exudes a quiet aura of exclusivity. Inside, however, it has a surprisingly understated atmosphere despite its namesake being the Grecian god of Getting Turnt, the sleek interior paired with soft lighting and stylish fixtures, elegant.

Either way, it's the kind of place that warrants you actually pulling out the stops with your outfit and makeup; you rarely have a reason to doll yourself up like this and it makes a nice change of pace, but it seems like you shouldn't have bothered. What's the point in putting on a cute dress and nice heels, or doing your hair and opening your expensive Too Faced eyeshadow palette for the first time, if you're just going to be sitting alone at a bar all night? At least you don't stick out, which is good, you guess.

You are the only person who's alone, though. It's midweek and everyone else is seated around one of the tables, couples and groups that are engaged in quiet discussion or watching the show— there's a small stage where there's a quartet performing live music— but you're perched on one of the barstools, tapping away at your phone, alone. If anyone were to pay any attention it would be obvious that you've been stood up, but they're all too busy having an enjoyable evening to spare a glance at the girl sitting by herself at the bar.

The only person who's paying attention to you is the bartender. He's clearly good at his job, keeping an eye on you and making you feel welcome without seeming like he's hovering; he doesn't act like you're being an inconvenience, but you give him a hefty tip each time you order a new drink anyway. Hoseok might not be turning up tonight but if you've gone to the effort of dressing this nicely and getting a taxi here then goddamn you're going to make the most of it.

It takes forty two minutes and three virgin cocktails before the handsome bartender speaks to you, saying something beyond the customary back and forth you've had so far as he hands you your next mocktail.

"Are your friends usually this late?"

You let out a little huff of laughter. "Something like that." Normally you'd be more hesitant to speak to a stranger like this, but the bartender's eyes are warm and his smile seems genuine and from what you can tell, he's just making that sure you're okay. "Seems like it'll just be me for tonight."

"You're welcome to stay and wait as long as you like," he says, and you can't help but quirk a grin at him.

"I bet you say that to all the paying customers."

He laughs and raises his hands in surrender. "You got me." And then: "If you want another drink, just give me a shout. I'm Seokjin, but everyone calls me Jin."

"As in, Jin and tonic?" You smile. "Sure. I'll be sure to remember that. I'm Y/n."

"Nice to meet you, Y/n." Jin gives you a grin before disappearing down the other side of the bar to make drinks for some other customers. Your own smile slowly fades, and then turns into a frown, eyes landing on the clock on the wall; Hoseok is forty five minutes late at this point. (You know he's not going to show.) It's been so long that the musicians on the stage have finished their set and are leaving, a different performer about to step on, and you sigh. You'll finish this last drink and then you'll go.

You use your straw to stir the mint leaves and ice cubes around, muddling the flavours in your glass. You haven't really been paying attention to the music before now; you couldn't name the songs that have been performed so far, but they're common enough that you'd recognised the sound of them, the sort of music that most people could hum along to but probably wouldn't know the origin of. Easy listening. Pleasant, but nothing new. It's clearly more about setting a nice backdrop to the bar rather than music for music's sake. A background noise, rather than acting as the focal point of the bar.

You assume this is going to be the case for the next musician, and so you barely pay any mind as the he takes to the stage alone; you're looking down at your glass as he sits at the piano and puts his feet on the pedals and places his hands on the keys, but then, he starts to play.

Your eyes snap up. A chord hangs in the air, extended, haunting; a crescendo into a light melody; the chords dip, waters dark and deep while he weaves the higher notes with infinite softness, ebbing notes that fade into each other, his fingers dancing across the keys with grace and ease. You notice with a throb in your chest that he has no sheet music. He's pulling this music from inside him, his mind, entirely from his own memory.

His eyes are cast down as he watches his hands, but you can see how they slip shut whenever he tilts his head back, fringe hanging over them. His hair is bleached blond but he clearly hasn't been maintaining the look, with dark roots starting to show through. His posture is horrible, his spine a little curved as he slouches forward, and he's not dressed as sharply as the other musicians had been— there's no tie around his neck and he has a multitude of earrings in, rings on his fingers, changing his outfit into something a little messy and different and entirely unique.

He's fucking breathtaking.

Without realising, you've swivelled away from the bar to watch him. Your drink is still clutched in your hand but you pay it no mind, condensation gathering on the cold glass and dripping down your fingers the longer you sit there, ice cubes melting as he finishes his first song and moves onto the next. Same as the first, you don't recognise it, the melody echoing deep in your chest, speaking of some feeling that you can't put a name to, each sliding arpeggio and chord reaching inside you and hanging there, little glowing droplets that shine out like moonlight.

Each of his pieces are entirely different and yet they all feel like him, somehow. Strong and soft and lovely and aching. The water from your glass has pitter-pattered onto your lap, darkening the fabric of your dress in some nameless constellation, but you don't notice. Your world has narrowed down to: the sound of his music, the motions of his hands, the way he bends into the notes, him.

Your eyes trace his profile, the cat-like eyes, the round of his nose, the pout of his lips, falling into the way he lifts his chin and tilts his head; thoughtless, gorgeous.

You don't realise that it's over until it's over. The final notes hang in the air, crystallising, and then they fade. He finishes with little fanfare, tilting a polite nod at the audience that claps for him, and then he slips off the stage and is gone just as quickly as he had come. You blink, coming back to yourself; you feel like you're rising out of deep water, motions slow and heavy, and you don't know how long you've been sitting there, entirely entranced. You'd been too distracted to clap. You'd just sat and watched in silence as he'd turned to leave, barely sparing the room a glance.

"Good, isn't he?"

Normally you would have startled at Jin's sudden appearance. Instead you just blink again, still trying to shake off the daze you've found yourself in. "Yeah." Your voice is hoarse. You clear your throat and suck in a breath and put your drink down, dripping wetness that leaves a ring on the smooth wood of the bar, and try to speak normally this time, willing your voice to be level. "Yes. He's very good."

"Yoongi is here at the same time every week," Jin supplies, tone conversational, like he's just having a regular chat. Yoongi. His name is Yoongi. You wonder if Jin can hear how your heart is pounding, the galloping hooves of a wild horse that tumble in your chest. You try to keep your expression stoic as you look at him, scared that he'll be able to read what's written across your face— but he's smiling at you in the same way as before. Just a barkeeper who's trying to get a return customer. (Although, you'd swear there was a glint in his eye for the briefest moment, but then it's gone.) "He changes the set each time, if you're interested in coming back to hear something new."

Your mouth feels dry and you swallow, trying to wet your lips. Dionysus is too fancy of a place to ask customers for tips for the musicians, but— "Can I buy him a drink?"

Jin cocks his head at you. "A drink? For Yoongi?"

"Yes," you say. You feel a little shy when you spot his expression, biting your lip. "I just really enjoyed the music, and I'd like to tip him somehow? Is that a normal thing that people do?"

Jin pauses, and then smiles. This smile is a little wider than the ones he's given you before, different, but he seems pleased. "Who cares about what's normal? I'll get a drink to him. What would you like?"

"Um, whatever he prefers," you say. You figure that Jin would have a better idea about what that is than you, which is proven true by his almost instantaneous reply.

"He likes red wine, or whisky, neat. I think tonight is a whisky kind of night." He's already going through the motions of putting the drink together, and you slide him money as he begins to pour. You know nothing about Yoongi but you can't help but feel like the drink suits him— simple, classic, masculine. "Do you want me to pass on a message for you?"

"Um, you can just say that it's from someone who enjoyed the music, I guess?" You giggle a little, feeling awkward and off balance. Jin is looking at you like he's expecting you to say something else, but you just want to express your enjoyment of Yoongi's music and nothing more. You don't— you don't want to be weird, you just like the sound of his piano playing.

Jin disappears into the back with the glass of whisky, and you finish the watery remnants of your drink before you leave, ice cubes completely melted in the— wow— forty minutes that Yoongi had been playing. It hadn't felt that long at all.

It's not until you're stepping through your front door that you realise you haven't looked at your phone since before the beginning of Yoongi's set. Jimin's messages have been changing from apologetic to concerned to downright frantic.

jiminnie Y/N BLINK TWICE IF YOU NEED HELP

you how many times should i blink if i don't need help?

jiminnie omg you're ALIVE where were you?? i was starting to get worried

you sorry i got distracted! but i'm fine, i'm at home hoseok never showed

jiminnie yeah i know :(( he messaged me saying he had an emergency and couldn't make it tonight but he's free this weekend??

you … remember when i said that this was the last blind date i was going to go on?

jiminnie it doesn't count as a date if hyung never turned up!!!

you that isn't true and you know it omg minnie… i appreciate what you're trying to do but pls bb. let it rest

jiminnie i just want you to be happy :((

you i don't have to be in a relationship to be happy

jiminnie you said you were lonely!

you omg i was DRUNK let it GO besides being stood up by multiple blind dates isn't going to help me feel less lonely lmao i get that you're happy in your relationship with kookie and you want to spread that happiness but you don't have to!! i'm fine!! yeah i get lonely sometimes but what single person doesn't?? i'm happy being by myself hhhhh

jiminnie fine :(( but if you change your mind, hobi-hyung would still love to meet you!

As you kick off your heels, humming a bar of Yoongi's music to yourself, you think that Hoseok probably shouldn't bother holding his breath.

(That night, when you sleep, you dream of dark eyes and the press of a sinfully perfect cupid's bow against your own lips, a pair of large hands drawing noises from you like a glissando, rings cool against your heated skin.)

–

Wednesday nights become a ritual of sorts. You get dressed, do your hair, match your makeup to your outfit and shoes, coordinating your look into something that doesn't look out of place in Dionysus before you hop into a taxi and make your way to the bar.

You're a firm regular by now. Your seat has become just that, your seat, the same one you'd been sitting in the first time you'd been there; it's towards the dimmer lights at the back and so you're sitting further away from the stage than you might like, but at least you can see the whole room from here. You turn up twenty minutes before Yoongi's set and Jin always greets you warmly when he sees you: you've quickly come to enjoy your chats. Jin is always unashamedly himself and the two of you joke and laugh as he works, but he always knows to leave you alone as soon as Yoongi steps onto the stage.

For the next forty minutes the rest of the world fades away as you drink Yoongi and his music in, listen to the lilting notes he coaxes out of the piano, watch how his fingers rest on each key before he slides into his next piece, reverent.

You never ever explicitly mention Yoongi in your conversations with Jin, though. The bartender seems to bring the musician up anyway; he does it smoothly, in a way that's utterly casual, and he seems to know a surprising amount about someone who is, by all accounts, a very private person. (You're not complaining about the fact that you now know that Yoongi wears Kumamon slippers because his feet get cold easily— "he's cold blooded, like a lizard," apparently— but you do wonder how Jin knows that.)

The Yoongi that Jin describes is just as beautiful as the man you see on stage, but less mysterious, less distant— and yet he still intimidates you.

Jin might be his friend but to you Yoongi is unapproachable. Untouchable. To him you're just a nameless face in the audience, nothing more. His eyes will slide across the room before he starts his performance, but he never seems to notice you; it's no surprise, sitting where you do, in an area of relative darkness in comparison to the rest of the bar, and once he sits down he only looks at the piano under his hands. He has no eyes for anything else. You're far enough away and his lashes are cast so low that even when his eyes are open it's hard for you to see where he's looking, and the shadow of his fringe hides how his pupils scan his hands as he plays, anyway.

Every week, when the set draws to a close, Jin is already pouring Yoongi's whisky or wine and you slide him the exact amount of change. Every week, Jin asks if you want to pass on a message, and every week, you say the same thing: that it's from someone who enjoyed the music. And that's that. Jin will disappear to give Yoongi his drink and you'll finish your own drink in quiet solitude before you slide off your barstool to go home.

(The only thing that's changed over the weeks is that the music Yoongi plays seems to be a little lighter and— dare you say— happier? He still looks down at the piano with the same intensity, still lays his hands on the keys with the same delicate pressing weight before he begins to play— but with some songs he seems to be teasing the music out, flirting with each note, eyelashes fluttering as he lifts his chin and moves his hands.

You're not a musician by any means, so you don't know how to describe it with any sort of accuracy or terminology, but to you it's like the deep waters of Yoongi's music have been cut through with light, beams of sun rippling through the dark blue. You don't know what's caused this change, the slow uplift in his mood throughout the weeks, but you hope he manages to keep hold of it, whatever it is.)

Between work and studying and volunteering and making time to see friends, you don't often have time entirely to yourself, and so Wednesday nights are a rare moment of peace during your otherwise busy week. That's why when Jimin says that he's had to rearrange your weekly film night to Wednesday— because he and Jungkook are going down to Busan to see each other's families this weekend— you decline.

Jimin is rendered speechless and demands to know why.

"I'm busy," is your answer. Jimin doesn't buy it.

"You're never too busy for movie night," he says. "Wednesday is the only night we're all free."

"Well, I'm not free, Minnie. Sorry," you say. His head is in your lap, your fingers gently stroking his hair, and you can easily see the way his face contorts with disbelief as he stares up at you.

"Do you hear that, babe? Y/n is too busy for our weekly tradition." Jimin sounds scandalised.

Jimin is stretched out between the two of you— while his head is in your lap, his feet are in Jungkook's, the younger man idly massaging his boyfriend's ankles and feet. "Yes, babe, I heard," Jungkook says, indulgent.

"What's more important than movie night?" Jimin lifts one of his legs and Jungkook turns his attention to that one, digging his fingers into the arch of Jimin's foot. Jimin sighs in relief, but then turns the full force of his stare back at you. "We were going to watch Spirited Away. You love Spirited Away."

"I'm just busy," you say, and that had been your mistake. You should have had some sort of credible reason but you hadn't been prepared, and while he hadn't made it obvious at the time, Jimin had latched onto your vague excuse, sniffing out weakness like a shark with blood in the water. If you'd been paying attention you'd have noticed, but you hadn't paid attention and so you hadn't noticed. (Whoops.)

And so, Wednesday night that week is the same as always; Yoongi plays his music, you fall a little bit more in love, and pass your compliments to him with Jin as the mouthpiece. You go home, wash your makeup off, and arch into the touch of your own hand while imagining it's someone else's fingers sliding across your skin. Routine. Normal. Uninterrupted. Peaceful.

The next week, however, it all goes to shit.

Okay. Maybe that's a little dramatic. It's not as bad as all that. The night starts as normal: you're on your stool, and you have your drink, and you have ten minutes until Yoongi is due to play, shifting to get comfortable, crossing your legs.

But then:

"Oh my God, you're wearing your come fuck me heels," comes Jimin's voice from behind you, and your blood turns to ice.

You turn on the barstool so fast you almost fall off it. You come face to face with Jimin who has an expression of what can only be described as sheer delight on his face. He's even dressed appropriately for the bar, a silk shirt tucked into his Very Tight jeans and a subtle smoky eye to top it off; Jungkook looks nice, too, but you have no doubt that he's only here under sufferance, if the infinitely apologetic look on his face is anything to go by.

"Jimin?" Your voice comes out as a hiss. If you were a cat your back would be up and your hackles would be raised and all your fur would be on end, your entire body going into fight mode. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see for myself what was more important than movie night," Jimin says simply, like it's obvious. "So here we are."

"Sorry, Y/n," Jungkook apologises from over his boyfriend's shoulder. Jimin ignores him.

You can feel how your face is starting to flush, your skin crawling with embarrassment. You change your outfit every week and your friends have managed to turn up on the one week where you've cycled into what could probably be considered your most promiscuous one, the hem of your dress high and the cut of it low, along with shoes that Jimin had rightfully named as your Come Fuck Me heels. It wasn't because you were trying to seduce anyone but you only have so many items in your wardrobe that are appropriate for Dionysus.

"How did you find me?"

"I have my ways," Jimin says mysteriously.

"He stalked your Bitmoji on Snapchat. Ow." Jungkook pouts as Jimin slaps his arm. "Sorry, again. I said we should leave you alone but Jimin said we should check in case you'd been kidnapped because you never willingly go into bars."

You're interrupted by Jin, who'd been busy serving someone when your idiot friends had turned up; he leans across the bar and touches your shoulder and fixes Jimin and Jungkook with the most intimidating look you've ever seen on his face. You know Jin as a light-hearted pun master, harmless and goofy and approachable, a great friend— but right now he looks like some sort of beautiful guardian angel, broad shouldered and narrow eyed and honestly, pretty menacing.

"Are you alright?" He keeps his eyes on the other two men as he speaks. "Are these guys bothering you?"

Jimin, rather than looking cowed, looks like he's reached a stage of absolute euphoria, eyes darting between Jin's hand on your shoulder to your face. Jungkook's face, meanwhile, is doing that thing it does whenever someone issues him some kind of challenge, his sweetness abruptly being swallowed by his competitive side and his stubborn refusal to lose anything. You're the only person who has the power to save this situation before it goes absolutely tits up, and you swallow down a resigned sigh.

"I'm fine, thank you, Jin," you say, looking at him with a smile as you pat the hand on your shoulder. "Unfortunately these guys are my friends, much to my infinite suffering. Well, Jungkook's alright. Jimin is the one who's the pain."

"Hey," Jimin whines. Jungkook looks quietly pleased, but pretends to scowl when Jimin looks at him, offended on his boyfriend's behalf.

Jin still seems unhappy but pulls his hand back. "Alright," he says, but then he pitches his voice low so that only you can hear: "If you need any help, just ask me for a rum and soda, okay?"

You always order mocktails whenever you're here, wanting to stay completely sober so that you can enjoy Yoongi's playing with all the attention it deserves. You've never asked for anything alcoholic, least of all a rum and soda. Although you really are okay, you can't help but be warmed by Jin's concern for you and how he's offering you this careful, considerate lifeline in case you need it. "I will do. Thanks, Jinnie."

He smiles at you and then gives Jungkook and Jimin one final frown before going to deal with a gaggle of customers who've gathered at the other end of the bar. While Jungkook remains standing, taking in the interior of the bar with wide eyes, Jimin slides onto the stool next to yours.

"He's fucking hot," Jimin says with no preamble, eyeing Jin without shame as the bartender starts to pour and mix different drinks. Jungkook makes a disgruntled noise but settles when Jimin pats him fondly on the butt. "I'm not surprised you're wearing those heels. I would too if I were you."

"Oh my God, Jimin." You hide your face in your hands. "Jin is just a friend, please don't make this weird."

"Come on, Y/n, it's okay," Jimin says reassuringly as he pats your shoulder, replacing Jin's touch with his own. "The blind dates might not have worked out, but you've met someone nice so that's good! I mean, you did meet him because I organised the date here in the first place, but I'll let that slide. Also I can't believe you missed movie night because of a boy and you didn't tell me, but I'll let that slide too because I love you."

Park Jimin is your best friend. Park Jimin meddles in your life despite your protestations and isn't beyond being passive aggressive to get his way, but Park Jimin is also one of the nicest people you know and everything he does is because he loves you and will do whatever he thinks is necessary to reach his end goal of making you happy. He's magnanimous and kind and caring, and he also has absolutely the wrong idea right now, clearly under the impression that you're attracted to Seokjin and have been flirting with him for however many weeks it's been since you were meant to meet Hoseok here.

"No, seriously, Jimin, it's not Jin." You look at Jimin through the gaps in your fingers. "He's cute, yeah, but I don't come here because of him."

Your friend looks genuinely baffled, hand stilling on your shoulder. "Then why are you here?"

And, with perfect timing— as if your life is some badly written film or romantic drama— the clock ticks over to 8pm and Yoongi steps onto the stage. His hair is dark, blond replaced with black a few weeks ago, though it's still long enough that it hangs in his eyes; he looks a little ragged around the edges, a little messy, a little tired, and altogether beautiful. You want to touch the coolness of your fingertips to the dark circles under his eyes, want to press kisses across each of his bony knuckles, want to let your tongue settle in the hollow of his neck that shows each time he leans back and tilts his head up just so.

You hadn't even meant to but you'd turned away from Jimin the second you'd heard piano notes begin to play, drawn in by the sound like a moth to a flame. Jimin's hand falls off your shoulder and you hear him breathe out a quiet oh of realisation. You tear your eyes away from the sight of Yoongi at the piano and turn on your stool to face the bar again, gripping your glass with both hands, shoulders hunched.

"I like to watch him play," you say, and your voice is near a whisper, so as not to detract from the music.

"It's beautiful," Jungkook says, speaking before Jimin can say anything. His voice is quiet, too, not wanting to break over the sound of the piano.

And so you hear with absolute clarity as Yoongi shifts mid-song into something different and it startles you. Yoongi always varies his music, always has something new, but you've been here often enough that you had recognised the opening song— it was one of your favourites— and you know that he's cut himself off before finishing, soft melody jumping into the opening bars of something different, sharper, a little angry, maybe sorrowful. Something that pulls at you and demands your attention.

Of course you give it to him. You swing your head away from your drink to watch him once more, watch how his motions have changed, the way he surges forward and presses his weight into his arms and down into his hands, his fingertips, the keys. You turn your entire body at this point, settling in your usual position for when you watch Yoongi; you see how his head tilts and he shifts from a minor into a major key, the same notes and chords transformed from something pensive into something joyful as he leans away from the heavier hands he'd been forcing the keys down with.

"How long does this go on for?" Jimin asks.

"About thirty or forty minutes," you answer. Though you turn your head back over your shoulder so that Jimin can hear you, you keep your eyes fixed on Yoongi. It's probably entirely coincidental, the sudden change in his music coinciding with when you turned away from him and when you looked back. He's not playing for you, he's playing for the whole bar, and besides, he's been looking down at the piano the whole time. He hasn't been looking at you.

And yet. The idea that Yoongi has noticed you and wants you to watch him has something hot settling low in your belly.

Jimin leans forward so that his chin is on your shoulder, talking directly into your ear as his hands wrap around your waist from behind. "This is the guy?"

Yoongi finishes the song and you watch in captivation as he swallows and runs a hand through his hair before he starts the next one. He's never done that before. Fuck. "Yes. Yoongi's the guy."

"Do you wait until he's finished so you can speak with him?" Jimin asks, ever curious.

You pause. "No," you admit. "No, I've never actually spoken to him."

Jimin doesn't ask why you've been coming back to see a guy you don't know and haven't talked to. He just hums gently. Jimin is pushy but he's also understanding and empathetic and knows what to say, when to press forward and when to hold back. It's one of the reasons you love him so much.

Jimin lapses into silence as Yoongi starts the next piece. It's one you haven't heard before and it's a little fiercer than most of Yoongi's recent songs. Rather than each note sliding into the next, he hammers them out separately, each note a statement that builds into something larger, a provocation. A storm gathering above Yoongi's waters, threatening to pull you in, pull you under.

Behind you, you hear Jungkook and Jimin briefly murmuring to each other, then Jimin's hands slide from off your waist and you hear the sound of him shifting so that Jungkook can sit down, Jimin using his boyfriend's lap as a chair instead. You have to wonder if the barstools can actually support that kind of weight, but Jin doesn't come over to tell them off, so you figure it must be okay.

On stage, Yoongi's hands pause, an uncharacteristic caesura that breaks the flow of the notes he'd been stringing together before he resumes playing as if this hiccup had never occurred. To anyone else, it would sound like that break was meant to be there, but you know better. You know Yoongi had faltered.

No way.

No way?

He's paying attention to you.

(Oh, shit.)

No way.

You're suddenly so overwhelmed that you actually feel nauseous. You've been consumed with thoughts of Yoongi for weeks, had images of him playing you just as easily as he does that piano, thoughts of him laying you out bare beneath him, but the idea that Yoongi actually knows who you are? Is aware of you on some level? Wants your eyes on him?

Fuck.

It's too much.

You're already off kilter from Jimin and Jungkook's arrival— as harmless as their appearance was meant to be— and this is the cherry on top. You don't know if you can keep your composure right now and you need to get away from Yoongi before you end up walking onto the stage and pulling him off that stupid piano stool to show him exactly how much you enjoy his music.

"Jimin? Jungkook? How about you say we go to a club and get absolutely shitfaced?"

You haven't looked away from Yoongi in the time that you've said this, but you can just feel the confusion emanating from the men behind you.

"But you—"

"I thought—"

"We're already dressed up, aren't we? Besides, I still owe you for film night, so drinks are on me."

There's little argument from them after that. For the first time since you've been coming here you leave before Yoongi's set is done, slipping out of the bar without noticing Jin's confused gaze on you.

It's not until much later, once you've drunkenly fallen onto Jimin and Jungkook's couch, that the sober part of your brain whispers to you: you didn't buy Yoongi his drink.

(That night you dream of stormy skies and tattered sails and a capsizing ship. Once you wake, the memory of the dream quickly leaves you, and the last thing you remember is the sight of someone reaching towards you, pulling you out of the water, skin pale and head ringed with blond hair, a halo— and then you forget that too, slipping through your fingers like quicksand.)

–

Of course you go back to Dionysus the next week. You make Jimin promise that he won't turn up without warning again, and then you make Jungkook promise that he'll at least send you a heads-up message if Jimin changes his mind. Despite both these promises, after the debacle last week with your outfit, you've actually bought new clothes, so at least today you don't feel as scandalous. (You still look hot, though.)

You're grateful when Jin doesn't press you for details or ask why you left early last week. He just greets you like he normally does and predicts your order with his usual aptitude, and as you stir your drink with your straw, you have to wonder at what happened. You're probably overreacting, overthinking things, grasping at nothing; there is not a chance in hell that Min Yoongi, reclusive piano savant, has noticed you. No way. Nuh-uh.

He's probably only aware of your existence because of the repeated drinks you've had Jin foist on him. If anything he's probably annoyed at you after not tipping him with last week— he's probably come to expect them by now and you'd forced him to miss out. Maybe you'll get Jin to give him two drinks this week? Ooh, then again, maybe not. Is two shots of whisky a lot? People drink doubles, don't they. How strong is the wine he likes, anyway?

Yoongi's appearance on stage pulls you out of your thoughts. He makes his way up the steps, towards the piano, scans the room— and then for the first time since you've been coming here to watch him, he stops.

He stops because he's looking at you.

It's only for the briefest moment, eyes resting on you for maybe five seconds, and then you breathlessly watch as his mouth twists into something that can only be described as a smirk, pleased at the sight of you.

Oh, God.

He looks away and sits at the piano like he normally does, but you would swear that his back is a little straighter— something in his posture that reads as cockiness, even. He launches into a song that starts light but then almost immediately dances into something flirtatious, seductive, and tonight whenever Yoongi glances at you, he makes sure that you know. He turns his head just so, looks at you through the curve of his lashes, each touch of those dark eyes against your own sending little shivers through you, punching the breath out of your lungs.

You've always been entranced by Yoongi and tonight is no different. The minutes slide by as easy as water, liquid, music gliding over you like the rising tide, kissing your skin like the ebb and flow of the waves. It feels like he's barely started when his set is over and he's finished, standing up with as little ostentation as always before he vanishes off the stage.

You already have the money counted out before Jin has made his way over. You slide it towards him as he pours the whisky, but rather than asking if you have a message to pass to Yoongi, a look of consternation passes over his face.

"The price has gone up," Jin says, and you blink.

"Oh, that's no problem. How much is it now?" You're reaching for your purse to get more money out when Jin puts the whisky on the bar in front of you.

"No, don't worry, I'll just go out back and get the right change for you," he says. He says it with such confidence that it takes you a beat too long to realise that what he's just said makes no sense— why is he getting you change if you haven't even given him enough money? Isn’t there change in the till?— but by this point he's already gone, the staff door swinging shut behind him.

You tilt your head, beyond confused.

Someone chuckles from behind you, the sound quiet and low. "Ah, cute."

You twist in your seat to see who's talking and then freeze. Yoongi is standing right there, looking at you with his dark, dark eyes; it's the first time you've been subjected to the full intensity of his gaze, from this close, and your pulse picks up. He looks a little softer without the lights of the small stage throwing him into sharp relief but his aura is just as intense; your eyes dart across each feature of his face as you drink him in— the mess of his fringe hanging into his sharp eyes, the faintest freckle on his nose, his surprisingly cute cheeks, his pink mouth.

The mouth that's curving into a sly little smile, now, your eyes flying back up to meet his own.

"I'm guessing this is for me?" He points at the whisky. He takes it before you can answer, and there's something unfairly erotic about how he drinks it: the way he holds the glass, swirling the whisky over the chilled rocks inside; the way his mouth falls open as the tumbler touches his lips; the way his head tilts back as he lets the liquor flow into his mouth, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

You shamelessly watch him the whole time. He lowers the glass from his lips, still a little parted as he takes a breath in, and then he's looking back at you. You have to bite back a noise that's risen up in your throat, unbidden. Does he know how much he affects you?

You adjust your position on the barstool, thoughtlessly uncrossing and recrossing your legs as you regain your balance. Yoongi's eyes fly down to watch the motion and you're close enough to him that you see how his pupils dilate at the movement. A breath escapes your mouth, a little pant of air that you desperately mask as a cough as you try to calm the racing of your heart, the flood of arousal that's pulsing through you.

"I'm glad you like the whisky," you say, your voice steady despite how your legs feel like they're about to give out. (Thank god you're sitting down.) "I'm sorry to have deprived you of it last week."

Yoongi's shifted so that he's leaning against the bar. He's standing while you're still sitting and you have to tilt your head back to look at him. "You did seem like you were in an awful hurry," he says, a teasing lilt to his tone, and yet his voice is still so low, deeper than you'd imagined.

Despite the levity in his words there's something heavy in his gaze. "Oh?" You can't help but react to it, helpless and unable to resist. "You noticed me leaving?"

Yoongi's eyes sharpen. Hooked. "Of course," he says. "You're the only thing I pay attention to when I'm here. You have been from the first night you walked in."

Your breath catches in your throat. You hadn't expected Yoongi to say something so forthright, to be so direct, more used to coy flirtation from the other people you've met in the past; it's like you've been dipped in cold water, a shock to the system, bracing and invigorating and refreshing.

"Oh," you say, at a loss with how to respond. Yoongi seems pleased to have gotten this reaction out of you, the corners of his lips curving upwards in a self satisfied smile.

"Besides," he adds, "I find it flattering that not only do you come here every week to watch me, you always make sure to make your appreciation known, too." He lifts the glass up and takes another drink, but this time he keeps his eyes locked on yours as he does, gaze unwavering as he finishes his drink. The rocks tumble over themselves as he sets the glass down on the bar, lower lip wet with a drop of whisky that lingers; his tongue sweeps across it and leaves a sheen, catching the light, shining. You can't tear your eyes away from the sight. "It would have been hard to ignore that even if I'd wanted to."

A shiver trickles down your spine. You'd really only ever meant it as a compliment, a quiet way to express your admiration about his craft, and you have to ask— "How long have you been playing the piano?"

This question seems to throw Yoongi off kilter. You see the way his lashes flutter as he blinks with surprise. "For as long as I can remember," he says, and then a small smile appears on his lips. "When I was young I had a toy piano that I constantly used to hammer at, so when I grew up a little, my parents bought the real thing so that I could learn how to play."

He sounds nostalgic and your heart squeezes in your chest. "You're self-taught, right?" You ask, remembering something Jin had told you before.

Yoongi looks briefly startled. "Yes, I am," he says, and then his eyes narrow. "Did Jin tell you that?"

"Um, yeah." You squirm a little on the barstool. "Sorry, should I not have said anything about it?"

"No, no, you're okay. It's just that Jin says a lot of things, and I'm just wondering what else he said to you." Yoongi's tone is weirdly pained.

The concern is obvious on his face, and you wonder if Jin is to Yoongi what Jimin is to you— well-meaning but maybe a little overwhelming in their approach.

"All good things, I promise. I love dogs, too." You smile up at Yoongi, who seems a little taken aback, and the smile starts to drop off your face. "Um. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." For all that Yoongi was smirking earlier, he seems a little unsure now. You feel confused, waiting as Yoongi clearly turns some thoughts over in his head, and then he says: "What exactly has Jin told you?"

You smile. You recognise that tone, the nonchalance that hides a little worry— it's exactly how you sound whenever you find out that Jimin has been speaking to someone about you, even if it's always positively. "Oh, just bits and pieces," you say. Feeling bold, you pat the barstool next to you, tilting your head invitingly. "Why don't you tell me about yourself instead so we can see if Jin was lying to me?"

Yoongi looks genuinely startled, his eyes widening imperceptibly before the expression wipes off his face as if nothing had happened. "Why not," he says, as if in equal parts to himself and to you, before he takes a seat.

Here's what you learn about Yoongi: he's intense, yes, and soft spoken, but as you continue to talk, he begins to loosen up, bit by bit. When he laughs he smiles so wide that his eyes squeeze shut and you can see his gums and you're so fucking endeared at the sight. He's sharp and smart and witty and just so, so intriguing.

You prop your elbow on the bar and rest your cheek in your hand as he talks, wanting to take everything in, and you rapidly realise that Min Yoongi is less of an enigma than you'd thought, but just as complex as you'd expected— and you want to unravel that complexity. If he'll let you.

You've been talking for so long that the bar has started to empty out, patrons trickling away, the two of you so engrossed with each other that you barely notice. You find out that Jin and Yoongi are actually roommates, best friends, and that Jin is as chaotic as you'd expect and is also very good at drawing Yoongi into his shenanigans; you throw your head back to laugh at one of his stories, and when you catch your breath you find Yoongi looking at you, watching you with an expression on his face that makes you pause. He's been watching you intently all night, listening quietly whenever you talk, but this expression, this is new. He swallows.

"Can I ask something?"

You blink. "Sure, go ahead."

"Why did you keep coming back?" Yoongi asks, and that's not a question you'd been expecting at all.

"Uh," you say eloquently. "Well. Honestly? I couldn't stay away, I guess. I'm not really a musician, and I don't know a lot about the piano, but there's something in your music and the way you play— every song makes me feel something different and new, or reminds me of something I haven't felt, places I haven't been to, but I feel like I know somehow. Like I'm nostalgic for something that I haven't experienced, that doesn't exist. It's almost like you're taking my hand and showing me around some hidden part of the world that only you can see— like you've made it into music because that's the only way you can communicate it. How could I not come back after that?" You pause. "Um. Does that make sense? I feel like it didn't. Sorry?"

Yoongi's been watching you as you've been talking, silent, and by the time you've finished his mouth has fallen open a little. He stares at you for a few moments longer, and then he says: "Holy shit." And then he says: "Oh my God." And then he says: "What the fuck."

"… I guess it didn't make sense, then?" Despite the ease of your earlier conversation you suddenly feel awkward, laughing a little as your legs uncross so that you can shuffle to the edge of your barstool. Ready to hop up and make a quick get away if you need to. Run away from the embarrassment. "Um."

"Y/n," Yoongi says, and you realise with a start that you haven't introduced yourself to him throughout your whole conversation— Jin must have told him your name— but then he keeps talking. "I thought you just— I don't know, that you just kept coming back because of me. Not the music. Then Jin kept talking about you and—"

He makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat and runs a hand through his hair; you stare at his bared forehead, and it says about how attracted you are to him that the sight of his forehead is enough to set your heart racing. "I thought that maybe if I let this happen just one time that it would be enough, but now I don't think it will."

"Yoongi." You're confused, unsure if you've correctly understood what he's just said. "Let what happen one time? What are you talking about?"

"Touching you," Yoongi says. "Fucking you." His voice is a rasp and the sound of it, the sound of his words, shoots straight through you and into your core. "I thought the drinks were— I don't know, an invitation. But they weren't, were they? You really meant it. You really like my music. And me."

Yoongi's voice is hoarse and you come to the realisation that he feels tense. Like he can accept that you want to have sex with him, but he's bowled over by the idea that you're attracted to the other parts, too, as few of those as you know. That you genuinely enjoy what he plays. That you think it's the most beautiful sound you've ever heard.

"Yoongi," you say, tone deceptively gentle. "I really, really like your music, and I think you're an incredibly talented musician, and I've been memorising everything Jin's been telling me about you because I think you're one of the most interesting people I've ever come across and I'd really like to get to know more about you. So I'm really glad to have had the opportunity to talk to you like this." You gesture between the two of you, sitting as you are, facing towards each other on your barstools. And then you brace yourself to take the leap, to throw yourself into uncharted waters. "However, I am also insanely attracted to you and I've spent the past I-don't-know-how-many weeks picturing you bending me over that piano and fucking me so hard that I can't walk straight."

Yoongi freezes in the middle of rubbing the back of his neck, a clearly nervous habit. Though your voice has kept steady while you've been talking, your heart has been thrumming in your chest the whole time, feeling as nervous as Yoongi looks. Something flickers across his face, and his hand drops away from his neck as he straightens, pushing himself off from where he's been leaning against the bar.

"Oh?" He leans towards you. Your legs unthinkingly part as he moves, the material of your dress hitching up as you spread your knees so that he can get closer. "So you do want me to fuck you?"

His nervousness seems to be entirely gone, emboldened by your words. One of his hands comes up to cup the back of your head, fingers sliding into your hair as he holds you in place, at his mercy. He's barely touched you but the feeling of contact makes you bite back a whimper. Even though it's darker here and you're away from the tables, away from the few remaining patrons of the bar, the two of you are in plain sight even under the dimmed lights; you're not doing anything illicit or inappropriate but a little thrill trickles down your spine at the idea.

"Yoongi," you breathe.

"What is it, babygirl?" He tips his head down as he moves closer, his nose brushing yours, each of his words a warm curl across your lips. "Tell me."

The pet name sends a shiver through you. Your hands rise from your lap, sliding over his chest to touch lightly at his neck, a little shy, a little bold. "I want you to kiss me."

"Oh?" Yoongi's mouth is so close to yours, and when you tilt forward to kiss him, he stays just out of your reach, leaving you wanting. "You think you deserve a kiss, do you?"

You can't help but make a little noise, a petulant whine at the back of your throat. He has you entirely at his mercy and he knows it. "Please," you say. "Please, Yoongi, wanna kiss you so bad."

The smile he gives you in reply is wicked. "How can I say no when you've asked so politely?"

Yoongi finally, finally dips his head down and then he's kissing you with such intensity it steals the breath out of you. It's open-mouthed and wet and dirty, his tongue sliding into your mouth in between taking your top and bottom lips between his own, alternating, sucking on them and lapping at them with his tongue. You chase after his mouth with your own, roll your tongues together, hands sliding over the smooth skin of his throat as they circle behind his neck, but then Yoongi pulls away; you bite that needy whine back again, kiss cut short far sooner than you would have liked.

Yoongi is taking the sight of you in, eyes lingering on your shining lips, and then he's rising to stand. You're shaken out of your kiss-induced haze when he does, a little confused, but he takes your hand in his and you let him lift up, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to the back of your knuckles.

"Do you want to get out of here?" His voice is pitched low, deep with a promise of pleasure to come, and you shiver.

"God, I thought you'd never ask," you say in a rush, and he just laughs quietly at your obvious desperation.

"Come on, then." He helps you off the barstool, your hand still in his— god, his hands are so big and his touch is so warm. His eyes are dark as he watches the way you reach to rearrange the hem of your dress with your free hand, but he beats you to it, palm flattening the material against your legs; his fingers dance just under the edge as he straightens it, hand sliding over the skin of your inner thigh and lingering before he pulls away.

"You're shameless," you say, a little breathless, and Yoongi just smirks at you. Tease.

Your fingers remain tangled with his as he leads you behind the bar and through the staff door. Jin's out back, scrolling through something on his phone, but as soon as you walk in he abandons whatever he's doing and raises his eyebrows. He looks surprisingly severe. "Customers aren't allowed back here."

Your eyes widen, but then Jin's serious expression cracks and he starts to laugh. Although he's joking and clearly doesn't care, you feel a little guilty at breaking the rules and duck behind Yoongi, shy. Yoongi snorts and holds a middle finger up at the bartender.

Jin gasps theatrically, clutching his chest while looking askance. "I raise you from birth and this is the thanks I get?"

"You're one year older than me, hyung."

"I carry you in my womb for nine months and birth you into this world and you— oh, okay, you technically shouldn't be doing that either," Jin says, stopping mid-sentence as Yoongi decides his hyung has been talking for too long and turns away from him to start kissing you again, shameless as he tugs you close to him and licks into your mouth; you immediately fall back into him, unable to resist. "Jesus Christ, Yoongi."

Once you part, you bury your head into Yoongi's chest as his arms come around you, hiding your embarrassment in Yoongi's dress shirt. "Sorry, Jinnie," you say, muffled.

"You are absolutely not to blame here, Y/n, you are an angel and a sweetheart." Jin's tone is soothing. "Yoongi, however, is a tiny evil gremlin who needs to learn how to control himself. Though I can't blame him, you are very cute."

"Hyung, I need the apartment tonight," Yoongi says without preamble. You wriggle in the circle of his arms. You're not normally this timid but Yoongi is just so direct and blasé with Jin that you can't help but feel a little shy, as hot and bothered as you are.

"I'll crash at Joon's," the bartender says. He’s obviously not surprised. You lift your head from Yoongi's chest to look at Jin and find that he's smiling at you. "If Yoongi starts to bother you, just whap him on the nose. I find a rolled up newspaper works best if you have one to hand."

"I'll kill you, Kim Seokjin," Yoongi says.

Jin just laughs as he waves the two of you off and you take the initiative to start pulling Yoongi towards the back door. He comes easily, but once the door has swung shut behind you he takes the lead again and guides you towards his car. He lets go of your hand so that he can unlock it, swinging the passenger door open for you, and he's unabashed in how he watches you step in and eyes the way your dress hitches up again as you slide into your seat; he leans against the car and just stares at you.

There's honestly nothing sexier when someone clearly wants you as much as you want them. It makes you feel bold, drunk on the way he looks at you.

You glance up at him through your lashes. "The sooner we get to yours, the sooner you can have me," you say.

Yoongi curses under his breath. "You're going to be the death of me."

Surprisingly enough, though, he keeps his hands to himself when he gets behind the wheel. You can't help but feel a little surprised; you don't know how close Yoongi's home is to the bar, but you very rapidly tire of waiting to feel his hands on you again and so you lean over the centre console and press a fleeting kiss just behind his ear.

Yoongi doesn't outwardly react, continuing to stare at the road, so you take this as a challenge. You slide one of your hands onto his thigh— for balance, of course— and kiss behind his ear again, tug his lobe with your teeth, mindful of his piercings, and then proceed to trail little kisses down his neck and the little slither of his collarbone that you can reach without his shirt getting in the way. You finally get to lick your tongue in the hollow of his neck that you've been thinking about for weeks.

Yoongi's hands tighten on the steering wheel. Jackpot.

"Y/n," he says, voice low, and you're so close to his throat that you can hear the rumble behind his words. You love it. "You should stop now, or we're not going to make it to my apartment."

You go still. Yoongi continues to look at the road but his knuckles are white with how hard he's gripping the wheel, and when you glance down you can see how much you've affected him, cock hardening in his slacks. It would be so easy to slide your hand up his thigh and finally touch him, have him pull over and wreck you, but you want something more than a quick fumble in the seat of a car.

So you just press your lips lightly against the line of his jaw one last time. You let yourself breathe in the dark scent of his cologne— pinewood and pepper and something deeper— before you pull back, folding your hands in your lap demurely, trying to force yourself to be content with waiting.

"Good girl," Yoongi says. You can't help but preen; you don't normally respond to praise like this, but something about Yoongi just makes you want to please him, hear him compliment you again. Yoongi glances at you, a little flicker of realisation as he sees how you've just reacted to his words, and his eyes darken. "You like that, baby? Like being a good girl for me?"

Fuck. "Yes." Your pulse is rising. You've been craving Yoongi for weeks, but god, if he asked you to go home right now, sent you home without touching you, you'd go, just to hear him call you a good girl again. But you don't want him to leave you untouched, you don't want that at all. "I want you to touch me, Yoongi," you say. "I'll be a good girl, please just touch me."

"Fuck." Yoongi's foot presses down on the accelerator. He's never wanted to live closer to the bar before, but the sight of you staring at him from his passenger seat and rubbing your thighs together in a desperate attempt to give yourself some relief is making him rethink his housing location. "I will, baby. We'll be there soon."

Soon turns out to be less than five minutes, scarcely any time at all, though each second is torturous in how long it feels. Yoongi's careless in how he parks the car, wonky within the lines of his spot, but neither of you notice or care. You fumble with the buckle of your belt, climbing out of the car as quickly as you can and slamming the door shut with more power than you probably need to, noise loud in the quiet of the night.

Before you can react, however, Yoongi is rounding the car and grabbing you, pressing you against the metal and glass of the door. One of his hands slips under your thigh, lifting your leg and shoving the hem of your dress out of the way so that he can grind against you; you gasp at the feeling of his growing hardness against the dampness of your underwear, and Yoongi leans forward to swallow the sound into his mouth.

The kiss is rushed and desperate, but you love the messiness of it. Yoongi pulls away to press his lips against the side of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, your neck, mouthing at the jumping pulse he finds there. You start to make small ah-ah noises when he laves his tongue over it, one of your hands tangling in his hair as you tilt your head back, each of his touches fizzing like electricity on your skin.

"P-people could see," you stutter, struggling to catch your breath with how good his mouth feels on you.

Yoongi smirks against your skin. "I thought you wanted me to touch you," he says, but immediately relents, pulling away from you so he can lead you into the building. You miss the heat of his body against yours but he keeps hold of your hand as you follow him; it's late and the building seems quiet, so you're mindful of just how loud your high heels sound as they clack on the floor, though Yoongi doesn't seem to care.

When you step into the apartment you reach down for the straps on your shoes so you can kick them off but Yoongi stops you with a hand to your shoulder. It's a light touch but you stop immediately, glancing up from your feet to his face.

"Let me," he says, and a hot trickle of arousal runs down your spine at the tone of his voice.

You straighten up and watch as Yoongi gets down on one knee, hands circling around your ankle and lifting your foot. You rest the toe of your shoe lightly on Yoongi's knee, watching as he undoes the strap around your ankle and slides the shoe off, setting it to one side, before he presses his lips to the inside of your knee. You shiver at the light touch and Yoongi smirks, letting your ankle go so you can move and he can take your other shoe off, too.

He barely takes his eyes off your face the whole time, only glancing down when he has to. His motions are slow and unhurried despite his earlier rush, carefully setting the second shoe next to the first, and you can't help but feel like he's teasing you— drawing out your reactions just because he can. Before you can say anything about it, though, his hands trail up from your calves to your thigh before he hitches your leg over his shoulder, one hand staying on your thigh as the other grips at your hip.

You bite back a gasp. From his angle Yoongi can see everything and he's looking up with hooded eyes, staring at the dark patch on your underwear, wet for him; his gaze trails across the lace of the lingerie you're wearing, the small colourful flowers blooming across the dark material. It was something you'd put on to complete your outfit, the matching panties and bra making you feel expensive and pretty— even if you hadn't expected anyone to see it.

"Look at you," he says, hand lowering from your hip to trace lightly across your slit; it's a barely-there touch, sensation dulled by the material in the way, but you still jolt at the feeling of it. "Did you wear this for me?"

"Of course," you confess. You've wanted his eyes on you for so long. "Always dress up pretty for you."

"Fuck." He sounds reverent. "You've always been such a good girl for me, haven't you?"

A needy noise rises unbidden at the back of your throat when Yoongi spreads your leg wider and leans forward to mouth at you through the lace of your panties. Your knees go weak and you have to lean back against the wall for balance, grateful at how close you are to it when Yoongi draws his tongue upwards, wetting the fabric, your toes curling.

"Yoongi." One of your hands is resting in his hair and you can't stop your grip from tightening. "Yoongi, please."

He gives you what you want, fingers hooking into your underwear and pulling it down; he lets your leg drop so that you can step out of them, but as soon as you've finished he throws the panties to one side, one hand splaying across your stomach as the other lifts your leg again so that you’re spread open for him, immediately pressing his mouth to your clit.

"Oh!" You gasp. Yoongi seems to have tired of his teasing and is eating you out like a man starved, the slick sound of his tongue and lips filling the apartment as he laves attention on your dripping pussy, staring up at you as he drinks your reactions in. He dips his tongue into you and your hips try to buck forwards but the hand on your stomach holds you in place, firm, and you let out an embarrassingly loud keen at how good it feels to be this powerless.

You slap your free hand across your mouth and try to swallow the noise down. Yoongi frowns and stops, leaning his head back as he looks at you; his mouth is shining with evidence of your arousal, opalescent. "I want to hear you."

You bite your lip, forcing your hand away from your mouth; you don't want to be too loud, too noisy, but you want to be a good girl for Yoongi. He wants to hear you so you'll give him what he wants.

"O-okay," you breathe, and Yoongi smirks up at you; it's filthy, how he's looking at you like that while his lips are wet with you. You tilt your hips towards him, desperate to have his mouth on you again, and he immediately complies.

He's lapping at your clit when the hand on your stomach moves and slides down. You watch as he takes his tongue off you so that he can curl it around his fingers instead, before running those fingers across your lower lips to gather the slick there, wetting them even further. You roll your hips into the sensation, loving the press of his slightly rough fingers against your silken folds, wanting more, eyes wide as you watch how Yoongi's hand trails between your legs.

He puts his mouth back on your clit at the same time as he presses one of those spit slick fingers into you. You're so turned on that the initial slide in is easy, but he still takes his time; he's distracting you with the way he's sucking at your small bundle of nerves but you still feel when he presses his second finger in, longer than yours, the sensation of it even better than you'd dreamed.

He crooks his fingers and you throw your head back against the wall, dull thud barely registering over the sensation of Yoongi inside you. He sees how you react and continues to move his fingers in the same way, thrusting his fingers in and curling them as he pulls out, watching as you writhe; the pleasure inside you has been growing, the feeling building, and if Yoongi keeps doing that then you're going to cum. "I'm close," you gasp.

Yoongi responds to this by pushing a third finger inside you, rubbing his fingertips directly over your sweet spot. The stretch burns, just a little, but God, you love it. He purses his lips over your clit and flicks his tongue over it at the same time as he curls his fingers again and it undoes you; your spine arches away from the wall as you cum, ripples of pleasure sparking through your body as you tighten around Yoongi's fingers, sobbing almost deliriously at how good it feels.

Yoongi watches you the whole time, keeps his mouth on you as you ride out your high. He only moves away when you start to jolt from oversensitivity, pulling his fingers out carefully as he does. You feel empty without them inside you and you can't wait for him to fill you up with something better instead.

Yoongi holds you steady, his grip firm as you slip your leg from his shoulder and shakily push yourself off the wall. Once you've gotten your balance he stands up— his knees must hurt but he doesn't complain, too busy watching you lift his fingers to your lips, sucking them into your mouth so you can lick the taste of yourself off him.

"Jesus Christ." Yoongi stares at the way you flick your tongue across his skin, glancing at him coquettishly through your lashes. You reach out for him, hands moving towards his belt, but he shakes his head. "Bedroom," he says.

Of course you follow him. At any other time you'd be taking in the details of the apartment, the glimpses you get into the other rooms, but you're too busy looking at Yoongi to have a mind for anything else. He's been hard for so long by now that it must be driving him crazy and you want to give him what he wants. What he needs.

He swings a door open and flicks a light on. Yoongi's room is what you'd expected: neat and organised, with dark furnishings, the only mess being a few scrunched up balls of paper that have overflowed the trash-bin by his desk, which has a pile of notepads next to his laptop and a set up of musical equipment that looks far too complex for you to make heads or tails of.

You forget about this instantly, however, when Yoongi captures your lips in another kiss, a hand splaying across your jaw so that he can control the pace, crowding you towards the bed until the back of your knees make contact with it and you fall onto the mattress. Yoongi cages you in with his arms and keeps kissing you, though when you palm him through his slacks he hisses through his teeth.

"Want you, Yoongi." You use your hand to stroke over the hardness of him as you nip at his lower lip. "Please."

"Fuck, of course, babygirl." Yoongi leans back and you move with him, sitting up as he stands straight. He unbuttons his shirt and you help him slide it off his shoulders, using it as an excuse to run your hands over the pale skin he reveals to you, sliding your palms down his chest and over his stomach; you dip your head to kiss where your hands have traced, letting your tongue flick across his skin. You lick shamelessly at one of his nipples and feel drunk on the way he lets out a surprised little breath, turning your head to do the same to his other nipple as your hands finally reach their goal: his belt.

You deftly unbuckle it, fast enough that the leather makes a snapping noise when you pull it, and Yoongi bites back a laugh— under normal circumstances you might be embarrassed by how obvious you're being, but you're desperate to finally touch him, especially after he'd made you cum as hard as he had. You look up at him as you reach for his zipper but falter when you notice that he's staring at you with something akin to awe, lifting your lips off his skin.

"What?" You ask, suddenly feeling shy.

Yoongi doesn't respond verbally. Instead, he quirks a little grin at you before he cups your face with both hands and bends down to kiss you again, deeper and slower than he has before. You match his pace, the two of you tilting your heads to get a little closer, but when you continue to pull Yoongi's zip down he laughs against your lips and you smile. He gets the hint, stepping back so he has room to kick his trousers and underwear off; he's not trying to be sensual about it, moving fast so he can get close to you again, but you're enraptured nonetheless.

You swallow at the sight of his cock when it’s finally freed. It's flushed red from neglect, fully hardened, curving up towards his stomach, and you can see how the head glistens with precum, slick and wet. Saliva floods your mouth. Yoongi looks briefly startled when you put your hands against his hips and lightly push him backwards, but then you slide off the bed and onto your knees in front of him and the shock immediately disappears from his face, tangling a hand in your hair as you settle in place.

He's so hard that you don't feel like teasing him. Instead, you take the precum that's gathered at the tip of his cock and rub it down his length, hand wrapping around and twisting as you dip forwards and take the flushed head into your mouth. You can't swallow him all the way down, thanks to your gag reflex, but you give it a damn good go— you relax your throat as much as you can as you lower your head, using your hand to touch the parts of his cock that aren't in your mouth. You tongue at the vein on the underside as you lift back up, using your free hand to cup his balls, and Yoongi curses, his hand tightening in your hair as he pulls you off.

You blink up at him in surprise, mouth still open after he's slid out of your mouth— you feel like you'd barely started— and you can see how his cock twitches as he drinks the sight of you in.

"That mouth of yours is downright sinful," he says, running his thumb over your lower lip. You go lax under his touch, which seems to please him. "As much as I'd like to cum down your throat, I think you want something else instead, don't you, babygirl?"

Your breath shudders out of you and you nod. You want Yoongi's cock inside you, itching for him to finally fuck you stupid, the way you've been yearning for so long. "God, yes, please."

Yoongi's lips twitch at your shameless desperation. "Stand up then, baby," he says, and you comply. "Turn around."

You turn towards the bed to show Yoongi your back, and he slowly unzips your dress; it slides off your shoulders easily, slipping down your body and pooling on the floor as Yoongi drags his hands over the revealed skin. You tremble under his touch, sensitive to each of his motions as he unclasps your bra, and finally you're entirely unclothed, lingerie carelessly tossed to one side before Yoongi pulls you close.

Your back is pressed to his chest, and you can feel the heat and hardness of his cock pressing against you, but you forget about that when his hands move to cup your breasts, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples. You tilt your head back against his shoulder and he takes the opportunity to kiss down your neck, using his tongue to lick down the bared length of it, and your breath hitches in your throat as he pinches one of your nipples between his fingers, the perfect mix of careful roughness.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Yoongi breathes into the crook of your neck. You whimper and grind back against him, feeling the wetness of his cock as it slips against your skin, and he bites back a groan.

"Yoongi, I need you," you say, so close to finally getting what you've been craving for so long. "Please," you add, voice high with desperation.

You feel how Yoongi bares his teeth against your skin in a silent snarl before he's turning you around in his arms, and you squeal in surprise as he hitches you upwards onto the bed, your head falling onto the pillows. It wasn't a rough motion, Yoongi still careful even when he's clearly as hungry for you as you are for him, but you find yourself whimpering at how he's manhandled you, loving it. Seems like he's helping you discover things about yourself that you hadn't realised before now.

Yoongi settles between your legs, staring down at you, bare and helpless underneath him. You reach out your hand to touch his chest, sweeping your fingers down the line of his stomach and over the trail of dark hair that leads down to his weeping cock, still shining with your spit. He curses, leaning over you to paw at his nightstand drawer; he fumbles with the lube and condom when you wrap your fingers around his length again, stroking him hard and slow.

"Yoongi, please," you say again, practically begging, wanting him inside you as quickly as possible. He curses under his breath again but then wraps his fingers around yours, pulling your hand off his cock. You pout at him. "I've been a good girl, haven't I?"

"Good girls are patient." Yoongi leans back on his heels and you make a small whining noise, but you quieten when you watch him rip open the condom packet; you reach forward again to help him roll it down his cock, wanting to keep the feeling of his hardness and heat under your touch, but he fixes you with a stern gaze. "Hands."

You pause, wondering exactly what he means. You settle on pulling your hands away and stretch up to let them rest on the pillow above you. You must have done the right thing because Yoongi smiles, and you give a squirm of delight. He shifts closer and hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, turning his head to kiss your inner ankle.

"So perfect," he says, and you squirm again, pleased. He reaches for the bottle of lube and uncaps it with a quiet click, drizzling it directly onto his cock and biting back a noise at the coldness of it— but then he squirts more into his hands, warming it between his fingers. You make a small questioning sound, and Yoongi smiles before kissing your ankle again. "This is for you, baby."

Your eyebrows raise in quiet surprise. You're already so wet, dripping with a mix of your own cum and Yoongi's lingering spit, but he's still being this careful and considerate. He dips his slick fingers between your flushed lips and draws them upwards, making you arch your back as he grazes over your pearl of nerves, pleasure shooting directly into your core.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp. "God, please, Yoongi, please."

"I've got you, babygirl," he murmurs, and you marvel at his self control, his restraint even now. He grips your leg with one hand and uses the other to guide himself into you. Finally. You moan as he sinks in, stretching you, slowly pushing in inch by inch; you can feel the way your walls stretch, parting for him, until he's bottomed out, and you feel so full.

"Holy shit, Yoongi." You've moved your hands and you're digging your nails into his back, trying to pull him closer even though it's not possible, Yoongi's cock so long that you can feel it filling you completely. "Oh, God."

Yoongi's fringe is hanging in his eyes but you can see how his pupils have almost swallowed the dark of his irises, the way he's drinking in the sight of you beneath him— your pupils are blown too, hair a messy halo against the pillows, nipples hard from arousal, chest heaving as you hiccup in air. He pulls out, just as slowly as he'd pushed in, the drag of his cock against your inner walls sending electricity shooting through your nerves; he stops before he's completely out, only the head of him still inside you, and you bite your lip in anticipation, waiting for the next slow thrust in.

You're completely blindsided when Yoongi snaps his hips forward suddenly, fucking sharply into you, and you choke on a surprised breath. He sets a brutal pace, the sound of his skin slapping against yours almost drowned out by the way you wail. Your hands fall away from his back and to the sheets, fingers gripping at them, twisting under your hands. His brows are drawn together with focus, but when you raise a hand up to touch his face he goes easily, letting your leg slip off his shoulder so he can kiss you.

His motions slow somewhat as you kiss each other, but he keeps the roll of his hips just as deep, and you end up all but panting against his mouth instead of kissing him; he swipes his tongue across your lips and you let them fall open so he can lick into your mouth, sloppy and wet. You can feel an orgasm building again, surprisingly fast— especially as he's not even touching your clit— and you clench around him, wanting to hit that peak again.

Yoongi stops kissing you to rest his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes as he slows his thrusts, grinding into you each time he pushes all the way in, hips flush with yours. "Such a good girl." His voice is a low rasp, dark and heavy. "So pretty for me."

Yes, yes, yes. "Wanna be your good girl," you breathe. "Make you feel as good as you make me feel."

Yoongi actually growls, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you up. You grab his shoulders for support, legs spreading so that your knees hit the mattress, his cock still inside you as you look down at him, both of you kneeling now. Your breasts are pressed against his chest, stomachs flush, and Yoongi grinds up into you. His hands slide from your waist, to your ass, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you up; the change of angle has the curve of his cock dragging right across your sweet spot and you gasp. "Oh, yes, there, just like that."

You press down as Yoongi's hips snap up, and you can feel how his motions are starting to get a little jerkier, staccato, the way he speeds up. With the drag of your nipples against his chest, and the way he's hitting your g-spot dead on each time, you're close to hitting your peak, pleasure riding up into a crescendo— and then Yoongi slides one of his hands between the two of you to rub at your clit and you're gone again, gasping and shaking as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, all the air escaping your lungs in a drawn out, shuddering wail.

"Fuck, baby." Yoongi's motions grow a little more hurried and sloppy, thrusting up into you as your walls pulsate around him. You try to match his pace, drinking down the way his face twists as he chases his own release— and then his grip on you grows tight enough to bruise and he cums with a surprisingly quiet moan. He grinds upwards, his cock twitching inside you as he empties himself into the condom; you shiver at the sensation, squeezing your legs around his hips in an instinctive attempt to draw him as deeply into you as possible, as futile as that is.

Your legs are shaking. You remain tangled around each other, sweaty and panting, but then Yoongi is grasping your chin and tilting your head down so that he can kiss you. It's soft, and gentle, and you melt into it, going lax and boneless in his hold as you tighten your hands in his hair.

You feel how he smiles tiredly against your lips, and when you pull back, he looks thoroughly fucked out; his hair is a mess from how you've been running your hands through it and lips are kiss swollen, parted so that he can suck air in and try to catch his breath. You must look similarly wrecked. You feel hazy, though Yoongi feels solid beneath you, grounding you as you slowly come back to yourself.

"I'm going to lean you back, beautiful," he says, and you entwine your fingers together behind his neck so that he can tilt you onto the mattress, careful and reverent. He slips his softening cock out of you and you let out a small sigh at the sudden feeling of emptiness, though as soon as he's done tying the condom off and throwing it in the bin he comes back to you, lightly kissing you as he draws a hand gently between the valley of your breasts. Despite the tenderness behind the motion you're suddenly struck with wondering if he's about to ask you to leave, but then he asks: "Do you want to come wash up?"

You pause. "Oh, God, my makeup," you say with sudden realisation as your fingers come up to touch under your eyes. Your eyeshadow and mascara must be a mess by now. You splay your hand across your face, as if trying to hide it— which you know is stupid, especially considering the fact the rest of your body is naked under Yoongi's gaze. He huffs out a laugh and takes your hands with his own, pulling them away. "Nooo," you whine. "Don't look at me."

One of Yoongi's eyebrows rises. "Why would I ever want to look away from you?"

You wriggle. "Yoongi," you whine again, equal parts pleased and embarrassed, but you let your hands go limp and Yoongi pulls you to your feet. "You're shameless."

"And you're gorgeous," he says, simply. "Come on, you'll get cold."

Yoongi lets you clean up first. It's weird how comfortable you are as you navigate your way around Yoongi and Jin's bathroom— you pilfer one of Jin's makeup wipes to clean your face— and how natural it feels to accept the shirt Yoongi gives you, an oversized, stretched-out old thing that's gone soft from years of wear. You're perched on the bathroom counter as you slide it on, glancing down at the design on the front, and you instantly perk up when you see what it is.

"You do love Kumamon," you say with delight.

Yoongi stops in the middle of brushing his teeth, looking a little ridiculous with the minty froth around his lips but still just as kissable. He rinses his mouth and spits, wiping his lips with a towel before he makes a face at you.

"Jin told you about that, too?"

"I want to see your slippers," you say in reply and Yoongi groans. You can't help but giggle, feeling sleepy and soft and affectionate, and you touch your fingers under Yoongi's chin so that you can press a quick kiss to his lips. "I think it's cute."

By the time you've both finished your ablutions and you slide off the counter, you feel tired, what little energy you had after being fucked by Yoongi completely gone from you; you slide onto Yoongi's bed gratefully, glad to be off your feet. You hold your hands up and beckon for him to join you, but then let out a sharp laugh of surprise when he tugs his rumpled blanket off the bed from underneath you and lets it drop to the floor. "Yoongi!"

"I'll be right back," he says. While you wait, you decide to stretch, eyes slipping shut as you extend your limbs. You know you'll feel the ache between your legs tomorrow, a little thrill skating through you at the knowledge that Yoongi's touch has left a physical reminder, something only you can feel and no one else can see.

When your eyes flutter open again, you see Yoongi standing at the bottom of the bed, a different blanket gathered in his arms. He's staring at you, and you realise that the material of his shirt has moved as you've stretched, hitching up over your hips. Even though you're both tired, Yoongi's eyes still darken when you shift your legs, and you bask under his attention.

"A different blanket?" You ask, curious, and Yoongi's eyes slide away from your still-bare core back up to your face.

"It's Jin's," he says. "I wasn't about to let you sleep on sweaty sex sheets."

"I don't mind," you say, honestly, but Yoongi proceeds to lay Jin's blanket across the bed anyway. "Jin's not going to be happy about this," you add, but you say it with a laugh, instantly curling up into Yoongi when he lays down beside you.

"He'll live." Yoongi's arm comes around you, fingers trailing over your shoulder; you lapse into silence and let your eyes shut, focusing on Yoongi's movements. It feels like he’s pressing piano keys down and playing a silent song against your skin. You can't help but smile, starting to drift off, when Yoongi speaks again. "Let me take you out for breakfast."

"Hm?" Your eyes open and you blink away your sleepiness to look up at Yoongi, who's still watching you. "Breakfast?"

"Yes." Yoongi's fingers still on your shoulder, and then he slides his hand down to tangle your fingers with his. "Or lunch. Or dinner. Whichever you prefer." He pauses. "Unless you don't want to," he says, and though his voice stays steady, you see a flicker of nervousness in his eyes. He's worried that you've gotten what you want and now you'll be done with him.

"You're so silly," you say softly, and you can see how Yoongi's face twists with confusion, unsure about how to react to being called silly— you can't imagine many people have said that to him, as outwardly intimidating as he can be. You squeeze his hand. "Of course I want to. But how about we plan it tomorrow? I don't know how long it's going to take me to be comfortable with walking in a straight line, so breakfast might be off the cards for now."

After a moment, Yoongi's face takes on a satisfied expression. "That's what you said you wanted," he says, and you huff out an amused breath.

"I technically said I wanted you to bend me over a piano, actually," you point out, letting your head settle in the crook of his neck again, and Yoongi brushes his lips against your forehead.

"There's a piano in the living room," he states casually, and you can't help the shiver that runs through you, even as your eyes start to fall shut again.

"I'll keep that in mind."

–

jiminnie y/n!! tae said you called in sick for work? are you okay??

you i'm good! just a lil busy

jiminnie with what?

you [image attached]

jiminnie … why have you sent me a photo of a piano?

you yoongi's gonna fuck me on it omg on that note i've gtg BYE LOVE YOU MINNIE xoxoxo

jiminnie WHAT??? OMG??? GET THAT DICK QUEEN!!!

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts x reader #bts smut #suga x reader #joy.masterlist

3K notes · View notes

hanniiesuckle17 · 5 years ago

Text

Stray Kids: Celebrating Their S/o's Birthday

A/n: this was requested by @9staytiny8-allie-5moarmy7 this was such a cute idea! I hope you like it! I got a little carried away with jinnie’s and chan’s lol

Bangchan:

The ringing of your phone brought your attention away from your schoolwork. The familiar sound of your boyfriend’s verse in ‘WOW’ filled the room making you laugh. “Hey! Are you home?” Chan said as you enabled video chat.

“Yeah, I got home about an hour ago. Are you in the car?”

He nodded and adjusted his phone. “So, I know we couldn’t be together for your birthday because I’m on tour and I’m really sorry.” He sighed, a frown on his face. It was a little disappointing Chan wasn’t here, but you had finally accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to be home. “Chan, don’t apologize! It’s fine! We’ve only been going out a couple months. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m going to call you when I get back to the hotel in about thirty minutes. Put on something nice!”

Confused you nodded and smiled at him before he hung up. Following your boyfriend’s direction you put on some makeup and put on a nice dress. Just as he said Chan called you back, this time on your laptop. When you answered you laughed seeing Chan in a nice suit. “Happy Birthday, baby girl!”

“Chan! What are you doing?”

“You and I are going to have a special birthday dinner to celebrate.”

“But how-” Suddenly your doorbell rang. Chan smiled and pulled a plate in front of him, probably from room service. “You better get that, baby.” Standing, you answered the door to see a man holding takeout from your favorite restaurant. He told you someone had already paid for the meal. Quickly, you ran back to Chan on your laptop.

“Chan you are the best. This is the best gift ever!”

“Oh, your gift is still in the mail. Don’t worry.”

Minho:

“Y/n! Hey, honey, open the door!” Your brows furrowed hearing your boyfriend's voice from outside your apartment. Getting off the couch, you walked over and opened the door. There stood Minho carrying one very large birthday bag and a cat carrier. He also had a cat strapped to his chest in one of those baby slings and another peeking over his shoulder

“You brought the cats?” You said with a laugh.

“This is a family affair. Of course, I brought our children.”

You laughed as he walked into your apartment and started to let his cats down. You thought it was cute that you had only been dating for six months yet he considered you a second parent to Soongi, Doongi, and Doori.

Minho watched his little cats explore your apartment before turning to you. “Am I cooking or ordering, because your cute little butt is not lifting a finger tonight.” He smiled and wrapped his arms around you.

“Will you order in? I want cuddles.”

“Of course!”

“Can it be pizza and sides?”

“....Sure!”

You laughed as he pulled out his phone and ordered the pizza. He followed you as you plopped down on the couch, pulling him down with you. A cat soon followed jumping up on your stomach. Happily, the two of you sat on your couch with your kitty children and snacking on pizza.

Changbin:

You checked yourself in the mirror one last time. Changbin would be here any minute to pick you up. You had been together for almost a year now, but you still got nervous before going out with him. “I should change my lipstick. This is way too dark.”

Before you could return to your makeup to change, someone knocked on the door. With a nervous smile, you opened the door to see Changbin dressed in a nice suit. “Wow, you look...incredible. Happy Birthday, gorgeous.” He handed you the prettiest bouquet of flowers you had ever seen.

“You ready to go?” He asked with a bright smile, looking you up and down. You watched him nervously wring his hands together with a cute smile. After nodding, he offered you his arm and escorted you to his car. On the way to the restaurant, you were surprised with a playlist filled with all of your favorite songs made by him.

“My lady,” Changbin said opening your door. “Thank you, my good sir.” Looping your arm through his, he led you into the very nice restaurant. Your eyes widened, when you saw the expensive decor and the trays of fancy appetizers

“Bin, you didn’t have to do this!” You said as the waiter led the two of you to a secluded booth. He shrugged and sat down pulling out the menu.

“It’s your birthday, gorgeous. Order anything you want. Also little heads up, I told them to sing when they bring the champagne.”

“Bin!”

Hyunjin:

“Okay, get dressed. We are going out,” Hyunjin said walking into your bedroom. “Umm excuse you? When did you even get here?” Hyunjin being the dramatic ass he was slammed your bedroom door letting his jaw drop.

“No, no, no, no, no. You aren’t turning this on me. I’m the one who just found out through Snapchat that it’s your birthday today!”

You laughed as he walked over to your closet and started searching through your clothes. You had only been dating for a couple of weeks so you didn’t really think Hyunjin would care so much if you just let the day slip by. You certainly hadn’t expected him to barge into your apartment unannounced.“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But, I don’t want you to spend money on me, okay? You worked really hard. Don’t spend it on me.”

“LET ME SPOIL YOU, WOMAN. WE MUST HONOR THE DAY YOU CAME TO THIS EARTH!”

You laughed as he tossed a dress at you. “Hyunjin, I don’t really want to go out.” He sighed and reluctantly put the dress back in your closet when you threw it back to him. You watched your boyfriend fall back onto your bed, clearly exasperated.

“Y/n if you don’t let me do something for your birthday I’ll jump off your balcony.” Instead of responding you just turned back to your homework. Your eyes widened hearing your sliding door open. “I’m not kidding, I’ll do it.” Hyunjin stood facing you on the ledge of your balcony, a completely serious look on his handsome face. “Fine. Do it.” Without questioning it, Hyunjin fell backward off the balcony. “OW!” He yelped. Quickly you rushed over to the balcony to see Hyunjin lying on the grass about four feet below. “Did you forget I live on the first floor?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you come back in and I’ll let you buy me a pizza?”

Jisung:

Today had not been the best of days. Your professor gave you a four-page paper due in two days and your landlord just told you he was increasing your rent next month. On top of that, it seems your parents had forgotten your birthday. And much to your disappointment, it seems your boyfriend had too. The two of you had exchanged numerous texts today despite his busy schedule, and yet he didn’t even say ‘Happy Birthday’.

You really just wanted to heat up some leftovers and go to bed early. Finally, the key turned in your lock to reveal your dark apartment. That’s funny. You were almost certain you left a light on in the living room. Then you noticed the extra pair of shoes by the door. “Jisung? Are you here?” Then you heard footsteps shuffle in from the kitchen.

“Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday dear Y/n! Happy Birthday to you!”

You almost cried seeing Jisung carrying in a lit birthday cake from your kitchen. You never should have doubted him. You knew he wouldn’t forget the first birthday you spent together. “Happy birthday, baby.” He said standing in front of you with the cake, his cute smile lighting the room up brighter than the candles. Wiping away a tear, you blew out the candles and set the cake down on the table wrapping him up in a hug.

“I thought you forgot.”

“Never, baby. I’m gonna be here for so many birthdays that you’ll get sick of me.”

You laughed as he kissed the top of your head. This was one of the best birthdays ever thanks to Jisung. “Thank you, Sungie. I’ve got a present for you in return.” He smiled when you leaned up and pressed your lips to his.

“Hey! It’s your birthday! Leave the present giving to me!” He said as he attacked your lips and face with kisses, making you laugh.

Felix:

“DON’T COME IN THE KITCHEN!” Your boyfriend, Felix, shouted at you in your bedroom. He had locked you in there claiming to ‘need time to prepare your birthday surprise’. While you and Felix had only been dating about three months, you had been friends much longer. And it genuinely scared you that Felix was alone in your kitchen with knives, and potential fire, and.....well that was about it. You were okay if he made your food taste bad.

Several nerve-wracking sounds came from your kitchen and all you could do was nervously sit on your bed. “Felix are you done yet?” You called checking the time. He had been at this close to two hours now.

“Almost! I’m plating!”

“You know what plating is?”

“Yeah, I saw it on CHOPPED.”

After a few more minutes, Felix called out again. “Okay, you can come out now, Y/n!” Smiling, you opened your door and walked into your relatively small kitchen. When you walked in you were greeted with your boyfriend doing a silly little dance as he sprinkled cheese on top of the plates.

“Felix, oh my god! This is incredible!” The plates were gorgeously plated with your absolute favorite meal. And when you looked around your kitchen was perfectly intact. Felix wrapped you up in a hug and kissed your forehead.

“Happy birthday, love.”

Seungmin:

Come outside.

You shrugged looking at the text from your boyfriend. It wasn’t unusual for him to text you this late, but it was weird for Seungmin to send you something like this. Throwing on a sweater and slipping on some shoes you headed outside your dorm. Seungmin’s ringtone startled you as you stood alone in the dark outside.

“Minnie, what’s going on?”

“Hey, you see the JYP van?” He asked. You could hear the smile in his voice. A smile slipped onto your face when you spotted the gray van Stray Kids ride around in parked under a streetlight.

“Yeah,”

“Well, hurry up, dummy.”

Jogging over you were greeted by one of the JYP security guys getting out of the driver’s side door. He smiled and opened up the sliding door revealing your smiling boyfriend in the back. When the door opened he started to sing happy birthday to you, his amazing voice floating out into the empty college dorm parking lot.

When he was finished he joyfully pulled you in to sit with him in the back of the van. You laughed when the security closed the door giving you two some privacy. “So, on the way home, I picked up takeout and told the driver to drop the guys off and then bring me here.” He was too cute. He smiled when you cupped his cheeks and kissed him.

“Thank you, Seungmin. This is the best birthday present ever.”

Jeongin:

Hey, baby! Can you pick up some drinks for me and the boys on your way back from class?

You smiled seeing the text from your boyfriend. Both of you had a busy schedule, him with his schedules and you with class. He had often sent you this kind of message as an excuse to see you. You thought it was really cute.

Yeah! I’ll be there in 20!

Twenty minutes later you were carrying eight drinks in two carriers up to the JYP practice room. When you entered the room was dark and you heard whispers in the back. “Um......guys? Are you in here?” Feeling around for the table near the door you set the drinks down. And there was a light switch around here somewhere.

“SURPRISE!”

You jumped hearing the eight boys scream when you turned on the lights. Turning around you saw your boyfriend’s dark hair running towards you, a big bright happy smile on his face. “Happy birthday, Y/n!” He cheered wrapping you up in a big hug.

“Jeongin, you did this all for me?” He smiled and nodded, laughing when you started peppering kisses all over his face. When you had finished he led you over to the other boys who each gave you their own version of a happy birthday wish. Jeongin got a little worried you had stopped breathing during Changbin’s bone-crushing hug.

“Jeongin this is the best surprise party ever! Thank you so much for doing this for me!”

Requests are open my lovelies! ALSO IM SIX DAYS FROM GRADUATING OMG

Masterlist

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echo-three-one · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 38

THE ROAD SO FAR

The EIGHT-Thirty Appointment

John 'Soap' MacTavish

London, UK

Following the events of Shepherd's surrender to authorities, the members of Task Force 141 who went rogue in pursuit of him had been exonerated from treason. This meant that from then on, life would be a little more 'normal'. No more hiding in public, no more lack of equipment, no more secret hiding areas.

This prompted Laswell to recreate the task force she once poured her heart on, with a few changes to its jurisdiction. With Ghost, Roach and Alexandra still recovering, the remaining members were invited to celebrate their success.

"So John, now that 141 is back your main focus will be Nero. Do you want the reassigned members back?" Laswell asked Price while they exited the building. Soap overheard this because he thought he was the John being called.

"If it's still okay and not much of a hassle, then yes." Price replied.

"What about Kyle?" Laswell added.

"No. Not yet. Just keep an eye on him." Price mused and turned to Soap, who quickly turned to focus back on Alex as he pushed his wheelchair.

"Excuse me, Captain Price. Can we talk for a moment?" Samantha interrupted as they stopped on their tracks. Alex turned out of curiosity, wondering what matter they were discussing.

"Hey hey hey. What was that about?" Alex asked Soap and France, who continued walking. Laswell turned to the next right as she already finished her conversation with Price, waving at Alex and the rest of the 141.

Soap chuckled at the CIA. This was about Samantha's surprise for him and he shouldn't spoil it.

"Well, with 141 back maybe she just wanted to know where she will be now. Nero no longer needs the IP Address and she's been through a lot." France reasoned, making Alex frown.

"You know… I want her safe and all but I also want her within my reach. I've lost her far too many times already. I'm not going to lose her again." Alex grumbled making Soap and France look at each other, their faces were worried at their sorry excuse.

"I think Samantha feels the same way too. Maybe she's bargaining for staying at 141." Soap lied, making France question him quietly.

"You know what, Alex? Don't overthink this." Soap tapped his shoulders reassuringly.

"Overthink what?" Samantha inserted. They fell quiet and Samantha slowly asked Soap to let her push Alex as they moved forward, Samantha being excited of what's next.

"Well, we did a great job. I guess." Soap quietly commented sarcastically, earning a soft elbow from France.

"Ow!" he exaggerated and turned to France, his face looked bewildered.

"Way to go, John." She sneered and followed the two on their way to their appointment, riding Soap's trusty jeep.

The drive to the surprise area consisted of mostly Soap and Francine acting like couples while they drove. Soap could see the two murmuring at each other whenever Soap would argue with France on whatever's going on in the road.

"I always wanted to try out some London restaurants." she mused, looking at the place they just passed by.

"Yeah? I could see you as the fancy kind." he chuckled at his guess.

"What does that mean?" France gave him a suspicious glare. Soap looked at her, feigning surrender.

"I just said it as is. You're the kind of person who would want fancy stuff." He explained, focusing back on the road.

"I-"

"Come on. You don't have to read everything I say between the lines. Sometimes, I'm just a simple man" he whined and Alex and Samantha burst out laughing, causing the two to be quiet.

"Are you sure there's nothing going on with you two?" Samantha asked, making the silence a little bit more awkward.

Soap carefully rolled his eyes toward Francine, who was actually looking down and blushing. He really had no definitive stance on whatever's going on between them, and if you ask him, he'd love to assume that they're already together. But he remembered that he told her that he'll be patient, and that's the only thing that's hindering him from taking her to the next level.

"Well…" Francine croaked, her voice was shaky and Soap was actually worried that she was already under pressure.

"We're here." Soap interrupted, wishing he did the right thing. Alex quickly looked outside to see where they actually were.

"What is this place, Soap? Where did you bring us?" Alex asked and Soap just nodded.

"I'll let your girl fill in everything for you. This was her idea after all and we're here to help her out." Soap replied as he assisted him to his wheelchair and watched the two enter the establishment.

He then knocked on Samantha's door as she was still out of focus.

"There's a coffee shop across the street, we could wait there until they finish." He invited her for another coffee date. Hopefully this time, there would be no more emp phone wielding persons to interrupt it.

"About Samantha's question…" She muttered.

"Don't pressure yourself about it. You actually owe me for saving you, by the way." He chuckled, already opening her door.

France slowly stepped down the vehicle and turned to Soap, her head looked up to his face.

"Look John. There's no other reason I can think of that would make you wait anymore. I really enjoy your company, your personality, and I'm curious about everything else about you. So, if you've been waiting all this time ever since that night, my answer is that I'm ready." She smiled, and John's eyes widened at the sight of her. The message made him hug her tight, lift her up and spin her around briefly while she giggled at the feeling.

"Wow. You don't know how much you made my day, France!" he sighed as he slowly set her down and closed the door and made their way to the coffee shop.

"I missed these so much!" France happily chewed on a slice of blueberry cheesecake, with a few crumbs stuck on the edge of her mouth. Soap smiled as she watched her enjoy the simple things in life, a thing he was always looking for in women.

Most of his dating life were his parents setting him up on business dates and most women there were far too serious. They looked like they haven't enjoyed anything in years. Some of them admittedly loved to have fun, but their idea of fun was far too complicated. Like expensive travels and luxurious shopping sprees, none of them piqued Soap's interest.

However, Francine was the first one who begged to differ. It's like every great idea in John's activity book is enjoyable for her. Simple things such as Netflix, Cinemas and even this coffee shop date, made her smile.

"What's funny?" Francine asked as she noticed the odd smile on his face.

"Oh nothing… you just looked cute eating that whole thing. It makes me want to buy a whole cake and watch you smile and eat that all day." he mused, imagining how things would've been if they weren't in public. He could've been tasting that cake from her mouth already.

He quickly grabbed a tissue and wiped off the crumbs as Francine blushed in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry. I didn't notice it was there." she blushed shyly and looked down.

"Nah… why apologize. I was thinking you were hinting at me to kiss you. Like what most movies and cliché shows would mean." He scoffed and sipped on his coffee.

"Ha ha. Well you could try. As if I'd let you." She smiled bravely, but Soap could see her weakness behind that smile. She's raising her guard up again, and it's always like that when people are around.

"Wow. Umm that went differently." Soap commented, attempting to let France open up. This has been a common trend with her lately, toughening up when people are around but when they're alone, she's still strict but less tense.

"I'm sorry. It's just-" She hesitated and turned to the window.

"Say, how long would it take for them to finish?" She asked. Soap also turned to the building and shrugged.

"I don't know. Honestly, I'm excited for him. They make the best prosthetics around here and it'd make Alex's life easier. It'll look and weigh and bend like an actual leg." he said proudly as he turned to France who was looking at him weirdly.

"What?" he asked as he checked his phone which just beeped.

"Actually, they're almost done. And they're asking for an order. I'll just go get some for them, you stay here." He added, holding the thought, wiping his face and proceeded to the counter.

The reformed Task Force 141 would soon be back in business as papers were already approved by the board. They'll be situating themselves on American soil as their previous base was compromised by the traitorous General.

As for their last day on English soil, the rest of the team stayed in a penthouse condominium unit owned by the MacTavishes.

"Wow. This is top class!" Samantha mused as Alex plopped himself on the couch, his new leg quickly rested on the table. He's been in it for only a few hours but he already got the hang of it.

Samantha shot a glare at Alex's actions to which he shrugged on, prompting Soap to reply.

"Don't worry Samantha, make yourselves at home. We don't use this place anyway so help yourselves out. I promise it'll be fine." he eased as Samantha slowly plopped down beside him as Alex's arm rested on her shoulders. Soap actually wondered if he could do that to her too, get comfortable, open up, just normal stuff.

"I'll go get tea." he quickly said to himself as his imagination got the best of him as he walked to the kitchen. France quickly followed him to help out.

"Fancy place you got here, John. I wonder how many girls you've brought in here." She mused standing in front of him, helping with the teacups. Soap eyed her for a second and replied.

"Honestly, I can't count. I used to stay here when I studied and that was years ago." he replied as seriously as possible, looking at the changes on her face. She's actually jealous.

"Yeah. Figures. I saw your photos from earlier years. It was no doubt you'd have a lot of women over." She chuckled, nervously at it. Soap saw through her as she started to get curious about his life. A sign that she's ready to stop lowering her guard. Soap on the other hand, wanted her to feel special. Asking her out as soon as possible would make him come out as a desperate one, so he planned to do it the long traditional way. Which he actually despised, he would want to hug her so tight right now and it was already killing him.

"What about you? How many different rooms did you wake up to already?" he asked, changing the subject as she was already starting to feel bad about her question.

"Me?! Only a few. And most of them were owned by you. I've been very serious about my life choices that I never let myself loose." she sighed as Soap raised an eyebrow.

"Let loose? Like going out to parties?" He added.

"Yes. But broader. Like letting myself loose. I've always followed the path I wanted to be in, not letting any distractions bother me." she explained, blushing at it like it's a secret she was too shy to tell. Soap on the other hand, didn't quite get it.

"So you mean…" He tilted his head.

"Yes. Since birth, I never had a boyfriend." she looked down in embarrassment for the second time today.

Soap gulped. He didn't actually know how to respond to her statement. Sure he wanted to be the first one, but now wasn't the time. It would feel forced. And he wasn't a fan of forced relationships.

The kettle whistled and the two of them quickly responded to it as they both reached out for it, their hands met just by the handle.

"I'll take care of this one." She said as Soap slowly let go of her soft hands and watched her pour it on, carrying it to Samantha and Alex who were already giggling through a romcom.

"Way to go, John." he muttered to himself with a sigh as he ran his hand on his hair.

The day actually felt worse as France continued to remain quiet towards Soap as she invested herself on the television, third wheeling on Alex and Samantha.

Soap pondered about the words he chose to say to her and those he didn't over a steamy shower.

With the place having only two bedrooms, it was inevitable that France would sleep beside him but he also considered sleeping on the couch to respect her privacy or something like that.

As soon as he exited the bathroom, he saw France already tucked on her side of the bed, scrolling through her phone.

"Hey there." he muttered as she rolled her eyes to him and back to her phone.

"Hey." she said nonchalantly, her eyes dead focused on her screen. Soap quickly grabbed his nighttime clothes and slipped them on.

"Are you in any way excited for tomorrow?" he asked, trying to keep her from interacting with him.

"Yeah. A little." she said as she turned to him and smiled.

"Listen, about earlier today, in the kitchen..." he said.

"I'm not mad, John. I just wanted to say it out there so you could understand me."

"Tell me what you feel."

"Embarrassed."

"Why?"

"Because I looked like a fool earlier. When I told you I was ready and now I feel that you're the one who isn't. You told me you would wait but-" Soap placed his hand on her face, gently touching her cheek.

"France. You don't have to worry. You're still the one I'm thinking about every second. I just… wanted to do this the slow and steady way, where I would show off how worthy I am for you. I want you to enjoy the whole John MacTavish Experience." he smiled and she slowly turned her frown upside down.

Soap wanted to take a picture of that smile and plaster it all around the room as his heart started to pound like crazy, his face unknowingly moving closer to hers. They both started to close their eyes as they let their lips do the talking, but in a quiet and intimate way. Soap felt France's greed for his kiss as she slowly learned how to beg for more of him. It was true that she had no experience on these things but something told him that she's starting to learn some tricks herself.

Soap didn't hesitate to retaliate as she released a soft groan, a sign of her being content as her hands slowly grazed his arms, her thumb softly pressed his biceps, digging deeper as their tongues clashed. After a few more seconds, they both broke their kiss as they gasped for air.

"Yeah. Go sleep on the floor before we do something stupid." She giggled and Soap nodded in agreement as they quickly shuffled about, set their beds and called it a night.

Next Chapter - The SEVEN Inch Wound

Notification Squad my Beloved

@samatedeansbroccoli @smokeywhalee @enderio @bumblingbee1 @ricinbach @whimsywispsblog

#alex echo 3 1 #john soap mactavish #codmw #horrayfic #john price #gary roach sanderson #whateverittakes #simon ghost riley

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skzsauce01 · 4 years ago

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The Trials and Tribulations of Birthday Presents

Synopsis: Chan’s birthday is only three hours away, and you, his loving girlfriend, still don’t have a gift for him. Modern magic AU because it’s October.

Warning: one instance of calling and driving flying (please don’t do this!)

Word Count: 2.9k

Pairing: fem!reader x Bang Chan

What does one find in a magic shop?

Fat wax candles, decks of tarot cards, and antique spellbooks, just to name a few. If the shop is particularly well stocked, there may be rare potion ingredients like bottled lightning and threads of moonlight.

Despite all the fascinating things available, the very magic shop you work at has nothing for your particular dilemma: a suitable gift for your beloved. In other words, there are only three hours left before your boyfriend’s birthday, and you still have no idea what to get him.

“What do I do, what do I do?” you mutter to yourself.

The minute hand of giant clock face mounted to the oak paneling wall ticks, reminding you that time is of the essence and something you have naught of. If only you knew a time wizard; then you could allow yourself to panic and avoid the problem for a few hours longer.

The black cat perched at the register counter beside you flicks his tail, making the pages flutter. “We do have an aisle dedicated to gifts, you know.”

“There’s nothing good there!” you wail.

Glass candle holders and generic happiness potions don’t scream “I cherish you and the day of your birth greatly!” Though the specialty potions shop across town could probably make you one that literally screams that…

You bat the absurd idea and the cat’s tail away, making it hiss at you as a result. “Isn’t your shift over, Minho? It’s past nine.”

“Oh!” He shifts back into human form and cheerfully hops off the counter, making the floorboards creak. “Lucky me. Good night then.”

“No, wait! Help me! I’m sorry I was mean!” you pathetically call after him. “Minho!”

He turns around and starts heading back to the register. When he sees how relieved you look, he heads for the door again. “Good luck!”

You do your best impression of a banshee in an attempt to stop him, but he doesn’t flinch. “Give some advice at least! Please!”

“Be spontaneous,” he says as he opens the door. “Stop being so practical and get Chan something fun.”

The door swings shut, and Black Cat Minho waves a paw at you before darting down the street. The store goes quiet, and you stand by the counter with your head in your hands.

“But I don’t know how…”

One of your finer attributes is being practical. Plenty of people, namely all your friends who have received presents from you, even say that you are overly practical. It’s not necessarily a bad thing; it just means that they get new brewing stands and gift cards to the local plant nursery for birthdays rather than plushies and balloons.

But Chan’s has to be different and special, which means you have to be reckless and spontaneous and everything you are not.

While you pace around the store, looking for something you would never even consider buying, Changbin steps out of a nearby shadowy corner. He mumbles a hello and brushes his jacket sleeve, no doubt to rid himself of any pieces of darkness from his journey.

“Hey, Changbin,” you brightly greet, walking closer to him with your hands behind your back.

He gives you a strange look at your sudden chipperness and tries to get away. Unfortunately for him, he chose to arrive in a corner, and you easily trap him in.

“How was shadow travelling? Great? That’s great. Anyway, do you think Chan would like this?” You hold up a mesh bag full of stuffed mice, taxidermied ones and plushie ones included.

“What is he even going to do with those? Can I go now?”

You let him pass. “So, it’s perfect then!” Merrily, you take the bag with you to the register and start applying your employee discount code.

Changbin, who has not started working, hovers around. “Wait, is this what you’re getting him for his birthday?”

You stop pressing buttons and fearfully look at him. “Why are you saying it like that?”

You can always count on Changbin on being blunt with you, but it still stings when he answers. “He’ll like it because you gave it to him, but he doesn’t need dead mice. He works with summonings, and what demon likes already dead mice?“

“I’m trying a new approach,” you indignantly say. “No practical presents.”

“Okay, but he doesn’t want dead mice either.”

He makes a fair point. You cancel the purchase and leave the bag on the counter.

“What did you get him?” you ask. You mournfully scan the inventory pages, and the words feel like they’re taunting you. “Crystal ball? Gilded owl cage? Velvet-lined coffin?”

He laughs at your guesses and shows you a picture on his phone. An image of a koala plushie holding a vial of something shimmery stares back at you.

“Is that… dust bunny dust?” you say, pinching the screen to zoom in. “But you can literally find that under your bed.”

“When we were fifteen, he said— never mind, it’s an inside joke.” He tucks his phone back into his pocket and picks up the stuffed mice to put back on the shelf. “Why don’t you get him flowers and chocolate?”

“But that’s so… pedestrian. And more of an anniversary thing.” You sigh and wave him off. “I’ll let you get to work now.”

However, since the shop is quite empty in the late hours — who wants to go shopping when all the best things happen at night — Changbin soon returns by your side to help you solve your issue. You scroll through old text messages between you and Chan to find something noteworthy. You’re starting to reconsider Changbin’s earlier suggestion.

“What if I get him a birthday cake and flowers?” you try after finding a link to a boutique bakery from the town across the river. “But a really special cake and really special flowers.”

“Isn’t that too ‘pedestrian?’” he jokes. At your defeated expression, he pats your shoulder reassuringly. “I think he’ll like it. It’s a little bit practical as well.”

You suppose Changbin is still little miffed by the lint roller and darkness duster you gave him for his birthday.

“Is anything still open though?” You do a search for the local bakeries and flower shops, but as expected, most are already closed. On the bright side, you do know a florist who may not be too appalled if you knock on his door at this hour. “Do you think Jeongin will mind if I barge in for flowers?”

“Yes.”

As for the cake, a simple grocery store cake won’t do. The 24-hour grocery store, luckily, lives up to its name and is still open, which means you can make your own. “And do you think I can make a cake before midnight?”

“No.”

“I will switch those two answers around.” You grab your broomstick from the stand and are ready to leave when you remember that you are still supposed to be working. “Oh wait.”

Changbin shakes his head and nudges you to go ahead. “I can handle it.”

“I can’t just leave early! I’ll get fired!” You nervously drum your fingers on the countertop. You need a new plan, stat. “How about no cake? Agh! But just flowers is… agh!”

He laughs — how dare he! — at your panic. “Jihyo will understand. You’re also the only one who doesn’t fight when you get the witching hour shift.”

Your boss is quite nice and understanding, especially about things regarding relationships. After all, she was an apprentice for a witch specializing in love potions before she decided to open the shop. You hurriedly run for the door as the giant, looming clock ticks again.

“Thanks and good night!” you call over your shoulder to Changbin, who wishes you luck in return.

With some difficulty, you light the lantern dangling at the front of your broomstick. It’s dangerous of you, but you dial Jeongin’s phone number while flying to the grocery store and hope he picks up. If there were actual traffic laws for flying, you are certain you are breaking all of them. The dial tone is cut off, and Jeongin barely gets out a hello before you interrupt.

“I need flowers!” you shout over the rush of the wind. The neon sign of the store slowly blinks, and you nosedive down, scattering a cloud of vampire bats as you descend, almost dropping your phone in the process. “For Chan! So the best ones you have!”

“What kind of flowers?” You hear the sound of water from his end, so he must be tending to his night plants.

“Did you not hear me?” You grab a shopping cart, throw your broomstick in, and haphazardly snatch cake ingredients off the shelves. “The best ones you have! Also, can I borrow your kitchen?”

“That’s not what I— never mind. Sure, you can use my kitchen.”

“Thank you!” you chirp as you grab the last carton of milk. “See you soon.”

You hear Jeongin mumble a goodbye and hang up. Your cart is filled, and you’re certain that you have everything you need to make Chan the most magical birthday cake of his life. Self-checkout is fortunately devoid of customers, so you scan all the products as quickly as you can. Your broomstick is back-heavy as you head to Jeongin’s with your heavy bag of ingredients.

The giant upstairs window of his house is wide open, curtains pulled back, and you fly right through, landing on the kitchen floor with a heavy thump. Jeongin doesn’t even look away from his activity at the sink.

“Hello,” you say a little breathlessly. You take your bag and lean your mode of transport against the wall. “Sorry for coming on such short notice.”

“You couldn’t celebrate his birthday later in the day?” he asks. He’s snipping stems. “I’ve got plants to take care of and harvest.”

You find a large enough cauldron in one of his cabinets and start adding in butter and sugar. “I know, I’m sorry. I couldn’t think of anything to get him, so cake and flowers was a last-minute thing. I’ll buy gift cards here instead of the nursery for birthday presents next time.”

Jeongin seems happy with your response, and he breaks out the extra fancy ribbon he usually saves for expensive orders. With the exception of you mumbling cooking spells and him shuffling flowers around, it’s mostly quiet. After fifteen minutes, you slide the cake pan into the oven and pray the recipe you followed works. You anxiously stare at the clock, the incessant tick tock growing louder with each second. You’re not going to have enough time to frost the cake and make it look pretty at this rate.

While you make the buttercream frosting, you ask Jeongin, “What kind of flowers are you using?”

“The best ones I have,” he replies. You don’t need to see it to know he has a crescent moon smirk on his face. “The real answer is roses, lavender, and jasmine.”

Minho’s reminder of being spontaneous and not practical echoes in your ears. “Those are very practical choices,” you slowly say.

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“I’m trying a new approach. But it looks very pretty!” you add, admiring the colors. “He’ll need the lavender for stress anyway.”

He chuckles, and you sigh at your one-track mind.

When the clock strikes eleven, you’re officially in full panic mode. The bouquet is complete and resting in a glass jar of water. Jeongin, who for some reason trusts you to be alone in his home, leaves you while he attends to his plants. The cake — the stupid, still warm, ‘cannot be frosted unless you want the entire thing to look like an old wax candle’ cake — is sitting on the counter, and you whisper cooling spells that do not seem to be working.

It does smell lovely though, so at least the recipe worked.

After fifteen minutes of waiting and reciting cleaning spells, you start applying the first assembling the cake and icing it. You’re scraping the excess off when your phone rings. You mindlessly swipe across the screen with your knuckle, smearing a tiny bit of buttercream across the surface.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Hey, it’s Chan! Are you still coming over tonight? I just wanted to check since I know you’ve got work.”

You squeak and quickly push his almost-finished present aside, afraid he will discover the surprise even though he can’t see you. “Hey!” you say as nonchalantly as possible. He doesn’t know, you repeat to yourself. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

“Alright. I can’t wait.”

You hear him smiling, and a colony of bats flutter in your stomach out of anticipation and nervousness. “I’ve gotta get back. I’ll see you later. And happy early birthday.”

“Thanks, love. See you in a bit. Love you!”

“Love you too.”

He hangs up, and you quickly swing back into the thick of things, piping the birthday message in cursive across the top,and decorating the sides with the same sprinkles as inside the cake. It looks, let’s be honest here, terrible, and you decide to use magic to make it look better. It feels like cheating, but what’s the point of being a witch if you can’t use your powers for good?

Jeongin comes back inside and gives an appreciative “Ooh!” when he sees your creation. “That looks really nice.”

“Thanks, I used magic.”

He becomes less impressed. You make a face at him while you carefully put Chan’s cake into a cardboard box, which you stole from Jeongin’s supply cabinet. A cheerful alarm sounds, and your phone screen reads, “11:55 PM - Chan’s Birthday!”

Time is of the essence, and you possess none. You rush about, putting the box into the bag and letting it hang from the back of your broomstick like you did with the ingredients. There are still remnants of your decorating on the counter, so you hastily say a cleaning spell and hope it doesn’t go haywire.

Jeongin is a warlock; he can handle it.

The bouquet you hold with one hand, while your other one steers your broomstick. Your friendly but not useful friend watches you in amusement, and you bid him good night as you launch out of the window.

“Good night!” he yells, his voice ringing through the air. “Tell him ‘happy birthday’ for me!”

“Tell him yourself!” you shout back.

A few petals scatter into the wind, and you force yourself to slow down. You are flying, you should have adequate time, you cannot mess this up. Chan’s house isn’t too far away by broom, and you watch as the ETA on your GPS ticks down.

Destination in two minutes.

Destination in one minute.

Arrived at destination.

11:59 PM.

With a sigh of relief, you land and gather your gifts in your arms. Before you can even knock on the door with your foot, it opens. Chan, a grin on his face, stands on the other side of the threshold.

“Happy birthday!” you greet. You present him with his presents. “Happy birthday to the best person alive — you!”

He hugs you, gifts and all. “Thank you,” he says, his breath tickling your ear.

“Anything for you.”

Oh, how true that statement is.

After you nestle your broomstick in the rack outside, Chan leads you into the living room, and you place the box on the coffee table, which is surprisingly devoid of his usual clutter. The bouquet he takes from you and studies it.

“Lavender for stress, roses for… rosehip tea? And what are the white ones?” he asks.

“Jasmine, and I guess for tea as well. If one of your demons likes jasmine, you can use it in a summoning too.” You poke at his cheek, right where his dimple is. “Open the box.”

“Is it a cake? It smells sweet.”

He lifts the top of the box. He laughs, shuts it back close, and looks at you with lively eyes. “You made this, didn’t you? Your magic is all over it.”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I do. It looks amazing!” He pulls you closer and rubs his nose against yours. “Was it hard to bake?”

A fifty times sped up video of the hours before play inside your head. “It was hard to decide what to get you,” you decide after a moment. “I wanted to do something different than what I usually do.”

“No basket of common summoning items this year?” he teases.

“You said it was useful last month!” A flash of worry passes through you. “Would you rather have received that instead? Oh my. By the moon and stars, I can’t believe that the one time—”

Your forthcoming rambling is cut off when he puts his lips on yours. It’s sweet, slow, gentle, and out of nowhere. “Hm?” you squeak out once you lean away, too shocked to actually say, “What was that for?”

“I love whatever you get me,” he assures.

“No.” Kiss on your left cheek.

“Matter.” Right cheek.

“What.” Left corner of your mouth.

“It.” Right corner.

“Is.” One sloppy smooch on your lips.

He peppers you with more kisses, and you giggle at his messy attempts. “Even taxidermied mice?”

“Yes,” he replies, seemingly serious. “Decent sacrifice material for small things and good for gag gifts.” He softly chuckles. “I would rather have cake and flowers though. Much more pleasant.”

You mimic his big smile from earlier. “Happy birthday, Chan.”

~ ad.gray

#stray kids #skz #bang chan #happy birthday chan #stray kids au #modern magic au #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz fanfic #skz fluff #20201002

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purplesurveys · 3 years ago

Text

1274

Department One: Apparel And Jewelry

What are you wearing today? Just a white duster dress. Very loungewear-y, hahaha. I didn’t feel like wearing shorts today.

What does your favorite shirt look like? At the moment I’m obsessed with my Vante shirt. It’s fanmade but it was made tastefully; the designs aren’t too loud and I love the cute little shoutouts and tributes to his past paintings, so it had been a ridiculously easy decision for me to want to buy it.

What kind of underwear do you prefer wearing? Eh I don’t really have a preference as long as I don’t find them uncomfy.

What are your favorite kind of jeans? I’m definitely still stuck in my mom jeans phase. Idk man, I just love how they match nearly all kinds of tops.

What do the last pair of shoes you wore look like? They were adidas sneakers. Not a big fan of chunky shoes but it’s an Ivy Park and it was on a big discount HAHAHA so I didn’t hesitate to get them.

How many shoes do you own? A little more than 10. I love shoes and wanna collect them someday...just not today, hahaha.

How much jewelry do you own? Not too big on jewelry; most, if not all the ones I wear are just borrowed from my mom since we share the same style anyway.

Do you own any real diamonds or other expensive jewelry? Yeah, the ones I would borrow from my mom are pretty pricey.

Has anyone ever gave you jewelry as a present? Yes, I received rings and necklaces from my ex. One of my aunts also gave me a necklace when I turned 7.

Do you like diamonds or gemstones better? I just stick with diamonds...which is...also a gemstone too, if I’m not mistaken.

Silver or gold? Silver.

Department Two: Electronics

Do you have a DVD player in your car? Not in mine, but we do have one in the family car. I used to watch movies on there often but after one grueling road trip where my motion sickness acted up, I haven’t wanted to use it since.

If you have one, what does your camera/camcorder look like? I just use the camera in my phone but back in the day I used to have a DSLR; that was when I thought I wanted to take up photography, heh. It was a Nikon D3100.

How much did it cost? I’m not sure since my dad gave it to me as a present, but a quick search told me it would’ve cost him around P20,000 which issssss wow more expensive than I thought.

What kind of cellphone do you have? I have an iPhone 8 with an LCD screen that’s deteriorating by the day HAHA. I really need to get a new phone.

How often do you send texts? I text just for work purposes now, so it really depends on how busy my accounts are. Some days would require me to send out more texts than usual.

Do you have your own computer or does your family share? I have my own laptop. My workplace also provided me with what’s supposed to be my work laptop, but they had it sent to me when I was already a couple of months into my job and all my needed files and programs were already in my personal laptop. Since I was too lazy to start everything all over again, I’ve never actually used the work laptop haha.

How many computers are in your house? We have three laptops in total - my siblings and I each have our own. Kind of a necessity these days.

Do you still have a VCR? I don’t think so.

How many DVDs do you own? We probably have around 30-50 but most of them are movies from like the 2000s that we just haven’t thrown out. Personally, I have about five DVDs of old films like Gone with the Wind, Rebel Without A Cause, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, etc, and recently I’ve been buying BTS merch so DVDs are part of that mix too.

Does your car have a GPS? No. I use Waze on my phone instead.

What kind of iPod/MP3 player do you have? Haven’t used an iPod in like a literal decade. I use Spotify for my music.

How many songs are on it? Spotify doesn’t work that way since it’s technically a database of songs.

What size is your TV? Never bothered to ask/check.

How many TVs are in your house? Four. Living room, dining room, master bedroom, my brother’s room.

What video game systems do you have? We have a PS3 and PS4.

What about handhelds? Switch. I believe my sister also still has her DSi stored somewhere.

How many video games do you have? Probably somewhere around 50-60. My dad and brother are content with repeating their games lol.

Department Three: Home

What kind of shampoo do you use? It’s a Dove variant but I’m just blanking out on the specific name/what it does.

Soap or shower gel? Shower gel.

What does your comforter look like? It’s pretty colorful and has geometric shapes and lines.

Does it match your pillows? Yep, they come in a set.

What size is your bed? Twin.

Do you or your parents like to decorate the house with various things or is it plain? My mom puts considerable effort in decorating the house but it’s nothing overboard that it feels tacky. There’s enough decor in enough spaces.

Does the furniture in your house match? Sure. I imagine my mom would be very irritated if she felt something was uncoordinated at home.

What does your couch look like? It’s a gray L-shaped couch. Gabie broke a portion of the couch’s springs when it had only spent its like first two weeks at home but surprisingly my mom has not noticed it yet; probably because she barely sits on that side.

How many does your dining room/kitchen table seat? It has six chairs, though since we’re five one of the chairs is almost always unoccupied.

Do you have any fancy china? No, my mom isn’t the type to collect those.

Do you have outside furniture? Yeah we have a table and chairs up on the rooftop, if they count.

What do your curtains look like? My siblings and I have pull-down blinds. The other rooms have these pulled-back gold curtains that’s accompanied by white sheers.

Department Four: Grocery

What kind of bread do you get? Sliced white bread, always. Sometimes my mom will pick up pan de sal, but she gets those from a certain bakery and no longer the grocery.

What is your favorite kind of cake? CHEEEEEEEEEESECAAAAAAAKE.

Do you get a lot of sweets from the grocery store? Eh, nah. Not a big fan of sweets.

What kind of soda is your favorite? Don’t like soda.

Do you drink juice? What kind? I can take it or leave it. I wouldn’t buy it for myself.

What is your favorite chewing gum? Doesn’t matter to me. The flavors last for only like a minute anyway.

Do you usually get candy from the check-out aisle? Nah. Those are far more accessible so who knows who could’ve touched or tampered with them. Plus, I mentioned I don’t like sweets.

What is your favorite soup? Miso or cream of mushroom.

Have you ever had soup when you were sick? No. I don’t enjoy hot beverages/liquids very much so I doubt I would feel comfort from soup when I’m sick.

What are your favorite canned vegetables? Not sure if it’s a cultural difference thing but canned vegetables kind of sound gross and I don’t think I’ve encountered those (I actually had to look it up lol). My parents always buy fruits and veggies as is.

What do you eat for breakfast? Fried rice is a constant but my mom switches up the set of viands every time. Some of the meals she serves would be hotdogs, eggs (either scrambled, omelette, fried, or sunny-side up), corned beef, dried fish, hashbrowns, luncheon meat, tapa, and Vienna sausages. Poptarts or toaster strudels? Poptarts. I’ve never had toaster strudel and I’m honestly not sure what that is.

What salad dressing do you prefer? Spicy mayo.

Ketchup, mayonnaise, or mustard? MAYONNAISE. I can live without the other two.

What kind of cookie do you like best? I only ever eat chocolate chip.

What kind of snacks do you get at the grocery store? Salted egg chips or Pringles. Not a big fan of snacks either. This survey is making me realize I’m way more into full meals than anything else.

Do you get the meat from the deli? Er, we don’t have delis here. Too fancy a concept lmao. If we have them, they are most likely in those extremely upscale, boujee neighborhoods.

What is your favorite frozen dinner? I mean my dad buys frozen meat, fish, etc, but the frozen dinner sets that I see in American culture, which I’m guessing is what’s being referred to in this question, are not common here.

Do you prefer frozen dinners to actual cooking? I honestly can’t imagine how it’s filling, but then again I’ve never tried it. Personally, food made from scratch is still the best.

What is your favorite kind of pasta? Fettuccine.

Do you eat meat? And if not, do you eat vegetarian meat? Yes, I eat meat. I get vegan options if they’re accessible and affordable, but those choices are hard to come by here.

What is your favorite fruit? Avocado is really the only one I’ll give a pass to. Everything else tastes horrible.

What about vegetable? Broccoli, bell peppers, green beans.

Department Five: Health And Beauty

What kind of makeup do you normally use? None. If I absolutely have to put on makeup, I will begrudgingly put on foundation, maybe some eyeliner, and lip gloss. And they will all most likely be borrowed from my sister.

Do you wear more makeup on special events? Not necessarily.

What is your favorite makeup brand? I wouldn’t be the right person to ask because I would just say none of them.

Do you use any acne products? Mmm no, I just splash water on my face, really. I actually got into a conversation about skincare with my co-workers yesterday and besides the usual shocked experessions I get when people find out I don’t use products, they recommended I at least get moisturizer and sunscreen. Idk, let’s see but historically it’s been hard to convince me to invest in skincare haha.

What kind of perfume do you use? I have one of Beyoncé’s perfumes, Heat Rush. I don’t actually know if that’s still in production but it’s been my staple for like a decade or so now.

Have you ever been on a diet? No. I never really had to be on one.

What products do you use in your hair? Shampoo and conditioner.

How often do you brush your hair? Only when I have to leave the house or have an important virtual work meeting.

What do you take when you have an upset stomach? Nothing. The toilet usually solves that for me lol.

Do you take any prescription medicine? Nope.

Department Six: Movies, Music, And Books

What is your favorite movie of all time? It’s been Two for the Road for a solid nine years and it doesn’t look like anything’s on its way to dethroning it anytime soon.

What genre of movie do like best? Drama. The more realistic it is, the better.

What was the last movie you watched? It’s a Korean film called Be With You. I liked it and I cried waterfalls, but the ending was so rushed it was kind of disappointing.

What was the last movie you purchased? I don’t buy movies. If I wanted to see a film I’ll check if Netflix has it, then if they don’t I just try to scour one of those illegal movie streaming sites that always happen to have thousands of pornographic ads hahaha.

What is your all time favorite band? Paramore. Do you still buy CDs? Only from artists I’m an extremely huge fan of. Right now that would be BTS, so I’m catching up on all the albums they’ve released in the last eight years.

What was the last CD you bought? I got the Butter album set, if that counts. If it doesn’t, the last full-length album I purchased was Dark & Wild.

What was the last song you listened to? I think it was Permission To Dance.

What is your favorite book? I haven’t found it yet.

Do you even like reading? I used to love it a lot more, to the point that back in grade school I was known as always having a book in my hand. I just don’t know where that passion went.

How often do you read? Nearly never. I mean...I do read fanfics, I guess; but I won’t count those.

Department Seven: Sports And Fitness

Do you own a bike/scooter/skateboard/etc.? We do have a bike at home, but that doesn’t mean I know how to ride it. We don’t have the other two.

How old were you when you learned to ride a bike w/o training wheels? I still don’t know how to last on a bike without training wheels heheh.

Have you ever been camping? Nah.

How often do you work out? Nope but at work my boss just started another fitness challenge, so I’ll probably have to get back on working out soon just because I would want to accomplish the challenge.

Are you in good shape? Sure, I think so. I’m not like fit fit because I neveeer exercise haha, but I also don’t make it a point to constantly eat unhealthy foods or have an unhealthy lifestyle to the point that it affects my body.

Do you go to a gym? I do not. I thought of getting a membership at the start of the year but I’m glad I didn’t push through with it because all the gyms are still closed anyway.

Have you ever been fishing? No. Idk if it’s my kind of pastime or not.

Have you ever been on a boat? Yeah. My country has like 7000 islands so I was bound to get on a boat at some point in my life haha.

Can you play golf? Never seemed interesting to me so no. Even on Wii Sports I barely picked golf.

Ever rode on a golf cart? Yeah, in resorts where we had to ride them to be taken to our room.

Would you ever go hunting? That’s an easy no.

What is your favorite sport? Pro wrestling or table tennis.

Ever played on a sports team? No, my school didn’t have a table tennis varsity.

Department Eight: Toys

What was your favorite toy as a child? Cash registers because I liked the buttons. Also Play-Doh sets that had those contraptions that would squirt out the clay in various shapes.

Do you still play with toys? Well, no.

Do you collect any toys? I don’t, but I’m not opposed to start buying Funko Pop figurines of people or characters I’m interested in.

Did you ever have building blocks? Sure, but I was never creative enough for them.

Did you play with dolls? No.

Barbies or Bratz? Which were better? BRATZZZZZZ

What is your favorite board game? Scrabble.

Do you like to do arts and crafts? Hell no.

Do you think that kids now have it better than when you were young? For sure, but isn’t that kind of the goal?

#survey #surveys

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yourfavoriteagent · 4 years ago

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Your Midnight Company Part 3

Hey guys! Here’s part 3 I promised! I hope you’re liking the series so far! I’m having a blast writing it!

Also found on my AO3: Here!

Content Warnings: None

It had been three days and you’ve only heard from Spencer a few times, he texted you briefly the first night he got there but other than that it’s been short check-in texts for the most part. One day he was waiting for his boss to get back and he had a moment to talk. He told you it was a rough case but they think they’re getting it and how he should be back within the week. He also mentioned how he was excited to see you again which made your heart do cartwheels in your chest.

———-

S: ’guess who’s coming home! :)’ ‘you???” S: ‘wow how’d you get that so quick? Yep! We lift off in an hour.’ ‘how was the case?’ S: ‘I can’t talk about it but it wasn’t an easy one, I’m just glad it’s over’ ‘aww, I'm sorry :/ I’m glad you’re coming home, unfortunately, I don’t work tmrw but I work Thursday so you should come in then!’ S: ’what if instead… I take you out to dinner tomorrow?” You stopped in your tracks, like a date? Was this a date? Are you two dating? ‘like a date?’ You pull the trigger and ask, terrified of his response, yeah he was cute and you did like him there was nothing to not like, you just didn’t want to look like an idiot and assume. S: ‘is that alright with you?’ ‘yes! That’s perfect with me! A date it is!’ you’re grinning from behind your phone, wow a date with Spencer Reid, sorry, Doctor Spencer Reid. S:’ I’ll pick you up at 7?’ ‘sounds great, I can’t wait.”

———

The next day drags on, every time you look at the clock it’s only been two minutes since the last time you looked. You have never sat through a longer one hour lecture in your life. Finally, it was 3 pm, your final lecture of the day. This one lasted until 4:30, you tried your best to read the slides your professor was putting up but every thought was about tonight. You had a whole outfit planned out, you knew exactly what makeup you would wear, the only problem is you have no idea where you’d be going, he could take you to McDonald's for all you know. The clock hits 4:30 while your professor is rambling about an essay due in a few weeks, you practically jump out of your seat when the professor dismisses the class. Okay, it would take you about 20 minutes to get home on the bus then you’d have like 2 hours to get ready. You’re planning out your time in your head so much you nearly miss your stop. You unlock your door and set your bag down, realizing you hadn’t heard much from Spencer today and he didn’t know where you lived, you’d been way too distracted with the thought of tonight and your classes.

‘hey cutie, did I give you my address?”

After sending the text along with your address you walked into your bedroom shucking off your clothes and setting out the dress you planned to wear tonight. The jumped in the shower washing everything you could think of, you were so nervous which is weird because you’ve spent a good amount of your time talking to him but somehow this was different. It was all real for the first time. You dry off and head back to your bedroom to slap on some makeup, you kept it elegant but simple, opting for a pair of subtle lashes and some tinted lip balm. You wanted the “you but better” look. You decided to go with loose curls in your hair, making it bouncy and smooth. Next, you slid on your dress, it was a dark green slip dress, nothing super fancy but still nice. The gold jewelry you paired with it stood out against the darkness of the dress. You were looking over yourself in the mirror when the doorbell rang, he was 3 minutes early. You rush down the hall with your flats in hand. You hoped you looked good as you threw open the door, trying your best to look like you hadn’t just run through your apartment. “Wow, you look amazing.” He smiled draping a black coat over his arm, he was wearing a white button-down with the top two buttons undone and a pair of nice black pants, you looked stunning. “I could say the same to you.” You were grinning ear to ear as you reached around the door to your side table where you grabbed your purse then you were out the door. He held his hand out to yours and walked you down your hallway and out into the cool night air. Thankfully it wasn’t raining tonight so the two of you walked a few blocks down to a nice Italian restaurant you've never eaten at, it had always looked too expensive for you, but he opened the door for you and the two of you walked right in. “Reservation for Dr. Reid.” He said to the woman at the front desk, she nodded and told him to follow her. She walked us through the tables until we got to the back where there was a table with a single candle on top. It was next to the window that showed off the lights of the city. It was beautiful. He pulled your chair out for you and sat down across from you. You were looking around the restaurant at all the hanging lights and paintings on the walls. “This place is so nice, Spencer you didn’t have to bring me here.” “Why would I not want to give you the best I could provide,” he smiled and reached across the table for your hands, “Besides, I pass this place on my way to work every day I’ve always dreamt of bringing the perfect girl here for the perfect night.” You blushed hard at this, “A hopeless romantic?” “You could say that.” He hadn’t stopped smiling since he picked you up. A waitress came by with two menus and water for both of you. He ordered a chicken alfredo and you got the mushroom ravioli, it was beyond delicious but also ridiculously expensive. I mean who would pay $27 for pasta? Apparently, Spencer would, he would buy even more, you two got a brownie with homemade ice-cream to share at the end of your date. Aside from the food you two talked, he talked a bit about his case, although not being able to provide too many details, apparently there was a serial killer in Boston that was preying on young girls, he said it like it was so standard. Almost like it was boring, you couldn’t imagine what it would take to shake him up. Before dessert, he pulled a brown paper wrapped package from his coat pocket and slid it across the table to you. “What’s this?” You ask. “It’s for you, I saw it in a bookshop in Boston and thought of you.” He smiled, “Go on, open it!” You tore at the wrapping uncovering a book. It was a gorgeous edition of The Ship of Theseus. You remembered talking about this the first day you two met. You put it in your Amazon wishlist of things to buy with your next paycheck but he already bought it for you. “Spencer, you didn’t have to! Thank you so much!” You flip the book over to look at all the detail of the cover. “I was hoping you hadn’t bought it for yourself already. I think you’ll like it.” He smiles, his eyes were bright and happy. It was a wonderful sight.

———

The check came but before the lady could come back with Spencer’s card he gets a call. “Sorry,” He says picking up the phone and starting to stand up. “This is Dr. Reid. I see. Okay, I’ll be there in ten.” “All good?” You ask as the woman comes back with the card. “Yeah I think so, I’m so sorry to ask this but I need to run to my office for a moment, would you mind coming with me? It’s just down the street, I’ll walk you home right after.” He looks at you apologetically, you guess this was not the perfect date night he had imagined for the two of you. “Oh, of course, I don’t mind at all. Is it okay that I’m there?” You ask getting up out of your seat and grabbing your purse. “Yeah, I’ll talk to Hotch it should be fine.” He takes your hand and you two walk out of the restaurant hand in hand. He wasn’t kidding when he said he passes this place on his way to work, he stopped at a building four doors down and handed you his coat. “Here, it’ll only be a second.” Then you stepped into the BAU for the first time.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine

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floralguccistyles · 5 years ago

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seven: the petra gallego cinematic universe

I wasn’t a vain person.

If there was one thing I really liked about myself, it was probably this fact. I had never been careless with how I looked, but I didn’t let my appearance rule my life, either. I was perfectly comfortable going out of the house without makeup, just like some girls didn’t like to even run down to the Tesco without it on. This didn’t make me better than other girls, but my appearance was just something that had been secondary to my mental health.

Which is why I was chastising myself for staring at my nose in the mirror, frowning.

It had been a week since my disastrous conversation with Harry. In that week, I had been obsessively checking Twitter to see what his fans were saying about me. Overall, I was actually surprised to see that most of them were nice. They liked my Vans and thought the height difference between Harry and I was cute, whatever that meant. About twenty percent of them had been disparaging to my appearance in some way, though. They tweeted that I was too ugly to be seen with Harry. I would be the first to admit that I hadn’t looked my best when the pictures of us had surfaced, but I didn’t think I had looked as terrible as everyone was saying.

Over the past week, however, I found myself looking in the mirror a lot more than I usually did. At first, it had been the color of my hair. Brown was a hard color to criticize (in my opinion), but it was like the comments about my hair had made me realize how dull the color actually was. I had a small breakout near my hairline which I could easily cover with my hair, but it still made me upset to see since my skin was usually clear.

Today, the problem I seemed to have with my appearance was my nose. I was never aware that it was a little too protruding. The tip of it seemed to come to an unflattering point that I had never really noticed until I was standing in my bathroom, my hair slicked back from my shower. My reflection stared back at me in the mirror, a frown on her face as her fingers contorted her nose this way and that.

Did my nose make me look ugly?

I scoffed at myself, hating the way I was scrutinizing my appearance and stepping away from the mirror. I braided my wet hair back so it wouldn’t stick to my face in stringy clumps and then walked out of my bathroom, giving Melody a wave. She had stayed the night at my place last night because Vera’s boyfriend had stayed at her place the night before and he always made weird comments about Melody’s body right in front of Vera.

“You were in there a long time for someone who only has like three bath products,” Melody commented, scrolling through the channels on the telly. The two of us were headed out to the midnight premiere of Captain Marvel, which was in a couple of hours. Melody had bought us tickets a couple months back and needless to say, it was the only thing I’d been looking forward to for a while.

I didn’t want to admit to my brazen and blunt best friend that the reason was because I was nitpicking my appearance. “I’m always in the shower for a long time.”

Besides my newfound insecurities with my physical appearance, this week had also been filled with Marvel movies. We had watched all the films in the universe to prepare us for both Captain Marvel and Endgame, which was set to come out in April. We had also already purchased our tickets to that midnight screening. In fact, I was fairly certain this was the only time I had gotten ready in the past week. Usually our Marvel marathons were spent entirely in our pajamas.

“Touché.”

My phone buzzed quietly in my pocket. Knowing who it probably was, I ignored it.

He had been messaging me on Instagram ever since the night of our argument. He had apologized almost an hour afterwards, mentioning that he didn’t have the right to feel offended by my offhanded joke. I hadn’t replied. The next day, he had asked about the succulent he brought me, which he said he affectionately named Benjamin. I didn’t reply to that one either. He didn’t message me for two days after that, but then tried his luck again with messaging me, asking if I was free that day.

I hoped the radio silence on my end was hint enough.

I don’t know what I had been thinking, trying to be friends with Harry. Not even friends, but rather acquaintances. It was just too difficult to be friends with him when I knew about our past. Despite my mother and father begging me to give Harry a chance to prove that the boy from secondary school no longer existed, Doctor Thorne had been right. I wasn’t going to force myself into having a relationship with him.

“Is that the raging twat again?”

While I hadn’t told her about my Twitter deep searches, I did tell her about the conversation with Harry last week. She had clucked her tongue, as if to say I told you so without really saying it.

I pulled out my phone. I didn’t even read the message, just checked to see if it was attached to his username. “Yep.”

“You still ignoring him?”

“Yes.”

“Good. He doesn’t deserve you.”

I halfway agreed. Not because he was some secretly kind and beautiful person, but because I didn’t think it was especially hard to deserve me. If Harry had shown even the smallest of kindnesses to me when we were younger, he might have deserved me. Since he hadn’t, he didn’t. But I didn’t think I was this incredibly special person who deserved the world.

“Read me the message. I wanna hear what he has to say for himself,” Melody said, leaning back on my couch and propping her feet up on my coffee table.

Obliging, I retrieved my phone from my pocket and opened up Instagram.

“Christ, he’s sent me a fucking novel.”

Melody just snickered.

harrystyles: Hi Petra. Just checking in. I’m sorry for last week. I know that’s why you’re probably ignoring me. I’ve gone and fucked things up again, haven’t I? I know this isn’t going to make up for anything, but I know you and Melody are probably going to the premiere of Captain Marvel tonight. Tell me how you like it. I’ve got tickets to the premiere in Los Angeles in two weeks. If you want, I could get you tickets to come. Let me know. I’ll get Melody a ticket too.

My mouth hung open at his message.

“Holy shit, he really wants you to forgive him. Los Angeles? That’s major.”

I didn’t know why, because Melody was looking impressed and reluctantly excited, but I was angry. I wanted to throw my phone across the room.

Of course it wasn’t enough that he just wanted to apologize for being a shitty person. He just had to make sure something was attached, like that was a reason for giving our hesitant acquaintanceship another shot. I knew Harry was rich and had money to buy the people he cared about nice things, but to me, that was a cheap shot. I’d much rather have something heartfelt, like him inviting me to meet John Williams because he knew how excited I’d be.

It was like I wasn’t even worth the effort. Like he could just throw something expensive in my direction and I’d forgive him.

“You can have the tickets if you want,” I told Melody, tossing my phone onto the couch in annoyance, “but I don’t want them.”

Melody raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. She just continued to search through channels for something to watch. While we sat in the silence, I let my eyes drift over to Benjamin (which I had reluctantly started calling him. Not because Harry had thought of it, but because it was a rather cute name).

If Harry had shown up with another thoughtful little plant like that, I might have forgiven him.

“I’m not going to Los Angeles without you. The raging twat can go fuck himself.” I chuckled at her blasé tone. “I’m just… I don’t know. Worried about you. I know you guys were getting closer or whatever.”

“No,” I almost immediately responded. “I think Harry and I are unable to be friends.”

And that was the truth of the matter. I had deluded myself into some sort of comfortability with him, but it was long gone. It was like his little offhand comment had reminded me of all the shit he had done. He was Harry who introduced me to John Williams and brought me iced coffee, yes, but he was also the Harry who made me sob and was one of the reasons I was going to therapy in the first place.

“Trennan and I are unable to be friends. Trennan’s not a twat like Harry is, but he’s so fucking stupid.”

And just like that, my sour mood was back to normal. Melody had that effect on people. We wasted time by chatting about Trennan’s latest fuck up at work and watched an episode of Friends that was playing on the telly. We painted our nails (something Melody was surprisingly good at) red, blue, and gold to show support for Carol Danvers before the movie. When it came time for us to leave, my flat, we eagerly got into our Uber who took one look at our Marvel gear and asked if we were going to the midnight premiere.

The theater was packed when we arrived, but since we’d already gotten our tickets, there really wasn’t anything to worry about. It was one of those fancy theaters that sold alcohol, so we each got a drink and cheered to the new movie before they allowed us into the actual theater. We were sitting in the middle, which was absolutely the best seat in the house, and I wiggled into the chair and flipped up the foot rest. There was a little swinging table that came across my stomach, so I set my drink there.

For those glorious two hours and five minutes, all of my worries seemed to evaporate. Watching Carol Danvers kicking alien ass was like a switch that shut off all the drama that was going on with Harry and all of the terrible tweets. It was just Melody and I watching as the first woman superhero in Marvel got her solo film. Seeing Samuel L. Jackson without an eyepatch and CGI’d to look younger was a trip, but the movie was so brilliant that I couldn’t bring myself to care.

“Fuck, that was brilliant,” Melody exclaimed when we exited the theater, still on the high of seeing such an amazing film. “Did you see her absolutely obliterate Jude Law?”

I had seen her absolutely obliterate Jude Law, but I nodded my head enthusiastically. “And then that line!”

“I’ve got nothing to prove to you,” Melody quoted, her voice dipping lower to try and mimic Brie Larson’s cadence. “Holy shit I’m so glad we saw that.”

“You coming back to mine?” I asked, getting out my phone to order an Uber for the two of us.

“Unfortunately no. I’ve got to head to the office early in the morning and I don’t want to wake you up. Plus, I’ve got some documents there that I need.”

Once we grabbed an Uber back to her flat, I gave her a quick hug. The nights where Melody didn’t stay the night were weird now. I had gotten used to her using my couch as her safe haven.

“What’s the second address?” the Uber driver asked.

I told him my flat address as my phone beeped in my pocket. When I pulled it out, I was surprised to see Bailey’s number flashing across my screen. “Bails?” I asked when I answered it. There was thumping bass in the background of wherever she was and I had to plug my other ear with my finger to hear her clearly.

“Petra! Thank Christ. I didn’t know who else to call. Harry is here and he’s absolutely pissed. Like, I don’t think he can even navigate through the Uber app right now. Jeff left about an hour ago, but I don’t think he knew how drunk Harry was. I’ve been sitting with him for a couple of minutes trying to get him to drink water.”

My first instinct was to tell Harry Styles to fuck off. He was smarter than going out and getting piss drunk without a sure way home. But the pleading tone of Bailey’s voice had me sympathetic enough to ask where they were. Once she gave me the name of the night club, I told the driver to change course and that I’d pay him double for the inconvenience. “Alright, Bails, I’m on my way. Sorry you have to deal with him.”

“S’alright. He was fine the first couple of drinks. Was dancing and singing. Then he just got quiet and sad. I’m just worried he’s going to do something stupid.”

I wasn’t heartless enough to not feel sympathy for him. But my sympathy wouldn’t fix things between us, so I just hummed at Bailey’s statement. “Try and keep him drinking some water. I’ll make sure he gets home safe. Is anyone else there with you?”

“Veronica’s in the loo.”

There was a bright side to this little excursion then. At least I would get to say hello to Bailey and Veronica. “Alright. Be there soon.”

I wasn’t exactly dressed to go to a nightclub. I noticed this the second the driver pulled up and I promised I would be out in fifteen minutes. I was in mum jeans and my Marvel shirt, not in the glittery and sequined mini dresses some of the girls were wearing. Uncomfortable, I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to find Bailey in the crowd of people. There were intoxicated people everywhere, bumping into me and sending me glares as if it were my fault. Eventually I managed to find the leggy blonde that was Veronica Berkley, and made a beeline over towards her.

The three of them were sitting at a table, Harry’s head down on the wood and his arm hanging limply at his side. He had a glass of water in front of him and Bailey was trying to coax him to take another sip. When she saw me, her face relaxed. “Thank Christ. Thanks, Petra.”

“Petra?” Harry asked, his head immediately lifting from the table. He stared at me, but it didn’t look like he was all the way there. He then noticed my outfit and sent me a timid smile. “How was the movie?”

“C’mon,” I said stoically, reaching for him, “let’s get you home.”

Helping Harry keep upright happened to be a very difficult task. Compared to me, he was unreasonably tall. He leaned awkward against me, but slotted his arm around my shoulders to keep himself from tipping over. “I had too many shots of tequila,” he mumbled groggily, blinking slowly as I tried to maneuver his weight in a way that helped us both not fall.

“I know,” I replied. I looked towards Bailey and Veronica. “I’ve got him, guys. I’ll text you when I get home, yeah?”

“Please do. Be careful,” Veronica said, eyeing Harry. She didn’t know the details of our past, but she knew I wasn’t exactly his number one fan. Veronica was incredibly well-tempered, but also was passionate about protecting the ones she cared about. For some wild reason, I had made it into this category.

I nodded and reached around Harry, pulling his body closer to my waist so I could keep him up. Walking was a bit of a chore, especially because drunk Harry seemed to get distracted very easily, but we made it out of the nightclub with minor injuries and arguments. The Uber driver from earlier raised an eyebrow when Harry Styles got into his car, but thankfully didn’t say much else.

“Same address?” the Uber driver asked.

“No,” I said, turning to Harry. “Harry, you’ve got to tell me your address so we can get you home.”

“I don’t remember it.”

I tried not to get annoyed since it wouldn’t be much help, but that proved difficult while in the presence of one Harry Styles. “Don’t you want to go home and sleep in your bed? From my own memory, I remember it being a magnificent one.”

He grinned. “You’ve imagined being in my bed?” At my deadpan look, his smile dropped and he shook his head. “I...I don’t want to be alone.”

That should have been it. I should have demanded to get the address from him and sent him on his way home. I’d walk him up to his door and put him in his bed (fuck changing him out of his clothes, he could sleep in his wide-legged yellow pants for all I cared) and then be on my way. But it was the look in his eyes as he hesitantly turned to face me that had me stopping in my tracks. They weren’t the carelessly apologetic eyes I had been expecting to see after our little disagreement. They were tired, an exhaustion that only came with carrying the weight of something heavy and ugly on your shoulders. He blinked slowly at me, and I was a little surprised to see tears well in them.

Which was the only reason I told the driver to just stick to my address.

Harry was nearly comatose on the drive back, staring out the window so I couldn’t see that lonely look in his eyes anymore. I didn’t know if I was grateful for it or wishing I could see it again. Seeing it would prove to me that there was a semblance of a human who had problems like I did, but not seeing it meant that I could still justify being angry with him about last week. Eventually, I just settled into my seat and looked out my own window as the city passed us by.

When the driver pulled up to my place, I had to shake Harry gently awake. Sometime during the drive, he had dozed off. He blinked a little sleepily at me as I thanked the guy driving us and hurriedly exited the car to help Harry out of his side. Like in the club, he easily slid his arm around my shoulders and accepted my help as we hobbled to my flat. Getting my keys out of my pocket with a drunk gargantuan attached to me was difficult, but not impossible. Soon we stumbled into my flat and Harry made a beeline to my couch, groaning as he sat on the cushions.

“Why’re we at your place?” he asked, his breath smelling entirely like the bottom of a bottle.

“You said you didn’t want to be alone,” I replied, gathering the blankets and pillows that Melody usually slept with to make him a little pallet on the couch.

He frowned. “I didn’t think you cared.”

That stung more than it should have. “M’not heartless, Harry.”

“No,” he immediately said, shaking his head, “no. You’re the opposite of heartless. You have too much heart, I think. There’s so much of it and it’s easy to break and I’ve broken it a lot.”

I was uncomfortable with the direction our conversation was taking. I hoped he would fall asleep soon so I could retreat to my room and escape the emotions swirling around inside me. “Go to sleep, Harry. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I’ll feel like shit. I always do when you’re involved.” He seemed to have enough clarity to know that this wasn’t a good thing to say, so he cursed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean that I’m not good enough to be your friend.”

Laughing humorlessly, I shook my head. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Harry. You’re drunk.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” he reminded me.

“I never believed in that saying.”

“It’s because you would never say someone bad about someone. That’s what being drunk is, mostly. You just say shitty things because suddenly you have courage. But you wouldn’t. Because you’re a nice person.” He curled onto his side, clutching the pillow like it was his salvation. “I know I fucked up. I didn’t have a right to be mad when you said that.”

“You didn’t,” I agreed.

“I just hate being reminded of what person I was to you.” When I didn’t say anything, his eyes scanned my flat, landing on the succulent he had brought me. “You kept Benjamin.”

“I told you I was a good plant mum. Just because I was mad at you doesn’t mean Benjamin needed to suffer.”

He laughed, the sound of it making me feel lighter now that I knew he was off the self-deprecating thoughts. We could discuss it in the morning. I still wasn’t really ready to forgive, and that was on me. I had to search deep into myself and deal with problems that didn’t have anything to do with Harry. Hearing him—even if I knew he was drunk—apologize for his actions helped.

“She’s really beautiful,” he said suddenly, and I saw his eyes on the photo of my grandmother.

“She is.” I tried to forget that he had told me last week that I had looked like her.

“You are too. Inside and out. I want to be beautiful like that.”

His hand reached out and curled around mine, carding our fingers together to examine the difference in sizes. My hand was small and bony, his fingers were long and callused from playing guitar. I held my breath as he stared at our fingers, his thumb running across the back of my hand and tickling the skin there. “Why didn’t you want to be alone tonight, Harry?” I whispered.

“Always alone. Didn’t want to be.”

His head lolled to its side, burrowing itself into the pillow. I knew he would be out in a matter of minutes and I could release my fingers from his then, but for now I let him clutch onto my skin. I heard the moment his breathing evened out, small snores falling from his parted lips. Sighing, I stood from the couch and tossed the blanket over him, making sure he was properly tucked in since I knew the fan blowing overhead sometimes made Melody cold.

And then I retreated to my own room, trying to ignore the fact that Harry Styles was sleeping just beyond my bedroom wall.

The smell of something burning woke me up.

It took me a couple of moments to remember what had happened the night before. When I did, I groaned. This morning was going to be interesting with a hungover Harry. I was suddenly glad Melody had decided to stay at her place because Christ knew she would be glaring at Harry’s every move. Blearily putting on my glasses so I could properly see, I stretched my body out of bed, listening to the pops and cracks of my bones. I was dressed in my normal sleep attire of leggings and a long-sleeved shirt, so I just shoved my feet into slippers and made my way into the kitchen.

The burning toast had woken me from sleep, but the fact that Harry was standing in my kitchen in nothing but his underwear was like someone had poured cold water down my back.

He turned, jumping when he saw me staring at him. “Christ, you move quietly!” he exclaimed. My eyes were locked onto his torso, unable to meet his eyes. Harry wasn’t the most muscular guy that I’d ever seen, but that didn’t mean he was lacking in that department. His entire body looked like someone’s doodled-in notebook, but the tattoos suited him.

All except the giant fucking butterfly.

“Morning,” he said cautiously, not noticing that my gaze was on the giant insect across his stomach.

“Why the fuck did you get a butterfly?” I asked, ignoring morning pleasantries in favor of taking a page from Melody’s book and being blunt and honest.

He smiled a little. “Lux liked butterflies.” I had no idea who Lux was, but I just raised an eyebrow. “I’m making us breakfast.”

“I’m surprised you’re up and about. I was sure you’d be groaning and complaining about your massive headache.” Still, I sat at one of my barstools and watched him put two slices of toast on a plate. I smelled the avocado before I saw it, and I was happy to see he put a generous helping on the toast I assumed was meant for me. Sprinkling pepper and salt on it, he handed it to me with a flourish.

“I found your ibuprofen. Sorry for rummaging.”

I took a bite of the toast, noticing that he was leaning forward on the counter to see my reaction. When I swallowed, I gave him a nod and a tiny smile to let him know that, yes, his breakfast was edible. He let out a sigh of relief and then started on breakfast for himself.

Having Harry Styles in my kitchen making me breakfast was like an out of body experience. It felt like the dream of every girl back in secondary school had happened to me, the girl that Harry hated most. It was wild to wrap my head around. I was still trying to when he turned to me.

“The paps got pictures of us last night.”

The last time the paps had gotten pictures of us, I had been sent into a spiraling hole of self-esteem that I still hadn’t entirely clawed my way out from. “Oh,” was all I was able to say.

“Jeff called me this morning to tell me. I just wanted to let you know so you weren’t blindsided.” I opened my mouth to say something, but closed it when I realized how stupid I would sound. Unfortunately, he caught it. “Say what’s in your head,” he suggested, taking a bite of his toast.

“I don’t want to. It’s stupid.” I brushed the tiny crumbs of toast of my shirt, avoiding Harry’s gaze.

“It’s not stupid if it puts that look on your face.”

I wanted to remind him that there was once a time he put that look on my face daily. But I didn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us to bring something like that back up, not when things seemed to be going decently. “I just...I’m sure I didn’t look my best. Between that and the John Williams day…” I let my voice trail off, taking another bite of the toast to distract myself.

“Petra, no one cares how you look.” The sentence almost made me chuckle because of its phrasing, but I knew how he meant it.

“Some people do.”

It took him a few moments to realize what I had said, but when he did, he set his plate down on the counter. He didn’t look happy. His mouth was set in a grim line and his arms came up to cross in front of his chest. “You went on Twitter.”

I shrugged. “It wasn’t anything I wasn’t expecting. I walked out of the house with wet hair and my makeup not done.” I hated that I had become this girl, the one that cared what people thought about her appearance. But seeing people saying such harsh things had ruined the carefully constructed version of myself that I held in my head.

“Look at me,” he said in a quiet voice. When I lifted my gaze, his eyes were burning with something I couldn’t identify. “Petra Gallego, you are absolutely gorgeous. Don’t let assholes tell you otherwise.”

My mouth went dry and embarrassed tears pricked in my eyes.

“I owe you an apology,” he said while I tried to tighten my throat so the tears wouldn’t fall. “I acted like a dick the last time I was here. You had every right to ignore me. I honestly don’t know why you keep giving me chances.”

“I wasn’t going to let you be that drunk by yourself without someone to take care of you,” I argued. “Anyone else would have done it, too.”

“No, they wouldn’t have. I meant what I said last night, Petra. You’re beautiful inside and out.”

“You can’t just say things like that to me,” I blurted.

“Why?”

“You just can’t,” I argued, giving him a glare and pushing my plate of toast away from me. Instead of taking this as a sign that I was done discussing the topic, he took the plate and put it in my sink, casually washing off the crumbs like this was something he did everyday. “And you can’t just try and get me to forgive you by throwing money at me either.”

He stopped cleaning my dishes, giving me a confused look. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The premiere in Los Angeles? You just offered the tickets to get me to forgive you, and it made me feel like shit. Like I wasn’t even a person worth apologizing to.”

His eyes were wide. “I didn’t mean for it to come off that way. I’m sorry that it did. I just offered it because I knew it would be something you were interested in. I’ll back off with stuff like that if it's what you want.”

“It’s what I want.”

“Okay.” And that was that. He went back to cleaning up my kitchen and I remained sitting in my barstool, a little dumbfounded at what was happening. “How was the movie?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Captain Marvel. How was it? I wasn’t lying when I said I had tickets to the premiere and I want to know if it’s worth going out to LA to see it. I’ve missed a couple of the Marvel movies, so I might be a bit lost, but do you think I could follow the plot without having to Wikipedia the rest of the movies?”

Harry Styles was asking me about Marvel. I felt like I had stepped into some kind of Twilight Zone. Back in secondary school, he would have laughed if I gushed about the movie. I’d like to believe the Harry in front of me wouldn’t do the same, but I was still hesitant and unsure around him. “It was good,” I settled on finally, retreating back into my bubble of self-preservation.

“Good. I’m glad you liked it. I know you were looking forward to it. Who’s on AC this week?”

“You don’t have to pretend to be interested, Harry.”

His fingers stilled, and he stared at my sink for a few seconds. I knew once again I had said the wrong thing, but I was standing my ground for this one. I wasn’t going to let him get mad that I was hesitant and unsure to share stuff with him. “I’m not pretending. I’ve been listening,” he said after a few moments of awkward silence. “I was wondering if it was going to be anyone I knew.”

“Probably not. It’s my editor for the publishing company I’ve been working with.”

“Publishing company? You’re writing a book? That’s brilliant, Petra!”

I wasn't used to praise from Harry, which might have been why I looked at him a little dumbfounded. “Um, yeah. It should be published in a few months.”

“Will you sign a copy for me?”

“No,” I blurted without thinking about it. I regret it the second it left my mouth, but Harry seemed to take my answer in stride, if his nod was anything to go by.

“Alright, that’s fine. I’m going to buy my own copy, though.”

“I don’t know why I said that. Of course I’ll sign it. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for your emotions, Petra. You’ve got a right to every single one of them.” A slow grin came across his face. “Unless your emotions cause you to physically harm Benjamin. Then, I’m afraid I’ll have to intervene.”

“Do you just go around telling people what a shit plant mum I am?”

He laughed, tossing his head back. It was then that I was struck how gorgeous Harry truly was. Sure, I had known it back in secondary school, but his personality had made him ugly in my eyes. Now, however, I couldn’t deny it, especially when he was smiling at me and doing my dishes in the middle of my kitchen. The shorter hair suited him, though I was fairly certain the longer hair would as well. He was unfairly beautiful.

He had said last night that he wished he could be beautiful inside and out, but he was already halfway there.

“I wasn’t sure that if in your anger you would have harmed him. I’m glad to see I was wrong.”

“Shut up, you oversized Etch-a-Sketch,” I growled. “Who the fuck gets a butterfly tattooed on their stomach?”

He couldn’t hear me over the sound of his own chuckling. When he was done with the dishes, he made his way over to where his clothes were resting, putting the ridiculously bright trousers back on over his pants. The shirt was a little more tame than some of the ones I’d seen in pictures, and I was happy that his torso was covered. I felt like having him half-naked in my kitchen was going too fast too quickly. There was still a hesitant wariness that I felt when I saw him.

“Would you ever get a tattoo?” he asked curiously as he pulled on his shoes.

I hadn’t really ever thought about it. The idea wasn’t one I disliked, but I just hadn’t gotten around to sitting down and debating what I might like to have on my skin. “I don’t know. Why?”

He shrugged. “Just trying to get to know you better. I feel like I know nothing about you.”

The idea of Harry wanting to get to know me made me squirm a little in my seat. “Oh.”

“You could get something from Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter. Some of the artists I’ve gone to would make a tattoo like that look incredible. Come to think of it, I actually think one of my guys has the death eater symbol tattooed on his arm.”

While that was incredibly awesome (I told Harry so), I didn’t think I would want something from a fandom tattooed on my body. It wasn’t that I thought my love for it would diminish, as I was...well, me. But when I thought of tattoos, I thought of something much more personal and intimate. Tattoos didn’t always have to have some deep or hidden meaning, as exhibited by some of Harry’s doodle-like ink, but to me, I would want it to mean something.

“Vive libremente,” I said. I had been so deep in my thoughts that I hadn’t realized he was still talking and I had just interrupted him. He stared at me questioningly. “That’s, um, what I would get tattooed. If I ever did.”

“What does it mean?”

“Live freely.” Because wasn’t that what I was trying to get to? To the point in my life where I could live my life the way I wanted to, without interference from anyone else or my own insecurities. It was a concept Doctor Thorne had introduced to me, like carpe diem but so much more. Living freely wasn’t about seizing the day. It was about taking the mundane days and living them in a way that was unabashedly me.

“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,” he commented.

“I don’t. I wish I did. I’ve never really learned it. I just know a couple of phrases.”

“Your parents...they were born in Cuba, right?”

Immediately, I was on the defensive. Harry had never directly insulted my heritage in school, but Nathan Penrose had. He had made comments about sending me back to where I belonged and how he didn’t truly believe I was Cuban because I hadn’t acted like it. The thought had always been confusing to me. I was too Cuban to fit in with his friends, but I was too English to belong in Cuba either. “Yes,” I said, and he could tell my voice was stiff.

I didn’t realize he had moved closer to me until I suddenly felt his hand on my arm. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. Just asking questions.”

I swallowed. “Cuba is a hard subject for me.”

“Okay. We’ll talk about something else.”

And then he launched into a discussion about what order he needed to watch the Marvel movies in. We talked about them for what must have been an hour and a half before he stated that he had to leave, thanking me again for not letting him fall asleep at some random night club. I watched him leave my flat with a sinking feeling in my stomach.

I wanted to be friends with Harry Styles. But the thought of being friends with him, of letting him in completely, was terrifying to me. I wasn’t sure if I was strong enough to handle it.

A little chirp came from my phone the second I closed the door behind him.

harrystyles: I’m not nearly done in my journey of getting to know Petra Gallego. Therefore, I’m sending my number. I feel like texting will be easier. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. You have a choice. But I just wanted to send it. Have a good day, Petra.

Attached was his phone number. I stared at it for a couple of seconds before reluctantly making a contact for him and putting his number in.

Not quite the long journey you were expecting. I’m not that interesting.

His text bubbles popped up almost immediately. You’re the most interesting person I think I’ve ever met. There’s a journey there, trust me. Also, I’m requesting to follow you on Instagram. I’m tired of Gemma getting to see all your posts and not me.

I just smiled when the request came through.

#ac #1dff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles ou

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deadontheinsidebut · 4 years ago

Text

✨Birthday Wishes✨

This is a Birthday Fic dedicated to my one and only @kenmakodzu !! You have become so important to me in such a period of time and I hope this fic shows even a tiny fraction of that. Happy Birthday Gab!! To a better year with great health and successes mwah 💕✨(○’ω’○)✨💕

Pairing: Gabma x Angelshima

Word Count: 1.6k

Gab awoke to the sound of the neighbourhood crows squawking and pushed two pillows to her ears to block out the noise, but after staying up until 3am to talk to Angel about which mazesoba place is the best, the pillows did nothing for her sour mood. She groaned into her bed before a gentle hand caressed her hair.

She turned to see Kenma’s soft features looking at her until the meekest whisper of “happy birthday” escaped his lips. Gab couldn’t help but smile at her boyfriend. She knew he had been up just as late as she had, hearing her and Angel bickering about the stupidest of things and appreciated how much he put up with.

It was time to start the day with neither of them able to fall back to sleep. Kenma’s hair was never messy like Kuroo’s but he always managed to have a tuft of hair out of place that Gab loved to brush out for him. To be honest, mornings are slow at the Gabma house with each of the introverted lovers preferring their alone time until the morning grogg is gone.

Kenma offered to make Gab her breakfast and she was pleased as she watched her boyfriend prance around the kitchen with eggs in one hand and spatula in the other. Gab drummed her fingers on the table patiently before hearing the familiar ring of her phone. The caller ID read Angel and she answered it to hear a very loud “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” blare through the phone. Gab’s ears were practically bleeding as she answered Angel.

“Could you save the noise for… you know… not the morning?” Gab joked.

“What else are sisters for if not to ruin their sister’s mornings?” Angel countered, adding a devious giggle for emphasis.

Gab sighed into the phone before starting a back and forth banter with Angel. Kenma brought over the eggs and toast, seating across from Gab, munching on his own breakfast as he listened in on his girlfriend’s conversation.

After a couple minutes, Kenma outstretched his hand, motioning for her to hand over the phone and mouthing Tsukki’s name. Gab asks Angel if Tsukki was there and after some passing of the phones, the boys were now able to start a conversation of their own.

Kenma scuttled away and Gab eyed him suspiciously but continued to eat her meal, simply content with just having food. Ah yes, we love ignorant Gab.

When Kenma returned, the phone no longer displayed Angel’s name and Gab pouted because she had not yet finished her conversation with her stupid sister. As Kenma cleared the plates, he brought up some activities the couple could do today and Gab was mildly surprised at his sudden urge to want to go out.

They decided on a mini shopping spree. The two of them deserved it after spending the previous months of quarantine in nothing but kitty onesies. The stores were pretty much empty and the sales were high. Discounts were basically Gab’s last name and when Kenma urged her to buy the pretty lavender dress that was 60% off, she was on it.

She slipped into the dress and it was a perfect fit. The dress attenuated every one of her curves but flared at the bottom to give off a classier look. The final thing that made her realize that this was the dress were Kenma’s cat-like eyes trailing every part of her, taking in the beauty that Gab radiated by just being her. He was truly looking at her like she was a video game that had just been released.

She decided to stay in the dress with a little encouragement from Kenma and pecked his cheek for his efforts today. This honestly would’ve been enough, but Kenma slipped his hand into hers and began to guide her to their next destination.

As simple as it was, she had always wanted to just explore the city as the sun explodes into a million different shades of red. What more can you ask for than seeing the sunset with the love of your life… is what you thought until you were led to one and only mazesoba shop you were talking about yesterday on the phone.

Gab gasped because of how beautiful the restaurant was. The light from the sunset shone in through the huge glass windows and created the most romantic of all atmospheres. But what was inside surprised her most of all.

As Angel leapt into Gab’s arms, squishing her cheek to Gab’s, she knew her birthday was complete.

“You look absolutely beautiful,” Angel exclaimed, “lavender is your colour!”

Angel adorned a baby blue dress and Tsukki in a dress shirt of his own. All that was left was Kenma and he excused himself to go change, admitting that he also bought himself something while shopping.

“So this is what my boyfriend and yours were discussing over the phone this morning?” Gab inquired, raising an eyebrow at both Angel and Tsukishima.

Tsukki shrugged slyly before guiding the both of the girls to their table. Kenma came back in a matching lavender dress shirt and Angel shrieked as she suggested the group take pictures to commemorate the occasion.

The waitress volunteered to take the pictures for the four of you and to be honest, they were the most instagram-worthy photos the four of them had ever seen with the sunset shining in as the background and the four of them wearing their fancy-wear. It was definitely going on Angel’s instagram at least.

After they seated themselves at the table and the waitress took their orders, conversation sparked with everyone practically bouncing in their seats.

“We’ve been planning your birthday for months,” Angel started, beaming at herself for being so responsible.

“It wasn’t easy getting a booking for this place, you know,” Tsukki added, wrapping an arm around Angel, “you have expensive taste, Gab.”

Gab chuckled at Tsukki’s comment, realizing the bickering from last night was simply a ploy to find out what her favourite mazesoba place was. She looked to her boyfriend who had remained quiet all this time.

“Thank you for everything!” Gab said to Kenma.

“No, thank you for coming into my life and being what I needed,” Kenma blurted, “thank you for being a million blessings in one.”

The deep blush on Gab’s face was priceless and she moved her hands to cover her face. Tears pricked her eyes, the few words her boyfriend offered having a bigger impact than anything she’s ever heard.

“I second that!” Angel agreed with Kenma.

“Me too I guess,” Tsukki finished, turning away.

At this point, Gab was no longer holding her emotions in and the tears rushed out.

“GROUP HUG!!!” Angel screamed out before pulling everyone into a pile over the table.

“I don’t think I can handle any more love, guys!” Gab whined through the tears, giggling in the process.

“We’re not done yet!” The other three chorused.

It was now time for the gifts and they lined up to present Gab her gifts. Tsukki was first and handed her an aromatherapy gift set. It contained a bunch of essential oils with lavender being one because Gab loves it of course, a diffuser, therapeutic body washes, and more!

“This is for you and Kenma but mostly Kenma because only God knows how he’s able to handle your chaotic ass,” Tsukki explained, “I can barely handle my own,” he adds while resting an elbow on an irritated Angel’s head.

Gab had to cover her mouth as she tried to process the gift. It was both funny and generous considering how expensive these setes go for and she thanked him while stifling a laugh.

Angel was next and she was giddy as she watched Gab unwrap her gift. The first one was a scrapbook that held little mementos from fun times they’ve had in the past. There was even a picture of them piled on each other at the ice rink (refer to the double date drabble I wrote MWAHAH) which Gab stared longingly at until moving onto the next gift.

When she unwrapped it, she gasped deeply. It was a body pillow of Kenma and Angel was bent-over laughing.

“OH MY FREAKING-- WHAT THE HELL IS THIS??” Gab shrieked and even Tsukki was snickering despite knowing Angel’s special little gift.

Kenma was blushing madly and scratched the back of his head before commenting “why use the pillow when you have the real thing?”

This whole day was a serotonin booster and Gab hugged the pillow to her chest. The mazesoba had finally arrived and Angel and Tsukishima were sharing their food with each when Kenma dragged Gab to the corner to present her with his own gift.

It was a small little box and he opened it to reveal a beautiful golden necklace with a heart charm. It was clearly intricately made with Gab’s initials ingrained onto the necklace with diamonds.

“Open it.”

And she opened the heart locket to see a picture of the four of them inside, looking at the camera with the most genuine smiles. This was the most wonderful gift anyone has ever given her. And Gab will cherish it, just like the promise she’s made to cherish her friends until the end of time.

BONUS: They went to the Gabma house for a sleepover afterwards and after everyone changed into their onesies, they started making mochi donuts. Unfortunately, the house burned down The End.

Happy Birthday Gab! I hope you have an amazing day. And I promise I won’t burn your house down when we meet irl hehe

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hookedontaronfics · 5 years ago

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Honky Dancer series - Chapter 5

Chapter title: Lazy Sundays and difficult choices Read the previous installments here: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Cursing, brief mentions of sex but no actual smut A/N: Mostly just some fluffy fluff [daddy Taron feels, yes please] and more relationship drama in this chapter. More mature themes will develop, so be warned! Enjoy! X

I was awoken the next morning by a cold, wet nose pressed against my arm. It took me a few seconds to process where I even was, crashed out on my own couch in last night’s dress. Again.

Troy whined at me slightly, having waited as long as he possibly could before waking me to be let out. He whuffed at me slightly, looking at me with those deep brown puppy eyes of his.

“I’m up, I’m up,” I groaned as I pushed myself back up to sitting and wiped my hand over my face, smearing the remnants of makeup. I reached over and scratched Troy on the head, and he wagged his tail at me. “You’re a cute boy, yes you are,” I said in that special voice I reserved just for him. I spied a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water on the coffee table; Taron must have done that before he left last night, when I was dead to the world.

I got up and let Troy out to do his doggy business before finding my phone still nestled in my purse where I’d left it. <I am NEVER drinking again I swear to God> I texted Madison.

<What, why? What happened?> Madison instantly texted back, and I could just imagine the worried expression she was making.

<Nothing but I am an absolute IDIOT when I drink, Mads. I have got to stop just throwing myself at guys> I responded.

<Did you and Taron … ?> she texted, waiting for my reply.

<Until your wedding, eh!!> Madison sent back with the waggling eyebrows emoji, making me blush and squeal out loud at the same time. Troy just looked at me with a concerned expression; he probably thought his human was absolutely mad.

<Oh stop. I can’t think like that and you know it> I texted, blushing hard.

<Yeah I know it, but you should probably stop texting me and start texting Taron … Make sure his ass knows sober you still wants him too> she replied.

<Look, I’m not blind! The man is fit as fuck and I’m only a little jealous that he’s all heart eyes for you. Don’t blow your opportunity, is all I’m saying, cause there’s about a million fangirls lined up behind you waiting their turn.> Woah, I thought, staring at my phone for a long minute. I had never really thought about it that way. To me, he was just Taron; yes, Taron who could afford nice things and Taron who could act brilliantly and Taron who was impeccably handsome, but he was still just the Taron I’d gotten to know on a very human level. He was kind and sweet and lovely and I fancied him a lot, but a small part of me still wondered why he paid me any attention at all. If it had been any other girl that had bumped into him in the hallway weeks ago, would he be taking them out to expensive meals instead of me?

<Well thanks for the dose of reality. You’re always good for that> I sent back before calling Troy back inside from where he was sniffing along the fence line. I decided to take a shower before doing anything else, turning the water as hot as my skin could take it. Once I felt clean and refreshed, I wrapped myself in a bathrobe and left my hair wrapped up in a towel and walked over to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. I grabbed my phone while that percolated and finally decided to text Taron.

<Good morning! I’m alive, I promise. Also, thank you for dinner last night, it was lovely. I can’t remember if I managed to say that or not but I don’t want to be rude.> I made myself a cup of coffee while waiting for Taron to reply.

<Good morning, love! How are you feeling?> he responded.

<Surprisingly pretty well for how much of that expensive wine I drank last night> I wrote cheekily.

<Would you require sustenance in the way of food? Because I’m completely lusting after those Tongue and Brisket salmon bagels and I could bring some over if you’d like.> Of course Taron would use the term “lust” instead of “crave” and of course my brain would go to thoughts it shouldn’t be thinking, on a Sunday morning no less.

<Yes of course, that’d be lovely> I texted back quickly, trying to calm my whore brain down.

<Should I order something for Clara too?> he asked, being considerate of my daughter.

<She’ll still be at her grandmum’s until afternoon> I wrote back.

<Ahh> was Taron’s simple response. Did I detect a note of disappointment there? I wondered.

<That’d be brilliant. I’ll be over in an hour or so> he responded. Clara must have made quite an impression on Taron if he wanted to spend more time with her. I texted my mum and made arrangements for her to bring Clara back over early and then quickly got myself ready, slipping into a simple dress and leggings and making sure the house was as clean as it was going to get in an hour. Troy let me know when Taron had arrived before the doorbell rang, prancing excitedly in front of the door, the entire bottom half of him wagging excitedly.

“Out of the way, boy,” I laughed, having to use my leg to try and scoot him back enough so I could get the door open.

“Hi!” I said, answering the door and trying to keep Troy from excitedly attacking Taron with all his doggy love at the same time, so I must have looked slightly flustered. Taron managed to take all of this in stride, of course, and I greeted him warmly once he managed to squeeze inside. I ended up putting Troy outside in the backyard so he wouldn’t be slobbering over our bagels, earning myself a look of betrayal until I tossed him a treat.

I rejoined Taron on the couch, and he had already pulled out our bagels and set them out carefully on the coffee table. “These look amazing,” I smiled and Taron grinned at me.

“Oh, they are amazing,” he grinned, handing me one with the wrapper carefully pulled back. I’d had many good bagels in my life, but the ones he had chosen blew me away. The bagels themselves had the perfect chewy but still moist texture, and the sweetness of the cream cheese balanced the smokiness of the salmon. For a long moment all you could hear were the sounds of our chewing because those bagels were that good.

“I think this bagel may have just changed my life,” I joked around a bite, making Taron chuckle.

“You sure it’s not the company?” he asked with a wink, making my heart stutter slightly in my chest. I tried to recover by taking a massive bite of the bagel so I wouldn’t have to immediately respond, but then I nearly choked and Taron ended up having to thump my back while I coughed, my face red and my eyes tearing up.

“Hey, easy there,” he said, making sure I was okay.

“Hi, have you met me? I’m always awkward,” I said once I could manage to talk again.

“Yeah, I kind of got that,” he teased me lightly. “And yet somehow you’re a brilliant dancer.”

“The world works in mysterious ways, T,” I laughed at that. We chatted a bit longer before my mum arrived with Clara. My mum seemed surprised that Taron was there, raising her eyebrows at me and giving me an “oh?” Clara had gravitated right to Taron, and I saw him giving her a high five, her laughter bouncing off the walls of the house and making me grin.

“Be right back,” I said, grabbing Clara’s bag from my mum and nodding toward the bedrooms so she followed me. “Before you judge anything, no, he didn’t stay the night,” I said in a rush as soon as we were out of ear shot. “He offered to bring bagels this morning and I figured, why not?”

“Dinner last night and breakfast in the morning, dear?” my mum asked, with that tone of voice that meant she thought a lot more than she was saying.

“He’s exceptionally thoughtful and has deep pockets?” I tried as I unpacked Clara’s bag, feeling myself blushing despite myself.

“Oh that boy fancies you so much. He just plays by the old rules of courtship, which is a fat lot better then these young kids who roll up thinking cat-calling a young lady from their car is going to do them any favors,” my mum huffed, and I couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“Seriously, mum?” I giggled. “They don’t really do that either. They buy you a drink and expect to get laid and there you have it.”

“Your pappi was a gentleman, through and through. Rather swept me off my feet back in the day,” she said with a far-off smile.

“Why did Pappi leave then?” I asked softly, gently setting one of Clara’s stuffed plushies on her bed and smoothing out the comforter.

“He had his own demons to reckon with, dear. It had nothing to do with how much he loved you or me.”

“I just don’t think I have any of this figured out, mum,” I sighed softly. “I’m more confused now than I ever was. Taron is amazing and every kind thing I could say about him but I don’t feel like I deserve this kindness at all. I feel like we’re from very different worlds.”

“Oh honey, don’t you ever close that door on yourself,” my mum said, crossing the room over to me and placing her hand on my cheek. “You are every bit deserving to be loved and cared for and if that means belonging in Taron’s world, then don’t you dare count yourself out of it. He clearly wants to be here for a reason. And you might even have more in common than you’re aware of right now.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said, giving her a small smile. “I just don’t want to bring him into a world that is messy and imperfect as much as mine is.”

“The world is messy and imperfect, dear. No one can avoid that. But maybe he sees who you are beyond that.”

“I just don’t know,” I said after taking a deep breath.

My mum just smiled knowingly and headed for the door. “Listen to your mum, she knows a thing or two,” she said before returning to the living room again, leaving me to my thoughts. I quickly finished unpacking Clara’s bag before going to let Troy back inside. He excitedly bounded his way to the living room, adding his happy energy to the scene in my living room, Clara squealing and hugging Troy as Taron seemed captivated by them both.

“I will get out of your hair but, it was nice seeing you again, Mr. Egerton,” my mum said, the absolute picture of poise and grace.

“Taron, please,” he smiled, offering to shake her hand but she just gave him a hug instead, which he cutely returned.

“Have a fantastic day, loves,” she smiled before seeing herself out the door.

“Mummy, can we go to the park now?” Clara said in her eternally enthusiastic way. “I want to throw the ball for Troy!” she said, and Troy perked his ears up at the recognized word.

“That’s a fantastic idea,” Taron grinned, looking to me, his face alight. I couldn’t say no to that, so soon enough we were out the door and heading for the park, Clara insisting on taking Troy’s leash and walking ahead of us as Taron and I enjoyed the nice weather of the day.

We let Troy off his leash as soon as we got to the park and took turns throwing his ball for him, which he thoroughly enjoyed retrieving and dropping at our feet.

“I wish I could throw as far as you and mummy!” Clara sighed dramatically to Taron.

“Well, you just need a little practice is all!” Taron grinned, picking up the ball and showing Clara how to step forward and follow through with her arm so the ball would gain some air. She improved a bit, Troy ever faithful in retrieving it no matter how far it did or didn’t travel, but eventually Taron scooped Clara up onto his shoulders and grinned. “Now try it!” he chuckled, and Clara squealed happily at being so high up.

“Watch, mum!” she said, tossing the ball and watching it soar before bouncing a fair bit away.

“Hey you did it!” Taron grinned at me, the whole interaction sending feelings through me that I was still having trouble trying to place. The way Taron was with Clara was just absolutely so sweet, and it really had me swooning. Eventually Troy gave up the game, landing in a fluffy pile and panting heavily, and Taron gently set Clara back on the ground.

“Tag, you’re it!” she said, patting him on the arm and then squealing and running away.

“Well I have to give chase now,” Taron grinned at me before running after her, easily catching up to her and wrapping his arms around her, their laughter traveling to me. I pulled out my phone and snapped that photo too, the joy so evident on Clara’s face it made my heart ache. I only ever wanted my child to know this kind of happiness, and I’d realized long ago I couldn’t provide that joy to her alone.

We wrapped up our time in the park and made the tired walk home, Clara still chatting our ears off about whatever it is that came to her 7-year-old mind. It was so easy to feel like a family at that moment, but I knew that was also dangerous. If Taron didn’t feel the same about any of this, I was setting myself up for a lot of heartbreak, and even more so, I had to protect Clara’s feelings as well.

We made it back to the house and Taron decided it was probably time for him to go so he didn’t wear out his welcome (as if he ever could), so Clara gave him a sweet hug and told him how much fun she’d had, and Taron of course agreed. I let her and Troy into the house to go play before turning to Taron.

“Thank you for today, it was really great,” I said as I faced him, now suddenly level with him as I was on the raised stoop.

“You know, I couldn’t have imagined a better way to spend a lazy Sunday,” he smiled at me, making my heart flutter yet again. “So, see you at rehearsal tomorrow?” he grinned that megawatt grin of his at me.

“Yes you will. It won’t be too long before screen tests and filming,” I said, my voice betraying the nerves I felt over that. It was one thing to rehearse in a studio room; it was another to realize I was actually going to be on film soon.

“It will be great, you’ll see. You’ll be with me and Rich, nothing to worry about,” he grinned.

“Yeah, nothing to worry about at all,” I said sarcastically before he took my hands in his.

“You’ll be as brilliant on screen as you are breathtaking in real life, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh Taron,” I said softly, having to stare at the ground until he gently tilted my chin up to gaze in his eyes. They were so light today, nearly peridot in color and sparkling in the sun.

“You’ll see what I see some day,” he smiled, leaning in and kissing me gently. I didn’t realize until that moment that I’d been waiting for him to do that all day. I could feel him smile against my lips, and then I kissed him back, my arms wrapping around his neck and not caring if my nosy neighbor next door, Mrs. Burnham, was watching through her blinds.

We kissed like that until we were both out of breath and giggling. “You take my damn breath away, Juliette,” he whispered sweetly, his breath tickling my skin.

“I’m sure it’s quite the other way around, Taron,” I whispered back.

“Then we’ll just stay breathless together, eh?” he grinned.

“I guess so,” I hedged, not sure I was totally understanding what he was implying.

“I want to keep having these moments with you,” he added, such softness in his gaze that it made something open up in my chest, a place where I had once been loved and yearned to be again.

“I do too, of course I do, but I have to figure some other things out first,” I said uncertainly, as Taron took a small step back from me.

“Like Markus?” he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you still seeing him?”

“I…Tomorrow, after rehearsal. But that’s not your business really,” I replied.

“You’re right, it’s not, but please let me know when you’re done playing this game with him. He can never give you what I could,” Taron said, and I swore I could feel the jealousy under his words as tiny pinpricks in my skin.

“Um Taron, that’s not-” I said but he started walking away from me, cutting off my words.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Juliette. Good day,” he said over his shoulder, as if I was just another acquaintance and not the person I’d spent my entire morning and day laughing with. I stood on the stoop feeling confused as he got in his car and drove off, but he at least waved and I raised my hand too, completely unsure about my own feelings or his for that matter.

I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to steady myself before returning inside, intending to have a good rest of the Sunday with my daughter. And we did have a good day, playing video games and Barbies and unicorns and god knows what else she came up with. She wanted me to help her paint a picture of Elton, so I did my best to help draw an outline of Elton at the piano, though the face came out wonky but she loved it and we hung it up on the fridge when she was done painting. Her love of Elton always made me feel happy inside, like I’d done something right in parenting her at least. The evening flew by and soon I was tucking my daughter in bed and crashing myself, having mixed feelings about rehearsals the next day, especially because I’d agreed to have another date with Markus that evening.

The night passed and soon enough I found myself getting Clara off to school and myself across the city to Paramount, where we’d be setting our choreography on the actual massive set piece they’d built, which was a bunch of steps leading up to what looked like a record. Working the stair steps was its own sort of challenge, but eventually we felt as comfortable dancing on the platform as we had been in the studio. Taron was cordial to me but I felt the coldness behind his demeanor and it hurt me slightly. I knew he was probably just trying to protect himself but I craved the sort of warmth he had brought into my life. But I still felt like I owed Markus one last chance before I “made my choice,” if that was even real. I think it was already clear to everyone but myself who I gravitated toward the most.

When rehearsals were over, Taron brushed past me, saying in a low voice “I should say enjoy your date tonight but I really hope you don’t.”

“Taron, please. This jealousy doesn’t look good on you,” I said.

“How else am I supposed to feel?” he asked, his dark green gaze searing straight into my soul until Richard came by, putting his hands on Taron’s shoulders and laughing about something. I think he realized he’d just interrupted a moment, but Taron just shrugged and smiled at me. “I’ve got to go, later,” he said before excusing himself and leaving with Richard. I felt my a pang in my chest but had to shrug it off.

I made it home in time to shower and slip into a pair of skinny jeans and a blouse and flats, checking in with my mum to make sure Clara was getting her homework done while on the tube back across town again to meet up with Markus. We’d agreed on a low-key pizzeria this time, just wanting a nice sit-down restaurant to try and get to know each other better.

And it actually was a good time, despite my misgivings about how our first date had gone. Markus even apologized for what had happened, saying he should have taken more responsibility and had been incredibly drunk himself.

“I hope you don’t think that I’m just this kind of asshole,” he said gently, his fingers pressed against my knee and his steel grey eyes soft in the table’s candlelight. “We got off to the wrong start and I want to make it right again. I’m not some ‘bro’ trying to get laid. I think you’re gorgeous and smart and incredibly talented and I was swept off my feet when I saw you dance,” he said.

I’d heard those words before but somehow coming from Markus it didn’t quite hit me in the heart the way it had coming from Taron, and I sighed at that.

“Thank you, that’s very kind,” I replied, staring at my hands folded primly in front of me on the tabletop. Markus was kind and lovely so why did he not stir my heart? He was the sort of person I could relate to - the kind of person who I deserved to be with. To think I deserved Taron at all was humor at its highest mark.

“What are you thinking?” Markus asked me, reaching over and wrapping his hands around mine. The gesture was meant to be sweet but I had to fight my initial reaction to jerk away.

“You’re a really sweet guy, Markus,” I smiled at him lightly, obviously unable to tell him I was actually thinking about Taron.

“We have a lot in common, don’t we?” he grinned beatifically at me. I suddenly had the urge to run my fingers through his brunette curls, to see if they were as soft and fluffy as Taron’s hair. My god, I chastised myself, what is my problem?

“We do, but there’s something else you should know,” I said softly, taking a deep breath before delivering the news about my daughter. I waited for Markus’ reaction, scared and anxious that he’d hate that idea and then it would make my choice so much simpler.

“Well, I’d love to meet her some day,” he replied sweetly, and then ended up spending the next half-hour asking me questions about Clara and wanting to see photos of her. I very nearly accidentally showed him the picture of Clara and Taron in the park, and the picture made my heart skip an extra beat when I saw the pure joy on their sweet faces. “What’s that?” he asked, obviously having seen my expression and trying to maneuver himself to look at my screen.

“Uh, nothing,” I said, but he’d already caught a peek at the picture.

“I could do better, if you’d give me the same chance you gave him,” he said, practically spitting out that last word.

“Do you even want to have a family, Markus?” I asked, a bit exasperated. “Nothing about our conversations has made me believe you’d suddenly want that responsibility. Clara mostly stays with me, you know. This wouldn’t be a part-time position and I have to do what’s best for her.”

“So you’ve already decided then?” he asked, grimacing slightly.

“I never said that,” I sighed, running my hands through my hair, which had dried into its natural soft waves.

“I know you don’t feel the same way about me, but he’s not the one in front of you right now. I am. So give me that chance to try and be that for you, because I think this could be really, really great,” he pleaded with me, making me once again feel guilty for the thoughts I’d been having. Had it really been that obvious? I wondered.

“Markus, I …” I started, not really sure what to say.

“Just don’t shut me out, okay? Let’s go on more dates. Hell, go out on dates with whats-his-face too. I’m not even jealous. All I can be is here for you. And may the best man win anyway, right?” he asked, making me sigh heavily. A battle of the boys was not even remotely what I had signed up for.

“It’s Taron. His name is Taron,” I said a bit weakly.

We wrapped up our meal soon after, mostly because I needed to go retrieve my daughter from my mum’s but also because the conversation had suddenly dried up. He kissed me on the cheek and wished me a good eve and I had far too much time to think as I rode the tube alone across the city. What the hell had I just gotten myself into?

I was so relieved to find myself distracted with my daughter for the rest of the evening, trying to leave thoughts of Taron and Markus both out of my mind. I was crap at matters of the heart and I knew that; I hadn’t grown up seeing a loving relationship between my parents so knowing what to choose now just made me feel anxious and overwhelmed. Markus was sweet and kind and understood me, but I didn’t exactly have deep feelings for him. Taron, on the other hand, took my breath away but was so beyond me it hurt to acknowledge. What would he even be able to make out of my chaotic life? He didn’t need me bringing him down, that was for certain. But oh, how he could make me feel, and I hadn’t even slept with him.

These thoughts lingered in my mind through the entire night and well into my classes the next day. I at least could forget my troubles in 45-minute intervals, fully focused on my students as I led them through chasses and adagios.

I had a fun surprise for my 5-year-old class, gathering them around me to read a ballet storybook I’d found at the Waterstones a few days before. They were all so cute, their little eager faces turned to me as I read to them, and it reminded me how much I truly did love teaching. I dismissed my class, accepting their hugs and calls of “Thank you Miss Juliette!” before spying Taron haunting the doorway, remembering that we’d practiced here before so of course he knew where I worked. One little girl cutely stopped in front of him, and I couldn’t hear what either was saying but she giggled and her mum smiled appreciatively at Taron.

He walked in the studio, holding a small bouquet of flowers and handing them over to me. “What are you doing here?” I asked, accepting the flowers and honestly a bit surprised to see him.

“I just needed to apologize for being a basic asshole to you yesterday, and the day before that. You were right, I was acting jealous and had no right to be, and I hope you can accept that I’m completely sorry for my behaviour,” he said, biting his lip slightly. “I knew we wouldn’t see each other again for a few days, and I didn’t want this to wait so…”

“Thank you, of course I accept that apology but you didn’t really need to,” I said softly.

“I just want you to know that I want you to be happy, whoever that ends up being with. And if it’s not me, I can accept that. I’m your friend first, and I want you to know that I’m here for you and that’s not contingent on a relationship.” He fidgeted with his jacket sleeves slightly, obviously nervous about what he was saying and I felt the urge to just give him a hug.

“Taron, I … I do like you, a lot,” I said softly, about to tell him how much I didn’t belong in his world when he just kept talking through me.

“And the thing is, I mean, if Markus is your guy, then I’ll step away from this and respect that. Or… or if you can’t make up your mind, then I guess I’d be okay with you seeing both of us until you could decide, you know, who made you happier,” he said, stumbling slightly over his words and staring at the ground the whole time.

“Seriously?” I said, mostly in absolute shock but I think Taron misread it as eagerness.

“Is that palatable?” he asked, finally looking up at me. “Because I really don’t want to lose a chance with you,” he said softly, his face looking as though he was about to crumble.

“Taron, you’re not going to lose me,” I said, instantly going over to him and cupping his face with my hands. “We work together, remember?” I teased, earning a small smile out of that. “I’m trying to be as fair as I can and I never expected myself to be in this situation.”

“Right, I get it,” he said quietly, the vulnerability clear on his face. “Or at least, I’m trying to understand it.”

“I just find it hard to believe that you’d choose someone like me to want to be with. There have to be other girls, better women who are more in your world, you know?” I finally admitted.

“Better than you?” he asked, his eyes going wide. “Juliette, there is no one better than you in my world. This is where I want you to be and where you deserve to be.”

I couldn’t speak for all the emotions his words drew to the forefront. Doubt, disbelief, shock, love, vulnerability, yearning and passion, maybe even a little bit of fear coursed through me as he wrapped his arms around my back and pulled me in to him, kissing me without holding anything back this time. If I thought that man could make me feel before, that was nothing compared to getting lost with him now.

“Gross, get a room,” Madison joked, having barged in the studio thinking it was just me there. Taron and I broke apart instantly, and I couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed.

“Uh, Mads, this is Taron. Taron, my best friend Madison,” I said, trying to recover by introducing them.

“Oh, I know who Taron is,” she smirked, offering her hand to him but getting a cute hug instead. Oh my god, she mouthed to me over his shoulder. We chatted briefly but I had an incoming class and Taron knew he couldn’t really take up much more of my time, but he gave me another, much sweeter kiss and cupped my chin with his fingers.

“We’ll talk about this later, yeah? Call me,” he smiled, giving me the now-familiar phone gesture, and I nodded.

“You’ve got it,” I said, watching him go as he cutely waved at the both of us.

“Oh. My. God!” Madison squealed at me as soon as the door had swung shut behind Taron. “So are you together now?” she nearly screeched.

“I...uhm… I think so? It’s complicated, but I think I definitely need to let Markus down now,” I said, my lips still tingling from kissing Taron.

“Yeah, I’d say,” Madison snorted. “You were practically melting into him. You can’t tell me Markus sweeps you off your feet like that.”

“Or kisses like that, definitely not,” I mused slightly.

“Are you even going to survive sex with Taron?” she asked, making me blush a deep red.

“Holy shit, Mads, you can’t go around saying things like that to me!” I said as she cackled, giving me a wicked grin as my next class of students started filing in.

“Oh, I can, and I did. Have fun with your class!” she giggled, leaving me to it as I desperately tried to recover my composure.

I tried with some difficulty to keep my mind from wandering to what Taron might look like naked as I led my class through warmups and floor exercises. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t admit I had maybe fantasized about it before. If he hadn’t walked away Saturday night, if he hadn’t been the gentleman he was, I wouldn’t still be wondering this at all. But I knew the answer was no, absolutely not; I definitely wasn’t going to survive sleeping with Taron if just kissing him made me feel this undone.

Will Juliette be able to break things off with Markus? And will her relationship with Taron continue to grow? Find out in Chapter 6 HERE.

#taron imagine #taron egerton #taron x reader #taron fanfiction #rocketman imagine

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hellyeahheroes · 5 years ago

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“If you are poor how do you have an iPhone”

This is something that was gnawing at me for several weeks by now. Very recently comicbook twitter has gone on an anti-piracy outrage when one of the indie creators found out their comic book, that same one that had to change from selling in floppies to only selling in trades due to low sales, had hundreds of thousands of views on a pirate website. Due to the respect I have for that creator, I want to preface that what I am about to discuss is not a defense of piracy per se. it is not an argument that even applies in a large scale to indie scene that by far avoids some of the issues I will be talking about.

While I would never openly condone piracy, I have found myself playing devil’s advocate on that day out of sheer anger at one very specific argument that I have seen being thrown around by people condemning piracy. The exchange usually went like this - someone would go and try to say that comics are too expensive and that person would then be mocked for posting from their iPhone or another company equivalent. Every time I saw such behavior I have called it out. In some cases, people would apologize upon me explaining why this line of argument is out of the line. But in one a person had gotten furious I dared to question them, quickly devolving to childish insults and outright toxic behavior (the fact this person is an editor at Geeks World Wide made me completely give up on that website). But that is beside the point.

I want to just make it very clear that this “argument” is rooted in classism and, quite frankly, doesn’t even work. Let us explain the latter first

1. Why You Cannot Just Buy A Single Book

First I want to give the benefit of the doubt to the people using this argument. So we will do something dreadful and talk about math. For the purpose of this argument, I’m even going to go as far as not address the fact that even if you buy an iPhone through installment payments, at one point you are supposed to just have finished paying for the hardware. Meanwhile comic books expect you to keep buying if not one title, then hopefully another effectively forever. This fact in itself breaks the whole line of argument; A person could have wrapped up paying for the iPhone long before they ended in a financial situation where they cannot afford even comics. I will be ignoring this to address what I believe to be a steel man version of the argument - the strongest possible interpretation I can imagine. But even if we assume we live in a capitalist nightmare of endless payments, the rhetorics do not hold water.

Currently, on Apple official store, the newest iPhone11 costs you 30 dollars a month, while iPhone11 Pro is for 25$. In theory, the comparison that is presented should therefore work. After all, if you can afford 25$ dollars you can easily spare $5 for a comic book, right? For that price, you could buy as much as 4 comic books each month. Except that this assumption comes from a perspective that in order to read a single comic book all you need to do is buy that one comic book. Which is not the case. Or rather, it might be a case if we’re talking about independent publishers or markets like European or manga. But is certainly not one for Marvel and DC. While the problem is better than it once was we still regularly end in a situation where, in order to understand what is going on in a single Big 2 book, you need to read several others. This is a common case with big events. Let’s take a look at recently finished Absolute Carnage

This event had the gall to ask you to buy seven books and then upped it to nine. Nine comic books roughly 5 dollars per issue is 45$. To buy all of it would be to spend the equivalent of your iPhone11 Pro fee for five months.

Someone might now say that you obviously do not need to read the entire event. But the truth is, you do not really know that when it comes to making preorders. The event comics are deliberately constructed in such a way to trick people into thinking they have to buy all of it to understand what is going on. It was true when they were humongous, reaching even a hundred issues like the first Civil War, and it is true now. And while veteran fans have learned that usually you only need to follow main series and tie-ins written by its writer, even that can be a strain on someone’s budget. It might be that this person could only afford this one, single comic book. So when they suddenly find what might be their only source of entertainment incomprehensible without paying more money, they may face a dilemma. Deny yourself your one source of joy for any duration of time from a month to half of a year. Or quickly pirate that one book you never wanted to and was never interested in buying in the first place until you had the title you were paying for effectively held hostage.

I want to underline this is not just events. The most outrageous case of this issue right now is the X-Men line since Jonathan Hickman’s takeover. Which has become so self-referential you need to read all the titles in order to understand any single one. Without doing it the books become incomprehensible. This is me speaking from experience here. I was only interested in a single title from the initial launch. But the moment I saw characters talking about events from another book in a way that assumes I’m up to speed, I dropped it.

In order to get into this so-called great new jumping-in point as it launched fans needed to first spend around $20 a month to buy two miniseries for 3 months. And as Dawn of X rolled in, the number of books rose and keeps rising. X-Men, X-Force, bi-weekly New Mutants, Excalibur and Fallen Angels already request you to invest an equivalent of the monthly price of an iPhone11. And they soon shall be joined by Wolverine, Hellions, Cable, X-Men/Fantastic Four and possibly monthly Giant-Size X-Men. Those keeping attention to the math part might have noticed we are a single series (and we are lead to believe there is more than one coming) from X-Men becoming an investment equal to paying for two separate iPhone11s each month. It is proof that the Big 2 has adopted a “more eggs, fewer baskets” mentality. This customer-unfriendly approach to storytelling seems by design prone to weeding out and turning away all but big spenders who can afford to regularly buy multiple books. it is not different from the exploitative systems we find in video games, designed to prioritize so-called “whales”, as the industry came to call people who can blow ungodly amounts of money on a game, over regular customers.

2. The Rhetoric Itself Is Flawed

However, even if the hypothetical scenario presented by people using the “why do you have an iPhone” argument was true, we need to recognize how toxic this argument is. First of all, this whole line of reasoning is out of touch and assumes that a working iPhone is a luxury, while more and more times in modern society it becomes a necessity. I live in Poland and have not encountered this issue yet, I keep hearing of people who simply cannot get a job without having an iPhone. It’s because more and more fields require you to have working company apps or use them to find new workers in the first place. The miniature computer in your hand has become such a utility tool it now is actively getting harder to operate in modern society without affording it. This line of argument only betrays that you are out of touch almost as much as a similar argument being used to claim people who have flatscreen TVs are not “really poor”. Currently, flatscreens are only TVs being produced and sold anymore, cheap for purchase and cheaper to maintain than a full-sized TV long time out of use and with spare parts likely no longer produced.

Moreover, you don’t really know how exactly that specific person’s financial situation is. It may be that yes, they can afford an iPhone out of necessity but it does require them to be on a tight budget. Maybe the phone itself is actually passed on from a family member - speaking here as someone whose every phone ever was such a gift. It may even be that the person had to work extremely hard and save up a lot to afford this phone and simply is not able to expand on their profits anymore. Or, as mentioned above, that they once could and finished paying for the last installment but have fallen on hard times ever since. The list goes on. The crux of it is that you do not know other people’s stories and have no right to hold them to some arbitrary standards without that knowledge.

Which brings me to my final point - the whole argument relies on perpetuating a myth of “properly poor” people. The made-up image of nobly suffering poor who deny themselves any and all form of luxury in life (and remember, we established that the whole argument relies on seeing modern phones as a luxury, not a necessity they have become) to save money to get themselves out of poverty. Not to mention a similar myth of “kindhearted poor” who gladly give up what little they have to help others - the kind media love to perpetuate to distract from how bad the state of society is to lead to this situation in the first place. This not only does mispresent how the whole capitalist system is rigged to make it easier to save money the higher up the financial ladder you climb, but it also does not understand human nature. Human beings aren’t machines and it is impossible to really go through every single day without some sort of relief. Sometimes it may be a video game or a dinner at a fancy restaurant. Sometimes it may be a smartphone. Or a luxury item you never plan to use but just want to have to remind you what your goal is.

Yet our society made a game out of shaming and being judgmental to every poor person who spends even the tiniest amount of money on escapism, on any sort of relief from how stressful poverty is. And, speaking as someone who had panic attacks caused by sudden financial expenses wrecking my monthly budget, it is stressful. We expect people to act as all forms of entertainment and escapism aren’t also contributing to one of our human needs, the need to simply be able to wind down for even a moment, and thus not worth spending money on. Then we judge them if they resort to illegal means to fulfill that need.

I would go as far as making the argument this is a self-perpetuating problem. This very line of thinking, that poor must be at all times miserable and them spending even the slightest amount of money on anything nice is worth scorn? it is what actively encourages them to resort to piracy even if they could afford to buy comics. They are being constantly told by society they shouldn’t buy themselves anything not essential. And then the society acts surprised when they then fulfill their needs through illegal means to save money. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

I am not making this post to defend piracy. But I think we need to seriously consider what kind of rhetorics is being used to condemn it and what it actually says about people who use it and those who silently nod in agreement.

- Admin

#Marvel #DC #Piracy

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whentommymetalfie · 5 years ago

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Be Where You Are

A/N: nothing, my brain is empty from editing! just please enjoy this huge chunk of mostly fluff and forgive me

Summary: Five times Alfie and Tommy talked about spending the rest of their lives together -with each other, with others, and sometimes without doing much talking at all.

In which there's house-hunting, life changing decisions, and yet another failed (sort of) shovel talk from Arthur.

Notes/warnings: Heavy drinking and implied alcoholism, smut

Wordcount: 10 K (yes, yes it’s that long)

It may be true that Alfie Solomons is not the most… patient man in the entire world. He’s well aware of that. But when it comes to the things that truly matters, he’d like to think that he can in fact dig deep and muster up some of it. Patience, that is. Like with everything that concerns Tommy, for example. That includes his at best mildly infuriating and at worst absolutely unbearable family. And the living situation on Watery Lane. He’s put up with that far longer than any sane (or… less sane) man should ever have to.

But it’s the lock on their door breaking that finally is the last fucking drop.

Alfie has suffered through Arthur banging on their door at all hours, from early fucking morning to late in the evening (And yeah he’s entirely fucking sure that he does it just to disrupt any amorous activity that may or may not be going on in there, despite Tommy rolling his eyes at this and stating that not even Arthur could be that childish).

He’s quietly bitten his tongue whenever Ada’s passed by to ask irrelevant questions; like if Tommy has seen her missing dress. And no, why on earth would he have done that? Ada only gives Alfie a look when he grumbles this, which makes him wonder exactly what she thinks he and Tommy get up to in bed. When he brings this up with Tommy, Tommy is mostly annoyed that Alfie thinks Ada’s dress would even fit him. (He’s pretty sure that it would bu that’s not the point)

Then there’s John, who can’t seem to take a single step without checking with Tommy first whether it’s alright or not…. And all of these are just things that Alfie can come up with at the top of his head.

Well, the point is that he’s been very fucking patient with all of it. Because if the Shelbys all want to share the roof of that giant, rickety ancestral home, then that’s all well and good. And yeah he’s well aware that the whole lot -Tommy in particular, even though he’d deny it to his dying day- suffer some kind of collective abandonment issue. So, Tommy moving out before Finn is older is out of the question.

But when Arthur actually manages to break the fucking lock on their bedroom door by bursting in through it, Alfie’s had enough. On top of it all, he just got Tommy onto his back, making those noises that would make the best of men commit all sorts of atrocities if only to hear them again. Legs spread and cheeks flushed, and looking absolutely worthy to be devoured…

That’s when Arthur stumbles in, effectively putting a stop to the whole thing. And once he has rushed out again, red faced and shouting, Tommy is not in the mood anymore. In fact he’s so much not in the mood that he rolls over onto his side and hides his face under a pillow when Alfie suggests that now when they’ve scared Arthur off, they might as well get back to what they were doing.

And that’s when Alfie’s had enough.

“Tommy, my dove,” he says, very carefully keeping the frustration from his voice as he runs a hand up Tommy’s arm. “Has it, and I ask this with the best of intentions in mind, has it ever fucking crossed your mind that living somewhere where your relatives can’t burst through the door at all hours would bring you some peace of mind?”

A muffled noise comes from under the pillow.

“See, I know it might take some time getting used to the idea, but finding a good house, yeah, that’s also something that takes a bit of time, doesn’t it? So you might’s well start looking, should you decide later that this is an acceptable idea-“ It’s very hard to gauge Tommy’s reaction when he’s under the pillow like this, so Alfie pauses. But when no life signs come from the feathery depths, he goes on: “I’m not saying that I’m tired of these constant interruptions, no, who doesn’t want people running in and out of one’s bedroom at all hours, fucking brilliant thing, isn’t it? All I’m saying is that your family would most definitely survive making a phone call instead. Or just taking a little walk when they feel the need to ask you something.”

Tommy is quiet and Alfie has the good sense to stay quiet too, knowing this is the mandatory processing time that he needs to go through before giving some kind of response.

Finally he rolls over onto his back, pulling away the pillow to reveal a head full of messy curls and cheeks that are still a bit flushed.

Alfie waits expectantly.

Tommy reaches for a cigarette.

“Fine,” he says, raising an eyebrow when Alfie gives him an incredulous look.

“Fine?”

“Fine.” Tommy lights the cigarette.

And that’s that.

A week later, Alfie is coming along as certified ‘Haver of great taste’ on this house buying mission.

“Now this, Tommy, this is a proper bedroom,” he says, cane tapping over the wooden flooring as he inspects the spacious room with its fancy wallpaper. But it’s a bit of an overstatement, that. The room is in fact not very inviting. Something about it feels… inhospitable and cold. But that’s what you get with an empty house, innit? And it’s better than Tommy’s little nook back in his family home.

Tommy nods, decidedly unenthusiastic. Not that his face is giving it away, but Alfie can read most of his tiny little shifts in mood without any problem these days. There’s that slight slump to his shoulders, and the way he’s not quite looking properly at the room. The same it’s been with the other four fucking houses they’ve been to. Alfie is starting to feel all the staircases in his knees.

“Could put a bed over there, and fit in a huge wardrobe for all those expensive suits of yours-“ he says. “Could have two, even.”

Instead of looking, Tommy stands by the window and gazes listlessly out at the dreary street below, smoking his cigarette with the same air of indifference.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

The question sort of surprises Alfie, because although he’s realised long ago that Tommy does in fact care a great deal about his opinion, it’s unlike him to admit it out loud.

“Well, love, I do fancy myself a man of good taste in all matters, the present company clearly being proof of that. But for once, what I think isn’t what’s most important.”

Tommy very thoroughly avoids looking at him.

“Well, it’d… be your house too.” He says the words with a slight shrug and carefully constructed nonchalance. Swallows visibly -Alfie can see it all the way from across the room. “Ours.”

Ours.

Maybe it’s ridiculous, how monumental that little word feels, but Alfie can’t help it -it does send him reeling for a bit. It’s not like they don’t already live together. They do, in most senses of the word. Wherever Tommy is, Alfie is too. And vice versa of course. But that’s been more of a gradual thing rather than a big decision -Tommy has just slowly crept into every crevice of Alfie’s townhouse back in London: an ashtray on the kitchen table, well pressed suits hanging between Alfie’s own in the wardrobe, extra blankets in the bed because Tommy always runs a few degrees colder than any other warm blooded creature… And the house is arguably just as much Tommy’s home as it is Alfie’s now. But Alfie has a feeling that although Tommy might view it as both of their home, it’s still Alfie’s house. Alfie isn’t entirely sure if there’s a distinction to be made, but it feels like there is.

Buying a fucking house together feels like officially stating out loud that this is a permanent kind of thing. And even though Alfie has known that particular fact for a while, even though they’ve talked about the prospect of doing it in the future, there’s still something about hearing Tommy say it out loud that fills his entire chest with warmth.

“Ours, eh?” he repeats and Tommy’s shoulders set into a rigid line. He walks up behind him and smooths a hand over them. “Well, in that case we should be looking at something with an actual, proper fucking kitchen.” He can feel the muscles relax under his palm. “Yeah? And with a more appealing view, if that is to be found in this shithole.”

“Maybe something outside of the city,” Tommy says quietly, still looking out the window.

Alfie says nothing. Barely dares to breathe

Tommy clears his throat. “You know… like we talked about. I’ve been thinking and- and it might be nice. We could always just drive into town for work.”

Alfie still says nothing, for fear that anything he might say will ruin this. But he lets the hand on Tommy’s shoulder slip down to his waist, tugging him a bit closer. Tommy willingly turns to face him, arms coming up to loosely encircle his neck. His eyes are still fastened on some undetermined spot on his chest.

“Yeah, well, then we’ll have no trouble with the view,” Alfie says after careful consideration. “Whole countryside is full of it, innit? Granted that’s all it’s full of, but that’s the whole point of it, right?”

A smile tugs at the corner of Tommy’s mouth and he finally glances up at Alfie. Alfie rubs small circles on his back with his thumb.

“You sure about this? Don’t have to be doing anything you’re not ready for, love.”

Tommy leans in that last little bit and kisses him. And then the smile finally widens into a real one -the kind that makes his eyes sparkle and manages to light up the entire, previously so cold room.”

“I’m sure.”

Two

Alfie wakes up from the book he’s been reading very falling down onto his face, and blinks to adjust his eyes to the darkness in the living room. The fire has died down to glowing embers, telling him that he must’ve somehow managed to sleep with the book in upright position for a while before it rudely decided to jam the edge of his glasses into his face. It also tells him that it’s late, and, combined with the silence in the house (and the fact that Tommy would no doubt have moved the book from his grasp) tells him that Tommy hasn’t come home yet and is working a whole lot later than usual. And he is just about to get off the sofa and call the office to tell Tommy to get himself home right this instance when the door creaks open. The annoyance is instantly replaced with relief, because fuck it, he can’t help it. Just the way he functions, innit?

He can hear Tommy moving about in the hallway, and it’s probably a sign of something significant, that he can hear just from his steps that there’s something wrong. Unwilling to explore that thought any further, he closes the book and listens.

“Tommy?”

There’s no answer, and that’s enough of an incentive for him to struggle his way off the sofa and out into the hallway. Tommy is stood by the large bureau, clutching the top in a white knuckled grip. A quick onceover tells Alfie that at least he’s not fucking bleeding from anywhere. But he’s so pale that his skin looks fucking luminous in the dark hallway.

“Oi, Tommy?” He crosses the hallway in a few long strides, and that’s when he can smell the whiskey. Tommy glances up at him, bleary eyed and flushed, swaying on his feet.

“Fucks sake,” Alfie sighs and pitches forward to catch him when his legs inevitably give out. Tommy clings to him, shuddering breaths making his back heave. He uselessly tries to catch his gaze without much success. “Hey, are you gonna be sick?”

All he gets in response is a weak hum, but it’s enough. Wasting no time, he drags Tommy into the kitchen and to the sink -the closest appropriate place to be sick- and barely has time to deposit him there before Tommy is vomiting his guts out. Alfie pats his back and mulls over if he could’ve seen this coming earlier in the day.

“I take it you broke into my desk, hm? Or will I find one of the fucking stills empty tomorrow, eh, silly boy…”

His disapproving mutters go unnoticed. Not that Tommy is really capable of listening right then, because he barely has time to breathe between the horrid waves of retching. Alfie puts all other thoughts on halt and just focuses on damage control, continuing to rub Tommy’s back and steadying him against his hip when his knees want to buckle. Not much else to do right then. But Tommy just continues vomiting long after the most likely meager contents of his stomach are gone, and finally, the bile that splashes into the sink is red with blood. Fucking hell. Yeah, he’ll have to step in here…

He puts a hand on the back of Tommy’s neck.

“Alright, deep breaths now, love,” he says. “You ain’t got nothing left to vomit up so I’m gonna need you to just breathe for a bit. Go on-“ Tommy pants, still hunched low over the sink on shaking arms, and Alfie takes the opportunity to fill a glass of water. He manhandles Tommy into a somewhat upright position against his chest and holds it to his mouth. Tommy just whines and turns his head away. His skin feels cold and clammy when he pushes his forehead into the crook of Alfie’s neck.

“ ‘m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah it’s all fine,” he mutters and resists the urge to sigh. “Go on and drink this, or you’ll be even sorrier tomorrow.”

Tommy leans all his weight against him, and Alfie has to wrap an arm around his waist to keep him upright, all while continuing to fruitlessly push the glass of water against his lips. It takes a few more seconds, and then Tommy finally opens his mouth, grabs the glass and greedily swallows the entire thing down in three long gulps before Alfie can protest or remedy the situation-

Which of course has him hunching over the sink again, vomiting it all up within a second.

They end up on the floor after the whole ordeal, because Tommy just collapses where he stands and Alfie isn’t quite quick enough to do anything but break his fall. He’s still dry heaving somehow, and it’s right about then Alfie actually starts to worry.

“Tommy, hey, I’m gonna need you to focus for a moment here,” he says and holds his head up by his chin. Tommy’s eyes are still closed, his long lashes dark against his cheek. “Do you need me to get you to a hospital? Is it that kind of situation?”

Tommy shakes his head and curls into him, tearing his chin away from Alfie’s grip to bury his face in his shirt. And at least he’s stopped dry heaving for now, so Alfie will take his fucking word for it.

“ ‘m sorry,” Tommy repeats against his chest when Alfie pulls him into his lap. He’s finally opened his eyes a little, if only barely, and looks up at him, struggling to focus.

“What are you sorry for, eh?”

“Just… fuck up all the time.”

Alfie sighs and tries to adjust his right leg to avoid a cramp.

“Feel like telling me why you suddenly decided to fucking drown yourself in whiskey on this fine day?” he mutters and pets Tommy’s hair. “Seemed alright when I left you at the office.”

Tommy shrugs and slurs, “ ‘s just bad. ‘vrything’s bad.”

Alfie hums. Tries to not feel disappointed because he really thought they’d gotten past this. But it’s a two steps forward, one step back kind of deal, isn’t it? It’s been… well now when he thinks about it it’s been months since Tommy last had a proper slump, so they’re probably due for one. And they’re fewer and farther between now. He tries to remind himself of that.

“Bad day eh? How about you just do what you normally do and tell me, instead of doing shit like this.”

Tommy pulls his knees up to his chest, turns himself into a ball as he buries his face in Alfie’s chest and just breathes. Alfie continues stroking his hair.

“You’ll get sick of me,” he mutters suddenly, without emerging.

“Well, I do recall us having this conversation before. Multiple times, in fact, but I suppose I can remind you: since I haven’t gotten sick of you yet, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Maybe- maybe not now, but in- in five years. Or ten,” Tommy mumbles. “Twenty.”

Despite the implication -that Tommy himself can’t see an end to these occasional burst of self-destructive behavior- Alfie can’t help smiling.

“Twenty years, eh? We’re in this for the long haul I hear.”

Tommy’s entire body freezes into a tightly coiled ball of muscles. But Alfie keeps stroking his hair.

“I won’t get sick of you, love. Not in ten years, or twenty, or fuckin’… fifty. Though I can’t promise that you won’t eventually get sick of me now, can I. That’s a long fucking time, fifty years.”

Under his fingers, Tommy’s back heaves in a shivering breath and he pushes his face further into the confines of Alfie’s wrinkled shirt. He wraps his arms around Alfie’s chest.

“I won’t. Not for… for as long as I live.”

Alfie has to clear his throat.

“Well, that’s good, innit? Because you’re sort of stuck with me now.”

“Good.”

And with that, Tommy has apparently fallen asleep in his lap.

Three

”How many people have you slept with?” Alfie asks Tommy one night, as the beginning of what could quickly turn into the worst pillow talk in recorded history. But it’s one of those occasions when the question just pops straight from his mind and out of his mouth. Luckily, he’s spent the past hour or so doing a very good job of fucking Tommy in every position imaginable, and Tommy lies satiated and warm against his chest. So his question is only met with a quiet little laugh.

“Haven’t we talked about this before?”

“Nah, then I was just wondering if you’d slept with that tall, lanky…” Alfie gestures to help the words along, “Communist fellow.

“Freddie Thorne,” Tommy offers helpfully.

“Hm, yeah, that’s the one. But now I’m just thinking about the general number.”

Tommy shifts, lifting his head up and settling his chin on Alfie’s chest. His eyes are still soft, a glint of laughter in them.

“Hm, what was it? Half of Birmingham or something, wasn’t that what you said at some point? So how many would that be?”

Alfie snorts, even though he probably deserved that.

“Why do you ask?” Tommy wonders then, genuinely curious it would seem. Alfie shrugs a little, a hard feat while lying down.

“It just feels a bit strange doesn’t it? The idea that you might not fuck anyone else for the rest of your life. That this is all you’ll be getting.”

“Oh, ifthisis all I’ll be getting, I’ll be more than satisfied,” Tommy whispers, and suddenly there’s a hand on his cock, fingers curling loosely around the shaft.

“Always knew you only wanted me for my cock,” Alfie says with mock offence, and Tommy smirks as he begins stroking him slowly.

“Well, in my defense, it’s a very nice cock. Best one I ever had in fact. And I should know, seeing as I’ve slept with… half of Birmingham.”

All blood is rapidly leaving his head, and Alfie sighs, feeling quite pleased with the turn the conversation has taken. Tommy rubs careful circles over the head of his cock, and he slips a hand down to grip his arse firmly, pulling him closer against his hip.

“Mhm, talk more about how much you like my cock.”

Tommy huffs out a laugh and kisses him, slow and soft as he rubs himself against Alfie’s thigh. Alfie is fully hard already, aching and leaking in Tommy’s grip, because fucking hell if he’s not ready to give it to him again whenever Tommy wants it…

“As if your ego needs it,” Tommy whispers against his lips, before sitting up and straddling him. Alfie’s hands immediately find his waist, palms flexing against the expanse of smooth skin and lean muscle. Tommy’s waist fits perfectly there, with Alfie’s fingers around it. Just as the rest of his body fits against Alfie’s: how his head lies perfectly against that spot on his chest, or how Alfie can tuck him under his chin… like a perfect puzzle piece- And then his thoughts are interrupted because Tommy rolls his hips, grinding down on his hard length and he bucks up against him, impatient. It seems to be one of those days when Tommy doesn’t need much convincing, because he just takes Alfie’s cock in hand again and sinks down slowly, moaning obscenely as it slides all the way in. He’s slick and open from before and something about that, fuck, that just makes Alfie so turned on that he gets fucking dizzy… That Tommy just so ready for him: wet and just barely open enough- Fucking hell this isn’t going to last long if he keeps this train of thought. He bites his tongue hard, hoping the pain will bring him back enough to keep himself from coming right then.

Tommy rides him slowly, just barely lifting his hips to begin with. Must be a bit too deep to really be doing it for him, but fuck it really does it for Alfie, is the thing, and Tommy appears pleased to just be giving him what he wants. He’s so fucking wet and warm and tight, and he must be feeling it because Alfie went none to gently on him before. Tommy curls his fingers loosely around his own cock and moves in tandem with his thrusts, eyes falling shut.

Alfie just keeps his hands on his waist for now, lightly, not trying to control anything. When Tommy gets on top like this, it’s usually because he wants to set the pace himself, and who is Alfie to deny him anything?

“Fucking hell, just look at you,” he breathes out. “Wish you could see yourself now, love- really is something else entirely, aren’t you?”

Tommy lets go of his cock and settles his hands on Alfie’s chest instead, lifting his hips higher and making Alfie slide almost all the way out before sinking back down. Moans each time, loud and unabashed and fucking desperate for it, as if it wasn’t just half an hour ago that Alfie pounded him into the mattress until he’d screamed himself hoarse.

Then he tugs at Alfie’s shoulders and Alfie takes the hint immediately, sitting up and wrapping his arms tightly around that narrow waist.

“Why would I ever want anyone else, ever again?” Tommy leans in and whispers, voice husky and unsteady in a way that just shoots arousal down his spine. He rolls his hips, cock brushing against Alfie’s stomach. His legs are trembling now, so Alfie helps him along, holding his weight up with his arms. Fingers tangle into his hair and Tommy kisses him, wet and sloppy and panting loudly, frantically pulling in the too hot air between them. Alfie has no answer of course, because with Tommy like this on his lap, grinding down on his cock and looking like it really is the best fucking thing he’s ever had, no, he can’t come up with a reason why.

“Fuck, it’s so good- so fucking good Alfie I-“ Tommy buries his face in the crook of his neck, clinging properly to his shoulders now. “No one else could ever come close.”

Alfie’s hips are moving on their own accord now, while he virtually takes Tommy’s entire weight and lifts him up and down on his cock, because Tommy’s legs have apparently decided to give up. And he doesn’t fucking mind in the least, does he? Because Tommy makes these desperate little noises, rutting and grinding against him as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Won’t ever have to worry about that now, do you?” Alfie mutters into his ear. “Because you’re all mine and I’m going to take care of you. Fucking hell, if I had my way, you wouldn’t ever have to leave the bed. Would just keep you there. Make sure you’re fucked real good every single day… several times a day, because that’s what you want isn’t it?”

Tommy whimpers, and Alfie releases his waist to wind his fingers into his hair and pull his head back. And Tommy is just there, unable to move properly and just desperately grinding on Alfie’s cock. And it’s a fucking sight alright. His eyes are blown wide, filled with that raw, open vulnerability. It makes Alfie growl and tug harder at his hair.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” Tommy whispers. “Always.”

Then his hands are back on Alfie’s shoulders and he pushes himself up, despite his shaking legs and clenches around Alfie and that’s it, Alfie fucking goneand he fucks up and into Tommy, arms clenched tight around his waist again. Tommy lets out an almost pained sound, shaking and twitching in his grip as he comes all over his stomach.

He collapses completely against him afterwards. Alfie can’t be bothered to stay upright and slumps down onto the mattress, but manages to at least be considerate enough to keep Tommy from hitting his head on the bedframe.

It takes several minutes before Alfie comes back enough to himself to manoeuvre Tommy off him, which is necessary, because God knows Tommy will just stay right where he is for the rest of the night otherwise, with Alfie’s cock still buried in his arse. Always needy and clingy after sex, Tommy of course whimpers out various complaints, until Alfie has got him settled against his chest again. And that, well that’s somehow just as great as the actual sex isn’t it? Alfie hushes him. Strokes his back until he’s calmed down again and seems at peace. Tommy drapes one leg across Alfie’s hip and noses against that spot on his chest that’s become his designated head rest, right below his left collarbone.

Alfie runs a finger down his spine, grabs the blanket and pulls it up over them both. Because although he still feels overheated, he knows for a fact that Tommy will start shivering in a minute. That’s just how it works.

“So, I take it you’re not going to miss fucking anyone else? Hm? Is that what I should take away from this?” He smirks to himself when he sees the exasperated wrinkle between Tommy’s eyebrows. “See, because I might need more convincing. Not straight away, mind you, but in half an hour or so…”

Tommy slaps his arm with the conviction of a sleepy cat swatting for a fly that’s buzzing around it’s ears.

“Fuck off. You’ve gotten yours tonight. Twice.”

“Oh, it’s more than that if you count the times I very selflessly made you come, love, How about you add that to the list of my fine qualities? What other man has done that for you?”

“If you continue to be this infuriating, I might find someone else who will,” Tommy mutters and shuffles a bit closer still.

Alfie continues, undeterred because he’s feeling quite pleased with himself right now thank you very much.“See, love, there’s only one thing that’s better than knowing you’re a generous and considerate lover,” he says and ignores Tommy’s annoyed groan. “Who can make their partner come their brains out several times in a single evening, and that’s knowing that you’re better than all the previous ones…”

“You’re fucking impossible” Tommy mutters into his chest, keeping his head firmly pressed against it while clinging to him. “Now shut up and let me sleep, or I will banish you to the sofa.”

Alfie scoffs, “Empty threats, love. You know better than to play cards like that.”

Tommy opens one eye and gives him a glare. Going against one of those would definitely be pushing his luck, so the best route now would be to stay quiet. But he does press a kiss against Tommy’s forehead. Which is met with another little huff.

Tommy is still smiling against his chest. He can tell.

Four

There are plenty of things about Tommy’s older brother that Alfie finds infuriating. Were he to make a list, it would most likely be impossible to complete: Arthur would find new ways to bother him while he was writing said list and constantly add to it. But somewhere at the top of that hypothetical list, he’d put the fact that Arthur Shelby has the worst possible timing for absolutely everything. From barging into Tommy’s office with some question just when Alfie has persuaded Tommy to take a little break from working to sit on his lap for just a tiny bit, to calling them at home in London (God knows how he got the fucking number) demanding to speak with Tommy about all sorts of irrelevant matters, usually once they’ve finally settled in for the evening.

So really, it should be no surprise that when Alfie steps into the Shelby household much later than he’d anticipated and passes the kitchen, he hears a familiar voice.

“Oi, Solomons, a word.”

Alfie stops in his tracks and groans because fuck, has Arthur just set up permanent shop in the fucking kitchen? Ready at any time to call people in and have various ‘chats’ with them about questions that are none of his business and yet somehow crucial for him to put his nose in.

And furthermore it’s fucking late and he’s had a hellish evening dealing with incompetent employees and a broken still, so all he wants to do now is go upstairs to Tommy. Pull him close and bury his nose in soft hair that smells faintly of soap and smoke...

“Unless you hadn’t noticed, I was actually on my way to something more important. Namely to a bed that has your brother in it,” he tells Arthur and can’t keep himself from adding: “See if he’s up for getting a bit of cock on this fine evening.“

Arthur chokes on his whiskey. And really he should’ve fucking expected an answer like that. But he still waves for him to sit down and bloody hell, Alfie figures that it’s better to just have it fucking over with. So he ambles over to the kitchen table, slumps down on a chair and leans back in it, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Alright, as I’m sure you can see, I’m here,” he says when Arthur just stares at him. “So fucking talk.”

Arthur promptly empties his whiskey glass and then refills it.

“I’ve been thinking-“

Alfie huffs out a laugh. “Oh watch out, you might hurt yourself.”

Arthur glares, clears his throat and leans back in his chair, mimicking Alfie’s pose. Puts on what is most likely supposed to be a serious face, takes a breath… and fuck, Alfie is seconds away from just getting up and leaving when he finally gets to the point and says, “What are your intentions with Tommy?”

It takes a while for Alfie to take this in, even though the buildup should’ve adequately prepared him for something this stupid.

“What?”

“What are your intentions with my little brother?” Arthur repeats, over annunciating every single word, as if that will clarify anything. My little brother… Arthur always adds that when he’s feeling particularly over protective. As if to further hammer home the point -mostly to himself probably- that he is indeed the older and wiser out of the two of them. That Tommy is his responsibility.

Alfie blinks. “Yeah, well if you really want to know, right now I intend to go upstairs and see if he’s still awake. And then possibly make him come his brains out a few times-“

Arthur’s face turns a darker shade of red and his moustache twitches in that absolutely hilarious way. His right hand clenches into a fist where it’s placed on the table. But he doesn’t lose it. Surprising, that.

“Which I really should prioritize right now so if we’re done here…” Alfie puts both palms on the table and makes a half-hearted effort to stand up but of-fucking- course Arthur won’t have that

“You know what I fucking mean,” he snaps.

“Well, dear Arthur, as it so happens I don’t actually know what you fucking mean so if you could fucking clarify…”

Arthur glares down at his whiskey. Moves the glass a bit to the right. Moves it back again… Alfie sinks deeper into his chair and sighs demonstratively.

“He loves you,” Arthur says, suddenly, still studying the glass. “Really… fucking loves you.”

Alfie decides to be quiet.

“Fucking hell I never thought that it- that it would actually go this far,” Arthur continues. “But he fucking loves you, more than- than I think he’s ever loved anyone or anything.”

Yeah and what on earth is happening now? It’s getting bloody uncomfortable, that’s what. So Alfie opens his mouth to fucking say something, but Arthur waves a hand dismissively and keeps talking.

“And the thing, the fucking thing is that now… Well, he wouldn’t fucking survive you leaving, alright? Almost fucking fell apart completely when you had that fight. And if you- if this isn’t fucking permanent in your eyes, then I…“ Arthur allows himself a moment of silence, probably because he discovers that Alfie won’t interrupt him. “It would fucking kill him,” he then finally says, without the tiniest bit of smile. Dead fucking serious.

And something about the tone… Alfie can’t bring himself to say something snide or sharp, but he doesn’t exactly have any other options either, so he just continues being silent.

“And, yeah I don’t know what to do with that fucking realization. Sure I can do the whole ‘If you ever hurt my brother I’ll hunt you down and fucking beat you to death with your own cane-spiel, but-” Arthur pauses again to breathe. “But that doesn’t really matter does it?”

Alfie sighs. “Fucking hell I’m not in the mood for this-“

He rubs his temples and realizes that a bit of sincerity is the only thing that will work here, even though he really is in no mood to be having conversations like this with Arthur.

He shoots a glare at the man in question. “What’s all this, eh, Arthur? Trying to catch up on 30 years of big-brother duties all of a sudden.”

Arthur ignores the remark and takes a swig of whiskey. Stares into the liquid again. “We just got him back, you know? We finally fucking got him back, and now I’m terrified that without you, he’d…”

He trails off and silence fills the kitchen.

“Nah, give your brother some credit,” Alfie says. “As much as I’d like to think that I have a magical cock that just… miraculously heals broken heads, Tommy’s done plenty of work to pull himself out of that pit he’s been in.”

Arthur sways forward and sets both forearms down on the table with a bang.

“Just give me a straight answer here,” he slurs, going a bit cross eyed as he watches Alfie. “Be honest with me here, between... two people, who just really fucking care about him alright?”

“You know that Tommy would fucking kill you if he found out you were having this conversation with me, right”

Arthur just keeps gazing at him with dim eyes, as if he didn’t even hear it.

Alfie sighs again. Fuck it.

“Alright, you want to hear what my fucking intentions are, do you?” He rests his forearms on the table and hunches forward, trying to catch Arthur’s eyes. “Even though you really have no fucking business knowing them. But I’ll fucking indulge you, alright? So here it goes, and you better fucking listen because I’ll only be saying this once: If we had lived in a world that was just a bit different… Or perhaps if Tommy had been a woman and I hadn’t just been an old sodomite, yeah? Well, then I’d have asked to marry him long ago.” He stops staring at Arthur’s face- stares past his shoulder instead, at a wall. “Would’ve done it all… fancy and the like. Taken him to some nice place. Bought an ungodly expensive ring. The whole deal-” he clears his throat, suddenly realizing he’s said far too much. But surprisingly, Arthur doesn’t take the chance to laugh in his face or something of the sort. Instead he just sits there, staring down at the tabletop. “That enough of an answer for you, eh, Arthur?” Alfie grunts when he finally can’t take the silence anymore. “Think you can get some peace of mind?”

Arthur opens his mouth, looks up, and his eyes drift to the doorway.

“Well, would you look at that. You’re talking, and the house is still standing. And no one is bleeding, from what I can see.”

The statement is finished off with a yawn and Alfie turns in his chair to see Tommy standing there in the doorway. He’s clad in only Alfie’s shirt and underwear, hair mussed from the pillow and with this soft, sleepy expression on his face that just makes Alfie’s heart skip a beat… But fuck how is it possible for him to walk so quietly? Alfie tries not to panic when he realizes that Tommy might’ve stood there for a very long time.

“Yeah, we’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” he says, feeling like his tongue is too big for his mouth. Tommy smiles and comes up to stand by his side. Alfie wraps an arm around his hips. Pulls him close

“Are you coming to bed soon?” he asks and leans into him a bit, soft and relaxed. Looks down at him through a fan of long, long, dark lashes. The way he is sometimes in the mornings after a good night’s sleep (and, if Alfie might add, a good and proper fuck before that).

“Yeah sure, if your crazy brother is quite finished with me, I’d very much like to go to bed.” Alfie tears his eyes away from Tommy long enough to look questioningly at Arthur. “Arthur here was just telling me about his secret dream of moving out into a hut in the forest to raise sheep for the rest of his days, and I told him to just go for it-“

Arthur sighs, as if the entire weight of the world was just dropped down onto his shoulders and gives Tommy a look.

“Really, Tommy, out of all the men you could’ve fucking picked, you just had to go with the most infuriating one?”

“Oh absolutely,” Tommy says solemnly. “It was very high up on my list of demands for possible partners-“

Alfie smirks. “Number one of course being that they must be above average both in stamina and in how well-endowed they are-“

“Number two: must be absolutely unbearable to be around,” Tommy fills him in.

“Fucks sake, you two. Absolutely fucking impossible,” Arthur mutters and looks almost pleadingly at Tommy when he adds, “Doesn’t it scare you that you’re gonna have to put up with this for the rest of your life?”

Alfie isn’t sure if Arthur fucking realizes how stupid it is, asking Tommy a question like that. But Tommy just keeps smiling.

“Not really, no,” he says, giving Alfie another look. “So… bedroom?” The quirked eyebrow gets Alfie up and moving.

“Well, it’s been a nice little talk, this, Arthur. All around fucking brilliant and enlightening, just as all talks with you are, mate,” he says as he stands, his arm sliding up around Tommy’s waist to pull him closer. “But I think it’s time for me and Tommy to go upstairs and-“

Arthur’s frame seems to draw together into what can only be described as a full body cringe

“Don’t want to hear it!” And the fucker actually slams is hands over his ears. Tommy snorts and walks out of the kitchen with Alfie close behind.

In the hallway, he takes Alfie’s arm in a sudden uncharacteristic move for closeness. And Alfie wonders just how much of the conversation he heard. Can’t have been much, if the good mood is anything to go by. Only reaction Tommy could reasonably have to listening in on a conversation like that is either being pissed off or absolutely freaking out. And he’s doing neither. Could of course ask. Get it out in the open. But it feels unnecessary to start poking around in it, because Tommy looks so… at peace. Happy. And Alfie would be a fool to start asking questions that might ruin that. So he leaves it be. Over all, Alfie tries to not dwell on the whole conversation; not on his own words and not on whether Tommy was there to hear them or not. Just like he tries to not… lose himself in that fantasy. Because, well, saying it out loud just turned it all the more visceral and it’s sort of hard to ignore it now. As if just saying the words out loud made him realize it on a whole different level.

Realize that if things had been different, he would’ve---

But they’re not. So there’s no point in dwelling on it.

Then again, who’s to fucking decide what sort of questions he can and can’t ask Tommy, even if it would just be a symbolic kind of thing? Not like either of them pay much attention to what is right and proper in the eyes of the law in any other aspect. Why should this be any different?

“What are you thinking about?”

He realizes he’s been standing with his shirt unbuttoned halfway, just staring into the distance. Tommy is already in bed, all bundled up in the blankets and watching him with sleepy eyes.

“Oh, nothing, love. Just the usual, eh?” Alfie mutters and finishes unbuttoning the shirt. “The weather, state of the English pound… things like that.”

Tommy yawns and sinks a bit deeper into the pillows.

“Well, if you want to do something besides sleeping tonight, you better think less and get undressed more. I’m already half asleep.”

“Oh would you look at that, love, a pig just fluttered by outside the window,” Alfie chuckles but puts some extra focus into getting his clothes off. Tommy lets out a snort that is most likely supposed to sound indignant, but when Alfie is finally down to his underwear and crawls into bed next to him, he’s all soft eyes and smiles again. And Alfie is tempted to ask what’s put him in such a good mood, but that is guaranteed to ruin it. So instead he just kisses him. And decides that all the thoughts the conversation with Arthur stirred up can wait till tomorrow.

Five

Arrow House -or whatever the fuck it’s called- is an enormous block of bricks. Question is if it could even be deemed a house, what with the size and everything. No, it’s not just a house, of course. It’s a whole fucking estate.

Alfie walks through yet another room that could possibly be a bedroom -guest or otherwise, and wonders who the fuck needs this many room.

But apparently, this is the kind of house people of their ‘stature’ should have. It’s what everyone keeps saying. Tommy too. So of course when the opportunity presented itself to buy the estate of one Lord Whatever-The-Fuck-His-Name-Was -who apparently fucked off permanently to one of the colonies for whatever reason- they at least had to take a look.

So now they’re here, wandering around this castle like structure and getting lost. Alfie hasn’t seen Tommy for several minutes, it’s quite possible that he’ll never find the exit again and he’s pretty sure he’s heard a minimum of five restless spirits.

It’s all around, not a great experience.

Alfie opens the door to the next room, finding it just as empty as the last one. It feels like the sheer size of the building is about to swallow him whole. He gazes out over the giant lawn that stretches before the house. And the vastness of that isn’t helping either.

He moves on to the next room, trying to ignore the way the echoes of his cane bounces off the walls.

That room is empty too, and now he’s seriously beginning to wonder where Tommy has gone.

“Tommy?” He stands stock still, straining his ears to hear a response.

“Alfie?” Ah, there it is. Seems like he’s far away though.

“Where are you?” he calls out again, moving in the supposed direction where Tommy’s voice came from. It takes him out into yet another corridor, with far too many doors. That doesn’t bode well.

“I’m not sure,” Tommy calls back and Alfie lets out a chuckle. “In… a room.”

“What can you see outside the window?” He starts opening doors, feeling increasingly like he’s part of a giant joke.

“Grass,” Tommy calls back, and despite the unhelpful nature of the response it still makes Alfie laugh. It sounds like he’s at the far end of the corridor somewhere, so he sets off in that direction. And of course he still has to try three different rooms that all look exactly the same before he finds Tommy, stood in what appears to have been the master bedroom, judging by the canopy bed that has been left there.

“There you are!”

Tommy turns away from the window and gives Alfie a faint smile.

“We’re gonna have to install… fucking phone lines or something between all these rooms if we’re gonna find each other,” Alfie states and walks up to him, standing to inspect the view. And yeah, granted it’s better than the dreary houses in Birmingham, but again, there’s something oddly… eerie over the giant fields of grass. Feels as empty and lifeless as the house. “But I suppose we’ll get used to it, eh? Having to spend a few minutes just looking for each other every time we’re separated. And we’ll have to plan things in advance too, seeing as it takes at least ten fucking minutes to walk from one end of the house to the other.”

Tommy hums and turns to face the interior of the room, inspecting the ceiling that sits high above them.

“Have you looked at the rest of the rooms on this end?” Alfie asks when the silences stretches on. Tommy shakes his head, which prompts him to put a hand on the small of his back.

“Well, how about we do that, then? And then, might I suggest we go out into the sunshine? Fucking freezing in here, innit?”

Tommy is quiet as they inspect the four remaining rooms in this wing, so Alfie fills the silence by talking about the amount of people they’ll need to hire just to keep this house in order. And making little suggestions on what could be done to the rooms to make them slightly less… ghostly. A word he doesn’t use of course, because saying things like that is bound to make the whole house feel even more eerie.

Tommy’s got a wrinkle between his eyebrows the entire time, and his jaw is clenched oddly tight. It’s not until they get back to the main entrance, and are stood on the staircase overlooking the grand hallway and front door, that he finally speaks.

“I don’t… like it.”

Alfie cuts himself off mid-ramble.

Tommy sounds incredulous. As if he can’t quite believe his own words.

“No?”

Tommy shakes his head and looks around; At the intricate wood panelling, the heavy oak floors and the thick velvet curtains that hang in front of the windows.

“Well, it’s hard to imagine living in it now, I suppose,” Alfie says to help him along. “Bet with some furnitures it’ll feel a bit more homely.”

A fucking lie if there ever was one.

Tommy shakes his head and sets off down the stairs, leaving Alfie to follow. Once they’re down in the hallway, Tommy looks around the room again.

“You do realise of course, sweetheart, that this is hardly the kind of house I’d want to live in either?”

“It’s not?”

“Now, love, when have I ever expressed that I’d like to live in a giant fucking ghost house that feels about as homely as an abandoned sanatorium?”

Tommy sighs and the tension finally creeps from his shoulders.

“Suppose it just… seemed like the next natural step.”

“Yeah, yeah because this is the kind of fucking house people with money live in, innit?” Alfie scoffs and taps his cane against an ornate fixture by a door. “Big gaudy things that require a whole squad of helpers and… cooks and fucking gardeners. And it’s still just as fucking lonely and miserable- I mean fucking look at it! Who needs all this fucking space? And it’s so fucking dark everywhere, even with all the windows”

He cuts himself off because Tommy’s got a sort of haunted look in his eyes.

“That about sums up why you’re not feeling it?” he asks, softer this time and Tommy shrugs a little.

“Maybe.”

Alfie walks up to the front door, resolute, and opens it. The sun streams into the hallway and a gust of wind blows in and ruffles Tommy’s hair. There, looks a whole lot better already. Alfie takes him by the hand and leads him out.

“I say fuck this house and whoever built it. Let’s go home

Tommy follows to the car without a word of protest.

Tommy isn’t too keen on looking at houses after that incident. So Alfie decides to hit pause on the whole thing for just a little while -sometimes he just needs a bit more time than other people to process things like this. But they do eventually look at another one, and that turns out -if possible- even worse. First off, it’s too far away from Birmingham. Then the estate agent tells them it was built by a Lord ‘What’s his name’(Alfie can’t be bothered to remember) who held a high position in the cavalry.

Tommy takes one look at the giant stone lions flanking the front door and then promptly gets back in the car.

Suffice to say, he’s not in a very good mood on the drive back towards Birmingham, quietly staring out the window and smoking one cigarette after the other. But the weather is nice, so when Alfie sees a fence bordering a large field that could possibly contain a horse or two -which could potentially cheer Tommy up- he pulls over and turns to his sulking companion.

“How about we take a walk, eh, love? We did make the drive out here after all.”

Surprisingly, Tommy isn’t hard to convince.

So they walk, taking a small gravel road that leads between two large meadows. And the sun is shining, a warm breeze rustles through the leaves, and although Tommy continues to quietly chain-smoke, the wrinkle between his eyebrow has smoothed out a bit.

And sure enough, after walking for a bit they even pass a pasture where several horses are grazing. Predictably, Tommy lights up when one of them comes towards the fence, eager at the sight of two people who might just be there to give it a treat. The horse hangs its head over the fence and Tommy scratches it behind the ears. Were it someone else Alfie would suggest to stay far away from a strange horse, but he has yet to meet a single horse -known or unknown- that doesn’t like Tommy. And he’s quite pleased that this horse has decided to turn up.

The horse is disappointed when Tommy leaves (Alfie is the one who initiates it because otherwise they might be stuck here until nightfall). It neighs a complaint before realising that petting time is over, and turning to re-join the rest of the flock a little ways away.

Alfie meanwhile offers his arm to Tommy, who actually takes it as they continue the walk. And this time, Tommy even refrains from lighting another cigarette. It could of course just be that he’s finally run out.

The sun is beginning to set in the horizon, which Alfie only realises when he glances over at Tommy and is struck by how extraordinarily beautiful he is in this light. He’s just about to suggest that they turn back when he sees the sign. Or… calling it a sign is perhaps to use the word too liberally: it’s really just a wooden plank with painted on letters, speered into the ground by the edge of an moss covered stone wall.

‘For sale’ it just says. And then a telephone number. Alfie frowns.

“Is this how they fucking do it in the countryside? Just hang a homemade bloody sign up in the middle of nowhere advertising a sale of… whatever. How is anyone supposed to find it here?”

But Tommy doesn’t appear to be listening. He’s let go of Alfie’s arm and walked up to the gate that is situated a bit further down on the wall, and is now standing there looking at something. Naturally Alfie has to see what is so interesting. And only a few steps along the road later, he sees the house, previously obscured by bushes.

He understands why Tommy is completely entranced by it, because it sure is something to look at. It’s large, but nothing compared to the last two monstrosities, just two stories and then what appears to be a large attic. Vines are growing up along the brick facade, and clinging around the green front door.

Alfie looks at it too. And then opens the gate and walks towards it.

“Alfie! Where are you going?”

“Just want to take a look, love.”

“That’s not how it works!”

“It is now!”

He gives the door three sharp knocks, just for good measure. As expected, there’s no answer. The door is locked however, and once it’s become clear no one is home, he begins inspecting the surroundings. There are no flowerpots or anything on the front steps, but by a barrel full of rainwater, there’s a watering can that somehow looks… suspicious.

Tommy’s steps are coming up the gravel path towards the house. “Alfie, let’s just leave before someone sees us.”

The key is, as expected, under the watering can.

Tommy looks absolutely mortified when he shows it to him

“Alfie, we can’t just go in,” he says with what honest to God sounds like a whine.

“Oh, calm down, love. Very uncharacteristic for you, this behaviour.” Alfie unlocks the door and it swings open easily. “You’re usually quite unbothered by… well everything. Where’s your sense of adventure, eh?”

“I’m just sick of looking at houses,” Tommy grumbles.

Alfie goes inside.

“Hello?” he calls out, lest they scare someone to death. But it quickly becomes apparent that the house is indeed empty.

Tommy is still outside on the steps.

“Aren’t you coming in, love?” Alfie wonders with a grin as he pops his head out the door. Tommy demonstratively lights a cigarette and turns his back against him. “Suit yourself. I’ll be back in a moment,” he says and kisses his temple just for good measure, before venturing back into the house.

Alife knows that no matter how hard he tries to deny it himself, heisprone to be a sentimental fool -Tommy’s words- so granted he might not be the best judge, but fuck if there’s not just something…about this house. Granted, the golden light of the sunset that cascades in through the large windows is of course showing it from its best side, but still…

The light spills across the hardwood floor and bounces off the walls with their white wallpaper, washing everything in golden tones. It becomes quite clear that no one has have lived there for a while, because a fine coating of dust covers everything. And still the house doesn’t feel eerie. More as if it’s sleeping, as odd as it might be to describe a house that way. The hallway takes him to a large living room with a fireplace, and huge windows that open up into the garden. He completely forgets to inspect the view though because he passed a staircase on his way in there and has to take a look at the upstairs quarters. Only a quick one, he promises himself -Tommy is bound to have become restless by now.

One look at the master bedroom though, and Alfie decides that Tommy has to see this for himself. And if he’s not going to do it willingly, well then Alfie will just have to carry him.

But once he’s back downstairs and out the door again, he finds the front steps empty.

“Tommy?”

“I’m here.” The answer comes immediately, thank fuck (will Alfie ever stop being anxious the moment Tommy is out of his sight?) “In the kitchen.”

Alfie follows the voice to the back of the house, and does indeed find Tommy in a big, bright kitchen with pale green panelling on all the cupboards. He’s stood by an open back door, with coloured glass in its windowpane. The sun is shining through it, casting light in red and blue that dances across his face.

Alfie only then realises he’s been too engulfed by the interiors of the house to look at the garden at the back of it. Because that’s where the door leads, out into a big garden with a lawn, and a giant oak tree.

“There are roses,” Tommy says quietly.

Alfie can only hum. The evening air is thick with the scent of them as it wafts towards him in gentle gusts. For a while they just stand there in silence.

He thinks about it, wonders what the fucking odds are of stumbling on a house like this. Just because you decide to take a walk. Then again, sometimes things do just line up perfectly, don’t they? It does happen, as rare as it might be. You take a walk and find a house, your new business partner turns out to be the love of your life… Things like that.

“Think we better get going. It’s about to get dark.”

Alfie snaps out of his thoughts and blinks. Tommy takes his arm and pulls him back into the kitchen.

Once the door is locked and the key is safe back under the watering can, they begin making their way towards the car.

When they pass the sign, Alfie grabs it and tugs it straight out of the ground. Then continues walking. Tommy looks uncharacteristically appalled.

“Alfie! You can’t just-“

“I’m just holding onto this for… safe keeping.”

Tommy shakes his head, but the lack of any more protests is approval enough for Alfie to carry the sign all the way back to the car and put it in the trunk.

And he’s fairly certain he catches Tommy smiling when he gets into the driver’s seat.

….

Alfie doesn’t call the number right away -granted he shouldn’t be calling at all until he’s hashed the whole thing out with Tommy- and that is yet to be done. The sign is now in the wardrobe (for safe keeping). On top of that, Alfie’s got the number written down in the only place he knows he won’t lose it (on the back of a photograph of Tommy that he keeps in his wallet. Which Tommy doesn’t have to know about)

But he sort of has another question at the forefront of his mind right now. One which has steadily become more and more obtrusive and that’s distracting him from the whole house business… It’s in fact taking up so much of the space in his brain that he finds himself unable to function. Back and forth it goes. Should he ask? Shouldn’t he?

It would be absolutely insane to ask.

But he desperately wants to, is the thing.

And it doesn’t hurt to just… see if he still has that box somewhere in the attic.

He’s been keeping it there for years -unable to throw it out, but it’s too painful of a thing to have where he has to see it all the time. And one day when Tommy is out, he makes the rather uncomfortable climb up to the attic to search. Lo and behold, it seems like whoever is in charge of it all is working in his favour on this matter, because it’s the first fucking thing he finds. He carefully avoids the photos and other keepsakes, unwilling to face all of that right now. And he does find what he’s looking for -at the very bottom, carefully wrapped in thin, sheer paper. As it’s been for twenty-five odd years, ever since his uncle gave it to him.

“This was your mothers, She asked me to keep it safe. I know she wanted you to have it. So now it’s yours to keep safe.”

He’d asked what he was supposed to do with it. Because that’s the kind of questions kids ask. And his uncle told him that, well, at some point -if you’re lucky- you’ll meet someone who you want to give it to. Someone special.

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

And sure enough, he did understand when he got older. But all that really led him to was the realisation that the ‘someone special’ his uncle had been referring to, well, Alfie wasn’t the kind of person who was meant to find one of those. Realised that quite quickly in fact. So what was the point of keeping the bloody thing? Just a reminder of all the things he’d never have, wasn’t it?

Still, couldn’t fucking throw it away, could he? What sort of son would he be if he’d done that? No, that was out of the question. So he’d put it in this box. And now he’s holding it in his hands again and it feels oddly small… Small and delicate and somehow still so incredibly heavy.

He’s sort of forgotten to breathe, so he tries to do that as he folds away paper and looks down at the contents.

Then he has to wipe his eyes because there’s a lot of fucking dust up here and it’s making them fucking water. Has to blink, just to get his vision clear enough to actually seethe thing properly.

It’d need some adjustments of course. But that’s easy enough to accomplish.

It wouldn’t hurt to just… bring it downstairs. Keep it there for a while. It doesn’t mean that he has to ask… It’s not like it’s a huge commitment to just bring it downstairs.

When he descends the ladder on unsteady legs, it’s in his inner pocket.

For safekeeping.

And if he should want to ask, well it’s easier to have it down here isn’t it?

Not that he’s planning to. Because it’d be an absolutely ridiculous thing to do.

But-

Well it can’t fucking hurt to have it close by, is the point.

If he would like to ask…

#alfie x tommy #Tommy Shelby #Alfie Solomons #Peaky Blinders #wtma au #BEHOLD the FLUFF #to be continued...

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