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gyllenhaalstories · 4 years ago

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CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS — SUGAR DADDY!ZEMO

summary: a series of unfortunate (or fortunate, depending whose side you’re on) events brought you to mandripoor seven years ago. it was fun, dangerous and exciting for the most part. a lot has changed, but you are back in high town in the hope of purchasing a rare monet painting, and reuniting with an old flame.

warnings: tfatws spoilers, alcohol, established sugar daddy x sugar baby relationship, smut (daddy kink, dom/sub/switch dynamics, choking, hair pulling, blowjob, fingering, both degradation and praise kinks, spit kink, cum play, marking, unprotected sex). 18+ MINORS DON’T INTERACT.

word count: 2685

gif credit: pedropcl

notes: this (very long) fic is brought to you by zemo’s #1 hoe. for the sake of the fic, zemo’s daughter and wife have never existed. i get it zemo is the bad guy daniel is not your typical hottie but let me live my fantasy and reclaim my crown as the original zemo fan. listen to off to the races by lana del rey and let no man steal your thyme by the pentangle if you want to fibe with me! i hope you guys will enjoy it!!! <3

“If you keep staring at me like this, I’ll mistake you for the Mona Lisa.” You took the last sip from your glass, which was immediately filled by the man standing behind you. You had felt his familiar presence a long time ago, but you were too mesmerized by the rare painting trapped in a cage of glass to bother notifying him. “Your glance has followed me around the room. In other circumstances, I’d find it creepy. Now, it’s just very flattering.”

You heard him laugh through his nose. You saw his reflecting in the glass, lit up by flashing blue and pink lights and vibrating ever so slightly to the sound of the loud music.

“You’re like a Monet painting. From afar, you are clear as cristal and easy to read like an open book. From up close...” You marked a pause and stoodby straight. Your eyes never leaving the work of art you had been scrutinizing for the past hour. Water Lilies in Bloom, it was called, an incorrect translation that always brought a grin to your lips. “You are a mystery.” You swallowed thickly the bubbly liquid, recognizing the peculiar taste of champagne.

“It is arrogant but right to think of myself as the pure definition of mysterious.”

You chuckled, throwing your head back in disbelief. Some things never changed.

“After all these years... I managed to find my way back to you. Now that’s a mystery.”

You turned on your heels as you spoke. “Is it, though? Tell me, Daddy. Is it really that hard to believe you’d recognize your property even after all these years. I heard they put you in a pretty little cage. Didn’t have much else to think about than what you missed most?”

He took you in, just how ethereal you looked under the colourful neon lights. You had your arms pressed against your chest, the shiny material of your matching bracelet and necklace twinkled. He squinted slightly, his lips curled into a smirk while he looked down your body, the one thing that kept him sane after all these years in jail (that and the thought of destroying symbols like super soldiers and make the world a better place once and for all). “Nice dress.”

“My Sugar Daddy got it for me.” You did a twirl, showing off your outfit innocently. “You like it?”

He reached up to his neck and pulled on the collar of his purple sweater, like it was a tie he could loosen up. “So you received everything I sent you.”

You clicked your tongue. “Not everything...” Your head turned to look behind you, where your most priced possession was glowing in its full glory — soon to-be yours, you should say.

“Use your words, Princess. Say it and it’s yours.”

It was your turn to analyze him, to take every ounce of cockiness and pride. “You’re playing with fire.” You walked closer to him, erasing the distance but increasing the tension between the two of you. “All the money in the world won’t get you everything you want.”

He was quick to move, his soldiers instincts never left his body, clearly. His delicate hand wrapped around your throat so effortlessly. It tightened, forcing you to manage your breathing. “Money got me everything I wanted already.”

“What is it, Daddy? What is it that you want so badly?” You clenched your jaw, holding his glance which was filled with lust, instead of rage and grudges.

“You never looked so beautiful.” He leaned closer too, whispering the words to your ear. It was liked the loud club music turned into white noise. He could not care less about the stares and the words strangers exchanged as they witnessed the scene. High Town was not his playground.

But you were his plaything.

*~*~*

History repeated itself, in one way or another. Icons rose and fell. Symbols mattered and vanished into oblivion. Originality turned into plagiarism. Winners would lose it all, losers would dig their graves deeper into the abyss.

History repeated itself. The sight before your eyes was the same one as seven years ago, when all that was on this man’s life before meeting you was this stupid Mission Report of December 16 1991. You met him at a party like this, in High Town before he was banned from the land. He caught your attention doing his ridiculous dance moves, sharing his knowledge about the art pieces showcased around the room. Then he brought you to a hotel, the ones so fancy they had multiple rooms and a vintage record player as part of the decor. Only, it worked, and he put on his favourite Édith Piaf records. Rien de Rien, Le Petit Homme, La Vie en Rose, song after song, you were diving deeper in your memories.. He was popping yet another bottle of champagne open and pouring some in flutes you would never touch for the rest of the night. The same night, seven years ago, it changed your life. At the second you regretted setting foot in Mandripoor, he changed your mind and gave you the best months of your life. You would ride around Europe in vintage cars, dine in gigantic mansions you called castles. You admired the old paintings of his royal family members while he brought you a silk bathrobe to change into after a steamy shower.

You’d get lost in your thoughts, he’d get lost in his ambitions. You two were one and the same, in one way or another. That affirmation sent shivers down your spine. You could not tell if it was a good or a bad thing, a shy voice in your head was reassuring you it was the former.

“They call me Baron again, I guess I’m not doing too bad after all.” His voice snapped you back to reality. He was still wearing that obnoxious trench coat. You hated it, it made him look like a pimp. Although that was not too far from the truth, as the mountain of luxurious jewelry and clothes in your closet proved.

“Do you like being back here?”

“I love it here.” The emphasis on the last word was audible. You nodded in agreement. This place was heaven on Earth for some people, hell for others. For both you and Zemo, it was somewhere in between.

“You’re certainly not here for me.” You laughed, setting the still full glass on the nightstand.

He shook his head, mouthing a negative response.

“What is it, this time? Mission report February 32?”

“Something like that.” He answered, after another silent laugh.

“If only you had made me your mission, your life would have been easier.”

“Yours would have been, too.”

You shrugged. You agreed, but you did not need to say it. He knew. The two of you knew that this warmth washing over your bodies was the answer to all of your problems. Yet, you were fighting the urge to surrender and give in.

History always repeated itself.

All it took was for him to set his hand on your exposed knee. You got flashbacks of the numerous times his hand rested there while you two drove deeper in the country side, in some old Chevrolet, Ford, or any other European brands he could find and buy.

“Say it, Princess. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

You swallowed thickly and fell on your knees. He sat straight, as straight as he could on the comfortable mattress, and spread his legs wider. “I want to go back in time.”

He leaned foward and you opened your mouth, your tongue poking out. He spit in your mouth, and you swallowed. The giggle that followed your actions sent blood to his hardening cock. “Just as eager as I remembered, right? You’d do anything to please me.”

“I’d do anything for you, Daddy.” You repeated, the confession left you breathless.

“That’s my good girl.” He brushed your hair with so much tenderness for a moment, you let out a content moan. He changed the mood real quick when he pushed your head closer to his crotch and unbuckled his belt at lightning’s speed.

Your mouth was watering at the sight, a sight that was tattooed in your memory forever. Whatever relationship you two had went beyond fancy presents and sex, it was a connection that tickled your souls and left you a different woman than when it first started. You wasted no time, stroking him a few times as you spit on his blushing tip. You smeared the spit over his sensitive spot and pulled the sweetest moans out of him, which grew louder and more intense when you finally wrapped your lips around his head.

No one compared to you, to your attention to details, to the way you were taking him all in, inches by inches like you were made for his cock and his cock only. No one compared to how blissful you looked pulling back, choking on your own saliva and the lack of oxygen. “You look so beautiful, Babygirl.”

His praise made you bat your eyes, hoping to receive more compliments. You flattened your tongue, licking him from the base to the top before you deep throated his cock again. You never left him untouched, your hands were massaging his walls or exploring his thick thighs while your mouth almost brought him to the edge.

That was when he pulled on your hair and demanded you went back up on your feet. “I bet you’re soaked. All you need is to see a cock to wet your panties.” You nodded as one hand reached up to cup your face, the other to cup your core from under your dress. He could felt the ever growing wet patch. He discarded of your panties in one effortless pull and pressed his pointer and middle fingers against your sensitive clit. He circled it, studying your reaction.

“Daddy...” You breathed out. “I need you.”

“I’m proud of you for using your words,” his finger slipped inside of your entrance, you moaned out his name. “So greedy and needy and easy for me, like the good whore that you are. Is that right? You’re Daddy’s perfect little whore?”

He was two fingers in, all the way to the last knuckles. He pumped in and out of you slowly yet roughly. You smirked when he finally touched that spongy spot inside of you. “I’m Daddy’s. I’ll always belong to Daddy.”

“That’s right.”

He brushed his thumb over your clit, his fingers stopped fucking your hole to abuse the bundle of nerves until tears started to pool in your eyes.

“Be a good baby.” You looked at him with doe eyes, sucking his thumb between your plump lips. “Do what I want.”

And you reached your high. You had nothing to hold you up, except for your shaky legs that threatened to give in under your weight and the intensity of your orgasm. You sucked on his thumb harder, hoping to quiet some of your moans but your screams escaped your parted lips.

In a blink of an eye, you were pushed against the bed and bounced against the body that blocked your every movement. His pants were nowhere to be found, just like the rest of your respective clothes. Your finger tips brushed over the skin of his shaven cheeks, down to his neck and chest. The intimacy, you had craved it all these years.

“I bet that sweet cunt of yours missed my cock.” He spoke, chuckling mockingly when he pushed himself in your stretched hole. You both let out a long moan of satisfaction. He rested inside of you, adjusting to your warmth and tightness. “I was right.”

“You’re always right.” You flattered his ego, and earned a sloppy kiss in return.

His lips moved down to your neck where he sucked hickeys and left small bite marks as he picked up the pace of his hips.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, hoping to bring him that much closer, and deeper, into you.

Zemo pinned your wrists above your head and pumped his cock inside of your tight pussy like his life depended on it. “So fucking wet for me, gonna make me cum, Baby.” He had tried so hard to hold back, not to mark you and claim you again.

“Wait for me.” You begged him, and he brought one hand down to your neck again. He squeezed it, choking you deliciously until your eyes rolled inwards. He tightened his grip ever so slightly and he felt it, he felt the way your walls fluttered around him.

He thrusted inside of you, his hips snapped against yours and the sound of your skin slapping echoed in the bedroom. “Cum for me, Princess. Cum with Daddy.”

And you did, your body exploded in fireworks when you felt his release planted inside of you. He kept moving, rocking back and forth. He leaned back, leaving your neck to rub your clit once again. He was a moaning mess, the overstimulation made it almost painful to keep going but he did not want it to stop, not until...

“Fuck, Daddy!” And a second wave of pleasure hit you hard, it left you panting and shaking even more than before.

Zemo had to pull away quickly, and already missed the feeling of being inside of you.

Your fingers reached between your bodies, dipping into your folds and moving up to your lips as they were covered in his seed. You painted your lips with his white cum, before you licked them and your fingers clean as he watched, completely amazed and mesmerized. “Taste just as good as I remembered.”

He laughed, he was always one step ahead of everything and everyone, but you always managed to take him by surprise. You were just that great, that perfect. He rolled to the side and fell heavily on the bed. His skin was glistening under the light of the chandeliers from the thin layer of sweat.

You pressed your legs together, clenching around nothing. You hoped you could keep his load inside of you, as a proof this had really happened and it was not just one of your daydreams where you two would be reunited.

“I missed this.” You boke the silence with a small voice. Your fingers brushed over the bruises on your neck, and you hissed at the sensitive skin.

He turned on his side, worried for a second that he went too hard on you. The smile and joy on your face proved him otherwise. “I missed you, Princess.”

“I missed you so much, Daddy.”

*~*~*

The sun hurt your eyes, he noticed. He slipped out of the bed to pull on the curtains only to hurry back to you so you could lay your head on his chest. You were still wearing your bracelet, he started playing with it.

His mind was racing, just like his heart. You could feel it rumble in his chest like a loud engine. Something was bothering him.

“Oh, Zemo...” You caressed his cheek, looking up to study his features. “You can fool the smartest people in the world, but you’ll never be able to lie to me.”

“I’m coming home, Baby. I’m coming home now.”

You looked down again, taking a moment to answer. “Let me guess, you’ll take me to a fancy house like Rebecca’s Manderley and Jane Eyre’s manor at the Rochester’s. You’ll show me around, make me feel like I belong. And you’ll leave, high and dry. Again. All the money and presents from your people won’t erase the pain I felt. Not this time, not ever.”

He pressed his thin lips together. Pain, suffering, he was used to it. He had his fair share of it, caused even more to other people. The thought of hurting you, however, was unbearable.

“Every kingdom needs its king...” He paused and moved you, so you were resting on your elbows and your face was closer to his. “And an even greater queen.”

#baron zemo #helmut zemo #marvel imagine #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws spoilers #tfatws #one shot: champagne problems

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bandaigaeru · 4 years ago

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song of the summer - bang chan

→pairing: ceo bang chan x gn reader

→genre: kinda strangers to lovers

→synopsis: he runs one of the biggest music companies in the country, yet he inducts you to help aid him and his friends, each of them deemed as representatives of the ‘big three’, for their next official comeback.

→word count: 12.5k

→ warnings: swearing, shitty father figure

A single question hangs over the dim conference room you’ve somehow scored a seat in. Does the general public want to see 3Racha? Bluntly, the answer is right in front of you. Glowing against the whiteboard from the overhead projector, the carefully curated slideshow answers the rhetorical question.

One of the dance representatives from the back of the room twirls his pen between his fingers. Leaning back in his chair, he apathetically wonders aloud, “So it’s true, then?”

“What’s that, Mr. Lee?” the marketing representative, a Mr. Choi, holds his remote between both hands as he leans toward the table. The word ‘full’ dances across his face as he steps in front of the projector’s path.

“That they’re making a comeback. A full one?”

Mr. Choi nods, scanning the rest of the patrons’ reactions with squinted eyes as he says, “That would be correct.”

Of course, the three who would walk onstage and perform aren’t here. Mr. Bang is probably running around, abiding by his role as the professional CEO who never skips a beat. Regarding the other two, you’re not sure. They’re not as predictable.

The project is pretty tight in terms of what needs to be met. Summer is around the corner, and everyone and their mother will be fighting to hold that mere title of having the temporary greatest hit. When the general public awaits their yearly easily digestible, flowery songs.

“Keep in mind that we are all under Bang! Entertainment,” Choi remarks, clicking to his next slide displaying headlines questioning the company’s next move. “It should go without saying, but all eyes will be on us as the season turns.”

You stare at the bolded words, trying to digest each of them. Joining the company was likely the best decision you’ve ever made, outside of adopting a cat named Loba. When you got scouted as a producer, you were under a different company. Bang! offered a contract, but didn’t require an interview because they ‘didn’t want to invalidate or question a talent they’ve already seen.’

It was an ego boost.

“I’m sure you all know what your roles are in this,” Choi says, taking glances around the room to make sure each face isn’t lost or distant. This is 3Racha we’re talking about. Everything must be perfect.

You take a glance of your own. A few belong to the dance department, some to hair and makeup; however, you are the only producer here.

You raise a low hand to garner Mr. Choi’s attention. “Why am I here?” you subsequently ask, dropping your hand and crossing it against your chest as before.

“The team personally requested you,” he says.

Connections, you instantly understand. In a place like this, in a time like this, they’re a necessity. Nepotism is practically required in the world of music, hence why it sucks for most aspiring indie artists. You didn’t choose to befriend a guy who happens to be best friends with one of the big three here. So, you cast a blind eye.

It’s all a game of luck.

The meeting doesn’t run much longer. A concluding statement with hints of a threat if anyone messes up rings through your ears. A project end date of July 20th, when the album is supposed to go live. You’re not nervous, per se. Simply blindsided given the lack of information. What’s the song about? When’s the due date? Will 3Racha come to you first, or do you have to take time out of your day to the CEO’s harrowing office? The uncertainties aggravate the impulse of opening a new document on your computer and delving into your producer rituals. You can’t create someone else’s project out of blankness. And that irritates you to no end.

Someone throws their arm around your shoulder in an attempt to throw you off your purposeful stride.

“Congrats,” the belonger says.

You glance over to look, even though you know the voice well. He is your connection, of course.

“Thanks.”

Minho pulls you back to a slower pace. Familiar faces from the meeting pass you to the elevator, a majority in a meaningless chatter. They expected an appearance on this project.

“What are you doing tonight?” he finally asks, stopping altogether and dropping his arm from your shoulder.

You shrug, looking curiously at him. Minho’s not one to beat around the bush.

“Hypothetically,” he starts, “how would you feel being invited to bro night?”

“And actually witness you or Felix puke on the lawn instead of hearing about it? No thanks,” you scoff, making an attempt to abandon the situation by following the distancing crowd.

He grabs your wrist, spinning you back to him. “Please?” His eyes are pleading, glaring back at you like an innocent kitten.

You tip your head and sigh. “Why?”

Instead of cutting to the chase, he sucks in a deep breath and says, “I’ll pay you.”

An eyebrow cocks. Regardless of your amusement—a desperate Minho doesn’t appear often—worries consume you. “What’s up? Why are you acting like this?”

Wary eyes jump around the hallway before they land back on you. “Follow me,” he mumbles.

His steps are calculated as he guides you to the elevator and presses the floor his office resides on. The ride is silent, as is the walk down the hall. You step into the room first, and he closes the door behind him. Despite the urge to ask if he’s about to murder you, you bite your tongue and take a seat on his upholstered couch. Identical to the one in your office.

Gently, he lowers himself into his chair. A few minutes pass of you simply staring at each other. Nerves crawl up your spine and you disguise them with a snarky comment. “Are you going to tell me why you’re willing to bribe me into spending time with your friends?”

In the time he takes to respond, you think about how the only mutual friend you have is Jisung. Sure, you know everyone on a name basis; but it’s not like you’ve known them as long as Minho. He doesn’t have other, more qualified, friends to drag to bro night?

“Chan’s kinda in a mood right now,” Minho’s words are slurred by the breath he releases as he speaks.

“And?” you press.

“I want you to see it before you work with him. And for him to understand you in advance. Y’know. You’re a little,” he hesitates, “forward sometimes.”

You should take this as an insult, but you can’t because words’ owner knows you too well. Minho never speaks unjustly.

“Touche,” you nod. It’s better to own up to your flaws. If you don’t, that’s how you end up walking into a carefully curated narcissistic personality.

His features loosen as he presses his forearms on his thighs. “So. You in?”

“I don’t really have a choice,” you emit a wry laugh. All in one sentence, you’ve managed to prove his point. It’s simple, really.

“You see, I’ve already told the boys you’re coming. Either way, I would’ve gotten you to go. The only other option would have been to threaten you with a knife,” he admits. As you gawk at him in awe, realizing you stand in the same boat, a proud grin grows on his face. With time, you begin to mirror the ones you admire. Friends, for example.

“I think Seungmin will like you,” he adds.

“Why do you say that?”

All you know of Kim Seungmin is that he’s in the vocal department, along with his younger counterpart Yang Jeongin, and that he’s a menace. Minho’s words.

“You’re both evil.”

That’s the last straw. You stand up without a word and stomp for the door.

His laugh echoes behind you, striking a quieter one of your own. Still, you stay in character and slip out into the hallway. Minho has won too many of these scenarios.

ii.

Loba sneaks into the kitchen as you wait impatiently for Minho. Thirty minutes. That’s how late he is. You consider texting him, but acknowledge the possibility he’s stuck in traffic or something. Agitation tells you to do it anyway since he only lives two blocks over.

The orange cat paws at your calf for attention, momentarily distracting you as you set your phone down on the counter. Minho’s chat is wide open. She, too, finds excuses for him.

Her head nuzzles against your palm as you scratch behind her ears. She meddles successfully enough to trick you into feeding her a few treats. While you reach for the top shelf of your pantry, a pair of footsteps sneak up behind you. Heavier than Loba’s.

“Did the cat convince you to spoil her again?”

“Son of a-” you recoil, whirling around to greet the man, the myth, the late bastard.

The familiar appearance of a sly smirk, mischievous eyes, and an outfit that makes him look like a casual runway model, pierce your vision.

“You’re late,” you mutter, stepping past him and scooping Loba up. You rest her head on your left arm, cradling her like a baby. She tilts her head up to stare back at Minho. Traitor.

Minho grabs the bag of treats for you.

“Sorry, I had to pick up Jisung. He’s in the car,” his voice trails as he slips his thumbs between the plastic fold and focuses on opening the difficult seal.

“Damn it,” he curses. Karma arrives faster in deserving situations.

“It took you thirty extra minutes to pick him up?”

He deadpans, “You know he likes to be presentable for the boys.”

When you don’t give him the satisfaction of a single laugh, let alone a change in emotion, he whines, “Oh come on, that was funny.”

“You trick me into going to your stupid hangout, and now you have the nerve to show up late?”

He sneaks a few treats to Loba. “You’re really not mad at me right now, are you?”

“Irritated, at the least,” you admit.

“Well, then I’m sorry. Jisung got off late so I had to wait at Bang! for him.”

The words sink into your skin, but you don’t acknowledge them further. The anger fades on the walk down to the car, a great distance separating you and Minho. It’s practically dissipated by the time you climb into the backseat of Minho’s Kia Soul.

Jisung turns in the front seat and offers his hand at an awkward angle. “It’s a pleasure to be working with you.”

You hold your seatbelt in one hand, accepting his with the other as you force a measly smile. “Same for you. Thanks for suggesting me to Mr. Bang.”

Confusion warps his face, twisting his eyebrows in a weird knit as he shakes his head. “It wasn’t me. Must’ve been Chan.”

Minho drops himself into the driver’s seat, suspending any further questioning.

Jisung returns to his original poise as when you approached the car. Eyes focused on his phone, actively typing something out.

You click your seatbelt into locking. An unnatural feeling plagues your gut. Mr. Bang wanted you on the team? It feels unlikely, but you know Jisung wouldn’t joke like that. Even if he were the type, his acting of unawareness gives away the truth.

Minho glances back at you in the mirror. “Ready?” he asks as his hand rests on the gearshift.

You press your lips into a line as you nod. “Mhm.”

You stare down at your hands carefully folded in your lap. For the first time since before producing, the itch to create is drowned by an intense, overwhelming brew of something lingering in your veins.

The expectation of you has pierced through the roof and is shooting out of the stratosphere.

Chan—Jisung quickly advised you to drop all formalities, so you’re rewiring your thoughts—has a home in Gangnam. Fitting for his status, but smaller than you expected. It’s still able to fit at least four of your apartment in it, though.

Jisung and Minho walk ahead of you up the stairs. The elevators in rich apartments on this end can only fit two people if you really scrunch together. What’s the money for, then?

“Today’s Monopoly night, right?” Jisung examines Minho’s side profile as he cautiously lifts one foot after the other. The stairs here are steeper than any you’ve seen. Hiking sounds better than this.

He hums in approval. “I guess we’ll sort teams later. We probably won’t live through the night with last week’s.”

A brash laugh escapes Jisung’s lips, subsequently echoing against the walls and bouncing back to your ears. “Right.”

You tune out their conversation for the rest of the climb, settling for watching your shoelaces sway with each step.

Jisung pushes on the door for the fourth floor, holding it open until you’re fully into the hallway. “Chan’s the second door on the right,” Jisung nods to one of the identical doors along the hall—appearing more expensive than your monthly rent with its rich stain.

Minho doesn’t bother knocking, instead opting for trying the doorknob. It allows access to the gigantic living space and the loud chatter previously muffled by walls.

You must be the last to arrive, but you probably could’ve guessed such.

“Hey,” Jeongin looks up from his conversation, inspiring a round of greetings from all the others.

“You all know each other enough so I’ll skip the introductions,” Minho glances between you and the group, starting for an empty end of the couch.

When Jisung follows his lead, you take a headcount. It appears everyone’s present except Chan—his birth name still feels awkwardly informal in your thoughts. You glance down the dark hallway to your right, counting one, two, three closed doors. Nature drags you into curiosity.

Seungmin, your alleged evil twin, waves you over.

As you take the empty spot beside him, he says, “Sorry, you looked a little awkward just standing there. Thought I’d save you before Hyunjin said something.” He shoots a pointed nod at the long-haired blond lounging between Changbin and Minho.

“Oh. Thanks,” you force a little smile that imitates gratitude. You didn’t feel awkward observing, but maybe your aura screamed otherwise.

Jeongin leans slightly over Seungmin’s shoulder with an inquisitive eye. “How did Minho convince you to come?”

“Blackmail,” you nod. Not attempting to summon a laugh, but managing so in the process.

“That’s Minho for you,” Seungmin tips his head in a slightly disbelieving manner.

“It’s okay, though. We’ll make tonight fun for you,” Jeongin raises his hand, and you meet it with a high-five.

Bro night might not be as bad as you thought.

“If only Chan comes out from his room,” Seungmin mutters, particularly to himself, as he leans his arm on the back of the couch and twists his body to look back into the hallway.

Questions. You want to ask them, but then Minho’s words return in full, blaring effect. Forward, he said. Meaning: blunt. In your face.

You bite your tongue. Redirect the temptation, you think, as your eyes scan the room. Admittedly, it’s odd seeing all these people away from their respective passions. However, Changbin’s phone is cradled in his hands, and his fingers are typing away potential lyrics. Felix, too, is hiding the fact his fingers are mirroring the directions of his recent choreography. Maybe passions are always a shadow of you.

“Should we just fix teams?” Minho says above the impatient silence.

“We can,” Hyunjin leans his forearms on his thighs. His hair falls in front of his shoulders like he’s some kind of Greek god.

“Team captains?” Seungmin asks.

“Let’s do the oldest of each unit, but since Chan’s God-knows-where, Changbin can represent,” Minho nods, glancing around for looks of satisfaction.

“Sure, rock-paper-scissors for who goes first?” Seungmin pushes a strand of hair out of his eye.

Short story short, Minho wins the first round with a victorious cheer of, “Easy!”

“You only say that because you know they always pick scissors first,” you accuse.

Minho points a finger at you, “Allegedly.”

You land a spot on Minho’s team since he got the first pick of the litter. Then, by Minho’s attempt at matchmaking, Chan lands on your team.

As you’re moving spots, you shoot Seungmin a sad, unmoving look.

He laughs, pushing you towards Minho. “Maybe next time.”

��What?” Minho glances between you. “Are you planning a coup against me?”

“You wish, Lee Minho,” you sigh, falling into the empty space beside him.

After a few beats of silence, for good measure, Minho leans down to your ear and says, “I told you you’d like him.”

“Yeah, he’s like a better version of you,” you turn to see the predictable look of offense on his features.

“Fine then, get Seungmin to drive you home,” he pouts, crossing his arms against his chest and pushing his back into the couch.

“Oh come on,” you nudge his elbow, laughing at his exaggeration.

You see a smile tug at his lips before he breaks, letting a chuckle break through his barrier.

In the remaining meantime that you wait, Minho calls dibs on the cat. Seungmin’s team claims the dog, with an offhand comment from Minho going, “You would choose the dog.” Finally, Changbin’s team chooses the hat.

“Is that a joke because you’re so short? So you can gain a few inches with the hat?” Hyunjin jabs.

Changbin reaches over the couch to try and hit him.

From this end of the couch, you can look directly into the dark, mysterious hallway. You watch as the second door knob slowly turns. You focus on it, and the shouting dispute fades out in your ears.

Chan steps out from the room, carefully closing the door behind him so as to not bring all the eyes on him at once. You fight your facial expressions to remain neutral as you take in his appearance—which is shockingly normal. Suits are his workplace fashion, and consequently, all you’ve seen him in. Now, he wears black basketball shorts and a black tee. His hair is even loosening into curls. Is this the same man who runs a massive music company? Are we sure?

His cover is blown the moment he steps into the light of the living room. Jeongin warily points a finger in your direction, “You’re on their team.”

Chan presses his lips into a makeshift smile as he approaches you and Minho. He pushes out a small ‘hey’ before taking his spot on the other side of Minho.

His reclusive figure makes your heart wrench. You wish you could have talked Minho out of going. To him, you’re just an outsider he has to put a front up for. But, the thing is, he isn’t trying to build a barrier. It appears that he doesn’t have any more energy to try.

You catch yourself staring when Minho nudges your knee with his. “You take the first roll.”

Collecting the die, you notice your hands trembling a little. Not good. You manage, somehow knocking Seungmin’s dog in the process. He feigns shock, whining in an accusatory tone, “You’re no different than Minho.”

The choir of laughter shuffles you back into reality when you glance back at your accused teammate, catching the look of the other. The corners of Chan’s lips are slightly turning up into a smile.

Whew. You’re amazed by the amount of relief that little smile gives you.

iii.

The game trails into the early hours of the morning, and a few times a boy will point at Chan and say, in an attempt to be lighthearted, “This is all your fault.”

To the dismay of the rivals, Changbin’s team manages to win. Jisung, a member of Seungmin’s team, flips the board twenty turns too late at the news. “This game is stupid!” he laughs through his words.

“You’re cleaning that up,” Changbin says as the money flutters to the rug beneath the glass coffee table. A cue for the group to laugh blinks above their heads, each varying in intensity. Hyunjin even claps a few times, for his vocal contribution pales insufficient.

Jisung slumps to the ground, “I know.”

Chan lifts himself from the couch to aid him with a lingering smile from all the laughs. As the night progressed, he seemed to slowly inch into his ‘normal’ state, as Jisung had referred to in the car.

Minho slips his phone out from his pocket. At the single-digit time, nearing close to sunrise, he heaves a sigh and pushes himself up. “Guess I should get you home.”

He extends a hand to help you up.

“You’re leaving already?” Seungmin asks.

“Uh, yeah. It’s like three A.M.,” Minho squints at him, turning his lit home screen at him for proof.

Chan snickers as he stacks all the thousands. “That’s early for me.”

See? He’s even making jokes now. This is a weird normal, considering all you know of him is his status, but admittedly better than whatever funk he was previously in.

“See you on Monday, I’ll just spend the night,” Jisung lifts his hand in a semi-wave.

Chan doesn’t protest. Instead, he looks up at you and sticks his hand up. “Can’t wait to work with you,” and smiles. Dimples indent his cheeks in a way that makes your stomach churn.

You take his hand and mirror his smile, though it’s rather genuine in comparison to the one you offered Jisung.

Minho has the decency to wait to call you out on it until you’re in the soundproof safety of his car.

“I saw that,” he says.

“What?”

“The smile. Don’t like Chan. That’d be way too awkward for me.”

You laugh, examining his twisted face of disgust as he starts the car. “Why?”

You’re not asking out of curiosity. You don’t like Chan, and you don’t see yourself liking him anytime soon. Or in the far future, for that matter. It’s just so easy to mess with Minho.

“Uh, my best friend dating my other best friend? That’s third-wheel central. I’m too hot to be a third wheel.”

Later, as you’re unbuckling your seatbelt to venture into the apartment building, Minho mumbles, “But, I mean, if you like him it’s whatever. I don’t want you feeling like you have to hide anything from me.”

You punch his arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You’re getting all sappy on me again. You don’t have to worry about stuff like that, dude,” you frown. Above anything Minho can say to you, his insecurities taking over his words hurts the most.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” you say, then adding, “Unless you want to come over sometime this weekend. I’ll be home.”

He smiles, though you sense the differing thoughts behind his eyes. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” you say before shutting the door.

iv.

In all the wrong ways, Monday comes too fast. Faster than you can process Friday night, essentially.

You try to scramble your remaining thoughts into order as you walk into the lobby.

Is Chan going to be normal today? Hoping so. Why was that relief so astonishing? Did Minho catch onto something-

“Hey, Y/N!” Jisung intercepts your thoughts.

Your eyes involuntarily widen as he pops out from seemingly nowhere. Your gaze drifts to his outstretched hands, offering you one of the drinks each brandishes.

“I didn’t know which you’d prefer, and Minho wasn’t awake so I couldn’t text him. So, I got coffee and tea.”

You take your pick and nod a ‘thank you.’

“How was your weekend?” you find yourself asking as he leads you to the elevator.

He shrugs, “I did absolutely nothing other than a brain detox for this project. You?”

Despite his back being to you, your chin twitches into a nod. “Same as you, pretty much.”

“I think Chan’s in a good enough mood,” Jisung glances back at you as he reaches for the up arrow on the elevator’s panel.

“Sweet.”

Minho is your gateway to an easy conversation. Of course, he’s not here, but you slightly wish he was. You’re forced to meander in an abrasive silence until the elevator takes you up to the eighth floor.

Eight, because Chan detests the idea of being too close to anyone. He doesn’t want his presence to divide anyone’s attempt at creating their best. An icon in distancing, Minho joked as during your first week under Bang!

Jisung sucks in a deep breath as he turns into a room whose door is partially cracked. “Here goes nothing.”

On the far side of the room is an L-shaped couch. Resting upon the vertical side as if he were in his own bed is Changbin. A laptop sits in his lap, closed, but his phone is inches away from his face as he types.

“It’d be more effective if you used that laptop,” Jisung comments, resting his drink on the coffee table and sitting by Changbin’s feet. Giving Changbin the perfect opportunity to wedge his foot between the younger’s ribcage. A cry of pain shoots out of Jisung’s mouth. Truly, he should have seen that coming.

“Dude!” he shouts, jumping to his feet and clutching his side.

“I told you not to mess with me,” Changbin’s eyes narrow into a warning gaze, but Jisung laughs anyway.

“You are not scary, bro.”

You start for the opposite end of the couch, pressing your back into the armrest as you watch the scene unfold. Cupping your drink with both hands, you’re unsure if the warmth stems from it or the sibling-esque fight before you.

Changbin slides the laptop off of his lap and pulls himself to his feet. He stands before Jisung, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. Then, as his eyes flutter open, he brings his fists up.

“Come on. Fight me.”

Jisung takes a step back. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Changbin shakes his head. “I’m not.”

Jisung’s eyes flit around the room for help. It would be that when the muscle man wants to fight, the only person physically capable of pacifying him isn’t here. Pure, unadulterated luck.

“And when you break my arm, then what?” Jisung’s eyebrows raise in taunting interrogation.

“Then I break your arm? What about it? You can perform with a shattered humerus. Right, ace?”

By chance of a higher being granting Han Jisung a break, Chan enters his office with a manila folder in his hand. Only a few steps into the room, he has to halt. His hand finds his hip, releasing a big sigh as he clutches the folder. To no surprise, he’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit. Black, of course. But with a surprising navy undershirt, which you give him credit for.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to cause injury in my office? Can you imagine the lawsuit? Would you do that to your beloved friend?” he asks a stream of questions.

He seems relatively happy.

Changbin drops his fists to his sides, gaze dropping back to his abandoned laptop. He scoops it up before reclaiming his spot. To fully conclude the argument, he opens the laptop’s lid. “Jisung started it.”

The accused boy looks at Chan and silently pleads his case. His hands clasp into a prayer.

Chan waves him off with a smile and a breathy laugh before starting for his desk. He acknowledges you with a small raise of his hand.

“Ah, where to begin?” he asks, to no one in particular, as he tosses the folder onto his desk and sinks into his chair.

“Han, can you turn the projector on?” Changbin takes the initiative, reaching over the couch’s back to grab a white USB cord.

He does as told, warily trying to avoid another pseudo-fight, before rushing to the light switch and fading the room into a mass of darkness. Chan must not like having his blinds open. Black world he lives in.

Changbin’s screen presents against the vacant wall across from him. A pre-written document appears, with the title ‘TT Ideas’ and a dashed list. 1.5 spacing, you admire.

“Okay, I did my homework,” he sighs, dragging his cursor over the highlighted ideas for the title track. “These are my personal favorites, but I’m up to debate.”

Jisung shivers at those words. Debate. Meaning: duel.

In the darkness, Chan steps in front of you. He sits halfway between you and Changbin, resting his elbows on his knees as he studies the list. You notice that his lips pout as he focuses, and his eyes squint a little.

You shift your own attention, for you’ll lose pacing if you stare at Chan the whole day. Changbin has highlighted unrequited love, turning the aura of summer into a song, unique abilities, and simply ‘flexing our equities’.

“Yeah, I definitely think that last one will go over well,” Jisung sardonically comments.

Changbin sighs in defeat and drags his cursor over his beloved idea, hitting the backspace in pity, “I knew you’d say that.”

“Can you elaborate on the unique abilities?” you ask, quieter than anticipated but still reaching its aim.

“Not to tute my own horn,” Changbin starts, running a hand through his hair, “but we’re sought after. When people see our names on tracklists, they immediately know the song is going to be good. They don’t sit and wonder if they’ll be disappointed, because they know with 3Racha that’s unpalatable. Hell, I saw someone tweet the other day that their favorite artist was spotted here, and the fandom went fucking crazy.

“People know what they expect from us, and that’s excellence. We deliver. You can’t say the same for a lot of producers. Doubt is inevitable for a lot of them, even if it’s only personal.”

“Couldn’t have said it better,” Jisung smirks, leaning his extended hand out to Changbin for him to high-five.

“What if we did it with an,” Chan hesitates, tilting his head at the screen to try and ease out the right words, “unnatural sound.”

“An experiment no one else could attempt,” you mumble, not expecting him to hear. His head snaps over to you, snapping, pointing a finger, and nodding.

“Exactly.”

The boys look between each other, bobbing their heads in agreement. “We can do that,” Jisung grins.

“You know, I had a feeling you would say that,” Changbin slips his phone out of his pocket, swiftly unlocking it and opening his notes app. “So I’ve already written my verse.”

“No way,” Jisung cocks his head at him.

“Okay,” Changbin mutters, “I had verses written for all the highlighted ones.”

“You are insane,” Chan chuckles, but not in an insulting tone.

From here on out, it’s smooth sailing.

Until Jisung pats the pockets of his jeans two weeks later. “Shit,” he mutters, glancing back at the elevator you had just come from.

Midnight was around the corner and Jisung had promised Minho they’d go see the late-night showing of the latest horror film.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He turns to you with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. “I think I left my phone in Chan’s room. I’m gonna be late. Minho’s gonna kill me.”

You cease his rambling by putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll go get it. Just tell Minho to text me when you’re done so you can pick it up. ‘Kay?”

So what if Loba’s waiting for you at home, probably pawing at the front door and meowing like, “I’m hungry”? You have a profound soft spot for Jisung. And not because Minho threatened you if you ever showed any disliking. Plus, Loba’s spoiled in all other walks of her life. She can handle you coming home a little later than usual for one night.

He breathes a sigh of relief, looking up at the high ceiling in some kind of grateful manner. “You are a lifesaver, Y/N.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you smile, starting back to the elevator as he continues his path.

The company is rather unsettling without its daytime bustle. It’s even worse on the eighth floor. A usual ghost-town, except with an increased darkness and an odd chill trailing down your back.

The hallways feel stuffy as you get close to Chan’s office, your gaze set ahead. A sniffling sound seeps into your range of hearing, though you don’t think much of it. You can get colds in summer.

Naive to think a man as esteemed as Mr. Bang would succumb to a measly cold.

As you sneak your head between the cracked door, placing your hand around its width and slightly pushing forward, the view sends your heart crashing into your stomach. Chan’s head is lowered, either hand cupping his head as incessant tears drip from his nose.

Awkwardly stepping forward, you clear your throat.

His glossy eyes, rimmed with red and slightly puffy, jump up to you. Instinctively, he attempts to discard the evidence.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he croaks, pulling his sleeve over his hand and gliding it across his damp cheek.

That’s something he could learn. If someone’s a witness, you can expect them to ease into questions. It’s only nature.

“Do you need a hug?” you attempt. Don’t be forward, don’t be blunt, don’t be mean. Minho’s reminder blinks across your vision.

He laughs, “Maybe.”

A pitiful smile creeps onto your lips as you step around the desk. Your arms link semi-awkwardly around his shoulders. He presses his cheek against your collarbone, silently crying a little. You take careful breaths, trying to stabilize your chest for him.

“Does anyone know?” Your hand rubs soft circles against his back. He shakes his head against your body. A small hiccup shakes his frame.

“You can tell me if you want.”

“I don’t want to burden you,” he manages through his tears.

You pull back a little for him to look at you. “I will smack sense into you if you say some stupid shit like that again.” In spite of his eyes crinkling into a smile—looking at you like you’re a childhood friend who he knows like the back of his hand—you try to recover. “I swear, you won’t burden me.”

He takes in a shaky breath. A blaring thought curses the forefront of your eyes. “Do you mind if we go to my apartment, though? I have a hungry cat waiting for me.”

Your arms retreat to your sides as he nods and drags the back of his hand across either cheek. “Yeah, no problem.”

You glance over at the couch, and the object of your mission stares back at you. For a second, you swear it’s glowing gold and screaming, “Your quest ends here! Bring me to my owner!”

You shuffle for the couch and scoop it up. When Chan looks at your hand in confusion, you offer, “Jisung left it. I’m the delivery service.”

“Right.” And he smiles. Comfort engulfs your body when you notice the flood has stopped.

Since you normally walk or ride the bus to work, Chan drives. His shiny sports car looks rather alien beside your used, well-used, car.

“I should warn you,” you turn to him as you push your key into the lock, “Loba’s a cuddler.”

“Sweet. I’d feel bad asking you for more hugs,” he jokes.

Sure enough, Loba is lying before the door. She scrambles to her feet and stares up at her guardian and the new intruder. Conveniently misplacing her cries for food, she scopes out the new man.

“What’d you say her name was again?” Chan asks, squatting in front of her and scratching behind her ears.

“Loba,” you say, opening the fridge to dish out Loba’s expensive special food. Adopting a cat with stomach issues, am I right?

“Loba?” Chan repeats, stifling a laugh.

“I didn’t name her,” you turn to him in defense.

Chan lowers himself, crossing his legs as Loba climbs into his lap. The love-hungry cat doesn’t even notice when you set her ceramic bowl next to her water station. She’s too absorbed in her newfound friend.

Rather than forcing them to relocate to the couch, you sit offset from them on the tile. Smiling down at the orange cat, you admit, “She’s not even like this with Minho.”

“Really?” Chan’s amused face stuns a vibration in your chest.

You appeal confirmation.

“That’s crazy. I’m a dog person, normally,” he coos down at the lovebug.

Don’t let this distract you from the task at hand, you remind yourself.

“So,” you drag. How do you say this without tempting the tears again? Admittedly, it would be nice if you had an ounce of insight. You’re walking into a minefield without a blueprint of where they lie.

Chan sighs, acknowledging his cue. “My dad doesn’t really like me all too much,” he wryly laughs.

“He seems stupid then,” you offer, not thinking further than trying to comfort him, “You’re very likable.”

“Thank you,” Chan drags his tongue against his bottom lip.

He continues, “Moreso, he dislikes his father. The one who skipped a generation when trying to continue his legacy. By association, I kind of take the brunt of it.” He looks at you through blurry eyes as he bites the inside of his cheek.

“If it makes you feel any better, I think you were the only person who could have continued the company. Your dad seems,” you hesitate, “insolent. You, on the other hand, are an ace.”

“I try to tell myself that. He makes me go to all of his business parties to keep his reputation up, as well as mine in a way. You don’t want the broken family running a huge corporation,” he mimics what he’s been told.

“So you can’t tune him out,” you echo.

“Yep,” he drags the word out, prompting a heavy sigh.

“I’m not really good at the whole comforting thing,” you study the creases of your palms. “But I’ll say that you are, by far, the most amazing person I could work for. You’re really admirable. Plus, Minho really likes you. You’re kind of like the brother he never had.”

“God, you’re gonna make me cry,” he laughs, staring up at the light as he pulls a hand away from Loba to wipe at his waterline.

“I’m serious,” you chuckle. “Would I blow smoke up your ass if you’re crying on my floor with my cat in your arms?”

When he hesitates to respond, you do it for him. “The answer is no. I don’t even do that for Minho.”

“That’s comforting,” he admits.

“I’d hope so. Now, hand me your phone,” you stick your hand out.

“Why?”

“So I can give you my number. Text me if stuff goes downhill, now that I’m in the loop.”

He looks at you quizzically.

“What? Do you think I’m going to let you suffer in silence now that I know?”

He leans to the side, cradling Loba protectively, as he draws his phone from his pocket. Unlocking it before he hands it to you.

As you type in a new contact, you say, “Do you want something to eat? I can order a pizza.”

vi.

Unfortunately, peace is temporary. Always and forever.

When you enter Chan’s office a few weeks after the father debacle, prepared to start the official recording of the album as decided on the previous day, you’re met with two confused men. Admittedly, you’re a little late, but not enough for them to be lost.

Changbin looks up at you as you cross the threshold. “Have you seen Chan?”

You shake your head.

“Heard from him?” Jisung follows.

Again, you shake your head.

“Shit,” they both fall back against the couch cushions in defeat.

“What’s wrong?” The grip on your bag tightens. Despite your inquisitive words, your gut gives you a fair answer.

“We haven’t heard from him since five this morning,” Changbin looks at Jisung for confirmation on the details.

“No one’s seen him?” you follow up.

“No one. He won’t answer our group chat either.”

Your foot taps against the floor as you try to remain composed. He texted you last night about his dad’s upcoming gala but was sparse about details. Or about the fact he would straight up disappear. Obviously, you can’t offer this information to them. A promise is a promise, even if half unspoken.

“Should we work through it? Get his parts whenever he decides to show up?” Changbin speaks.

“We can’t exactly meander anymore. Tracklist goes out at noon,” Jisung shakes his phone as annoyingly clear evidence.

“And you still need to learn the choreo for the title track,” you add. There’s only a month left. You bite your tongue, allowing the pain to slightly calm you down.

“God, what horrible timing,” Jisung laughs, but no joy laces through his tone.

You point harsh eyes at them, heavy steps leading you to the microphone stand designated for recording. “Come on then. Let’s get ahead before we can fall behind.”

vii.

You leave work the moment recording is done for the day, a discovery pulling you from focusing on anything else. Chan shared his location with you a few days ago when he offered a reciprocal to what you’ve done for him. “So you can always find me,” he said via text.

Though not for the right purpose, per se, you’re going to find him. And when you do, you might have to smack sense into him this time. With love, you convince yourself as you pull up to the stadium.

Who in their right mind rents an indoor stadium for an evening party? Rich people, evidently.

You find Chan’s car, among its shiny counterparts, and park as close to it as you can. As you get out, you pull your phone out of your pocket and call him. Not expecting him to answer, honestly.

“Hello?” his voice penetrates your ears.

“I’m outside,” you say, fighting the heavy heartbeat echoing in your head. Your hands tremble at the thought of him here, all dressed up and acting like nothing’s wrong.

“What?” he mumbles.

You look up to the big screen above the gate. “Gangnam Public Stadium, right?”

The background noise slightly fades as he says, “Wait where you are, I’ll come meet you.”

“Parking lot,” you offer before he hangs up.

You step into the shade and lean against a brick wall.

Today’s one of the finer days of summer. It’s mid-June. The solstice is just around the corner. A light breeze brushes against your skin and gently ruffles your hair. It probably helps that you’re surrounded by wealthy cars. A mood booster, in a weird way.

Quick, heavy steps draw closer. You turn your head to the source.

Chan drops his hands onto his knees as he pants. “You shouldn’t be here,” he manages.

“You should’ve told someone why you wouldn’t be at work. We all have our regrets,” you nibble on the inside of your cheek as you stare at him.

“God,” he mutters, straightening himself before standing next to you against the wall.

“You’ll get your suit dirty,” you comment, but he doesn’t care.

“You should leave.” His eyes, heavy with an emotion akin to irritation and sadness, scan over your face.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me why you did this,” you stand your ground. Just like Minho would hate in a moment like this. “To get to a person, you have to ease them into it,” he guided at one point. Frankly, you couldn’t care less right now.

He avoids your eyes as he tries to flatten his staggered breathing. In due time, he composes himself and finally looks at you. His features have loosened, and you note his brow is no longer creased.

“I didn’t want to lose my cool in front of them,” he admits.

“Scared to?”

He nods. “It was scary enough having one person see me cry.”

The place between your heart and ribs begins to pulsate heat.It begins to spread across your bones and through your muscles. For once, you have to think about what to say next. You can’t be mad at him, for his reasoning makes more sense than it had before. God, this is irritating.

“Let’s make the song of the summer, then,” you reassure him with a curt nod. “Pull you out of this monster field around you and let’s make history.”

The dark surrounding encasing him cracks away as an unbelievable smile finds its place. One like you have never seen. One that pierces your heart with its joy. ��Let’s do it.” And he drags you into a hug. Despite the roles taking a quick turn, you feel comforted. But he’s squeezing the life out of you.

viii.

You’ve done all you can do for 3Racha within the next week. The album is complete, as far as instrumentals and lyrics. All that’s left is promotion, along with all the theatrical elements left to be discussed. But that’s separate from you.

It feels bittersweet that it’s come to an end. You know that sometime in the future you’ll return to the studio with them, working alongside creative geniuses to invent a piece. Together. That’s the key. But it feels so far away.

You sit in your empty office, staring at the broad window as raindrops fall down the glass. Recounting the process in your head with distant gratitude. Title track: God’s Menu. You’re proud of it, viewing it as your child. Watching it grow into a real song, with real words and sounds attached to it. Wow. You catch a glimpse at the meaning of life as you watch two raindrops race down. It’s this: blossoming art from a tiny idea. Admittedly not entirely your own, but the principle remains.

The other tracks enlist an equal amount of precious memories for you. Late nights felt normal with the unreal energy coursing through your veins. You notice the products of effort as you consider all those extra hours. Admiration shoots through your body, leaving it numb.

It was all them, though, you acknowledge. You were only there as a caretaker, offering your own hint to mark the music.

3Racha is like a shooting star. It's fantastic, in a sense. Not everyone can say they’ve seen a shooting star in the same way not many can say they’ve witnessed the production process with three of the most talented producers in the game. They’re unreal.

A knock against your doorframe shocks you out of your thoughts. You drag your foot against the floor to turn your chair.

Chan, dressed in an outfit similar to that of boys’ night, awaits your attention. Sweat lines his forehead, glistening his skin. You can guess where he’s been.

“Hey.”

“I need your help.” His words were trailing your simple greeting so close you could say he interrupted you. Seriousness brings his face into a dimness, slightly intimidating you.

“With?” you prompt.

He leans against the frame with his arm, replaying his words in his head over and over before spitting them out, “I kind of told my dad I’d bring a date to his next party.”

“Oh?” you say, slowly realizing. “Oh.”

“Will you do it?” His features twist into a nervous reflection.

“Sure, if you pay for my outfit.”

You say this as a joke, but he fails to convey it this way. “Deal. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Does Loba need a cat tree by any chance?”

He doesn’t await your answer as he slips back into the hall. Was that conversation even real?

An indistinguishable whiplash conquers your body into a sudden realization. You turn to your desk, scooping your phone into your hands and texting Minho, beginning with, “When you see this…”

ix.

Certainly, Chan is a man of his word. From the mere month you’ve known him, you should have gathered this. But as you stand in his living room, decked out in some outfit he carefully chose for you, it blares against all of your senses in bright, evident clarity.

Minho’s message buzzes against your palm.

Lee Knows: Loba’s conked already, two minutes after she ate. Have fun ;)

You: Lol thanks again for taking care of her.

Lee Knows: Of course. Anything for my bestest friend in the world. Now, a night of yearning!

The only way to describe this feeling rooted in the base of your stomach are the words: raw emotion. It’s a cluster. Jitters mixed with a blend of uncertainty and a weird elation? To be fair, you are about to lie your way through expensive drinks and hors d’oeuvres. What even are those?

Regardless, one thing is certain. Minho was right. It’s...discouraging to admit. Frankly, you’d ignore it for as long as possible if you could. But adoration is difficult. In your face. Forward, some would refer to it as.

God, this is all Minho’s fault.

“Ready?” Chan’s shoes click against the hardwood as he departs from his dark hole of a room. He looks stunning, though his attire isn’t much different from his office wear. A small sign of rebellion appears in his appearance, which ignites a flame in your chest.

Chan brings a hand to where your eyes are burning a whole into—his hair. The curls are there, less accentuated than bro night, but evident. “Ah, I didn’t really want to straighten it. I’ve already had fried hair one too many times in my life.”

“It looks nice,” you smile. Your throat tightens as you swallow. “You look nice.”

“Same for you,” he allows a prolonged scan of you. Sheepishly, you do one of those cheesy twirls you always see in the romance movies before Prom night or whatever expensive evening the protagonists are attending. Sincerely, with all the love rampaging through your chest, you’re going to kill Minho for cursing your life like this.

He snaps out of his trance, starting for the door. “We should get going.”

Aside from the quiet hum of the radio, the ride to the venue is silent. It wouldn’t be complete without hitting every redlight, either. Jisung’s luck must have rubbed off on you when you had that group hug.

You sit at one now, red gleaming against your face as you stare out at the sidewalk vacant of pedestrians. No one’s even at any of the other lights.

“You okay?” Chan asks.

“Yeah,” you turn back to him.

“Good,” he nods, instantly averting your eyes.

Perhaps you should have found a way to decline. Even Loba would have been a better date option. At least she has chemistry with him.

To no one’s surprise, the venue is huge. Potentially larger than the stadium. From ceiling to the carpeted floor, decorated properly with the black tie theme.

Chan reluctantly grabs your hand before you tackle the crowd. If you were cold, the warmth radiating against your palm is sufficient for heating the rest of your body. Unluckily, though, you aren’t cold. Your hand feels clammy in his. If he wasn’t attracted to you before, he certainly isn’t now.

You stare at your shoes as you follow.

“Just a heads up about my dad,” he glances over his shoulder to make sure you’re still there, despite the tether between you, “he most definitely thinks we’re dating, so be prepared for questions.”

“Oh great,” you mumble. How do you cure a lovesick heart? What an ambiguous question offering up to a plethora of potential answers. One incorrect answer, though: acting out romance. In real time, too.

“Sorry, I probably should have told you sooner. Kind of slipped my mind,” he squeezes your hand in apology.

Even when you break out into a free space, his hand doesn’t pull from yours. Instead, he slightly tightens the hold as he approaches an older man. Without any prior knowledge (ie. not Googling his dad after he cried on your kitchen floor over the bastard), you could guess this is his dad. They practically have the same face. Striking differences, however, given some context.

“Hey,” the man grins, eyes shifting curiously between you and his son.

You dip your head in respect. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bang.”

His hand claps your shoulder as you look up. “You don’t have to be so formal with me.” Silence hangs onto the end of his sentence as he glances at Chan for help.

“Y/N,” Chan offers. Your name sounds pretty coming from him.

“Y/N,” his father repeats. You want to sock him for saying your name.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Would have been nicer if Chan had given a little notice,” he laughs for you, alternatively offering a subtle, but not unnoticeable, glare to Chan.

Reflexively, your unoccupied hand clenches until you feel your nails pressing sharply into your skin. Discreetly, you nudge Chan’s arm with your elbow as a sign that you’re here. Slightly, his hand loosens in yours as his nerves slowly ease.

“Sorry, it’s kind of recent,” Chan laughs. His eyes crinkle into a faux delight.

“Of course,” his father nods. “Haven’t seen any articles about it yet, which is good. You might not want this being exposed to the GP.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Chan manages through gritted teeth, albeit hidden in a way only you could notice.

Then, as if the attack didn’t have a cooldown, he reaches up and tugs at one of Chan’s curls. “Your hair looks...interesting.”

It’s really difficult trying to remain neutral in the face of backhanded advice and compliments. Especially in front of this man, who shouldn’t even be given a title as esteemed as that. He’s scum stuck to the back of your old, rusty car that won’t go away in spite of however many power washes.

“Mr. Bang,” a waiter appears behind him, stealing his attention long enough for you to drag Chan in the opposite direction. He’ll find his way into a business conversation soon anyway. With no recollection of what he said to his son whatsoever. Considering his words will always stick with Chan, your face heats up.

You ignore Chan’s repelling tug, and his words that go in one ear and out the other. A hidden area near the bar is the only place where he has enough courage to stop you. But only because you let it happen.

“If we stayed there much longer, I would have caught an assault charge,” you huff.

“You handled it well, though,” he admits, “Even if you were about to break my hand.”

In the face of anger personified, he manages to smile and crack a laugh.

“Sorry,” you mumble, finally pulling your hand away from his.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, glancing back at the bartender serving an established looking woman a margarita. Likely strawberry from its tint.

You shake your head, “I’m good. Thank you.”

“Well, then, I’ll be back,” he reaches out to rub your shoulder before slipping back into the crowd. You’re jealous of the effect he has to just become invisible.

You pull your phone from its hidden spot and open Minho’s awaiting text.

Lee Knows: Has he made a move yet?

You: Why would he?

Lee Knows: Idk you’re kind of obvious.

Before you can answer, an incoming notification from Seungmin pops up.

Seungmo: Is it true that you like Chan?

Minho. Lee Minho. You grimace.

You: No comment.

Seungmo: Sweet. Jeongin owes me twenty bucks. But ew. Who would romantically like Chan?

The text really ties together with the barfing emoji.

“Who’s that?” the subject of both text logs peeks his head over your phone.

You snatch it back, instinctively turning it off. “Seungmin.”

“I didn’t know you were friends with him,” Chan observes, placing the black straw between his lips. His drink is also tinted pink, but not in a margarita glass.

“Minho built the bridge during bro night. Now we plot behind his back,” you joke, promptly making Chan choke. He coughs, covering his mouth with his sleeve as he sputters.

“Don’t do that when I’m drinking!” he laughs.

Your chest heaves as you try to stifle the laugh building up in your chest.

“Oh come on, you’re even gonna have the nerve to laugh at me?” he tips his head to look at your quivering frame. He finds this funny, but he can’t just not tease you. That’s not in the rule book.

“I’m not laughing,” you try to convince him, lips pressed into a fine line as quick breaths leave your nose.

“Right,” he rolls his eyes.

If he were being honest with you, he was doing this as a ploy to take your mind off of his dad. Honesty isn’t one of his finer points, though. So he stays quiet.

“Do you want a sip?” he offers the fruity looking drink to you.

“What is it?” you ask, but accepting the glass anyway.

“Just a strawberry mimosa.”

Again, if he were honest, he’d tell you he only got it to share with you. It was a shot in the dark, neutral enough. But, again, not one of his stronger urges. Minho would refer to this as him ‘making a move’, unbeknownst to you.

You take a quick sip. Humming in approval, you hand it back to him. “It’s good, I can barely even taste the alcohol.”

He fixes his hair absentmindedly as a passing conversation arises. Subject: Minho. Goal: offering both parties ammunition for his next offhand comment or prank.

“Did you know that Minho talks in his sleep?” you laugh.

Chan pulls at a curl, pulling it straight. “He seems like the type.”

You reach up and flick his wrist.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Stop thinking about what your dad said,” you scold. The nerves in your stomach dissipate as your hand ruffles his hair, fluffing it out. He looks more relaxed as you pull away.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“Don’t apologize, or I’ll punch you next time.”

“I can see why you and Minho get along so well.”

xi.

By the time you’re set free from the hell of socializing with all of Chan’s dad’s friends who last saw him when he was ��this high’, the effects of the single mimosa wear off. Luckily for Chan, you drank most of it, so he’s set to drive.

“My feet hurt,” you complain. Maybe it would have been smart to break in the fancy shoes Chan invested for you before the event.

“Do you want me to carry you?” Chan asks, turning to you.

Against all voices inside of you screaming to decline, your pain receptors answer for you. “That’d be great, since you're offering.”

He bends his knees slightly and holds his arms slightly out. When you jump onto his back, he doesn’t even react.

“Do you religiously workout or something?” you joke, though true curiosity shines through your words. You’re pretty obvious.

“Duh. Every breathing moment I’m not working or crying over my dad. It’s a stress reliever.” Your arms, hanging from his neck, feel each vibration in his chest as he laughs.

As he readjusts his hands beneath your thighs, maintaining a steady hold of your body against his, your body grows warm and you can envision your cheeks glowing red. Minho was so right. And the field day he’s going to have with the upcoming weeks until the joke grows stale. You shiver at the thought.

“Are you cold?” Chan asks.

“Oh, no, I was just thinking about Minho.”

“Scary,” Chan mimics his own shiver at the mention.

You press your cheek against his shoulder, his steady steps drawing your eyes shut.

The silence you find is unparalleled to the one in the car earlier. This one is comfortable, homely even. So much so that you feel yourself fall asleep.

xii.

When you get to his apartment, he nudges your shoulder.

Your eyes slowly open, fighting against the dull light from the roof of his car.

“You can spend the night at my house. I’m not confident in pulling a sleeping body out of a car. Putting you in was hard enough,” he chuckles.

You manage a smile and hazily push the passenger door open. From the rest, your feet should be fine walking to the elevator (since there’s one less body than bro night, you’ll fit) and to his apartment. Still, he wraps his arm around your shoulders to steady you all the way up to his front door.

“I’ll grab you some clothes,” he says as you fall onto his couch. You didn’t acknowledge how comfortable it was just from sitting on it. Honestly, it feels like a normal mattress.

He returns from his room quickly with a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. Both black, as you could have guessed.

You walk to the bathroom and sleepily tug your fancy outfit off, careful not to ruin it. As you pull his shirt over your head, a rush of his cologne hugs you. You fight off the ‘I could get used to this’ comment that floats through your head.

You don’t remember walking back to the couch. But you remember Chan pulling a blanket up to your chin.

xiii.

Chan pokes your cheek, drawing you away from your precious dream of living in a cottage on the seafront—conveniently with him. You whine, pulling the blanket over your head in an attempt to ward him away. Dream Chan is waiting for you.

“Y/N, come on. You can’t sleep on my couch all day.” The worst part is: you can hear the faux pout in his voice. And potentially worse: you definitely could sleep on this couch all day if your life depended on it. Even if it didn’t, to be honest.

“Go away,” you grumble.

He sighs. His presence beside you disappears for a few moments, long enough for sleep to momentarily return. The bubble of peace pops eventually.

“Hey, Minho,” his voice returns, slightly muffled by the distance and the cloth pressed against your ear.

This is enough to spring liveliness into your bones. You sit up, hateful eyes shooting in the direction of the voice. When you see him laughing, his dark phone pressed against his ear, you reel. “One of these days, I’m gonna leave your company and then your stocks are gonna plummet,” you groan.

“Is that the best insult you can come up with?” he counters, dropping his hoisted arm to his side.

“I have more, but they're still closed off. You know, since you’ve rudely interrupted my sleep.”

“I’m sorry. Not really, though. It’s like noon.”

“And?”

“I can’t leave you here alone,” he laughs.

“What, do you have a date to attend?”

Awaiting his response, you reach for your phone on the coffee table. Two missed calls. A few Snapchats from Seungmin, likely pictures of his new puppy, but no matter.

“I wish. I have to meet up with Jisung. Pressing news he has to tell me, too confidential to be told over text.”

“He’s gonna confess,” you shoot him a look.

“Yes, because Han Jisung would be in love with me,” he starts for the kitchen. An extended arm pulls at the fridge, and he pulls two waters out.

“To be fair, if I were Jisung, I’d probably be in love with you,” you say, obviously without much thought behind it.

Okay. In your defense, you were a little too focused on reading Minho’s latest string of confusing messages. Trying to decipher the code, Chan’s response passes right through you like a ghost.

Lee Knows: Y/N you won’t believe this.

Lee Knows: Loba’s gonna be so happy.

Lee Knows: I know you’re probably cuddled up with Chan or whatever but call me ASAP.

Chan lowers himself beside you, tossing the cold water in your lap. He peeks over your shoulder. “Huh. That’s pretty much what Jisung said to me.”

“Why are you invading my privacy?” you glare at him, considering elbowing him precisely between the ribs. Ultimately deciding against it, of course. Through tense internal conflict.

“Really? You’re sitting on my couch, in my clothes, refusing to leave, and you wanna talk about privacy?”

Just because he has a point doesn’t mean he should voice it. Plus, he offered the clothes. And the couch for you to sleep on. It really just seems like a self jab to you.

“Should I call him?” Your finger glides across your bottom lip as you look at him for an answer.

“Sure, why not?” he throws his hands up in defeat. “Let’s see what Jisung and Minho have conspired this time.”

The ring echoing sparks a nervous pit in your stomach. You pick at the sticker of the water bottle. It feels like forever by the time he answers.

“Morning, sunshine,” Minho’s sweet voice reeks of sarcasm.

“You’re on speaker, by the way,” you close your eyes to avoid looking at Chan’s burning eyes.

“Oh perfect, you are too,” Jisung joins in, a dry laugh escaping his throat.

“We have some questions,” Minho begins, but fails to continue.

“Such as?” Chan prompts.

“Are you guys dating yet?” Jisung bluntly jumps to the case.

Your heart rams against your chest. That ‘yet’ tugs at your insides.

“Uh, no,” you draw out.

“The media sure thinks otherwise,” Minho jabs.

Chan’s already searching for the articles by the time you can react.

“Fuck.” He throws his head back against the couch in frustration, tilting his phone towards you so you can see.

CEO Bang Chan Lands a Date Weeks Before Comeback.

Bang Caught With Employee?

Bang Chan, CEO, Makes a Striking Appearance at Dad’s Gala.

“What? Did you really think there wouldn’t be journalists there? Come on Chan, do better.” You never knew Jisung had this cutting edge to him. If the words were aimed at you, you know you’d break down. It’s a miracle that Chan is this composed.

“Can you calm down? My god,” you say without realizing. “It’s not like we can’t fix this.” How, though, you ponder?

“If it makes you feel any better,” Minho reluctantly says, like this sentence could put his life on the line, “you looked cute.”

“Thanks,” you mutter. In any other circumstance, you’d be quick to mock him. Well. At least he’s not outwardly making fun of you. Another one of Minho’s late night insights seeping into your thoughts: see the positive.

A text notification drops down against your screen. Despite having the luxury of using his voice, it’s Minho.

Lee Knows: Would now be a bad time to out you?

You: Horribly.

“Well,” Jisung draws in a sharp breath.

“Good luck,” Minho finishes for him.

After he hangs up, promptly after letting you know he fed Loba this morning, you pick up the water bottle and place it against your cheek. The shocking chill redirects your nerves momentarily.

You try not to look at Chan, but you know he’s looking at you.

After a moment to catch your breath, he sighs, “I have an idea.”

It takes an effort to pull your attention to him. A war against yourself.

“Play along with me for a second,” he says, pulling his leg beneath him as he repositions himself beside you. Fully facing you, taking in your entire being—which doesn’t help your burning skin. You’d give anything to be invisible right now.

“What if,” he starts, “we go along with it?”

You laugh in his face. “Are you sure that wouldn’t blow up even worse? Imagine people finding out we faked it. That wouldn’t be good for you.”

He messes with his fingers, suddenly finding an intense interest in the linework of them. He rubs his thumb against the crease of his ring finger. “I don’t think anyone would have to find out it’s fake, per se.”

“How are you so confident?” You look at him in awe. Even when he’s spewing absolute nonsense and under pressure, he looks like a god. Calm as ever. It’s horrifying for your heart. And for common sense, but that’s not as important right now.

“I don’t think Minho would lie to me.”

“What does Minho have to do with this?”

His dimple shows itself as a measly smile crosses his lips. “He may have told me.”

Regardless of what he may have spilled, you know instantly. “You’re kidding me,” you huff. What was the point of his dramatic message, then? A distraction, maybe.

“I mean it’s okay. It’s not like it’s not reciprocated or anything.”

“You are unbelievable,” you shake your head. “How did you know and not say a single thing?”

His hands shoot up in defense. “To be fair, I didn’t find out until after you fell asleep last night. For the second time. He texted me with this whole ‘I know something you don’t’ facade. I wasn’t going to act on it until I had a stupidly romantic plan, but then this happened,” he gestures around the room, as if it’s the decor’s fault. He’s quick to add, “And I couldn’t do that as soon as they said anything about the articles. That’d kinda ruin the mood, don’t you think?”

So Chan’s probably not good with looking amazing under pressure—he very well could be, but you wouldn’t know that right now. Which slightly irritates you, but no matter.

“Well,” you sigh. “I guess that solves the problem.”

He nods, looking at you solemnly.

“Your dad’s gonna be pissed, though,” you comment, and he laughs.

“I know.”

Funny. As soon as the problem jumped at you, the imminent solution scared you just as fast. Your head hurts from the whiplash. That must be a pattern with him.

“You know what’s kinda perfect about this?” he says after a moment.

“Tell me.”

“We can write love songs together now. Isn’t that cool?” The sheer joy in his face shatters any aggravation left in your veins. A smile creeps up on you.

“You’re such a nerd.”

“And you’re madly in love with a nerd so I don’t see what your point is.”

You pull the pillow out from behind your back and chuck it at his head.

“Oh so you’re trying to kill your beloved love interest? Real classy, Y/N.”

“Please just shut up and kiss me already,” you lean over halfway and wait for him to meet you.

Kissing a major CEO doesn’t feel much different than kissing a normal person, but there’s a striking flare of passion to it. Maybe that’s a personal thing.

His lips fit against yours in a way that makes your soul instantly tethered to him. You hope he can’t feel your heartbeat against your lips, for it’s pulsing rather loud and antsy for you.

Chan radiates warmth in every piece of his body, extending all the way to his aura. If it wasn’t for your pesky lungs running out of air, you’d never pull away.

xiv.

In spite of his idea for a romantic confession going down the drain as soon as he decided to think one up, he makes up for it with incessant gestures. Bringing you snacks when he should be in meetings. Buying you sweets when you get stressed. Purchasing Loba a huge cat tree, even though she doesn’t need to be spoiled further. Spending the night at your house even when his is way more comfortable for the sheer reason that Loba would feel lonely.When you mention taking her with you, he’d say, “I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable with the new environment.”

He even postponed bro night because you got sick and wanted to be the one to take care of you.

You don’t need reminders that he loves you, but it’s all the while heartwarming when he says it.

Even now, with his arm wrapped around your waist and his chin propped on your shoulder, he’s thinking aloud in romance land. “What if we went on a vacation to France for Christmas? Isn’t Paris the city of love?”

You watch the TV, but his voice drowns out all of the dialogue. “I don’t know, Chan. Why can’t we stay here?” you shift in his arms to roll over and face him. This close, as you’ve grown accustomed to these past months, you can count all of his eyelashes. And you can see tiny freckles scattered across his cheeks. It must be an Aussie thing.

He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “We can stay here. I’m fine with that.”

Loba jumps onto the bed, her collar jingling with her sudden movement to warn you she’s arrived. You pull away from Chan a little to make room for her between you. “Here comes the princess,” you feign disappointment with a sigh.

She claims her spot between your chests and curls herself into a ball, burying her face in Chan’s chest. Per usual. She often forgets who feeds her around here.

“Anyway,” Chan leans over her, kissing your lips gently, “I’m okay wherever. As long as you’re with me.”

After a beat of silence, you cup his cheek delicately and say, “Let’s go to the moon.”

“Yeah,” he grins, “Let’s go to the moon.”

xv.

He leans over and presses a kiss to your temple, setting a bottle of water in front of you.

Jisung gags from across the room. “Get a room,” he complains.

“You are a grown man and you can’t handle a couple being affectionate?” Changbin criticizes. “Get a life, dude.”

“Yeah,” you chime in, “Just ‘cos you live a poor, single life doesn’t mean you can hate on us.”

“Jeez, I didn’t sign up for slander on this Monday morning.”

“You definitely asked for it, but let’s get to work.” Chan draws his phone from his pocket and prepares for the official meeting regarding 3Racha’s next comeback.

God’s Menu was well received from the public, sending Chan’s dating scandal into the shadows. Minho basked in the compliments on the choreography. Seungmin whined when no one on Twitter noticed he was the vocal coach—and Minho didn’t make it much better by rubbing his glory in Seungmin’s face every chance he got. And you couldn’t get Chan to stop showing you funny Tweets and praise for nearly a month. Likely longer.

Here you sit in Chan’s office at the beginning of the new year. A lot of things can go south during six months, but things can shoot north too. Generally, for you, it’s been pretty north.

This time around, Jisung has calculated his homework and broadcasts his thoughts onto the wall.

“I already know what you’re gonna choose for the title track, so let’s choose B-sides,” he adds the disclaimer before anyone can mutter a peep.

“I don’t know about you all,” Chan dips his hands into the pockets of his trousers and leans against his desk, “but I’d say I’m pretty confident in writing a love song right now.”

You groan alongside Jisung. “Stop talking.”

Here we go on the hunt for the song of the new year. Conquer the competition before anyone has a chance. Like you did in creating the song of the summer.

#skz au #skz imagine #skz chan #skz #stray kids chan #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #chan x reader #chan au #bang chan x reader #stray kids au #stray kids scenario #bang chan #skz bang chan #chan oneshots #skz oneshots #stray kids oneshot

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yutahoes · 4 years ago

Text

3Bs Project #1: (Biyoushi)

3Bs are known as the three male professions that women should avoid to date in Japan: a biyoushi (hairstylist), a band member, and a bartender.

pairing : hairstylist! Yuta Nakamoto x homebody! Reader

word count : 3.3k words

genre : angst, fluff, a little crack because of Ten

summary : Your bestfriend dragged you to a hair salon because of a blind date. Who would have known that you’ll fall for the hairstylist?

taglist: @ailoveyuta @aiforyuu @yutazen01 @2-3-t-i @cosmiclatte28 @readers-posts @ytzvivi @onefoureightfive

This is supposed to to be one of the fics I write the Spring Fling event from one NCT network but things happened at home that I can’t write anything. I also feel bad for not posting any scenarios these past few days so please accept this apology even if it’s late.

"I don't want to."

"Y/N, you needed this." Your bestfriend, Ten, sighed. "All you do is stay in your room all day. You need to go out, have a life."

You rolled your eyes at that. You're happy staying inside your room, the scent of coffee and old page books tingling your senses. The life that you're comfortable with. "When was the last time you went on a date with someone?"

"I'm not interested."

"I didn't say anything." You stared at him, eyebrows raised. You knew him like the back of your hand, it must be another guy he's setting you up with. "Okay okay, but he's nice. You'll be a great match." You shook your head at that.

The last time he introduced you to his friend, you became the mess you are today. "Come on, please. I told him that I'm introducing him to someone, please save me."

"Don't you have any female friends?"

"You're my favorite." You had to smile at that. You knew Ten wouldn't harm you, even apologizing profusely for what his friend did to you. "Please, Y/N."

You breathed heavily then nodded. Here goes nothing.

Ten suggested that you should do something about yourself first. You had taken decent baths, what does he mean by that? "When was the last time you had a salon appointment?" He asked, holding your hair. You shrugged, you haven't really thought about it. "This won't do. Let's get you a haircut."

That's honestly not bad so you went with him to this hair salon owned by his friend. The interior was really pretty, a seemingly calming place. Maybe you'll get your salon appointments here from now on. Your friend talked to someone inside the salon and you waited, sitting on the couch. All this trouble because of a blind date. Ten might be introducing you to some hotshot.

The curtains opened as your friend called you inside, gesturing to a chair for you to sit. "I already talked to Yuta about what to do to you. Just trust him." Should you? You cannot trust Ten but you feel bad that he's doing this much for you.

A guy your age, with shiny black hair, went out of the other side of the curtain with hairdressing tools on a cart. You thought Yuta is a girl, surprised he is a guy. He's going to do your hair? "Yuta, this is Y/N. Baby, this is Yuta. He styles my hair and he's amazing in his job." The other man smiled warmly and you have to note that he looks handsome. "I'll leave you to him. I have to get you some clothes."

You called for your friend's name but he was already out of the curtain you went in earlier. You sighed then sat up properly when the guy pushed the cart with tools beside you. "Hi." he greeted, sitting on a stool behind you. Your eyes met on the mirror in front and you gave him a timid smile. "A blind date?"

You nodded. How did he know that? Did Ten tell him? "We have to charm the guy you're going to see, don't we?" Again, you nodded with a smile. "What style do you want with your hair?"

"I'm honestly not sure." You whispered, realizing that you must have thought about this before going here. "Is it rude if I ask you to just do what you want with my hair?" He chuckled before shaking his head. "You can cut it or even color it."

He held your hair and you felt yourself tingle at the gentleness of his touch. "Your hair feels silky. I want to color it but we don't have time." He mumbled, "I'll just layer your hair and do some curls." You nodded, it's his craft and he knows what he's doing.

Ten was right, you just have to trust him.

His hands felt light in your hair, the sound of the scissors occupying the silence along with the faint music from the radio. You saw how your hair changed drastically in every snip and when he styled your hair using the curling iron, you only gasped. You look different and it's just a simple haircut.

"Wow, you look…" Ten gasped as Yuta removed the black cloth covering your body from the hair he cut. "That's some real magic, Yuta."

He shook his head, staring at you. "She's pretty, to begin with." You felt a blush on your cheeks as he said those words. He stood in front of you, twirling a curled hair. "If your date goes well, would you like to color your hair pink? It will look nice."

You nodded, wanting to color your hair instead of the date to go well.

Damn it. You don't even want to go on a date but now, you want this date to go well so you can color your hair and meet the hairstylist again.

So you listened patiently to this hotshot guy, that is supposed to be Ten's friend, yap about his trip abroad and that you should go out of the country to live your life. All night, he kept on saying things about himself not even bothering to ask you a question. He even ordered cheesecake for you, which you do not even like, wanting the carrot cake. Instead of driving you home with his Maserati, he asked you to take a cab.

And then he ghosted you. No message, no call. Nothing. You kind of expected it but maybe, you aren't meant to date someone.

You ruffled your hair in annoyance, a strand of hair falling in front of your face. Maybe you should reinvent yourself. Try again. Be a rebel. Live your life.

You'll color your hair pink.

You don't even know how to ask Ten about the hair salon's number to get an appointment so you just went to the said salon and hoped that it isn't that busy. That Yuta is there to help you.

A young man was in the reception, asking you what you need and if you have an appointment. "No, I don't." You answered then smiled. "I'll just come back…"

The curtains opened and Yuta came out with an older woman next to him. He gave you a smile before facing the woman who held his shoulder, sliding a hand down on his arm. "Thank you, darling. I'll see you soon." Yuta thanked her and she took some cash from her purse to pay, even giving Yuta some more cash that surprised you. That's a huge tip. Is Yuta just a hairstylist?

"You're back," he said when the older woman left the shop and you nodded. "You're finally coloring your hair?" You nodded. "It will take some time though, do you have anything else to do after?"

"No. But I haven't had an appointment so…"

"It's fine. We're closing anyway." It makes you feel bad. He's staying extra hours just for you. "Haechan, you can go first. Just close the door when you leave, I'll lock up after this."

The younger nodded. "Hyung, there are CCTVs here. Just a reminder."

"I know, you punk." He said before turning to you, "Shall we?" Shall you? Why are you suddenly nervous? He told you to sit on the chair facing the mirrors. "So, pink?" You hummed in response.

"I can just go back tomorrow if you want."

"You're already here. And please, just tonight, can you save me from loneliness?" Your eyes widened at that. What? "No, that sounded wrong." He said with a giggle. "I just don't want to go home early to an empty apartment."

So he lives alone? No wife? No girlfriend? But of course, you cannot ask that. It would be weird.

Yuta sat on the stool behind you, mixing something from a plastic bowl. "So the date went well?"

You sighed then shook your head. Why does he have to remind you of that? He put some chemical in your hair, "What happened?" He's curious? Even Ten didn't ask you what happened. "If you're comfortable telling me." But then, maybe he can tell you what's wrong with you. He's a guy after all.

So you told him about what happened, that he's a nice guy but he seemed so high for you. He's so accomplished that you feel like a potato next to him. "Did he call you?" You shook your head then stopped, apologizing for your action. "He's a jerk. If he doesn't like you, he should say something. Not make you wait. That's such a dick move."

You giggled. Why is he so angry? "I hope you don't feel bad about yourself. You deserve more than that stupid excuse for a guy." Again, you laughed. He had his way with words. He might be a ladies' man.

"I'm done with the dating thing." You mumbled. "It's more fun to stay at home."

"Then your pink hair will be useless."

It was one of the decisions that you didn't regret. Yuta was right, the pink hair does look good. It doesn't look awkward than what you imagined and you thanked him repeatedly for the new look. He shook his head, pushing the loose strand of your hair behind your ear. "It suits you because you're pretty."

Damn, why is he like this? You could feel your heartbeat wilding in your chest. "It's late. I'll walk you home." Your eyes widened in surprise. He'll walk you home? He started fixing the things he used while you think of something, anything just to not let him walk you home.

"You don't have to walk me home. I'll just take the bus."

"Then let me just walk you to the bus stop." You nodded, waiting for him and seated on the couch by the reception. It is truly dark, did it really take a long time for her hair to turn pink? When you heard the light switch gets turned off, you stood up and Yuta went out from the other side of the curtain wearing a different shirt, a faint smell of musky cologne hitting your nose. "Let's go."

You nodded then followed him to the door which he opened for you. The walk was kind of short but you were thankful that he's gentleman enough to walk to the dangerous side of the road. "How many stops before you get home?"

"Five stops then a little walk."

Yuta nodded, thinking deeply. "An hour tops." He whispered that made you look at him. He took out his phone, handing it to you. "Put your number in, I'll message you." This is weird. "If you're not home after an hour, I'll call the cops." You giggle at that, handing back his phone which had your number in. He called your number and it vibrated on your pocket, "Or message me if you got home."

The bus is approaching yet you don't want to leave. Yuta is so charming, it's crazy. You like talking to him. "Thank you, Yuta." You said while standing up, watching as the bus opened the doors.

"Take care, Y/N." He said in the softest yet audible voice possible.

It was when you sat on the bus when you realized things. He makes your heart flutter. He's such a gentleman. And he listens to you. You like a guy like him.

You like him.

You saw your reflection from the dark window amidst the city lights. This is just you. You'll never be enough for him. He's perfect. You shouldn't keep your hopes up. You saw a strand of pink hair on your shoulder and gasp, you didn't even pay him. Quickly, you typed in a message apologizing that you forgot to pay him or give him a tip and even saying that you'll just send the payment online or tomorrow.

A reply came quickly, 'It's fine. Thank you for letting me play on your hair.'

You giggled. Play? The color is really pretty and it’s just playing for him? He is amazing. 'I'm sorry. I'll pay you, I promise.'

'No worries, Y/N.' Another one, 'But can you not give up on dating yet? Go on dates, make boys cry. You deserve it.'

Go on dates? He wanted you to go meet other guys? And you thought there's something special between the two of you. Maybe it's just you.

Why is this more heartbreaking than that guy from the blind date not calling you back?

'I will. Thank you again, Yuta.' You closed your phone, sighing hard.

You do like him.

----

"Y/N, wakey wakey." Ten sang, opening the door of your room and you covered your head with the blanket. "Oh, you colored your hair pink. It looks good." He complimented, sitting on your bed.

You groaned. It's still early. "It's been two days."

"And your phone is unreachable." He grabbed your phone from the bedside table, opening it to reveal endless pings and missed calls. "Yuta? The hairstylist Yuta? Yuta Nakamoto?" You didn't know that Yuta is Japanese, he's so fluent in the language. And why is Ten reacting like that? Your phone vibrated, followed by a ringtone for calls. "Yuta is calling."

But before you could get your phone, Ten already clicked the phone and from the speaker, you can hear the worry in Yuta's voice. "God, Y/N. What happened to you? Are you kidnapped or something? Hey, can you answer? Should I call the police?"

Ten gave you a knowing look but you just shook your head. "Hi, Yuta." He greeted and the said guy stopped then asked who it was. "It's Ten." You heard a breath of relief on the other line. Why is he shaking you like this? "Y/N?" You don't want to talk to him yet so you gestured for Ten to cut off the call by moving your finger across your neck. "She's dead."

"What?" You slapped Ten's arm before getting the phone from him, transferring it to handset mode. "What do you mean she's dead? Ten!" Why does he sound so angry?

"Yuta." You called and he stopped. "It's Y/N. Ten is just being stupid." The other guy rolled his eyes at that.

"Hey." There was a softness in his voice when he said that word. "I was worried. What happened?"

I like you. And it doesn't seem like you like me too. So I have to guard my heart, that's what happened. "I got sick. Sorry."

"Are you feeling any better now? Do you want anything?" Your stomach felt sick at that, like little butterflies fluttering their wings inside you. Why is he like this? "You should rest. I'm sorry for calling you, I'm just worried."

"Thank you." You don't want to say anything. You might blow your cover. And before he could say anything else, you dropped the call. You lie on your bed once again, covering yourself with a blanket. Why does this have to happen to you? You were having a quiet life. Now, he's shaking you up like this.

Ten pulled the blanket away from you. "You like him, don't you?" You nodded, tears springing from your eyes. He doesn't seem like he likes you too. You told him about the older woman while sobbing in his arms and how he listens to you. How your heart misbehaves when he's near and how you can feel the butterflies inside you because of his voice. "They were right when they said that it's hard to date a hairstylist. They usually have female customers but it's their job." He explained and you nodded. "Should I ask Yuta? I'm going to the salon today anyways."

You shook your head. This your own feelings, you can take care of it. "But can you just send him my payment for the hair color?"

"You didn't even pay for it?"

-----

It's been days since the last call from Yuta and every time you can see the pink strand of your hair, you can't help but wonder what he is doing. Is he also thinking about you? You sighed, that was a stupid question. Of course not. Why would he?

And it's frustrating to know that you were heartbroken by a guy who was never yours in the first place. More reasons to stop yourself from dating.

You saw your phone blinked, a message from Ten 'Come to Moon Cafe, 2 pm.'

You rolled your eyes, another blind date. 'Please Y/N. I'll stop if he's not the right guy for you.' Why is he so sure of this?

'And he's begging me to have this date with you.' What? He was the one who wanted to date you?

You were hopeful. Maybe this is it. But damn it, this can lead to another heartbreak.

You were curious. Who is this guy? The waitress welcomed you, asking for a reservation and you said your name, "Your date is here." Already? Your hands were sweating as you followed her to the table where your date is. A mop of black hair is all you can see before you stop in front of a table.

Your eyes widened in surprise. Yuta. "Hi." he greeted, standing immediately. The waitress said that she'll be back with the menu as he slid the chair for you to sit on.

"Wait. You?" You asked when he sat opposite you, napkins in front of him.

He nodded then handed you the paper bouquet made from the napkins. "I didn't know if you liked flowers so this is safer. I'll just buy you one later if you want." You shook your head. This is cute. He sighed, a heavy breath as if relieving some nerves. "I'm sorry. I kinda asked Ten for help just to see you."

So this isn't a date. Maybe he's just worried about you. You were right, this can lead to a heartbreak. But you're happy that it was still Yuta. "I like talking to you, Y/N." You stared at him in surprise. What? "I like hearing your stories, especially your voice." Is this some kind of a fever dream? "And I deeply regret that I didn't get to walk you home that night. I mean, I don't have a fancy car but I really want to spend time with you."

You gasped. Is this all true? Yuta is saying those words to you? "But please, don't be burdened. This is just my feelings, I can take care of it." You were thankful for the waitress bringing in the menu that you hid your face with the object, promising to kill Ten the next time you see each other. "Y/N, what do you want?" He's asking you what you want?

"The cheesecakes are our…"

Yuta shook his head, "She doesn't like cheesecakes." He listens.

A smile crept on your lips as you told the waitress that you wanted the strawberry cake. Yuta ordered a carrot cake, the cake that you were craving back at the blind date. He's listening. The guy gave you a warm awkward smile when the waitress left the table, "I like your hair."

Weird. You just let your hair down today. If you just knew that you're going on a date with a hairstylist, you should have paid more attention to how you look. You smiled, leaning closer to the table. He was right, you should go on dates. "Then, Yuta, can I make you cry?"

He smiled, nodding at you. "If that's what you want, I won't stop you."

"I like you too, Yuta."

Once again, he smiled. The smile that made your heart beat rapidly in your chest. The smile that made the butterflies in your stomach flutter. The smile that makes you weak in your knees.

Damn it! You're in love. You're going to marry this guy.

This is definitely the last time Ten introduces you to someone.

#yuta #yuta nakamoto #nakamoto yuta #yuta scenarios #yuta fluff #yuta nakamoto scenarios #yuta nakamoto fluff #nakamoto yuta fluff #nakamoto yuta scenario #nct yuta #nct yuta fluff #nct 127 yuta #nct 127 yuta fluff

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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

Note

Ok I know cigarettes are like.. BAD ok. But I keep having this thot about riding javi on his stupid ass couch as he smokes a cigarette and you just take it from his lips and smoke as you quite literally ride him into the couch. He thinks it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Hazy Vision (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Summary: After a long weekend together, Javier has to go back to work. You really miss him.

W/C: 3.4k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, babes), lots of dirty talk and innuendos, references to a lot of sex outside of what happens in the plot, creampie, language, mild overstimulation. LOTS of talk of cigarettes and smoking. brief mentions of food and alcohol. afab reader.

A/N: you broke my soul, anon. and for that I love you. p.s. HAPPY BIRTHDAY @theteddylupinexperience!!! hope u have an awesome day and that this is a sufficient gift lol

It’s hot as hell in Colombia, and your air conditioner broke.

Javier is gracious, of course. He’s your boyfriend. He cares for you. He’d do anything for you, even with nothing in it for him. It’s a bonus to him that you’ll get to spend the foreseeable future at his place, since every repairman in the country is working at full capacity.

Another bonus is you wearing his clothing. At first, it was funny to him. You didn’t grab any extra clothing when you first came over, so it was natural that you’d grab a shirt of his to sleep in. Then the morning came, and you wandered around his apartment in a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt. He had to admit, you looked stunning like that. So casual, carefree, painfully domestic. You’d pounced on him in bed after two coffees and insisted that you spend the weekend in bed entirely.

So you did. Saturday was spent mostly nude in his big bed, your head pressed to his chest or occasionally to his lips. When Javier asked if you wanted to run to your apartment for more clothing, you’d pouted. “But it’s hot outside. I don’t wanna go all the way over there.”

As much as you enjoyed your own clothing, there was such a charm to wearing Javi’s. His clothes were big on you, even as they pulled tight on his thick arms and broad chest. They were comfortable too, and smelled just like him. It was a perfect comfort when he was at work and you sat bored in his apartment.

Javi sighed and asked if you’d like him to go get some. You gave a wide grin, and he begrudgingly made his way to your apartment. He packed you a bag of enough clothes for a week, and promised you if the air conditioning wasn’t fixed by then, he’d do it himself. And when he got back, he’d absolutely wreck you.

When he returned, he made good on his second promise and the two of you spent the whole day in his bed. A few lazy rounds of sex, lots of little kisses, and murmured words of affection into the other’s ear.

It was so perfect that it was really no surprise that Sunday came and went the same. You’d showered in the early morning, and Javier joined you. Shower sex occurred. Then you made breakfast and ate it in bed with him. You dozed in and out of sleep together for a few hours too. When noon rolled around, Javier treated you to a wonderful hour of his face buried between your legs, eating you out and never stopping. More sleep. You watched some television, snuggled, talked about the week behind you and the week coming up.

You ordered and ate takeout for dinner, also in bed. You finally drifted off late at night and groaned as Javier’s loud alarm woke you.

“Don’t go to work, baby,” you whine, throwing your arms around him.

“I just spent two days in bed with you. What more do you want from me?” He murmurs sleepily, sitting up and running a hand through his messy hair.

“All of your love and affection,” you say cheerfully, as if it’s not hard to give. Javier has already found it isn’t difficult with you. You’d had it since the moment you met.

“Cute, very cute,” he chuckles and taps your ass as he gets out of bed.

Even with the air conditioner pumping chilled breezes through the apartment at full speed, it’s as if the heat outside has settled inside of you. Your skin isn’t sweating but you feel flushed, stifled by all the clothing you’re wearing. So you strip down a little, heading to Javier’s room for something light.

As you remove your top, you smile as you see your favorite of Javier’s shirts. It’s a bright magenta, and you slip it over your shoulders. It’s a light material, but you leave it unbuttoned, exposing your lacy white bra beneath it. You keep the white shorts you’re wearing on. Looking in the mirror, you wish there was a way to show Javier how good you look right now. Instead, you settle for the fact that it’s… fuck, it’s only 4.30?

You’re restless. You’ve done plenty today: cleaned Javi’s kitchen, watched some telenovelas, read from an interesting book you were making your way through, organized his bedroom, and it’s still only 4:30. If you’re lucky, Javier will get home around 5:15 at the earliest. You know his job is demanding; he could be there all night.

Desperate for anything to do, you turn to one of Javier’s vices. Grabbing the pack of cigarettes from the counter, you make your way to the couch and plop down, resting your feet on his coffee table. You take out a single cigarette and ignite it with the little flick lighter Javier keeps on the end table.

For the next ten minutes, you breathe slowly, inhaling and exhaling the nicotine. Your eyes slip shut as your head rests against the back of the couch. You’re tired and lazy and still so fucking warm for some reason.

The night passes painstakingly slowly. You watch the 5:00 news, then the 6:00 and the 6:30. Finally, around 6:45, the doorknob jingles and Javier enters.

You’re cooking dinner by then, the stovetop sizzling with something good. It smells wonderful, he notes as he drops his briefcase and keys by the door, but there’s something even more enticing in the kitchen.

His radio is playing loudly, and you dance around the kitchen to the music as you cook. There’s sunlight filtering in through the windows, the last rays of the summer sun starting to descend. The large shirt fans out as you twirl, revealing the soft bare skin of your lower back. You’re already driving him crazy and you don’t even know he’s home.

He walks into the kitchen, and you look up with a grin as you see him. “Hi, Javi,” you sing as you wrap your arms around him, on your tiptoes. “Missed you today.”

“Missed you too… is that my shirt?” He asks, and you laugh happily, looking down at your outfit.

Javier finally processes the rest of the look and it sends a chill down his spine. Your breasts look so perfect, as if they’re perched there just for him. They are, but he doesn’t know that yet. “Yeah. I know we have the A/C pumping in here, but it still feels so hot,” you shrug, turning back and stirring something in the pan.

Javier wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin perching on your shoulder. “You look good in my clothes,” he murmurs.

“I think it’s making me pick up some of your habits,” you giggle and nod to a glass of whiskey to the right of the stove. “I’ll pour you one. You keep stirring these,” you tell him and kiss his cheek, sliding out of his arms.

He gets changed eventually, out of his work clothes and into a t-shirt and a rare pair of shorts you never knew he owned. It must be hot at the Embassy, you consider, and even though it’s cool in here, the effects linger. He must feel the heat the same way you do.

The two of you sip your glasses of whiskey as dinner cooks, and Javier’s eyes rarely leave yours. When they do, they’re on your chest or your ass in those little white shorts.

“Go sit down,” you tell him as the food finishes. “It’s almost done, and it’ll need to cool before we can eat it.”

He nods in agreement and meanders to his couch, lying down lengthwise and sighing. You glance over at him and smirk a little. You’d planned this all day, been missing his body and his strong arms. His warmth was missing when you attempted taking a nap in his bed. He was right where you wanted him, lighting up a cigarette. The food is done, just needs to cool now.

“I was so restless today,” you smile as you wander similarly to the living room. He takes in your legs as they stand in front of him, rubbing a hand up the back of your thigh and admiring what he sees.

“And why was that?” He asks before blowing out a cloud of grey from between his lips.

You shrug. “Missed you. Had nothing to do, really, since this isn’t my house. But mainly I missed you.”

He grabs at your thigh, thick fingers pressing into the soft flesh, and you smirk down at him. You straddle him, stealing the cigarette from his lips. You let it dangle between yours and smile down at him.

He looks up at you, dazed. Between your hips hovering above his and the nicotine slowly buzzing its way into his brain, he’s beyond contentedness. “Missed you too, sweet thing,” he murmurs, splaying his fingers across your thigh. Your hands are similarly pressed to his chest, fingers spread wide against the cotton-covered skin, skin that you can tell is warm and turning pink from a rush of blood. “Got to take you whenever I wanted this weekend. Had to wait all day to get home and fuck you again.”

His words make you shiver, and you pass the cigarette back to him. When he takes a drag in, you grind your hips across his slowly. “How was work today?” You ask, though you really don’t care. You know the answer when it comes to Javi: stressful, annoying, frustrating, tiring.

He shudders too, and you can feel his cock hardening beneath you. “Shitty,” he sighs. “Fuckin’ Stechner. I swear to god, I’d let the narcos take him.”

You chuckle softly, starting to drag your hips across his aching crotch. “They wouldn’t want him. They’d want someone like you,” you mumble, leaning down over him. “That would really bring the gringos down.”

He’s in Heaven, he really must be. Your tits hang in front of his face, and you steal his cigarette and take another drag, your hips continuing to grind into his. There’s the smell of cooking from the kitchen and in all honesty, Javier is blissed out already. “No they wouldn’t.”

You giggle and kiss the side of his face, giving him the cigarette again. “Mm, maybe you’re right. Too stubborn. Or your girlfriend might go crazy and go after them from withholding her boyfriend’s dick from her.”

Javier chuckles lazily, taking one last drag before stubbing out the remains in the ashtray. “Wouldn’t make it 24 hours before you’d kill them all. You know how you get when you’re determined.”

You nod, lifting your face to kiss his lips slowly. It takes a few moments, passionate and deep and tasting of cigarettes and that whiskey. You pull away and his eyes dart between yours. “I’m going to get up, and you’re going to take off your clothes,” you mumble, your lips only millimeters from his.

He smirks up at you and steals one more kiss. “Then get up and let me undress,” he murmurs, and you stand to the side for him.

He chuckles and sits upright again, pulling down your shorts and admiring the panties beneath. He rubs his fingers across your folds through them, and he can already feel your wetness gathering. “Oh fuck me, honey.”

“You can if you get your own clothes off,” you tease and pull off his t-shirt yourself. He pushes off his shorts and boxers, kicking them aside as it reveals his rock-hard dick. You smile and lick your lips a little. “Lay back down.”

He does exactly that, smiling. You slip your panties off and straddle him again, your breasts bouncing in your bra with the movement. His pink shirt follows you along, and he can’t help but run his hands up your sides, admiring you in the hue. “Pink is your color.”

“Only when it’s yours,” you giggle, dragging your hips into Javier’s erection. He shudders and you guide yourself to rest with his dick pressed into your folds. “You ready for me?” You ask, fingers splayed on his chest again. This time, they lay on his caramel-colored abs, making you smile at the juxtaposition between now and just a few moments ago; blue fabric separated your hands touching him, now you can only feel bare skin.

“Go ahead, baby,” he assures you, his large hands grabbing your hips and lining you up.

It doesn’t take more than a second for you to sink down on him, moaning and tilting your head back at the feeling as you slowly take more and more. “Javi,” you whimper softly, toes curling at the sensation. “You’re so fucking big,” you whine, and it’s true. He is, his dick almost painfully long as it presses up and into your cervix already.

“Feels so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, his eyes closed as he takes in the sensation of you on top of him.

“Light another cigarette,” you order him, his cock fully sheathed inside of you. He nods, sitting up to reach the pack, and both of you make soft noises at the grind it gives, the base of his cock against your entrance.

He flicks the lighter and holds it to the little white stick. The end glows orange. “Good,” you nod and begin to lift yourself up and push yourself down as Javier takes a long drag from the cigarette.

You involuntarily tighten at how fucking good he looks beneath you, a light sheen of sweat starting to form on his forehead, smoke trailing from between his lips. “Javier,” you groan, your eyes slipping shut as you begin to bounce on him.

He knows exactly what you want, what you need to make this all that much better. His free hand no longer rests on your hips but circles your clit with two fingers. “There we go, baby girl,” he moans out at the way you sound from the motion. You sound wrecked, and he can’t get enough of it. “Mm, fuck, take what you need from me.”

Javier opens his eyes to look up at you. The sight is fucking magnificent: your tits bounce against that white lace, the pink fabric of his shirt draped against your sides. Just when he thinks you couldn’t look even hotter, you snatch his cigarette.

You cry out his name again and again as you slowly take a puff, the sensation too much to bear. Gripping the cigarette with your teeth, you press both hands to his chest and ride him faster, harder.

Your face is furrowed in concentration, sweat sliding down one temple. A bit of grey smoke obscures your face to him, but it’s still a fucking sight to behold. It’s everything he’s ever wanted and needed and more, a girl like you wearing his shirt and smoking his favorite cigarettes while you bounce on his dick, that sexy body moving along with his.

He can’t even thrust up into you. You’re grinding your hips down with every time you bottom out, his dick pressing right against your g-spot. He can’t even try. It’s fucking amazing. One of his hands reaches up to allow you to take a drag from it. It’s incredibly intimate, not just the way you’re obliterating him but the way he holds the cigarette to your lips. He takes it away for you to puff the smoke from your lungs then brings it back.

It doesn’t take long with the combination of everything. You shudder and pass the cigarette off to him fully, too occupied with what you’re doing. “Fuck, baby,” you whimper, his fingers pressing faster against your clit. “Really close.”

“Yeah?” He murmurs, taking his own puff from the cigarette before stubbing it out to his side on the coffee table. His long arms can easily reach. With a hand now free, he grips your waist and guides you up and down on him, just the way you like it.

His hand drifts higher, reaching your neck. He doesn’t squeeze or grab, just rests it there. Holds you in place, almost. It feels good, his hands roaming your body, and you cry out in pleasure.

“Come on, honey. Cum for me,” Javier urges.

Only a few more seconds pass before your peak washes over you, sending you into sheer bliss. Javi’s fingers don’t slow in the slightest, and he takes this opportunity to begin thrusting up into you as your bouncing involuntarily slows.

Your hand slides over where his rests on your neck, lacing your fingers through his. You cry his name and your head falls against his hand, eyes fluttering with pleasure.

Javier is now the one in control once more. He brings both hands to your hips and thrusts up into you, his movements sharp and harsh. His hips smack yours and the tip, buried deep inside of you, hits your g-spot, sending you into a pleasant state of overstimulation. “Fuck, Javi,” you whimper, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

Everything feels so warm and tender, your walls oversensitive now. It doesn’t matter to you in the slightest; rather, you relish it. You bring one hand to your clit and rub it yourself, shuddering. “Come on, Javi,” you plead, regaining yourself and working your hips back against his.

It’s all so good and so much and overwhelming. He can barely use any of his senses other than touch, can barely hear you as his head spins with the feeling of teetering on the edge. “Gonna cum, baby girl,” he groans, and you work your hips harder into his, desperate for it.

He can tell, and it makes him lose control. He spills hot and deep inside of you, the heat rushing through his body expunging the warmth that’s built inside of him all day from the goddamn Colombian summer. “That’s it, fuck,” he cries out as the orgasm rolls through his body.

The feeling of his cum spilling inside you is just enough, in tandem with your fingers. You cum a second time, your walls squeezing him tight, milking him dry of anything he can produce. “Javi,” you whimper, and he only notices you’re cumming for the second time when a warm gush rushes across his hips.

“Fuck, good girl, baby,” he breathes out as he comes down from his high, you equally as overwhelmed on top of him. After a few moments of heavy breathing, you remove yourself from around him and lie there, pressed to his chest.

Javier’s legs are bent at the knee, surrounding you on either side of your thighs. They press into you, and you lay on top of him with your ear pressed over his heartbeat. It’s still frantic, but it’s coming down. Javier wraps his arms around you, a finger tracing slowly up and down your spine through that damned pink shirt of his.

“Why do you love this shirt so much, hm?” He asks, breaking the warm and tired silence between you.

You chuckle. It’s certainly not what you expected to be asked, but you like it. “Kind of think I look like you when I wear it. I think what you saw just then is what I see normally. You on top of me, fucking me hard, sometimes with a cigarette.”

“Oh, you looked just like me,” he laughs sarcastically, shaking his head. “And when I have I ever fucked you while smoking?”

“Just like you,” you repeat in a soft and happy murmur, a small smile gracing your face.

“Jesus, you really must have missed me today,” he chuckles softly.

“Withdrawal, I guess. You leave me, I have to pick up another vice. I sat here smoking for a while today.”

“First of all, I did not leave you,” Javi chuckles softly. “And really?”

You shrug. “It just came to me to do it. It wasn’t great or anything, but it was something to do. To pretend you were there with me.”

Javi sighs and kisses the side of your head. “Well, should we go eat before the food is fully cold?”

You laugh. “I think it’s already cold, Javi.”

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867

#javier peña fanfiction #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #javi peña #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #narcos fanfiction #narcos fanfic #narcos #pascalpanic

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creepling · 4 years ago

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٩(˘◡˘ ) HEADCANON / getting taken care of by dream at a house party

a/n: i had this idea of dream being best friends with someone who likes to drink alcohol at parties so i made this!! if you are a minor, you can still read this, but please do not drink alcohol if its illegal in your country lol. and anyone 18/21+ drink responsibly!! also this is my first time attempting headcanons so sorry if it is all over the place.

pairing: teetotal!dreamwastaken x gn!drunk!reader.

tw: alcohol, drunkeness, cursing.

to put it out there, dream is t-total, which means he doesn't drink alcohol.

but you, uhuh, you love a good drink.

you and dream arrive together to the house party and he is literally stunned by how fast you get drunk.

like,,, he blinks ONCE and you're literally already attempting to drink a whole keg.

dream remembers that first time he saw you drunk and he got really anxious, thinking you'd end up sick.

but then he eventually realizes you handle alcohol pretty well so he tries not to worry about you too much. he still thinks you're an absolute idiot.

throughout the night you obviously have 1000x more confidence than dream has, so you dance like an absolute idiot the entire night. dream just laughs at you in the corner.

at one point you try and drag time out to dance and he is literally digging his heels into the floor and clinging to the wall in protest.

he gives in and joins you to dance. he does all this cheesy shit like twirling you round in circles and doing the waltz to try and embarrass you.

you return the joke by fake twerking on him and that's when he backs away from you.

when you "break the seal" dream is ushering you to the toilet every 5 minutes.

at one point while you're peeing he sits in the bathtub and rants about all the creeps gawking at you and how "he's gonna teach them a lesson"

at one point you split up to see your other friends. dream keeps promising you he will come back for you.

"don't do anything stupid, (Y/N). i swear to god!!"

when you say goodbye to your friends and try and find dream, you find him in the living room sitting on the couch, observing the room.

you sit next to him and ask, "what’re you thinking about?" while trying to hold a solo cup in your hands without spilling it on him.

"do people who drink alcohol even realize how stupid they look?" he says to you, motioning around the room.

for the next half an hour the two of you watch drunk people and make jokes to each other. one guy is sleeping on the arm chair with a lamp shade over his head which makes the both of you cry with laughter.

next minute, one of your friends is pulling you up to do shots, which dream tries to protest against. you reasurre him you'll be okay and he follows you to the kitchen.

after playing a drinking game and doing an abundance of shots, you're the last person standing as your friends begin to run to the bathroom or to pass out on a chair.

"you are fucking crazy, y'know that?"

dream gets tired and asks you if they can leave. since dream was your ride home, you say yes and say farewell to your friends.

you blast music in his car and sing along very loudly.

dream lets you do it, since he knows you'll grow tried eventually.

and low and behold, when he gets to your house, you are sound asleep.

dream rolls his eyes, but laughs at your little snores.

he carries you into your house and immediately places you on your bed.

he takes off your shoes and puts a blanket over you, then leaves you out water and painkillers.

when he gets back to his car, he drops you a text that he hopes you will read in the morning.

dreamwastaken: i'll see you tomorrow at noon to check if you're okay. i'll bring you some hangover food ;^)

when you wake up the next morning with a throbbing headache, seeing that text made your hangover a little less painful.

dream keeps his word and turns up to your house with your favourite fast food. you spend the rest of the afternoon talking about the party (from what you can remember) and laugh about the abursed memories.

TAGLIST: @momo-has-a-gun @diggorysmalfoy @quack42069 (join my taglist!)

#dreamwastaken #dream x reader #dream x gn!reader #dream headcanons #dreamwastaken headcanons #dream x y/n #dream x you #mcyt headcanons #cc!dream #cc!dream x reader #cc!dream x gn!reader #mcyt x reader #smp x reader #dream smp #smp #smp headcanons #dream smp headcannon

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roanniom · 4 years ago

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My request is probably so lame lol. But will you please tell us about Valentines Day with Flip? How does he spoil you and make it extra special for you? I’d love it if you could throw in some praise kink and size kink too please!

I love all your writing and you’re so talented! Thank you for entertaining my request! 💛

Hi my lovelies, thanks for your patience with this, seeing as it is coming over a week after Valentine’s Day. I wasn’t 100% I had another Valentine’s story in me after my Clyde and Charlie ones, but I chose to combine these prompts, got a little inspiration today and voila - a sweet and salty Flip one shot was born. Hope you’re cool with me combining and taking a bit from each of these requests! ❤️

Stupid Little Day in February

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

Word Count: 3,890

Warnings: NSFW, PIV sex / semi-public sex / unprotected sex, angst in the form of Flip wanting to love up his lady but having work get in the way

Flip had never intended to find himself in this position. He was a perfectionist, giving everything he had and then some in an effort to be successful in all he did – high school sports, his career at the department, his relationships. It’s why he always tries to make time for the boys, being there for Ron whenever he needs help or just someone to bitch to over a beer after work. It’s why he does his best to shower you with love and affection every chance he gets, bringing home little gifts and spending lazy Sundays doing nothing but you. And he thought that, all things considered, he’d been doing a damn good job.

That is until he overheard you on the phone with your friend the other day. You were twirling the coiled cord around your finger while you lounged on the couch laughing and chatting animatedly. He’d walked by and into the kitchen, careful not to disturb you, but as he cracked open a beer he heard something that made his stomach drop.

“Yeah I know I love Valentine’s Day, but Flip hates it so I can be cool with that.”

Flip had left his beer on the counter and moved silently to the doorway, ears straining to hear the rest of the conversation, mind racing to all the times he had, indeed, condemned the holiday of love as a sappy excuse for bad boyfriends to redeem themselves. A day to stimulate the gift industry. You’d laughed and teased him for his soap box routine and grumpy demeanor but you hadn’t argued.

“Besides, I’ve told you. The man gets me flowers like three days a week. He remembers things, like really remembers things. And he listens. I’d trade fancy dinner, red hearts, and chocolate for him any day.”

And though you’d defended him to your friend, your words had stuck with Flip. He wanted to give you the moon, he would if it wasn’t so damn high up. The least he could do was indulge you in something you enjoyed. You did that for him constantly – sitting through football games, hanging with the boys at the bar, listening to country music though you told him that deep inside it made you want to murder the jukebox. You sucked it up and took it with a smile so you could be with him. Flip kicked himself for not being able to do the same with some stupid holiday.

But at the exact moment Flip vowed to right this wrong, the universe seemed to have made a competing vow to ruin all of his efforts. It seemed that the revelation had come to late, being that it was already the night before Valentine’s Day. He was horrified the next morning to find, after a series of tense calls made at his desk hunched over and hushed so none of the other detectives could here, every restaurant in town was booked full. Which ended up being a moot point because the chief demanded he stay late, regardless of how much he gnashed his teeth.

“Everyone with a serious gal already asked for the night off, Zimmerman. It’s too late now. Guess your gal isn’t that serious,” was the only reply he received.

Head in his hands at his desk, Flip flinched when his back received a firm clap.

“Now I know we’re in the contemplating-marriage-territory here with this girl,” Ron said, pulling a seat up and fixing Flip with a concerned look. “What’s all this about not taking time off?”

Flip repeated the conversation that he’d overheard, sure to explain that he had no intention of disappointing you despite your good nature.

“You do realize that this could easily be remedied by a simple call to your woman, right?” Ron asked as Flip massaged the space between his eyes.

“I wanted to surprise her. Calling at this point feels like admitting defeat.”

“Do you hear yourself? ‘Admitting defeat?’ This isn’t some damn battle, it’s a holiday for a fat little baby with wings.”

“Hey, he does have a weapon,” Flip countered, though this time he cracked a smile. Ron laughed heartily.

“Yeah, one that’s been used to shoot you and your little lady enough to kill a small elephant. You guys are pumped so full of the love juice it’s a wonder you’re able to concentrate on anything else.” Ron turned then and flicked the large stack of files on Flip’s desk with a smirk. “Or maybe that’s your problem, Zimmerman.”

Flip shook his head.

“That might be the case for me, but – ”

“Are you seriously about to argue that she doesn’t feel the same way?”

“How the fuck would you know?” Flip asked gruffly. Ron, used to Flip’s gruffness much as you were, plowed right on through.

“Well besides all the dinner parties and barbeques and nights we all go dancing?” Ron raised an eyebrow with a laugh. “Patrice, man! You think those women get together and don’t talk about us?”

“Patrice has told you things?” Flip’s whole body tensed and Ron was quick to reassure.

“Calm the fuck down, I don’t want any of your dirty details. All I know is your woman is crazy in love with you. I don’t think some stupid little day in February is going to rock your world as much as you think it will.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Flip conceded, putting his head in his hands.

“I’m always right, you just never listen,” Ron said good-naturedly as he headed back to his desk. Over his shoulder he tossed one final piece of wisdom. “Whatever you do, just call her!”

~*~

And Flip did try to call you. Ten times as a matter of fact. It wasn’t until the sun set out the window and he hung up the phone for the tenth time that he remembered you’d had plans to hang out with your mother today. While that probably should have made him feel better – you had filled your day with plenty of things and probably wouldn’t even notice his failed attempt at romance – he couldn’t help but agonize the fact that it proved you had expected so little of him in the first place.

It’s with this on his mind that Flip buries himself in his paperwork. It’s 8pm and every member of the Colorado Springs police force that hadn’t taken the holiday off is out for a dinner break, Flip having sullenly waved them off so he could sulk in peace. He’s neck-deep in casefiles when he hears the sound of footsteps coming in from the bullpen. It was much too soft to be the tread of any of the beat cops he’d expected to see tonight and Judy, the night shift receptionist, wasn’t due in till later.

“Burning the midnight oil there, detective?”

Flip’s head snaps up at your voice to find you leaning against the doorframe to his office, arms folded casually across your chest, cheeky smile gracing your lips.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” Flip asks breathlessly as he makes to stand up. He freezes mid-motion, however, when you hold a hand up.

“Ah ah ah, no need to get up,” you tsk, closing the door with a gentle click and dropping your bag to the floor before making your way over to him. He hesitates but lowers himself back into his seat, eyes trained on your frame slinking toward him. You drop your palms to his desk and hoist yourself up onto it, prowling forward across the surface on your hands and knees toward him. “I heard my man needed some cheering up.”

“You did?” Flip asks, a smirk forming at the corners of his mouth as he leans back in his seat to enjoy what has already been and promises to be quite a show. Legs spread wide and hands gripping the arm rests he hasn’t really even heard what you said. Instead he is focusing every single brain cell on the cleavage that is visible through the red peacoat he’s never seen you wear, chest now slightly exposed as you slowly slide off the scarf you’d used to obscure it.

“Yeah. I heard you wanted to love on me but couldn’t because of work,” you say in a low voice, scooting forward so that one leg dangles off the edge of the desk on the outside of Flip’s left thigh while you place your other foot on the edge of his chair to the right of his other thigh. His gaze flits to the expanse of inner thigh that is now visible to him, your legs bare beneath the peacoat despite the freezing mid-February chill outside. His hand shoots up to smooth over your thigh, warming your skin, just as his brain catches up to your words.

“Now where exactly did you hear that, sugar?” He asks with a small frown. One of your hands reaches out to his shoulder, pulling him in his wheeled office chair closer to you and the desk. The same hand slides down his shoulder to smooth back and forth over the plane of his chest, just as your other hand threads into his hair.

“I can’t go around divulging my secrets,” you say breathily, leaning forward and arresting his lips in a sensuous kiss. You are the first to deepen it, tongue flitting over his lips to beg for entrance before plunging into the depths of his mouth. You kiss him greedily like you’re seeking the breath from his lungs to be the source of your own oxygen. Like the pressure of his lips on yours will warm the late winter cold from your bones. When you slide off the desk and into his lap, straddling his thick denim-clad thighs, Flip moans into the kiss, making you break away with a pleased hum. You relish in the look of his kiss-bruised lips, red and wet from the fervor of your contact. “Maybe cupid dropped by with a little message. Told me to come on down here and drive you wild.”

Flip’s breathing deeply at this point but the new intake of air seems to get the gears moving better in his mind. He frowns.

“And by cupid you mean Ron.”

“Bingo, baby,” you confirm with a smile before pressing a kiss to his furrowed brow. “Don’t be mad at him, though. He told me how you tried to make tonight special for me and that you’d probably bite off the heads of everyone working the night shift if I didn’t make my way down here quick.”

“I set something up. I did what I could, things just kept going wrong…”

“Shhh….” Your kisses migrate from his forehead to his cheek, pressing into his dimples till his frown smooths out and his eyes close again. Only then do you move down to mouth at the column of his throat, pressing your lips to his Adam’s apple. “So how many are there?”

“How many what?” he asks distractedly, eyes still closed.

“Dead bodies of people who had the misfortune to cross paths with my grumpy mountain man?” you ask, the smile clear in your voice though you speak the words into his skin. Flips hands tighten around your hips.

“I’m only grumpy because you deserve the fuckin’ moon and I’m stuck here behind a desk.”

“Well, if you haven’t noticed,” you say, angling in his lap so that your lower back leans against the edge of the desk behind you. “I am also behind the desk with you. So maybe it’s not all bad.”

It is at this point that you pop the few buttons at the front of our coat, allowing it to drop open and reveal the gauzy, see-through red negligee you are wearing beneath. It comes down only to the tops of your thighs, but most important of all, you are completely bare beyond the fabric. Your breasts are held in the negligee’s sheer lace cups, nipples hard, and not a scrap of panties obstructs his view of your cunt, evidently glistening from this angle, even through the garment.

“Sugar.” He intones it soft, deep. It’s a statement. A warning as his eyes slide back up your body to lock on your own hungry stare. “You’re just looking for trouble here.”

With a devious smile you settle forward again, rolling your pelvis this time to rub your heat conspicuously over the growing bulge in his jeans.

“You can punish me later, Flip,” you whisper softly in his ear as you reach down to unbuckle his belt. “When you get home. But for now let me reward you.”

“What’s there to reward me for, darlin’?” Flip asks, helping you rid him of his belt and unfasten the buttons of his Levi’s. He’s not even sure why he’s pressing the matter. You’re here, rubbing your gorgeous body all of his in the middle of his workplace like some fucking fever dream and here he is, practically reminding you of his unworthiness. In some kind of verbal act of self-flagellation.

“Flip Zimmerman,” you chide, even as you pull his half-hard dick out of the opening you’ve made in his pants, careful to keep the rest of his clothing neat. “There’s always something to reward you for.” You begin applying a few measured strokes to his length, squeezing at the base and rolling your wrist to smooth the motion up to his tip.

“Fuck,” Flip grunts quietly, his head dropping to hit the back of the chair.

“This morning you sprinkled cinnamon on my oatmeal. Last night you handed me that lotion that smells like jasmine when I got out of the shower, the one I love so much.” You kiss his jaw as you say this and let your eye lashes flutter against his cheek in the process.

“Those are little things. Nothing,” Flip argues, still mentally kicking himself for the knee-jerk way he keeps dragging this on. Living in this guilt despite your loving ministrations which suggest you feel exactly the opposite.

“They aren’t little to me,” you say, your tone abruptly serious and your fingers digging into his jaw to keep him looking at you. “You read to me on Sunday afternoons. You take me camping whenever you get time off.”

Your tone returns to its original gentleness and you duck your head so that you can nip at Flip’s earlobe. Your hand continues its steady pace on his cock, thumb swirling around in the precum collecting on his tip.

“You fuck me. Good and hard and slow and fast and every which way I need it.” He’s painfully hard now, both from your hand and from your focused attention on him. From the words falling from your lips. He gazes back at you with blackened eyes and massages the skin of your hips and ass with his large, warm hands. You lick the shell of his ear then, marveling in the way it always turns red and hot, regardless of his confidence, regardless of his dominance. “You meet my needs, Flip, every day. And today is just any old day. So just like you do for me, I’m going to meet your needs, and you’re going to enjoy it.”

You say this as you lift yourself up with the muscles of your thighs and line him up with your entrance, sinking down on his cock just as you get to the last few words. Flip immediately mutters a string of hushed curses, fingers digging into your hips through your gauzy negligee so hard you’re already looking forward to the bruises. He breathes through his nose, his labored exhales fanning across your face as you work to adjust to him, eventually swiveling your hips a bit.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he mutters, dropping his forehead to yours. Your face is screwed up in pleasure-pain and you huff out a laugh.

“No, you’re just fucking huge.” Your statement gets a groan from him and you smirk as you begin to lift yourself up and down on Flip’s cock with his help. Your walls pulse, stroking his cock as your tongue moves on to stroking his ego. “You’re so big, Flip. Too big. I can barely take you.”

“You’re taking me just fine, sugar,” he shakes his head, eyes rolling back in their sockets as you grind into him on a down motion. “So wet. This little pussy takes me so well.”

“You fill me up, Flip. Stuff me – ohhh fuck – stuff me so full I think I might burst.” You reach one hand back to grip the edge of the desk for leverage while your other hand digs into the skin of his shoulder.

“Oh for me you do burst, baby. You burst and gush all over me like the good girl you are,” Flip whispers into your clavicle when you throw your head back, an automatic response to him beginning to aid you by thrust up into your quivering cunt himself. This sounds more like your Flip. Confident and powerful. Pressing all the right buttons to drive you wild. “My good girl.”

“I love it when you call me that,” you admit softly.

“A good girl?”

“Your good girl,” you correct.

“My good girl,” Flip repeats and your pussy clenches around him hard in response. So naturally Flip says it again. “You’re my good girl.”

Your breathing has increased rapidly, spurred on in no small part by the way one of his hands has snaked up to pluck a breast from its lacy confines. His head dips to suck your nipple into his mouth and you hum.

“Who’s good girl are you?” Flip asks into your breasts.

“I’m your good girl.”

You begin ridding him harder, faster. The slick seeping onto his cock around your swollen lips indicates that you’re farther along than he’d expect, a suspicion that you soon confirm with a whimper.

“Fuck, baby, I’m close.”

“Really?” he asks, incredulous. He’s used to marathon lovemaking. Even a quick fuck in a bathroom stall usually becomes indulgent for you two, trading speed for roughness and lewdness.

“I kind of…got ready before I – ah! – came here.” You bite your lip as you say it and Flip resists the urge to pull your lip out and claim it for himself.

“And by ‘got ready’ you mean…” he prompts, a wicked smile spreading on his face.

“I touched myself,” you admit, no shame in your words. “I touched myself while thinking about my handsome man and his handsome cock and the way it was going to fill me when I came over here.”

Flip grabs one of your hands then, zeroing in on your fingers. All the while he keeps thrusting up into you, feet flat on the floor and muscles rippling throughout his body with the effort.

“Did these fingers rub your little clit?”

“Yes,” you say, still confident. Flip licks a stripe up your index and middle finger, almost as if doing so would allow him to taste remnants of your essence.

“Did you stuff them inside your pussy. Press that little spot inside you like so much?” As he says it he thrusts up and forward, making his cock drag against your front wall in a way that’s got you buckling in on yourself.

“Oh god oh yes. Yes!” You’re trying to remain as quiet as possible but it’s getting harder by the second. The station was empty save for Flip when you’d arrive but soon other people would return. A fact that made your pussy drool all the more on Flip’s throbbing cock.

Flip watches you fall apart in his arms and speeds up the process by sucking on your fingertips, splitting them apart with his tongue and laving each equally. You swallow a moan as he brings your own wetted fingers down to the apex of your thighs.

“Show me,” he breathes, moving forward to kiss your lips. “Show me what I do to you.”

You begin rubbing your clit just as Flip assaults your senses in all other ways. He captures your mouth in a kiss while simultaneously returning to kneading at your breasts with abandon, tugging and squeezing at the pillowy flesh.

“Did you cry out my name in that empty house when you came?” he prompts. You shake your head feverishly, your thighs shaking around him as your climax nears.

“No. I didn’t cum. I saved that for you.”

In a flash of blinding pleasure, you unraveling on top of him, careful to suppress the reaction to little gasps and whimpers instead of the loud praise and guttural moans you would have preferred to let out. The suddenness of your orgasm catches Flip off guard and he is utterly unprepared for the way your walls flutter and pulse, ultimately milking his cock of his own release. You collapse in his arms with a shaky laugh, one he’s only able to reciprocate when the ringing in his ears begin to lessen and his heart stops trying to pound a route out of his chest.

You both revel in the afterglow for a few minutes after, holding each other like you aren’t in his office in the middle of the Colorado Springs Police Department. Like people aren’t about to file in after their dinner break, bellies full and completely unaware of the fact that Flip had just railed you into next February.

After a while, Flip finally pulls out and tucks himself away, once again the picture of professionalism. Or at least, as much the picture of professionalism as Flip cares to appear, what with his eternal flannel and comfortably warm in jeans, the wet patch of your arousal finally fading. He helps you clean up with some napkins he has stashed in a drawer, ultimately bundling you back up in your coat and scarf. You now look sweet and warm again, a stark contrast to the vixen who had crawled across his desk and stripped for him.

Now descent, you settle back into his lap sideways, opting not to straddle him tis time in case someone did finally walk in. You run a finger through the hair at his chin.

“You said earlier you said you’d ended up setting something up for me. What was it?”

Flip blinks at your question for a few seconds before letting out a laugh that ripples from deep in his belly.

“I sent Jimmy and his brother with a box of chocolates over to the house. They were supposed to sing you a Motown duet.”

“I would pay to hear that. When are they supposed to get there?”

“They’re supposed to arrive right now.”

With that you dissolve into a fit of laughter, falling into his chest as you heave from it. Flip’s arms wind around you and tug you tighter to him. And in that moment, he almost believes in this stupid holiday. Almost believes in the cartoon hearts and the fat little winged baby that flies around shooting people. What else could possibly explain the sharp pain radiating from his chest when he looks at you? The ache that dulls as it floods to his extremities, simmering into a warmth that fills him from head to toe? All Flip can think as he smooths his thumb over your smiling lips is that cupid better have a up-to-date permit for that bow of his.

~*~

Tagging some lovelies <3 (please let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from this list in the future!): @noocturnalchild @thedivinemissn @insufferablelust @historyandfandoms50 @lostinthedrive @thewilddingleberries @edencherries @mariesackler @safarigirlsp @direnightshade @sacklerscumrag @paper-n-ashes @clydesfavoritegirl @wayward-rose @hopeamarsu @thegreenmatt @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @maybe-your-left @aliveandlonely @han-not-solo @morby @mrs-zimmerman @maryforyou @jynzandtonic @renmaulxo @millenialcatlady @equivocalrabbit @soggywhore @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess

#request #queeniebee #anon #valentine's day #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman x you #Flip Zimmerman/reader #Flip Zimmerman/you #Flip Zimmerman smut #Flip Zimmerman fanfiction #smut #writing #roanniom #tw: semi public sex #cw: semi-public sex

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heyitsyn · 4 years ago

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Manager!Seijoh Part 8

a/n: okay so since my halloween special was a flop ill write this instead but uwuwuwuwu its also my birthday today so hehe this is kinda a special request too :D

WAIT YOU GUYS THIS IS TOTALLY IRRELEVANT IF YOURE NOT A POTTERHEAD BUT OMG I SHARE THE SAME BIRTHDAY AS SIRIUS BLACK LIKE WHAT :”) I THINK I SAVED A COUNTRY IN MY PAST LIFE OR SOMETHING :”)

for more seijoh content, check this masterlist out!

anon:

- IF IT WAS YOUR BIRTHDAY! omg :0 i think we can all agree that the ramen shop will get GOOD BUSINESS that day. but it was a total surprise when the upperclassmen basically JUMP you after exiting your last class. vball practice? deliberately cancelled cuz today is YOUR day. kyo leading you, iwa making sure your eyes are closed while oikawa keeps teasing you on how you’re letting a group of men take you BLIND (cue the PUNCH). your smile is worth the XXX amount spent c,:

LOOK HOW CUTE MATTSUHANA ARE IN THIS LIKE OMG ITS LIKE IWAOI SPIRIT SWITCHED W THEIRS AND NOW IWAOI HAVE TO PULL THEM APART INSTEAD OF THE OTHER WAY AROUND

okay yay happy birthday to me uwu

i kinda put this request off since my borfday was right around the corner so hahaha to the anon who requested this, here it is!!!

okay anyways!!!

so today is your borfday

obvs this could be any day lmao it doesnt have to be today but it can be any day just pretend the calendar was different lmao

you were born today and your parents and natsu obvs celebrated it the morning you woke up

like you were peacefully holding your squirtle plushie and snuggling close to get more sleep bc it was still early

but natsu quite literally kicked your door down and your parents walked in with a large cake with candles

STEPBRO WHAT ARE YOU-

okay ill stop now

ofc you were startled bc what the hek

like you were so surprised that you rolled off the bed and landed harshly on the floor

instead of being yanno ‘yey! its my borfday!’ you were like ‘dear asahi kill me’

waking you up at the buttcrack of dawn?

lmao 10/10 not recommend

natsu felt really bad and he pulled you up from the floor and situated you back on the bed while your parents backtracked back downstairs

‘ohmygosh babygirl im so sorry i didnt mean to hulk smash you to the floor’

im sorry sir what 💀

this whore

you waved him off but he still felt guilty so he just pressed kisses to your forehead to soothe it

meanwhile youre just leaning against him, eyes closed, bc you grew up with natsu always doing this whenever you got hurt so it was such a soff moment for you

eventually, he was able to bring you downstairs and your parents were lowkey scared lmao but you smiled at them

‘thank you for the cake’

they breathed a sigh of relief and you sat down on the chair to eat breakfast

‘here darling’

you accepted the bowl of rice from your madre and you ate your birthday breakfast with them while yall are saving the cake for later during dinner

when you finished, you were getting up and shouting up the stairs that you were showering first

hehe natsu was all like ‘lmao why? its like 4 in the morning’

you froze, foot hovering over a step and you sighed

‘excuse me what 💀‘

yea no

you were dragged back to the kitchen and you were all pouty bc duh who the hek wants to wake up that early but your parents saved themselves by giving you your parents early

(literally anything you guys want they gave you okay? but only like 3 lmao not a bajillion things)

you were still grateful for everything and you felt very much appreciated

since it was still early, you just decided to screw it and got ready to go to school early and set up the gym for early morning practice

natsu volunteered to go with you to school but you shook your head

‘nah, im okay. the walk is peaceful’

he huffed, crossing his arms, but nodded anyways

‘fine. only because its your birthday’

hehehehe the amount of freedom during your day of birth

you were of course the first one in the gym but you didnt mind bc you actually liked the quietness that was so rare inside there

you turned on some (f/m) (lmao favorite/music) and you were sweeping, unknowingly swaying and dancing slightly

at around 5:40, the third years have arrived and since theyre the eldest, they usually get there first

omg the blush explosion on their faces when they saw you twirling around with the mop and ofc oikawa being the little poopie head he is, he swooped in and held your waist

you got startled but seeing the soft brown eyes of your captain made a soft smile appear on your face

‘hello, oikawa-san’

you whispered and he nuzzled his face to the side of your head softly

‘morning, y/n-chan’

before he could go on, iwa threw him away behind him and you giggled

mattsun raised an eyebrow at your odd behavior

‘hm? why are you so happy today, y/n-chan?’

you stopped then chuckled

‘nothing much, mattsun-san’

you didnt really want to tell them it was your birthday bc tbh you didnt think it was a big deal or anything

the others werent complaining bc they rarely see you so lively and upbeat and they loved it

you were humming under your breath for gods sake

the other boys have trickled in and again, they also went ‘?’

your soft smiles, giggles, and joy was everything to them

god bless for this beautiful morning

poor kindaichi cowered in fright as he braced himself for a scolding from you for missing a block but he got even more scared when you just patted his head

‘its okay, yuu-kun. there’s always a next time’

yea there was something wrong

unfortunately, school was starting and they weren’t able to start questioning you and there aint no way kindaichi and kunimi were going to do that themselves without the upperclassmen who could calm you down if you got too defensive

you were skipping down the hallway and you even looped your arms around your first year friends and they shared a confused look before being dragged by you

during class, darling kunimi was too busy and distracted by your quiet singing of some show that takeru watched when you were over

‘KUNIMI-SAN, IS MATH SO BORING THAT YOU FIND INTEREST ON L/N-SAN INSTEAD?’

yes, yes it is

but he didnt say that and instead turned away so fast that you felt the wind beside you

DID A 180 CRAZY~~~

he texted the separate bros group chat about you still being all happy and they were all curious as to what makes you so happy

during lunch time, kindaichi usually went over to go eat with you and kunimi right?

but he was surprised when he just saw kunimi there without you

‘wh-’

‘i dont know’

‘what do you mean you dont know?!’

nah fam we not dying yet

natsu texted you earlier that he had a bento for you that he made himself and he wanted you to eat it instead of the one your mom made

you were passing by the building entrance door thingy and caught the attention of the third years who were at the rooftop eating their lunch

there was also other students outside and they watched your flowery aura skip over to the equally attractive hiroshi natsu

‘y/n-chan~’

he cooed and you smiled up at him

curse him and his tall height

he let you hold the f/c cloth covered box so he could cup your face and kiss over your booboo again

‘wo mow, matsu-’

translation: no more, natsu!

you whined as he kept kissing your forehead and you were turning red at the attention from the other students

dang oikawa crushed his juice box at the sight even though he knew natsu was just a cousin

‘ill save you, y/n-chan!’

he shouted, already flying down the stairs towards you and the other third years after him to keep him from doing something stupid

but they also lowkey wanna see you too

but by the time they reached the entrance, you were already walking away and even passed by the quartet, giving them a close-eyed smile and a cute ‘hello!’

the 3 were distracted by you and were coddling you while oikawa ran out and shouted after natsu’s retreating form

‘natsu! oi, natsu!’

as if the boy was purposely ignoring him, natsu kept walking forward

‘HIROSHI NATSU!’

his scream finally made him turn around and natsu’s face held a teasing smirk

‘oya? chibi-chan?’

KDJFSLFDFKDSJKFD YES YOU CALLED?

oikawa huffed and panted as he firmly walked over to natsu

‘tell me, hiroshi natsu. why is y/n-chan all cutesy and happy today?’

then the smirk fell, replaced by an actual, genuine annoyed look

‘hah?’

oikawa blinked

‘what do you mean ‘hah’?’

natsu waved his hands around in a frenzy of shock

‘so you mean to tell me, you, oikawa tooru, the dude who literally woke up the neighborhood at the buttcrack of dawn a few weeks ago, in love with my cousin, doesn’t know what today is?’

‘was i supposed to,,,, know?’

KSDLFJSDKFJDS THIS DUDE

natsu’s face became a meme and the guy was so disappointed that he just turned around and continued walking

oikawa gasped and clutched natsu’s arm, begging and pleading to tell him

ofc the little shite natsu is, he smirked down at oikawa’s kneeling form

‘hmm, gotta say, chibi-kun. i like this view~’

KDSLFJSDKFJLSDKFJDKS WHOS CHILD ARE YOU, HIROSHI NATSU

‘tell me, natsu-chan!’

the puppy eyes of oikawa tooru not only affected girls but also boys fully socked homosexual boys so natsu had to turn away, fighting down a blush

stay loyal to katsuki

wait, no, probably tetsu

or kenma

or both

or keiji

‘-me! natsu-chan!’

that snapped the pink-haired boy out of his thoughts and crossed his arms, glaring down at oikawa

‘hm, why do you wanna know so bad? youre on your knees, begging me for information you shouldve already known since you claim to like her so much’

oikawa pouted and he sniffled

‘i wanna know everything about y/n-chan. i wanna know what today is so i can make her as happy as she is today forever!’

‘youre so cheesy’

natsu chided and oikawa pouted even harder causing natsu to sigh and pinch his nose

‘the girl was born today’

oikawa’s face lit up and he hurriedly stood on his feet, hands on natsu’s biceps since he could barely reach natsu’s shoulders bc of his 6′5 height

‘its her birthday today?!’

‘i literally just said that-’

‘oh my gosh! we need to plan something!’

oikawa started but then frowned

‘but we’re in school so it would be too late to do a surprise when we finish’

his mumbles

filled their vicinity and natsu finally realized where exactly they were so he tugged the still mumbling boy over to the side out of people’s view

ohmygosh if i saw 2 handsome, tall, hot boys there, id be staring too omg

‘oi, oikawa’

he still didnt budge until natsu had to kick him at the leg

rip not his knee yall

tooru flinched and hatefully glared at the boy but natsu pointedly glared at him right back

‘before you start bitching to me, i was just gonna suggest i can help you and your little plan to woo my baby cousin’

as if he wasn’t irritated in the first place, tooru lit up and he excitedly clung onto natsu

‘really? you’ll really help me?’

natsu rolled his eyes and tried to pry the brunette off of him but he felt the grip tighten

‘listen, oikawa, as much as i like having pretty boys hang on to me, i’d really appreciate if you just back off a bit and actually understand what im saying’

can i just say how long their lunch break is?

and not at natsu trying to get with oikawa and oikawa completely missing it

‘you can go do your education scam system thing while i can go set things up over at that one noodle place she likes’

natsu explained

oikawa was about to smile until he paused and leaned away

‘theres a catch. i know theres a catch’

then natsu smirked, confirming oikawa’s suspicion

‘ill think about what i really want but for now, i just wanna see that one doggie boy you guys have. also, your friend with the big arms’

lmao imagine the surprise in oikawa’s face

‘YOU GO FOR THEM BUT NOT ME?!’

‘why? you want me to?’

‘YES! i mean, well-no but YES!’

‘*sigh*’

thats how oikawa ended up telling the boys about the last minute birthday surprise for you and the help from natsu

‘yea, apparently its her birthday. also, iwa-chan, kyoken-chan, you need to talk to natsu-chan’

‘hah?! why?!’

‘THAT IDIOT?!’

you were minding your own business during class until you saw kunimi raise his hand

‘yes, kunimi-kun?’

‘bathroom’

normally, you wouldve just looked away but you noticed him grab his bag when the teacher wasn’t looking which prompted you to sigh since he was skipping class

i mean, whats the point of skipping class when the day is about to be over in like 15 minutes anyways?

‘make sure to come to practice’

you whispered when he passed and he smiled, making you raise an eyebrow bc that was a smile you knew that had a hidden meaning behind it

when the bell rang, everyone nyoomed themselves out of there and you were just walking past the door when a body came crashing to you which made you distracted and allowed a chance of vulnerability

there was a pair of hands covered your eyes from behind, hands grabbed your own from in front, and an arm around your waist started to guide you forward

‘um, just so you know, i have the power of god, anime, and iwa-san by my side and i wont hesitate to kick you in the di-’

‘its so cute when y/n-chan threatens us’

a voice from in front of you hums and you smiled

‘you wont think im really cute once youre on the floor clutching your di-’

‘oi, y/n, ill wash your tongue with soap’

‘yes, iwa-san’

you continued to walk, completely trusting at the hands of your boys, when you felt yourself being pulled to turn a corner

‘iwa-san? aren’t we going to the gym? why are we exiting the gates?’

the boys exchanged a look of amazement at your sense of intuition and the accuracy of your guess despite being deprived of your senses

‘dont think you can lie to us, y/n-chan! how could you not tell us its your birthday today?!’

you heard mattsun a few feet in front of you whine and you giggled

‘its not important’

then kyotani scoffed, you knowing it was him by feeling him twitch by the arm around your waist

‘boke, of course its important’

‘so your punishment for lying to us, we’re kidnapping you’

makki teased and you rolled your eyes beneath iwa’s hands

‘oh, shiver me timbers’

the walk continued, you still being dragged around, and you heard oikawa laugh

‘oh dear, its a sight to see, ain’t it? if only you can see the looks people are giving us, y/n-chan~ a group of boys taking a little girl like you? how could you trust us to not do something to you-ACK!’

you cut him off when you lifted your foot to kick right where it hurts the most

forget his weewee

its the knee

poor child crumbled to the floor and had to be picked up by baby watari

‘oh wata-cchi, youre the only one who cares about oikawa-san!’

you heavily sighed at the exagerrated theatrics of your captain

‘the one day. the one day when he could be a normal person for once’

you grumbled but stopped when you heard iwa laugh by your ear

‘he’s right you know. you technically lied to us when we asked if there was something special’

you shivered and you leaned your head back

‘its okay, iwa-san. we can talk about it after this event. make sure to give me my present, okay?’

SKDLFJSDKFJDSKFLDS GIRL NO I CANT I WANNA JUMP-

but iwa chuckled and he promised you that you would love his present

kyotani’s arm tightened around you, as if prompting you that he was still there and he wanted your attention too

‘careful there, pup’

he warned when you almost tripped over air

‘hehe, i know ill always be safe when youre next to me, kyo-san’

you teased and he was lucky your eyes were covered bc you would see the way his cheeks tinted red

‘s-shut up, idiot! maybe i shouldve just let you fall and hit your head! not like its gonna do damage since theres nothing there anyways!’

you just giggled and he retaliated by pinching your waist to which you squealed and gripped his hands

then the smell of the ramen broth entered your nose

‘are we-?’

‘nope! not there yet, y/n-chan!’

oikawa’s voice made you whine and complain but then he stopped, making everyone else stop too

‘okay, iwa-chan, kyoken-chan, release her!’

both grumbled something about you being treated like a pokemon but stopped when your eyes widened and contorted into confusion

‘huh?’

oikawa grinned and your eyes met to see the way his eyes crinkled, a tell-tale sign that this one was a rare genuine smile

‘come on! lets go!’

you let him take you inside the restaurant until your feet stopped, eyes wide when you noticed the streamers and the cake by the corner

your parents stood with natsu by the table and a large smile decorated your face

‘you,, you did this for me?’

you whispered and the team made noises of agreement

‘we had to do something for you to celebrate the day you were born. its a special day because you came into the world and we were able to meet you’

yahaba grinned and you gave him a big hug but you leaned back a bit so that the others would know you’re talking to them too

‘everyone, thank you. i love you’

they all scoffed a bit to hide their flustered state but they still smiled and each gave you a hug

‘oi! come here and eat the food! oikawa’s paying today!’

natsu shouted, which caught the attention of some customers in the restaurant, but they just ignored it bc theyve seen you and the team so many times that yall practically lived there

‘what?! i didnt-’

oikawa started but your mother came up to him and clasped her hands to his, sharing the same exact grin you have

‘you must be oikawa tooru. y/n has told me loads about you’

excuse him while he descends to heaven bc your mother is practically another you

iwa was already acquainted with your dad so they started talking and you just stood back, observing your two families interact with each other

you were so unbelievably happy that it hurts

kindaichi noticed you and he slinked away from the debate between makki and mattsun to go sling an arm around you

‘so? what do you think?’

you turned to him with glassy eyes

‘im so blessed. so blessed to have these amazing people with me’

poor babie panicked a bit bc he didnt really know how to comfort a crying girl but he just wrapped his arms around you

‘hehe, its kinda the other way around actually. we’re blessed to have someone like you’

he whispered and you giggled then playfully hit his shoulder

‘so cheesy, yuu-kun’

he leaned away from the hug and gave you an offended look

‘but its true! i dont know what we did to have-’

‘Y/N-CHAN! NO! HELP!’

oikawa shouted from the other side, cutting off your soft moment with kindaichi

‘what are you doing, natsu?’

you noticed your cousin wrapping his arms around your captain and trying to drag him away but poor tooru was scrambling to escape

‘we made a deal, didnt we, darling~? i know what i want now and youre going to have to give me you’

oikawa screamed

a/n: can we please pretend i posted this on november 3? bc i was dumb and forgot to post this and KLDJLSDKFJDSKD IM SO ANGRY but its okay at least i am able to publish this haha

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flannels-and-fannypacks · 4 years ago

Text

Will They Won’t They | Part 3/4 [Reggie Peters]

Pairing: Reggie Peters x fem!reader

Words: 5.7k

Summary: Reggie and reader were the best of friends up until middle school where they drifted apart and decided never to speak to each other again. What happens when a shared algebra class and a resulting detention force them to spend and increasing amount of time together. Will it be enough to overcome the mutual hate? Or was the relationship doomed from the start.

WARNINGS: swears, spicy dancing, ANGST

A/N: hey it’s drea in charge of posting again :) hope you all are doing well! if you enjoy this, please like, comment, and reblog! if you want to stay updated, dm us to be added to our taglist! sending my love <3 - drea :)

◤━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◥

The next morning, all the boys were refreshed and ready to start their practice. You, however, were upstairs in Rose’s room as she insisted on “dolling you up.”

“So,” Rose began as she brushed your hair out.

You rolled your eyes as you looked at your reflection in the mirror. You could almost see a difference in your appearance, and that had nothing to do with Rose’s magical abilities to style hair. You seemed happier, and your smile was...brighter. You haven’t seen that side of you since before middle school.

“I know it’s not just me who noticed it, but what happened there with you and country boy,” she gave you a light chuckle.

“What do you mean?” you asked innocently.

“What do you mean what do I mean?” Rose asked back confusingly. “You guys were just all close and not hating each other all of a sudden. What happened?”

“I don’t know,” you lied. “O-Our relationship is complicated, you know that. Somethings that happen now have been happening for a long time, if you know what I mean, and the only other person that knows about it is one of us,”

“So he just needed a friend?”

“Pretty much,” you nodded. “And I think he knew I needed one too, so for now we’re on civil terms,”

“It seems a bit more than civil to me,” Rose shrugged, turning you around so she could put on some eye shadow.

“Do we really have to do this?” you pointed to the makeup. “And yeah, it’s just civil,”

“It’s fun, come on!” she chuckled. “But you’re telling me you didn’t feel anything when he kissed you? Or when we found out that somehow you’d gotten paired with him in MASH?”

“Nothing,” you shook your head, unsure if you were lying to your friend or not, it didn’t even seem to be clear for you at the moment. “It was just a kiss on the forehead. Nothing else to it.”

“Alright, if you say so,” she shrugged right as the door swung open, revealing Luke entering the room and flopping down on the bed.

“Lady Bunny, what’s up? I miss you,” he smiled and you chuckled, rolling your eyes yet again, but this time in a more affectionate manner.

“Shouldn’t you be practicing? You guys have a gig coming up soon don’t you?”

“We’re on break, so I thought I’d come visit my daughter,”

“Well your daughter is fine so you can leave,” you said begrudgingly.

“Nope, not gonna happen lady bunny,” he shook his head as Rose finished your eyeshadow and grabbed your arm, throwing you over his shoulder like the first time you met him and headed downstairs and to the studio.

By this point you had learned not to fight it when Luke carried you, otherwise not only would he get hurt, but you had put yourself in grave danger more times than you would like to admit.

When you reached the studio Luke placed you down gently on the couch before grabbing his guitar and motioning or the boys to get ready.

“We’d like to dedicate this song to a special someone in the audience,” Alex started, talking into his mic.

“Someone whose face looks like that of a bunny,” Luke added.

“And has a mean sucker punch,” Bobby contributed.

“And is just overall a pretty terrible person,” Reggie finished and you couldn’t help but laugh along with Rose on the sidelines.

“So Lady Bunny, this one’s for you,” Luke said, pointing at you before looking back down at his guitar.

The rock beat started slowly, with a familiar choppy guitar beginning that sounded like maybe it should have been a bit softer, but even though they had barely started you already knew what they were playing.

Reggie came in shortly after on bass along with Alex on drums and Luke on lead guitar.

You tapped your foot along to the beat while Luke gave you a knowing look and started singing,

“When it began, I can’t begin to knowing, but then I know it’s growing strong,”

Reggie hopped in, taking over for the next part of the verse, “Was in the spring, then spring became the summer. Who’s have believed you’d come along,”

Now all the boys were joining in together for the pre chorus,

“Hand, touching hand. Reaching out. Touching me. Touching you! My sweet sunshine,”

“Ba! Ba! Ba!” you and Rose came in right on beat.

“Good times never seemed so good,” Luke sang effortlessly.

“I’ve been inclined,” Reggie started, leaving room for you and Rose to come in once more. “To believe they never would, but now I,”

As the boys continued to sing, Rose stood up and pulled you to your feet. Giggling, the girl danced energetically in the middle of the studio, gesturing for you to join.

“Dance, (N/N)!” she exclaimed, her voice slightly drowned out from the music. You blushed, slightly swaying to the music until Rose grabbed your hands and waved them around, making you laugh at how ridiculous you both probably looked. “You look like a robot,” she scolded. “Let loose! Feel the music run through you!”

Rolling your eyes, you decided to take your friend’s advice and loosen up a bit. The two of you swayed your hips, occasionally twirling each other or jumping up and down while screaming the lyrics.

The chorus was coming up once more only this time Luke took the lead from the boys, changing Caroline yet again only this time singing something along the lines of,

“Sweet child of mine!”

Causing you to exaggeratedly roll your eyes at him and not noticing the cord that was pulled taught and level with the ground. You shuffled into it, tripping and falling straight in the direction of Reggie and his ‘rock out zone’. Letting out a shriek, you staggered back and closed your eyes, prepared to feel the roughness of the ground, only to be met with a strong pair of arms.

Your eyes fluttered open to see a pair of blue-green eyes stare down at you, sheepishly smiling. The boys had stopped playing once they realized you fell, all of them watching you in his arms.

“Still the clumsiest dork I know, Cookie?” he asked in a teasing voice.

You flashed him a smile. “Always, Flicka,” you replied.

Reggie helped you up but his arms didn’t leave their hold around you. He was so close you could feel his warm breath on your nose and his blue green eyes staring deeply into your soul. His closeness melted away everything around you, it all became fuzz until Alex spoke up and said,

“...Guys?”

You blinked a few times and stepped away from Reggie smoothing out your clothes. Your mind was racing. Did that just happen? Why was your heart beating so rapidly? And dammit, why was Reggie looking at you with that smile of his?

“I-I’m just going to go out for a second, you guys keep going,” you insisted and quickly walked out of the studio. Reggie called out your name, but you brushed him off as you sped down the sidewalk.

You didn’t even know where you were going. You felt like you couldn’t breathe in that studio, and honestly all you wanted was to get out, to leave, to think about what just happened.

Back at Rose’s house Reggie was frozen in place. Had he done something wrong? He had just gotten you back, was it really going to be that easy to lose you again.

“Reggie are you okay?” Bobby asked and Reggie frowned, but more a frown of confusion.

“Can we maybe take five?” Reggie said quietly, looking over at Rose, if anyone knew what the hell just happened it would be her.

Rose, who seemed to understand the look on Reggie’s face, subtly pointed at the door to the house. The two went into the kitchen, where Reggie began to pace back and forth.

“What did I just do?” he questioned aloud. “What did I just say? What did I just think?”

Rose’s eyes followed the boy, only to sigh in discomfort. “You mind taking a seat before we talk?” she suggested. “Sorry, you’re making me dizzy.”

Reggie paused before taking a seat at the table, his knees bouncing up and down as continued to ramble. “Was it something I did wrong?” he asked Rose. “I-I mean I always joke with her. She’s always clumsy a-and we’ve danced before so it’s not like the close proximity could have scared her off, right? Right? Rose, please say something before I do something stupid.”

Rose winced. “How stupid?” she risked asking.

“Like climb your roof and look for her stupid.”

Rose took the seat across from Reggie, the boy calming down slightly. “Reggie honey, tomar un respiro,” she instructed in Spanish only to be met with more anxiety and confusion.

“Please tell me that wasn’t English and I’m not hallucinating,” he begged, looking as though he was on the verge of passing out of bursting into tears. Or both.

“It’s Spanish Reg, and it means take a breath,” she said softly. “Now tell me slowly what’s going on in your heart,” she emphasized.

“I-I… (Y/N),” he said quietly, bringing a hand to his mouth, chewing on his nail. “Fuck me,” he groaned and fell back in his chair.

“What about (Y/N)?” Rose asked.

“Everything,” Reggie shook his head. “It’s always been everything. She’s always been my everything.”

Rose took his hand from his mouth and brought it down. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that, Reg.”

Reggie closed his eyes, pondering for a moment. “Ever since we were little, it was always me and her. Cookie and Flicka. We were partners in crime. Bonnie and Clyde, like she’d always say. And then I was stupid enough to let her go in middle school. But even after we stopped talking, I never stopped thinking about her. She was on my mind 24/7. Playing music with the guys, I always wondered what she would think about our music. When I was having a rough day, I would think about what she would say to cheer me up. E-even at night I’d stay up, wondering what she’d be doing if she were awake at this hour.” Reggie chucked to himself. “My answer would always be studying or making a midnight snack. A jelly sandwich and gummy worms. I thought it was disgusting but the look on her face when she’d make them growing up, all the thoughts left my mind. Because at the end of the day, she was with me. I always had my Cookie.”

Rose smiled as the boy recalled his memories, sharing them in great detail. It made her realize how alike Reggie and her friend were. They never stopped loving each other, no matter how stubborn they were about it.

“But when we were singing today,” Reggie continued, wiping his hands against his jeans. “I was watching her dance with you. It was the first time I had seen her so care-free, like there wasn’t a single thought in her mind that stressed her with worry and doubt. Something bubbled in my chest, I-I can’t explain it. But damn, her smile and laugh-” Reggie opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. “I felt like if I died today, I’d be glad I saw her at her happiest one last time.”

“Reggie, hon, have you considered you might… maybe you’re in love with her?” Rose asked quietly and Reggie’s eyes widened.

“L-Love, you mean like a friend right?”

“No Reggie,” Rose gave him a kind smile, placing a hand on his that was resting in his lap. “I mean I think you actually love her. The way you talk about her, I-I hope someone talks about me like that one day.”

Reggie’s mouth went dry as he looked over at Rose.

“Rose I-,” he paused. “I can’t tell her,”

“Reggie what do you mean?” Rose exclaimed, her voice becoming slightly louder.

“I can’t do that to her,” he shook his head. “You can’t say anything to her,”

“Why not?” Rose asked, clearly not impressed with him.

“Because she doesn’t want this, clearly. She wants a friend so that’s what I’m going to be, even if it tears me to pieces. I don’t care,” he shook his head. “I’d do anything for her. No matter what the consequences.”

—

For the first time in your weeks of detention, you were the one who arrived late. Reggie had been waiting in the dance studio with Mrs. Leona, quite anxious to say the least. You were queasy as you approached the two, silently waving.

“There you are!” Mrs. Leona grinned, standing up from stretching. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show up.”

“Sorry,” you apologized quietly, putting your bag on the floor and joining in on the stretches. “Car trouble,” you lied, hoping Reggie wouldn’t be able to notice.

“You okay?” Reggie whispered as you stretched your arms above your head.

You quickly whipped your head to face him. “Of course!” you squeaked. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just look a little nauseous,” Reggie noted, “Are you sure you should be here?”

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “Mrs. Leona, what’s the plan?” you asked, diverting your attention to the dance instructor.

Mrs. Leona reached for her notepad, skimming through her notes. “Well since you two did brilliantly for that last dance, I thought it would be good to request for you guys to work with me again.” She stepped in front of the mirror, clasping her hands together. “This lesson, I’m continuing partner work because unlike you guys, my students lacked the trust, the chemistry.” You squeaked in response, but Mrs. Leona didn’t seem to notice. “So I’m giving them this song to dance to. Lucky for them, it’s just focusing on footwork and lifting. But, since it’s a romantic song, they’re going to need to practice putting their emotions into their dance.” she smiled at the two of you. “But I know the chemistry part won’t be an issue for you both. Let’s get to work, shall we?”

You seemed hesitant to start. “Mrs. Leona maybe we can do something else, like something that doesn’t require close contact or lifting?”

Reggie gave you a look. “Scared I might drop you, Cookie?” he teased before turning back to Mrs. Leona. “It’s fine, we can do this.”

Mrs. Leona went through explaining the beginning portion of the routine, demonstrating the required movements and techniques to accomplish such things. At first you did each part broken up and without music and once you nailed everything at least once she decided you were ready to try and put it all together along with Peter Gabriel’s In Your Eyes.

You started to get into your position, holding Reggie’s hands in yours. Your heart was beating loudly in your ears, that the music was almost fuzzy at that point. Mrs. Leona’s counting of the beats made you snap out of your thoughts as you pulled closer to Reggie.

Love, I get so lost sometimes

Reggie’s hand trailed up to the side of your face as he cupped it gently, pressing his forehead against yours.

Days pass, and this emptiness fills my heart

As quick as he touched your face, he dropped his hand back down to your waist, dipping you down as he turned you.

When I want to run away, I drive off in my car

You managed to keep eye contact with Reggie the entire time, his blue-green eyes slightly darkening in admiration as you rose back up.

But whichever way I go, I come back to the place you are

His lips quirked up into a smile while he slid down onto his knees to the rhythm of the music.

All my instincts, they return

Following along, you almost draped yourself over Reggie as he leaned back, your hands coming to the sides of his arms, trailing down until you took his hands in yours before pulling him back up carefully.

The grand facade, so soon will burn

You placed his hands delicately on your waist tightly as you fell down into a lunge, his strong arms supporting you.

Without a voice, without my pride, I reach out from the inside.

Your breath hitched as his hands reached slightly under your shirt, just from the movement, but he didn’t seem deterred, moving you away and allowing you to run into the lift where he held your legs until you slid down against him slowly.

In your eyes, the light the heat

His hand came to hold you again just as you spun out and twirled back in, with a little more force than expected, bumping into Reggie’s chest, your lips gently brushing against his own causing every nerve in your body to burn and every muscle to lose its function.

I am complete-

You let out an audible gasp, covering your mouth with your hand. Reggie seemed equally flustered, but managed to hide it well, aside from his reddened cheeks. Mrs. Leona immediately stopped the music, jogging over to the two of you.

“What happened?” she asked, clearly confused. “The two of you were dancing so well?”

You stumbled over your words. “I, erm-” you stammered. “I think I might have landed on my foot wrong after the lift.” It wasn’t your best lie, but at this point you were desperate.

Mrs. Leona’s eyes widened. “Oh no, an injury?” she exclaimed. “Sit down, honey, I’ll get some ice from the nurse’s office.” Before you could refuse, the dance teacher was already long gone.

Reggie turned to you. “Let’s sit you down,” he suggested, pulling you down with him. “Mind if I check if it’s more than a rolled ankle?”

You shook your head repeatedly. “No no, it’s fine,” you quickly told him.

Reggie took your leg and placed it gently on top of his. “Let me,” he insisted. “If it’s really bad, we might need to ask Mrs. Leona to wrap it.” Reggie began to untie your shoelace when you jerked it back abruptly, standing up in the process.

The dark haired boy looked at you suspiciously as you rocked back and forth. “So I’m assuming you’re fine if you’re standing on it normally now,” he deadpanned. You looked down at your two feet, sheepishly kicking your left leg back.

“Ah, a miracle!” you exclaimed awkwardly. “It must have been a flash of pain or something, but it’s better now…”

Reggie frowned, standing up. “Cookie, if you want to lie to Mrs. Leona, fine by me. But you know you can’t lie to me.”

“Who says I’m lying?” you countered and Reggie rolled his eyes.

“Come on (Y/N), seriously?” Reggie looked disappointed. “First you run out of the studio and don’t come back, we had to send Alex and Bobby out to make sure you were okay and now you’re lying? What’s going on? What happened?” he pressed.

“What happened?” you said with disbelief. “Were you not just dancing with me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You… I…” you tried to get out the words, but you shook your head. “I can’t do this Reggie. I can’t do it.”

“Cookie, it’s just me,” he insisted, coming closer to you, holding your arms against your side. “I’m your friend, right? Or at least I thought I was.”

“You are!” you insisted. “I promise. It’s just there’s a lot going on and I need a second to process it,”

You were seriously starting to think he hadn’t noticed what had just happened. Maybe you were reading into it too much, maybe he was just playing it off cool to make sure you were okay. Whatever it was, you didn’t know what to think of it. All you wanted to do was go home and curl up in a tiny ball and drown out the sound of your thoughts with Tracy Chapman’s voice.

Reggie stepped away and scratched the back of his neck.

“I’ll give you some time,” he nodded and walked out to the hallway.

It seemed as though your hearts were two positive charges just constantly pushing each other, further and further away.

—

“In my opinion, I think you should just stop being so conflicted and tell him how you feel about him,” Rose suggested as she brushed her hair in front of her vanity.

You were at Rose’s house for an “emergency sleepover,” as she liked to put it. You were incredibly confused with everything going on that you needed a friend, specifically one who was reasonable, to talk to.

Sighing, you flopped backwards on Rose’s bed. “But I don’t know what I’m feeling,” you groaned tiredly. “Sometimes I want to punch him in the face, but lately, I haven’t felt that.”

“And what have you been feeling?” Rose pressed, setting her brush down and walking over to you.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you thought. “I don’t know,” you replied. “Fuzzy? Like the inside of my stomach are angry wasps buzzing crazily.” You sat up, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “But when he smiles...they turn into butterflies.”

“Butterflies?” Rose repeated.

You nodded, dramatically groaning as you leaned your head on her shoulders. “The happiest of butterflies. Like- when he looks at me with those stupidly pretty eyes.”

“Stupidly pretty eyes?” Rose said.

“Yes!” you fumed. “Everything about him is pretty. His eyes and his smile. Even his flannels and shoulders!”

“Shoulders?”

You looked up at Rose. “Will you stop repeating everything I’m saying?” you whined. “Say something! Give me advice! You’re the only one besides Alex that is reasonable! Because I think I’m going to do something stupid.”

Rose bit her lip to hold back a laugh. Reggie said the exact same thing to her earlier. “How stupid?”

“...Stealing Alex’s van to drive to his house, stupid.”

Rose hummed in response. “Well, that is pretty high up there on the list of things that are stupid,” she commented with a smile. “Why do you want to do something stupid? What about Reggie is making you feel this way?”

You stood up, wrapping your arms protectively around yourself. “He’s so different from when we were friends as kids,” you sighed. “But at the same time, it’s like he hasn’t changed a bit. All these mixed feelings of hating him but also missing him is stressing me out!” You turned to Rose, dropping your arms. “It’s so confusing. I feel like I don’t know if I know myself because I don’t know him. Does that… does that make sense?” you whispered.

“A little,” Rose nodded, admitting to her confusion.

“Have you known someone so long that over time you-you almost feel like you have such a part of them inside you?” you asked and didn’t really wait for an answer. “It’s been so long since I’ve really known Reggie… now it just feels like that part of me is missing because of that,” You held your hand on your chest, feeling your heart beat rapidly as you rambled. “But when Reggie’s just...the Reggie I knew, no toughness, no band, no anything...I feel like I’m whole again. T-that, I can lean on his shoulder and trust him when he says everything will be alright. And I’ll believe him. No matter all the promises he’s broken in the past, I’ll still find myself trusting him completely.”

“Why?” Rose asked in a quiet voice.

You smiled softly. “That really is the question, isn’t it?” you laughed. “Why do I continue to trust him, even though every part of my body is telling me no? Well, because I love him. He’s my best friend, no matter what. Even after our falling out, I still thought about him, still cared about him. And it’s so stupid of me, and I know I should stop...but I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Then go to him,” Rose insisted. “Please (Y/N), for the love of God,”

“I can’t!”

“Why not?” Rose pressed. “Why can’t you?”

“Because!” you only said.

Rose threw her head back, laying on her bed. “Oh my gosh, (N/N), you and Reggie are going to drive me crazy with your stubborn bullshit! I don’t understand why you can’t say anything to him? You’re his best friend! Why is it so difficult?”

“Exactly!” you exclaimed, exhausted by the yelling and frustration. “He’s my best friend! I just got my best friend back. I don’t want to risk it all because of this-this feeling! Who knows! Maybe I’m going crazy. Maybe, I’m going crazy because my friends see something that will obviously never happen between me and Reggie!”

Rose stood up. “Do not blame this on me, Luke, and Alex,” she told you, starting to lose patience. “If anything, blame it on yourself! Blame it on Reggie, and his hard head! But do not blame it on your friends who just want to help you.” Rose took a deep breath, recomposing herself. “What is the worst thing that can happen?”

Tears welled in your eyes as Rose pulled you back down to her bed, wrapping her arms around you. “Having him walk out of my life again?” you said, your voice cracking. “Hurting myself even more than I already am? Losing you, and Luke, and Bobby and Alex...Being alone all over again?” You looked up at Rose, tears freely cascading down your cheeks. “Rose, I don’t want to be alone again, please…”

“Cariña we’re not going to leave you,” Rose whispered, holding her head against yours. “But if you trust me you’ll understand why I’m telling you that it's not a bad idea to maybe talk to him and figure things out.”

“I wish I thought the same,” you sighed, savouring the feeling of Rose holding you near.

Rose pressed her lips together, deciding that the two of you were far too tired to argue any further. “Let’s sleep now, get some rest and think it over, then we’ll talk more in the morning, okay?” she suggested, taking a throw blanket and placing it over your legs.

You nodded shakily. “I think that would be best,” you agreed, tucking yourself underneath the covers.

Rose turned off the lights, finding her spot beside you.

You stared at the ceiling for a moment. “Rose?”

“Yes?”

You turned your head to face her. “You know I love you, right?”

The girl wrapped one arm around your waist. “I love you, too, (N/N).”

—

“I love you Flicka,” the words seemed to roll out of your mouth before you could stop them, but that’s how you knew they were true. your head pressed gently against his, almost refusing to look into those blue-green eyes.

Reggie's hands drifted away from the sides of your face as he stepped back and looked at you. The same cold and fearful look he carried in his eyes after you weren’t on speaking terms.

“No you don’t,” he hissed. “Stop playing these mind games. It’s only a matter of time until you fuck up and ruin everything for yourself and for everyone again.”

And without another word he turned and walked away.

Even though it was all in your head you couldn’t risk it. You wouldn’t let the world pull you apart again. you wouldn’t give him another chance to break that promise.

You woke up in a cold sweat, your stomach churning with nerves. Rose was still fast asleep and you looked over at the digital clock on her nightstand that read 2:32 A.M.

You pushed yourself up carefully, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking a breath, but as it became painfully clear you felt suffocated and needed to go out and get some air.

Reaching for your sweatshirt on the floor, you slipped it over your head before quietly standing up and leaving Rose’s door, gently shutting the door behind you as you did so.

Your first stop was the kitchen to get a glass of water, maybe the cool drink would clear your system of any unwanted feelings but you highly doubted an excess of dihydrogen monoxide would cure your of falling in love with your best friend. Sighing, you took your untouched glass of water with you to the studio, thinking that maybe you could find any solution to your problems there.

You made your way to the studio, suspicious as to why the lights were already on, but didn’t comment on it. You sat down, staring at your full glass of water.

“No jelly gummy worm sandwich tonight, Cookie?” a voice piped up from behind you.

“Holy fucking shit!” you shrieked, throwing your glass at the source of the noise.

Once the initial fear dialed down, you rubbed your eyes to see none other than a dark haired boy with a red flannel tied around his waist.

“Reggie?” you squeaked. “What are you doing here so late at night?”

He wiped the water from his face, his hair flopping back as he shot you an annoyed -but confused- glare. “The hell was that about?”

“You came here unannounced,” you shot back. “I thought I was about to be murdered, and considering what you said last sleepover, I should still be on edge.”

Reggie rolled his eyes. “Understandable.” He stepped forward with his hand outreached, only for you to fearfully stagger back. “Relax, I just forgot my songbook here.” Reggie reached for the notebook stuck between the cushions, waving it in front of your face for proof. It was red and slightly battered, and filled with loose sheets of papers sticking out.

You released your breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I’m sorry,” you said sheepishly. You gestured to the couch. “Sit with me?”

You and Reggie sat down on the couch, silence filling the room. Your knees slightly brushed against his on the small couch, but you quickly scooted away.

Reggie glanced over at you, noticing how uneasy you looked. “What’s on your mind?” he asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

You shook your head. “It’s nothing,” you said. “A nightmare, that’s all.”

The boy raised an eyebrow, immediately detecting your lie. “Just a nightmare?” he asked. “I’ve never seen you so pale and jumpy, Cookie. You sure it was just a nightmare?”

You nodded before ultimately shaking your head with a sigh. “Do you ever wonder if...if the people you care about just up and leave? And you can’t do anything because it’s your fault?” Reggie remained silent, gesturing for you to continue. “I’m scared that those close to me will leave me.”

“Why would they leave you?” he questioned curiously.

You scoffed, drumming your fingers against your legs. “Why wouldn’t they leave me?” you asked in return. “I’m too scared to face my fears. I keep my mouth shut and bottle shit up until it explodes and affects everyone around me.”

“Cookie,” Reggie hushed, reaching out to stop our fidgeting hand by placing his on your knee. “I…” he shook his head. “I don’t think you’re the only person that it happens to,”

“Flicka,” his nickname got caught in your throat.

All you wanted was to pull him close, have him kiss your forehead and tell you those sweet beautiful lies. That everything’s going to be okay, and that he’d be by your side forever.

That he loved you.

It felt like you were having a bad allergic reaction, your throat closing up, as you wished the words to come out, but they just got bottled up and whisked away in the sea of your heart like everything else.

You couldn’t see it, but if you could take a moment, get out of your own heads you’d see his blue green eyes looking back at you with that soft mischievous sparkle they always held, only this time you would have seen all the love and admiration hidden behind them. You would have seen how much he wished he could make your pain vanish. You would have seen his heart on his sleeve. You would have seen your Reggie.

“Cookie, I’m here,” he whispered. “I’ll always be here.”

Reggie allowed you to lean your head against his shoulder, not caring at all about the tears soaking up his t-shirt. He raised his hand to your face, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, then trailing his hand down along your jawline. He tilted your head up to face his, your lips mere centimeters apart.

“Flicka,” you breathed, his eyes staring down at yours with so much more than you could ever possibly wish to describe. As he pulled closer, you felt his lips against yours. They felt like a smooth bass line in a classic jazz song, kissing him tasted like eating the best jelly and gummy worm sandwich in the world. It was by no means a perfect kiss, those were near impossible to achieve. But his slightly chapped lips molded with yours in a way that you have never felt with anyone else. The way he tilted his head, the way his lips were slightly curled upward in a smile and the way he thought you didn’t notice when he murmured I love you against your lips.

Then doubts began to flood your mind.

He doesn’t love you. It’s all a lie. He’ll leave you. Just like everyone else is your life. Then you’ll be left with no one.

Just like it’s always been.

You jerked back, gasping for air as though the wind had been knocked out of you.

“I need to go,” you whispered hurriedly.

“Cookie, wait-” Reggie lunged forward, grabbing your hands. His cheeks were flushed red as he tried to form the words in his head. “Can we talk about this-”

“(Y/N)?” you heard Rose’s voice call out. “Are you in the studio?”

You glanced back at Reggie, his face filled with desperation to talk to you. “Please,” he begged softly.

Only, you shook your head. “She can’t know you were here,” you whispered.

Reggie stiffened, hesitantly letting your hand go, but not before squeezing it. “Goodnight, Cookie.”

You winced at his saddened expression.“Night, Flicka.”

“(Y/N)?” Rose called again and you turned around to where her voice was coming from, hoping to maybe see Reggie one last time before he left, but when you turned back around once more all that was left of him there was a tattered red song book and a red flannel.

taglist: @katrina765 @glowstick-lesbian @well-hes-just-too-cute @slytherhoes @notasofti @sunsetcurving @kmsmedine @dxrling-neptune @lil-lex1 @cookiecakeslive

#jatp #reggie peters #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms x reader #julie and the phantoms fanfiction #julie molina #luke patterson #luke patterson x platonic!reader #alex mercer #alex mercer x platonic!reader #willex #reggie peters fanfiction #reggie peters fic #reggie peters fanfic #reggie peters x fem!reader #reggie peters x reader

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tinyboxxtink · 4 years ago

Text

Build Me Up Buttercup *Part 6*

Okay this may be my favorite chapter so far. Actually screw it, it most DEFINITELY IS.

NOTE: If you have never heard the song “Sparks Fly” by Taylor Swift, go listen to it NOW. Before you read this. And actually, you know what just listen to it while reading it, trust me.

If you need to catch up:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 7

Tag List: @wanniiieeee

“Uh, watcha doin’ there, detective?”

Sonny’s voice immediately brought you back down to earth. Your head bolted upright and you sprang away from Barba like he was suddenly on fire.

“What? Oh, nothing. What? You know I’m just, tired, you know-- long day,”

Words spilled out of your mouth quicker than you could think of them. God how embarrassing! Why would you even think of making a move on your ADA? In front of everyone?!

Was it a move though? I mean really. Did he have to just call it out like that? You had to get out of that booth.

“Y’know what actually I am going to run to the ladies room, that Hurricane really went right through me! Like a hurricane!” Again, the word vomit would not stop. You let out a pained awkward laugh and bolted from the table.

“REALLY, Caris?” Rafael gave Carisi a look that could kill him right there in the booth.

“What? I just---OW! Amanda, that hurt!” Sonny rubbed his thigh and looked at Amanda who was shaking her head.

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, you were beating yourself up in the mirror.

“What is WRONG with you?!”

You were yelling at your reflection, totally normal.

“Ugh…” you sighed, splashing water on your face and cupping your hands around your neck. You needed to wash this day OFF already.

Wait...that gave you an idea.

You peeked out of the bathroom to see everyone still at your table, so while they weren’t paying attention you made a mad dash out of the bar and to your car in the parking lot. You popped your trunk and began throwing things around.

“Please please please please…” You begged no one in particular, shoving empty water bottles and coupons onto the pavement.

“A ha! Yes!” you exclaimed in triumph.

You would never admit it, but you basically lived in your car sometimes. You probably had half your closet in here.

You pulled out a pair of hip hugger jeans and a t-shirt; your lucky t-shirt, to be precise.

Yes maybe it was stupid to have “lucky” items at your age, but you didn’t care. You and this t-shirt had been through some STUFF, and came out the other side together. If anything could turn this night around, it could. Sure it was a TAD too tight from so many washes, the writing on it was barely visible, and it may have had a tear or two, but you had altered it to make the damage look fashionable. At least, you thought so.

You knelt behind your car, trying to change discreetly. You kept a careful watch out, God knows the squad did NOT need another case right now. You tossed your blazer and dress shirt back into the trunk, slipped off your skirt and pulled on the jeans and t-shirt as quickly as you could, then you slammed the trunk shut and walked over to the driver’s side view mirror.

“Not bad; not bad at all detective,” you smirked at your reflection before locking your car and running back inside.

As you approached your table, you saw Barba notice you, and then NOTICE, you. His eyes grew and his mouth slightly opened. Okay so maybe sometimes you went a little overboard on trying to look “professional” around your squad-- this was probably the first time you even alluded to having chesticles.

“I’m sorry sweetie have you seen our co-worker?” Amanda asked jokingly.

“What? I needed to get this day off of me, you know?”

“Yes, off indeed,” Oliva raised her eyebrows.

“What is it too much? Should I change back?”

“NO” All three men responded in unison, then quickly looked around elsewhere like nothing happened.

“You’re fine,” Fin assured you.

“Yes you are,” Carisi blurted.

“REALLY Carisi?!” Barba almost slapped him across the table.

“What? I didn’t mean it like--” Sonny protested while pleading with a very offended Amanda. They started having their own little squabble as Barba scooted closer to you.

“You really do look nice,” He smiled.

“...In jeans and a t-shirt? Thanks,” You gave a smile back while you felt your face blushing.

“No, I mean, happier. I like seeing happy on you,” He smiled even more, fidgeting like he wanted to touch you but didn’t want foghorn Sonny going off again.

“OH. Um, yeah thanks. I like seeing you happy too, counselor,” Your face was a full on skillet, you could fry an egg on them from the heat they radiated. You had to look anywhere else but his eyes or you might do something Carisi would DEFINITELY have something to say about.

“Ooooh! You know what else I do when I wanna get the taste of a bad day out of my mouth?” You changed the subject lightening quick as soon as you saw the stage across the room.

“Shots?” Amanda asked.

“Well, yeah obviously but--”

“AMBER did you hear that? Another round of shots!”

“DANCE,” you completely ignored Amanda’s antics. “I dance it out!” You pointed over to a small band who was testing sound equipment, obviously about to start a show.

“...Is she serious?” Fin muttered to Olivia.

“Is she drunk off ONE Hurricane?” Carisi raised his eyebrow.

“No come on-- Ugh! You guys cannot be that old.” you groaned.

“We might be,” Olivia half laughed.

“Too old to dance?!” You scoffed.

“In a room full of people, to country music? I don’t even have to be old to not wanna do that honey,” Fin put his hands up.

As they were all expressing their objections and insults, a scheme began running through your brain. Your eyes went from the band--- 2 guitarists, a drummer and a girl lead singer-- perfect. Your eyes then turned back towards Barba, who actually hadn’t protested your dance it out idea. PERFECT.

“Well I’m not old yet, I’m gonna dance it out to Tay Tay Swift!” You stuck your tongue out at the group and ran over to the band. The squad exchanged looks of disbelief while they watched you have a conversation with the band, and soon came running back over.

“Alright hey ya’ll we are Cactus Flower, how we feelin tonight?”

Scattered applause and drunken cheers answered her.

“Great...well, for our first song we’ve actually got a request, so this one is for you detective,” she smiled as the music started

It was relatively slow, so a few couples slowly began congregating on the dance floor. Other young girls squealed and formed a dance circle in a corner. Alright, it’s now or never, detective.

You started off dancing by yourself, just vibing to the song. You eyed everyone in your party, daring them to join you.

The way you move is like a full on rainstorm

And I'm a house of cards

You're the kind of reckless

That should send me running

But I kinda know that I won't get far

“Oh come on guys, you’re really gonna make me stand here looking like a moron?”

And you stood there in front of me

Just close enough to touch

Close enough to hope you couldn't see

What I was thinking of

“Baby girl, you're doin that all on your own!” Finn laughed.

You saw the thoughts mulling in Barba’s mind, glancing from you to the group and back to you again. Finally, to your delight, he shook his head and stood up.

Drop everything now

Meet me in the pouring rain

Kiss me on the sidewalk

Take away the pain

'Cause I see sparks fly

Whenever you smile

“You guys are cruel,” He remarked, walking right up to you.

“Can I have this dance?”

PERFECT.

He took your hand and spun you, you clumsily fell into his chest and looked into his eyes with a smile JUST as the song hit your target.

You glanced over to see the squad’s collective jaws on the floor.

Get me with those green eyes

Baby, as the lights go down

Give me something that'll haunt me

When you're not around

'Cause I see sparks fly

Whenever you smile

“....You know, my eyes are green.” he raised an eyebrow.

“Really? Huh. Go figure,” you batted your eyes innocently.

You were downright shocked that Rafael had not run screaming from the very obvious message of the song, and even more shocked the squad was allowing it. But you were not tempting anybody or anything by questioning it; you were just going to enjoy this dance, this moment.

My mind forgets to remind me

You're a bad idea

You touch me once and it's really something

You find I'm even better than you imagined I would be

I'm on my guard for the rest of the world

But with you I know it's no good

And I could wait patiently but

I really wish you would

You both continued to dance in silence, Rafael now listening very intently to every word of the song, and grinning more and more as it went on.

Drop everything now

Meet me in the pouring rain

Kiss me on the sidewalk

Take away the pain

'Cause I see sparks fly

Whenever you smile

Rafael spun you around in a big dramatic flourish, as he commented “I do have a gorgeous smile, don’t I?”

Get me with those green eyes

Baby, as the lights go down

Give me something that'll haunt me

When you're not around

'Cause I see sparks fly

Whenever you smile

“What? Hm? Can’t hear you,” You pretended you were too far away, then smirked when you twirled back into his torso.

“Mmmhmm,”

The song reached it’s interlude, the beat banging every word emphatically. Rafael pulled your arms up around his neck, just as the last chorus went into the soft breakdown.

I run my fingers through your hair

And watch the lights go wild

Just keep on keeping your eyes on me

It's just wrong enough to make it feel right

And lead me up the staircase

Won't you whisper soft and slow?

I'm captivated by you, baby, like a firework show

You looked into those green eyes, your head swimming. 24 hours ago this man was just your co-worker, a coffee snob ADA. And now, you were both in each other’s arms and staring at each other’s lips-- you closed your eyes as the song played.

Drop everything now

Meet me in the pouring rain

Kiss me on the sidewalk

“I um, I’m really sorry Y/N. I um...I need to go. To the...bathroom. I’m sorry just...I’m sorry,”

Take away the pain

'Cause I see sparks fly

Whenever you smile….

You watch Rafael practically bolt off the dance floor and into the men’s room as you stood there alone while the song finished.

Get me with those green eyes

Baby, as the lights go down

Give me something that'll haunt me

When you're not around

'Cause I see sparks fly

Whenever you smile

What had just happened?

#rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #build me up buttercup #raul esparza

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Me and You Together, 1/? (Taywhora) - Ortega

fic summary: The cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates, because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward. A’whora and Tayce both know this, but being in first year of uni and making good decisions have never really gone hand in hand.

a/n: i honestly have begun this wip with glitter and jesus. i have no idea how many chapters it’s going to have or what exactly the plot is going to be…all i know is that it’s fwb (flatmates with benefits) to lovers taywhora with a background love triangle involving Ellie bc she’s my fav. pls enjoy and pls leave me love because i am a keyworker so really one comment = one 6pm clap xo

P.S. the Friday mentioned in this fic is the one A’whora’s obsessed with and was dancing to on her insta…not the popular Rebecca Black song. also 100 points to anyone who knows the song Lawrence and Ellie get excited about in the club.

content note: they’re freshers at uni in the UK and this country has a binge drinking problem xo. please don’t expect any of these girls to be acting responsibly. if you think you might be influenced by a fic talking about alcohol, smoking, sex and drugs, this might not be for you luv xo

December- Fell in love with her in stages

A year ago if you had asked A’whora what she was doing on a Tuesday night, the answer would’ve been mundane.

Homework, maybe, if she could be bothered. She could always copy it from Mocha in registration, after all. Making tiny outfits for Barbie dolls out of fabric scraps, very probably; she hadn’t stopped doing that just because she was older, the only difference from when she was nine was that she didn’t make her Barbies talk anymore. Invariably she’d stay up til’ well past her bedtime, earphones plugged in to her laptop and trying not to sing along to the playlist of dance music she’d spent a year cultivating. She’d poked fun at her Mum for still giving her a bedtime at the big age of eighteen, but she’d maintained that while her girl was living under her roof it would be bed by eleven on a weeknight and out no later than three on a weekend.

These rules, however, were quickly disposed of as soon as she’d got the keys to her uni flat. As soon as she’d found out her other flatmates were just as riotous and chaotic as she was and loved a night out just as much, her weeks had been filled with nights she’d never forget in bars she couldn’t remember, heads against speakers and sore feet from heels and ridiculous pre-drinks with even more ridiculous cocktails.

One such cocktail is the one her flatmate’s making for her now. Ellie doesn’t have any of the professional equipment a usual bartender would, but that doesn’t seem to stop her- the messy countertops are a treasure trove of obscure liqueurs and alcopops, and Ellie twirls a yellow-blonde curl around her finger before giving a gasp of satisfaction as her hand settles on a sticky green bottle.

“One shot of apple soors, half a can of blue Monster, top up the rest with vodka,” she explains as she works with the various bottles and cans quickly, pouring into the pint glass they’d stolen from one of the pubs on a bar crawl during Freshers Week. She hands it to A’whora with a cheeky, mischievous grin on her painted face.

A’whora sniffs her glass and feels her nose wrinkle up involuntarily at the concoction her flatmate’s poured for her. “Els, if I drink that I’ll die.”

Ellie, to her credit, simply gives a snort of disapproval in response. Her pink acrylics click against the quarter bottle of vodka as she tightens the lid and replaces it in their freezer, all shiny and slick with frost. “Well if you are gonna take three hours to get ready then you’re gonna have to deal with the consequences of playing catch-up, babe.”

“Bitch,” A’whora jokes, rolling her eyes before sipping from her glass. The mixture makes her screw her face up so she takes another sip, then another until the weird sour-sweet-burn in her throat becomes more like a cocktail than cough syrup.

“Good, right?” Ellie prompts her, leaning against their kitchen counter proudly.

“No,” A’whora deadpans, causing her friend to burst out laughing. Then, realising something, she cocks her head. “Wait a second. What the fuck did you call the green drink?”

Ellie frowns. “Soors.”

“…Sourz?” A’whora says back to her, already giggling at the difference in dialects.

“Don’t play the pronunciation game with me, bitch.”

“Oh, I absolutely will when you’re just saying it wrong.”

“Lawrence!” Ellie shouts through to their other flatmate, sitting on the sofa and frowning at the bluetooth speaker as if it’s personally committed some crime against her. Ellie holds up the bottle as Lawrence snaps her head round, dark curls flying over her shoulder. “What’s this?”

“Liquidised heartburn,” she says instantly. A’whora snorts as Ellie rolls her eyes.

“Fuck’s sake. What’s it called?”

“Soors,” Lawrence shrugs back at her, and Ellie gestures triumphantly at A’whora who can only pout in reply.

“Listen, I can get Tia, Bims and Tayce through here and they’d all outnumber you, so. Shut it.”

“Yeah bet you’d love to get Tayce through here, A’whora,” Ellie smirks, raising both her eyebrows at her in an infuriatingly smug expression.

A’whora is clamped for a couple of reasons, the first being the God-awful nickname all her flatmates use against her. She’d managed to acquire it the first time they’d all played Never Have I Ever together and A’whora had drank for pretty much every situation or scenario presented to her. Before she’d known it, her very lovely, very Disney Princess-esque first name had been replaced by a pun that Bimini had come up with in the midst of their third rum and coke, and thus Aurora was dead and A’whora was born.

The second reason for her silence is a result of the mention of one of the girls she’s living with. A’whora had never really expected to develop a crush on any of her flatmates, which had been a ridiculous thing to assume- given the fact she’s attracted to girls and was going to be living with other girls, the odds would dictate that at least one of them would be her type. Luckily, though, she hasn’t developed any feelings for any of them. At least, that’s the lie she’s telling herself, as the cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward.

Tayce is different to Ellie, Lawrence, Tia and Bimini, though. None of the others get A’whora so flustered when they speak to her, none of the other others get her heart racing so fast it threatens to fly out her ribcage. She doesn’t feel the same sense of dizzy joy when she’s alone with any of the others: only when Tayce makes dinner with her, or when she comes to her room at ten at night for chats, or when they play Tayce’s stupid video games together and she beats her way-too-many-consecutive-times in a row to be considered fair. A’whora has tried to explain it away as just wanting to be liked, just wanting to be good friends, just just just until she can’t justify her own excuses any more and has instead resigned herself to repressing the feelings she has for her friend. The tension between them is building, though, and it’s only a matter of time until something happens.

“BITCH!”

A’whora jumps a little, flinching as she realises she’s gone too long without a comeback. Ellie’s expression is expectant and impatient as she clicks her fingers once, twice, three times in her face.

“Shut up, Ellie-phant,” A’whora manages to mumble almost incoherently as she turns on her heel, walking through to the living room area to sit with Lawrence and join her on her quest to making their speakers work.

Their flat is an odd one. The front door leads to a prison cell-style line of equally pokey rooms- Lawrence’s, Tayce’s, A’whora’s, Bimini’s, Ellie’s and Tia’s respectively- and two bathrooms. Then another door opens out onto two hobs, endless cupboards and grimy, cluttered countertops, and a scrub of shitty green carpet and three worn out red-purple sofas that look as tired as Bimini does when they come home from a random afterparty just as A’whora leaves for lectures. It doesn’t in any way look like a normal flat, but A’whora supposes they’re about as far away from normal as a sentient slice of cheese.

“Oh babe, you must be crushing crushing. I don’t think I’ve heard you come out with a comeback as shit as that in the whole four months we’ve lived together,” Ellie continues the conversation, buzzing behind her like an annoying fly.

“It wasn’t shit, it was good!”

“Lawrie, what’s a good comeback to me calling A’whora a whore?” Ellie appeals to her friend again.

“Rich of you to be calling anyone a whore. You come from a long line of whores. You’re a whore, your maw’s a whore, your maw’s maw was a whore. There’s cave paintings of your ancestors wi’ twelve dicks in their mouths. There’s tapestries of them gettin’ shagged left, right an’ centre. There’s clay sculptures of them being whores. Pipe the fuck doon,” Lawrence reels off, Ellie growing more and more breathless with hysterical laughter beside her and A’whora falling into giggles too.

“Well this was a weird time for me to enter the conversation.”

A’whora feels her heart lift and her face light up when she turns around and sees Tayce walking through to join them, the posture of a model with her fingers curled elegantly around the stem of a wine glass. She flicks her long, dark hair over her shoulder as she sits down on the small sofa beside A’whora, and she wonders how Tayce can sit in a way that makes the stained, battered, scratchy upholstery seem like the set of a high fashion photoshoot.

“Just talking about you,” A’whora sticks her tongue out at her, laughing at the way Tayce reels in fake horror and Lawrence explodes with laughter across from them.

“The valour, the bravery and the backbone,” Tayce grumbles, rolling her eyes. Her gaze rests upon something behind A’whora- the back of the sofa. Maybe there’s a new rip in it, God knows how that can have happened. She holds back a gasp, though, when Tayce reaches out and runs a gentle finger down her spine against her bare skin; an advantage of the sparkly backless cowl neck top she’s wearing that she hadn’t known existed until now. “Speaking of backbones, you’re such a skinny minnie.”

“Did you go to the school of backhanded compliments?” A’whora teases, deflecting from the way her heart’s still thrumming in her chest at the contact.

“Shush, you. You know you look bloody gorgeous,” Tayce says back to her, and even though there’s a laugh to her voice A’whora knows she means it. Her heart’s still going like a train but she can chalk that up to the half can of Monster Ellie’s dumped into her drink, so when she mutters out a thanks hun, same to you she hopes it doesn’t sound as insincere as it feels.

The thing is, she does look gorgeous. She’s dressed in a black lace bodysuit with straps that criss-cross up the back and a tight leather skirt that makes her legs look even longer than they already are. She’s opted for heels like A’whora has (unlike Ellie and Lawrence who have designated night-out trainers stained with spillages of drinks gone by) but hers have straps that are laced all the way round her calves and tied with a knot at the top. Everything about her outfit makes everything about her look outrageously good, and A’whora thinks it should be illegal for anyone to be this ethereal.

Tayce looks as if she’s about to fire something back at her judging by the little smile on her face but she’s interrupted by an outrageously loud boom from the speakers, as something that could be Lady Gaga but is too deafening to be deciphered screams through it. As the girls all flinch there’s a frantic diminuendo that comes from Lawrence mashing the volume button until the pitch is finally bearable and they can all take their hands off their ears.

“Lawrence, did you get the speakers working?” Ellie quips sarcastically, to which Tayce and A’whora burst out laughing and Lawrence almost elbows Ellie off the sofa opposite.

In the melee A’whora almost doesn’t notice Bimini and Tia come in, and they look ready to start the night if a little panicked.

“What the hell was that?” Tia asks quickly, opening the fridge and grabbing her bottle of premixed Malibu and pineapple before perching herself on the couch beside Ellie. “I thought part of the building had exploded.”

“Nah that was just my vagina, babes,” Lawrence says offhandedly, the others either screeching with laughter or groaning in anguish. Bimini crosses the room with their selection of drinks cradled in their arms and budges Tayce and A’whora up with an oi, oi!, A'whora’s pulse thudding at her wrist as a result of her close proximity to her crush.

No- her friend. Her friend who’s never going to be anything more than that.

With the six flatmates assembled, drinks poured, and tunes on, their pre drinks can begin. Pres at their flat often look like drinking games, yelling along to early 2010s pop, tipsily booking taxis and then touching up their makeup in the waiting time before they arrive. Tonight is no different; they bicker about where they want to go and eventually decide on the union because although it’s “too het” according to Ellie, it’s admittedly cheap and a good night out. A’whora chips into the conversation every five minutes with shady, catty jokes that Tayce howls at and leans into her side and clutches her arm or her hand or her thigh.

The contact is nice. They’ve reached that stage of their friendship where they’re touchy and close a lot of the time- A’whora’s constantly playing with Tayce’s hair and Tayce thinks nothing of just walking into A’whora’s room and getting under the duvet with her. They throw their arms around each other and bump shoulders as they walk and touch legs on the sofa, much like they’re doing now. A’whora has never been a cuddly type of friend- to be honest, she still isn’t- but there’s something about doing all this with Tayce that she doesn’t mind. It’s a comfortable kind of intimacy, a knitted blanket of sorts, but it’s a fragile space for Tayce to occupy too and A’whora knows it’s risky to let her rip a wall down she’s never been aware of til now.

The night rolls along and with every refill of A’whora’s glass the music gets turned up a little more, a little more, a little more until they’re all having to yell over each other as they play wiggly wiggly woo, who’s most likely to. It’s all fun and games until it gets to who’s most likely to sleep with a flatmate, and there’s a confusing mess of finger-pointing where Lawrence points to Ellie, Tayce points to Lawrence, and Bimini, Ellie and Tia point to A’whora.

“Fuck off, why’s it me?” she screeches in outrage, trying to cover up the fact her cheeks are burning and that Tayce seems suddenly all too close to her.

“Because! It’s you! It’s A’whora!” Bimini laughs, their accent making them seem all the more mischievous and shit-stirring.

“Well! If I’m sleeping with a flatmate that must mean one of you’s gonna be involved, doesn’t it?!”

“Right, sorry, yeah,” Bimini nods understandingly, before immediately switching to point to Tayce. There’s an arena-crowd roar that erupts from the others, one that makes A’whora laugh and blush scarlet at the same time. She sneaks a look at Tayce, who’s regarding her with much the same expression.

“I’m down if you are, hun,” A’whora jokes-but-not-really, shaking Tayce’s arm as if it’ll take away from the weak joke she’s trying to make. Tayce only shoots her a wink with her tongue trapped between her teeth.

“In your dreams, love.”

A’whora’s glad of the others laughing so she can pretend to join in, occupy herself with something other than the overwhelming urge to reply to Tayce with exactly.

The rest of pres fly by tipsily and incoherently. They get a noise complaint from the weird flat underneath them which seems solely comprised of six boys who never go outside, which prompts them to book taxis even though the union is only about a ten minute walk away. A’whora helps Tia re-glue on her eyelashes in a rush and Bimini spontaneously fills a hipflask with Ellie’s apple sourz, “for the road”. When the taxis roll up outside Lawrence hurries them all out the door with the urgency of a mother of five, and before long they’re standing in a queue around the block, Bimini and A’whora sharing Tia’s huge puffer jacket because neither of them thought to pick up coats in their haste to leave.

Tayce pulls a packet of cigarettes out of her pocket, flips the little cardboard lid of them open and offers them round to the others. A’whora takes one because Tayce is offering, and really Tayce could offer them grenades with the pins pulled out and A’whora would accept if only to get her smile flashed at her again or the chance that their hands might touch during the transfer. A’whora thinks Tayce is every public health campaign’s worst nightmare as she watches her hold the cigarette between her index and middle fingers, wrap her lips around the end and inhale. Her cheekbones are razor-sharp as she drags then lets the breath go, red lipstick on the paper and the smoke curling up into the sparkly, dark night sky.

She is beautiful.

It’s because she’s beautiful that A’whora shouldn’t be surprised by the events that begin to unfold as they enter the club. Ellie immediately makes her way over to a booth, picks up the little sign that says it’s reserved and chucks it onto the dancefloor to get trampled underfoot and covered in sticky cocktail spillages. Tayce’s round is first because she lost Ring of Fire back at the flat so she goes over to the bar for shots, promising she’ll be only a couple of minutes and the others believing her; the way she looks ensures she never has a long wait time at the bar.

So they wait. And they wait. At first they don’t even notice how long they’ve waited- the tunes are good and loud and so they all yell along happily. Until Lawrence turns to the others with narrowed eyes.

“Here. Where the fuck is Tayce? She’s been ages.”

They all scan the bar, and Ellie suddenly points dramatically over to the other end of it. “Oh!”

Because Tayce is standing at the bar with no drinks and no interest in any of the bartenders taking drinks orders. She’s talking to a tall blonde with a dazzling smile and a low-cut crop top, and something inside A’whora burns and sinks at the same time. Tayce is allowed to be talking to a pretty girl. She’s not not allowed to. But it doesn’t make her any less jealous of the attention she’s giving her.

It’s a horror movie she can’t look away from. She’s aware that Ellie has gone to get the drinks instead, but that’s all she can absorb from her surroundings. She tunes out of the conversation at the table as she continues to watch the two of them interact. The girl’s got muscles, and her hair falls in neat waves on her shoulders, and she’s smiley and charming and doesn’t talk much, preferring instead to listen to Tayce. A’whora is different. A’whora is constantly on transmit; loud and opinionated and gobby and, okay, sometimes a little bit judgemental. She can’t do charming and demure. She can’t be what Tayce is very clearly interested in.

A thud next to her causes A’whora to whip her head round, tearing herself away from the scene playing out in front of her and ripping the plaster off.

“Fuck’s sake. Jaegerbombs with Red Bull? Puh-rison!” Ellie half-whines, half-shouts.

“Red Bull is the standard, not everyone can have the same taste in energy drinks as a sixteen year old virgin gamer,” A’whora narrows her eyes, gratefully accepting the drink from her nonetheless and shotting it back as if it’ll help blind her, or perhaps forget what she’s seeing.

“God. Who pissed in your coco pops?” Ellie fires back, rolling her eyes dramatically.

“Bold of you to assume anything specific has happened to make her this bitter, mean and salty,” Tia jokes from A’whora’s side, and as the others scream and laugh A’whora in turn fixes her with a glare, wishing momentarily she had laser beams for pupils.

“Ooh, that’s made me want a tequila,” Lawrence cries enthusiastically, too loud even from the other side of the booth.

“Eh, excuse me! I just got you a Jaegerbomb, finish that first,” Ellie chastises her like a world-weary parent, pushing the glass towards her friend and sliding her hand over the table, sticky with the ghosts of questionable drinks’ past. A’whora has to snort at her tone.

“Yeah Lawrence, finish your Jaegerbomb or you won’t get any dessert. Listen to your responsible Mum whose eyelash is coming off.”

A big roar of laughter flies up from the others, and it’s Ellie’s turn to glare at A’whora this time. She looks as if she’s about to say something back when Bimini sniffs their glass and frowns.

“Is Jaegerbombs vegan?”

Everyone apparently wishes to ignore the lack of grammatical sense to their sentence, and it’s Lawrence who responds first. “They’re vegan in the same sense that bleach is vegan?”

Bewilderingly satisfied, Bimini raises their glass to the middle of the table and the girls join them, cheering as they all clink them together and chuck the drinks back. The fact A’whora can’t join in leaves her eyes to fall on Tayce and that girl again. Tayce is smiling and it’s the brightest thing in the club, laughing as the girl flips her hair and touches her hand and tells some joke that’s obviously not as funny as anything A’whora could say. She wonders if she’s ever made Tayce smile like that. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but she can’t remember.

“You know they used to use Jaeger as cough medicine? And for ages it was drunk by, like…old Tories who went on deer hunts,” Tia reels off excitably, and A’whora can’t help but roll her eyes affectionately at her friend’s bizarre general knowledge. “There’s this rumour that it’s got deer’s blood in it.”

Bimini splutters, coughs, and chokes all at once. As Lawrence slaps their back entirely too roughly in a way that’s about as helpful as a water gun at a house fire, A’whora can’t help but turn to face Tia incredulously.

“What the fuck did you say that for?!”

Tia shrugs, too tipsy to register A’whora’s disbelief. “Fun fact.”

“You didn’t think to pipe up with that when Bims was asking if it was vegan?”

“It’s just a rumour!” Tia says defensively, then turns to Bimini to check they’re okay. A’whora huffs in exasperation, folding her arms and throwing her back against the supposedly cushioned walls of the booth. As she stares straight ahead and ignores the fuss her friends are making, her eyes fall on Tayce again and her heart hurts more than it should to see her with her phone out and the girl beside her doing the same. They’re so clearly swapping numbers. They’re allowed to swap numbers. It’s not like A’whora’s got dibs on Tayce, it’s not like she’s got any right to feel a burn in her stomach and a flame in her heart and a feeling of something slipping away.

“Right!” Lawrence all but yells, forcing A’whora to tear her eyes away. “I’ve finished my Jaegerbomb, Mum, can we get tequila now?”

Ellie sighs. “Fine! But you’re buying me this one, bitch.”

“I’ll come with,” A’whora says, thinking she’ll need at least ten more units of alcohol to stop feeling feelings.

“We’re going for a boogie, catch us up,” Bimini decides, as Rhythm is a Dancer blasts on the overhead speakers and Tia lets out a whooo! that’s way too white for a mixed-race girl.

So they move, A’whora bum-shuffling her way out of the booth and following Lawrence and Ellie, her feet sore in her heels. She purposefully blocks Tayce out of her peripheral vision as she leans against the bar, but she’s only separated from her by about six people also waiting and if she tilted her head forward she could definitely catch her eye if she wanted.

“Rhythm is a dancer, two for one at Asda,” Ellie sings along, bopping her head enthusiastically. A’whora laughs weakly, her proximity to Tayce and that bitch she’s talking to entirely too distracting.

“Shut your hole and tell me what you’re wanting,” Lawrence orders her. Ellie drums the palms of her hands against the bar as she semi-shouts sambucaaaaa, and A’whora asks for a vodka. She’s aware she’s mixing entirely too many spirits and her hangover tomorrow will be potentially life-threatening, but she doesn’t care.

“Tayce is still there. Should we shout her over and see what she wants?” Ellie suggests, craning her neck. A’whora firmly shakes her head.

“She’s wanting that baby Hulk she’s been talking to all night, apparently,” she all but spits, shocking herself at her venom. It’s clear she shocks the girls as well, and Lawrence turns around and simply raises her eyebrows at her.

“Men’s dress trousers in a hotel.”

A’whora can only blink. “What?”

Lawrence pauses for dramatic effect (or perhaps that’s just the Jaegerbomb making its alcohol content known). She points a finger at A’whora, then finishes whatever point she’s making. “Pressed.”

“Purrr!” Ellie laughs in agreement, grabbing A’whora’s shoulder and shaking it in an action that’s probably meant to be gentle but almost shakes her bone out of its socket. “Oh my God, that totally explains why you’ve been such a bitch all night.”

“This wee cow’s been a bitch her whole life,” Lawrence joins in. A’whora knows she’s got a proper face on by now, Dot Cotton licking piss off a nettle, but she can’t help it. She hates being wound up and she makes this perfectly clear to her friends via her furious silence.

“Nah, but tonight she’s a jealous bitch,” Ellie sticks her tongue out at her, and A’whora huffs.

“I’m not jealous!” she lies. “I’m just pissed off that she comes on a night out with us and she spends it talking to some random bitch she barely knows instead of her friends.”

“Wait. Oh my God, do you fancy Tayce?” Lawrence asks, a bull in a china shop on cocaine. Before A’whora can defend herself Ellie barks a laugh.

“Aw Lauzza, come on to fuck! Have you ever walked in when it’s been just the two of them? They’re so fucking flirty it’s disgusting.”

“DISGUSTEN!” Lawrence shouts, and it goes about ten percent of the way to drawing A’whora out of her mood.

“I don’t flirt with Tayce! I don’t fancy her either!” A’whora cries, exasperated. She realises too-late that her volume may have been too loud, but when she looks over at the topic of conversation again she’s both disappointed and relieved to see that she hasn’t registered a thing. “Anyway, you know you can’t shag your flatmate. It’s like the first rule of having flatmates. It would just make everything awkward.”

“That the only thing stopping you?” Lawrence looks at her pointedly.

“The bartender’s free,” A’whora glances just over Lawrence’s shoulder, and she turns around so fast it almost makes her feel dizzy. While Lawrence orders it leaves Ellie to turn to A’whora and pat her hand sympathetically.

“Why don’t you just go up to her?” she suggests. “I mean would it be so bad if you did just shag and get the pent-up tension released and then you can both just move on? I mean it’s not like you want to be her girlfriend or anything.”

A’whora presses her lips together and doesn’t reply. Her silence seems to communicate too much as Ellie’s mouth drops open a little and she fixes her with a pointed stare. “Oh, A’whora.”

“Look, I don’t know,” A’whora rushes to defend herself, her words spilling out over themselves in the way they sometimes do when she’s tipsy. “Like obviously she’s gorgeous but also, like…I do like her as a person as well, and I like being around her and just enjoying her company-”

Ellie splutters a giggle. “Enjoying her company, are you eighty years old in a care home?”

“I’m gonna slap you in a minute, shut up!” A’whora laughs incredulously. “But, like, I just…I don’t know if she likes me back like that, you know?

Ellie frowns. “I think, then, my advice would be…don’t shag her if you don’t think you can keep it to just that. ‘Cause obviously you don’t want to end up getting hurt.”

“Right, yeah,” A’whora replies, nodding.

If she’s honest, she’s disappointed. Obviously she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to sleep with Tayce- because fucking look at her- but just like Ellie said, she knows she would end up getting hurt if anything happened between them. Tayce would probably consider it a one-time thing and A’whora would be let down, or it would turn into some long, drawn-out friends with benefits scenario that would probably make everything worse.

The thing is she can only repress her feelings so much and tonight she’s feeling like one of Ellie’s cans of Monster that Tia shook up as a joke and ended up spurting out its contents so violently that there’s still a green-blue stain on their kitchen wall. A’whora’s way too close to telling the girls about every time she’s pictured her and Tayce falling asleep together and waking up together, every time she’s imagined them planning actual dates, every time she’s wanted to kiss her on the sofa- not necessarily even a kiss kiss but just a peck on the cheek, a soft one pressed to the crown of her head, a little one against their knuckles as they hold hands.

It all sounds ridiculous and silly and way too high school. Nothing seems to work the same at uni. Everyone just seems to shag, hook up, kiss strangers they’ll never see again in the shadows of grimy clubs. Everything seems to happen when everyone’s drunk. Everything’s done out of lust rather than love. Everything is so short-term because you can’t plan for the long term if you wake up and don’t remember the night before.

A’whora loves uni, but she doesn’t like that.

Besides, she’s already done all that in high school anyway. Sixth form had been like a crash course in freshers’ week; if she wasn’t drinking in parks or going to house parties she was sneaking into nightclubs using a fake ID that even Stevie Wonder could’ve seen right through. She’d half-heartedly slept with boys and figured out she liked girls when a sleepover after a party took a turn. She’d tried smoking and she came to the conclusion that she didn’t like it enough to buy her own cigarettes, she’d tried mandy once and that was once too much for her. All of that has prepared her well for uni- she’s street smart and has her head screwed on (for the most part- she’s still testing her limits as far as alcohol’s concerned). But feeling like she’s feeling for Tayce is uncharted territory, and out of everything she’s already done and experienced A’whora finds it hard to believe there’s not an age limit on this sort of thing because it all feels more risky and dangerous than smoking roll-ups in a children’s playpark at one in the morning ever did.

A wayheyyy! from Lawrence cuts through her thoughts and she accepts the shot she’s holding out to her, wordlessly clinking it together with Lawrence’s and Ellie’s and slamming it back as if it’s some form of medicine she desperately needs.

“It’s so weird that you don’t do the whole lime and salt thing,” Ellie wrinkles her nose at her friend, who in turn punches one of her own tits with what seems to be pride.

“‘Cause I’m made of strong stuff, babes. Right, what’s the conclusion on this one? Does she fancy Tayce or no?”

“Surely this is a bathroom stall conversation?” A’whora pouts, annoyed that her feelings for Tayce have been brought back up.

As Ellie relays to Lawrence what she’d said to A’whora, A’whora momentarily wonders if she’s in control of anything in her life any more.

Lawrence nods when Ellie’s done. “Smart advice. ‘Cause it would make things awkward for the flat. ‘Magine trying to make a Pot Noodle in the middle of a live-action episode of Eastenders.”

A’whora screws her face up in confusion. “All episodes of Eastenders are live action?”

“Y’know what the fuck I mean,” Lawrence rolls her eyes in exasperation. “Well we’ve given you our blessing and basically we represent the whole country, so. Go for it.”

“Thanks, Nicola Sturgeon, good to know I have your approval,” A’whora smirks at her, amused. When some Becky Hill song comes on over the speakers she takes it as her cue to smooth down her skirt, flip her hair over her shoulder and rest her little shot glass back on the bar. “Right, we going to have a dance or what?”

As she takes her friends’ hands they all but strut over to the dancefloor, and A’whora can see Bimini and Tia pulling shapes that they probably think make them look mysterious and sexy but actually just make them look as drunk as they no doubt are. Before A’whora can push through the crowd, Lawrence tugs her and Ellie back a bit.

“Here, I think I’ve remembered something Tayce told me once, if this is of any use to you?” she begins.

All of A’whora’s nerve endings light up like one of those colourful optical fiber lamps she had when she was small. Her eyes have clearly flown open and her mouth’s dropped slack without her even having to try, so desperate is she for what Lawrence is about to tell her. Ellie’s beside her equally expectant and anticipative, and Lawrence laughs at the pair of them before she continues.

“It was the pair of us and Tia…Christ, when was it…cannae mind. Think you’d gone home for the weekend and Ellie was doing something wi’ Bims…anyway, coupla’ bottles of wine in and we start playing wee stupid games. We’re doing snog, marry, avoid and Tia gives her…fuck, cannae even remember. Let’s say it was Ellie, Bimini and you. Now I can’t remember what she said for the other two but…” Lawrence pauses dramatically, and A’whora is a hair’s breadth away from practically begging her for the information she’s taking so long to impart. “…she said she would marry you because then she’d get to shag you more than just once.”

A’whora doesn’t think her eyes can go any wider but she somehow manages it. She doesn’t really know how to react but Ellie’s doing enough screaming to suffice for the two of them.

“When the fuck were you gonna tell us that?! Fuck, I can’t believe you never told me that! When did this happen?!” Ellie practically screeches in her face.

“Telt you I cannae mind! Maybe like…a month ago? I don’t know,” Lawrence supplies unhelpfully. Usually A’whora would try to rip the piss out of the way her accent’s gone ten times more Braveheart than usual after her series of drinks, but all she can think about is what she’s been told and, well…she can’t help the butterflies in her heart and the way a satisfied, triumphant grin spreads slowly onto her face.

Ellie’s equally as excited beside her. She whacks A’whora on the arm as she squeals with enthusiasm. “See! Now we know she likes you too!”

A’whora feels as if she’s made of glitter and confetti as she spins around in the direction of the bar. Her heart gives a dip on its rollercoaster of emotions as she sees that Tayce has somehow caught the attention of a different girl- long, dark hair and a blue and orange outfit and a mouth that’s moving at about a mile a minute.

There’s a second before A’whora makes to turn away in disappointment when Tayce’s pupils suddenly flick over to rest on her. Tayce’s self-assured expression and body language seem to falter when she catches A’whora’s eye, and she shoots her a little smile that- if A’whora didn’t know the girl better- she’d say was shy.

“Now the challenge is actually getting a chance to talk to her,” A’whora pouts. Chatting up Tayce and maybe getting to fall into bed with her really isn’t a time-sensitive issue; it doesn’t need to happen tonight, but A’whora’s had a chaotic combination of alcohol that makes her think there’s really no time like the present and hey, maybe this is her one and only chance.

“Well, we can keep an eye on her and when she’s free, then that’s your chance,” Ellie smiles, supportive and excited.

“What chat-up line are you gonnae use? I’ve got a cracker you can have if you want,” Lawrence insists, and A’whora and Ellie share a doubtful look.

“Go on.”

“What did one haggis say to the other haggis?” Lawrence begins. Without giving the other girls a chance to interject, she finishes. “…’Gonnae shaggis?’ ”

“And on that note,” Ellie shakes her head and rolls her eyes, taking both of them by the hand and pulling them into the crowd to join their other friends.

It’s amazing how easy it is to forget about the object of her affection chatting to random girls on the other side of the room when Bimini’s grabbing her and almost launching her across the dancefloor with their euphoric pogo-ing along to each and every song that gets played. The five of them drunkenly bum-ba-ba, bum-ba-ba along to Head & Heart and cheer for Tia when she does Nicki’s rap in Swalla without even stopping for breath. A’whora laughs in confusion with the other girls as Lawrence and Ellie get way too excited, squealing and clutching each others’ hands when some clubland tune that’s apparently much bigger in Scotland than it is in the other three corners of the UK gets put on, the lyrics of which seem to consist solely of the words up-up-up and awayyy. Bimini and Lawrence collect more drinks from the bar and A’whora very nearly knocks Ellie’s out of her hand when Friday comes on and she punches the air.

And then Tayce is on her own.

A’whora’s heart almost siezes up with how fast it jolts into full-blown palpitations because this is the moment she can finally go over and talk to her, the chance to turn their friendship into maybe something more even if that something more is only a random hookup after a night out, but it only takes the time for her to shake Ellie’s arm and point in Tayce’s direction for her to see that, yet again, she’s been approached by someone tall and confident and stunning and everything that A’whora wishes Tayce thought about her.

Her face falls and Ellie snaps her fingers in her line of vision, forcing her to look at her and the motherly expression of tough love she’s wearing.

“Hey. When has anyone ever stopped you getting your own way?” she yells at her over the music, and A’whora laughs half in amusement and half in agreement. As she falls silent, Ellie jerks her head towards the bar. “Go get her, bitch.”

It might be the alcohol, but it hits A’whora with a ironically sobering clarity that Ellie’s right.

So she takes a breath in and struts confidently over to the bar, practically able to feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins (although that could well be the caffeine from the second Jaegerbomb she’s downed this evening with Bimini’s encouragement). She smooths down her skirt so the split runs up the front of her thigh and not the side, adjusts the neck of her top so it’s framing her chest the way she wants it to. She could be nervous but the combined alcohol she’s drunk so far this evening pushes that feeling to the back of her head, replacing it with all-consuming confidence that she can feel from the inside out. She looks good, better than good, and she knows she can flirt even though she’s never really tried to flirt with Tayce. Well, never intentionally.

Okay, that’s maybe a lie.

The realisation that she’s actually going through with this is enough to make her want to freeze to the spot but by some miracle she’s still walking forward until she’s three, two, one steps away from her flatmate and the girl at the bar with too much plastic surgery and hair the shade of a vomit-coloured highlighter pen. A’whora wedges her shoulder in between the pair of them, hears the girl give a little tut/sigh hybrid from behind her but A’whora’s not really interested in bickering with her, not when Tayce’s eyes have fallen on her and she’s looking at her, really looking at her with a little playful smile on her painted lips.

“Hey baby boo,” Tayce says by way of a greeting, and A’whora feels her heart melt just a little. She’s being adorable, but she’s not going to let that damage her confident, composed exterior. Until Tayce follows up by running a hand down her arm and lacing their fingers together. “I haven’t seen you all night, I missed you.”

With that, A’whora feels the little cocky smirk she’s wearing break out into a shy grin, one that she hopes doesn’t look as ridiculously goofy as it feels. “Well. Maybe you would’ve seen more of me if you hadn’t been playing Take Me Out with half the bloody girls in here.”

“Who, me?” Tayce gasps, clutching the gold chain around her neck and pretending to be affronted. A’whora doesn’t mean to roll her eyes but she clearly does, and the small giggle she draws out of Tayce as a result makes it almost worth it. The squeeze Tayce gives her hand turns that almost into a definitely, as does what Tayce follows up with. “You’re cute when you’re jealous, you know.”

“You’re cute…all the time,” A’whora claps back, wishing she had some sort of drink in her hand to press against her face as she feels her blush start to bloom across her cheeks.

“I know, babe, that’s why I’ve been getting my drinks bought for me all night,” Tayce winks.

If Awhora uses that as a signal to pull her bank card from her bra, that’s nobody’s business but her own. The way Tayce’s gaze flicks to her chest lights a match in her heart. “Well…let me buy you one and then you won’t have to miss me so much.”

Tayce’s awed smile spreads slowly onto her face and they agree on tequila shots, the phase of the evening where they were nursing their drinks left firmly in the dust as the bartender hands them a salt shaker, two little shot glasses and two wedges of lime. The way Tayce’s tongue slides over the side of her hand before she sprinkles the salt and the way their eyes meet as she licks it up makes A’whora’s mouth dry, so the tequila’s welcome for a split second before she remembers why she hates it, the flavour and sheer strength of the alcohol akin to being hit by a truck.

As she grabs desperately for the lime like it’s an oxygen mask on a crash-landing plane, Tayce laughs and shakes her head pityingly. “You always end up ordering tequila and you always, always hate it.”

A’whora blinks as she composes herself, gives a little shiver of recovery. She cocks her head at Tayce inquisitively. “I didn’t know you remembered that.”

Tayce looks to the ground as she smiles, tucks a piece of her long hair behind her ear. It’s endearing and soft and it makes A’whora panic, so she presses her lips together and raises an eyebrow at Tayce questioningly. “So, how’d your little episode of Blind Date go anyway?“

"Gosh, you’re really pressed about this, aren’t you?” Tayce’s eyes are narrow as she smirks at her, and now it’s A'whora’s turn to look embarrassed. The soft laugh Tayce gives is reassuring so A'whora’s gaze drifts back up again and their eyes meet as she speaks again. “Well, there was, uh…blonde lady. Blonde lady with the muscles and the eyeliner. God, what was her name?”

“This is off to a flying start.”

“Kameron!” Tayce yells in her face as she remembers. It makes A’whora snort with laughter, something that’s probably wildly unattractive but she knows Tayce has seen her do it before. “And then there was, uh, Priyanka. I remember her name because she kept telling me every two minutes. That was a wild conversation.”

“Uh-huh. Who was the bitch I elbowed out the way?”

Tayce smirks at her, wobbles a little in her heels and steadies herself against the bar. “That was…Detox.”

“Radox?”

Tayce splutters. “Detox!”

“Should’ve called herself Botox, would’ve been nearer to the mark,” A’whora turns up her top lip. Tayce explodes in an outraged laugh beside her, clutches her wrist in a way that makes A’whora hope she won’t be able to feel her rapid pulse.

“Says Aurora Georgia Boyle, who asked for lip fillers for her eighteenth and was actually allowed to get them!”

“Don’t full name me, piece of shit!” A’whora gasps in mock-offence, shakes herself away from Tayce’s grip but finds her inexplicably nearer to her than she was before. She’s not necessarily complaining, though, because her whole left side is against Tayce’s right and there’s some form of other-worldly magnetism that seems to keep them pressed together. It makes her heart flutter so she tucks a section of hair behind her ear before she frowns. “I never told you that. How come you know that?”

“You did tell me! Back in freshers week! You just don’t remember,” Tayce giggles, poking her cheek with one acrylic nail. It should hurt more than it does. Maybe it does hurt and A’whora can’t feel it. She’s had a lot to drink.

It’s the alcohol she blames when she hooks an arm around Tayce’s waist, tilts her head and drops her volume to a murmur. “You seem to remember a lot of things about me.”

Tayce’s eyes widen just that little bit. “Well you’re a bit of an unforgettable person, really.”

Her words make A’whora’s heart light up so much that she can feel herself glowing from the inside out. She brings her other arm around Tayce in a tight hug, her hands joining at the small of her back, and Tayce mirrors her so they’re both anchoring each other. It’s hard for her to remember whether they’ve ever shared a hug like this before. It seems too intimate for friends, but A’whora doesn’t mind.

“Tayce.”

“Rory,” Tayce replies, mimicking her whine and the way she draws her name out. A’whora likes the nickname she gives her probably more than she should; she supposes it’s because only Tayce uses it and because it’s rooted in her actual given name.

A’whora pouts, squeezes Tayce’s waist. “I missed you tonight, you know.”

“Missed you too. Missed you so much,” Tayce murmurs back.

She’s already said it, A’whora knows she’s already said it, but with the way they’re both gazing at each other it seems to mean something more, something different. It’s ridiculous- they’re both drunk, and famously no good decisions have ever happened when two people have had this many assorted shots, but somehow it feels like all of this is just right.

A’whora drops her head to rest it on Tayce’s shoulder and she feels her arms tighten around her in response. Her lips graze her neck as she murmurs against it. “Not leaving me again.”

There’s a pause where she can’t really see Tayce’s expression or how she’s reacted. Her heart freezes, and the terror and reality of having crossed the line between friendship and whatever the hell this is suddenly consumes her whole body. She’s relieved, then, when Tayce eventually mutters against the crown of her head.

“All yours, baby.”

And she presses a kiss to her hair. Just like A’whora’s been dreaming about for so long.

She feels giddy and dizzy with absolute euphoria, so it’s that she blames when she puts her lips against Tayce’s neck again and plants one, two, three little kisses there in quick succession.

“Tayce,” she whispers again. She doesn’t really know what she wants to say or how to say it, but she knows she doesn’t want to go back to the dancefloor, and she doesn’t want to be with their other friends. She just wants her and Tayce together for however long she’ll let it be that way, and she doesn’t even care about the busy bar or the drunk students that bump into them every so often or the stares from the rowdy group of rugby lads that would usually make her feel intimidated, but not when she’s with Tayce.

When she’s with Tayce everything seems a little bit better somehow, just by her being there.

So maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s the tequila, or maybe it’s the feeling of having Tayce’s arms around her that makes A’whora tilt her head back up again and meet Tayce’s waiting lips with her own. There’s none of the usual hesitation or awkward pause that comes with kissing someone new because really the amount of times A’whora’s imagined this, dreamt about it, thought about it in daydreams that completely unhook her from reality, it’s as if it’s happened before.

Nothing has prepared her for the real thing though. How Tayce brings a hand up to rest at her jaw and how the other stays placed against the bare skin of her back, warm and supportive. How the both of them sway a little, unsteady in their heels as if they’ve been knocked for six. How Tayce’s body is close against hers and A’whora pushes a hand in her hair in an attempt to somehow bring her even closer. How kissing Tayce leaves her breathtaken and satisfied yet somehow amplifies her feeling of longing, because the more she gives to her the more A’whora wants and with every second that Tayce’s lips are on hers she can only feel the heat that’s pooling in her stomach growing more and more intense.

When Tayce pulls away and A’whora can only catch her breath, she fixes her with a lazy, half-lidded smile that makes her insides turn to melted honey.

“That was nice,” she blinks, and she’s a second away from kicking herself- because, really?- when Tayce giggles softly under her breath. She brushes a little piece of A’whora’s hair off her face, and the gentleness of the action throws her a little. A’whora brings her arms up to loop around her neck, and she leans in close again. “I wanna do it again.”

“I want to do…a lot of things. With you,” Tayce says, casual and chill as if her words haven’t just sent A’whora up in flames.

“Like…?”

“Like…maybe come back to mine and I’ll show you, baby.”

The whole moment’s perfect enough for A’whora to almost overlook the blunder Tayce has just made, but her nature dictates that she can’t let her get away with it. “We…we live together.”

Tayce lets out a snort, bumps her forehead against A’whora’s as she despairs of herself. “Right. Well…we gonna go home, then?”

A’whora doesn’t need to be asked twice. She laces her fingers in Tayce’s, resolves to text the others to tell them they’ve left, and stumbles towards the exit with her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

When she blinks, she’s tired, she’s in bed, it’s bright, and she’s confused as all hell.

The headache hits her like a sledgehammer to the face and she blinks slowly and heavily, adjusting herself to her surroundings. She’s in her own room, she can tell that much from the photos of her and her friends from back home on the cupboard and the fairy lights on her desk that aren’t switched on. Her mouth feels like a badger’s shat in it and her eyes are all achey, and as she throws an arm up to rub at them she’s surprised when she doesn’t see any leftover eye makeup on the back of her hand.

“The kraken awakes.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” A’whora flinches, her head whipping over to the foot of her bed to find Tayce sitting cross-legged leaning against the wall, her phone in her hand. She’s wearing her old leggings with the bleach stains and the hole at the calf, and a purple tie-dye sweatshirt that’s a size too big for her. Her hair’s loose and framing her face and the only makeup she has on is the little scattering of eyeliner that’s hanging tight to her lash line and has managed to escape the makeup wipe.

She looks disarmed and shy. There’s something comforting about it, because A’whora feels confused and completely on the back foot and she has no idea what’s going on. But there’s a warm smile on her face and it meets her eyes, so despite her disorientation A’whora feels safe.

“How long’ve you been there? Were you just watching me sleep like some…creepy Twilight vampire?” A’whora groans, sitting up and leaning forward and taking a deep breath as if it’ll make her headache go away.

Tayce laughs in a way that makes A’whora think the question’s flustered her, but she’s not sure. “The others went to get breakfast. I said I’d stay with you. Didn’t want you to be on your own feeling like shit and maybe having the fear.”

“I am having the fear. I don’t even know how we got home.”

The way Tayce’s face drops in what looks like abject panic makes her wonder what did happen last night. “Wait. What do you actually remember?”

A’whora’s heart is racing as she scans her mind for memories. Pres, club, drinks, booth. Tayce talking to some girl. Dancefloor. Tayce. Talking to Tayce. Kissing Tayce-

Kissing Tayce.

“Oh, no,” A’whora blurts out involuntarily. Her eyes are wide as she looks at Tayce. “We…did we? We did?”

Tayce’s face seems to relax as she bursts out laughing, and it all comes flooding back to A’whora and hits her like a train. Everything that had seemed like such a good idea last night now seems like the most awkward situation in the world now that Tayce is here, on her bed, and they’re both sober.

“Tayce, no,” A’whora whines, putting her head in her hands as her friend keeps laughing. “No! That’s so awkward. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it was a good kiss,” Tayce smiles back, somehow both coy and self-assured at once. It’s her reaction that causes a new wave of cold horror to crash against A’whora, a wave on a rock.

“Oh, Jesus. Did anything else happen?”

Tayce grows animated. “God, yeah, we had the best sex ever. Sixty-nines, scissoring, we got the vibrators involved. It was bloody lush.”

A’whora’s too hungover to realise that Tayce is winding her up until she screeches with laughter right in her horrified face. “Oh my God, Rory, your face! No I’m joking, ‘course I’m joking.”

“Thank fuck,” A’whora sighs a world-weary sigh of relief, throwing herself back down against her pillows and immediately regretting it for the way her brain ricochets against her skull and makes her headache ten times worse. “So what did happen?”

“Well, you wanted to walk back because you wanted to look at the stars, so when we got to the square we lay down and looked at the stars for a bit. And then I wanted to go get chips and cheese but you were dragging me back home because you were so horny,” Tayce looks at her pointedly, and A’whora groans with embarrassment, grabbing her pillow and shoving it over her face. “But then after we got up the stairs and in through the door you said you felt sick, so I then had to hold your hair back while you threw up last night’s pasta bake and what looked to be about fifty different kinds of alcohol into the toilet bowl. Then I had to put you to bed and stay up half the night making sure you didn’t choke on your own tongue while you were asleep. Best one night stand I’ve ever had.”

When A’whora takes the pillow away, Tayce winks at her. She feels like putting the pillow back.

“I’m honestly so sorry,” she pouts. She is sorry. Part of her wishes she could at least properly remember what it had felt like to kiss Tayce. All the memories of the moment are much too paper-thin and flimsy, butterfly wings that’re all too rapidly flying away. Tayce isn’t giving her any cause to be embarrassed, but A’whora is anyway.

So she’s not sure what Tayce is going to say when she leans forward, takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. “Go brush your teeth.”

A’whora thinks she might be the first person in history to have cause of death: cringe written on her birth certificate. “You’re really adding insult to injury, aren’t you? Telling me all the embarrassing shit I did while I was off my face and then basically telling me my breath smells like dog shite.”

Tayce laughs as she shakes her head. “Just go do it, idiot.”

She’s never been one to say no to Tayce so A’whora drags herself out from under her duvet towards the little sink tucked away in the corner of her room, the cold chill of the freezing air hitting her bare arms and her feet and rendering her even more miserable. It’s only when she’s halfway through scrubbing at her teeth when it registers that she’s even got pyjamas on.

“Did you have to put my pyjamas on for me?” A’whora asks around her toothbrush, realising all too late that trying to talk through a mouthful of toothpaste is probably as unattractive as vomiting into the toilet bowl.

(The toilet bowl is definitely worse, but she’s just thinking this to help herself feel better.)

Tayce looks up from her phone and raises an eyebrow. “Nah, you managed to do it yourself. You did make me watch you put your stick-on bra on your forehead, though. Apparently it was the funniest thing in the world.”

A’whora just groans as she turns back to the sink, spitting out the toothpaste and following it with mouthwash just to completely clean her mouth of the various alcoholic sins of the night before. She crawls back into bed with a wearied sigh, and she’s surprised when Tayce falls on her side and scoots up beside her, laying on her side and facing her so their noses are almost touching. A’whora feels her heart lift and her pulse speed up, and it’s not helped by the way Tayce reaches out and tucks a little piece of hair behind her ear.

Tayce trails her fingers across to cup A’whora’s cheek, and she’s almost whispering when she speaks. “Thank God. Just wanted to do this again.”

When she leans in A’whora shuts her eyes, meets her halfway, and feels every cell in her body electrify when their lips touch. If kissing Tayce in a club when they were both drunk was good, then kissing her hungover in bed is somehow even better, and A’whora’s mystified at the way her headache seems to completely disappear with every second she spends with her lips on Tayce’s, kissing her gently and softly as if they’ve got all the time in the world. Tayce smells of everything comforting- Tresemme shampoo, snow fairy shower gel, the fabric softener she uses that’s way too expensive for a student budget. Fresh and clean and somehow new. It’s the simplest heaven A’whora has ever experienced.

Tayce pulls away and they both giggle, embarrassment and awkwardness gone now that the elephant in the room’s been addressed. A’whora only realises Tayce has taken her hand when she lets it go, pushes herself off the mattress and crosses the room towards the door.

“We should do that again some time,” she smiles wickedly by way of a goodbye, and A’whora can only nod bashfully in reply and agreement. Tayce has given her hope to hold on to, and she knows she’s going to cling to it ridiculously until whatever this is happens again.

She can’t wait.

Just as Tayce opens her door and A’whora resigns herself to her leaving, she lifts her head off the pillow when she hears her flatmate’s voice again as she disappears into the hallway.

“And go have a shower. You smell like tequila.”

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #ortega #me and you together #taywhora #uk2 #lesbian au #university au #british au #college au #freshers au #roommate au #friends with benefits to lovers #tayce #a'whora #lawrence chaney #ellie diamond #bimini bon boulash #tia kofi

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boys-from-santacarla · 3 years ago

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Note; I deeply apologize seeing as this is going to end up being long. Onto the information; My name is Ghost(mainly go by this one), Acid, Killer(more of a nickname), or Gore(more of a nickname). I go by he/they/xe/its, and I'm a dude, MLM and poly so it really doesn't matter much who it is. Born March 31st, being an Aries I'm a very loud and energetic person. I'm also very impulsive and get myself into deep shit, even if I don't realize I'm doin' it. I get overly loud when the topic is about something I enjoy or is into, if I try flirting on purpose it's ass but when I do it without realizing I get called a huge flirt. Big music and art geek, I have sketchbooks upon sketchbooks filled just sitting around in my room. I listen to a lot of rock like Queen, Guns N Roses, Red Hot Chilli Peppers, ACDC, Nickelback, KISS, Slipknot, KoRn, and on and on. Although I listen to every genre of music minus country(although there are few songs I can deal with). Big tattoo/piercing person, if you have one visible I will point it out and geek out about it. Although literally don't ask me to name a few songs unless I've been rambling on about it because I have the shittiest memory. I dye my hair so often it's surprising my hair is still healthy. I have literally bleached my hair, dyed it red and let that fade for a week, then dyed it blue and have been touching up the blue ever since then. If it wasn't due to money problems and the fact it's hard to borrow in my town my hair would probably have my hair a different color every two weeks. I ramble quite a bit and have the shittiest focus and memory, so you may have to pull me to the side and tell me to calm down. Would definitely compliment on the boys looks, specially their outfits. I'm a coffee and monster addict at this point, you'll see one or the other in my hand, and the occasional water bottle because I try to keep myself health. My love language is through touch and insulting people. Ex, "I fucking love you dumbass" or flipping you off playfully as a way of saying "i love you bitch". Smoking doesn't bother me, grew up around it my entire life. I love riding on motorcycles, no matter the weather, is it cold asf, nice idgaf, is it raining, shit lets go. I have a bad(good in some people's eyes) of using petnames/nicknames for everyone. Everyone has a wholesome petname from me and then I'll call them a whore or some shit. I cuss too much for my own good, I literally don't have a filter in my entire body. I will impulsively say shit, sometimes that's a good thing and sometimes it's a bad thing. Due to my anxiety I try to stay away from large crowds, but if I'm in them (aka on the boardwalk) I will have music blaring in my ears and my ears glued into my current sketchbook. Although I currently don't have them, I'm going to add them anyways because I'm going to end up getting them when I have the money to go to a piercer or to get a kit. I want a shit ton of piercings. Such as snake bites(lip piercing), tongue, septum, all of the piercings finished on my ears, and bridge. I've stated once I'm a big tattoo geek, so I want a quite a bit of those. I'm definitely a big "oh let's do it myself" person, and I have tried giving myself a septum piercing. (it would've worked if it wasn't for the fact I did it too low to be able to flip it up to hide it) I love the adrenaline of fights, it doesn't matter if I win or loose, although I do prefer if I win. I literally get the most random urge to fight someone for the hell of it. Probably has something to do with impulsive thoughts and shit, but oh well. I'm a big respect person, I live by the motto "you respect me, I'll respect you". I have blackouts sometimes due to rage and anxiety, so I try to keep myself from having them. I have a bad habit of rambling and saying sorry too much. I tend to repeatedly say sorry whilst rambling as I tend to get overly excited and loud when I ramble. I'm a very talkive person if I know and trust you. If you're around me and you don't get your ear talked off or messed with, you're probably not liked or

you need to leave. It's one easy way you'll be able to tell if I get along with you or not. I kinda have a whatever/punk/alt style, a lot of time I just grab something decent and throw it on. Although you'll always see me wearing a belt and my platform shoes. I'm 5'0, so my obsession with platforms grew because of my need to be tall. I wear a lot of baggy clothing, I'm definitely more of a comfort over style person.

Ok, my dude, I'll definitely pair you with...

Marko and Paul

Oh, man, you three are gonna be some threesome (and not necessarily in the sexual way lol)

Just imagine THE MESS

The boys think you're adorable when you get into the romantic mood and try to flirt but end up saying bad pick-up lines, so they'll laugh, but will twirl their hair as whoerish as possible and follow the game. Or they would get on with their manly act and fight to see who will flirt back better.

Now, the chatting will be so goddamn long! You three will go on 4 hour-long conversations that'll get from a "look at this new t-shirt I got" to "so that's why Ronald Reagan was an alien". The worst part is left to the spectators like David or Dwayne since none of you three will be the sane individual and shut y'all up.

The blondes like your drawing, and ask you to draw them or random stuff and people CONSTANTLY, so you'll have many opportunities to improve your skills and try with different models. When they happen to find some of your sketchbooks, they try to impress you or simply give a small present by drawing you or something you like, or at least make the attempt since some of the "fine pieces" as they call them, they give you are like children's school projects.

And, man, about the hair, are you blessed to have the glam diva Paul by your side to give advice and constructive criticism to your hair. He will help you choose the color and will give it style from time to time if you accept. The process to dye it will be so much fun, and so chaotic; experimenting with the pigments ends up with wounds caused from the bleach and the currently used wardrobe disposed later.

A thing they love about you is that you can stand up for yourself if needed, but they rather you not to, because they know you handle yourself and the others well, maybe too well for your good. Paul tries to take care of you as much as he can so there is no need for you to possibly get hurt. It was enough trying to control Marko so he didn't get involved in some stupid street fight every night at the boardwalk to now have to worry daily about you too. Marko shares the passion for the adrenaline of this and will think it is hot as hell, but he protects you as much as Paul, maybe a bit softer than him about it tho, but if you're in the middle of a fight and it starts to get worse than expected, he dead ass will force you to back off. He'll finish the business himself, sweetheart.

As for your love language, don't worry, these dorks will accept you playful pushes with joy, and they'll give you some of them too. But if you accidentally flip and fall some meters before hitting ground, you know the rule: laugh first, help second.

Oh, and you better get prepared for the bullying. You're the smallest in the group, so that leads to a constant attack as a hobbit. Marko joins the quip, but I mean, he'll get humiliated along. Let's just say Paul gives you two a hard time about it. With all the love of course.

They love to get out with you and the others and go to the boardwalk, but they try to take you out on days it is not that crowded, or in hours where a small amount of souls are having a stroll. But, if you happen to go out on a crowded night, they will keep you focused on having a good time, but just mention your getting uncomfortable and you'll be back at the cave in less than a minute.

Paul and Marko really love your style, they think it looks badass and try to match tough outfits with you from time to time. Giving you cool shirts and leather jackets with some patches on them that they think are awesome. Don't ask why some of the clothes have strange-colored stains on them tho.

They go with you to get you ears or nose pierced from the moment you three decided doing it diy style was a bad idea cuz y'all ended up with a bleeding nose and an ear infection the first time of trying it, and because there's no voice of reason in the threesome, Star and Dwayne had to give you kids a very long lecture of not doing those things by yourself.

#match-ups #Ghost #my writings #paul the lost boys #marko the lost boys #i just think u three together would be neat #the lost boys #i repeat my friend:#thank you so much for the request

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creampuffqueen · 4 years ago

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Just Like This | Chapter Two

a/n: Hey friends! It's been a hot second, but here's chapter two! This chapter is about a high school football game, but written by someone who has never attended a high school football game as a student (I was always performing haha) I also have no idea how football works and yet wrote Rayla explaining it to Callum! So please forgive any inaccuracies lol. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Word count: 3846

Warnings: Dirty jokes/innuendos, language

Read on Ao3

~~~~

Friday, October 5th, 2020

Callum’s house, 6:02 PM

HONK HONK HONK!

Rayla leaned on the horn of her car with a snicker, face splitting into a wide grin when the front door of Callum’s house opened. He was still putting his jacket on, and his mother followed him out, fussing.

“Have fun!” Sarai called as Callum clambered into the passenger seat, face red.

“Bye Mrs. Prince!” Rayla shouted back, waving goodbye as she put the vehicle in drive. Callum just groaned, putting his face in his hands and shaking his head.

“God, my mom’s embarrassing.”

“No, it’s sweet,” Rayla assured, “At least you know she cares.”

Callum quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t press at the statement hidden in those words. Instead, he turned his gaze out the window. “This isn’t the way to school, Rayla.”

“Duh, I’m not stupid,” She snarked back, “We have to go pick up Andie and Callisto. I just didn’t tell your mom, because technically I’m only supposed to drive with one other person, but I don’t really care about that rule.”

“Fair enough.” Callum opened up the glovebox, rifling through all the trash to find the CDs stored beneath. Her car was old enough that the radio still used CDs rather than just connecting to a phone. He found one that seemed good, and put it in the player.

At the next red light. Rayla took her eyes off the road to glare at Callum with full force as Taylor Swift’s voice filled her little car. “Where did you even find that?”

Her best friend gave a knowing smirk. “It was actually at the top of the pile. Which is weird, since you supposedly hate Taylor Swift.”

The light turned green, and Rayla was forced to look away, though her ears still burned. “I never said I hated all her music. Just the new stuff.”

“Oh, so you’re a country Taylor fan?”

“If you don’t shut up and change the music before Andromeda gets in this car I swear to god I will throw you onto the concrete.”

Callum responded by nonchalantly tossing his legs onto the dashboard. “What, like we don’t all already know you’re not as badass as you pretend to be? You’ve got a reputation to hold with us?”

“I hate you.”

He dragged a hand through his fluffy brown hair, leaning further back in the seat. “No, you love me.”

Rayla gave him her middle finger, even as her face seemed to suddenly catch fire. If only you knew.

Thankfully, she pulled up outside of Andromeda’s house just in time. The other girl could diffuse some of the sudden tension, and maybe in a few minutes Rayla could look back at Callum without her head going all fuzzy.

“Hellooooo fellow sexy people!” Andromeda crooned as she plopped into the backseat, “How are we all feeling this fine evening?”

Glancing behind him, Callum’s eyes widened at the other girl’s outfit. She was completely decked out in the colors of Katolis High School, red and gold covering her entire body.

“I thought you were just wearing that getup for the first game?”

Andromeda shrugged. “Why not for every game? It’s fun.” She tugged at the red and gold jersey emblazoned with the number eight, then twirled her silvery hair tied into two pigtails with red ribbon.

“Let’s go get Callisto,” Rayla suggested, pulling out of her friend’s driveway.

“Perfect,” Andromeda replied.

As they drove, Rayla continued to speak, “Ground rules: you and Callisto keep your hands to yourselves in my car. I don’t care what you do at the game, but I’m not having any bodily fluids on my nice seats. Am I clear?”

“You and Callum with your ground rules,” The other girl sighed, “But fine. You two clearly think way worse of us than we actually are, though.”

Rayla and Callum shared a grin between them. Andromeda and Callisto were great on their own, but ever since they’d begun dating freshmen year they’d starting getting all handsy. Rayla knew, because Andie shared everything with her, that they hadn’t gone all the way, not yet.

Key word: yet.

And god help her, they were not going to complete their yet in her backseat.

It wasn’t long before they pulled up to Callisto’s house finding them similarly decked out for the Friday night game.

“Well now I’m feeling underdressed,” Callum snorted, glancing at the couple behind him. True to their word, they were keeping a perfectly respectable distance, but everyone knew it wouldn’t last.

“You’re wearing red,” Callisto suggested awkwardly, gesturing to his read scarf. “Just not the right shade.”

“I’ve got extra ribbons for my hair, if you want some, Rayla,” Andromeda offered.

As they pulled into the stadium parking lot, the sun rapidly setting behind them, Rayla turned back to her friend with a grin. “Yes please. You’re so good at hair, Andie.”

The group piled out of the car, Callisto and Andromeda holding hands, as expected. Callum turned to her with a smile and offered his arm. Nudging his side affectionately, Rayla hooked it with her own, desperately trying to keep her face from reddening.

Soon enough they were inside the stadium, and Callum had let go of her arm to pull out his phone and ask where the rest of their friends were. Rayla’s phone buzzed, probably from the group chat, and she opened it up to find where Claudia, Ram, and Skor were sitting.

Claudia: We’re on the far right of the bleachers

Claudia: Kind of near where the band is sitting. We’ve got a really good view close to the top

Ram: Hurrrrry

Andromeda: stfu ram, we’re coming

Ram: If Callisto’s with you then you’ll certainly be coming ;)

Andromeda: I’m going to obliterate your tiny twig ass

Claudia: ANYWAY

Claudia: My friend Nyx from theater class is here, is it okay if she sits with us? Maybe not for the whole game bc she says her friends are coming but just for the start

Their small group began to make their way to the far side of the stadium, where Claudia said they were, while Andromeda still had her nose in her phone. Probably insulting Ram, if Rayla had to guess. The idea of another person staying with them bothered her, if she was honest. They already had their friend group; they didn’t need to add anyone else.

Callum: Yeah sure, it’s fine

With a slight sigh, Rayla followed her friends up the steps of the bleachers until Claudia came into view, standing up and waving. Callum bounded up the stairs, a wide grin on his face. When he reached her, Claudia gave him a quick hug, then released him to reach for Rayla.

“Everyone, this is Nyx!” After hugging everyone, Claudia turned towards her other friend to introduce her. Nyx was sitting casually on the metal seats, and she gave a cheerful wave.

“Hi Nyx,” Everyone seemed to chorus in unison, making the other girl chuckle slightly.

Soon everyone had settled onto the metal bleachers, waiting for the game to begin. Tonight they were going against Neolandia, a longtime rival. The other school had a bit of a reputation for playing dirty, and everyone had resolved to keep a sharp eye out during the game for any instance of foul play.

But every thought about the impending football game flew from Rayla’s head as Callum leaned against her side, his soft hair brushing right below her eyes.

“Aren’t you cold?” He asked, giving a pointed glance to her bare arms.

“I probably will be later,” She admitted, taking in her outfit. Jeans, Converse, and a red and gold t-shirt wouldn’t do much to shield her from the cold when the sun went down.

“Just tell me and I’ll share my jacket,” Callum promised with a good-natured laugh. Rayla’s eyes widened a bit. Was he serious?

She was jolted from her thoughts by a sudden tap on her shoulder. Andromeda sat behind her, several hair ties and various ribbons clutches in her hands.

“Braids or pigtails, Rayla?”

“Er…” Slightly unsure, she took one of the red ribbons from her friend’s hand and twisted it slightly in her own.

“Braids,” Callum finished the sentence for her, “Your hair looks good in braids.”

“It really does look good like that,” Andromeda hummed appreciatively, dragging Rayla to sit closer to her so she could brush her fingers through her silver hair.

With the motion of Andromeda rhythmically combing her hair, Rayla allowed herself to relax in the familiarity of her friends. All around her they talked idly, Claudia’s snort-laugh punctuating sentences, Callum’s voice cracking providing plenty of entertainment.

The buzzer rang to begin the game just as Andromeda tied off the second braid, flicking both of them over Rayla’s shoulders so she could see them better.

“Oh, they’re so pretty!” She leaned back to give Andromeda a hug. “Thanks, Andie.”

“GO SOREN!” Claudia screamed suddenly, causing Rayla to nearly topple backwards into Andromeda’s lap. Everyone around them flinched, and they got a couple dirty looks from the other spectators.

Claudia didn’t seem to care, though. She was standing, cheering ecstatically for the blob moving down below, who must have been Soren. At some point she’d acquired pom-poms. From where, Rayla had no clue.

Callum and Rayla shared a look, neither of them lasting very long before bursting out laughing. If Claudia noticed, she didn’t show it, and kept cheering in the stands for her older brother.

“Woohoo!” Andromeda pumped her fist, though she didn’t stand up and join the junior girl. Instead she scooted over on the metal seat to sit next to Callisto, nearly tossing herself in their lap. Her partner just rolled their eyes and wrapped an arm around Andromeda’s waist.

Claudia’s cheering eventually faded into the background, letting Rayla focus on the field. They were rapidly taking yard lines, but it was only the first quarter. Things could change. Though she sure hoped not; if they were going to lose a game to anyone it had better not be Neolandia.

Then, on the next play, someone tossed the ball high and far, and Rayla was on the edge of her seat, and it was getting closer and closer to the endzone-

“TOUCHDOWN!” Claudia roared, sweet demeanor evaporating in the spirit of the game. “WE GOT A TOUCHDOWN!”

“We got a what?” Callum glanced up from his sketchbook. Both Rayla and Claudia whipped around to glare at him, neither realizing he’d brought it out. In an unspoken agreement, Claudia distracted him with a piercing stare, giving Rayla just the opening she needed to snatch the book from his hands.

“Hey!” The other boy yelped, but it was too late, and Rayla was already sprinting down the steps of the bleachers, sketchbook in hand.

“You’ll get it back after you watch the game!” She shouted from below, sticking her tongue out to blow a raspberry.

“Oh, very mature Rayla!”

“Come watch the game!”

His pout was absolutely adorable, and Rayla flushed at the thought, waving the stolen sketchbook high in the air. “Come watch with me!”

Finally, he relented, though not without a fair amount of complaining and cursing as he traipsed down the bleachers to get to her side.

“You are an evil person.”

She giggled, tucking the book under an arm. “I’m the weirdly sexy villain on a kids’ TV show.”

Callum just sighed. “Not funny.”

“Excuse you!” Rayla shot back, giving a dramatic wail, “I am the funniest person in this entire school!”

He made a weak grab for his sketchbook, but Rayla simply danced out of the way. “Nuh uh, no sir. You are going to watch the game with me.”

“But I don’t even know how football works,” Callum complained, gesturing to the field. The timer was paused, and Katolis was ahead, though not by much. It was going to be a tight game.

“Then I’ll teach you. And you’ll have fun, and learn to enjoy football, and we can all be a big happy friend group and you won’t have your face buried in a sketchbook.”

“For the record, I like having my face buried in a sketchbook-”

“Nonsense!” Rayla exclaimed, “You’re going to have fun. Without this old thing.”

“Alright, alright,” Callum sighed, “I’ll put it away. Can I please have it back?”

Rayla finally relented with a triumphant grin. “Let’s go back up top; you can see way better. Plus we’re near the band so we get to hear their stand tunes up close and personal.”

They arrived back at their seats just as the timer started again, and Rayla began her intense rundown of the inner workings of football. Callum tried to pay attention, but she could tell everything was going right over his head. Finally, she just settled for, “Cheer whenever our side is cheering, and you’ll fit right in.”

In the time it took to explain the first quarter had nearly ended, with Neolandia pulling ahead. Claudia was doing an elaborate pompom routine to rival the cheerleaders down below, even involving Nyx for parts.

“Gimme an S! Gimme an O! Gimme a R-E-N! What does that spell!?”

“Soren!” Nyx finished, and Claudia waved her pompoms triumphantly. Rayla watched them both with slightly piqued interest, flicking her ribbon-braided hair back and forth over her shoulder.

“Rayla, Callum-” She was pulled from her thoughts by Skor’s booming voice as he walked near them. “First quarter is over, we’re going to get some snacks. Come with?”

“I’m starving!” Callum chuckled, “It’s definitely time to stuff my face with junk food.”

“There’s the football game spirit!” Rayla cheered, clapping her friend on the shoulder. “Let’s go consume sugar-rich foods in unhealthily excessive portion sizes!”

The small group left Nyx and Claudia to their pompoms, and Callisto and Andromeda to… whatever it was they were doing. Perhaps trying to fuse their faces together? Whatever it was, it was gross and making everyone want to leave for a minute.

Beneath the bleachers was crowded with students and parents alike. Callum linked one hand with her, offering the other to Ram, attempting to keep from losing their group in the crowd.

It was a struggle to keep her face neutral. All her thoughts suddenly surged away from her head, instead focusing on that single point of contact. Were her hands sweating? God, she hoped they weren’t. She hoped she wasn’t the only one feeling too many emotions to count.

In the line for the snack bar (or, what she hoped was the line, as it was too crowded to properly tell) Callum didn’t meet her eyes, but his grip was firm as he pointed out the menu. Ram and Skor stood nearby, having foregone holding Callum’s other hand. Rayla wasn’t sure if she was happy for it or not.

“If we pool our money we can get a hot dog for everybody,” Skor suggested, “And maybe some popcorn too.”

“Yeah,” Callum agreed, “Let’s get a few popcorns and we can all share in pairs. Like you two, Claudia and Nyx, me and Rayla, and then the two leeches.”

“If they ever come up for air,” Rayla snickered, and she was greeted with Callum’s resounding voice-cracky laugh, and he truly turned to meet her eyes.

“Wanna bet they’ll eat it out of each others’ mouths?”

Rayla pretended to gag, “They’d better not.”

“Oh! Wait! They’ll eat the hot dogs like in the spaghetti scene from Lady and the Tramp!” Ram snickered, and his suggestion was met with varying levels of disgust.

Finally, it was their turn to order. As they all gathered up their food Rayla could hear the buzzer on the field and more cheering from their side, so she hustled her friends back onto the bleachers.

Just in time, too. On the field, the ball flew into the endzone, and the entire Katolis side erupted into cheers. The band started playing a tune, and the cheerleaders began a mini routine.

“THAT’S MY BROTHER!” Claudia screamed over the roaring of the stadium, bouncing so hard Rayla wondered how she hadn’t simply flown away yet. Andromeda was standing on her seat to cheer, Callisto’s arm wrapped her around her waist to keep her steady.

“Gold! And red! We’ll knock ‘em dead!” On the edge of the field, the cheerleaders chanted carrying it throughout the stands. The band kicked into a higher gear, playing the school’s iconic fight song that had everyone clapping to the beat. Out on the field, Rayla could spot Soren’s blond head among the other players, pumping his fists in triumph.

“So I’m assuming we did something good?” Callum shouted over the din, wading through the throng of people to sit back down on their metal seats. One of his hands was still attached to hers, and Rayla had no intentions of letting go any time soon.

“Yes, dummy!” She giggled back, pointing to the scoreboard. They finally were able to reach their seats, and plopped back down while the cheers began to fade. Callum had been holding one of the bags of popcorn, and he placed it between them so they both could share. Ram and Skor passed out the rest of the food, and the group all relaxed once more.

When the game was finally up and running again, Nyx turned away from Claudia’s intense one-woman cheer session to face Rayla and Callum, plopping pieces of popcorn in her mouth. Her eyes, one blue and one amber, honed in on Rayla in such a way that an embarrassed flush crept up her cheeks with little warning.

“You two look cozy,” She remarked with a smirk. Rayla’s face burned hotter, and she resisted the urge to scoot away. Callum blinked in surprise, glancing between Rayla and Nyx.

“Callum’s my best friend,” Rayla replied, though it sounded lame, even to her. “We’ve always been close.”

The other girl just smiled broader. “It’s so cute. At least you guys are way more subtle than those two over there.” She gave a pointed glance behind them, and Rayla didn’t even have to turn to know that Andromeda and Callisto were making out. Again.

“Oh, uh, we’re- we’re not dating…” Callum said awkwardly.

“You’re not?” Nyx blinked up in mock surprise. “I mean, you’re sharing a popcorn, she’s practically in your lap-”

“I am not!” Indignantly, Rayla shot a glare at the other girl.

Nyx just rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, lovebugs.” Reaching for more popcorn, she turned back around in her seat to chat with Claudia some more.

“Well, she’s something,” Callum muttered under his breath, “Going out and assuming things.” He met Rayla’s eyes, then looked away just as quickly, like he hadn’t meant to be heard. “I mean, us dating?”

Rayla’s whole face was on fire. Scratch that, her whole body was on fire. Was she having a panic attack? Is this what a panic attack felt like?

“Crazy, huh?” The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. The two teenagers shared an awkward laugh that did nothing to lessen the tension, then went back to eating their popcorn.

Rayla didn’t have much of an appetite anymore.

The rest of the game was a blur she hardly remembered, points and scores blending from one to the next. On the outside she was smiling, laughing, cheering. On the inside she was empty.

Before long the last buzzer had rung, and Katolis had won the game by the skin of their teeth. The band played their final tune, and everyone began to vacate the stands.

With the crowd that had come to the game, it took a while to make it back to Rayla’s car. They said their goodbyes to their friends while they walked their separate ways, promising to see them again on Monday.

It was pretty late, nearly 10:30, so the chatter that had filled the car on the way in had lessened now. Andromeda and Callisto were even talking, rather than engaged in a lip-lock. In the passenger seat, Callum once again had his feet up on the dashboard, and was sketching by the light of the stadium floodlights as they waited their turn to leave the parking lot.

When they finally exited, the talking stilled even further. There was no sound in the car save for the radio, and the quiet scratching of pencil lead on paper.

Callisto was dropped off first, Andromeda not too long after. And then it was just Rayla and Callum, alone once again.

She pulled into his driveway and put the car in park, letting it idle while he gathered his things. He reached for the door handle, but something stopped him. He turned back to face her.

“Rayla, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” She echoed, “For what?”

Callum scratched at the back of his neck. “For making things all awkward. You know I’m not good being put on the spot like that, but I just made things worse and I’m sorry.”

“You mean about Nyx?”

“Yeah.”

Rayla shrugged. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. It’s her who should be sorry, assuming and being an ass and all that.”

“Still.” Callum glanced down at his sketchbook, still open. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached down and tore out the page. Rayla only had enough time to furrow her eyebrows in confusion - Callum never tore out pages of his sketchbook - before the page was in her hands.

Oh.

It was a picture of her. She was smiling, and her hair was braided with ribbons. It was a picture of her just tonight.

“You’re my best friend, Rayla.” She glanced back up to see Callum’s earnest expression as he spoke. “I don’t wanna let something stupid come between us. Whatever Nyx said doesn’t matter, okay? We know what we are.”

“Yeah,” Rayla said, punctuating the sentence with a half-hearted laugh.

“Okay,” Callum chuckled, “Glad we’re on the same page. We communicate, you know?” His grin was real as he stepped out of the car.

“See you on Monday, Rayla.”

She waited for him to reach his front door, making sure he got inside safely, before she pulled away. She was so exhausted that she drove all the way home nearly in a daze (which would have been way more unsafe if she hadn’t just been driving through a neighborhood).

It wasn’t until she was back at home in her own driveway, car turned off, that everything truly hit.

If he hadn’t been clear before, he was crystal now. He may as well have outright said, ‘I just see you as a friend and I’ll never see you as anything else’. Maybe being so upfront would make things easier, and keep her from clinging to stupid, false hope.

Rayla refused to let herself cry. Don’t cry, not over him. He’s still your friend. Take what you can get.

So she got out of the car, went inside, and went to bed. And maybe she cried, just a little.

No, you love me, he’d said with that adorable little grin of his.

Okay, maybe more than just a little.

~~~~

a/n: AHHHHHH I feel bad for Rayla and I PUT HER THROUGH THIS PAIN. They never even got to share Callum's jacket because Nyx made things awkward :(

Tag List (comment to be added or removed):

@hipster-rapunzel

#mal writes fic #the dragon prince #tdp #rayllum #rayla x callum #rayla #callum #claudia #soren

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