#i fucking tackled someone playing spoons the other day. half my body is still covered in bruises because of that

[there-must-be-a-lock]

The One Where They Go To Paris

Sam x Reader

Word Count: ~3500

Warnings: Unforgiveable amounts of schmoop including some schmoopy fluffy smut. 

A/N: This doc is literally saved as “self indulgent paris fluff” and... yeah. What it says on the tin. I’m not sorry. 

“We should go to the Louvre tomorrow,” Sam said. “Wait, where’s…” He rifled through the stack of maps, guidebooks, and pamphlets that were sitting on his tray table.

“Can it wait until we get off the plane? My head is going to explode if I don’t get real coffee soon,” you grumbled.

“...and then the Centre Pompidou in the afternoon, and the next day we have a scheduled tour of the Musee de L’Orangerie,” he continued, enthusiasm not at all dampened by your grouchiness. “Oh, and I want to see the Tuileries at sunset that night. I think Versailles should be Thursday, because I think -” he brandished a printout of the weather forecast for the week. “- it’ll be nice and warm that day. The gardens are amazing, I can’t wait to see them in person. Sound good?”

“Mmph,” you said, and leaned onto his shoulder, trying to figure out if you had time for another nap before the plane landed.

“I know the guided tour is expensive, but the gardens are really supposed to be amazing,” Sam was saying to himself, and he jotted something down in a notebook.

“Mmph.” You fought the urge to cover his mouth with your hand. “Sweetheart, I love you, but this is ridiculous.”

“I just want to make sure everything is perfect,” he said earnestly, and when he turned to you with those big soft puppy-dog eyes, you felt like the world’s biggest jerk. “It’s not like we’re going to get another chance to take a vacation any time soon.”

You smiled at him, squeezing his hand. “I know. But I’ll be with my wonderful boyfriend, in motherfucking Paris, and for a whole week we don’t have to fight anything that might want to kill us. Hopefully. Probably. How could it not be perfect?”

He gave you a quick, affectionate peck on the forehead, and turned back to his map. A little chime sounded over the plane’s loudspeakers, and a smooth female voice announced that you were preparing for landing at Charles de Gaulle. Sam’s head snapped up from his guidebook, comically fast, and you giggled.

Sam stuffed his books and papers into his carry-on and peered excitedly out the window, holding your hand tightly, and the plane began to circle.

-----

You woke up slowly, gradually becoming aware of your surroundings: cloudlike comforter, fresh silky sheets, a very unfamiliar view, and Sam, who was spooned up behind you, half-hard and rocking forward sleepily against your back. You snuggled back and smiled, reminded of the previous night’s activities by the slight soreness between your legs.

Vacation was awesome.

You wriggled a little, lazy but still eager, and Sam hummed his approval against your shoulder. He flattened a hand over your stomach and held you closer.

You could feel him getting harder, rubbing against you while he kissed the curve of your shoulder, and then he was touching you, hand running from your belly up to your breast to roll a nipple gently between his fingers, pinching and teasing until the skin was pebbled taut and sensitive. His hand skimmed back down your body to brush his fingertips in little circles around your clit. It didn’t take long before you were moaning, arching your back, still heavy-limbed and dazed from sleep but already wet and desperate and ready.

It wasn’t until you were begging that he finally gave you what you wanted, lifting your thigh so he could slide into you smoothly from behind, still spooned up behind you in a way that felt cozy and intimate and sweet. He eased in inch by inch, rocking forward with shallow, steady thrusts so you could adjust to his size. You both moaned when he was fully inside you.

He felt huge, even more so than usual, in this position, but the slight ache from the night before dissipated quickly as he started to fuck you, slow and languid, dragging perfectly over your g-spot with every roll of his hips. You were both still sleepy and uncoordinated, but with the way he moved, you didn’t need much of a rhythm; every slippery-sweet movement had you gasping, grinding back against him. Pleasure rolled up your spine, through your muscles, out to your fingertips, shivering through you bright and hot and glowing.

You could feel him getting close, the way his fingers dug into your hip and his movements went urgent and stuttering, but you were already wound tight. His fingers found your clit, rubbing gently, and you groaned, rocking back to meet each thrust, already seeing sparks. He knew your body so well, knew exactly how to touch you, and a few strokes of his talented fingers had you gasping out his name, shuddering and clenching around him as you came, while he sank into you one final time with a long, ragged cry.

“Nowhere to be,” Sam mumbled, when you caught your breath and started to pull away. “No rush.” He slung an arm over your waist and snuggled close, kissing the back of your neck, and you settled back against him and drifted back to sleep.

-----

The Louvre was, to be frank, dead fucking boring. It was too crowded and too big. You couldn’t get remotely close to the Mona Lisa even when you did find it (which took a while) and the rest of the place was full of dull-colored portraits of bleeding saints and fly-covered pig heads. You decided to play tour guide.

“Here, we have a real masterpiece,” you said formally, as Sam stopped to consider a painting. “This is by some old dead guy, and the subject is some other dead guy. Notice the strikingly depressing usage of monotone browns and greys.”

Sam looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or be scandalized.

“It’s a Caravaggio,” he said. The corners of his mouth were twitching; he was struggling to contain the laughter.

“Let me guess,” you retorted. “He’s old and dead.”

Sam smiled, wide and happy and amused in spite of himself, and grabbed your hand, entwining your fingers and giving them a squeeze. All the boring paintings in the world were worth it for that fucking smile.

“Okay, smartass, you win. C’mon, there’s one more room I want to see and then we’ll go get you some hot chocolate.”

-----

Apparently, when Sam said “hot chocolate,” he did not mean Swiss Miss. He meant a fancy, high-ceilinged parlor where everything was covered in gold leaf, and the hot chocolate was served in thin, fancy tea cups that looked doll-like in Sam’s hands, and it was soup-thick and rich and basically the stuff of fantasies.

“Can we come back here tomorrow?” you asked dreamily, as you walked back out into the crisp autumn air.

Sam laughed. “Whatever you want.”

“You really do love me, huh? Okay, what’s next on the agenda?”

“Actually,” Sam said, attempting an innocent face. “I was hoping we could stop at the hotel first?”

“Did you forget one of your phrase books?”

“No.” Sam shot you a suggestive little smirk. “Your chocolate face is basically the same as your O-face, and it gave me some ideas.”

“Do we have time in the schedule?” you teased. “Have you cross-referenced this with your maps and weather forecast?”

“Fuck the schedule,” Sam said decisively, and stepped forward to hail a taxi.

-----

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the Catacombs?” you joked, flipping through one of Sam’s guidebooks.

“I think we spend enough time in graveyards, don’t you?” he replied. He was emerging from the bathroom in nothing but a towel, and you spared a second to ogle him. “Besides, according to the lore that place isn’t actually haunted by anything.”

You stopped checking Sam out long enough to grimace. “Are you seriously quoting lore at me right now?”

He shrugged sheepishly. “Paris has some really interesting ghost stories. But the Catacombs actually connect to a massive series of tunnels under the city. There’s this huge network of them and people who spend weeks at a time camping out down there, they’re called Cataphiles, so pretty much all of the recent stories that have come from there actually started because someone saw or heard one of those people. Are you gonna get dressed?”

“If I must,” you said, stretching shamelessly and grinning at the way Sam’s eyes flickered over your body. He caught himself and turned back to his suitcase.

“The last tour starts in an hour, I’d really like to catch it today.”

You pouted a little, heaving a sigh as Sam pulled on a sweater. “Fine. Tell me more about these interesting ghosts. I’m fascinated.” He somehow missed your sarcasm.

“Well, there’s one who was probably the inspiration for Sweeney Todd.”

“Sweeney Todd? Really?” you asked, mock-impressed.

Sam rolled his eyes, but he grinned. “You’re totally making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“I have no idea who Sweeney Todd is,” you confessed, through giggles. “But you know I love it when you have a dork attack.”

“Seriously?” he asked, incredulous. “The musical? Demon barber of Fleet Street?”

You shook your head.

“Pies!” Sam said, and then he affected a horrible, high-pitched Cockney accent to sing: “Mind you I can hardly blame them, these are probably the worst pies in London!”

You burst out laughing again. Sam tackled you back onto the bed and started swinging a pillow at you.

Needless to say, you did not make it to the last tour of the day.

-----

Sam spouted off facts about the Eiffel Tower from the moment you got in line, all through the elevator ride up to the top. You nodded or hmm’d at the appropriate intervals, but mostly you just watched his face, the genuine excitement there, the way his eyes sometimes sparkled and then went distant as he tried to remember a name.

It amazed you, sometimes, that he could go through everything he’d endured and still hold onto this bright, wondering interest in the world. It seemed like a miracle that he could be so curious, when he had every right to be jaded.

When you stepped out onto the viewing deck, he trailed off, and the two of you stepped wordlessly toward the railing. He wrapped you in his arms, and you leaned back against his chest, and the two of you stayed there for a long time, watching lights flicker across Paris, taking it all in together.

-----

“Well, I think now we’re officially lost,” Sam said, looking around. The two of you had taken a wrong turn somewhere on your way back to the hotel from dinner. A slight drizzle was falling. The drops of rain caught the yellow light of the streetlamps, throwing a golden sparkle over the surroundings, making the world feel even more surreal and dreamlike than it already was.

You shrugged and interlaced your fingers with Sam’s. He smiled down at you, and the two of you began to walk, arm-in-arm, with no particular destination.

You wandered through the narrow, crooked cobblestoned alleys, peeking into the windows of small stores, passing the chatter of restaurants and bars. Parisians seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time on the patios of various cafes, chain-smoking and ordering leisurely beers at any hour of the day.

Music drifted from inside a dark club, something with horns, bright and soaring. You raised an eyebrow at Sam and he looked dubiously at the grimy-looking door and the cluster of chic, black-clad Parisians smoking around it, but before he could think too hard, you tugged him over.

The place was dimly lit and smoky, the air thick with the humid press of too many bodies, all moving in unison to the fast funk rhythm. The band was six people, all crowded onto a tiny not-really-stage set barely a foot above the main dance floor, and they were making so much noise with drums and horns and an upright bass and a gorgeous, sultry singer that the music seemed to fill the space like a tangible presence.

Sam, in spite of his initial reluctance, was tapping his toe by the time the two of you had ordered drinks. You could see the tension melting out of him, the ever-present sense of duty and responsibility and wariness replaced by bright, sparkling eyes and a dimpled smile.

When your drinks were gone, Sam inclined his head toward the dance floor eagerly, and you followed him through the crowd. He grabbed your hand in his, placing the other on your hip, and led you into a little swing-y step with a confidence you never would have expected; you could count the times you’d seen him dance on one hand. It took you a minute to get the feel of it, but he just smiled and let you lean into him, and by the time the song sped into a crescendo you were moving together easily, without having to think about it. He spun you under his arm for a twirl as it finished, catching you with sure hands at your waist, and before you could blink he’d swept you backward into a dip, deep and sudden enough that your head spun as you giggled up at him.

The band launched into something faster, almost frantic. Sam pulled you to your feet and then the two of you were moving with it, an effortless back-and-forth, eyes locked as you shimmied away and back in, close, twisted under his arm, twirled, breathless and joyful. The crowd seemed to pulse as one along with the rhythm section, until everything felt like a blur: sweat and heat, flashes of strangers’ faces in the low light, and Sam, always Sam, anchoring you and moving with you like you’d rehearsed it a hundred times, natural and easy.

When that song stopped, you just stood and stared at each other for a second, catching your breath, flushed and grinning. Sam looked so vibrantly alive that you felt paralyzed. When he was like this, carefree and laughing, he was fucking incandescent, blindingly beautiful and magnetic.

Then the band was playing something sultry and slow, and Sam was lacing your fingers together and pulling you close, hips moving in time to the deep, slinking bass. You tucked your head under his chin and let him guide you.

-----

When you finally left the club with ringing ears and sweaty, disheveled hair, the cool drizzle had deepened to a steady rain, bracing and perfect on your skin after the humid heat of the dance floor. You turned your face up to the sky and smiled, leaning into Sam’s side as the two of you started down the sidewalk. For a minute, neither of you spoke. You tilted your head against his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around you, and you tried to match your strides to his much longer ones.

“Thank you,” he said eventually, and the emotion resonating through his voice startled you. “For… for everything.”

He stopped short, tugging you against him for a long, sweet kiss, and you sighed into it, melting against him. By the time he pulled away you were breathless all over again.

“Not that I mind,” you said dreamily, nuzzling his neck, “but what was that for?”

He cupped your cheeks in his hands, tilting your face up so that you had no choice but to meet his eyes. You saw heat there, raw lust and passion, but more importantly, the same fierce, proud adoration that you felt looking back at him. You were quickly getting soaked to the skin, goosebumps running down your arms, but you felt warm down to the tips of your toes.

“You make my life fun,” Sam said simply, and punctuated the words with a kiss. “I never thought I could have that. When I’m with you… fuck, I don’t know. You’re smart, and I trust you with my life, and I feel like I know you so goddamn well, and you still surprise me. You surprise me every day, and I’m so grateful.”

His voice was shaking by the end of the little speech, and you had to blink back tears before you could say, “I love you.”

“Love you too. So much,” he said softly, and kissed your forehead. You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, trying to memorize the moment: the rain, the glow of the streetlamps, the way you felt wrapped in his arms, and the emotion swelling in your chest, threatening to choke you.

“Fuck, we’re saps,” you joked, with a shaky laugh. “Okay, Mr. Walking Guidebook, which way to get home?”

-----

You were both soaked and shivering by the time you got back to the hotel. You huddled against Sam, teeth starting to chatter, as the ancient elevator began to shudder upwards.

“I can think of some ways to warm up,” he suggested.

“I like the sound of that,” you mumbled.

When you reached your room, Sam went to the bathroom while you stripped out of your wet clothes, hanging them in the closet to dry. You heard water running.

“What are you doing in there?” you called.

“Grab one of those bottles of wine,” Sam said back, blatantly avoiding the question. You rolled your eyes and uncorked a Pinot Noir before heading in to join him.

Sam was crouching by the tub, a massive old claw-footed thing, already almost half full. He was testing the water with one hand. As you watched, he grabbed a little bottle from the sink and poured something rose-scented in the water. It immediately started to foam.

“I would make fun of you for being a pre-teen girl at heart, but this is a fucking incredible idea,” you said fervently. You set the wine on the ground and stepped in gingerly, groaning when the gloriously hot water hit your chilled skin. You sat back against the foot of the tub, where it was deep and perfectly curved to cradle your body, and slouched until the spreading blanket of bubbles almost touched your chin.

Sam had thrown his wet clothes over the towel bar. He flicked down a few switches, leaving just one light, low and golden, and his bare skin gleamed as he folded himself down gracefully into the opposite end of the tub. He sighed happily, letting his eyes close.

You groped over the side of the tub until you could grab the wine bottle and took a sip, and Sam made grabby hands without looking at you. You giggled before passing it along. You admired the way he tilted his head back to drink, exposing the long lines of his neck, the way his throat moved when he swallowed and the quick flick of his tongue over his lower lip, and you were reminded, for the gazillionth time that day, how lucky you were.

When the tub was full and Sam turned the faucet off, the sudden quiet was startling. Rain pattered steadily against the window. Ripples of water whispered against the walls of the tub, and when you really listened, you could hear the tiny sound of bubbles popping. The air was close and thick with fragrant steam.

You passed the wine back and forth slowly, sipping straight from the bottle, and the silence stretched comfortably. Sam’s hair was going wavy in the humidity, curling where it framed his face, and his wine-stained lips were curved up in a lazy, relaxed smile. His skin seemed to glow where it caught the light. He was watching you through heavy-lidded eyes, smiling that sweet, unguarded smile that was just for you.

A deep, slow roll of thunder startled you both, and you started mid-sip, spilling the last of the wine down your chin. Sam laughed, so you stuck out your tongue and flicked a handful of bubbles at him. He tilted his head, considering you, as if he was deciding how to retaliate.

Instead, he said quietly, “Marry me.”

Your grip on the empty bottle slipped, and it fell into the water with a quiet splash.

“What now?” you blurted out.

“I had this whole plan,” he laughed, running his hands through his tousled hair. “There was going to be champagne, and… I have a ring, it’s in my bag, and I’ll go get it right now if you want, but I just… nothing ever goes according to plan with you, does it? And I couldn’t wait any more.”

“Say it again?” you asked, head swimming pleasantly.

He beamed, shy and hopeful and excited. “Marry me?”

Water sloshed over the side of the tub as you pounced, throwing yourself at him clumsily, and then you were both laughing as you kissed every part of his face you could reach, curling yourself around him as best you could, graceless and sliding on the porcelain and so far beyond caring.

“Yes,” you said, lips crushed against his. “Yes, fucking yes.”

He held you close, and you curled up around him in a cloud of rose-scented bubbles, and the two of you held each other, kissing softly and listening to the rain until the water went cold and the rest of the world melted away.

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[citiesalight-writes]

Unwind

Fandom: My Hero Academia | Boku no Hero Academia

Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Kaminari Denki, Sero Hanta, Ashido Mina, Kirishima Eijiro

Relationships: Platonic Bakusquad (Ashido Mina & Bakugou Katsuki & Kaminari Denki & Kirishima Eijirou & Sero Hanta)

This isn’t explicitly shippy, so take away whatever ships you want!

Rating: G

Tags & Warnings: Domestic Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Platonic Cuddling, Cuddle Pile

Summary: They're not sure how it all started, but one way or another they became accustomed to the constant touches, tangled limbs, the feeling of warm bodies pressed against their sides.

AO3 Mirror | Ko-fi

Dedicated to @matamisin Thank you for making me realize just how much I love the Bakusquad as well as all the amazing art you create

They're not sure how it started. Maybe it was Ashido and her penchant for cuddle piles, flopping onto whomever her current target was and not moving no matter how much they struggled. There's also Kirishima, draping himself over his classmates and allowing the tension to seep from his muscle, wrapping his arms around them in a hug to keep himself upright. Bakugou would just claim a spot as his, and if someone didn't move quickly enough he'd lounge directly on top of them with a few quick jabs to stop them from moving too much. And Sero would stand at someone's side so that if they were tired, they'd be able to lean against him and he'd carry them to a couch or their dorm if need be. Meanwhile, Kaminari had the habit of knocking on someone's door in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep, silently entering the room once given permission and curling up in their bed.

But no matter how it started, one thing lead to another and now they were often found tangled up on a bed or couch or, on one memorable occasion, in all the pillows and blankets from the spare dorms that came together to build a formidable pillow fort. It was Kaminari's and Ashido's idea, and they received a thorough scolding from Iida and promised to never do it again.

Currently, they were curled up on Kaminari's bed; Sero at the bottom of the pile, resting on his stomach and taking a quick nap; Kaminari tucked under his arm as Kirishima watched him play Pokemon over his shoulder from his position sprawled across Sero's back; and Bakugou and Ashido were back to back on Sero's other side, Bakugou using Kirishima's back as a place to set his school work as Ashido typed away on her phone, reclined back and forcing Bakugou into a hunched position.

A comfortable silence filled the room, only broken by the occasional scritch of pencil on paper, tap of a button, or light snore. It felt peaceful, something that was getting increasingly harder to achieve as the days wore on.

A few moments later, a gurgling sound shattered the quiet and Kirishima couldn't help the way his cheeks flushed.

"Sounds like someone's hungry," Kaminari joked, sending the redhead a teasing smile.

Setting down his half finished homework, Bakugou stretched and leaned back, forcing Ashido to curl into a ball and ignoring her disgruntled whining. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Almost 9," Ashido replied to the explosive blond, her pout audible.

"So who's making dinner?" Kaminari asked before a grin twisted his lips and he quickly called out, "Not it!"

"Not it!" "Not it." Kirishima and Ashido were not far behind and Bakugou couldn't help the tired groan that escaped him.

"I'll do it. 'Sides, who knows what you fuckers would try to pass off as food?" Climbing off the bed, he stretched his arms above his head and rolled his neck, letting out a quiet hum as his joints popped.

"And I'm making miso so I better not hear any complaints from the peanut gallery, got it?" At the sounds of agreement, he placed a hand on Sero's waist, shaking him in an effort to wake him.

"Hey Elbow Tape, get up. You're helping me with dinner."

The tape hero let out a groan, slowly sitting up much to the disappointment of everyone else on the bed. "'M up, 'm up." A yawn escaped him as he got to his feet, sending Bakugou a tired smile as the blond rolled his eyes before leaving the room, Sero not far behind.

The three remaining students curled up once again, Kirishima with an arm around Kaminari's waist, both of their heads resting in Ashido's lap as the all watched Kaminari continue his game.

Sero rested a hand on Bakugou's hip, keeping the boy steady as he leaned against him and waited for the soup to finish. Another yawn escaped the smaller boy and Sero couldn't help the small chuckle that bubbled out of his chest.

Bakugou scowled, elbowing him but there was no real force behind the display.

"Grab some bowls and spoons." His voice was quiet, in heavy contrast with his normal loud way of speaking. But Sero did as he was asked, grabbing enough for the five of them. A brief glance at Bakugou sent a spike of worry running through his veins as he lifted the still hot pot with only his bare hands, but the rational part of his mind told him he was fine. After all, Bakugou's hands were calloused and used to heat after over 10 years of near daily explosions.

Few words were exchanged as they headed back up to Kaminari's room—pot and bowls in hand—Sero close by in case Bakugou felt the need to lean on him, his free hand on his hip to keep him steady.

After they'd finished off the miso soup and their dirty dishes were stacked by the door to be taken out later, Kaminari decided to fire up one of his consoles, sitting on his bed and starting Twilight Princess over for the nth time.

Ashido and Kirishima were sitting on the floor, the redhead draped bonelessly against her as his eyes darted between the TV and the mobile game on her phone. She's focused, brow furrowed in concentration and he tightened the arms around her waist as if in encouragement.

One misplaced tap and she groaned and dropped her phone, frustration obvious. Kirishima nosed her hair as she slumped against him, taking one wrist into his hand and drawing soothing circles.

Sero's reclined against the wall, only half paying attention to the game on the TV. A lazy smile pulled at his lips as his gaze drifted over the four others in the room before returning back to the screen, fondness obvious in his eyes.

And Bakugou...

"Move, Sparky." Kaminari didn't even get the chance to save his game before Bakugou shoved him to the bed and sat on his chest, eliciting a squawk from the electric hero. He tried to shove him off but all he got in return was a handful of swats as Bakugou made himself comfortable and rested against the headboard, starting once again on his school work.

Resigned to his fate, Kaminari groaned, glancing around him to try and find something to occupy his time until Bakugou decided that he wasn't the most comfortable chair.

His eyes landed on Ashido watching him from the floor, a smirk twisting her face with mirth.

Oh no.

"Wait! Ashi-"

"Cuddle pile!" With that, she all but vaulted onto the bed, tackling Bakugou as a harsh 'what the fuck-' escaped his lips before the air was pushed from his lungs.

Sero and Kirishima weren't far behind, jumping onto the pile as well as the three traitors' laughs filled the room.

"The fuck was that for, Raccoon Eyes?" He glared at her, the look on his face promising murder; but it was soon replaced by annoyance as he glared at Kaminari's hand as he patted him on the shoulder.

"Can you guys move? I can't breathe." He punctuated this with a gasp, struggling to wiggle out from under them but thoroughly stuck.

Giving him sheepish apologies, they crawled off of him, instead taking up space on the other end of the bed. Bakugou let out a quiet 'fucking idiots' before he shifted and gave him the sweet sweet freedom and air he craved.

He took deep breaths, gaze shifting between all of them in indignation. "You could've kill me, you know." The three laughed at his dramatics, and even Bakugou gave a small chuckle as a smile pulled at Kaminari's lips.

Carefully this time, they tangled themselves together until it was difficult to tell where one ended and another began, relaxing as a comfortable silence filled the room once more

Kaminari didn't know what time it was; all he was aware of was his knuckles rapping on a door. The corridor was dark, the other students having fallen asleep long ago.

He knocked again.

There was the soft pad of footsteps before the door in front of him opened, revealing an exhausted Bakugou. With only a quick look at him, he sighed before opening the door wider and allowing the other blond to enter his room.

Kaminari darted to his mattress, curling under the blankets before Bakugou even closed his door. More soft footsteps that stopped at the edge of the bed before another sigh resounded throughout the room. "Move over, Pichu."

Kaminari did as he was asked, shifting until the was just enough room for Bakugou to slip under the covers as well.

An arm draped itself across his waist before he felt himself get pulled closer to the body behind him, a smile tugging at his lips as his eyes grew heavy.

"Sleep well, Kaminari."

He didn't rouse from any dreams for the rest of the night.

They're not sure how it all started, but one way or another they became accustomed to the constant touches.

The tangled limbs.

The feeling of warm bodies pressed against their sides.

Somehow managed to write this in less than 12 hours without any sleep in the last 36. I’m pretty proud with how it turned out, all things considered

Also, you can pry physically affectionate Bakusquad from my cold, dead hands

Message me on my main ‘cause I’m way more active there, and check out Matamisin ‘cause they’re awesome

[phan-of-the-pen]

I Dare You To Stay: Chapter 14

Hey!! I’m back once again with a new chapter!! Sorry this took so long you guys, I’ve been super busy with normal life, trying to write new updates for this fic, and trying to write my three PBB fics! Anyways, I hope you enjoy and thank you for sticking around! @billetdouxblossom

Tags for chapter: fluff, minor angst, major BFF bonding omg

Words for chapter: ~2.7

Fic Summary: Dan Howell is a barista working a shitty job, frequenting his shitty apartment, and living a shitty existence, hiding his asexuality and going for a PHD in self-depreciation and depression. Phil Lester is a part-time intern, part-time employee at a local weather station, trying to get experience in his field and make a name for himself, while juggling a second job at the nearby Tesco’s to give him some financial breathing room. Their paths were never supposed to meet, but what happens when they do anyways, one rainy day in Manchester?

(ao3!)

<– Previous chapter Next chapter -->

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Dan curled himself up in a blanket on his couch, phone in hand.

He hadn't heard from Jaime at all today minus her early morning texts, but knowing her, she'd still burst into Dan's flat in a whirlwind after her audition for one of her and Dan's infamous Best Friends Only Nights.

No significant others, no texting other people, no social media, just the two of them, ice cream, pizza, every blanket and pillow they can find, and sad romcoms playing in the background as they talk and cry and laugh.

And as far as preparation, Dan had already ordered the pizza, there was plenty of ice cream in his freezer, and at least half a dozen blankets were swallowing the sofa.

All he was missing was his best friend.

>> From: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

so youre telling me I wont get you at ALL tonight?

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

yep. a Best Friends Only Night was called and rules state no s.o. just us bffs

>> From: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

>:(

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

srry mate but youll survive i promise

>> From: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

I might just die you dont know

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

wow i didnt know i picked up such a needy boyfriend

Dan grinned. He may have sounded exasperated in his text, but really, Phil whining about not having Dan for a single night was making his mood soar.

It felt good to be wanted by someone other than just Jaime.

>> From: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

ddddaaaaaannnnnnn

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

pppphhhhiiiilllllll

>> From: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

fine but I get you tomorrow so I can catch up on my very important dan time

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

u can get ur dan time and i can get my phil time it sounds like a plan

Dan clicked off his phone when he heard his door fly open. There's Jaime, late as usual.

"Daniel Howell, where the fuck are you!"

"On the sofa already starting this Best Friends Night without you!" Dan laughed in response. She sounded breathless but happy, which was making Dan's hopes for her soar. She had to have gotten that role.

Jaime was there in a moment, landing on him in a heap and talking a mile a minute, too fast for Dan to catch everything, but managing to grasp a few words here or there. Still not enough to piece together a proper story about her day, though.

"Jaime," Dan said quickly when she stopped to breathe, "I need you to slow down—you're talking way too fast for me to understand you dork. Did you get the part? Or do I need to kick a judge's ass?"

She looked at Dan with wide eyes and smiled, wide enough to cover her whole face.

"I got it. I got the part." She said in a whisper, like she couldn't believe the words.

Dan felt his jaw drop in one moment and the next snap right back up so he could cheer as he tackled her in a hug, his much larger body easily covering hers.

"I knew it! I knew it, Jaime! God! This is the break you were waiting for and you're gonna be a star now and oh my gosh when are the tickets going out I'm going to buy five and-"

"Dan!" She said, laughing. "Now you're the one rambling!"

Dan clamped his jaw shut to stop himself, feeling his eyes crinkle and smile go wide.

"I'm just way too happy for you, Jaime. You've got to tell me everything."

They ended back up on the couch, huddled together under the blanket Dan had previously been under alone. Jaime relayed everything to him, from the sudden call-back to her trip there. She talked about how huge the theatre was and how Dan would absolutely love it. Jaime talked about the director and the cast so far, and how there was this really cute girl that was a part of the stage crew, and Dan just soaked it all up, getting caught in the glamour.

Jaime reached for another slice of the pizza that had arrived half-way through her explaining that the theatre had three gigantic chandeliers.

"All of the main parts have been casted already, but now they're moving on to the 'second wave' so to speak, and auditions are opening back up in a few days so..." Jaime trailed off, looking hopeful.

Dan snorted.

"Jaime, I know you're excited but you can't have two parts."

"Sciocco, I mean for you to try for a part! Not me!"

"Jaime, I haven't acted in anything in over a year-"

"Dan-"

"-and besides I won't get it."

"You don't know that! I thought I wasn't even going to get a call-back and look where we are right now! I'm the face of this musical!"

"Yeah, well I'm sure that all of the people that didn't get a main character like you are going to try out for the smaller ones and there's no doubt that they're better than me."

"Dan, you're an insane actor—there's no way that you couldn't get even the smallest part! And besides, do you really want to be a barista for the rest of your life? Acting is your dream, Dan. These directors are picking new talent that hasn't been seen on a big stage before left and right. There's more of a chance that you could get this than you think."

"Jaime," Dan sighed, "we both know that I can't afford to miss work as much as I'm going to need to for practice. And on top of that, I won't be able to pay for the tickets I'm going to need to get to London and back so many times. If it was here in Manchester, maybe I'd entertain the  idea, but I just can't. I'd be out of my flat in a month from not being able to afford rent once practice rolls around."

Jaime groaned.

"Dan-"

"No, Jaime, I'll sit this one out."

She muttered something under her breath that Dan just didn't quite get before nodding a disgruntled 'fine' and pouting. After another piece and a half of pizza, Jaime knocked her shoulder into Dan's.

"So, what's going on with you? Was today really bad?"

"Steve was a royal dick."

"Expected."

"Mary almost had a go at him."

"Mary? Little old lady Mary? Mi Dio, what did he do?"

Dan brought his bandaged hand out from under the blankets, where it had been curled up over his stomach. Jaime nearly choked on the bite of pizza in her mouth when she saw it, and her eyes immediately darkened with anger.  

"He kind of hip-checked me while I was making her coffee, and I ended up burning myself." Dan said, definitely playing the situation down to avoid Jaime descending upon Steve like a grim reaper. As much as Dan might have loved to see that, it wouldn't have been worth it.

"But don't worry it's fine! Phil wrapped up and everything."

"Phil was there too now? And what the hell did he do, go out and buy bandages? We don't have these kind in the first-aid kit." She said, bringing Dan's hand over by his wrist to inspect the bandage. Her eyes roved over the rest of Dan's frame as well, looking for any other sign of injury, frowning.

Dan blushed.

"Ah, no, he had these at his flat."

Jaime raised a brow.

"You're telling me that he went all the way to his flat, grabbed some bandages, and came all the way back to the coffee shop just because you got a burn even though we had ones in the back?"

"No," he said, squirming, "we went to his flat for lunch. After he nearly threatened to dump a coffee on Steve's head."

"Why the fuck-"

"We're dating." Dan blurted, eyes going wide as soon as the words left his mouth. He had meant to be more tactile with telling her, damnit. Jaime blinked at him in disbelief. "Surprise?" He added, unsure.

"Tell me everything right now it's about time you two got together, jesus christ."

So Dan ended up telling Jaime all about how Phil showed up at his flat, the texts, today, their talk about Dan's past, and how Phil had swooped in like a saint to take him away from Steve, breaking for Jaime to disappear for a moment, only to come pack with a gallon on ice cream and two spoons.

"Oh my god you two were snogging on this couch."

"Shut up!"

"You can't deny it, Howell, you literally just told me!"

"That doesn't mean we have to talk about it!"

Jaime snickered and spooned another mountain of ice cream into her mouth.

"He's going to be in our coffee shop at every hour of the day now that you finally said yes, isn't he? God, don't even answer that he's like a puppy, he is."

Dan's face was beet-red, and he suspected that the blush wouldn't go down for a while, or at least until Jaime let up on the teasing.

"My boyfriend isn't a puppy. But yeah, he probably is going to be there a lot." Dan muttered through a mouth-full of ice cream.

"A lot my ass he won't leave unless you do."

"Jaime, shut up."

"Oi, this is the first relationship you've been in in years, it's my right to tease you to death."

Dan stuck out his tongue at her.

"Love you too, Danny."

Jaime shifted on the couch, and continued to reach for the ice cream, but thankfully stopped her suggestive smiles and teasing in lieu of smugly eating dessert.

They polished off an impressive amount of ice cream before Jaime pushed the container away, onto the table.

"We've had way too much. I'm throwing in the towel for the both of us."

"Speak for yourself, loser." Dan said, but admittedly throwing his spoon into the container of ice cream and flopping back into the couch. "What's next on the agenda, then? Are we going to cut into sleeping already? It's only about ten."

"No, you're not going to pass out on me, Danny, I'm not done with you yet."

Dan whined, but obediently sat up when Jaime swatted at his arm.

Unlike the rest of the night prior, this time Jaime looked stern. She wasn't bubbling over with excitement and joy like she had been when she had arrived, and she wasn't oozing disbelief and I-told-you-he-liked-you-but-you-didn't-believe-me-dumbass like when Dan was busy talking about Phil. She was determined and slightly reserved, but also showing hints of worry.

"I've been honestly meaning to talk to you about this for awhile, I just didn't really know how to bring it up, I guess? But I finally got my head out of my ass and realized that it doesn't matter if I'm vaguely unsure because this is about you."

Dan swallowed, suddenly nervous. His head immediately went to the worst-case he could think of. Was Jaime unhappy with their friendship? Changed her mind about her acceptance of Dan's sexuality?

Something else?

Her eyes seemed to be piercing his, keeping them from darting away. Dan wasn't sure if her gaze reassured him or heightened his anxiety.

"I want you to see a therapist, Dan. No, don't say anything yet, this is non-negotiable. You've been depressed since I've known you, and while I'm sure that some of that had to do with repressing your ace-ness, nowhere near all of it is, and it's gotten worse since you were just that too-tall kid to stumble through my store doors looking for a job. Dan, there are times when you can't get out of bed. And don't think I haven't noticed your increasing anxiety. Dan," Jaime said, grabbing Dan's hand, "I want you to be happy because you deserve to be. You don't deserve to suffer through that, and I don't want you to alone. I'll help you as much as you want me too, but I'm no professional, Dan. I can't help you how you need."

Dan felt tears prick at his eyes.

He'd been depressed for years now, ever since he was fourteen, really. It only got worse with his sexuality and his girlfriend, but things really went down-hill when he had gotten kicked out. It had taken him awhile to pick himself up from that after he finally found a stable place to stay, but he had thought he'd been managing it. Sure, he had more depressive episodes, but he knew how to handle those, what more did Jaime want?

"How do you know that? How do you know that you can't help?" Dan said, quietly. "Maybe it just takes time."

"Because I don't know how to help you other than support you through it. I can look through all of the forums on the internet—and believe me I have—and still not be able to help you like you need. All I can do is keep you going, I can't give you the tools you need to climb out of this hole you've ended up in."

There were tears dripping down Dan's cheeks. Was he really that sick? That his own best friend didn't even know how to help?

"One appointment, that's all that I'm asking for, Dan, please, I'll help you research the therapist and take you there and everything, I just need you to try. If not for you then for me." Jaime pleaded, wiping away Dan's tears with the sleeve of her jumper.

Dan looked back up at Jaime from where his eyes had slid down. She looked like she was about to cry herself, her expression looking so pained.

It's not that he liked feeling so numb.

It's not that he liked having a hard time to get out of bed.

It's not that he liked not having the energy to do the most basic things sometimes.

It's not that he liked being depressed.

It was just...all he knew.

He just wasn't sure what there was besides it. A normal life? That wasn't for him. It had been too long since he had had one.

"What if I can't get better? What if I'm just stuck like this?"

"If you're stuck like this, I'm going to find whatever punk-ass god or goddess who claims ownership of this shit universe and make them regret it, damnit."

A laugh bubbled out of Dan's chest before he could stop it, and Jaime smiled at him.

"Don't laugh, I mean it."

That only made Dan laugh harder, wiping away his own tears now. There was still something hard in his chest, but he felt lighter. Softer.

"Okay, I'll try, but only to save that 'punk-ass god' from you, you maniac."

Jaime snorted, but she pulled Dan back in for another hug, her smaller arms wrapping around Dan completely and making him feel warm inside. He hugged her back and whispered a small "thank you", not entirely sure that she heard it, but okay with it if she didn't. They didn't always need words to convey things between them, and Dan was sure that Jaime knew how much her care for him meant to him. Even after all of the tears and the drama.

They pulled themselves together after that and dug back into the ice cream, forgetting their prior self-restraint completely. Dan beat Jaime several times over in Mario Kart after they had finally paid the remainder of the movie that had been on in the background some attention, and after his seventh win, Jaime declared that they'd better sleep before she strangled a giddy-at-winning Dan. He teased her about it all through the clean-up, and didn't let up until she threatened to make him sleep outside.

"It's my flat! You can't kick me out!"

"Watch me, Howell. Now get your ass in bed."

Dan stuck his tongue out at her in his usual fashion, but did as she asked, pulling back the duvet on his bed—which she was already in—and flopping down next to her.

"Night, dork."

"Night, nerd."

Dan fell asleep easier than he had in awhile, warm and curled up with his best friend, the normal background noise of his thoughts settled for once.

[iammarylastar]

Warning: this may or may not ruin your day…

10. Devastation

Three days. Life has given him only 3 days of happiness. His fault. His entire fault. He has been lost in Shade. He was busy becoming Anna’s dad, getting to know her day after day.

Three days, congratulations.

He thought his life, this life with Shade and Anna would be stamped ‘happily ever after’. He just hadn't check the date of expiration. Yippi-kay-yay,  life motherfucker.

He hasn’t checked. He forgot. His job’s basic. Check.  Check the car. Check the house. Check the luggage. Check that fucking stethoscope Shade unwillingly brought from Varela’s, in which they had put a tracker. The reason they found out Shade reported to the Agency the night she blewher cover. That fucking stethoscope with which he had played doctor with Anna yesterday, checking out her bunny and dolls, and her own fast heartbeat.

Anna.

He fucked up. His most grievous fault.

Shade asked for him to watch over her and Anna’s lives because he was the best.

True. He was.

Put the love of his life and an unexpected child in his path and he forgets all the basic rules and routine of witness safety. His early morning run in the wood around the safe house would have cleared his mind and focus back on his task. He would have noticed the cigarette stub, the footsteps in the mud and the broken twigs.  He instead stayed in bed, spooned with Shade, exploring endlessly each other’s body.

He fucked up. Nightmare.

He’s having a nap. Shade nested within his chest. Rocked by the swinging of the hammock they are stuck in. Cuddling is definitely is ultra fav non sexual position.

He opens an eye, blinks to get accustomed to the  brightness of the sun.  A shadow.

Still intoxicated by  the scent of the woman asleep in his arms, deliciously dizzy with the echo of her voice, he replays in his mind what has happened this morning. She said yes. She forgave him and his stupid stubbornness. She will be his wife soon and Anna would make a perfect wedding rings carrier.

A real professional would have heard the crack of dry branches, crashed by some heavy footsteps sooner. An actual CIA agent on duty wouldn’t have taken some rest, bare foot and unarmed. He’s not a pro anymore. He’s a prey.

He nonetheless is invaded by the strong smell of cigarette that comes from his right side.

He has to wake up, he has to move. He has to do his damn job. Check on whatever threat it is.

“Shade…  wake up…” he whispers, lightly shaking her shoulder, trying to switch on his brain.

The light click of the safety lock pulled out has him violently back on Earth.  His eyes focus on the silhouette above him and his instincts of soldier are finally back. A tsunami of adrenaline runs through his system. Fast as a flash, he flips the hammock upside down and lands on his feet, crouched, all his muscles tensed.  Shade’s not that chance and falls heavily on the ground, screaming in surprise.

Surprise darlin’. Valera’s henchmen found you.

Taken off guard, the man can’t move fast enough to avoid Jack’s attack. Head first, he jumps in the guy’s legs and tackles him down. Losing balance, he drops his gun which ends quickly in Jack’s experted hand.

Nice to see someone lamest than him. Yippi-kay-yay mother fucker.

His other hand already got the man’s ankle rid of the hunting knife taped there, which he stabs deep in the man’s thigh.

Rolling back to his feet, he presses the trigger three times to shut the man’s cries.

Shit. Two bullets wasted. He needs to wake up fully.

“JOHN!“he shouts. Knowing his dad, he must already on his way, grabbing all the guns and bullets he could. The shots have surely warned John but the henchmen too. He has to hurry up.

"Anna!” He barks at Shade. She nods and rushes inside the safe house.

This dead asshole was the first, more will come. He has to know how much and where they come from. All his senses are on the alert, sharper with the adrenalin. His brain thinks at full speed, he lifts his gaze.  The road.

His bare feet fly above the ground, barely feeling the itchy brambles and cutting pebbles. He’s running for Shade’s and Anna’s lives, each step assured and fast. Hidden behind an oak, he glances at the black SUVs parked at the end of the gravel road.

Two cars, 10 men maximum. He already killed one, they’re 9 left.

Half running and crawling his way up to the cars, he stays the lower he could. An eye inside the first car. Nobody. No keys on the board. Quite an arsenal on the back seat.

Shit they’re loaded.

Jack slashes the four tyres and rushes to the other, still on all four does the same to the other.

He crawls to his car; those pricks seem to ignore the basic rules of assault: “watch your back and ensure your escape” The keys are hidden behind the right wheel, he grabs them and as silently as he could, open the door and put the key on. The car is ready if needed, he has to gather his family now.

On his way back, Jack counts 7 men in front on the house, 4 from the North,  3 from the East. Black attires don’t fit with wood. He also spots John next to the house, a gun in each hand.

Well done Dad.

Drawing his attention by throwing a pine cone on his back, Jack shows 3 fingers then pointed East, then informed John about the rest of the enemies. John answers: 3 coming from the river. He shows where he leaves a gun for Jack and runs towards his goals.

“Psst!” A muffled sound comes from the pine next to him.

Shade’s head pops up behind the trunk and she slides her body bear him.

“Shade!” Jack wraps his free arm around her neck and presses his lips on her forehead.  “Where’s Anna? What didn’t you stay with her?”

“Don’t worry. She’s safe. I left her in the best stash of the house. Mr Bunny watches over her.”

Jack smiles in relief. His, their daughter was safe. Now he could focus only on killing the whole skwad. No mercy.

“I thought I’d be more useful by your side, knocking down some assholes and giving you one tip or two.” She teases him.

“My girl.” He winks at her. “Watch your back and your little ass. Take the two over there and kick their asses Boo.”

“Love ya Cupcake.”

A wink and she’s gone. Action woman.

Another glance down the river side;  John is going well, one guy is drowned in the Bear river,  tied with a mooring rope, the other knocked down with a great deal of punches, terminated with the random encounter between his head and a big rock crashed by John.

A huge kick on his back throws him on the ground, the pain flashes along his spine but Jack quickly gets up, his gun pointed at the attacker.  Jack shoots but the trigger lamely clicks. No more bullets.  Another basic rule Jack has thrown in a trash: count your bullet, dead man!

Jack lets his arms down and sighs. He’s going to die, in love but idiot. Dammit!

The man puts a gun on him, a devilish smirk drown on his asshole’s face: “Varela wanted you to know your whore and little bastard will die in pain. He asked me to make them cry and beg for mercy. You were supposed to witness their agony but you’re way mu…”

The guy falls down on the ground like a rag doll,  shot in the back of his now wide open skull. 2 left. Jack lifts his gaze to met Shade’s, standing straight in her boots, still in her firing position, her long thighs spread to keep balance, the gun before her face. She pulls down her arms and mouths at him “I watch your back”, pointing two fingers at her eyes then at him.

God she’s beautiful, shield-maiden, threatening but highly fuckable. He chuckles, thinking to himself the way he could thank her. 2 guys left and he would be free to show her his gratitude.

Grunts and growls coming from afar tell him John was in charge with one, who will surrender very soon. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Shade, who ’s pulling out the magazine to check its load. Smart ass, she knew her job.

Two shots ring out and echo across the hill.  The first hits Shade in the shoulder, making her twist and face her striker. The second hits her abdomen, overthrowing her on her back, one foot backward.

“SHADE!” Jack screams out loud. “SHADE NO!” He’s already running to her, yanking at the branches in his path, the burn of the cuts under his bare feet barely compares to the open wound in his heart.

“SHADE!” He can’t stop screaming his name, maybe hearing that he will soon be by her side could help her keeping breathing.

God, help her. Help us.

He barely hears the following suit shots, the guy emptying his clip on him, then one last shot, John finishes him off.

“JACK!” John is on his heels, the gun still steaming from his last shot.

Jack slides on his knees at Shade’s lifeless body, flipping her backwards on his lap. Brushing her hair back from her face with his palm, Jack whispers her to stay alive, please Shade breathe. There’s too much blood. The bullet in her shoulder just ripped her skin and a piece of flesh but the red pool on her belly is frightening.

Jack presses his palm on the wound, still praying Shade to wake up.

“McLane!” A voice shouts from the road above him. There was one left. One fucking fucker left. He appears to be carrying a shoulder canon. What. The. FUCK.

“Say goodbye to your family!” He says in a loud laugh.

Still rocking his floppy love in his arms, Jack helplessly follows the rocket’s trajectory to the safe house. Like in slow motion, the safe house explodes, billions of pieces of wood rise up to the sky, in a myriad of sparks and fire. Confetti of his life. Three fucking days of happiness.

“ANNA!” He’s running before he knows it, leaving Shade behind him. He’s running, out of breath, his lungs empty and burning, screaming her name restlessly.

More shots. John’s More screams. The killer’s. More tears. His.

Strong arms tackle him, knocking him off his feet. He’s trapped, chest and arms locked up, his legs weak under him.

“Don’t… Jack!” John tightens his hold on his devastated son.

“Let go off me! ANNA!” Jack struggles for his release but John holds on.

“Let me go! ANNA!” Jack manages to reach his arm out, stretching up to his fingertips, like he could touch his lost baby girl.

The more he howls her name, the more he gets weak, the more tears flow down his face.

No. It couldn’t have happened.

“John… no…please… no…” Jack slowly bursts deeper into painful tears. “Dad… no…”

John hugs his son harder against his chest, slightly rocking him, like he did when he was a little boy,  awaken by some nightmares.

“There’s nothing you can do, boy.” John is in tears himself. “My boy…”

Jack’s knees give up and he crouches down, gripped to his dad’s shirt, crying his soul out. John knees down, his son still curled in his arms Life motherfucker. Why giving him the chance to come closer to his son, to find out then fall in love with this gorgeous woman and her adorable chick if taking them back the second after? Why life has allowed him to be the worst deadbeat dad but refuses Jack to try his luck? To build a real family with Shade and Anna? To be happy?

Fuck. FUCK. Triple fuck.

For guys who aren’t a hugging family, they’re doing pretty well here, clung to each other. Jack tugs desperately on his dad, crying like there’s no tomorrow. Cause now there’s no tomorrow. Without Shade. Without Anna.  John kisses Jack on the top of his head, then crashes his cheek on his son’s head, stroking his short hair, letting him soaking his shirt with his tears. Shushing his boy.  Uselessly soothing him. Uselessly telling him everything’s gonna be alright. John has found a family and has lost it in a blink of an eye. At least, he still has his son. And he’s finally Jack’s dad.

Too late but finally.

Finally.

Yippi-kay-yay,  life motherfucker.

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