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myherowritings · 4 years ago

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Hey There, Roomie

— After being set up on a bad date with Ushijima, he insists on walking you to your doorstep. Not wanting him to know where you live, you lead him to Iwaizumi’s apartment and pretend Iwaizumi is your roommate.

pairing: iwaizumi hajime x reader word count: 4.0k genre: college/university au, fluff warnings: mentions of drinking, language, secondhand embarrassment, suggestive comments at the end, oikawa is meddlesome, awkward but cute confessions™!!

a/n: ur bad date is with ushiwaka ok i’m sorry he’s a nice guy but i had to make it someone HDJSJS,, also this is based on real life events except my friend who lived in an apartment near me isn’t cute like iwa-chan :( LMAOOO i hope u enjoy reading!!! xx sof

「 hq masterlist 」

“I assure you, you don’t have to walk me to my apartment.”

“It’s not a bother. I insist.”

“No, it’s fine.” Although you tried to keep a smile on your face, you were certain it looked more like you were baring your teeth at him. “Really. You don’t have to do that.”

Ushijima shrugged. “I told you, it’s no big deal.”

Your grin turned into a grimace as you stepped outside the car and headed towards your apartment complex. You managed to grit out, “Great. Thanks.”

A friend from your class had told you they had a friend of a friend who saw an Instagram post of you and thought you were cute. After they showed you a picture of him, you said the same. Little did you know it would lead to a mess of a date set up by said friend.

The date was at a karaage chicken place and it was filled with the most uncomfortable silences you had sat through since office hours with a professor who you were sure hated you. Ushijima was nice enough and it wasn’t the worst date ever, but the two of you just did not click. You figured it was partly your fault for agreeing to meet with him despite not having a single clue about his interests and never having talked to him once, but it was too late to undo it now.

He was a gentleman, at least. Offered to pay, held your seat out for you, drove you to your apartment complex, and, now, was trying to walk you to your doorstep.

The thing was, you did not want him to know where you lived.

You didn’t get red flags or feel threatened by any means, but having a guy you went on one uncomfortable date with know your exact address wasn’t really something that sat well with you. You’ve heard enough college horror stories to be wary. But, you didn’t have the heart to tell him explicitly not to walk you home… So the only solution?

Head to your friend’s apartment in the same complex instead.

“Do you know where you’re going?” asked Ushijima, examining you as your eyes darted around from building to building.

You’d been to Iwaizumi’s apartment before, but that didn’t stop you from looking lost and confused in this maze of houses. And it didn’t help to have Ushijima’s semi-condescending gaze on you the whole time. The worst part was, you were almost certain he didn’t even mean to be condescending— He just was. To you, at least. It definitely rubbed you the wrong way during the date.

“Yeah,” you laughed, walking past your apartment, “of course I know where my own apartment is.”

Iwaizumi’s place was just a few buildings north of yours, which you were quick to remember after catching sight of your place. You briefly wondered if he would be home on a Friday night, but quickly decided it wasn’t important. It’s not like you would be entering his house anyway. In fact, if all went well, he might never even know you were outside his apartment to begin with.

The plan was to have Ushijima drop you off at the doorstep (since he so unwaveringly insisted that he had to and it was no trouble for him to do so), tell him goodbye, fumble with your bag to “look for your keys” as he walked off, then—when he was out of sight—dash to your apartment and lock yourself in your bedroom for the remainder of the night.

A foolproof plan.

“Well, we’re here!” you chirped, standing outside Iwaizumi’s door labeled 237E. You whirled around to face Ushijima. “Thanks for walking me. See you around!”

“Of course.” He nodded but made no move to leave.

Your smile wavered. Was he waiting for you to enter your house safely? If he didn’t seem so innocent, it would’ve been incredibly creepy.

“Err,” you drawled, ruffling through your bag. “I’m just finding my keys. You can leave now; I don’t want to keep you any longer!”

“It’s not a problem.”

Your right eye twitched. What did he think could possibly happen in the time it took you to unlock your door and enter? While it was sweet—in a very suffocating way—it wasn’t what you wanted. After the bad date that was disappointing for the both of you, you expected him to eat his food and dip. Not see you all the way into your house despite the fact that, deep down, he’d much rather be in his own home. It was domineeringly kind.

Didn’t he understand how stressful this could be for someone? His obliviousness was overbearing, but you supposed you couldn’t blame Ushijima when you didn’t verbalize your discomfort to him.

“Everything okay?” he asked for what felt like the fifth time that night.

You chuckled nervously. “I guess I…can’t find my keys?” Looking at him sheepishly, you scratched the back of your head. “But, my roommates will probably be home soon! Or, they might be here now. I’ll just ring the doorbell when you leave!”

Ushijima blinked. “Why not ring the doorbell now?”

“R-Right,” you stammered, unsure whether you wanted to rip your hair out or cry in frustration. Maybe both would be good. “That’s smart. I can do that.”

He looked at you expectantly.

You winced, bringing your pointer finger to the white button of the doorbell. Before you even had the time to gather the courage to press it, the door swung open suddenly, startling you enough to let out a small yelp.

“Ah—! Iwaizumi!” you cried, eyes wide as you stared face to face with your very confused-looking friend. He glanced between you and Ushijima with a questioning expression, but you rambled on before he could say anything. “Hey there, roomie!” You batted your lashes, pleading with him to play along. “I forgot my keys again.”

Iwaizumi’s face displayed a look of pure confusion and you were certain he must never have gotten any acting awards when he was younger. His expression became even more puzzled when you wiggled your way inside the door, standing snugly next to his side.

After an awkward silence, you continued again, “Well, thanks for walking me Ushijima-san! And thank you for the date. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

If he noticed anything suspicious going on, he didn’t show it. Instead he simply nodded and wished you a goodnight.

Yup, there was definitely no chance of Ushijima wanting to ask you out on a second date. Not that you were complaining.

You shut the door—the door to an apartment that wasn’t even your own, mind you—and let out a sigh of relief. With your eyes closed and your back resting against the wall, you momentarily forgot you were standing in the entrance of Iwaizumi’s living room. That was, until you started feeling his heavy gaze on you.

Gulping at the intensity, you cracked your right eye open ever so slightly. “Yes?” you asked innocently.

“Yes?” repeated Iwaizumi incredulously, voice raised in exasperation. “You want to explain what just happened here?”

You had a sudden interest in your shoes as you shuffled in place. Iwaizumi was your friend and someone you considered yourself semi-close to— Comfortable enough to hang out with regularly and talk with almost every day, but not someone that you confided in with no qualms. And definitely not someone close enough for it to be normal to show up at his place unannounced. You were much closer to his best friend, Oikawa, but that was largely due to him finding out you had a big crush on Iwaizumi a number of months ago and feeling the need to tease you endlessly. Apparently, nothing brought people together like relentless goading.

“Another bad date,” you answered with a noncommittal tone. “A friend set me up with that guy you saw, Ushijima, and the date was so awkward.”

He folded his arms across his chest, pulling his white t-shirt snug around his biceps. You tried not to let your eyes bug out of their sockets at the sight. “And yet you let him bring you home?”

“I couldn’t say no! I tried dropping hints but he just didn’t get it.” You looked up, a sheepish half-smile on your face. “But I was smart enough not to bring him to my apartment. Hence why I came here. Roomie.”

Iwaizumi let out an exasperated half-chuckle, half-sigh as he motioned for you to come further inside. You slipped off your shoes at the doorway and followed him into the living room, taking a seat on the couch next to him. He rested his arm against the headrest of the sofa and you were consciously aware of his hand mere inches behind your head.

“Are your other housemates here?” you asked, curious as to why there wasn’t the usual amount of chatter and rage gaming from inside their respective rooms.

He shook his head. “They’re all back at their hometowns for the weekend.”

“And poor Iwa-chan is home all alone on a Friday night instead of out partying with friends?” you teased, reaching over to pat the top of his head mockingly.

Glaring at you for the nickname, he lightly swatted your hand away. “You’ve been spending too much time with Oikawa. His shittyness is rubbing off on you.” There was the slightest hint of amusement in his voice to let you know he was only joking. “And being home alone is better than being stuck with a bad date.”

“Ouch,” you cried, crossing one leg over the other and sticking your tongue out at him. “Yeah, sure, I would rather have been curled up in my bed than go on that date— But you didn’t have to call me out like that.” You pouted. “At least I got free food, I guess.”

He rolled his eyes with a snort. “If you were uncomfortable, you could’ve called me to come pick you up.”

Despite his gruff voice, there was a look of concern on his face. His eyebrows were furrowed and the corners of his mouth were downturned. Iwaizumi’s offer made you feel warm in the stomach, even if you were sure he was just saying it out of courtesy.

“Or better yet,” he continued in a murmur, “don’t let your friends set you up on dates with guys you barely know, dumbass.”

“Hey! Aren’t you and Oikawa the ones always telling me I need to go out and date more in the first place?” you said, huffing at his insult.

They told you your college years were your prime dating years and you might regret not going out with a variety of people now. When else would you have the free time and the patience to date, anyway? That was part of the reason you agreed to blind dates and set ups, after all. If Iwaizumi was insisting you date around, that most certainly meant he didn’t reciprocate your feelings for him. Meaning, you had to get over him somehow before the hurt could kick in, even if that somehow included less than ideal fraternization.

“I never said that,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “Why would I tell you to go on dates with other people? It was just Oikawa who said you should.”

You blinked in confusion. “But you were there and you nodded in agreement.”

He shifted his body to get a better look at you, a scowl on his face. “I did not. You were drunk and you probably thought my head was moving when it wasn’t.”

“Well, you were drunk too! Maybe your head was moving and you just didn’t know.” The lines between his forehead deepened and you laughed, unable to stop yourself from tapping the wrinkles with your ring finger. “Don’t think too hard; you might hurt your brain.”

“You really have been spending too much time with Shittykawa,” he said with a defeated sigh. “But whatever you think I said back then, it’s probably not what I meant. You shouldn’t date anyone unless you want to.”

The thing was, you did want to date someone. Iwaizumi. You were just under the impression he didn’t want to date you.

You shrugged. “What about you? Have you been dating people you don’t want to?”

He shook his head. “No. I haven’t dated anyone recently,” he admitted, averting his gaze from you for the first time that night. “I actually...am interested in someone, though.”

Your stomach dropped. Oh.

“But I don’t think they like me.”

Trying not to show him the crestfallen expression on your face, you looked down at your lap. You had been mentally preparing yourself to accept that Iwaizumi didn’t have a crush on you like you had on him—you were ready to face the harsh reality—but you were not expecting him to tell you he liked someone else on top of that. That was just a double blow to your gut.

You forced out a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound too strained. “That’s silly. Of course they like you.”

“I didn’t even tell you who it was.”

“Don’t need to,” you said diffidently, fingers toying with a loose thread on the blue sofa. “I already know. There’s no way someone wouldn’t like you back.”

Iwaizumi snorted disdainfully. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Them going on dates with other people and telling me about them after seems to be a solid indicator that they don’t.”

You froze, letting go of the string you accidentally pulled from the couch. Now, you wouldn’t say you were an overly optimistic person, but you still couldn’t help but think the situation he described was oddly familiar to yours. There was a large chance he was referring to someone else, but with the way you felt his smoldering gaze on your body, you wondered if maybe, just maybe, he could be talking about you.

“Maybe they think you don’t like them so they’re going on those dates to get rid of their crush on you— But only because they thought you told them to do so! And, honestly, the dates probably aren’t helping at all on getting rid of the crush; it just makes it get even bigger and bigger as they realize they can’t like anyone the same way they like you and now they don’t know what to do,” you babbled, unable to stop the word vomit.

After processing the words that you had just uttered, you slapped your hands over your mouth to shut yourself up. That was a little more than you had originally wanted to say… Okay, a lot more. You winced. You wanted to subtly hint that you were talking about yourself, not be so obvious as to yell it out with a megaphone and have a blinking billboard pointing your way.

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

You could only hope Iwaizumi was oblivious enough to let this whole thing go and assume that you were only speaking hypothetically. But he was smarter than that. You knew it. He may be a little dense when it came to romance, but even he couldn’t be dumb enough to misunderstand your conspicuous slip up.

Your stomach churned as you awaited his response.

“So,” he spoke slowly, keeping his cautious regard on you, “Oikawa was right?”

You blinked. That wasn’t the response you were expecting. But things just didn’t seem to go as planned today, you supposed. “What do you mean?”

“You do like me, then?”

“W-What? When did…” You gaped, trailing off as your throat tightened. “He told you that?”

“A month ago, he told me he thought you might like me,” Iwaizumi admitted, a rosy red darkening the apples of his cheeks. “But that was before you started going on those crazy dates, so I figured he was wrong.”

A cry of indignation escaped your lips as you heard the news. “Seriously?”

He nodded.

“No way!” you sputtered in disbelief. “He found out I liked you months ago— At the beginning of the school year! And then last month, Oikawa told me I should to get over you by going on a bunch of dates.”

Your brows were furrowed and arms folded as you glared into the sky, wishing Oikawa were there so you could yell at him for making a fool of you. Iwaizumi caught your gaze with a disgruntled look of his own.

“What on earth?” you groaned, burying your face in your palms.

“I’ll kick his ass the next time I see him,” Iwaizumi vowed.

“Please,” you muttered, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind.

Oikawa knew you had a crush on Iwaizumi. Why would he tell him behind your back? And was Iwaizumi’s response negative? Is that why Oikawa told you to date to get over him? Trying to understand Oikawa’s thought process was enough to almost give you a headache.

“But, wait,” said Iwaizumi quietly, effectively interrupting your train of thoughts. “Months?”

You peeked at him through the cracks between your fingers. “Huh?”

“You said you liked me for months now? Since the start of this school year?”

The heat rose to your cheeks in embarrassment. “T-That’s not the point—!”

“Because I’ve liked you for a few months now too,” he interrupted before you could deny anything. Your eyes shot open as you stared straight at Iwaizumi, just now noticing the serious expression on his face.

Was this a confession?

“Ever since that night we ditched our friends to stay inside and watch Godzilla instead of going to the party.” He shared a small, slightly sheepish smile with you as he recalled the memory.

In the beginning of the year before classes had started but everyone had already moved into their respective apartments, Oikawa decided everyday of the week leading up to the first day of school would be a good day to get shit-faced drunk. It was fun for the first three days, but by day four you were getting worn out, and by day five, just the thought of consuming one more jello shot made you shudder.

So when Iwaizumi—who you had then only recently realized you had a crush on—suggested you two sneak away to his empty apartment and watch some movies instead, you were more than happy to oblige.

“I thought you looked...cute that night,” Iwaizumi managed, his voice gruff and tentative. “It was funny how you were scared by the movies even though it was hardly even horror.” He snorted at the recollection, hints of a grin playing on his face. “And I may have realized then that I had already started liking you.”

You bit the inside of your lip to keep your face from splitting into a beam. Your eyes were wide open, almost as if you were in a daze and were only dreaming the events of this night had happened. Iwaizumi shoved his hands in his sweatpants’ pockets, ducking his head to hide his delight at this situation.

“You like me too?” you asked breathlessly. There was still a tone of disbelief in your voice.

He nodded. “Have for a while now. But I didn’t tell Oikawa about it until last month. And that’s when he said he thought you liked me back.”

At his words, you visibly relaxed. So Oikawa didn’t blab about your crush on his best friend— Though, in all honesty, maybe if he had, you could’ve had a relationship with him sooner. You leaned your head back against the headrest of the couch with a sigh. “Then if he knew you liked me, why did he tell me to date other people that night we were all out drinking together?”

“To piss me the fuck off.”

You laughed in surprise, not expecting Iwaizumi to sound so furious.

“He probably wanted to get me to disagree with him, that dumbass,” he hissed, a scowl forming on his face. Even with his nose scrunched and forehead crinkled, you thought Iwaizumi was as handsome as ever.

“Maybe Oikawa thought you wouldn’t confess without his help so he wanted to push your buttons and make you jealous by seeing me date other people,” you said, chuckling at the audacity of this situation.

Iwaizumi apparently didn’t share your amusement, since his scowl deepened. “I would’ve confessed without his unwanted help,” he grunted. But you knew he wasn’t too annoyed by his best friend. Oikawa never had any ill-intentions towards the two of you, and you both were aware of that. “I was a little jealous, though,” he admitted with flushed cheeks. “And I may have gotten a bit happier every time you told me afterwards that you didn’t like your date—especially tonight.”

You smiled shyly at him, only mildly embarrassed by the routine you two had picked up. Go on a date (usually prompted by Oikawa), wish your date was Iwaizumi the whole time, go home, message Iwaizumi about your bad date, repeat. But in today’s case, you went to him in person instead of texting.

“But I was dreading that one night you’d message saying your date went well,” he said, hands balled up into fists and gaze downcast. “Or worse— Not message that night at all.”

Your expression turned somber as you realized that while you were casually dating around to try to get over Iwaizumi, he was there watching you go out with other people. A feeling of guilt spread through you as you bowed your head slightly, wishing you had taken the chance to tell him your feelings instead of trying to toss them aside.

“Iwaizumi, I’m so sorry,” you said. “I didn’t even think about how it could be affecting you.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He placed his closed hand on the top of your head, making you look up at him. He nodded once. “You didn’t know. And Assikawa was the one pushing you to go on dates you didn’t want,” he said wryly, though his tone was more amused than bitter. “But maybe now you don’t have to keep going on those bad dates anymore.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Was he offering—?

“Y’know,” he said, “if you… If we…”

“Went on a date?” you completed, hesitant but hopeful. “With each other, I mean.”

“Yes. With each other.” He held his breath. “What do you think?”

After a beat of silence, your face split into a grin. You practically jumped off the couch in excitement, bouncing towards Iwaizumi to tackle him into a hug. He let out a surprised grunt, but caught you in his arms nonetheless.

“I think you could’ve saved me loads of wasted nights if you had asked a month earlier!” you laughed, burrowing your face into his chest— His very strong, very muscular chest that had no business being this comfortable. “To think all this time I could’ve been going on dates with you instead of random people I end up blocking a day after?”

His right hand rested between your shoulder blades while his left was lightly cupping the back of your head. He chuckled and you felt the vibrations through his thin t-shirt.

“We’ll have plenty of time to make up for it now,” he said, voice warm and inviting. “We can catch up on dates this whole weekend. Or just rewatch all of Godzilla again.”

“That sounds like the perfect date weekend.” The grin on your face never left as you stayed tangled in his arms. “And your roommates aren’t back until Monday, hmm?”

He titled his head down at you to see your expression, the corner of his mouth quirked upward as he smirked. “Yup. They’ll be gone all weekend.”

You two exchanged knowing looks, causing you to wiggle your eyebrows suggestively and make him laugh. His ears turned red and when you pointed it out he got even redder. You smiled at each other as you held him even tighter.

It didn’t matter what you two would be doing this weekend. All you cared about was getting to spend more time with Iwaizumi.

“Then we most definitely have a lot of catching up to do.”

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clumsyclifford · 3 years ago

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ok hello i absolutely love all ur fics, you’ve just got a certain quality in ur writing that is just… mmm. yeah so anyway, do you have any advice on how to improve or just how to write?? (especially fic cause personally i struggle with that more than original stuff??)

hello!! that is very kind of you to say thank you <3

advice on how to write. oh boy. oh man. well i can try. i will do my best. i will also try to be brief but we all know how that song goes

update from having finished answering this: alright. okay. this is not only long, but decidedly english teacher-y. i’m sorry that i am the way that i am. this is what you get for asking a leo for writing advice. am i joking? maybe. maybe not. anyway. this post got away from me in a big way so here’s a read more. warning: LONG post under the cut.

1. study your characters. for RPF like the band stuff i write, that literally means watching interviews, watching them perform, seeing how they interact with each other, picking up on their mannerisms (behavior) - what they do with their hands, if they repeat themselves or stutter when they talk, the quality of their voice when they're talking about different things, and so on. also keep track of things they mention a lot in interviews especially about each other - for example jack has mentioned before that alex has an annoying habit of twirling his hair when he zones out. that kind of thing. IMPORTANT NOTE!: you don’t have to use all of this information. just like studying for anything, you collect all the information you can and then you parse through it and use whatever you think will contribute or be relevant to your story.

2. remember that characters are people. or at least they’re representing people, which is an important distinction (see #3). still, considering that your characters are people can be a helpful way to get out of your head. see, characters are supposed to be archetypical, and fulfill a role, and say certain things in certain ways and never really deviate from that. but people are highly unpredictable and behave in random ways for random reasons and have thought processes that are unfathomable. people will just do fuckin’ whatever. if you’re worried that your characters aren’t behaving in a believable way, keep in mind that you’re trying to make your characters represent people, and people’s behavior is justifiable any number of ways. people just do shit.

3. remember that characters are not people. sike! no but seriously, this is just as important to remember. unfortunately, no matter how hard you try, characters are never going to be people. that’s a good thing for stories, though. characters can pick up on nuance in senses that people can’t - they can distinguish between different facial expressions, different smells, different sounds - BUT ONLY INSOFAR AS IT MOVES THE STORY ALONG. in other ways, characters are ridiculously oblivious. you can use this to your advantage. in fact, a lot of the time, you have to. if your character notices right away that someone is flirting with him, then you can’t write a 30k slow burn, for example. characters don’t do that thing humans do where they go “what?” but then halfway through the re-explanation they register what’s been said. pretty much everything characters say has meaning. (by this i don’t mean semantic meaning, i mean significance - characters don’t really just say “what?” because they didn’t hear what someone said, they say “what?” because they can’t believe it or they don’t understand it or they refuse to understand it. characters never seem to run into the didn’t-hear-them problem. must be nice.)

characters can do whatever you want or need them to do, because you’re in charge of them. (sometimes this doesn’t feel true - mine do all kinds of shit and i just have go “well alright then” - but it is true.) they are gears in a story. you decide when and how they turn.

4. dialogue is your friend. i am super super biased here, because i looove writing dialogue. if you talk to sam about this i’m sure she would say that description and narration are the ways to go. but you came to me, so i get to say that dialogue is god. i don’t want to say that dialogue is the only method of communication (i know nonverbal communication is real), but dialogue is the fastest and most effective method of communication, and by extension, the most effective way to advance relationships between characters. now. obviously there are exceptions. if characters are kissing, they’re probably not doing a lot of talking. if they’re trying to be undercover or discreet, they’re more likely to rely on gestures and facial expressions than speaking. if you’re writing a very peaceful scene, you might not want to undercut it by adding a lot of chit-chat. but i maintain that dialogue is the best way to move a story along, for a few reasons.

first, at least for me, too much description is just tiring. depending on how skillful the writer is (sam), i can read a fair amount before i hit my limit, but unlike in mean girls, the limit DOES exist. you don’t want to over-describe the world (see #5). second, i find that dialogue is a really really good indicator of a person’s character. this is especially true and relevant in fanfiction, which is a lot more character-driven than original fiction in many ways. also, in a sec i’m gonna talk about showing [not/and] telling, which is every english teacher’s bitch, but dialogue is a really good way of showing who a person is and also a good way to establish facts about the universe. you could just narrate and be like “Jack hated waking up early,” and that works and in many cases it’s perfectly legit. but you could also do something like this:

“What the fuck,” Jack mumbled, still half asleep. “You better have a really fucking good reason to be waking me up this early. Like someone better have fucking died.”

and sometimes that’s just a more fun way to say it. (for the record you can also show AND tell here! there’s no reason why you can’t have this line of dialogue and then a line in the narration confirming how very much jack is not a morning person!)

the last reason why i am particularly fond of dialogue is because i am also particularly fond of communication, which is a preference thing. let’s face it, guys: characters aren’t gonna communicate if they’re not literally actually talking to each other. dialogue means talking to each other. talking to each other means solving problems, fixing (or creating) conflicts, understanding each other better. i love communication, ergo, i love dialogue. And You Should Too.

5. describe the world, but don’t over-describe. i opened this fic earlier and it was like “jack was excited to wake up to go to his first class at the university of baltimore” and i just. i was like is this really relevant. do i really need to know this. and i never found out because i closed the fic but in my defense it was on wattpad and i had only opened it out of curiosity. look. there are three ways to use details in fic. (a) introduce them right away (b) introduce them when they become relevant or (c) don’t introduce them at all. let me give you some examples.

(a) say your character A (i’m using jack because i’m used to him) wakes up. he’s in his room in his house off-campus. character B (rian) walks into the room. this might be a good time to explain that rian is his housemate. to that point: “show not tell” is a good rule, but sometimes “show and tell” is just as good. e.g.:

Rian walks in, holding Jack’s Green Day shirt and looking irritated. That’s really nothing new; Rian looks irritated at Jack roughly once a day. Being housemates for a year will do that to a friendship.

boom, now you’ve let everyone know they live together without throwing it in their face, and you’ve also told everyone that these two guys are friends and have been friends for at least a year but probably longer. you showed it by having rian walking in holding jack’s shirt - usual housemate behavior - but you also told it in a subtle way that established the relationship and some kind of history between these two. well done.

(b) sometimes you want a certain detail to make an impact. this is the kind of thing you hold onto and don’t specify, and in certain cases you leave the reader wondering, “well what about x?” and then when you finally explain x they go ohhhhhhhhhh. yknow. the italicized oh. consider the following:

(A)

“Alex is in my bio class,” Rian says, referring to Jack’s ex-boyfriend of last year.

Jack frowns. “So? Why should I care?”

“He’s my lab partner,” Rian says. “I have to spend a lot of time with him.”

“I don’t care what you and Alex do,” Jack says. “But you should know he sucks at bio.”

Rian gives Jack a look. “First of all, that’s not true, he’s incredibly smart. And second, I’m telling you as a courtesy, because I thought you might not want your ex-boyfriend hanging around our house after he broke your fucking heart.”

(B)

“Alex is in my bio class,” Rian says.

Jack frowns. “So? Why should I care?”

“He’s my lab partner,” Rian says. “I have to spend a lot of time with him.”

“I don’t care what you and Alex do,” Jack says. “But you should know he sucks at bio.”

the only difference between these two excerpts (which i just wrote lol they’re not from anything real) is that the second one doesn’t explain who alex is right away. that makes it way more interesting when rian reveals who alex is a few lines later. magic.

(c) take this college au that we’ve established here. where does it take place, you ask? easy answer: it doesn’t matter. you don’t need to say what school they’re at. this will make your job easier, because then no one can fact check you, and it also means you don’t have to decide what school they’re at. but even if you do decide, it’s not usually necessary to say. believe me, you can go thousands of words without ever needing to specify what school they’re at. you know why? because it doesn’t matter. and no one cares. and as soon as you specify in canon that they’re at a particular school, you are bound to be accurate to everything that school does, and that makes your job way more difficult than it needs to be. as hazel once said, work smarter, not harder.

6. adverbs are also your friend. (yknow, words that describe verbs, typically ending in -ly, like “loudly” or “angrily” or “smoothly”.) ESPECIALLY when it comes to dialogue tags. (dialogue tags are the things you add to dialogue to say who’s talking and how they’re talking - like “he said” or “he whispered” or “he earnestly explained” or whatever). a lot of the writing advice you’ll see nowadays will usually guide you away from overusing dialogue tags other than the classic “says/said” and i STRONGLY concur with that advice. things like yelled, cried, mumbled, snapped - these are very good in moderation, when you’re really trying to emphasize the way a person is speaking. the more you use them, the less impact they have. in most cases, a simple “he said [adverb]” will do. instead of “he snapped” consider “he said curtly/sharply/coldly.” instead of “he mumbled” consider “he said quietly/clumsily/softly.” I WANT TO MAKE IT CLEAR THAT THESE ARE NOT DIRECT SYNONYMS. every word has a nuanced and slightly different meaning and that is the BEAUTY of the english language!!!! all i’m saying is that in many cases, a verb can be replaced with an adverb to achieve roughly the same effect, without making the reader feel like they’re scanning a thesaurus.

and speaking of a thesaurus: it’s not cheating to use outside resources like thesaurus.com to help you come up with words. i fuckin love thesaurus.com. i use that shit all the time for everything. i use it when i’m writing emails. i used it just now to write that last paragraph. thesaurus.com is your BEST friend.

7. grammar. (and spelling but that’s really a given.) unfortunately if i tried to teach you all of the essential rules of grammar this post would exceed tumblr’s previously-nonexistent word count limit. so i’m not gonna teach you any of them. this is just a general point to suggest that if/when you’re writing, have someone you trust, with a good grasp of grammar, look over it. of course it doesn’t have to be perfect or AP style or anything like that. readers will overlook a certain amount of grammar mistakes and every reader has a different threshold. but in general, as a grammar geek and former journalism editor-in-chief, i have a duty to my grammurai code to preach the importance of grammar in writing. good grammar does not necessarily mean good writing and vice versa, bad grammar does not necessarily mean bad writing, but bad grammar makes good writing a lot harder to read, and in some cases will even obscure your actual meaning. so please, have someone read it. for the record this is me offering up my services. i am very good at fixing grammar. i have lots of weaknesses in writing but grammar is one of my strengths. please prioritize grammar. thank you for coming to my ted talk.

***

okay so now that i’ve said all of this shit and pretended to be an expert and embodied everyone’s tenth grade english teacher, let me add one very important disclaimer:

none of this is always relevant.* writing is an art, not a science. you are never going to be following all of the rules, all of the time. you shouldn’t. it’s good to know the basics of constructing a plot, establishing a character, showing and/not telling, moving the story along. but a lot of this advice is really subjective and heavily influenced by my writing experience and habits and tendencies and preferences, and those are simply not generalizable to the world. i am a sample size of one and science dictates that that means my results cannot be statistically significant. i am just some guy. earlier i said you don’t want to over-describe the world. but maybe you do! maybe you’re really into worldbuilding and you want people to know what they’re getting into. maybe you’re like sam, and you just don’t feel as confident in your dialogue skills but you love painting word pictures. i said that adverbs are your friend, but maybe you just prefer to use verbs. maybe you don’t want ANY dialogue tags and you want the reader to interpret the dialogue based on context and content. i said that characters aren’t people and they won’t behave like people, but maybe you’re trying to write hyper-realistic characters. maybe you’re just going for believability over narrative. WHATEVER. the point is, rules are made to be broken. no one is going to have The Answer for How To Write Good because there isn’t just one answer. every single writing rule has exceptions and you can be that exception as many times as you want.

*except grammar. grammar is fucking always relevant.

i hope any of this advice was helpful to you, even though i english teacher-ed the fuck out of it. and for what it’s worth, i approached this as if you were a relatively novice writer, but i know absolutely jack shit about your writing prowess and experience and habits. so maybe you already know all of this and none of what i’ve said is helpful at all. if you have a more specific problem, i would be happy to try and help. if you’re hoping for more specific feedback, i’d have to read something of yours first - but again, happy to try and help. i don’t know if you can tell but i loooove writing and english and grammar and all of this shit and it would be my honor. i have now spoken so long that james madison himself is begging me to shut up so i’ll stop here but thank you for coming by and giving me the opportunity to expatiate a shit ton. and GOOD LUCK i forgot the most important advice of writing which is HAVE FUN LOVE WHAT YOU WRITE AND WRITE WHAT YOU LOVE OKAY BYE

#yowza #mamma mia #hachi machi #someone get this bitch a muzzle #i feel like i keep saying i sound like an english teacher here but i never specify that im not actually an english teacher #god i wish my blog brand was just 'the person you come to with writing questions'#is it too late to establish myself as that #ask #writing advice #stuff #im giving it the stuff tag. i said enough that i feel like it's earned the stuff tag.#anonymous #if i keep looking at this im just going to keep adding things because adhd-coded brain wants ME to overdescribe. hypocrite #so im just gonna hit post n run #good luck

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lockhart-imagines · 5 years ago

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A Not-So-Typical Tuesday - Draco x Reader (Snape’s Daughter)

“Could u do a one shot abt the reader being Snape's daughter and liking Draco but she thinks that Draco doesn't like her and talks to her dad abt it but Draco overhears & bursts in to confess that he has always liked her? Tq!! Ur stories r the best!!” - Anonymous

Dear Anon,

I’m not sure if you even see this because your request was on Anonymous, and it was sent such a long time ago. If you happen to find this, and remember that you sent this in, I just want to say thank you. Your support means a lot to me, and I appreciate the patience and kindness. This was such a cute request, and I thought I would start back into writing with this.

Thank you, again. And take care!

(Note: Please do not send requests at this time. Thank you!)

It was Tuesday. Just a simple, ordinary Tuesday. Y/n sat in the Great Hall, eating lunch with her fellow housemates. Something didn’t sit right with her. Maybe is was the air. It was early spring after all.

Or maybe it was Draco Malfoy, sitting just in her eyesight.

Over the course of a year, their friendship had seemed to grow cold. She thought maybe the crush she had developed on him had something to do with it. Though she did seem cold in demeanor, her connection with Draco had always been strong. But now… now she didn’t know what was holding that connection.

She got up from her seat and started walking to the corridors.

“Y/n?”

She turned to one of her friends.

“Are you alright?”

Y/n shrugged. “I just need some alone time.”

After heading out of the Great Hall, she started making her way to the dungeons and into Professor Snape’s classroom. She opened the door and slumped to the floor, groaning in frustration.

Snape looked up from his papers. “Can I help you, y/n?”

“UGHHHHHHHHH.”

Y/n’s groaning continued as Snape attempted to go back to his papers. After sometime though, he grew somewhat annoyed with her. He set his papers back down.

“Y/n, you know I can’t concentrate when you barge in and do nothing but lie on the floor and groan about Merlin knows what.”

She sighed. “I’m just in a weird spot with a friend, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Snape got up and walked over to her, holding out his hand to help her up from the floor. Y/n accepted, and they both walked over to a desk. “Do you need to talk about it?”

Y/n nodded. “So, I have this friend, and over the past… while, we’ve kind of stopped talking. I’ve developed a sort of… crush… on him, and I’m thinking that’s why we’ve sort of split ways?”

He softened his expression.

“I don’t know. It just hurts, you know?” She paused. “Just to like someone, and knowing they don’t reciprocate that feeling, especially when you’ve been friends for such a long time…”

“I know that feeling. I know it all too well, y/n.” He stood up and started to walk towards his desk. “Years I’ve thought of an incident where I felt the same.”

“And?”

“And?” He quoted back. “It did not end well… And now I have to look at her son everyday, getting praised for doing nothing. It feels terrible.” He sat back down in his seat.

Y/n looked to the floor and sighed.

“But, don’t let my regrets and bad decisions ruin your mood.” Snape picked up his papers once more. “I’m sure there are plenty of others out there who would be happy to be with you, and you with them. What about Malfoy? You two seem to be close.”

Y/n gave him a deadpan expression. “That’s who I’m talking about.”

Snape remained silent, not knowing how to respond. Y/n got up from the desk she was at started towards the door.

“Y/n?”

She turned to her father.

“Don’t give up.” He sighed slightly, flipping to the next paper in the stack. “I know it’s difficult, but it’s worth it.”

There was a knock at the door. Y/n turned to see Draco standing in the doorway.

“Y/n, I noticed you left lunch early, and I wanted to ask if you were alright.”

“I am. I just needed some advice.” She walked towards the door, as if to leave, but Draco softly grabbed her wrist. She turned to him.

“I’m sorry.”

She gave him a questioning look. “Why? There’s no need to be sorry.”

“I just over heard your conversation.” Draco confessed. “I should have been more clear.”

She shrugged. “It’s not your fault.You don’t feel the same, and that’s oka-”

“But I do feel the same.”

Y/n felt as if butterflies were fluttering within her. She couldn’t help but to smile slightly.

“Would you want to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?” Draco asked.

“I would love that.”

“You know what I would love?” Snape interrupted.

Both y/n and Draco turned to him.

“For you two to leave my classroom and take your gross feelings elsewhere, that way I can grade these papers.”

Draco tilted his head toward the door. “Shall we?’

Y/n smile grew bigger.

They both headed out the door, y/n giving her father a smile before leaving his eyesight. He returned the smile.

“Don’t forget that there’s a quiz later.”

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stxphxn-strange · 4 years ago

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death doesn’t discriminate

a/n: so when i first started my college au, i came up w a lot of angst and tragedy that i forgot about when i introduced you to it. so here’s my solution: you’re getting angst now! tw for death in this fic, keep that in mind as you read. I’m super proud of this so i hope you read and lmk ur thoughts Tags: @stark-strange-love @ah3m @grumb-lin @ironstrange-chaos @maya-custodios-dionach

“You’re perfect, you know that? You’re the most precious thing in existence.”

His words were met with a content (read: blissed out), sleepy sigh.

“Hey, you good?” Stephen asked, softly ruffling Anthony’s already wildly messy hair.

“Great, but exhausted,” Anthony murmured, pressing his face into the pillow. “You know you tired me out, just let me sleep.”

Stephen smiled and kissed him softly. “Do you want to shower first? Maybe a snack? And then I promise you can rest.”

“And you’ll hold me all night?” Anthony asked, looking up and batting his eyelashes.

“Ugh, you’re impossible!” Stephen scoffed, overcome with love for his boyfriend. “Of course I will.”

All Stephen wanted to do was kiss Anthony senseless and hold him forever, but he couldn’t for a couple of reasons: tomorrow he was leaving on SI business, and someone was knocking on their bedroom door.

During Stephen’s unusually infinitesimal period of reflection Anthony fell asleep, unintentionally forcing Stephen to get out of bed. He tightened his robe as he answered the door, tiredness making his smile more forced than normal. “Rhodey, I’m not going to moderate another debate about almond milk between you and Harold.”

“Stop calling me Harold!” Harry yelled from somewhere down the hall.

Rhodey shook his head. “Oh no, we’re not getting into that again. I was just going to ask if Tones got the PDFs yet.”

“He’s asleep,” Stephen said, a blush creeping onto his face. “Although I need to wake him up again, I can ask or just tell him to text you.”

“That sounds good,” Rhodey replied, a knowing look in his eye. “Just remember: our business trip is only a week, and no wall in this apartment is 100% soundproof.”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “Goodnight, Rhodey.”

He closed the door again, sitting on his bed beside Anthony, who appeared to be falling deeper into sleep.

Stephen sighed, gently shaking one of his shoulders to wake him up. Another restful night filled with banter and love was ahead of them, and Stephen wanted to make the most of it before Anthony left in the morning. Grumpy as he was when he finally woke up, Stephen could tell that Anthony wanted to make the most of the night as well.

++++

“It’s official: I hate goodbyes!” Stephen tried not to convey how upset he actually was.

He did hate goodbyes. He hated that Anthony was leaving for a week, though he never liked to admit how much he actually missed his boyfriend. Stephen would always nod whenever Wong complained that the house was quiet without Anthony, Rhodey, and Harry, but his face always fell when it struck him again that his boyfriend was away.

“Let me ask you something,” Wong began.

“Do I want to know?” Stephen replied, filling the kettle with water.

“I won’t beat around the bush,” Wong said. “Why haven’t either of you proposed yet?”

“Unlike the rest of you, we’re not in a rush,” Stephen quipped. “If I know Ant as well as I think I do, he’s waiting for what he thinks is the perfect moment. I’m doing the same.”

“That’s a load of bullshit,” Wong said.

Looking up from his phone, he continued: “You know, we thought you were going to propose before graduation! I’m already out $300 because of all of the bets I lost to our friends.”

“I don’t think I want to know this either, but who did you bet with?” Stephen asked.

“Carol, Rhodey, all of the Odinson siblings, and Christine,” Wong replied.

“And you all know why I didn’t do it then, yes? As in you didn’t bet $50 with six (6) different people after winter break?” Stephen asked. “Anthony and I talked about it and it just felt too soon after his mother and Howard died.”

“No, I didn’t,” Wong said. “That makes sense, though. We really aren’t trying to rush you.”

“I know you don’t mean it seriously, what in our friend group isn’t dealt with through absurd amounts of teasing?” Stephen asked, rolling his eyes. “But you know what? I think when they come back from the trip might be a good time.”

“Fucking FINALLY!” Wong replied, leaping into the air. “Let’s call Christine right now!”

++++

A few days later, Wong woke up to the sound of one of his housemates frantically opening and closing the kitchen cabinets. He was about to text the housemates’ chat, before he remembered that Stephen was the only other one that was home, the others wouldn’t be back for another three (3) days.

So that left a singular question: why was Stephen, somehow the quietest of the group, slamming cupboard doors?

Wong found his bunny slippers and shuffled down the hallway, locking eyes with a distressed Stephen. “What are you doing?”

“I’m rearranging the kitchen.”

“Why?”

“How many reasons do you want? I don’t know what to do with myself, I’m stressed, and it’s too early to call Anthony although I doubt he’s asleep as it is since he rarely sleeps while traveling, but—”

“You can’t be this nervous to propose, can you?” Wong asked, his tone ignorant and teasing but without malice. “He won’t be back until the end of the week, so you have time to plan and replan everything until you’re happy.”

“I was going to propose when he got back, I was going to ask you to help me plan something nice as a welcome for him and Rhodey and Harry, but... shit I have to go home,” Stephen said. “To my parents’ farm, I mean.”

“Why? Everything okay?” Wong asked.

Stephen ran a hand through his bedhead. He knew he was shaking but didn’t have the energy to care. “My mom isn’t doing well at all. I... Victor needs me.”

“When do you leave?”

“Later this evening. I just need to call Anthony, both to hear his voice and to keep him updated.”

“He’s calling you now,” Wong said, glancing at where Stephen’s phone was vibrating towards the edge of the counter.

He began to make something for breakfast as Stephen picked up the phone.

“You know I love you, but why are you calling so early?” Stephen asked, trying to keep his voice light.

Anthony, sleep deprived and stressed as he was, knew him too well and could immediately tell that something was up. His voice was rough when he spoke, “something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean? Are you okay?” Stephen fretted.

“I’m fine, I meant something’s bothering you. I can hear it in your voice,” Anthony clarified. He sounded like a warm hug that Stephen just wanted to hide in until the end of time, his tone gentle as he asked what was going on.

“I’m just upset, that’s all,” Stephen replied. “Um... Victor called me about an hour ago. He says Mom isn’t... doing too well and he really wants me to go to the farm, at least for his sake. So I’m leaving tonight, just to spend some time there while I can. Apparently a lot of the family is flying out... Vic didn’t go into detail but he said it’s bad.”

Anthony hummed, and Stephen could hear rustling on his end of the line.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“I’m looking for my laptop so I can book a flight,” Anthony said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“No way, I can’t ask you to—”

“Stephen? My darling, my sweet baby boyfriend who can be more obtuse than a triangle?” Anthony interrupted.

Stephen scoffed. “You’re one to talk.”

“My mind is made up,” Anthony said. “I’m sure someone can cover for me, this is a family emergency after all.”

“You...” Stephen’s voice broke. “Anthony...”

Anthony hushed him quietly. “I want to be there for you, and for your family, and I promise you I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Fucking hell,” Stephen whispered, trying to keep himself from sobbing. “Thank you.”

“I just want to support you, Steph,” Anthony replied. “I’m going to have to go wake Pepper up, she should be getting up soon. I just want to brief her before the day starts, but I’ll be free for a bit after I find her if you want to call me back.”

“I might FaceTime you,” Stephen said. “You haven’t even been gone that long and I still miss you like you wouldn’t believe.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Anthony murmured. “I love you.”

“I love you too, tell Pepper I said hi,” Stephen replied.

He put his phone down when the call ended, sighing and running his fingers through his hair.

“Do you want french toast?” Wong asked quietly.

Stephen jumped, forgetting his friend was even in the kitchen. “Yes please. And then I have to go and pack some stuff.”

++++

“Hey guys, I need you to cover for me. I have a flight to Nebraska at 4, it’s a family emergency, Stephen’s mother...”

“Tones what are you still doing here? You need to get there. I’ll help you pack,” Rhodey said.

“I’ll drive. Be ready to leave in no later than two (2) hours,” Harry added. “

Pepper smiled sadly. “You know we’re going to cover your ass no matter what, especially if it has something to do with Stephen. By the way, w—”

“Now is hardly the time to discuss a proposal, Miss Potts!”

++++

“You know, I always liked Anthony better than you,” Victor said. “I think Donna did too, God rest her soul.”

“Alright Vic, enough,” Stephen replied. “I only came home for you, don’t chase me away. Besides, Donna liked me better than you, and that’s all that really matters.”

“I’m telling Dad you said that,” Victor spat, his light tone betraying his words. “You know I’m happy you’re home. And I’m glad you have Anthony.”

“He’s loyal, you know? I tried to tell him not to come, but he insisted. And he was in California for business,” Stephen said, smiling at the mention of his boyfriend.

“You’re going to do something embarrassing once you see him, aren’t you?” Victor scoffed.

“No, I’m just going to hug him,” Stephen replied. “Fuck off Vic, it’s none of your business how I show affection.”

All things considered Stephen didn’t break his word, because he did hug Anthony as soon as they made eye contact. Nobody had to know if there were tears in his eyes when he rested his head on Anthony’s shoulder and held him as if they’d been apart for years.

Victor, impatiently standing a short distance from the couple, cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to rush this reunion, but we should get home now.”

“Since when do you drive?” Anthony teased, giving Victor a short hug. “The last time I saw you—”

“Don’t you dare say I was ‘just a baby!’ I’ve heard that from all of my relatives these past two (2) days,” Victor replied. “And let me address that now: I’m driving so I control the music.”

Victor’s taste in music wasn’t bad, so neither Stephen nor Anthony objected. Plus, they were both exhausted from traveling and the fact that they didn’t sleep very well apart. It was no surprise that Anthony fell asleep on the drive from the airport to the family farm. Stephen thought back to the other day, to the way Anthony soared under his praises and how he fluttered his eyelashes at the end of the night, just before falling asleep. He was trying to be coquettish, but fell asleep before they could trade anymore banter. Stephen had to fight to keep from laughing (it was more like giggling) at how adorable Anthony was.

Tonight, as the moonlight through the car window highlighted his closed eyes and slightly parted lips, Stephen just wanted to cry. It wasn’t a sad kind of cry, it was perhaps relieved. Things would always be okay with Anthony around, and that realization never failed to bring Stephen to tears.

++++

It was the best sleep he’d had in three (3) days, and it came to a sharp end as urgent knocking cut through his dream.

Anthony slipped out of bed, pulling the blankets up around Stephen. No matter how cold he got in the middle of the night, he always kicked the comforter away.

His fond smile at the thought of Stephen’s idiosyncrasies died when he saw the stricken look on Victor’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Anthony asked, immediately placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He’d always seen Victor and Donna as the siblings he never had, and it was very important to Anthony that all of the Strange siblings knew he cared for them. Stephen obviously did, although reminding him never hurt, but the familial bond Anthony had with his siblings was valuable to all parties involved. Understandably, the idea of Victor being this upset troubled him.

“Is Stephen up?” Victor asked. His voice was almost shrill, marching the chaotic background noise from elsewhere in the farmhouse.

Anthony shook his head. “Do I need to wake him up?”

Victor nodded. “And hurry up, we have to go downtown now. Meet me in the kitchen as soon as you can.”

++++

The rest of the Strange family descended upon both the farm and the town after Bev Strange passed. The next few days consisted of funeral arrangements, people running errands, speedrunning the stages of grief, and little to no sleep. There were two (2) points during that week where everything came to a screeching halt, and everyone was just taking on tragedy like a sponge soaks water. The night before Mrs. Strange’s funeral was one of them.

Eugene Strange jogged down the stairs that night, an envelope in one hand and his other clutching his chest.

“Dad you okay?” Stephen asked.

“Completely fine, I’m just running something to your aunt and then I’ll settle in for the night,” Eugene replied.

“Do you want me to take it?” Victor offered. “You don’t look well, you should rest.”

“No, son, I’m okay. A little drive to town can’t hurt,” Eugene said, waving his hand in dismissal of Victor’s offer.

A little drive to town couldn’t hurt on its own, but coupled with a heart attack it was fatal to Eugene.

Stephen was livid when he found out, mostly angry with himself for not going and running the errand. “Why did I let him go?”

Victor was also livid, his anger directed at Stephen for most of the week. “Yeah, why did you?! How can you say you care about our family when you took Donna to the lake that day, AND you let Dad go when he was in no condition to drive? I’m lucky you even came around for me and for Mom, everyone knows all you care about is yourself!”

As the Strange family planned their second funeral of the week, Victor and Stephen didn’t talk much. Victor wasn’t right to be angry with Stephen, which he did eventually realize. Victor was even the one who advocated for Stephen going home and taking care of himself for a few days.

“He’s right, you do deserve to be cared for. Especially now,” Anthony murmured, tracing Stephen’s collarbones. “You’re so strong and selfless, I just want to give you the world, if you’ll let me.”

“You’re too good to me,” Stephen murmured. “Ant, do you know I love you so much it hurts? The fact that we’ve been in each other’s lives for so long and have come so far means so much, and there’s no one else I’d rather go through all of this shit with. You... you’re just everything. I love the way you drown me in praise but catch me when I fall... and—”

“If anyone gets drowned in praises, it’s me from you,” Anthony whispered, as Stephen broke off with a sob. “You’re the one always catching me and keeping me grounded. But that’s what our relationship has always been, you know? I never would have gotten through the things that happened in the past few years without you, and there won’t ever be a moment you won’t have my equal support. I think you’ve been stuck with me since we met and talked about... remind me, with your picture perfect memory, what it was?”

Stephen didn’t reply, only shifting a bit closer to Anthony.

“Steph?” Anthony asked quietly, brushing a soothing hand through his hair.

Stephen snored softly. It wasn’t really a snore, as Stephen didn’t snore, more or less a soft exhale that ghosted over Anthony’s collarbone. Either way, he was asleep.

Anthony smiled sadly and kissed his forehead. “Goodnight Stephen. Get some rest, I promise I’ll always be here.”

++++

“If you need anything, do you swear that you’ll call or text or just fly to New York to see me?” Stephen asked again.

“Stephen, I promise I’m going to be okay,” Victor assured him. “And I will.”

“You don’t need anything else while we’re here?” Stephen asked.

“No, I’m fine!” Victor said, feigning annoyance. “Just go home, and Anthony take care of my hardheaded brother, please.”

“I always do,” Anthony replied, giving Stephen a soft kiss.

“Get your PDA out of my face,” Victor teased. “Have a safe flight. Text me when you’re home.”

“You do the same,” Stephen said firmly.

The events of the past week took their toll on the brothers, and Stephen’s usual fearlessness disappeared. The smallest things rattled him, a routine lurch of the plane almost sending him into a panic attack.

“If we survive this flight, will you marry me?” Stephen asked at the crux of takeoff.

Anthony smiled and hugged him, murmuring, “I thought you’d never ask.”

“I swear I had this whole gesture planned but I don’t want to live another second without asking. A part of me needs this trip to have something of a happy ending, and I was really going to wait until we were home, but I waited long enough to be your boyfriend, I don’t want to wait to be your fiancé,” Stephen rambled.

“I have my own romantic gesture planned too.” Anthony’s voice was low and gravelly from tiredness, and his voice combined with his closeness sent shivers down Stephen’s spine. “You’ll love it, I’ll show you when we’re home.”

“I can’t wait.”

++++

Wong‘s friendly, grumpy face was a nice surprise waiting for them at the airport. “Harry and Rhodey are home, sleeping I think but you never know with them. I figured you’d both be tired, so I’d just come get you and let you sleep on the drive home.”

“You might be a Saint,” Anthony replied, leaning fully against Stephen.

“I’m just a good friend, one who accepts payment in the form of bread,” Wong teased. “Let’s go home.”

Harry was the only one in the kitchen when they got back, Rhodey on the phone w T’challa in his room. He greeted them with a warm: “Hey guys, you okay? I made sandwiches if you’re hungry.”

“My friend, I’m going to take you up on that,” Wong replied, pulling up a stool.

“I’m exhausted, and Ant is too, so we’re going to bed. Text if you need anything, but we’re going to just go pass out,” Stephen said. He didn’t bother waiting for a response, taking Anthony’s hand and leading him to their bedroom.

It was right before they climbed into bed that he got down on his left knee, taking hold of Anthony’s hands.

“There’s no limit to the things I want to say to you, and we both know that I’m never usually short on words but I just need to get my point across now. I might combust if I wait any longer,” Stephen began.

“Ask me,” Anthony murmured breathlessly. “I won’t interrupt again, just go ahead a—”

Stephen frowned as someone, it sounded like Harry, shouted from the kitchen.

The knocking, uncoordinated and loud, only intensified the longer Stephen and Anthony ignored it.

“What?!” Stephen called.

“We need a moderator for another debate about food!” Harry yelled.

“I’m in the middle of proposing!”

#tony stark #stephen strange #ironstrange #my ironstrange college au #tw death #wong #happy hogan #james rhodey rhodes #rhodey x t’challa #pepper potts #protective pepper potts #tony and stephen have praise kinks #they love each other a lot #tumblr ate my first draft :(#the strange family #victor strange #donna strange #beverly strange #eugene strange

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just-my-sickly-pride · 5 years ago

Text

Ask Nicely || Roger Taylor x fem!Reader

summary || you and Brian have been friends-with-benefits for almost five months now, and things are going great. and then his housemate Roger finds out your secret - that you like calling Brian ‘daddy’ from time to time - and things definitely take a turn for the worse. the relentless teasing almost unbearable, until you realise that maybe Roger’s just jealous. guess it’s time to find out. modern day au. college au.

rating || explicit. 18+ only. do not read if you are under eighteen. daddy kink, some dom/sub dynamics. there’s also some Brian x reader at the beginning of the fic.

word count || 18.8k. oops.

author’s notes || the sequel to ‘the old college try’ that no one, not even me, was expecting - but it can be read on its own. requested by @hannafuckingsucks about thirty years ago (i’m so sorry for the wait). i know it’s not exactly what you requested, but i quite like how it turned out in the end, so i hope you like it too!

masterlist

“Oi,” Roger called from the living room as you made your way from the bathroom, wiping your hands on your jeans. “Quick question.”

You grimaced slightly at your hands. Ugh. You hated how dry they got in this weather after you washed them. “Yeah?” you replied idly. “Hey, do you think Freddie would mind if I borrowed his moisturiser?”

“No, just don’t use the rose-scented one,” Roger said. “That’s his nice stuff.”

“Got it.” You disappeared into Freddie’s bedroom. “What’s your question?” You found some moisturiser on his bedside table, made sure it wasn’t the rose-scented one, and helped yourself to it.

“Come out here and I’ll ask,” Roger yelled back.

You smiled, satisfied, as you rubbed your hands together, heading out to the living room. Roger was sprawled out on the couch, Xbox controller in hand, game on the TV paused. “Yes?”

Roger’s shit-eating grin made your stomach sink with dread. He held up your phone. “Why the fuck is Brian called ‘Daddy’ on your phone?”

In the span of about half a second, a number of potential responses flashed through your mind.

You could get mad about it and tell Roger to mind his business. That wouldn’t seem suspicious at all.

You could play clueless, like maybe someone changed Brian’s name on your phone as a joke and you hadn’t realised. That wouldn’t work either – you and Brian texted too often for you not to have noticed by now.

Or, you could tell Roger the truth: that you and Brian had been sleeping together in a friends-with-benefits situation on a semi-regular basis for just over five months now, and, when you were both in the mood, you liked to call Brian Daddy. And so you’d changed his contact name to ‘Daddy’ to give yourself a chuckle whenever he texted.

You decided to go with none of the above. “How do you know it’s him?” you asked casually, putting your hands on your hips.

“Two reasons,” Roger said. “One: no one else I know texts with all proper grammar and spelling and shit. Two: he’s asking if you’re still over.”

Well, shit. That didn’t work. “Well, it’s nothing, really,” you said with a laugh, meandering over to stand in front of him and holding out your hand for the phone. “That’s just– it’s a joke. It’s been like that for, like, ages now. I can’t believe you haven’t noticed already.”

Roger didn’t give the phone back. His grin stayed firmly in place. “Uh-huh,” he said slowly. “So this has nothing to do with the fact that you two have been sneaking around together for months?”

“We’ve hardly been sneaking,” you scoffed. “We just– we– we don’t broadcast it. Can I have my phone back, please?”

“You’re stuttering,” Roger said.

“I’m- I’m not,” you said.

“You are,” Roger said. He leant forward, eyes wide, spinning your phone in his fingers. “I can’t fucking believe it. You call Brian Daddy.”

“It’s an inside joke, actually,” you said, aiming for nonchalant.

“Oh, really? What’s the joke?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be an inside joke,” you said. “And it was really more of a you-had-to-be-there situation, anyway. So.” You held out your hand further, pointedly.

“By the sounds of it, I don’t think I’d want to be there,” Roger said. He made a face. “Brian? Really? Of all people?”

“It’s an inside joke,” you said again, this time through slightly more gritted teeth. “And anyway, even if I did call Brian… that – which I don’t – it wouldn’t be any of your fucking business. Can I please have my phone back, thank you?”

“You’re so defensive,” Roger said with a laugh, but held the phone out to you. You snatched it from him. On the screen was a text from Brian. You still over?

You gave Roger a withering look, and then angled away from him. Yes, you replied. I was having a good time hanging out w roger until he started being a little shit.

Brian replied a few seconds later. He’s good at that. What’s he done now?

You glanced up from your phone. Roger was watching you expectantly. “‘You still over’?” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Bitch,” you muttered, turning back to your phone. saw my phone when I was in the bathroom. saw ur text. and the name ur saved under.

Which is?

daddy. remember?

OH SHIT.

You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Cute.”

You shot another glare at Roger, who was apparently enraptured by you standing in the middle of his living room, texting his roommate. “Are you done staring at me like a loon?” you said.

“I’m just trying to wrap my head around it,” Roger said, sitting back, crossing one knee over the other, Xbox controller hanging loosely in his hand. “You calling Brian Daddy. You know, out of the four of us in this flat, I wouldn’t have picked Brian as the one who was into the weird shit, you know?”

You have no idea how much weird shit he’s into, you almost said, but you stopped yourself. That would have been nothing but adding fuel to the fire.

Your phone buzzed. What did you tell him? Also, are you staying for dinner?

yeah I’ll stay if that’s cool, you replied. I tried to tell him it was an inside joke but I think we’re sprung.

Fucking fantastic. And we’re having fish and chips.

“I’m staying for dinner,” you said, pocketing your phone.

“Did Daddy say you could?” Roger teased.

“We’re having fish and chips,” you said, ignoring him. You sat down next to him on the couch and picked up the other controller. “Right. Prepare to eat shit.”

“I thought we were having fish and chips.”

You turned to Roger instantly, throwing the controller into the air like you were going to beat him with it. Roger cringed away, hands up to defend himself, cackling. “All right, all right!” he cried.

“You’re on thin fucking ice, don’t push me,” you growled, turning back to the TV. You jabbed Roger in the waist for good measure, and he yelped, but didn’t retaliate. He just giggled, and unpaused the game.

Despite your bragging that you’d make him eat shit, Roger was far better than you at gaming. He spent a lot more time doing it, anyway. But what you lacked in skill and experience, you made up in ridiculously violent threats and elbowing Roger in the ribs and leaning over him so he couldn’t see the screen.

It was how you usually played, and, as much of a little shit Roger could be, he was very patient with your antics when it came to gaming. He never got annoyed or frustrated – probably because he knew that if he did, if he made you sit still and play properly, you’d lose interest pretty quickly.

The entire time, however, things felt different. ‘Strained’ was too strong a word, but you could tell that something was on the tip of Roger’s tongue, that he was on the verge of saying something, but kept swallowing it down. The furtive glances, the gnawing on his bottom lip, the intakes of breath – you almost outright asked him what the hell it was he was dying to say. It wasn’t like the Roger you knew to be unsure about anything. Or to hesitate before speaking, for that matter.

But you didn’t ask, or push. Mostly because you had a feeling it would probably just open the door to more teasing. In fact, to your surprise, Roger didn’t bring up the whole ‘Daddy’ thing again at all.

That is, until Brian got home.

The second Brian unlocked the door and waddled in, arms loaded with shopping bags, Roger hollered, “Freak!”

“Hello to you too, Roger,” Brian said tiredly. “I couldn’t have some help, could I?”

“Brian’s a sex freak!” Roger cried delightedly, not even looking away from the TV, where he proceeded to stab your character in the back. “Sex freak! Sex freak!”

You sighed irritably and shoved at Roger’s face, and he laughed.

“Some help, please?” Brian prompted from the door.

“Sorry, sorry,” you said, abandoning your controller on the couch and jumping up, taking some groceries from him. “Yum, dinner smells good.”

“I know,” Brian said as you both headed to the kitchen. “I’ve had to smell it all the way home. I’m starving. Thanks for the help as always, Rog,” he added as you both passed Roger on the couch.

“Wouldn’t want to interrupt father-daughter time,” Roger said, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Ew, Roger!” you shouted from the kitchen, screwing your face up.

“You’re the one who calls him Daddy.”

“I don’t–” You cut yourself off with a sigh, shaking your head. There was no point of return now.

“Sorry,” Brian said as he started unloading the shopping bags. You helped, setting everything on the kitchen bench for him to put away.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. He only saw it because I texted you.”

“He only saw it because I left my phone on the couch,” you said. “Face-up.”

Brian’s lips twisted into a small smile. “Okay, maybe it is a little bit your fault.”

“It was,” you said. “I’m the one who set your name as that on my phone in the first place.”

Brian lowered his voice to barely above a soft murmur. “Well, I’m the one who likes being called Daddy, so…”

“Ah, so maybe it’s entirely your fault after all,” you said with a smirk.

Brian cocked his head to one side. “Let’s agree to take half the blame.”

You laughed. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Are you two done fucking in there, or do I have to wait longer for my fish and chips?” Roger called from the living room.

Brian sighed. “I can’t believe, after all this time, I’m finally going to murder him.”

“That’s very sexy of you to say so,” you said.

“Thanks.”

Roger piped up again. “Hello?”

“We’re not going to fucking serve it to you on a silver platter,” you shot back. “Come and get it, you knob.”

You heard a dramatic clatter, and a few moments later, Roger appeared in the kitchen, going straight to the plastic bags where the fish and chips were hiding.

“Did you get enough, Bri?” he asked, grabbing two styrofoam boxes in one hand and stacking them on top of each other. “Doesn’t look like much.”

“I got plenty, it’s just the three of us tonight,” Brian said.

Roger hummed in thought, going to the pantry to fetch the ketchup, balancing it on top of the boxes. “I think Deaky’s coming home at eight.”

“Where from?” you said.

“Dunno. Study session, I think?” Roger took one of the chips that peeked out from the edge of the styrofoam box, popping it into his mouth. “You know how he’s always starving after he’s been studying.”

“Well, thanks for the heads-up,” Brian said with a roll of his eyes. “A bit of forewarning would have been nice.”

“Sorry, thought you knew. It’s fine, he can have some of mine. And there’s that pasta in the fridge from two nights ago.” Roger wrapped his other arm around his hoard of food and shuffled towards the kitchen door. “I’ll, uh–” He gave you a wink. “–leave you and Daddy dearest to it, then.”

Both you and Brian made matching sounds of disgust, and Roger laughed gleefully as he left.

“I don’t think we’re gonna be using that for a while,” you said lowly, your lips downturned.

“What?” Brian said. “You calling me Daddy?”

You shook your head.

Brian threw out his hands in exasperation. “What?” he hissed. “So Roger is a dickhead, and I get punished for it?”

“All I’m gonna be able to think of is his stupid face.”

Brian huffed.

Despite yourself, you smiled. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’re such a baby sometimes.”

“I am not a baby.”

“You can be.”

Brian clicked his tongue in irritation. “Fine. Whatever.” He grabbed a styrofoam box. “I’m not fucking you tonight.”

You gaped. “What? Dude.”

“You heard me. You called me a baby. No sex.”

He went to leave the kitchen, but you grabbed him by the belt loop on his jeans, towing him back, and spun him around.

“Oh, no,” he said, backing up again. “Don’t even try.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, and wrapped your arms around his waist, holding him in place. “Do I even have to try?”

Brian sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “You’re unbelievable.”

You drew him in for a kiss, and his free hand curled around the back of your neck as he deepened it.

When you broke apart, you bit your lip. Brian’s gaze on yours was heated, and you knew you’d won. “Am I forgiven?” you murmured.

“I’ll consider it.”

You grinned. “I have that mini skirt in my bag. The one you like to fuck me in.”

Brian shuddered. “Yes, okay, fine, you’re forgiven. Fuck.” He kissed you fiercely, reaching to the side as he did so to slide the styrofoam box back onto the kitchen counter to free up both hands. One hand curled into your hair, gripping it tightly, and the other went to your hip, his thumb slipping up inside your shirt. You hummed happily against his lips. You’d thought it before, and you’d think it again: you didn’t believe you’d ever get tired of kissing Brian. Sometimes you wondered if you should have felt unnerved by the fact that the feeling of your friend’s lips on yours was both a welcomed and wonderfully familiar experience, but you never thought about it too hard.

“For Christ’s sake.”

You and Brian sprung apart as Roger stomped into the kitchen. “Just because I know about it now doesn’t mean you have to parade it everywhere,” he said, heading to the fridge, squeezing past you and Brian.

“You’re the one who walked in on us, mate,” Brian said. You both exchanged a glance – the moment was over. Brian clicked his tongue in irritation, and grabbed his styrofoam box, leaving the kitchen.

Roger took a can of Coke from the fridge. “Well, somehow I managed to go however many months without seeing basically any of it, so you must’ve been at least trying to hide it. And I want to keep it that way, thanks.”

You gave the back of his head a bewildered look as he disappeared from the kitchen again. Seemed like he wasn’t in the mood for playful teasing anymore.

Brian collapsed beside you on the bed, and you turned your head to share a grin with him.

“Satisfactory?” Brian said breathlessly, raising his eyebrows, his cheeks red and his skin glistening.

You nodded. “I’d say so, yes. I’ll give you a glowing review on Yelp.”

Brian snorted, looking towards the ceiling. “Ah, wonderful. Just want I want to hear.”

“The aftercare could use some work, though,” you said expectantly, wiggling your fingers.

Brian tilted his head back to see where your wrists were still bound to the headboard of the bed, and he quickly sat up. “Shit, sorry.” He untied the rope – you’d upgraded from scarves to actual ropes designed for this kind of thing two weeks ago after a spontaneous adventure to the local sex shop, and it had been money well spent – and you let your hands drop. Brian tossed the ropes onto the floor and took your hands, massaging your wrists.

“They all right?” he asked.

“Absolutely fine,” you said. “Honestly, considering how often we use the ropes, if you didn’t know how to tie them properly by now, I’d be worried.”

“So would I.” Brian settled back down beside you. You rolled onto your side, watching his profile as he stared at the ceiling, his mouth hanging slightly open, as it was wont to do. You could see his mind ticking away furiously, and you didn’t hesitate to say, “Check-in?”

The check-in was routine, but always a little nerve-wracking. It was checking in emotionally – a question of are we still on the same page? You’d both agreed that neither of you were romantically invested in each other, even after all these months, but, of course, there was always the possibility that feelings could still develop. And if they did, and they were one-sided, then things would end. That had been the agreement since day one. Luckily, your friendship had remained solid, and your bond was undeniably close in a strange way it hadn’t been with anyone else before, but there were no butterflies, no feelings of longing. Which was exactly how you both wanted it. The check-in was just a way to make sure.

Brian turned his head to look at you. “I’m really happy with how things are between us right now,” he said with a smile. “I love sleeping with you, and you’re one of my closest friends. But I don’t have feelings for you.”

You grinned. “Good,” you said, patting him on the cheek. “I feel the same.”

“If anything about that changes–”

“You’ll be the first to know,” you finished.

Brian nodded. “And vice versa.”

You sighed happily, your eyes sliding closed. “God, I love my life right now.”

Brian chuckled. “You’re just saying that coz you came three times in the past forty-five minutes.”

“Maybe so,” you mumbled, and Brian laughed again.

“Hey,” he said, and you opened your eyes to look at him again as he shifted onto his side, mirroring you, “is Roger bothering you at all?”

You snorted, amused. “What, you mean more than usual?”

Brian smiled. “I just mean about… this. About us.”

“Are you asking if his relentless teasing and badgering for the past week has been upsetting me at all?” you asked dryly.

Brian shrugged. “Just that – well, I don’t know about you, but it’s almost becoming a point of concern, how… overwhelmingly obsessed he is with it.”

“It is odd,” you murmured in thought. “I have thought about that, yeah.”

“It just seems like every fifteen minutes he’s cracking some joke about it, trying to stir me up in some way. Is he like that with you?”

“It’s different for me,” you said. “I don’t live with him.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Brian said. “But you’re over often enough.”

“Yeah,” you said. You sighed. “It’s not upsetting me. Annoying me, yes.”

“I’ve tried to tell him to bugger off, or even to leave you alone at least, but he – like you said, he’s relentless.”

You reached out and traced over Brian’s collarbone with a light touch. He shivered, and you smiled. “The only thing that’s really bothered me is that he’s telling everyone,” you admitted. “Just makes things…”

“Awkward?”

“Different. Now that everyone knows.”

Brian hummed. “You don’t think…”

Your finger paused. “What?”

“It’s… jealousy?”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Jealousy?”

“Well, yeah,” Brian said. “He’s jealous, and he doesn’t know how to deal with that, so he’s taking it out on us.”

“Who’s he jealous of?” You pulled your hand back abruptly. “You don’t think he likes me, do you?”

Brian frowned. “I don’t think that’s it,” he murmured.

You paused. “You don’t think he… likes you?”

Brian huffed a laugh. “No, that’s– that’s not what I was getting at. Pretty sure he’s straight, anyway.”

“Then what?”

“I think it’s just our whole arrangement,” Brian said. “The simplicity of it, maybe. Like, you can’t deny that what we have is fairly unusual. At least, for this length of time.”

“I guess so,” you said. You went back to tracing his collarbones. “Or maybe it’s the fact that I call you Daddy.”

Brian let out a short, sharp burst of laughter. “You really think so?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s crossed your mind before, hasn’t it? You made a joke once about how he makes so many Daddy jokes that he must have a secret kink for it as well.”

“I was just kidding.”

“Well, maybe you’re smarter than you realise.”

Brian broke out into a wide grin, and your finger lifted to tap on one of his pointy canines. His vampire teeth, you called them. The first time you’d tapped on his canines, he’d recoiled and asked what the hell you were doing – but now, he knew to expect it almost every time he smiled widely. It was just how you showed that you kinda loved them.

“Would it be weird?” you asked, gently pressing on the tip of his tooth absentmindedly. He opened his mouth just enough to softly bite down on your finger. “If I… did some digging? To find out if Roger secretly does have a fuckin’ huge Daddy kink?”

Brian drew back. “Did some digging? You mean interrogate him?”

You shrugged. “There are other ways.”

“What, sleep with him?”

You shrugged again.

Brian snorted. “You’d want to sleep with Roger?”

“I wouldn’t say no,” you confessed. “I’m not gonna say it’s never crossed my mind. It’s really just a matter of whether he’d sleep with me.”

Brian just laughed. “Oh, no, there’s no question there. He would definitely sleep with you.”

“Would that make you uncomfortable?” you asked. “If I did? He’s your roommate.”

“No, of course not,” Brian said easily. “You can sleep with whoever you want.”

You took a breath. “So… is this happening? Am I going to seduce Roger with my wily womanly charm and find out if he likes it when I call him Daddy?”

Brian made a sound in the back of his throat. “Well, if he doesn’t, that’s his loss.”

“Are we making a bet on it?”

Brian laughed, shaking his head. “No. We’re both on the same team here.”

“Which is…?”

“That we both think he’s hiding a Daddy kink. Agreed?”

“Oh, hard agree,” you said with a nod.

Brian’s hand went to your lower back, dragging you in close to him. “Maybe you should practice on me a bit first, though,” he said with a smile, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Just in case.”

“Just in case what?” you said, your blood tingling with anticipation. “I forget what the word is? You’re such a dumbass.”

“You never know,” Brian murmured, his eyes flicking back up to yours, but only for a moment, before returning to your lips. His hand smoothed up your side, around your back, and you arched into him.

“What if I don’t want to?” you said, just to be difficult.

Brian rolled his eyes. “You’re such a pain in the arse.”

“What if I want to dress up in my hedgehog furry suit, hm?”

Brian sighed, and let you go, flopping onto his back. “Not this shit again.”

You giggled. “What’s the matter, Bri?” you said in a whiny baby voice, clambering over him, straddling his waist. “Don’t wanna fuck me in my furry suit?”

“You know, I’m seriously considering that maybe you do actually have a bloody furry suit somewhere and you’re trying to convince me to let you wear it,” Brian said. He sounded pissed, but it was all part of the game. As he spoke, his hands smoothed up your thighs. “Which isn’t fucking happening. I indulge all of your stupid kinks, but that’s not one of them.”

You gasped, mock-offended. “But it’s your kink, Bri. I got it just for you, because you love animals so much.”

Brian shoved you off, and you fell onto the bed, laughing. “I can’t stand you,” he said. “I genuinely hate you. Get out of my life.”

You laughed even harder, and Brian sat up just to turn to you and stick his middle finger up at you, right in your face. You grinned, and grabbed his wrist, tugging his hand closer to wrap your lips around his finger and suck.

The shift on Brian’s face from faux disdain to arousal was immediate. “Oh, fucking hell,” he said weakly, and pushed another finger into your mouth. You took it gladly, your tongue sliding between them.

“There’s the wily womanly charm you were talking about, then,” Brian said.

You pulled off his fingers with an obscene sound, making him moan softly. “You have good hands,” you said. “Makes me wanna put them in my mouth.”

Brian sucked in a shaky breath. “Roger is going to have no idea what hit him,” he muttered.

You drew Brian’s fingers back into your mouth, loving how his eyes zeroed in on your lips. “Good girl,” he murmured, and you moaned.

He slowly pulled his fingers from your mouth, making you whine. “You gonna be good for me?” he said, his hand going to rest against your throat.

You nodded furiously. Already you could feel yourself growing wetter. “Just for you, Daddy.”

Brian grinned. “That’s what I like to hear.”

The opportunity presented itself two weeks later, at a party that the boys were invited to, and you were brought along as their plus-one. You’d discussed with Brian beforehand when the best time to strike would be, and you’d both decided you’d shoot your shot tonight. Through Snapchat, Roger had actually been the one to help pick out your outfit – your favourite dress that hugged everything in all the right places, cute platform heels, and a choker to tie it all together; he had an eclectic sense of style that you greatly admired, and so you always turned to him for fashion advice. You loved Brian dearly, but his idea of a good outfit involved honest-to-god clogs. Freddie liked to pitch in with fashion tips and tricks as well, but his offers were sometimes a little too bold for your taste.

You met at the boys’ place for pre-drinks. Freddie let you in, welcoming you with a warm hug and a kiss on the temple. “Can you please help us,” he murmured into your ear as he walked you to the living room. “Rog and Brian have been bickering like a married couple over what music to play for hours.”

Sure enough, the first thing you saw was Brian and Roger across the room in a heated debate, the record player sitting between them. You shook your head. As if you hadn’t sat through this sort of shit a thousand times over already.

You and Freddie hovered in the doorway, a half-empty bottle of cider in his hand, and a six-pack in your arms. You could see the back of John’s head over the couch. You could see his girlfriend Veronica too, where she was sitting in his lap, the two of them in conversation, blatantly ignoring Roger and Brian.

“I’m honestly in half a mind to just play something from my phone at this point,” Freddie said, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s already connected to my speaker. The only thing stopping me is knowing that they’d skin me alive if I tried.”

You snorted. “You only have, like, five records between the four of you, anyway.”

“I know,” Freddie bemoaned. “That makes it even worse.”

“We listened to Abbey Road on repeat ten times yesterday,” Roger snapped. “I like the Beatles just as much as the next white guy, but for the love of God.”

“It’s good,” Brian insisted. “Look, if you won’t let me play Tattoo–”

“Not fucking Rory Gallagher again, Brian.”

“Stop shitting all over Rory Gallagher! He’s the greatest artist of all time.”

“I’m not shitting all over anyone. Although you’re wrong.”

“Wrong?” Brian cried.

Freddie looked to you pleadingly. “Save us.”

You laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

You went to step forward, to say something, but then Freddie said, “I’m sure you’ll at least be able to shut Brian up, eh?”

You were half-expecting some joke like that, but it still made your stomach coil with embarrassment. “Ha ha, very funny,” you drawled.

“Or is he the one who shuts you up?”

You sighed, adjusting the six-pack in your grip. “Could I have a rough estimate as to how long Brian and I are going to be subject to this sort of thing? These little jokes? Just a ballpark estimate?”

Freddie put a finger to his chin, tilting his head this way and that, pretending to think very deeply about the question. “Oh. Hm. Well. Maybe, if I had to guess, dear… You know, put a gun to my head, I’d probably say… forever?”

“Fuck you, Fred.”

Freddie laughed. “I’d apologise, darling, but it’s just too funny. Brian, of all people–”

“Yes, I know, wow, Brian, somehow it’s Brian, I know,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“And you’re sure the two of you aren’t dating?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” you said. “We’re not lying, you know.”

“I’m not saying you are,” Freddie said. “It’s just…”

“I know,” you said again. “But we’re happy. Okay?”

“Oh, I’m sure you are, dear,” Freddie said with a cheeky grin. “I see how chipper Brian is after allegedly spending hours every other day ‘studying in the library’. I’m sure you’re just as delighted to get all that work done, hm? Really getting deep into your studies.”

You gave him a withering look, and his grin widened.

“Oh, hey!”

You looked over, and Veronica was peering over the couch at you, her face lit up. “When did you get here?”

“Hi,” you said, finally stepping into the room, Freddie close behind. “Just a minute ago.”

“Let me–” Veronica clambered off John and hurried over. “Look at you, you look gorgeous,” she said, her eyes sweeping up and down your outfit, and then she wrapped you in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered furiously into your ear. “There’s way too much testosterone flying around in this fucking room.”

You laughed. “I’m here to save the day,” you said.

When you stepped back from the hug, Veronica took your six-pack from your hands. “You sort the boys out – I’ll get you a drink,” she said, nodding behind her.

Roger and Brian had stopped their argument temporarily, but you could tell that neither of them were willing to budge from the record player.

You ignored them, and turned to John, leaning down to give him a hug. “Hey, Deaks.”

“Sorry, should’ve stood up for you,” John said, leaning forward to hug you back.

You didn’t mind. In leaning down, you incidentally had given a nice view of your arse, wrapped tight in the dress you were wearing, to Brian.

And to Roger.

“No, don’t worry about it,” you said easily, straightening up and adjusting your dress. “Have you guys had much to drink yet?”

“Only one or two,” Freddie said. “Haven’t even cracked open the vodka yet, would you believe.”

“I have to say, I’m shocked,” you said. “What are you waiting for?”

“For you, my love,” Veronica said, coming back over to you, one of your drinks in hand. You thanked her as you took it. “Wanted to make sure the whole gang was here before we got too sloshed.”

“Well, I’m here!” you said, holding out your arms. “So, let’s put on some music and let’s get it going.”

Everyone laughed, and you stopped, your eyes widening, and you grimaced. “Oh, that’s right,” you said slowly, finally turning to Roger and Brian. “These two have been too busy measuring their dicks to actually play anything.”

The joke went down swimmingly with John and Freddie, and with Veronica. Not so much with Brian and Roger.

You grinned at them. They did look good tonight, both of them. Roger had re-dyed his hair a few weeks ago, and it had settled into the prettiest soft blond colour that matched his big blue eyes perfectly. His hair actually looked fantastic tonight, all fluffy and bouncy. His shirt was a button-up, brightly patterned, tucked into ripped jeans, and he was wearing his sparkly pink hi-tops that clashed both horribly and wonderfully with the rest of his outfit.

Brian’s trousers were black and slightly flared, his shirt black as well. He was wearing a floral-patterned blazer that you’d seen him wear before. You’d seen Roger and Freddie wearing it, too, and at this point you weren’t sure who it actually belonged to. The sleeves were a touch too short on Roger and Freddie, so on Brian they went only halfway down his forearms, but it worked.

Your eyes ducked to Brian’s feet. Clogs again, it seemed. Fucking weirdo.

You matched Brian’s gaze. Then Roger’s. “Hendrix,” you said simply.

They looked to each other, glared, and then Brian sighed in defeat, knowing you were right, and said, “Fuck.”

You smiled, and Roger huffed, but put on the Are You Experienced album.

Veronica cheered. “Finally!”

“I’ll get the vodka,” Freddie chirped, and hurried to the kitchen.

As Foxy Lady started playing, you wandered over to Roger and Brian, who were still not quite done being pissy with each other – but, with nothing left to argue about, they settled on simply marinading in each other’s bad energy.

“Hello,” you said, taking a deep swig of your drink.

Brian’s gaze was so intense on you that you could almost feel the heat of it. You could tell he was figuring out already how soon would be too soon to drag you to his bedroom.

You couldn’t help but preen under the attention. Would it be too greedy of you to sneak Brian off first before going after Roger?

Speaking of Roger – he was staring at a point over your shoulder, arms crossed, his bottom lip jutting out the slightest bit. You wanted to kiss him, which wasn’t the first time you’d thought that, but the first time you’d allowed yourself to. It was thrilling, freeing.

Was it too early to test the waters?

“Roger,” you murmured, softly, in the tone you liked to use when Brian was misbehaving.

You heard Brian’s breath catch, and you smothered a smile. Even when it wasn’t being used on him, it still had an effect.

Roger’s eyes flicked to yours, the tiniest frown on his face. He was unsure. “Yeah?”

You tilted your head to the side, smiling, dropping the tone back into your normal one. “Hi.”

He smiled tightly. “Hi.” He sighed, uncrossing his arms. “I’m getting a drink. I’ll leave you and, uh, Daddy to it.”

You resisted the urge to let out an exasperated sigh, and watched him head to the kitchen. “Still with the Daddy jokes,” you muttered, turning to Brian. “That one wasn’t even funny. Or clever.”

“I think he’s too pissed off to try to be funny or clever,” Brian said. He seemed unbothered by it, however, and was much more focused on you. “You have no idea,” he said lowly, “how badly I want you right now.”

You shivered, but apart from that, you kept your body language friendly, light, trying not to give away the nature of the discussion to the other occupants of the room.

But the look on Brian’s face probably gave it away immediately.

You grinned. “Did you like that?” you said with a cheeky scrunch of your nose. “The way I just told you and Roger what to do in front of everyone?”

“You had the fucking nerve to bend down like that in front of me,” Brian said through gritted teeth. “Wearing that dress…”

“Well, I put it on because I thought you’d like it,” you said. You paused. “Oh, wait,” you said. “No I didn’t. I did it because I thought Roger would like it. And he does. He helped me pick it out. Helped me choose this whole outfit. And he’ll be helping me take it off later.”

Brian breathed out sharply through his nose, shaking his head, glancing away. “I swear to God…”

You giggled. “What’s the matter?”

“You’re such a fucking tease.”

“Oh, why, thank you, Bri,” you said, patting him on the chest. He stiffened, and you knew it was because he was holding back from grabbing you and towing you away. You almost let him. He would’ve kissed you so hard that your lips would’ve bruised, and you knew he would’ve fallen to his knees – maybe metaphorically, maybe literally, it had happened before – and begged you to let him fuck you, damn everyone else, damn the party. You would’ve said no, and he would’ve pleaded for you to at least let him eat you out, please, please, I need it, please, God, I’ll do anything, just let me make you feel good, please.

You didn’t know if you would’ve let him. You didn’t know how on-board Roger would’ve been to sleep with you if he knew that you’d been with Brian earlier that night.

It didn’t matter, anyway. Because, as it stood now, you and Brian were still at the record player, and Brian was tense and pissed and horny as hell.

God, you fucking loved this. The power you had over him was the best fucking aphrodisiac you’d ever discovered.

“Can you two stop eye-fucking each other and come join the rest of the party?” John called from the couch.

You could see immediately the way Brian snapped out of it, like he’d been doused with cold water. He looked over to John, and shrugged a shoulder. “We’re just having a conversation. No eye-fucking.”

“Oh, yes, darling, and I’m Her Majesty the Queen,” Freddie said. He had a large glass on the coffee table, and was spreading a deck of cards in a circle around it. “Come on, come on, let’s play King’s Cup.”

You snorted. Of all the games. “Wonderful,” you said under your breath, taking a drink and heading over, Brian behind you.

Roger finally re-appeared from the kitchen, a beer in hand. “Right, let’s play, before I decide that this stupid game is a waste of my time and it’d be much more worthwhile to just down five shots of vodka.”

“It’s not stupid,” Veronica tutted. “Stop being a party pooper.”

“Yeah, Roger, stop being a whiny bitch,” you said, sitting down next to Brian.

Roger gave you a two-fingered salute. “I will defend to the death my right to be as whiny of a bitch as I want to be at all times,” he said as he neared the table. He raised his eyebrows at Brian, pointing to you. “She deserves a spanking later for calling me that.”

Veronica tutted, rolling her eyes, and Freddie and John snickered behind their hands. Brian said, “Oh, for God’s sake, mate,” at the same time you cried, “Roger,” slapping his thigh.

He flinched, but laughed. “Oh, I’m the one getting a spanking now? Saucy.”

Your face was burning. You knew that whatever you said, it wasn’t going to stop him, so you just said, “Roger,” again, in the most disapproving tone you could manage. Roger laughed even more, sitting down beside you.

Brian muttered something into his beer that you didn’t catch, but Roger spluttered, his ears going as red as yours, and exclaimed, “You think I’m–? Me? I am not–”

He cut himself off, and grabbed his drink. “Twat,” he mumbled.

“Can we please start the game now?” Veronica said.

“Yeah, can we?” you seconded.

“Yes, I believe we can,” Freddie said pointedly. “If everyone in the room is finally ready.”

You weren’t sure how obvious you wanted to be when it came to flirting with Roger – you’d already been the victim of your friends’ gossiping the past few weeks because of Brian. You didn’t want to give anyone else anything more to talk about.

So you kept it fairly subtle. A lingering hand on Roger’s thigh underneath the table, a cheeky smile here and there. In the moments you felt daring enough, you let your gaze drop to his lips when you spoke to him.

You could feel Brian’s eyes on you every now and again. You weren’t sure if it was intrigue or jealousy. Maybe he was just eager for you to figure out the truth of Roger’s supposed Daddy kink as soon as possible.

Eventually, long after King’s Cup had ended, you all decided it was high time to make an appearance at the party. Leaving pre-drinks was always your least favourite part of the night – staying at home drinking and playing dumb drinking games with your friends was always a better time than hanging around at a party – but Freddie and Roger were eager to get to it, and John was itching for an excuse to dance.

The past couple months, you and Brian usually used your mutual dislike of parties to sneak off to make out, or to leave altogether for something else entirely back at his place. You had to admit that it was confusing, in a way, to know that that would not be the case tonight. Old habits die hard, you supposed.

You sat in beside Roger in the back seat of the Uber on the way there; Brian sat in the front seat, and John, Freddie, and Veronica were on their way in a second Uber.

Conversation flowed easily between you and Roger. Brian chimed in every now and again, but it was always difficult to be a part of things from the front seat. Now that it was just you three, you allowed yourself to flirt more openly. You weren’t quite at the ‘blatant’ stage just yet, but you were well on your way.

Roger flirted back – of course he did. Any opportunity to turn on the charm.

The issue for you was that you didn’t know how serious it was. Was he just playing along? Did he think you were just tipsy and being more outgoing? Or was he genuinely flirting back? It was hard to tell. Frustratingly hard.

He dropped a Daddy joke every now and again, as was expected, but each time he did, Brian would just hum, a light but unmistakably condescending mm-hm, and Roger would glare at him or reach forward to jab him in the shoulder or the back of the neck.

You tried to give Brian a questioning glance, but you couldn’t catch his eye. Can you stop? you wanted to say to him. You’re kind of killing my groove here, making Roger all pissy.

Things would settle at the party. The group would disperse, and you’d have more alone time with Roger.

It didn’t quite happen how you hoped it would, but when did things ever go according to plan?

The group did disperse – including Roger, who disappeared off with Freddie. And, as was the norm, you were left alone with Brian. The two of you gravitated towards the couches, which were loaded with people already, so you both perched, side-by-side, on the sturdy arm of one of the couches. Outside, it wasn’t the coldest you’ve ever felt, but you much preferred staying inside. It helped that the alcohol you’d had during pre-drinks had well and truly settled in your veins, keeping you warm and your head pleasantly fuzzy.

“Where’d your loverboy go?” Brian asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You blew a raspberry, shrugging. “Dunno. This is weirdly more difficult than I expected it to be.”

“Roger’s used to girls flirting with him, I suppose,” Brian said, shrugging. “He maybe doesn’t know that you’re angling for anything more than just a bit of fun.”

“I am angling for a bit of fun,” you said. “Just a particular kind.”

Brian snorted.

“You’re not helping, dude, by the way,” you said, nudging him. “What are you saying to him that’s riling him up so much?”

Brian unsuccessfully tried to hide his smile, shrugging again. “Nothing.”

You glared at him. “What?”

“Nothing!” Brian said with a laugh, even as you shoved at him. “Have you heard me say a word?”

“No, you’ve just been making snide little noises.”

“Snide,” Brian scoffed.

“They are snide,” you said, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You two have some sort of secret language going on, and you’re using it just to distract him.”

Brian gaped. “Distract– I am doing no such thing.”

“I am doing no such thing,” you mimicked. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Brian laughed again. “Bastard.”

“Me?” you gasped. “How dare– I’m not the bastard here. Fucker.”

“You’re a bastard.”

You shook your head, crossing your arms, looking away from him resolutely. “I’m not talking to you now.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Nope. Not talking.”

“You’re talking to me right now. Bloody bellend.”

You pushed him off the arm of the chair, and he stumbled, laughing.

“I can’t stand you,” you said. You stood up, adjusting your dress.

Brian beamed like the cat who’d gotten the cream, coming to stand in front of you, hands in his pockets again. “Oh yeah?” he said, his voice sliding suggestively.

Goddammit it. It was fucking hard to resist him, and he knew it.

“Yes,” you said. “And don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Get that look in your eye. Stop smiling at me like that.”

“Like what?” Brian said, still very much smiling like that.

You couldn’t smother your smile in return, so you glanced away. “Stop it.”

Brian stepped in closer, his hands coming to your waist. “Sorry, say again? I didn’t quite catch that.”

His hands were warm, and your breath caught, your eyes flicking to his. One of his hands slid down to the small of your back, his other moving to your chin, tilting it up towards him. His eyes travelled lazily to your mouth and back to your eyes.

“You’re dreadfully misbehaving, mister,” you said lowly. “What was that you were saying about not causing a distraction?”

Brian hummed, smiling, unbothered. “I can’t help myself when it comes to you. I do stand by me saying I wasn’t trying to distract Roger, but you, on the other hand…” His grip around you tightened, the hand under your chin slipping around the back of your neck.

You wanted to touch him, to slide your hands under his shirt and scratch your nails down his back, hear him gasp when you did it. You wanted to kiss him, steal him away to a more private area.

But you also wanted Roger. So your hands stayed at your sides.

Brian leant in for a kiss, and you pulled back. “Bri.”

Brian stopped.

“Bri.”

Brian sighed, his eyes searching yours. “Not even for a bit? Just twenty minutes.”

You raised your eyebrows at him.

“Ten minutes? Five?”

You said nothing.

His hands held you more tightly, and you could see the desperation creeping into his features. “No?”

You shook your head.

Brian let out a small whine, and dropped his head onto your shoulder, his hands coming back to your waist. “Fuck me.”

You rubbed his back soothingly. “Aw,” you cooed, a touch sarcastically, “were you looking forward to making out with me? Did you get all turned on and now you’ve got no outlet for it?”

“Fuck you,” Brian grumbled, his hands turning into fists, gripping your dress.

“You wish,” you said, the soothing rubbing turning into a comforting pat. “But that’s not gonna happen tonight. You’re gonna have to find someone else.”

Brian growled, and then let you go, stepping back, shaking his head. “You’re the worst.”

“Why don’t you hang out with Freddie?” you suggested. “Y’know, actually spend time with your other friends.”

“Says you,” Brian grumbled.

“Hey, I’m on a mission,” you said. “For science.”

Brian pouted, and you laughed. “Come on,” you said, patting him on the cheek, intentionally a little too roughly, making him pull a face and bat your hand away. “Let’s go find them.”

It didn’t take long. Both Roger and Freddie had incredibly strong, loud personalities, so together you could have spotted them from the moon. They were in the backyard, doubled over each other, laughing so hard that neither of them could breathe. As you approached them, they seemed to settle down somewhat, but then Freddie said something you didn’t catch – it really sounded like more of a splutter, maybe half a word at best – and they were both off again.

You grinned at Brian. “They’re so cute, aren’t they?”

Brian snorted, giving you a confused look. “Cute?”

“The way they laugh so much with each other. I dunno, makes me happy to see it.”

“It’d probably make you less happy if you had to hear it when you were trying to study,” Brian muttered. “Or at five o’clock in the morning when they come home from the club.”

You gave him a back-handed slap on the chest. “You’re just jealous coz you’re such a stick in the mud all the time.”

You yelped in surprise as Brian grabbed you around your waist, swinging you to the side. “I’m not a stick in the mud,” he growled playfully into your ear, and you squeaked, trying to squirm out of his arms.

“Yes you are,” you giggled, and Brian readjusted his grip on you, locking you in. “No!”

“Take it back,” Brian demanded.

“No,” you panted, wriggling furiously.

Brian grunted as you almost accidentally sent an elbow into his face, and doubled down, squeezing you more tightly. “Take it back.”

“You’re a stick in the mud,” you said, and managed to worm your way out.

Brian tried to grab your wrist, but you yanked your hand away, and dashed off outside, laughing, ducking behind Roger. “You have to save me,” you said breathlessly, as Roger and Freddie drew away from you in surprise.

When Roger clocked on that you were just being silly, he broke out into a smile. “What?” he said. “What’s going on?”

You peered around him. Brian was looking towards you through the open door, his arms thrown up in exasperation, shaking his head. “Brian’s trying to get me.”

“And why’s that, darling?” Freddie said. He took a drag of his cigarette and held it out to Roger, but Roger declined, instead wrapping an arm around your waist, looking back to Brian. Your heart did a dance in your chest, and you gladly curled into Roger’s chest, playing up the whole damsel-in-distress bit. He smelled of cigarette smoke and of his cologne, the nice one he always wore to parties.

“I called him a stick in the mud,” you said.

Freddie and Roger laughed. “But you are!” Freddie called to Brian.

It took Brian a second, but when he realised what Freddie meant, he stuck his middle finger up at him, and Freddie clapped his hands in delight.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ve got ya,” Roger said, and his other arm joined his first, hugging you close. “He’s a terrifying git, I know, but we’ll protect you.”

You giggled, pressing your face into Roger’s neck, and he pulled you even closer.

There was a pause, and then Freddie said, “Should I go check on the git in question?”

It sounded pointed, weighted, like you’d missed something important in the subtext, and you raised your head to see Freddie quickly looking away from Roger’s face, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Yeah, I reckon so,” Roger said nonchalantly.

“I think he was saying he wanted to hang out with you, Fred,” you said, and you caught the way the corners of Freddie’s mouth twitched.

“Oh, is that so?” he murmured. He took a final draw, then dropped the butt on the ground, grinding it underfoot. “Well, then,” he said with a sigh, an unreadable expression on his face as he turned to Roger, smoke billowing from his mouth up into the air. “Better go say hello, shouldn’t I?” His eyes flicked between you and Roger, and then he said, “Suppose I, uh, might see you later then, folks.”

When he left, you pulled away from Roger enough to look him in the face, but not so far that Roger let you go. “What was that about?” you said, frowning. You fiddled with the collar of Roger’s shirt.

“What?” Roger asked. His eyes were so pretty and blue.

“That,” you said, jerking your head towards where Freddie had left. “All those looks and everything.”

“Oh, Fred’s just being…” Roger took a breath in, and shook his head. “He’s just being Fred. How’s your night going?”

“We only got here about half an hour ago,” you said. “Forty-five minutes at most.” Roger adjusted his grip on you, and you pressed in closer to him, warmth blooming within you. You were close enough to kiss, easily.

Roger shrugged a shoulder, smiling. “A lot can happen in half an hour.”

“Well, nothing’s happened to me.” Yet. “What about you?”

“I would’ve thought you and Brian would’ve snuck off by now,” Roger said. “You know I used to think you two just went home? Ages back. Like, you went to your home and he went to his? Or that you just used to stay up having a chat? It took me way longer than I’d like to admit to figure out that when you walked out of his room sometimes the next morning, you hadn’t been sleeping on his floor.”

You chuckled. “Why’d it take you so long?”

“It just didn’t seem to… make sense. You and him sleeping together but not dating. He’s too much of a romantic.”

“Well, it’s been working so far.”

Roger sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fucking hell, it has.”

You took a moment to drink in his response, not quite sure what to make of it, but he moved on before you could analyse it further. “So why aren’t you with him right now? You’re not in the mood?”

You went to speak, but hesitated. How did you want to play this? “I… wouldn’t say that,” you said.

“Oh,” Roger said, and you could see the cogs whirring behind his eyes, trying to figure out what you meant, just as you’d done to him. “So should I be expecting you to disappear very soon?”

You shook your head. “No.”

There was a moment, so charged it almost made your head swim. You thought Roger was about to kiss you, and your whole body was screaming at you to go for it.

But then Roger just said, “Oh, well, lucky me,” and he gave you a quick kiss on the forehead, then let you go. “Did you wanna get another drink? I think I saw some beers that someone left unattended inside we could steal.”

You took a second to get your bearings once again. “Um, sure,” you said, and Roger smiled, then went inside. You inhaled, exhaled, pulled a slight face at yourself in frustration for how stupidly difficult this was, and followed him in.

There only ended up being a single beer left, and the two of you sat on the front steps, sharing it.

You’d been the one to suggest sitting out the front. Roger liked the party atmosphere too much to even consider it, probably. You’d certainly never seen him taking some time out from any party you’d gone to with him.

The conversation was simple, nothing too shallow or too deep. Mostly just passing thoughts. The new bass John had been eyeing up online, the mess your housemate Lucy was always making after she’d had her boyfriend over for a movie night, the latest celebrity gossip. Roger hadn’t seemed like the sort of person to keep up-to-date on celebrity gossip when you’d first met him at the beginning of the year, and you still hadn’t ever seen him read anything trashy, but somehow he knew it all – but he always made sure to clarify that he didn’t care about any of it, just that he knew it. And, of course, he had an opinion on every part of it, too.

But as nice as it was to chat, you had had an ulterior motive for getting Roger alone. At this point, however, you were considering that maybe Roger just wasn’t interested in you that way. Which you were fine with, but you had to admit you were surprised.

It was hard to tell. So hard. Roger seemed to be leaning into your personal space, and then he’d shift away again. Sometimes it seemed like he was glancing at your mouth, but then his eyes ended up wandering all over your face, like he was just absentmindedly studying your features. Countless almost-touches, glances that could be seen as flirty or interested but also equally could be just the alcohol talking. It was maddening.

Inevitably, the conversation circled back to you and Brian, and that’s when Roger began grinding your gears. It was on the second Daddy joke in five minutes that you had to put your foot down.

“Okay, what is up with all the jokes?” you asked.

Roger frowned, laughing slightly. “Uh, they’re funny?”

“They’re excessive, Rog. We get it. Even Fred and Deaks must be getting tired of them by now.”

“Sorry,” Roger drawled sarcastically. “I happen to think they’re still funny. Sue me.”

You sighed. You didn’t want this to turn into a fight. “Are you sure that’s it?” you asked tentatively.

Roger blinked at you. “Uh, what?”

“Ever since you saw my phone, you’ve been all…”

“All what?”

“I don’t know. Not yourself. Just a bit.”

Roger bristled again. “It’s a little hard to– to act normal around you sometimes, yeah. You and Brian. How the hell are you meant to just go about your day when you know two of your friends… When your flatmate is, like, someone’s Daddy? What are you meant to do with that information?”

You scoffed. “Okay, wow, no. Brian is not ‘my Daddy’. That is not how it works between us.”

Roger shook his head. “Not how it works between you,” he muttered to himself.

“It isn’t,” you insisted. “It–” You bit your lip, cutting yourself off. This wasn’t just your information to tell. How much was too much to share?

“What?” Roger said.

You looked at him, at his big blue eyes, his long eyelashes. Your knee was touching his, and you so badly wanted to curl your hand around his thigh. You sighed, shaking your head, looking out onto the street. “I’m not going to explain it. You’re just going to laugh at me, and I don’t really feel like subjecting myself to more ridicule, if I’m honest.”

Roger said nothing for a while, fiddling with the label on the beer bottle, and you took it as the final nail in the coffin. You wouldn’t be sleeping with Roger tonight. Oh well. You’d tried. And, you supposed, you and Brian finally had your answer: Roger did not have a Daddy kink.

“Sorry,” Roger said.

You looked to him, at the little pile between his feet of the ripped-up label. “For what?”

“For taking it too far. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You didn’t really know how to respond, so it took you a minute to think. “Of all the things I was expecting to hear from you tonight, an apology wasn’t one of them.”

Roger huffed in amusement. “Yeah. I’m not really known for them.” He put down the beer bottle, and turned to head towards you. “I won’t laugh,” he added.

You raised your eyebrows. “You want me to explain how it works?”

Roger shrugged a shoulder, a tiny movement. His face betrayed nothing. “If you like.”

You took another moment to try to suss him out, and decided he meant what’d he’d said. “If you must know,” you said, somewhat cautiously, “Brian’s not… my Daddy. That’s not how we – play with that dynamic.”

You were expecting some kind of recoil. Retaliation. Ragging.

But this time, Roger just swallowed, and said nothing.

So you took a breath, and went on. “The way we… Well, it’s sort of…” Your hand moved to your mouth absentmindedly as you thought, brushing over your bottom lip. “I really like teasing. Like, really like it.”

Roger nodded – an invitation to go on.

“So usually, the way Brian and I flirt, I guess, is I– I make him work for it, you know? I make him…” You hid a smile behind your hand. “Um.” You chuckled. “This is weird to explain out loud. But yeah, basically, in the simplest terms, I make him work for it. So that means when the roles are reversed, when suddenly I’m the one who has to beg for it, because I’m blindfolded, or tied down, or, y’know, that sort of thing–”

“Christ,” Roger breathed. He shifted and cleared his throat, and it was as if a switch had been flicked: the electricity between the two of you was palpable.

“You, uh… When I said I didn’t know Brian was into the weird stuff, I didn’t know he was…”

“Yeah,” you said with a laugh. “Oh, yeah. I mean, really, in the scheme of things, as far as ‘weird’ goes, most of what we do is pretty vanilla.”

“Depends on who you’re talking to, I guess,” Roger said, and he gave you a nervous smile.

“Yeah, you’re right, I guess,” you conceded. “But, well, my point is that when the roles are reversed, I don’t really go down that easily. Sometimes, maybe, if I feel like it, but rarely. I’m…” You chuckled. “Honestly, I’m the biggest–”

“Brat?” Roger jumped in, and the word tumbled from his mouth like he couldn’t help it.

You grinned. “Yeah.” You raised your eyebrows at him. “Should I be surprised that you know the lingo? Mr. ‘I’m-Not-Into-That-Weird-Shit’?”

Roger’s face turned bright red. “I haven’t– It’s just that other people use it. I don’t even know if I used that work properly; honestly, I was just guessing, I’d just heard someone use that word before. Or maybe I read it somewhere, I don’t know.”

You let him babble, just nodding along, not even trying to hide your smug smile.

He ran out of steam eventually, and he rolled his eyes at your expression. “Dickhead,” he muttered.

You laughed. Roger chuckled as well, and when he glanced at you, your eyes locked with his. And stayed there, only breaking to drift to his mouth and back up again.

His eyes did just the same.

And this time it was unmistakable.

A thrill of relief and exhilaration bolted through you.

You just had to check one thing first. Just to be sure.

“Rog?”

“Yeah?” Roger said softly.

“How do you feel about me?”

Roger frowned. “Feel about you?”

“Yeah,” you said, and you licked your lips nervously. “Y’know, do you – and this is probably a pointless, dumb question, but do you… like me?”

Roger froze, and your stomach clenched. “Um… like you?”

You nodded. “In a… romantic way. At all.”

Roger let out a breath. “Oh. Um.” He looked down at his hands in his lap. “I didn’t know that that’s where this was going. Shit.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“Do you?” you asked, suddenly panicking. Did this mean that he did? Oh, Jesus, please no. You’d have felt fucking awful if he did.

Roger rubbed his hands over his knees. “Uh…”

“Rog, say something,” you pleaded.

Roger glanced at you. “I… Look, you’re great. You’re a lot of fun to be around, and you’re funny, but I – I don’t see you like that. I’m sorry.”

You breathed out.

Roger frowned. “Does– Does Brian know that you…?”

You gave him a look. “What? No, Roger, I don’t like you in that way either.”

Roger hesitated. “You… No?”

“No.”

“Then why did you–”

“Ask?” you cut in. “It was to make sure that you don’t have feelings for me.”

“Oh,” Roger said. “No, I don’t.”

“Good.” You sighed, and smiled. Time to make a break for it. “Wanna make out?”

Roger blinked. “Right now?”

Your heart lurched, but you kept your voice light, confident. “Yep.”

“But what about Brian?”

You snorted. “What about him? We just sleep together, we’re not a couple.”

“Well, I know, but–”

“I can sleep with whoever I want to. And so can Brian.”

Roger paused. “Sleep with?”

Ah, shit. Talk about jumping the gun. “Or, you know, whatever,” you said casually, shrugging.

Roger wasn’t fooled. “You trying to sleep with me?” he asked.

You gave him a sheepish smile. “Would you hate me if I said yes?”

Roger laughed. “Uh, no. I wouldn’t hate you. I’d probably take you home.”

“Oh!” you exclaimed. God, things had really turned around in the last ten minutes. “Well, in that case, yes I am. Been trying to all night, actually.”

“You’re joking,” Roger said with a disbelieving shake of his head. “Y’know, I knew you were. I could tell from the moment you said my name back at the flat. But I was talking to Freddie about it and he was all, ‘No, darling, that can’t be right, why would she want you when she has Brian, I really think you’re just a bit full of yourself’. But I knew it!”

“I’d just about given up at this point,” you admitted. “I had no freaking way of telling if you were into it or not.”

“Oh, I was,” Roger said. “I am.”

“Great!” you said. “Can we start making out now?”

Roger laughed again, and you laughed too, and then Roger was pulling you in for a kiss, and a strange concoction of excitement and relief washed through you.

It was exhilarating and wonderfully confusing for your brain to be making out with someone else. You had kissed a couple of people since your thing with Brian had started, but not really. And you’d slept with one other person, about two months ago now, but you hadn’t really needed to find anyone else to scratch that itch, as it were. Your thing with Brian took the guesswork out of sex, which was great. More room for exploring.

But the way Roger tilted his head was different from what you were used to, the way his lips moved with yours was different, the way his hand came to rest against your cheek gently was so, so different, and you couldn’t wait to experience everything with Roger for the first time.

It made you kiss him harder, clutch onto his shirt, and his arms wound around your waist.

When you broke apart, there was a beat where you both just stared at each other, where you allowed it to sink in that you’d both finally crossed that threshold. You could see Roger trying to read your face for any signs of hesitation, as you were trying to read in his.

You let out a breathless laugh, and Roger did the same. His smile was nervous, but his eyes gleamed with anticipation. He glanced away, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “Um,” he said.

“Yeah,” you said.

“You’re – you’re good,” Roger said, looking back to you, his cheeks going pink. “You’re… really good at that.”

“What, kissing?”

“Yeah. That.”

You chuckled. “Thank you. You are too.”

“Thanks.”

Another beat, and you both started laughing again, and then your eyes were meeting, and then you were pulling him in to kiss him again.

Now that the first kiss was out of the way, you allowed the kiss to develop, to deepen. Trying a few things, figuring out what Roger liked and what he didn’t. Most importantly, how he responded to something he did like.

Right off the bat, an unexpected discovery: he was far gentler than Brian was. You didn’t want to spend the whole night comparing the two, but it was hard not to, in the privacy of your own mind. While Brian kissed like he was pissed at you, like he was desperate to tear your clothes off at any given point, Roger kissed like he had nothing else on his mind but the feeling of your mouth against his. With Brian there was teeth – nipping at each other’s lips, at each other’s throats. With Roger there was the press of tongues, the drag of lips across skin.

It was good – it was great, and super hot, but it was driving you fucking mental. You had no idea how to handle this. There was nothing to push back on, not like with Brian. Nothing to fight against.

Maybe Roger really didn’t have a Daddy kink. Surely someone this… tender couldn’t be into something like that.

You pulled back. Roger’s lips were a little swollen, his hair a little mussed, his eyes a little glazed, and he looked divine.

“I’m not… This isn’t going too… fast for you, is it?” you asked, unsure.

Roger frowned. “No?”

You shrugged helplessly. “You just seem… I don’t know. Um – gentle?”

Roger quirked an eyebrow. “Do you want me to be rougher?”

“No, no, don’t – you don’t have to be,” you said quickly. “It’s just, um… not…”

Roger’s other eyebrow joined his first, up high. “Not what you’re used to?” he said slowly, and then he laughed. “Man, Brian is a bloody beast. How rough is he with you?”

You could feel your cheeks burning, despite yourself. “I – I just mean….”

Roger cupped your face, smiling reassuringly. “It’s fine. I’m sorry for teasing.”

You scoffed. “Two apologies in one night. Who are you and what have you done with Roger?”

“I’m in a generous mood. But it’s a one-night-only deal, so savour it.”

You laughed, and leant in for another kiss, but Roger leant back, out of reach.

“But,” he said.

You swallowed down a small whine. “Mm?”

“I don’t care how Brian fucks you,” Roger said softly. “Because you’re with me tonight. So we’re gonna do it my way.”

Oh.

“And what if I don’t want your way?” you said, unable to resist the challenge.

“Don’t knock it till you tried it, sweetheart,” Roger said. “I mean, I can switch things up if you’re downright miserable, but if you’re used to rough, then I’m gonna go real nice and gentle.”

You considered this. “Okay,” you said slowly, nodding. Not really up your alley, but you could work with that, just for one night.

“I mean real nice and gentle,” Roger said, looking at you pointedly, sliding a hand up your thigh.

It began to dawn on you. “You mean… so gentle it’s gonna make me want to…”

“Scream? Beg for it?” Roger grinned. “All of the above?”

You broke out into a smile. “Oh,” you said. That you could get on board with.

But still: “And what if I don’t wanna do that, huh? What if I want to make you beg for me?”

Roger cocked his head to one side, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. “I should’ve guessed you’d say something like that.”

“If you want me to stay still, you’re going to have to tie me down.”

Roger paused, and you wondered if you’d gone a step too far, but then he said, “I’ll decide if that’s how I want you or not.”

Okay. Okay. This was so far shaping up to be quite an interesting night.

You went to kiss him, but he pulled back again, and you sighed in frustration.

“Roger.”

Roger smirked. “Ask me.”

You glared. “I’m not going to ask if I can kiss you when I know you want me to.”

“Ask me.”

“No.”

“Do it.”

The tone of his voice left no room for any other option.

You clenched your jaw, and growled, “Can I kiss you.”

“A ‘please’ would be nice.”

You gaped at him. “You fucking twat.”

Roger just shrugged a shoulder.

He looked so smug, the arsehole. It made you want to kiss him even more. “Can I please kiss you?” you ground out through gritted teeth.

Roger smiled. “Was that so hard?”

“Fuck you,” you said, and surged forward, kissing him forcefully.

But, sure enough, he didn’t rise to the bait – he pulled back just enough to break the kiss, and then re-initiated it himself, gentle and tender.

Your hands were almost starting to shake by this point. You were going to scream. You needed that push-back, you needed that fire. This was water, this was air, so careful and light, and it was made so much worse by the fact that Roger was doing it just to make you desperate. And, fuck it all, it was really, really working.

You ducked your head to suck on Roger’s neck as you went for his jeans, and he drew in a gasp, one of his hands in your hair – not pulling or grabbing, just there – and the other on the small of your back, pressing lightly.

“We’re on the front porch,” Roger murmured, moaning softly as you soothed with your tongue the hickey you’d just made.

“Don’t care,” you panted, tossing the belt buckle open and yanking on the button of Roger’s jeans.

“I do,” Roger said. “Stop.”

You stilled your hands, your breath hot against Roger’s neck.

“Look at me.”

You sat up, taking your hands back. “Sorry.”

Roger’s eyes were sharp on yours. “It’s all right,” he said. “But you’re not to do anything like that again without asking me first. Got it?”

You opened your mouth to protest – you weren’t going to beg like a dog – but Roger gave you a look that said he knew exactly what you were going to say.

“My way,” he said.

You shuddered, and nodded.

“Use your words.”

“Your way,” you said, and then, without thinking, added, “Nickleback.”

Roger blinked, and then laughed. “What?”

You felt your face turn red. “Oh,” you said. “Um. That’s– that’s our… Brian and my… ‘Nickleback’ is our safeword. Sorry, I just sort of said it automatically.”

“Makes sense,” Roger said. “Nothing kills the mood–”

“Like Nickleback, yeah,” you finished. “That’s the conclusion we came to.”

Roger hesitated. “Were you… using it? The safeword?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s just sort of – like I said, it’s automatic, when, er, things start to – heat up. I always say it, just to say, like, that I understand where this is going, and I’m on board, and I’m making sure we both know the safeword.”

Roger’s eyes widened. “Blimey, you’ve really got this down pat, haven’t you?”

“You’re lucky I do,” you said. “Otherwise we’d both be walking into this blindly, and that sounds like a recipe for disaster if I’d ever heard it.”

“Did you and Brian walk into it blindly?”

“Brian…” You bit your lip. “He’d had a tiny bit of experience. Not much.”

Roger blew a raspberry. “Fucking hell. Learning more and more about him tonight.”

“We should come up with a new one,” you said. “A new safeword. Just for us.”

Roger swallowed, and nodded, licking his lips as he thought. “Macca.”

“Macca?” you repeated. “Like, Paul McCartney Macca?”

“It was the first thing that popped into my head.”

“Sounds just fine to me.” You grinned. “Macca it is.”

The ride back to Roger’s was beautifully tense. You barely even spoke to each other, but your hands stayed in contact in the middle seat between you the entire way. Roger’s fingers fiddled with yours. Your whole body thrummed. You made sure to send Brian a quick text. You tossed up how to word it, but in the end settled on simply: rog and I are on the way back to urs.

You were expecting him to not reply for a good while, if at all, but he must have been looking at his phone when you messaged. Lucky bastard. So, does he like being called Daddy?

how fast do u think this works, brian, you replied. idk yet.

It worked pretty quickly for me.

we’d been fucking for a while already, did u forget that?

Okay, all right, I see your point, Brian replied. I’m just deadly curious, is all. Have fun. Hope it goes well. If he’s just absolutely horrible, just send me a text and I’ll come right over and make you come until you you’re crying.

You swallowed down a laugh. thanks. looks like rog isn’t the only one who gets jealous. enjoy the party, you sent, and put your phone away.

You glanced over at Roger, to find him watching you. You felt your body flush with warmth. “What?” you asked lowly, a smile spreading across your face.

Roger shook his head, and just hummed. His hand shifted, his fingers brushing yours, and you bit your lip. Your heart was trying to break out of your ribcage, and you couldn’t fucking wait to tear Roger’s clothes off.

This was the part you loved almost more than anything else: the lead-up. The suffocating sexual tension. The moment before the bomb exploded.

You and Roger barely touched each other as you climbed out of the Uber and headed up to the flat. There was some conversation, but not much. You were well and truly wet by the time Roger got his keys out to open the front door, and you squeezed your thighs together to try to relieve some of the tension.

Roger opened the door. He headed inside.

You followed, and closed the door behind you.

You grinned, and hurried after Roger, taking his wrist and tugging on it, turning him towards you. You leant in for a kiss, ready for that bomb to explode, but he pulled back.

You wanted to punch the wall.

“Did you ask if you could kiss me?” Roger murmured.

You tutted, rolling your eyes. “Roger, come on, we’re alone now.”

A smile grew on Roger’s lips. “And?”

You studied his face. It was plain as day that he meant it, and he meant it wholeheartedly. Your whole being was begging you to grab him, to kiss him, to claw at his clothes until they were in tatters on the ground. You narrowed your eyes. “Can I kiss you?” you growled. “Please?”

“Oh, honey,” Roger said – so condescendingly it almost sounded like he was cooing at you – and he reached up to stroke your cheek. You instinctively turned your head a little, going to nip at his fingers, to invite them into your mouth, same as you would with Brian, but Roger just moved his hand out of the way. “I think you can ask me a little nicer than that, don’t you?”

You let out a sound of frustration, gripping his wrist tighter. “Roger.”

Roger paused, his eyes flicking aside in thought, but they settled back on you. He cocked his head to the side. “You don’t want to be here all night, do you?”

“Of course not,” you huffed. “So can we get on with it?”

“Ask me nicely. I don’t want to have to say it again.”

A small whine slipped from your throat, and you felt your will start to crumble. “Please,” you said in a small voice.

“Please what?”

“Please can I kiss you?”

Roger smiled, extremely pleased with himself. Fucking dick. “Yes, you can.”

You were in half a mind to outright refuse, despite the fact you’d just asked. To tell him no, you weren’t going to kiss him, actually, and he could go shove it up his ass.

But you were too desperate not to. So you kissed him, and he kissed you back, and for all of his pomp and circumstance, you could feel how eager he was through the way he breathed in sharply when your lips met, through the movement of his jaw, through the force of his hands gripping at your waist, pulling you against him. It was blissfully relieving, to finally have something more solid to work with.

But then Roger let you go, his fingers relaxing against you, his lips drawing away from yours.

You leant in further, clutching at his shirt, and he chuckled, and pressed the lightest, briefest kiss to your lips before he took your hands and pried them away. “Stop it,” he said, and his voice left no room for questioning.

You went slack, rocking back onto your heels with a huff. You pouted.

“God, you’re so worked up,” Roger chuckled.

“Yeah, bitch, I fuckin’ am!” you said. You had the inexplicable urge to stomp your foot. You suppressed it, but only just. “We’ve only kissed twice! Forgive me if I’m more than a little horny!”

Roger’s eyes were dark on yours, and he looked delighted by your outburst. “You’re doing well,” he said, his voice warm with appraisal. And arousal – oh yeah, plenty of that. “You’re actually behaving a lot better than I thought you would.”

Half of you bristled at that, at the accusation that you didn’t have as much fight in you as first thought, and the other half melted at the praise.

Roger kissed you again, his free hand skimming your waist gently. His other hand still held your wrists tightly, and your stomach clenched in irritation.

When Roger broke away, he let you go, and said, “Stay here. Don’t move.”

Then he left, heading towards his bedroom.

You pursed your lips. God fucking damn it, this was frustrating.

So you stripped to your underwear. You’d come prepared, of course, wearing your nice stuff. You kept your choker and your heels on, and draped your dress over the back of the couch.

“Sorry, I was just making sure my room was cle–” Roger’s jaw just about hit the floor, and he stopped in his tracks in the hallway. “Oh,” he said.

“You were taking too long,” you said, crossing your arms, cocking your hip. Roger drank you in, licking his lips, and then he met your eyes. “How many fucking times do I have to tell you to ask for permission?”

You grinned. “Maybe one more time.”

“The fucking cheek,” he said. He stepped into the living room, and then pointed down the hallway. “Go to my room.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Are you grounding me?” you asked.

“Go to my room, take off your shoes and your necklace, and sit on the edge of my bed,” Roger said. “Now.”

Oh, you wanted to protest. You really wanted to fight back. You wanted him to make you, to grab your wrist and drag you there, to shove you onto the bed, all the while bitching about how annoying and disobedient you were.

But this wasn’t Brian.

Roger’s way, you reminded yourself, and sighed, uncrossing your arms. “Fine.”

“Good,” Roger said, and as you went to walk past him, he took your elbow, stopping you, and kissed you softly, making your knees weak.

You hurried to his bedroom and did as you were told. You crossed one knee over the other, squeezing your thighs together, a soft sound slipping from your lips as you did so.

Roger entered not long after you’d sat down, and he smiled when he saw you. “Good,” he said again.

You squirmed.

“How turned on are you right now?” he asked, almost disbelievingly, his smile widening.

“Why don’t you come and find out?” you said. Roger chuckled. “Stand up.”

You did.

“Good.” Roger walked over to you. “When I kiss you, you’re not to touch me, understand?”

You scowled, but nodded.

“Use your words.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Nicely.”

“Yes, I understand.”

Roger bit his bottom lip. “Fuck, good girl.”

Warmth rushed from your toes to your head, and you let out a small moan.

It didn’t go unnoticed. “Oh, you like being called that?” Roger said.

“Yeah,” you breathed.

Roger sucked in a breath, but got a hold of himself, and said, “Then do as I say and I’ll call you a good girl when you’ve earned it.”

You nodded.

“Words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

You felt your stomach drop. How ironic, after this whole exercise, that you calling Roger ‘Daddy’ had been entirely an accident.

And you might have very well fucked everything up by doing so.

Roger didn’t seem to know how to react. His first instinct seemed to be to laugh, but it seemed off, an odd giggle, almost, and his cheeks were turning pink. “Um,” he said, “okay.”

Your stomach twisted in embarrassment. “Fuck, Rog, I’m sorry, it just slipped out. ‘Good girl’ is– it’s sort of– the whole… the whole ‘Daddy’ thing and the ‘good girl’ thing go hand-in-hand, so when you started saying… Shit, I’m sorry.”

Roger ran a hand through his hair. He seemed so flustered that he could barely look at you. “It’s fine, it’s all right.”

“I’m super fuckin’ embarrassed now,” you said with an awkward chuckle, covering your cheeks with your hands. “Ah, shit. So not cool of me.”

“No, I’m– it’s okay,” Roger reassured you, taking your hands. “I’m– Frankly, I’m just surprised that you… felt like calling me that. After everything.”

“It was an accident,” you said. “Just instinct.”

“But I– I triggered that instinct, right? That’s what happened?”

You weren’t sure what Roger was angling for. “Y– uh, yeah. You calling me ‘good girl’, and the whole… Yeah.”

Roger nodded, and then chuckled. “How, um, how funny would it be if– if you called me that? Like, tonight? Right?” Another odd giggle. “Like, you call Brian that, but I can be all like that too? Like, I can make you say that by accident? That’d… be so funny.”

Oh. Oh-ho. Oh-ho-ho.

Fucking knew it, you thought to yourself.

You tried to hide how smug you felt, and instead played along. “Yeah, it’d be pretty funny,” you said. “I feel like we should almost do it for the meme of it, you know?”

Roger was very flustered now, and doing only a semi-good job of hiding it. “Kinda, yeah.”

“Like, we wouldn’t have to tell anyone,” you said. “It’d just be funny.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, like…” You licked your lips, thinking, and then reached out to Roger, tentatively, not wanting to push anything. When your hand splayed across his chest, he didn’t move, so you leant into it. “Like, it’d be funny to laugh about how, like, funny it would be if you liked being called Daddy, and I liked calling you that.”

Roger swallowed heavily. “If you– What?”

You stepped in close, and nipped at his earlobe. “If I liked calling you that,” you murmured, and he shuddered. “If I liked you being in charge and ordering me around.” You kissed just below his ear, your other hand moving to cup him through his jeans. “You’re doing a good job of it, you know. Of keeping me in line. I’m not easy to handle.” You kissed down his throat, and then under his ear again.

You smiled as you whispered, “It’s okay, Daddy. I won’t tell anyone.”

Roger sucked in an unsteady breath. “Yeah, that’d– that’d be so funny,” he said shakily, and you laughed, kissing his neck again, you both felt and heard his quiet moan.

“Please, Daddy, I need you,” you said in between kisses, and Roger shivered again. “Tell me what you want me to do? Please?”

Roger breathed out, breathed in, and then said, “L– Lie down on the bed for me.”

You obeyed, propping yourself up on one elbow, grinning in excitement as you watched Roger shaking himself, trying to clear his thoughts.

“You’re so pretty,” you said. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Of course they have,” Roger said. “Don’t be cheeky.” He kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks, took off his shirt, dumping them aside, and you made a grabby hand at him.

“Daddy, please,” you whined. “Come fuck me.”

“Just because that’s – a thing now,” Roger said, “doesn’t mean you’re any more in control than before. Don’t let it get to your head.”

You weren’t convinced. “I know.”

“Stop smiling at me like that,” Roger said, pointing a finger. “I’m serious. Don’t be a brat. You were behaving so well before.”

You patted the bed insistently. “Come on.”

“What did I say?” Roger raked his fingers through his hair. “If you’re not going to behave…”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Then what?”

Roger thought for a moment. “Then you’re not getting off.”

Brian had made similar threats a thousand times before. He never followed through. “Uh-huh.”

“I mean it.” He pulled off his jeans, leaving them on the ground.

“Mm-hm.”

“You know what?” Roger crawled onto the bed, over you, and you happily grabbed at him, but he sat back onto your hips and took your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand.

“You know what’ll happen if you don’t stop being a brat?” he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips and nose along your throat. “I’ll fuck you. Fuck you good and deep. But I’ll make sure I do it in just the right way that, no matter what you do, you won’t be able to come. I’ll do it for as long as I like, and you’ll be so close, but not close enough. And when I’m done, I’ll leave you here, all worn out and exhausted but still so, so desperate and horny for me.” He pressed the lightest kiss to your racing pulse. “And I mean it, sweetheart. Don’t test me.”

Could you have come on the spot from that threat alone? Maybe.

“Got it?”

“Yeah. Yes, Daddy, I got it.”

Roger nuzzled at your throat, like he just couldn’t help it. “Good girl,” he murmured. Then he chuckled, drawing back. “I honestly cannot believe how fucking hot I find that.” He wasn’t lying – his boxers were tented, and you could see a small wet patch has formed on the material.

You smiled. “Yeah,” you said, a little breathlessly. You were more focused on how Roger wasn’t kissing you, wasn’t touching you, apart from where he held your wrists. You were almost shaking under his touch. This was excruciating. Fucking excruciating. The aching between your legs was almost unbearable.

“I… Daddy, please, I need more,” you begged. “Please.”

Roger licked his lips. “More what, sweetheart?”

“More anything, please.”

Roger hummed, dusting a kiss to your lips. “Are you getting uncomfortable?”

“It – it hurts,” you admitted.

“You’re that desperate, are you?”

“Yes.”

Roger smiled. “Okay, sweetheart. You’re being so good for me, I know it must be hard for you. Why don’t you strip naked for me?”

Relief washed through you, and Roger climbed off you so you could tear off your bra and underwear. You went for Roger’s underwear, but he stopped you with a hand, looking at you expectantly.

“Please, Daddy, can I take these off for you?” you asked immediately.

“Yes, you can,” Roger said, sounding far less smug now, and way more turned on instead.

You helped him out of them, and it filled you with glee to see just how hard Roger was, swollen and red. Surely you weren’t the only one on the verge of a damn breakdown over how horny you were.

“Lie down,” Roger said, and you did.

Your stomach fizzled with excitement. “Thank you, Daddy,” you said, and you surprised yourself. God, you must have been really be desperate. Never in your fucking life had you ever thanked Brian for something like that. You’d rather have been shot in the face.

But when Roger settled between your legs and stroked a finger through your folds, just feeling how wet you were, you gasped, and out tumbled, “Thank you, Daddy, please, please, thank you.”

Fuck. Okay. New development.

Roger seemed equally as taken aback. “Shit,” he whispered, and then his tongue was licking a long stripe through you as he pushed a finger into you, and you arched off the bed.

“Daddy, can I please hold your hair?” you blurted out in a rush.

Roger paused to say, “Yes, sweetheart,” and one hand went to his hair, gripping onto it, the other one scrabbling at the sheets beside you.

Roger was barely even doing anything. In fact, the more time went on, the more you realised he was deliberately avoiding your clit, his tongue and fingers and nose touching everywhere but there.

You wanted to cry.

“Please,” you sobbed. “Please, I need– I need…”

Roger ignored you, and kept going. Every so often he’d nudge your clit or your G-spot, just giving you a taste of what you needed so badly, and it was like a fix, like a drug.

He only stopped when he had three fingers sliding in and out of you easily, and you were sweaty and trembling, and you were so on edge that a few well-timed clenches of your thighs could have made you come.

Roger wiped his face on the back of his hand, and hummed as he placed a light kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Good girl,” he said. “You’re doing so well.”

“Th-thank you, Daddy,” you said weakly. You knew you were leaking all over his bed sheets, but it wasn’t like there was anything you could do to stop it.

Roger rose to his feet, and your eyes dropped to his cock. You needed that inside you, right now.

“Are you gonna fuck me now?” you said.

Roger sighed, cocking his head in thought. “Do you think I should?”

“I would really like you to. Please.”

Roger seemed to consider it. “Okay,” he said eventually, and your heart soared. “Since you’ve been so good for me. But you’re not allowed to come until I do, okay?”

“Yes, Daddy. Thank you.”

“Have you ever done that before?” Roger asked, going to his closet to fetch a condom and some lube. “Stopped yourself from coming?”

“Once or twice.”

Roger nodded. He prepared himself, rolling on the condom and lubing himself up. You watched with hungry eyes.

“Have you ever been fucked from behind?” he asked, coming back to the bed.

Your eyes widened. Oh, man. “Not for a while.”

“I’ve been so very gentle with you,” Roger said, dropping the lube onto the floor. “I’m tired of it, I think.”

A smile spread across your face. “You are?”

“Get on all fours.”

You scrambled to do as he said, and he settled in behind you. His cock nudged your entrance, and your breathing quickened.

“Please,” you begged.

Roger lined himself up, and pushed inside you.

Your breath rushed out of you. Roger pulled out an inch and then slid in again, this time all the way to the hilt.

You gasped, panting.

“Good girl,” Roger said, squeezing your hip. “You okay?”

“So good, Daddy. Thank you.”

So Roger began fucking you. Each thrust hit you hard and deep, and your legs and arms shook. Your fingers were like claws on the sheets, and you moaned and whined as Roger’s hips snapped against your ass. It was so good, so fucking good, and when you fell onto your elbows and the angle changed, both you and Roger groaned deep.

You had no idea how you were going to stop yourself from coming before Roger did. If Roger so much as touched your clit, you knew it would be over in an instant. Hearing Roger’s grunts and gasps was almost enough to set you off alone. He had a gorgeous voice, and you knew you’d be dreaming about the growl of his voice, how rough and hoarse it was, for years.

Roger hit you in just the right way, and you almost squeaked as you nearly came. “Daddy, Daddy, I’m so close, I’m gonna come, please,” you pleaded, your voice breaking. “Please, Daddy, come in me, I’m too close.”

“Not yet,” Roger said, and you screwed your eyes shut, pouring everything you had into not coming. You thought about the biggest turn-offs you could think of – most of them involving your grandmother, poor thing – but it was hard when your thoughts kept snapping back to how fucking great Roger was fucking you.

You clenched around him, and he groaned. That didn’t help at all. You whined into your arms. You were so, so, so close.

Roger’s rhythm stuttered, and you gasped. “Fuck, please, Rog, come on,” you moaned. “Come inside me, Daddy, please.”

“Shit,” Roger hissed, and then he moaned, and let out a string of swear words as he came, driving hard into you, almost knocking you off-balance entirely.

You groaned. “Can I come now, please? Please?”

“Yes, of course,” Roger said. He pulled out of you, and you mewled pathetically, but he pushed you onto your back and then his fingers pushed into you as his tongue finally, finally, massaged your clit.

It didn’t take much. Your orgasm rose like a wave and crashed into you, punching the breath from your lungs, and you cried out, your whole body shuddering, your thighs clenching around Roger’s head. He pushed your legs apart with his hands, his mouth still working your clit, and you whimpered through the aftershocks. Soon, it became too overwhelming, and you had to tell Roger to stop, which he did, pressing a kiss to your stomach as he crawled up to meet you. He took off and tied off the condom, dropping it beside his bed.

You both lay side by side, facing each other, panting. Roger’s nose and chin still glistened with you, and you reached over to wipe him clean.

“Thanks,” he said, and drew you in for a kiss.

The kisses were different from before. They were slow and lazy, unhurried. Tongues pressing against each other, the gentle graze of teeth against lips.

Roger rolled you over onto your back and held himself up above you to kiss your neck. “That was fucking hot,” he murmured in between kisses.

You hummed in agreement, your hands brushing up and down his sides.

Roger captured your lips again, and it was like he was making up for all the times he hadn’t kissed you – or only barely kissed you – earlier in the night, his kisses deep and hot, and you loved them.

The two of you made out for what felt like forever. Every time you broke apart and it seemed like things were settling down, there would be a moment, and then your lips were on his once again.

It was nice, just to kiss.

Eventually, though, you couldn’t ignore how badly you needed a shower.

Roger didn’t mind. “I’ll get you a towel,” he said, rolling out of bed and pulling on some tracksuit pants. “I honestly don’t know how you don’t have your own at this point, though.”

“Maybe I’ll just claim this next one as mine, then,” you said, sitting up. “Thanks, Daddy.”

Roger’s gait stuttered, and he blinked at you bewilderedly. “D– Uh, um.”

You laughed. “I’m just kidding,” you said. “Sorry, habit. I pull that shit with Brian all the time, calling him Daddy super casually like that. He fuckin’ hates it.”

“I don’t hate it,” Roger said. “It just took me by surprise.”

You raised your eyebrows. “You don’t mind it?”

“I… like it, actually, I think.” Roger shrugged. “Guess I’m going all-in on the Daddy thing now. It’s sort of, like, a retro pet name, isn’t it? Like, fifties-style? It’s sort of cute, actually.”

He disappeared out the door, leaving you to drink in that unexpected bombshell. You went to reach for your phone, but you realised you’d left it in the living room, along with your dress.

Roger returned with a towel. “And your phone,” he said, as if reading your mind, tossing it onto the bed near you. “You have about fifty texts from Brian. He sounds sad and horny.”

“That’s just Brian,” you said, picking up your phone and scrolling through the messages. “And stop reading my texts, for God’s sake.”

“I didn’t mean to, they were just there,” Roger protested. “I didn’t open anything.”

“Not an excuse.” There were only seven messages from Brian, not fifty, and it was nothing important, apart from the last one, which said: Can I get an estimate as to when it would be all right for me to come home?

Now, you replied. You didn’t bother responding to the other ones – all you said was, We were right.

“I suppose you’re telling him about me?” Roger said, going to pick up his discarded condom from the floor.

You smiled sheepishly. “He wanted to know.”

Roger frowned. “What? About how I’m like in bed?”

“No, what the fuck,” you said. “Just whether you like to be called Daddy.”

Roger’s bottom lip jutted out. “Don’t tell him,” he complained.

“Too late.”

“You said you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“You told everyone about me and him.”

“I don’t want everyone knowing.”

“Brian won’t tell anyone. But also, still, hypocrite.”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“Sorry, dude, already told him.”

Roger sulked as he threw out the condom.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t sulk.”

“I can’t believe you told Brian.”

“I won’t tell him anything else.”

“I don’t care if you’d told him anything else.”

You climbed off the bed, and wrapped your arms around Roger’s neck, kissing the pout off his face. “It’s only fair,” you said. “You know he likes it, and, now, he knows you like it.”

“And we both know that you like it too,” Roger added with a cheeky smile.

“The entire fucking world knows it, thanks to you,” you grumbled. He kissed you, and then you took the towel, wrapping it around yourself.

It was strange, the next morning, to wake up beside Roger and not Brian. To see a mop of blond instead of an explosion of brown, to gaze sleepily into big blue Bambi eyes instead of smaller hazel ones. They had different smiles, but the way they smiled at you was the same: with the same warmth and fondness, the same post-sex self-satisfaction.

It was even stranger to see that Brian was the one slouched over the dining table with the killer hangover, instead of Roger. You hadn’t heard Freddie or Brian come home the night before – John was staying at Veronica’s, you assumed – but, then again, you and Roger had fallen asleep pretty damn hard after your fun night. Roger had told you he wasn’t big into cuddles after sex, but you could testify that when he was asleep, it was a very different story.

You weren’t the only one to notice the role reversal. “My my,” Freddie said, sipping on a cup of tea as Brian hid his face in his arms, and Roger pottered around the kitchen, humming to himself. “How the tables have turned.”

You smiled, but said nothing.

“I shouldn’t be worried, should I?” Freddie asked. “You’re not going to come after me next?”

“I’d be worried about me beating your ass if you keep up that sort of shit,” you muttered, and Freddie laughed.

Brian moaned, turning his head to tuck his nose into the crook of his elbow. “Be quiet, you’re too loud,” he mumbled miserably.

A few weeks passed. There was undoubtedly more flirting between you and Roger, but sleeping together had only been a one-off thing. It made things more interesting with Brian in the bedroom, in a way – he sometimes got jealous of the way you and Roger teased each other, and it made him rougher, more possessive. Sometimes you liked it, liked the bruises Brian left on your body that Roger most definitely noticed, and other times you liked to fight back against it until Brian was begging and apologising. Roger noticed the bruises you left on Brian, too.

Sometimes you wondered what it would be like to cave, to give in to Brian completely, like you had with Roger. But that would be too strange with Brian. You had no idea whether he’d even like it.

No, that had been something for you and Roger, and you and Roger alone. But, fuck, it had been good.

Almost three weeks exactly after your adventure with Roger, another party sprouted that Freddie and Roger were invited to, so of course that included you, Brian, John, and Veronica. You got together for pre-drinks, played some dumb game that Freddie insisted you all play, and flirted with Brian and Roger to your heart’s desire. At the party, as usual, you and Brian took the first chance you could get to sneak off somewhere – around the side of the house, in the dark, bracing against the cold in your shorts and top, as it ended up being – to stick your tongues down each other’s throats. When you made your way back to the party, Brian sporting a new bright red-purple bruise at the base of his neck, you spied Roger, and how his eyes zeroed in on Brian’s throat, and then he took a huge gulp of the alcoholic concoction he’d brought to the party, an entire litre-bottle of soda water with far too much vodka poured into it.

John and Veronica had eventually said their goodbyes. Freddie went a while later, reluctantly, and then it was just you, Brian, and Roger. You were happily drunk, everything around you fuzzy but in a blissful way. Brian was at the level of drunkenness where his hands couldn’t seem to stay away from you, they were magnetised to your waist, your back, your shoulders, your ass, your wrists, your hands, regardless of how many people saw it. Sometimes it was a bit much, and you had to tell him to stop being clingy, and he listened, until he forgot that you’d told him and his hands were back on you again.

Roger, however, was past the point of no return.

It hadn’t taken long for you and Brian to decide that it was time to put Roger into an Uber and send him on his way.

You both waited with him out the front. It was almost three in the morning, but the alcohol kept most of the chill of the night at bay. Roger was unusually quiet, and his behaviour reminded you of that afternoon when he’d first found out about your and Brian’s Daddy kink – there was something he wanted to say, badly, but he didn’t.

“I have to piss,” Brian announced to everyone but also no one in particular, and he made sure to drop a kiss to your cheekbone before he left, stumbling a little as he went.

Roger’s eyes were trained on him for a long time. As well as they could be, given Roger’s state. After far too long, his gaze wove its way to you.

He took in a breath. And he spoke. “I have… somethin’ to tell you,” he slurred.

“Yeah?” you said.

He blew out a lungful of air, and took a swig of beer. “Oh, bugger. Fuck. No. I shouldn’t say.”

“Okay,” you said. “That’s fine.”

“Fuck,” Roger moaned, rubbing at his eye. “God, I can’t believe I’m gonna tell you this. I really… shouldn’t fuckin’ be telling you this.”

“You don’t have to,” you said. “It’s all right.”

“No, I’m going to.” Roger took another gulp of beer. “Oh, God.”

“Rog, it’s fine,” you assured him, your stomach twisting with nerves. “Look, I’m just gonna walk away. I don’t want you to regret telling me something you shouldn’t have. Okay? It’s all right.”

“I want you,” Roger blurted desperately.

You screeched to a halt. And so did your brain. “Oh,” you said, unsure of what else to say. “Ah. Was… Was that it? Did I not run away fast enough?”

Roger nodded, pouting.

“I’m sorry,” you said. Your heart was pounding against your ribcage.

“Oh, fuck,” Roger sighed. “I shouldn’t have– have told you.”

He looked so miserable with himself that you wanted to reach out and touch him, to comfort him, but it felt wrong, given this new revelation, so you held back. “What do you mean, you want me?” you asked.

“I mean I… think about you, all the time,” Roger said. “The sex we had was fuckin’ incredible. It was so hot.”

You couldn’t deny that. And, in all honesty, your core throbbed a little at hearing Roger admit it so openly. “It was, yeah,” you said. “We were super hot together.”

“I want that again,” Roger said. “I want you.”

You took a steadying breath. “Do you mean right now? I’m not sleeping with you now, Roger. You’re wasted.”

Roger shook his head. “No, I know, I don’t mean that. I want you… like how Bri has you. God, I can’t stop thinking about all the shit you told me, all the weird – freaky – sex – shit he gets to do with you. I fucking want that.” He sobbed, clutching at his beer bottle. “I want that so bad. I’m losing my mind.”

You smiled reassuringly. “You don’t need me to do all of that,” you said. “You can do as much weird freaky sex shit as you want.”

“But I want it with you,” Roger said, and your body was starting to thrum. “Because… Because I know you, and you’re hot, and we’ve had fuckin’ hot sex already, and you’ve… made this thing with Brian work for fuckin’ forever. Do you know how in– insane that is? You two have been fucking for months, and you’re not even dating. And you’re allowed to fuck whoever else you want on top of that. I’m so jealous. You fuckin’… You literally went and – and had sex tonight, just out of the blue, at this goddamn party, just coz you felt like it. That’s so hot, I can’t stop thinking about it. Do you know how insane your… whole thing is? Do you?”

“Yeah, I know,” you said with a smile. “If I hadn’t known already, I have plenty of people telling me. Like you. And we didn’t have sex tonight, by the way. We just made out.”

“And I know it’s insane,” Roger continued without missing a beat. “But, Jesus, I want it.” He sighed, his hands falling limp at his sides, his beer bottle almost slipping from his grip. “Would you want that?” he asked. “With me? If I asked you, would you say yes?”

You hesitated. The chance to get to sleep casually with Roger on a semi-regular basis? Sure, you’d want that. But your thing with Brian was, as Roger had so delicately put it, insane. Unique. It was a perfect understanding between two equal parties. The check-ins, the trust – it was a fucking amazing mixture of all the right things to be as sustainable as it was. And it had taken time to get it just so. Effort, on both parts. Awkward conversations, negotiations, confessions. For it to work, you both had to frequently lay your hearts bare to make sure they matched up. You couldn’t just jump right into that sort of thing with anyone.

You knew Roger had no real understanding of just how complex things had to be in order to make them so simple – how would he?

But maybe they didn’t have to be to complex with Roger. Just the casual sex – that was what Roger was referring to, wasn’t it? It could just be a every-once-in-a-while thing with him. It didn’t have to be as frequent as with Brian.

“I can share,” Roger added. “I was gonna say that before, but I forgot. I’m not– I’m not asking you out or anything. I wouldn’t try to, I dunno, steal you away from Brian. You guys are really close or whatever, so I’m not trying to… come between that. Just you and me could have a – regular thing going, too.”

You opened your mouth to speak, closed it again, then opened it once more. “It’s a little more complex than that, Rog,” you said. “My thing with Bri – there’s a lot of rules and stuff. So neither of us get hurt.”

“I can do that,” Roger said. “I can do rules.” He finished off the beer and set the bottle of the ground beside him, almost losing his balance as he did so. You grabbed onto him and helped him straighten up.

“So?” he said.

Headlights rounded the corner, and you squinted against them, Roger suddenly lost in the intense light behind him.

“Roger–”

“At least think about it?”

Could you do that? Could you really have a friends-with-benefits situation with two guys living in the same house?

Oh. Oh, man. Didn’t that thought just open up some doorways to new possibilities in your imagination.

Stop it, you thought to yourself.

The car slowed as it neared you.

“You know I’d fuck you good,” Roger said in a low voice. “I’ve done it before, I can do it again. And again. And again.”

The car stopped, and the window rolled down. “Roger?” the Uber driver called.

“Yeah, he’s here,” you said, giving the driver a wave.

Roger looked to you pleadingly.

“How about you ask me when you’re sober,” you said.

Roger grinned. “That’s not a no.”

“It’s not a yes, either,” you said warningly. “I want lots of sober thinking about this, okay?”

“You have no – idea how much I’ve thought about it,” Roger said. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it, sober and drunk.”

Your breath caught. “Well–” You cleared your throat. “Well, do some more. Then we can have a serious conversation about it. That’s all you can hope for at this point, got it?”

Roger nodded. “I can work with that.”

You opened the car door for him. “In you get.”

Roger hesitated.

“Roger.”

“Ask me,” he said.

You frowned. “Ask you what?”

“Ask me to get into the car. Call me Daddy.”

You sighed. “Roger, I’m not going to do that.”

“Do it.”

“No. You’re drunk, and we’re not flirting right now.”

Roger went to protest, but you said firmly, “Roger, I’m not going to do that. Now get in the car.”

Roger closed his mouth, his eyes slightly wide, and he swallowed, nodding. “Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly, and climbed into the car, closing the door.

As the car pulled away, disappearing down the street, your mouth hung open.

It stayed open long after the car had gone.

And then, to the chilly night air, you said, “Oh, fuck.”

#roger taylor x reader #brian may x reader #queen fanfiction #rpf #smut #mine #try verse

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danfanciesphil · 7 years ago

Text

Phan Teacher AU (Part 3)

(Part One)

(Part Two)

It’s Friday evening, finally, and Dan is in his kitchen making pasta, reflecting on the ups and downs of his first week in his new job. He stirs the penne in the saucepan, staring down into the bubbles.

The pasta does not, unsurprisingly, provide him with any insightful comments.

Being a TA is not as bad as he thought it would be, he eventually concludes, considering everything that’s happened to him at the school so far. The children don’t tease him like he feared they would; mostly they barely even register his existence. The faculty, whilst occasionally irritating or dull, are just normal people for the most part. It’s obvious that none of them are living their dreams, but aside from making them a little snarky, that doesn’t seem to matter to them.

None of this applies to Phil, of course.

Dan stops stirring pasta, the tips of his fingers tingling as a wave of admiration sweeps through his body. Phil Lester is an unexpected, but very welcome, perk of this job.

Dan had never even considered the idea that he might develop a crush when he accepted this position. Teaching has never appealed to him, so he has never found teachers attractive in the past. But, as he mentioned to Phil on his first day, Phil is not like any other teacher that Dan has ever met.

He switches the hob off, and finds a colander in one of the cupboards. It’s not his, obviously. Dan would never be organised enough to buy a household item as obscure as a colander, but his housemates won’t mind. Probably.

He drains his pasta, and scoops it into a bowl, then mixes it with some pesto. He adds some chopped cherry tomatoes and a sprinkle of cheese, then takes the bowl through to his bedroom.

He’s glad he has the house to himself tonight. His roommates are out on a date together, being an excruciatingly cute couple, as always.

He blames the exhaustion of first week in a full time job when he climbs onto his bed to eat, opening up his laptop. Facebook is open where he left it this morning, and out of nowhere, Dan gets an idea.

He pauses mid-chew, wondering if it would be crossing a line.

Then, before he can think his way out of it, he clicks the search bar and types ‘Phil Lester’.

A hundred Phil’s pop up at once. Dan scrolls through them, peering at the tiny display pictures, searching for dazzling blue eyes and a mop of jet black hair.

He’s about to give up, but then he sees it. As soon as he notices Phil’s photo, he wonders how he could have missed it amongst the sea of other Phil Lester imposters.

He clicks the image, heart speeding up a little. Phil’s profile fills the screen, and Dan’s eyes widen, skimming over the scant information like he’s trying to soak it all up at once.

Phil Lester [Image]

Intro:

💼 History Teacher at Rawtenstall Secondary School 🎓 Studied History and Philosophy at University of York 🎓 Studied French History at Université Paris-Sorbonne 🏠 Lives in Rossendale, Lancashire, United Kingdom 🏠 Lived in Paris, France 🏠 Lived in York, UK 🏠 Lived in Manchester, UK 📍 From Rossendale ❤️ Single

His eyes are drawn to the ‘relationship status’ part of his bio before he can stop them. Embarrassingly, he smiles into his pasta, as though it changed anything at all.

His photo is the most distracting part of the whole page. Dan stares at it as he chews, taking advantage of the opportunity to study Phil’s immaculate face. There’s something different about the photo-Phil, Dan thinks, trying to work it out. Belatedly, he realises that he’s never seen Phil dressed in anything other than a shirt.

The Phil in this picture is wearing a t-shirt in vibrant blue, covered in rows of white stars. There’s a red hemline around the neck and short sleeves too. It looks a bit like he’s low-key cosplaying as Captain America on his off-day, but somehow it suits him.

The picture-Phil is staring into the camera with that familiar intensity Dan recognises from the times he meets Phil’s gaze in real life. He’s smiling slightly, but it’s nothing compared to the way his beaming fills the classroom.

He clicks the photo, unable to resist seeing Phil’s face larger on his screen. He really is rather unnervingly attractive, Dan thinks, staring unashamedly at the pixels doing their best to replicate the swirling galaxies of Phil’s blue eyes.

He shovels more pasta into his mouth, sighing to himself. Just then, his phone buzzes. Reluctantly, Dan drags his eyes away from the screen, fishing it out of his pocket.

18:54 Unknown Number Hey Dan! This is Phil (Mr Lester)

Dan chokes on a tomato.

He reaches over to put his bowl of pasta on the bedside table, coughing, and turns back to his phone. Phil’s face continues staring out of his screen, those all-knowing, laser-eyes burrowing into his skull. Dan flushes, feeling caught out, and slams the lid of his laptop closed.

His phone buzzes again.

18:55 Unknown Number (the dorky guy who makes you wear capes and help children to build precarious structures out of tables and chairs)

Despite feeling as flustered by this unexpected text as a yanderé schoolgirl encountering her senpai, Dan snorts at the joke.

Fingers trembling a little, Dan adds Phil’s name to his contacts, and spends around three minutes typing and retyping a response.

18:58 Dan Howell did i forget giving you my number in a cringey attempt at gaining friends in my new job or something 😅

18:58 Phil Lester 🌠 hah! no i actually got it from the school office 😳

Dan frowns in confusion.

18:59 Dan Howell Is that even allowed?

19:00 Phil Lester 🌠 Not sure. But I’m very charming, so it wasn’t an issue 😉

19:01 Phil Lester 🌠 I told them I wanted to ask you something important, related to class

Dan’s heart immediately sinks. That makes sense, he supposes, reaching for his pasta again. Phil’s just messaging him to discuss something work-related. Nothing to get excited about, after all.

He types out a quick response, then places his phone aside, filling the disappointment-void opening inside of him with mouthfuls of pasta.

19:02 Dan Howell Oh cool. Do you need me to do something for Monday’s class?

19:03 Phil Lester 🌠 I just need to ask you somethng in preparation

19:03 Dan Howell Ask away Mr Lester

19:04 Phil Lester 🌠 Do you think the Year Nine’s will laugh at me if I wear this in class (Attached: 1 image)

Dan stares at the message, uncomprehending. He scrolls down, laughing in surprise as he sees the photo Phil has included.

It’s a picture of him, close up, with his chin raised, exposing his neck. Around his shirt collar is a bowtie, white with black polka dots.

19:06 Dan Howell Without a shadow of a doubt, yes, they will laugh at you. Sorry bud.

19:07 Phil Lester 🌠 Perfect! Thanks.

Dan waits expectantly, glancing at his phone every few seconds as he finishes up his pasta. After he’s scraped the bowl clean, he picks the phone up again, wondering vaguely if he’s hallucinating this entire conversation.

19:13 Dan Howell Is that it???

19:14 Phil Lester 🌠 Your TA duties are complete. Pls feel free to go forth and enjoy your weekend, Mr Howell

Dan blinks at the text, very confused. He’s about to shove the phone in his pocket, when another text comes through.

19:15 Phil Lester 🌠 And enjoy a cool photo of ur new favourite teacher, now saved to your camera roll free of charge

19:16 Dan Howell How do u know I won’t delete it

19:17 Phil Lester 🌠 Uh, you’d better not. I don’t hand these selfies out to just anyone Daniel

A little thrill shimmers through Dan’s veins at the sight of Phil using his full name.

19:18 Dan Howell dw I’ve got it as my wallpaper already. I might even print it out, frame it for my wall

19:20 Phil Lester 🌠 Beats stalking through my Facebook albums I bet 😉

Dan’s heart actually stops for a moment, he’s sure. No, he thinks, feeling cold sweat pearling on his brow. There’s no way Phil could know something like that, surely.

He decides to try laughing it off, still terrified.

19:21 Dan Howell Pfft as if m8

19:22 Phil Lester 🌠 tbf if you had stalked me I’d be super miffed you didn’t friend request me

Dan’s muscles melt of tension, the relief flooding out of his pores. Phil had just been stabbing in the dark with a weirdly accurate aim.

19:23 Dan Howell aw u wanna be my fb friend? Cute.

Dan opens his laptop again, clicking determinedly off Phil’s profile, feeling his cheeks heat like he’s being watched. He’s just about to click off of Facebook altogether, when he gets a notification.

Phil Lester has sent you a friend request!

Dan blinks at the message, gawping.

His phone buzzes.

19:26 Phil Lester 🌠 yes please

Dan spends the weekend wishing for it to end, which is an entirely new experience for him.

His housemates invite him out for drinks on Saturday night at their local pub. Dan doesn’t bother attempting to refuse; Teddy and Tyler are not the sort of people who can be successfully argued with.

They fail to mention, however, that they have invited a bunch of other people to join them for drinks, including Stephanie, Dan’s ex-girlfriend. As a result, the evening turns into Dan downing more pints than he is able to handle in order to deal with the glares from the girl he dumped a few months ago.

At the end of the night, Tyler and Teddy have Dan’s arms over their shoulders, and are merrily singing The Phantom of the Opera as they drag him home. They take off Dan’s shoes and trousers for him and lay him in bed, laughing away at Dan being a lightweight, and then promptly climb in either side of him.

Dan groans, feeling nauseous and irritable. He loves his housemates in many ways, but they are really annoying.

“Unngh, get out,” he says, half into his pillow. Instead of obeying, Tyler and Teddy wrap Dan in their arms, squeezing him tightly.

“Aw, Dan’s a grump because he had to face Scary Stephanie,” Tyler teases.

“She was more terrifying than usual tonight,” Teddy muses. “Have you spoken to her since... y’know?”

Dan doesn’t reply; he’s too focused on trying to pretend he is currently alone in this bed. He has his eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to block out all evidence to the contrary.

“Since he callously ripped out poor Stephy’s heart?” Tyler supplies, giggling. “I’d say he’s prrrobably been avoiding her since then, right Danny?”

In the hopes it might get him some peace and quiet, Dan nods.

“I still don’t get it,” Teddy says with a shrug that jostles the bed. “She’s pretty, and she isn’t a complete bore. Why chuck her?”

“Ted, you know why,” Tyler says, his voice mocking. “Dan’s a big fat gay now.”

Dan groans in frustration, elbowing Tyler in the side. “‘M not!”

“Okay, that is bi-erasure, Ty.” Teddy admonishes, though there’s a smile in his voice.

“Bi, gay, whatever.” Tyler says. “The point is, Dan’s ready to embrace his twink side at long last.”

Dan sighs, rolling his eyes despite them being shut. “Hate you both.”

“Um, no...” Tyler corrects, sounding affronted. “You love us to bits. Especially ‘cause we’re gonna take you to the hottest gay clubs in town and find you a big, beefy bear to help you transition to the dark side.”

Tyler tickles Dan in the side, making him shriek. Teddy joins in then, laughing uproariously at Dan’s reaction.

“No, stop, I’ll throw up on you both!” Dan cries, feebly attempting to fight back.

“Say you love us, Dan!” Tyler cries over Dan’s agonised laughter. “Say it!”

“I’ll say it if you fuck off!”

“Deal!” Teddy shouts.

Despite this, in the morning, as predicted, Dan wakes up with his two terrible excuses for housemates still snoring in his bed.

As soon as Dan’s alarm sounds on Monday morning, Dan hops out of bed, eager for the day to begin.

He showers and brushes his teeth in lightning time, then spends twenty minutes sorting out his hair and changing his outfit. He tries not to think about why he’s so obsessed with his appearance today.

After his fifth change of shirt, Dan checks the time and realises he’s about to miss his bus. Swearing loudly, he bolts out of the door, just about managing to grab his bag and coat on the way. Tyler snorts with laughter at him as he goes, blowing a kiss, and Dan just legs it to the bus stop.

He makes it, just, but only because the bus is a minute late. Luck must be on his side today, he thinks as he struggles to get his breath back on the jolting bus, sweaty and already exhausted, his stomach rumbling.

Forty minutes later, he’s wading through the swarms of schoolkids up the front steps, heart beginning to pound as he thinks about what lies ahead.

He doesn’t need to check his timetable to know which class he has first today.

He gets to Classroom Nine ten minutes early, unable to dissuade himself from seizing the opportunity to spend a little bit extra time talking to Phil.

This plan backfires a little when he opens the classroom door to find it empty and dark.

He debates what to do, dithering on the spot, and then decides to just come back in a little while. He turns to leave, and bumps straight into Phil’s chest, spilling the mugs of coffee he’s holding in either hand.

“Ow!” Phil shrieks, and Dan plunges feet-first into the hole opening beneath him in the earth.

“Shit, shit, sorry!” Dan cries, taking the mugs from Phil’s hands as he flaps his hands in distress.

“Ah!” Phil hisses, shaking his sleeves as they drip with hot coffee. “No, it’s cool don’t worry- crap, that was hot.”

“I’ll get some napkins or something- ” Dan says, at a loss for what else to do.

Phil chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s fine, Dan, I’ll live.” He straightens up, smiling at Dan in reassurance. “So, I brought you a coffee!”

Dan stares at him in dismay. “I am so sorry.”

Phil laughs. “I know. It’s fine. I just hope there’s some left in the mug.”

Dan turns his attention to the cups in his hands. “Yeah, there is. Um, thank you.”

“No problem.” Phil says with a smile, then takes one of the mugs from him.

He steps carefully around Dan and through the open door of the classroom, sipping as he goes.

Dan takes a moment to internally scream at himself for being such a prat, and then follows him inside. Phil flicks on the lights, then goes to put his coffee down on his desk.

“So, you’re keen.” Phil says to Dan, grinning as he rolls up his coffee-soaked sleeves.

Dan notices for the first time that Phil is wearing that stupid black and white spotty bow tie he’d sent Dan a photo of on Friday.

Distracted by the sight of it, Dan takes a moment to process what Phil said. His eyes widen. “Um, sorry?”

“You’re here early.” Phil points out, one eyebrow raised. “Not often that you see TA’s getting to class before the first bell.”

“Oh!” Dan says, relieved. “Yeah, well... I just thought...” He scrambles for a reason that might not sound weird, coming up blank.

Phil chuckles. “It’s okay! I’m glad. Setting up for first period alone is always boring.”

“I’ll do my best to entertain you.”

Phil giggles, then goes to one of the cupboards at the back of the room. He pulls out some unreasonably large rolls of craft paper, along with several bundles of bamboo sticks.

Dan sets his mug down immediately, going to help him haul everything out.

“Oh, thanks,” Phil says, surprised, as Dan takes some of the things from him. “Just put them on one of the tables.”

“What are we doing with these, then?”

Phil laughs, glancing at him. “Wait and see.”

Dan rolls his eyes, smirking. “Such an enigma.”

“It’s all part of the experience.” Phil says. “I’ve got to be mysterious and keep the kids questioning everything. Their curiosity makes them more receptive, I find.”

Dan nods thoughtfully, considering this philosophy. “But I’m not a student.”

“True.” Phil allows. He places the rolls of craft paper down on a table, turning towards him. “Maybe I'm just trying to impress you.”

Dan laughs awkwardly, not knowing what to say. He fiddles with the sticks of bamboo, swallowing.

“How was your weekend?” He asks, deciding a subject change is probably for the best.

“Good!” Phil says brightly. “It was my brother’s birthday. I baked him a hummingbird cake.”

“A hummingbird cake?”

Phil chuckles. “Yeah! It’s pineapple and banana flavour with cream cheese frosting. Also I made it into the shape of a hummingbird, because why not?”

“Right.” Dan says, at a loss for what to say. “Why not?”

“Wanna see?”

Dan smiles, nodding, and Phil walks over to him, digging his phone out of his pocket. Dan stares at the device in Phil’s hands as he scrolls through his photos.

This is the object he’d used to message Dan on Friday. Dan’s number is now saved into it. He is, in some small way, more intimately connected to Phil through this rectangular slice of technology.

“Sorry, I took lots of photos of my brother.” Phil says, laughing, swiping through several pictures of a grumpy looking man in a glittery party hat. “He hates having his picture taken. Oh, here it is.”

Phil moves closer, his shoulder pressing into Dan’s. He’s deliciously warm compared to the chilly, early morning air in this room, and he smells strongly of the coffee Dan covered him in a few minutes ago.

He tilts the phone for Dan to see. The cake is astonishing to behold. It’s been moulded into a 3D hummingbird, complete with a chocolate pocky stick for a beak, and covered entirely in a pastel rainbow of frosting.

“Okay, wow,” Dan says, not bothering to hide how impressed he is. “I was expecting a half-hearted attempt to shape a flat cake into the Twitter symbol... but that’s incredible.”

Phil giggles, looking bashful. “Thanks! It was tasty too, which is a bonus.”

“What do I have to do to get you to bake for me?”

Phil turns his head to face Dan, still just a little too close. “Hm, I can think of some things.”

Dan can feel it as Phil leans a little more into him, his shoulder pressing slightly harder. He holds his breath, feeling like a rabbit caught in the path of a devious fox.

And then the bell rings, of course.

Phil leans away again, still smiling, just as the first students begin to bowl through the door. Jonah happens to be one of them, and he lets out a low whistle as he walks through strolls into the room.

“Oi, sir, you givin’ Mr Howell your number?”

Phil laughs, pocketing the phone in his hand and moving swiftly away. “Nice to see you too, Jonah. How was your weekend?”

Dan tries to hide his furious blush by going to retrieve his coffee from the desk where he left it.

The rest of the students file in, and Phil welcomes them all in his usual chipper way. For the first fifteen minutes, Phil does a brief recap of the last lesson about the Algerian War, then introduces the topic they’ll be looking at today, following on from it.

Today they’re going to start studying the failed revolution of May 1968 in France.

To emulate the frustration of the liberals taking part in the revolution, they’re going to make pickets and signs with anti-capitalist slogans out of craft paper and bamboo.

Phil gives them an entertaining rundown of all the issues the left-wing majority of French society had in 1968, and then he tells everyone to get into this mindset, and begin crafting.

It’s a bit of a madhouse from that point on. The students, despite being in Year Nine, seem to love being let loose with the art supplies. They’re excessive with their use of paint and glitter, creating huge, garish signs with aggressive messages.

A few of Dan’s favourites read:

‘We stand, we march, we dab’

‘Marx’s favourite bitchez’

‘Communism ftw’

‘Destroy France’s capitalist infrastructure u cowards’

Phil is loving the enthusiasm so much that he even lets a few curse words slide, though he does insist that Jonah change his sign to ‘We are unTRUCKable’, for the sake of his reputation as a teacher.

Once the signs are more or less completed, Phil claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Right! Ready to get out there and protest?”

The class look confused, a hush falling over them as they look at one another blankly.

“Protest what, sir?” Jonah asks.

Phil tuts. “Haven’t you been paying attention? If we don’t protest, then nothing will change! Workers and students will forever be bottom of the ladder! We have to push the change! We must make Marx proud!”

Dan stares at Phil like he’s gone insane, as do most of the students.

“But...” A shy, timid girl Dan thinks is called Anita, pipes up. “This is all in the past, right? They already protested this in France in 1968.”

Phil beams at her, winking. “True. But tell me, gang, has the fall of capitalism come to pass?”

The students shake their heads, looking unsure.

“Exactly, Anita!” Phil cries. “So, did the effort these French liberals put in have any effect?”

“No,” Anita answers, her eyes round as she gazes at Phil. “They failed.”

“So we should continue what they started.” Phil says, picking up a nearby bamboo stick and raising it high. “Who’s with me? For the revolutionaries of ‘68!”

The class cheer suddenly, finally catching the glint in Phil’s eye. They grab their pickets, and follow Phil as he strides to the door of the classroom. Not knowing how else to respond, Dan hurries after them, a little panicked as the crowd of fourteen-year-olds pour out into the hall.

If only his deadly strict advisor from teacher-training could see him now. The Health and Safety of most of Phil’s activities would absolutely not pass regulations.

“What do we want?” Phil cries, oblivious to his own rule-breaking as he marches the gaggle of teenagers down the corridor.

“Revolution!” Jonah shouts, laughing.

“When do we want it?”

“Uh, 1968?” Someone calls out, and Phil chuckles.

“Ideally, yeah, but forty-nine years later works too.”

Marvelling at the boldness of this man, as usual, Dan jogs to the front of the pack of students, marching along beside Phil.

The rest of the class begin a chant of their own, their signs waving above them in the air as they walk determinedly through the school.

Several classroom doors open, and students and teachers alike poke their heads out into the corridor, laughing and pointing as they pass by.

“You’re nuts,” Dan says to Phil, feeling breathless with the adrenaline of this mad activity. “Won’t the other teachers hate you for this? You’re probably disrupting a few classes.”

Phil laughs, shrugging. “Maybe.”

He grins at Dan as he veers unexpectedly to a nearby door leading to the playground. He holds it open for the students as they march through; several of them high five he and Dan as they go.

Dan smirks at Phil. “I think you might be some other people’s favourite teacher too.”

Dan tries not to be too gloomy as he helps gather up all the students’ pickets at the end of class. There are now just under three and a half days separating him from his next chance to assist Phil in the classroom.

Sure, he might be able to snag some of Phil’s attention during lunch and break times between now and Thursday, but it’s not the same as having a full hour with him.

“Guys, before you leave!” Phil shouts as the students pack away their things. “I thought that, as we’re studying the ‘68 revolution, it’d be cool for you to see a French film from around that time! Cinema is really important in French history, as a lot of the prominent left-wing figures were filmmakers, and they produced some really cool stuff about this period.”

Dan looks up in interest, wondering where Phil is going with this.

“So basically, as there isn’t enough time to show a whole film during class, I thought it’d be fun to have a little film night this week!” Phil tells everyone, beaming. The class squeal in excitement. “I thought Wednesday evening would work. I’ll bring a film in, and if you’re free that evening, stay behind after school and we can all watch it together!”

The class all begin chattering at once, the excitement evident in their voices, even if it’s difficult to distinguish exactly what they’re saying.

“Sounds like you’re all keen!” Phil laughs. “So if you can make it, I’ll start the film at about four on Wednesday.”

“Have you invited Mr Howell, sir?” Jonah calls out, turning to wink at Dan.

Dan glares at him, trying to suppress his own urge to blush.

Phil chuckles, turning to Dan. “Is Mr Howell interested in coming along?”

Dan reaches up to rub the back of his neck, feeling awkward. At least twenty-six pairs of eyes glue themselves to him, eagerly awaiting his response.

“Um... sure.” Dan says at last, shrugging like it isn’t the most exciting thing he’s been invited to in months. “I’ll try and make it.”

The class laugh, and Jonah chucks a ball of leftover craft paper at him. “Oh, got something better to do, sir?”

Dan chuckles, rolling his eyes. “Fine, fine. I’ll be there.”

“Awesome.” Phil says; Dan catches his eye, and has to keep himself from grinning.

“Hey, we’re going to the pub tomorrow.” Tyler tells Dan on Tuesday, falling face first onto Dan’s bed.

“I’m never going to the pub with you and Teddy again after last time.” Dan tells him, kicking Tyler with his foot in a vague attempt to push him off the bed.

He’s been scrolling through Tumblr for an hour or so now, but just because he’s been holed up in his room since he got in from work, does not mean that Tyler gets to just wander in and annoy him.

“Aw, come on, that’s mean.” Tyler says, pouting at Dan. “Stephanie won’t even be there this time, I swear.”

Dan swallows, shaking his head as he turns back to his screen. “Nope, sorry.”

“Dan, you know we’re not gonna let you mope about the house while we go out.” Tyler says, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Well, you don’t need to worry.” Dan says, feeling awkward. “I won’t be here.”

Tyler is quiet for a moment, then perks up, catlike, catching the scent of some gossip. “Oh?”

Dan just presses his lips together, saying nothing. He reblogs a photo of a cute panda, trying to stay calm.

“Teddy!” Tyler yells, making Dan jump. “Dan’s keeping secrets!”

Dan looks up at him with scorn. “Tyler, don’t be-”

Teddy bursts into the room, wearing an apron with a naked man’s torso on the front, a spatula in one hand.

“Secrets?” Teddy asks, wide eyes darting between Tyler and Dan. “What secrets?”

“Dan has secret plans tomorrow night.” Tyler informs him, grinning.

“Plans?” Teddy repeats, acting shocked. “But Ty, Dan doesn’t have any friends apart from us!”

“Wrong.” Dan says gruffly. “You two are not my friends, I hate you both.”

“Is it a date?” Tyler asks, sucking in a gasp.

Teddy leaps onto the bed beside Tyler, squealing. “Oh my God, is it a date, Dan?!”

Dan rolls his eyes. “For Christ’s sake, no. It’s not a date.”

He could never, in a million years, be that lucky.

Just then, his phone pings. Ignoring the probing eyes of his two housemates, Dan plucks the thing out of his pocket to look.

18:34 Phil Lester 🌠 excited for some french cinema tomorrow night? je suis trés joyeux que tu viennes! :)

Dan’s heart flutters, registering who the text is from, and then his phone is being plucked out of his hand.

“No!” Dan cries, lunging for Tyler. “Wait, don’t-”

“Okay, who is Phil?” Tyler asks, holding the phone out of Dan’s reach; Teddy grabs hold of Dan by the waist, restraining him.

“Ooh, Phil!” Teddy repeats, giggling. “I knew you were looking for a man.”

“I honestly loathe you both.” Dan grits out, struggling uselessly against Teddy’s grip.

“French cinema?” Tyler asks, tilting his head to one side. “Is that code for something?”

“Give me back the phone, Tyler.” Dan says, going limp in Teddy’s arms, defeated.

“We’re just taking an interest in your personal life, Dan,” Teddy says soothingly, patting Dan on the head.

“Phil’s just... he’s a guy I work with.” Dan says, feeling the redness spread over his cheeks and neck, betraying him.

“Hmm,” Tyler says, throwing Dan’s phone aside at last. “A guy who is ‘very happy you’re coming’ tomorrow.” Dan blushes harder, not having worked out what the French bit had meant just yet. “Is ‘Phil’... how do you say, un beefcake?”

“Is he a teacher?” Teddy asks excitedly, releasing Dan in order to cover his own mouth with both hands.

“He’s a teacher, yes.” Dan confirms, snatching up his phone and pocketing it.

“God, that’s hot.” Tyler sighs, looking wistful. “And he speaks French. Think of the roleplay opportunities.”

“Aw, we can try some schoolteacher roleplay, babe,” Teddy assures Tyler, patting him on the shoulder.

“Fine, but I get to wear the cute schoolgirl outfit.”

Teddy rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

“I’m pretty sure I can smell burning,” Dan says, sniffing the air in distaste.

“Shit!” Teddy exclaims, grabbing his spatula and jumping off the bed.

As he bolts out of the door, the fire alarm begins to shriek, making Tyler scream with laughter.

“Everything’s fine!” Teddy calls from the kitchen.

Despite the irritation sitting under his skin, eventually Dan finds himself joining in the laughter too.

Dan is half an hour early to the film screening.

He would have come straight from his last class, which ended at 3pm, but he decided to make a quick trip to the grocery store round the corner from school.

He returns with two enormous bags, shuffling through Phil’s classroom door with some difficulty. Phil looks at the bags in surprise, coming over to help Dan haul them in.

“What’s this?” Phil asks, clearly intrigued. As he takes one of the bags from Dan’s hand, he looks him in the eye. “Hi, by the way. Haven’t seen you all day!”

Dan chuckles, setting his own carrier bag on Phil’s desk. “Hi. I brought popcorn!”

“Oh, God,” Phil moans unexpectedly. “As if you could get any more amazing.”

Dan chuckles awkwardly, a warm glow spreading through his gut. “Uh, you like popcorn?”

“It’s literally my favourite food of all time,” Phil tells him seriously. “How did you know?”

“Damn, I need to be more subtle with my stalking.” Dan says, making Phil laugh so much that he drops one of the bags. “Anyway, it’s not all for you.”

“In that case, the kids better hurry up before I inhale it all.”

Dan laughs, watching fondly as Phil flits around the classroom, closing blinds and straightening chairs. The projector is on, currently throwing an image of Phil’s desktop background onto the smartboard. Behind his jumble of icons, there’s a picture of what seems to be a large, photoshopped capybara taking up an entire paddling pool.

Dan decides not to question it.

“So what film have you picked for us all?”

Phil beams at him. “It’s called Les Quatre-Cents Coups. Have you heard of it?”

Dan shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching in an almost smile. It’s obvious to see how passionate Phil is about this subject; he talks animatedly, looking eager and focused.

It’s adorable.

“Wow!” Phil exclaims. “I’m kind of jealous. I wish I could go back to a time before I’d seen it.”

“What’s it about?” Dan asks, mostly in an effort to keep Phil talking.

“Oh... well, it’s about a little boy mainly. An underprivileged boy living in Paris. But it’s about much more than that really. It’s about the oppressive structures of French economy in the fifties, classism, the bourgeoise... and it’s about growing up, y’know? How even if we all experience it differently, there’s a certain relatability about puberty too.” Phil pauses, reddening a little. He chuckles. “I mean, that’s what I take from it, anyway. I studied the history of French Cinema for a while, so I’m a bit of a geek about it. But you can form your own opinions, obviously.”

“Me?” Dan says, laughing. “I dunno. I don’t know the first thing about film. Apart from that I like going to the cinema.”

“Well that’s a good place to start.” Phil tells him happily. “There’s all sorts of theories about spectatorhood, and why audiences enjoy the activity of going to the cinema, watching films as a collective experience...”

Phil trails off again, shaking his head.

“Okay, you have to stop me if I start rambling, Dan. I get carried away.”

“I think it’s cute.” Dan says before he thinks about it.

Phil’s eyebrow lifts in surprise, but he seems to take the comment in his stride. Dan, on the other hand, blushes furiously, cursing himself for being so transparent.

“I think you’re just too nice to tell me to shut up,” Phil jokes, but he lets his eyes linger on Dan’s, warm and fond.

Luckily, before Dan can shove his foot any further into his mouth, a couple of girls from the class wander in, looking trepidatious.

“Hi, uh... can we come in yet, sir?”

“Of course, Joanna!” Phil says, jumping down from his position on the desk. “Hi Bethany! Would you guys mind helping me and Mr Howell to set up?”

They jump to the tasks Phil gives them happily, chattering to him about the petty dramas of their day, complaining about their homework and the fallouts they’re having with friends.

Dan watches with amusement, marvelling - as always - at the ease with which Phil converses with his students, giving each one his undivided attention while they’re speaking, never replying in a condescending tone.

He’s such a rare gem of a teacher, Dan thinks. Phil sends Joanna to the staffroom to collect bowls, and they put one on each table, filled with popcorn.

Soon enough, the other kids begin to arrive, all wearing the thrilled grins Dan remembers from when he used to stay behind after school. There’s something about being in the building outside of the mandatory hours that just seems a bit naughty. It doesn’t matter that they’re here for what is essentially an extended history lesson - the students are excited to be involved in this extra-curricular activity.

Dan hasn’t asked them, but he’d bet a lot of that excitement comes from having Phil here, providing his ever-shining rays of brilliant, sunny exuberance.

The kids take their seats, restless at first, but settling in once Phil dims the lights and presses play. Dan finds a seat on one of the empty tables at the back, and is all prepared to expand his cultural knowledge with some French Cinema. Then, once he’s sure the film is running, Phil walks to the back of the class and slides into the seat right beside him.

Immediately, Dan releases any hope he was holding onto of immersing himself in the film.

“Ready?” Phil asks in a low, quiet voice that pierces straight through Dan’s gut.

He’s leaning in close, eyes sparkling as the light of the opening credits reflect in them.

All Dan can do is nod silently, and try not to let the squeak out of his throat.

Phil’s one of those people who doesn’t shut up during a film. Dan hates those sorts of people usually, but he can’t seem to find Phil’s inability to keep his comments to himself anything but ridiculously cute.

His musings vary from the way in which the cinematography emphasises certain aspects of the narrative, to the strange dress sense Parisians had in the days of the 'nouvelle vague’, as he calls it.

He talks so much that he is shushed by the students more than once, but he just giggles and apologises in a stage whisper, to which the students roll their eyes.

“See that?” Phil says at one point, basically pressing himself against Dan’s side in order to point at the screen. “The photo of the man Antoine is putting on his shrine? That’s Balzac. He’s one of the founders of realism in literature.”

Dan smiles. “How meta.”

The responding look Phil gives to Dan is something so warm and proud that Dan wants to melt it down and spread it on a thick slab of toast.

“Exactly.”

Their hands meet in the popcorn. It’s like something out a cringey teen TV show. Phil just laughs and winks at him, but Dan about faints from how fast the blood rushes to his cheeks.

Phil seems to have no issues about personal space, and allows their legs to rest comfortably against each other beneath the table. He’ll grab Dan’s shoulder during his favourite scenes, eyes shining, breath held as he watches the screen.

Honestly, by the time the final shot (apparently an incredibly famous moment in film history) appears, Dan is not totally sure whether he’d be able to say what the film had been about. He’d spent quite a lot of it staring at Phil, and the rest of it thinking about how it felt - elating, blissful, drug-like - to sit beside him in the darkness, in a room where everyone else was steadfastly facing the other way.

Phil turns to him as the image fades to black, a knowing glint in his eye.

“Did you like it?”

Dan stammers out something that isn’t really words, and nods emphatically to make up for it. Phil grins at him, tongue slightly visible through his rows of teeth, and then he stands up, much to Dan’s dismay.

“So that was Les Quatre-Cents Coups!” Phil says to the class, climbing up to sit on the desk at which he and Dan had been sat. Dan cranes his neck upwards, leaning back in his chair to watch as Phil crosses his legs underneath him on the table. “Could someone get the lights, please? Thanks Bethany.”

The lights flash on, garish and bright, and the class groan, rubbing their eyes.

“What did we all think of it, then?” Phil asks, beaming.

“Awesome!” Someone shouts.

“I thought I hated black and white films, but that was cool.”

“I loved it! Paris is so beautiful.”

“That kid was well sick at acting, sir.”

Phil nods encouragingly as students call out their opinions.

Jonah snorts loudly. “I couldn’t concentrate on half of it. Kept gettin’ distracted by Mr Lester and Mr Howell flirting in the back!”

Phil laughs, shooting Jonah a disapproving look. His smile stays in place though.

“I’m sure Mr Howell has far better options, Jonah.” Phil teases, and Dan just tries to pretend he’s somewhere else.

He might kill Jonah at some point, he considers.

Then, someone sticks up their hand. Phil points at the kid, smiling.

“Yes, Matt?”

“What’s the title mean in English, sir?”

“Well, the English version of the film is called The Four-Hundred Blows.” Phil answers. “Which is actually an inaccurate translation, as it doesn’t mean anything. The original title comes from a phrase that people use a lot in France - ‘faire les quatre cents coups’ - which kind of means ‘to raise hell’. It suits Antoine, don’t you think?”

“Suits me, sir!” Jonah calls out, making everyone chuckle. “I’mma start sayin’ that. What was it again? Fair lezzer cooper?”

Phil laughs, hands holding his ankles as he leans backwards. It’s such a sweet action, so innocent and playful, that Dan can’t help smiling.

“Faire les quatre cents coups,” Phil corrects gently, enunciating each word. “I think it suits you as well, Jonah.”

Joanna is sat at the table in front of theirs, her chin in one hand as she gazes up at Phil, marvelling.

“Do you speak French, sir?” Joanna asks, obviously smitten. Dan can relate.

Phil beams at her. “Yeah, I do! I spent a year studying in Paris.”

Dan’s eyebrows lift in surprise. He’d suspected that Phil knew a few phrases, but the fact he speaks fluent French is a surprise. Why is that such an attractive quality?

He imagines Phil speaking to him in that low, quiet voice he reserves for when he wants to tell Dan something the class or another teacher shouldn’t overhear, but in French. A warm trickle runs teasingly up his thighs, like light, tracing fingers. A full body tremor comes over him.

Phil throws a glance towards him, presumably having seen that peculiar reaction. Dan doesn’t miss the way his mouth twitches in a smile.

“That’s so dreamy,” Joanna sighs, retrieving Phil’s attention. She sits bolt upright, blushing. “I mean! It’s a dreamy language.” The rest of the class chuckle, and she reddens further. “I wish I could speak it is all!”

“Well, you’re in luck!” Phil announces suddenly. “Because as you may or may not be aware, our Year Nine History trip is coming up in two weeks time!”

The class immediately descend into loud, excited chatter; students grab at each other, squealing.

“Hey, come on, guys! Calm down, we’re here after hours, remember?” Phil calls out, but he’s grinning, evidently pleased by their enthusiasm. The class simmer down gradually, their buzz of excitement still palpable in the air. “So, yeah! We’re off to Paris for a weekend! If you can make it, it’s only fifteen pounds per student, and if you can’t stretch that, come and have a word with me, I’m sure we can work something out.”

Dan’s eyes soften as he listens to this last part. This man really is one of a kind.

Again, the class begin talking animatedly about the trip, discussing outfit choices, places they want to visit, room sharing, and other trivialities.

“Are we going up the Eiffel Tower, sir?” Someone asks.

“I’m scared of heights!”

“Where are we staying?”

“Are we sharing rooms?”

“Are we going by coach, or ferry?”

“Ooh, maybe we’re flying!”

“Can I bring my dog?”

“Hey!” Phil interrupts, hands held up in surrender. He’s laughing at them all. “All questions will be answered in class on Monday. I’ll also be sending out permission slips tonight via email, so get your folks or guardians to print them off and sign them, then bring them to me when they’re ready.”

“Sir, I just have one more question!” Jonah cries out, sticking up his hand and waving it. “Just one, sir, please?”

Phil sighs, clearly debating it. Eventually though, he rolls his eyes and nods, smiling. “Go on then. Just one.”

Jonah grins, eyes flicking to meet Dan’s. “Is Mr Howell coming with us?”

Phil lets out a low chuckle, his vivid blue eyes sliding to Dan’s, questioning.

“I don’t know,” Phil says in a voice that surely isn’t appropriate for the situation at hand. Dan swallows, feeling singled out by the gaze. “Is he?”

(Part Four!)

#phan #phanfic #my fic #teacher au #dan and phil #part 3 is here!#prompts

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