#my birthday is the day after tomorrow so on the weekend instead of bar hopping to celebrate im going to go bookstore hopping with friends!
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Passing a birthday with the Host Club is over the top. They don’t do the most - they do the absolute max out on all their fancy rich people cards.
Haruhi just wants a fun quiet event with snacks, a few decorations, and maybe some fancy tuna if it’s a big birthday. (Naturally, Haruhi does not get this. She’s kidnapped for a day of festivities, and even her dad lets the Host Club have their way because he’s invited to the dinner feast. The local sea area is now out of tuna, fancy and regular.)
Kyoya rents out an entire island so he can buy a quiet day and relax by himself with NO MAYHEM. Of course, Tamaki still finds him, but it was a blissful 43 minutes.
Honey throws a cake tasting party, flying in the British Bake Off hosts and participants for a “British Bake Off… in Japan!” special episode. He, and the friends he invites, are the ones who decide on the winners.
Hikaru takes over an entire building for a giant, full day, Hunger Games style, paintball battle. Doctors are on hand, and this year, only two people needed to be rushed to the hospital.
Mori rents out the zoo. Not in a “have your birthday party here!” kind of way, but doors are closed, peasants return home, it’s just me and my besties chilling with the animals and feeding them all the snacks. The twins are the reason why all zoos have increased the required height of railings to be higher.
Kaoru would also want to do some crazy outdoor activity paired with something chill. Think skydiving or bungee jumping, and then once you realize the shortness and fragility of life, there’s a private art lesson with a famous painter at the largest art museum in Tokyo.
Tamaki’s birthday is like 10 separate parties all crammed into one day. First, there’s a dress up cosplay event. Second, roller blading. Third, bowling. Fourth, amusement park rides and games. Fifth, food, drinks, and decorate your own cake. Yes, an entire cake for each person and any color and flavor and type of sprinkles you could possibly imagine. Sixth, build your own bear. He bought one of the build a bear machines, and it now lives in his house. Seventh, karaoke and photo shoot with everyone and their new bears. Eighth, movies with everyone and their bears. Ninth, pinatas. Plural. However many branches there are in the surrounding area, there are pinatas. And it’s not regular sized or cheap ass fun sized mini bars, nah man, nothing less than KING sized candy bars for our king. Tenth, PRESENTS! It’s not until just before midnight when you are finally released and allowed to return home.
#hey just having some fun#my birthday is the day after tomorrow so on the weekend instead of bar hopping to celebrate im going to go bookstore hopping with friends!#we're going to all the local bookstores and ive gotten gift cards and ive been setting aside money and im so excited#so naturally ive been wondering what the host club would do#obviously they would be wild ass times#:)#ohshc#ouran#ouran host club#ouran high school host club#haruhi fujioka#kyoya ootori#tamaki suoh#kaoru hitachiin#hikaru hitachiin#mitskuni haninozuka#takashi morinozuka#ohshc headcanons
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Summer’s a Knife - Epilogue
Catch up on Chapter 16 here
But everything feels different. Falling in love has changed everything. It sounds ridiculous, even to you, because in reality you and Van have only been together just shy of three months. But something about returning to the city where you first met him in that crowded bar has your heart feeling raw. This past year has been the craziest- but no doubt best- one of your life. Tomorrow it’ll be one full year since you swallowed your inhibitions down, letting Van lead you back to his hotel room. When you recall it you can still feel the adrenaline rush that had poured through you at his proposition, your pounding heart echoing the memory.
Word count: ~3.5k
Epilogue
January 2020
“Are you ready?” You yell up the staircase, before sighing to yourself in exasperation, turning to your own things. Your luggage is opened up all over the floor by the front door, and you’re meticulously double-checking that you’ve got everything packed.
You’re scouring over one of your bags when you hear Van’s heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. He’s got a duffle bag slung over one shoulder, his MacBook open and glowing in one of his hands. It wobbles with each step down, and you practically feel nauseous from Van’s carelessness.
“How can you hold that in one hand?” You ask, shaking your head. “What if you tripped?”
Van rolls his eyes playfully, but doesn’t bother with a response. He lets his duffle come to rest by the base of the stairs, proceeding towards the sectional so that he can flop down with his computer.
“I literally just bought a new mascara,” You complain. No matter how many times you’ve searched your things, it hasn’t magically appeared. “Have you seen it?”
Van is engrossed in his screen, not hearing a word you said.
“Babe?” You ask a bit louder, snapping him to attention.
“What?”
“Have you seen my mascara? I just bought it yesterday and I thought I left the bag on the coffee table.”
“Oh, yeah,” Van gestures absently toward the hall. “I put it in the bathroom.”
“The one down here?” You ask incredulously, rising from where you’re kneeling on the floor. Sure as shit, your brand new tube of mascara is still in its cardboard packaging on the sink in the bathroom down the hall.
“I don’t know why you’d put it in there,” You scold him, annoyed. “You know I don’t keep anything down here!”
Van sighs. “I obviously didn’t know that,” He replies, terse. “I thought I was putting it away. You know I’m still trying to figure everything out.”
You let out your own tense exhale, but drop the argument. Learning to live together these past two months hasn’t exactly been a dream, but Van was right. He was trying. You were both trying. Trying to learn each other’s daily routines, trying to divide household duties equally, trying to work with each other’s quirks. Still, you wouldn’t trade getting to wake up next to Van every morning for anything.
And by every morning, that meant every morning. Because the band’s touring schedule is no joke, and once you and Van were established you realized that the trajectory of your career was going to have to make some adjustments. That’s how a few discussions with Denise lead to you finally being promoted, and to a position that allowed you to work from home well over a majority of the time. Any obligations you needed to be in the office for were going to be planned in advance, so by the summer you’d be done being mentored and you’d be free to travel with Van.
“Wanna see the mockups?” Van interrupts your thoughts.
“You got the mockups?” You ask excitedly, tossing the mascara into your suitcase before heading for the couch. “Yes I wanna see!”
You plop down next to him, snuggling into his side. He’s looking at a file Capitol has just sent him with full mockups of a few different options for the CD sleeves.
THE SUMMER, the spines of the CD sleeves read in each of the files. It looks so official, seeing the album title next to the Capitol Records logo. It feels like only yesterday when Van tried to be nonchalant when he mentioned to you that he’d been pitching that as the album name to the boys. It had completely stunned you then, and it still feels surreal now.
Because the album’s about you, you’ve learned. Almost all of the eleven tracks are dedicated to Van telling the story of your relationship, from that magical night in San Diego, to him drinking away the pain of missing you on the night of his birthday. There’s a song about the steamy encounter you two had in the car during your road trip to Phoenix, and the last track on the album details that night things almost ended, but instead became the best thing that’s ever happened to you.
“Gone is still the best,” You tell him, spotting where they’d decided to put it on the tracklist. It’s two up from the bottom, which feels appropriate. It was a ballad, Van wailing soulfully about the guilt that hangs over him from leaving his parents high and dry in order to make his music career work. His parents haven’t heard it yet, but you were in tears when Van played it for you. It’s just his voice and the piano, and you’re sure the fans will love it like you do. He’s nestled it between two upbeat tracks, always careful to keep things on a positive note.
Van snorts, no doubt remembering your messy tears while you sat next to him on the piano bench in the studio that one afternoon. “Which cover do you like best?” He asks, flashing you the different options.
The cover for this album was a lobster, symbolic of the lobster dinner Van got the night he took you to dinner. Tim had done one illustration that looked more like the alligator from The Ride, and one that was more of an outline like The Balance, and a few variations of each. You chew the inside of your cheek as you examine them carefully.
“That one,” You say quickly when Van scrolls past the sleeve with the Ride-esque realistic sketch. “If the lobster was doing something, like how the toucan’s sipping that drink, I’d say that. But I like this one.”
Van takes in your opinion, nodding very seriously. “I’ll have to ask the lads, we can all take a vote.”
There’s a moment of quiet contemplation as Van looks over the tracklist for what was probably the millionth time.
You’re still taking in the details of the cover, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that Van has immortalized so many details of your life in an actual, physical thing that people would soon be hearing, when your phone vibrates loudly against the mantle. You leap up, knowing it’s Mary before you even see the screen.
“Are you ready?” Mary asks on speakerphone, her voice bringing Van’s focus back to the task at hand.
“I’m ready,” You tell her, relieved to be free of any blame. “Are you ready, Van?”
“I only need a second!” He shouts loud enough so that Mary can hear him. “Lemme send this email!”
“Hurry up!” Her voice cuts through the living room. “You and Theo are the worst!”
“Oi!” Van shouts in indignation, but then there’s the beep of Mary disconnecting, clearly not entertaining any of Van’s excuses.
“I’ll take my stuff to the car,” You say as Van taps away at his keyboard. “Where’s the keys?”
“Kitchen,” Van murmurs, distracted, and you head around the corner to grab them from the kitchen island.
You zip your bags closed and sling your purse over your shoulder, hauling them out of the front door and onto the driveway. There are some birds chirping in the privacy bamboo, and a few scatter from their hiding spots as they’re startled by you opening up the back hatch of the Range Rover.
The sun is beaming down from it’s glowing spot in the bright blue morning sky, a stark contrast to the climate you’ve spent your January birthday in when you lived in your hometown. You’re used to giant snowdrifts, freezing temperatures, a snow day off of school if you were lucky. You should be used to this by now; balmy birthday weekends that commence with packing up for the traditional San Diego trip.
But everything feels different. Falling in love has changed everything. It sounds ridiculous, even to you, because in reality you and Van have only been together just shy of three months. But something about returning to the city where you first met him in that crowded bar has your heart feeling raw. This past year has been the craziest- but no doubt best- one of your life. Tomorrow it’ll be one full year since you swallowed your inhibitions down, letting Van lead you back to his hotel room. When you recall it you can still feel the adrenaline rush that had poured through you at his proposition, your pounding heart echoing the memory.
“I’m ready, I’m ready!” The screen door clatters behind Van, snapping you away from memory lane. He sets his duffel bag down by your feet before heading back to the front door. He reaches under the welcome mat for the spare key before locking the door securely and tucking it back.
“Put it in the rock!” You call, slamming the trunk shut after you’ve loaded Van’s bag in with yours. But Van is already sliding into the driver’s seat, so that means you have to stomp up to the welcome mat, taking the key and reaching into the mulch by the front door for the hide-a-key rock you’d purchased for this purpose.
Van is probably rolling his eyes at you, but you can’t see through his sunglasses as you hop into the passenger seat. The car is sweltering, and Van immediately gets the air conditioning going while you get settled for the long ride ahead of you.
Leaving now, you shoot a text to Mary.
Theodore is literally showering, Mary responds with three eye-rolling emojis. But we’ll be out of here soon.
You send a laughing emoji in response as you two pull out of the gate.
Van makes a pit stop at a nearby gas station right before you two hit the highway so he can fill the gas tank while you go inside to collect the largest bottle of water they sell, two packs of cigarettes, a soft drink, and various snacks to hold you two over.
Traffic is light when you two finally get going, Van easily zooming towards San Diego as the early-afternoon sun blazes down on the cement, guiding your way.
“It’s gonna be so weird to be back,” You grin, Van turning the radio down so he can hear what you’re saying.
“Christ, I know,” Van’s beaming too, his hand straying from the steering wheel to intertwine his fingers with yours. You give them an excited squeeze.
“What were you doing alone at that bar, anyway?” You decide to ask while you’re lost in nostalgia.
“I wasn’t alone!” Van chuckles. “I was having drinks with Bond, but he decided to call it a night and I wanted to finish my drink.”
“Wait, you were with Bondy?” You grin, shifting in your seat to give him your full attention, eager for more details. “Was Bondy with you when we sat down?”
“We came in after you,” Van tells you. “We weren’t getting anything to eat so they seated us straight at the bar.”
“And then he left?”
“Yeah. We had a couple’a drinks and then he left, and I was finishing my beer.”
It’s so strange to think of the way every single person around you is running on their own timeline. Every single person at that bar had their own reasons for going, their own company (or lack thereof). It’s strange that so many people can coincidentally gather in the same place, whether it’s for a burger after a long drive or a beer after putting on a show at the House of Blues.
“But when Mary said you were looking at… us, she said you were alone,” You point out, hesitating over the word us. You really had no idea if it was you that Van had been staring at. Secretly you had a suspicion sometimes that he was actually staring at Mary.
“Well, yeah. Bond was gone, I was sort of just looking around.”
“But we stayed for, like, two hours after our food was gone. So you finished one beer for two hours?”
At this Van snorts. “No, I wasn’t drinking one beer for two fucking hours.”
“Gimme these,” You murmur, leaning forward to steal his sunglasses off of his face, annoyed that he was able to hide his expression behind them. You use them to push the hair out of your face.
“What’d you do that for?” He pouts, gesturing to the road. “It’s so fucking bright out!”
“The sun’s not even in your face!” You argue. “And anyway, what were you doing if you weren’t finishing one beer for two hours?”
Van sighs in exasperation. “Well, I was finishing my beer, and we caught each other’s eye, didn’t we? So I couldn’t exactly leave, could I?”
“When did we catch each other’s eye?” You cry incredulously. “Mary said you were staring at me!”
“I thought you had looked over at me! I kept seeing you grab drinks at the bar and I felt like we were noticing each other, I dunno. And then I saw you whispering with Mary, and she was staring at me dead-on, so I knew you were talking about me. So at that point I thought eh, I’ll stick around for a sec.”
You chew the inside of your cheek, trying to hide your pleased smile. “And then what?”
“You walked to the bathroom.” Van’s voice has an edge of hesitation in it, like he’s reluctant to reveal his side of the events. “And got about three inches away from me, and we made eye contact again, so, I dunno. I thought we were on the same page.”
“And then you stalked me back to the hotel?” You ask, your eyes widening. Your theory had been right all along!
“No!” Van cries, looking over at you with his brows furrowed. “No, I didn’t stalk you! What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You stayed until the bar closed! And then we walked back to the same hotel!”
“When you sat down again you walked the most roundabout way around me! So I accepted we weren’t on the same wavelength, and ordered my last drink and then I was ready to call it a night. But then it was last call.” He glares at you from the driver’s seat. “Everyone had to leave. It had nothing to do with you!”
“Yeah, okay,” You groan in surrender, your stalking theory finally laid to rest.
“And that’s it.” Van shrugs one shoulder. “I saw you guys head inside the hotel, I went around to have a smoke before I headed up to bed. Then Theo suddenly comes around, and the rest is history, I guess.”
You think over his version of events, still worrying the inside of your cheek. “Huh,” You say finally. “I sort of thought you were staring at Mary and just settled for me.”
“What?” Van shakes his head. “First of all, it’s very clear wherever they go that Mary and Theo are with each other. Second of all, I thought you were proper fit from the get-go.”
“Proper fit,” You mock him, reaching down by your feet for your pack of cigarettes. “As if. I’m ugly,” You say as you crack your window and light a cigarette.
Van rolls his eyes. “So fit I couldn’t even keep it in my pants.”
“You really couldn’t,” You agree. Knowing Van’s sexual history now, a spur-of-the-moment one night stand had actually been very out of character for him. “But I guess I decided to be some sort of impulsive, sexually empowered alter ego that night, so who am I to talk.”
Van tips his head back briefly to let out a loud laugh. “I really can’t believe you’d never had a one night stand. I would’ve never guessed.”
“My first and only,” You say in exaggerated sweetness, reaching over with the hand not holding your cigarette to pinch him lightly where his dimple is poking through on his cheek.
Van shrugs your arm away with a laugh, switching lanes to rush past someone who was actually going to speed limit.
You’re still gazing at his face, your whole body warm with love. “I love you,” You tell him. Just because you can. Just because it’s not a secret anymore.
“I love you,” Van responds instinctually, like it’s the easiest thing in the world for him to put into words. His words still send the butterflies in your stomach into a tiff. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to hearing them.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Van breaks your dreamy trance, peeking over at you quickly. “In the email they said they wanted to push Arizona as the first single.”
“No way,” You grin, trying to imagine how the song might fit with the current music Van’s alternative radio stations are always spinning. You still avoid listening to them, much more inclined to switch on the Taylor Swift album you keep stashed in the CD player when you drive. But then again, Catfish has never bothered with radio trends, so you suppose it didn’t matter.
“What do you think?” You press when he doesn’t respond.
Van shrugs. “I think it’s a great single. Me and Benj really rooted for it. Just wondering how you feel about it.”
There’s an edge of unease in his voice, and you suspect it’s because of all of the personal details in the song. While Van clearly didn’t mind airing out his every thought and emotion to the public, he’s known you long enough now to know that’s not the case for you.
You stay quiet, mentally running through the song in your mind. You peer out the window, watching the highway rush past in a blur, remembering that ride to Phoenix. Van had encapsulated it in stunning detail, from the conversation where you two exposed your deepest regrets to the strange sight of rain in the desert, the chill in the air from the pounding rain and the way you two had intimately warmed up.
“I think it sums up the album perfectly,” You tell him finally, giving him a bright smile. Van’s raw, blistering storytelling mixed with the upbeat, summery melody seemed like the perfect synopsis of what listeners should expect of The Summer.
And if a few details about your deepest secrets and sex life were broadcast around the world? Well, you suppose you’ll have to get used to it, because if this thing with Van plays out the way you’re hoping then he’ll be writing about you for a long, long time.
“I think so too,” Van nods, the tension dropping out of his shoulders. He turns the radio back up, settling back into his seat to focus on driving again.
You go back to looking out of the window, watching the buildings bordering the highway melt into each other, the other cars on the road radiating heatwaves. You’re still stuck on memories of the Phoenix trip, remembering that moment of realization that you were in love with Van. With the conversation you two had had on the way, and seeing Van be so sweet to Charlie, in hindsight you realize you never stood a chance.
Are you happy? You distinctly remember Van asking, and how you’d scrambled for an answer, realizing too late that you weren’t sure.
But now there was no question. Only the steady, content happiness that felt like it was always glowing around you. Of course shit in your life still went wrong, but now at the end of the day you got to cry about a work blunder in the arms of the person you loved the most. You’d be working remotely soon, free to visit your family whenever your heart desired, and you’d also be getting to travel. Not to mention the pay raise, and the fact you could devote a lot more of your income to your savings and paying off your student loans now that you lived with Van. Even your friend circle had expanded; you were closer than ever with the girls at work, and along with Van your circle had expanded to include the rest of the boys. The band also had a Newcastle tour date scheduled in the summer, and Bondy hasn’t been able to stop talking about the night out you were all going to have with Sam and his band.
“I love you,” You blurt out again, fluttery with that feeling that everything in your life was going oh so right.
“Christ, I love you too,” Van snorts, poking your thigh playfully.
“How fast are you going?” You ask as you realize he’s passing every car around you two at lightning speed.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m trying to get to the hotel before everyone else so I can get some time alone with you,” He grins, stealing his sunglasses out of your hair so he can pull them over his eyes again.
You accept his excuse. “Okay, well in that case I’m gonna take a nap.” You finish up your cigarette, rolling your window up before you reach for Van’s sweatshirt that he’d tossed in the back seat, pulling it on before you slump down in your seat, trying to get comfortable. “Don’t crash,” You warn him, closing your eyes. The sun coming through the car windows makes the inside of your eyelids a bright orange.
“I’ll try not to.”
\\
A/N: I am so incredibly grateful for these last 17 weeks on tumblr sharing this story with you all. My biggest hope is that this was able to bring a little bit of positivity or happiness to you in any way possible. I have endless gratitude for fenderswift, my absolute best friend in the world, for all of her support through this entire process. This fic would not be here out on the internet without her convincing, and being able to share this story with you all has been one of the best things to happen to me this year so I can’t say THANK YOU enough. THANK YOU to everyone who has read, to everyone who has sent me an ask, who has joined me and fenderswift in our love for this universe. The kind words you’ve sent me stick with me, and I’m so excited to keep living in this universe. This is definitely not the end for these two. There is much more to come!
#summer's a knife#catfish and the bottlemen#catfish and the bottlemen fic#catb#catb fic#van mccann#van mccann fic#van mccann fanfiction#vanfic#thank you thank you thank you!!!!!
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Tricked, No Treat.
Today, I have emotion sickness. I’ve injected too much expectation again. I thought I had learned some lessons from occasions past where I’m supposed to have no expectations at all. It was my birthday weekend, and I just wanted to have fun. To feel special and wanted. Instead, I let one of the women I’ve obsessed over for years ruin another Halloween.
I’ve known her forever. For the sake of this fun-and-not-at-all exercise in catharsis, we’ll call her Anna. We’ve had our ups and downs. I often wonder if she actually likes me and sees me as a person. After last night, I feel like she doesn’t.
We had planned to hang out on Halloween, which is the day after my birthday.
I thought this would be a sexy evening eventually. I made those intentions plain. I’m 36 now; I can’t mince words anymore.
We texted back and forth about how we were looking forward to the night. Anna said she was “excited to see me.”
To the millions of women reading this, why do y’all do this to us? Gas us up when you don’t seem to like us that much? Is attention and validation of making us crawl through the dirt worth burning the genuine people in your life?
I wore my orange skeleton Morphsuit to have a costume on despite the cold. We were going to hop around the city with a couple of friends of hers. Graciously, my close friend decided to come along.
So we at least had a ride to get around Brooklyn. We’ll call him Grant. Thank god for him deciding to come along. Without him, I might’ve gone crazy or came out of my face to these people. We met up with them at a bar in Bushwick. It was just Anna and one male friend. My heart sank. I knew what that meant from past experience. This guy was probably one of her lovers and she had fronted on me about it because she didn’t want me to get upset.
This friend of hers was a man she told me earlier in the week I didn’t have to “worry about because he’s gay” when I asked if I would be the third wheel. We’ll call him Jason. I spent a fair amount of the night watching them visibly make out on the coke I ended up sharing with them.
There were supposed to be more of her friends coming, but they stayed in the city at some secret Gothic Renaissance party. So it was Grant driving, Anna, Jason, and me.
We got a drink at the bar outside of which there was a cool mariachi band playing covers and hits. Jason knew someone in the band, which is how he knew about the show. Seeing live music took a bit of the edge of the rapidly growing and gnawing anxiety in my stomach about how the evening was going to go.
“Just stay calm. Getting mad isn’t going to work.” I said to myself for the first of many times that night.
Something that will come up a lot in this confessional story-thing is: I wish she would’ve told me several vital things well in advance like “you’re not fucking me on Halloween” and “I’m going to meet up with someone else after I chill with you.” You know, some real communication from some who say they see me and “adores” me. I always find it funny how the ones who show the least love are always telling you how much they love you.
I know what many of you are thinking. “Anna doesn’t owe you her body, her time, or her love.” Y’all are absolutely right. Again, I’m the one who plunged the needle into my neck and shot all that juicy expectation into myself. I read more into the signals I thought I was receiving. I’m the one who spent his own birthday running around to get the drugs for Halloween SO WE COULD ALL HAVE FUN.
All she had to say to me is, “you’re not fucking me on Halloween.”.
So the night progresses. We leave the first bar in Bushwick and walk back to Grant’s car that was parked nearby. On the way to the car Jason is all over Anna as they remark on the beautiful moon and sloppily make out. I clenched my fists and remember Anna’s text about how I didn’t have to worry about Jason. Of course I didn’t. He was obviously one of her lovers and I came to a hard realization that I’m just a friend/source of attention to Anna and I always will be. My anger rose sharply as I tried not to stare too jealously at the pair.
We get into Grant’s truck to go a metal bar in southern Brooklyn. I pulled out the cocaine I had on me to regain some confidence in myself and in the rest of the evening. I share with the happy couple in the back and we have some small talk ranging from Grant and I’s experience in security, to my referencing how Anna used to treat me like garbage in our twenties, to tales of Jason’s sluttiness and how even though he fucked men, he loved fucking Russian girls like Anna. My heart dropped even further into my stomach. This was going to be a long night for me.
After what seemed like a very long car ride to southern BK, we arrive at Lucky 13 Saloon and hang for a bit but didn’t stay long. The vibe there was one of impatience, like folks were just here to figure out what was going on elsewhere as they got drinks. We got a drink and largely stayed to ourselves talking.
Eventually, we leave to drop Jason off at the Atlantic Avenue train station as the trains shut down after 1 AM. They continued to make out and be talkative from the backseat on the cocaine as we drive to the station. Grant and I are making conversation with them while we exchanged knowing looks of “this night is some bullshit” to each other We get to the station, and my assumption was that Anna would leave with Jason, given how the night had gone. But to our surprise, she stayed in the car and asked if she could come to my house. Confused, I got out of the vehicle to switch seats with Jason as he went toward the station.
He turns to me and hugs me, thanks me for the coke, and tells me to “take care of her. I’m trying to FUCK her tomorrow.”
*sigh*
“I’m trying to fuck her tonight,” I said, offering some false confidence.
Giving me a slight smirk, he strolled off into the station. Still shocked at the fact that Anna didn’t leave with Jason after all the PDA they showed all night, I figured I’d get into the backseat with Anna to start my own pushing up on her.
The three of us spent the car ride back to my house talking as I rub my Morphsuited hand along her inner thigh and slide my left orange hand around her nice and tight ass. She didn’t pull away or show any sign of dislike, so I thought maybe, just maybe, the night would go my way.
WHAT A FUCKING FOOL I WAS.
We get back to my home, and Grant goes to the store for some beers. I take Anna up to my apartment. When we get inside, I walk right up to her and grab her by the waist lightly.
“I missed you so much. I’m so glad you came.” I speak, gathering the little bit of nerve I have left, beginning to come in for a kiss.
Anna gives a quizzical face and pulls away.
“Don’t go and start hitting on me now.” She says.
I did my best to conceal my tremendous disappointment and feelings of rejection and raced for something to say to alleviate the awkwardness of getting shut down.
“Aw. We can’t even cuddle?” I say, my heart breaking.
“No, that always leads to things,” she said.
It is here I will repeat yet again, bored reader, all she had to do is tell me, before Hallow-goddamn-ween, my favorite holiday, is “I’m not going to fuck you on Halloween.”
Instead, we were standing in my room awkwardly.
“See, now you hate me,” she says almost flippantly like she hadn’t known me for nearly a decade.
Grant walked back inside just then as my mind raced with questions.
“Why did she come back here then if I wasn’t tonight’s lover? Why not go home with Jason, who was one of her present lovers? Why even invite me out at all to her adventure, making it seem like she wanted me to be a big part of it?”
Grant sat down, and we start to listen to music videos and drink Jamison. I tried very hard to stay calm and salvage the night. We managed to have a good time, even having Anna sit closer to me on my couch. At least things wouldn’t end too bad. We started in on the remaining fishscale I had left. My logic at that point was to get good and fucked up so I could at least appear to be having fun.
Part of me felt off about sharing my drugs with Anna, but I always try to be a good and hospitable host to my guests and I knew that I was just feeling petty at that moment. During this time, I noticed that she was actively texting someone on her phone in between videos when she thought I wasn’t looking. That was it. That was why she didn’t go home with Jason. She had someone else already lined up.
I then felt the same sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach I had felt all night. The coke now spiraling through my body made my mood and level of annoyance spike, but I managed to maintain my composure.
Grant is being the best sport in the world about all of this. He’s heard many stories from me about Anna and was an impartial observer in this subtle game of power that Anna was winning easily.
I again cannot stress enough intrepid and obviously bored reader, that all she had to tell me, a day or even hours before this “date” that “she wasn’t going to fuck me on HALLOWEEN.”
Eventually, Anna tries to shoehorn in her intent to leave. Saying she found out about another party. Stupidly, I ask if I can come, full well knowing I’m about to get fronted on.
“It’s private.” She says with a sly smile.
It all dawns on me then. Anna was only killing time here/getting high on my drugs to get ready for the last stop of the night with whatever lover she had been waiting all night to hear from.
And she had heard. She got ready so quickly, eagerly awaiting her Uber, trying to remain jovial even though Grant and I both felt a certain type of way about what had just happened.
Inside my mind, I was screaming.
Outside of it, I was fidgety from all the coke I’d done tryin’ to keep any feelings of upset off my face. Something I’ve never been good at being an emotional Caribbean-American raised by Puerto Rican women. At the beginning of the night, my heart was thudding with excitement and was now thudding with cocaine, anger, and anxiety.
During one of my bathroom breaks, Anna leans over to Grant (who told me about this later) saying:
“I think Brian’s mad at me because I said I was going somewhere else. I’m just gonna leave.”
As she was saying this, I was in my bathroom talking myself down in the mirror from showing anger or extreme emotions toward her because I didn’t want to do what I had done in the past and explode for something not worth exploding over. Washing my face and hands, I walked back to my bedroom.
We watched a video or two more when her car arrived downstairs.
“Will you walk me out?” She asked; it almost sounded like a distant echo as the voices in my head started to laugh audibly at me.
I nodded and mutely put on my sneakers over my orange feet. I didn’t even know why I wore that thing. Why did I do anything for this woman?
She happily says bye to Grant, who had been nothing but a good sport in helping me to entertain Anna as he watched me go through it internally. He accepts her thanks for driving her and Jason around. We walk out of my place into the hallway, where Anna tries to make small talk about my Morphsuit and my ass as we leave my building.
“Oh, sure. Now you notice me. Like I haven’t been wearing this thing all fucking night.” I thought, hands clenched. I don’t remember if she saw them or not. I imagine my body language wasn’t the best from her viewpoint.
I gave her queries about my suit short and terse answers. She clearly knew she upset me and tried to do that weird thing some women do to preemptively calm a man down with lighthearted questions like there isn’t a goddamn two-ton elephant in the room.
I repeat, stalwart reader, all Anna had to do in the WEEK leading up to this awkward ass debacle was say, “I’m not fucking you on Halloween.”
We get outside into the appropriately frigid night as her cab pulls up. I’m inhaling deep breaths through my nose and out of my mouth to keep warm and also calm. She saw this and turned to me and repeated the same thing she said earlier:
“See? Now you haaaate mee..don’t hate me!” she cooed in an attempt at soothing me.
“I don’t hate you. I just feel super rejected. You’re going to spend time with someone else you’d rather see.” I mutter tiny like I hadn’t just turned 36.
I wanted to ask her why she even bothered to invite me, but there was no time, and I didn’t want to pick a fight, no matter how the night had gone. My experiences with Anna had taught me that there isn’t any point anyway. She is a free woman, and she was always going to do her.
Pity and impatience perhaps flash in her eyes and she hugs me.
“I’ll spend some personal time with you if you want.” She offered.
“You are always busy with your other lovers..” I said, barely making eye contact, hard lump in my throat , desperately trying to hold onto some last disparate shred of masculinity.
She laughed slightly and offered me a hug and two kisses on the mouth. With her black facemask on.
If that wasn’t the perfect image to capture the night and our entire relationship, for that matter, I don’t know what is.
She almost skipped off toward the cab across the street and hopped in, immediately getting on her phone. Undoubtedly to tell her chosen lover that she’d ditched the loser that was trying to press up on her all night. At least that is the story that I made up in my brain.
I trudged back up my stairs, gritting my teeth due to the coke and my frayed nerves, walked back into the crib, and immediately began punching myself in the forehead with my orange and black hand a couple of times.
Grant, who had been mainly a combination of amused and saddened for me by the evening and it’s events, interjected sharply.
“We’re NOT going to do that, sir.”
I take a deep breath and stop. We then spent the next three hours or so breaking the night down so I could at least see if I was tripping for feeling like I had. I’d go more into it, but it was really just commiseration, cocaine, and our long-running dialogue about why we keep loving women who expect us to dance in a tornado for them when they would never walk through light rain for us.
Lastly, I add a predictable ending, brave, and durable reader: I am aware that I did everything to myself. Anna again, doesn’t owe me anything and didn’t have to give me anything that night. I doped myself up with a heady fantasy that was never going to happen. As Grant so astutely pointed out:
“You should’ve known what it was as soon as you saw her kissing on ol’ boy”
I agree. Probably would’ve skipped the the aggravation that came up later. Precious reader, I am man enough to admit that I fucked up and essentially ran face first into a brick wall repeatedly. This story comes off like I am mad at Anna, and I was, until I realized that everything that inspired my pissiness on Halloween is my fault. I let pride and ego walk me right into a night of embarrassment.
I’ve known Anna for 9 years. She’d done this kind of bait-and-switch thing before. I was hoping this time, now that we’re older, I’d get some more courtesy or honesty. At least for my goddamn birthday. Let me go and pull this shit on her birthday, and I’d be a fucking monster. But I guess she still only sees me as her pet and not a person, which hurts most of all.
Especially when ALL SHE HAD TO DO WAS TELL ME THAT “I’M NOT FUCKING YOU ON HALLOWEEN.”
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Love Can Melt the Ice, ch 21
Summary: the party goes on.
A/N: sorry guys, I’m too tired to think of anything to say. Just that I hope you guys enjoy, and note, that there’s a little bit of steaminess (not quite M-rated tho imo) towards the end of this chapter so keep that in mind when readng this. Reviews are loved!!! And thanks to every single person who has commented the previous chapters, you guys rule ♥
Previous chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5.5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 pt 1, pt 2, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20
Next chapter: coming
Companion pieces (note: these are all post Olympics happenings so reading the main fic first is recommended): 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Words: 3200+
Genre: cotton candy mostly
“There she finally comes!” Paninya exclaimed when she saw Winry approaching her figure skating team in the otherwise quiet restaurant. “What took you so long? Oh!” She finally noticed Ed hopping towards them behind Winry, and a giant grin spread on her lips. “I wasn’t expecting you to have company!”
“Smirk what you want, Pan. I don’t care anymore. As a matter of fact, we have some news for you…” Winry fumbled with her hair nervously, as she was trying to figure out how to tell Paninya about the changed relationship status.
“Are you pregnant too?” Paninya asked her, eyeing Ed suspiciously. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you guys alone after the birthday party…”
“What, NO!” Winry panicked, worried how Ed would react to such implications. Even though Pan’s comment was just a joke, Ed had barely started to open up to her… Winry didn’t even want to think how he would feel about having kids. “We haven’t even… I mean, that’s a 0 per cent possibility… And don’t you think it’s a bit too early for that kind of announcements anyway?”
“I just wanted to see your reaction,” Paninya laughed. “Don’t mind me, I was just messing with you.”
“Oh, OK. So, the news is that… we…” She linked her arm with Ed’s. “… Have decided to become… exclusive?”
“And that’s what you were so nervous to announce?” Paninya looked annoyed. “I would have expected you to at least have gotten married secretly based on your expressions.” Her frown changed into a smile soon. “But that’s awesome! I knew it would happen sooner rather than later! In fact, Rosé, I think I won our bet.” She winked at her girlfriend smugly.
“Bet, what bet? Rosé, don’t tell me Pan made you make a bet on my relationship progression.” Any of Winry’s nervousness flew away as (faked) anger took over. “I can expect that from you…” Winry glared at Paninya, “… But Rosé, you have always been the nice one.”
“I’m sorry, she made me!”
“Don’t worry. I just had to make you taste your own medicine,” Winry laughed. “Anyway, thanks for coming! It’s good to see you all here. I guess… let’s get this party started!
…
“Hey Winry, why is your boyfriend moping at your party?” Paninya asked as Winry joined her at the bar to get a drink. She wasn’t wrong, he was scowling at his phone in an empty corner of the restaurant and mumbling something incoherent to himself.
“He just remembered that his team is playing right now.” Winry sighed. “They are probably angry at him for not showing up, but more importantly, the game is almost over now, and they are losing by several goals so… it’s not looking too good.”
“You gotta give him something else to think about.” Paninya winked and made kissy lips to give Winry a hint.
“I’m not gonna make out with him in front of all these people!” Winry growled. “Public display of affection isn’t our thing.”
“Whatever. Just do whatever you do to wrap him around your arm. Take him to dance or something.”
“He can’t dance! He has a broken leg in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Just sway in the same spot or something.” Paninya suggested.
“I’ll just go talk to him,” Winry decided when she saw he wasn’t far from throwing his phone out of the window.
…
“Damnit!” Ed cursed loudly when Winry arrived next to him. She didn’t even bother asking what had happened in the game; it was unnecessary.
“I’m sorry, Ed. I’m not gonna say ‘better luck next time’ because that won’t help anything, but maybe you’d like to do something to take your thoughts away from that game. It’s my party, after all.”
“What do you have in mind?” Ed eyed her suspiciously. “I’m not gonna sing karaoke if that’s what you want to do. I’m not drunk enough.”
Winry put her arm around his shoulder and said: “No, you don’t have to sing, but I do want to dance. And I want to dance with you.”
“You have gone nuts, woman. How do you think I’m gonna dance with this leg?” he pointed at his cast.
“Just follow me. Or do you want me to call Al to dance with me instead?” Winry asked slyly. “Or, I suppose, there are other options in this restaurant too…”
“Let’s just go then!” Ed said all too fast and started hopping towards the dance floor.
When the couple found their spot, a few other dancers were eyeing Ed’s crutches suspiciously, but he decided to ignore it. “So… how are we gonna do this?”
“I think… if you can stand with just one crutch, you could use your hand to twirl me, and I’ll do the rest,” Winry suggested.
“Sounds doable,” Ed noted and left his right crutch against the wall. Winry took his metal hand (that was covered with the usual white glove) into hers and started doing her dance moves. The song was fast, so she was able to show her jiving skills well.
“I knew you could skate but I didn’t know you can dance too!” Ed commented at some point.
“A lot of figure skaters take also dancing classes because it certainly helps with the balance and everything.” Winry reminded him.
“Right. That makes sense,” Ed admitted.
The longer the song continued, the more he lightened up too, finishing the dance by pulling Winry close to him and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“You were right, it was kinda fun! Maybe one day we can dance for real.”
“Is that a promise?” Winry asked. “Because if it is, I will remember it, I swear.”
“Maybe it is.” Ed grinned and turned to pick up his crutch.
…
A few hours later, Winry was looking for Ed who had disappeared while she had gone to the restroom, and finally found him on the balcony.
“There you are! I was a bit worried you might have left,” Winry said.
“Oh. I just needed a little break to hear my thoughts. It’s been quite a day, don’t you think?” Ed asked.
“It has… As amazing it has been, I am quite eager to get into my own bed soon.” Ed gave Winry a puppy dog expression. “We’ll see if someone gets to join me. Maybe if you are extra nice to me. Anyway, Gracia already left, Garfiel is hitting on someone, and Rosé and Paninya’s dancing is looking like they don’t really need our company… so I’d say we’re free to go.”
“Sounds good to me. By the way, Al sends his congrats,” Ed remembered. “He’s with Mei now but said he’d catch up with us tomorrow.”
“Oh! How is it going between those two?”
“The last time I saw them together, they were chatting pretty eagerly about who knows what, so I’d say it’s going pretty well. Too bad she lives in Xing, though. What if they get together, and he decides to move there?”
“I think you are getting a bit ahead of yourself again,” Winry noted. “They just met. But what about us? It’s like you said, we live pretty far from each other and travel a lot… Should we try to come up with a schedule for our meetings?”
“Until my leg is healed, you don’t have to worry about me traveling…” Ed sighed. “I will have plenty of free time. I think I might still spend a little while in Resembool because I’m not super eager to do household work with this leg.”
“I’ll visit you there when I have my next free weekend! Hey… does this situation remind you of your party?” Winry realized.
“I guess it does,” Ed agreed. “A lot has happened after that, though… Even though it has only been a few days.”
“Sometimes… things… happen fast. You don’t regret it, do you?” Winry asked, slight hint of worry in her voice.
“No.” Ed shook his head. “I thought this was going to be difficult, but now that it’s actually happening… I realized it’s really quite simple. I want to spend more time with you. I just… needed to deal with some things first.”
“I understand. And hey, I’ll be here the whole time if you still need help with that,” Winry promised, and it was her turn to kiss Ed on the cheek. “Hey, what’s that?”
Ed was holding a small box in his hand and Winry casted a curious look at it. If it had been anyone else giving her that box, she might have been more nervous about what was in it, but she knew Ed wouldn’t ask her so soon… Right?
“Um… this is just a championship gift for you…” Ed said, and Winry immediately relaxed. “I was going to give it to you no matter what result, but it turned out going pretty well, don’t you think?”
“Heh, I guess so.” Winry unwrapped the paper around the box carefully and admired its black surface for a moment before opening it. “Ed, these are so pretty!”
What she saw in the box were earrings, with tiny golden skates hanging from them. She took them in her hand to get a better look at them.
“I just… well, I asked Riza if she knew what would make you happy, and she said you like earrings. So. I went to the shop where they sell these and… thought the skates were pretty fitting… in many ways… since you know, skating was what united us in the first place… and… gold to match your medal…”
“Awww. That is so sweet.” She quickly wiped the corners of her eyes dry and turned Ed’s head to face her. “Seriously, I love them. Thank you.” Then she leaned in to press a light kiss on his mouth. They let the kiss linger for a few moments before Winry pulled away and run her hand on Ed’s automail arm briefly.
“Hey, guess what… I kinda have a gift for you too. It’s in my room, though, so should we take a cab and leave?”
“It’s like you said, I don’t think anyone would miss us… so sure!” Ed gave Winry his familiar shit eating grin, taking his crutches from the bench next to him and jumping up rather eagerly.
…
The couple waved their goodbyes to those of their friends who were still left at the club and took the first cab to the hotel (this time they were farther from the hotel than during Ed’s birthday so Winry didn’t want to make Ed walk all that way). For some reason, Ed hesitated a bit before stepping inside Winry’s room, though.
“What’s wrong?” Winry folded her arms over her chest and stared at Ed questioningly.
“It’s just… We are a… couple… now… so I hope you’re not expecting…”
“Expecting what?” Winry tilted her head slightly as she tried to understand what Ed was saying. “Oh!” she finally realized, her face turning red. “Nonono, I wasn’t thinking about that… Not that I wouldn’t like… eventually… but we can take our time… No, there’s something I want to show you…”
With Winry’s rambling, the nervousness that had taken over Ed’s body finally left him, and he started laughing so hard he doubled over.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, slightly hurt because she didn’t understand what was in Ed’s mind in that moment. Was he laughing at her?
“It’s just…” he guffawed, “… The tables have turned… Remember what happened the last time we spent a night together? You thought I was expecting us to…”
“Oh!” Winry finally understood. “Well, I wasn’t expecting anything, so you can stop laughing and come here.” Her voice had a bit of sharpness in it as she continued: “I have some drawings I want to show you.”
“Sorry.” Ed finally calmed down. “Show them.”
He hopped towards the table on which Winry had spread her papers and squinted as he was trying figure out what was in her drawings. “Wait a second… Is this an automail arm?”
“I noticed your arm was creaking a bit, so I designed this… What do you think? We would of course need to measure your arm before I can draw the final version, but… I’d love to do it if you let me?”
“Have you built automails before?” Ed asked, even though he believed he knew the answer. She had drawn that picture complete from the scratch, after all.
“I have, plenty! Although…” she blushed a bit as she continued: “this would be the first one that would be in use…”
“Well, it looks amazing, so… why the hell not? Truth to be told, I don’t really like my current mechanic so it would be a win-win situation in many ways.”
“It’s settled, then!” Winry clapped her hands excitedly. “You, me and an automail date once this season is over and I have more time to focus on mechanics. Although… I would like to get some measures sooner because that way I’ll have more time to prepare for it.” She pulled out the tape measure from her bag and looked at him expectantly. “Would you mind?”
“Of-of course not…” Ed said, although a bit hesitantly because Winry seemed to have turned her geek mode on. “What do you need me to do?”
“Uhh… You would probably need to take your shirt off because I need to be able to see where the shoulder piece starts and stuff…” She was blushing again. Ed threw his coat and suit on a nearby chair and sat down on the bed, unbuttoning his dress shirt slowly. He turned to look at Winry as he felt her gaze on him.
“Enjoying the view?” Ed cocked his eyebrow when their eyes met.
“You are suddenly awfully smug for someone who just freaked out about coming into my room.” Winry retorted, although her cheeks were still burning.
“I just like to make you as flustered as you make me…”
An awkward silence fell between them, but finally Ed added: “OK, here’s the thing: I do want to… do it with you… eventually, like you said… but with this cast… there’s a lot I won’t be able to do, and… I think you deserve better than that… so… I’d rather wait… until I feel 100 per cent fine…”
“I didn’t think you’d be worried about that… I’m sorry. That’s… that’s so nicely said, and I… shouldn’t have mocked you earlier.”
“It’s OK.” Ed shrugged. “So, should we measure this thing?”
“Of course!” Winry turned back into her usual mechanics loving self. “First I’m going to check the full length, and then…”
“You do realize that sounds a whole lot dirtier than it actually is?” Ed snorted, gaining a dirty look from Winry. “What? I’m just speaking the truth.”
“How about you just shut up for a moment and let me work.” Winry rolled her eyes and tried to focus on her tape measure, which was very hard, though, because she had her bare-chested boyfriend (she was still excited about being able to use that word) in front of her. And he wasn’t a bad sight at all. As expected, his upper body was built, his abs could have worked as a washboard and his only arm had probably been used to lift heavy weights a lot during Ed’s free time. Winry’s fingers traced the scar under the automail port, checking the skin for possible issues, and that made Ed inhale sharply.
“Sorry. Did that hurt?” Winry asked worriedly.
“No… It… felt good.” Ed stammered, trying to keep himself in line. ‘Hydrogen, helium, litium…’
“OK…” Winry said and bent down to write down some measures she had already gotten, her dress not leaving much for Ed’s imagination. He nearly bolted from the bed.
“Done.” She finally stopped her ‘torture’ and put the tape measure and the paper away. She hadn’t even realized she had been holding her breath while working. “Is something wrong?” she asked when she realized Ed was mumbling something incoherent and avoiding eye contact with her. “Ed, I’m your girlfriend. You can tell me.”
“Let’s just say that… I have never wished more that I didn’t have my leg broken,” he said quietly. Winry sat down on his lap and put one of her hands on his cheek, making him look at her.
“It’s OK. We can wait.” She kissed him tenderly, getting a response from him soon. Her fingers played on his bare skin while his metal arm went to cup her ass, the other one massaging her back. Soon Winry realized he wouldn’t open the zipper of her dress unless she gave him a permission, so she pulled away from the kiss and told him: “I’ve seen you shirtless, so it’s only fair you see me that way too… Equivalent exchange…”
“Have I ever told you you are freaking amazing?” Ed breathed before his hand went to unzip the dress while his lips worked on her neck.
“I think you might have mentioned that once or twice but it never hurts to hear it again.” Winry grinned and stood up to shake the dress off once Ed has unzipped it. “What? Have you never seen a half naked woman before?” she teased when Ed gaped at her like she was some kind of miracle.
“I-I have but never anyone who looks as… wow…” His eyes took all of her in, from the thin yet strong thighs to the skin colored strapless bra, before focusing on her face again. Even though she must have been dead tired already, and her make-up was slightly smudged, in Ed’s opinion she looked incredible.
“Thank you,” Winry gently pushed Ed to laying position and settled on his lap, minding his injured leg. “Wanna help me with this?” she turned her back to him, so Ed could unhook her bra.
“Sure, but… I’m gonna explode if we continue much further. And I just said… this is not how I want to do this.”
“I didn’t mean we have to do anything, silly,” she tried to comfort him. “I just want to get rid of this thing because trust me, it’s pretty uncomfortable to sleep with.”
“Oh. OK. I got it.”
After getting her bra unhooked and throwing it away, Winry got up again and made a bit of a show of stretching her arms in front of Ed (giving Ed a very good shot of some of her best features) before pulling her pajama top on her. Ed didn’t know how to react, causing him to just stare at her dumbfounded with his mouth open.
“What was that for?” he asked, sounding almost frustrated.
“Just something for you to look forward to while we are away from each other, I guess.” She winked.
“You dumb, I would… I would be looking forward to our next meeting either way.” Ed folded his arms, sounding almost offended that Winry thought there was any other possibility. “I mean, you look great and all, but I care about your personality more.”
“That means a lot to me, Ed. I… uh, never mind.” She laid down next to him and snuggled her head against his bare chest. “This has been… one of the best days of my life. And a lot of it is thanks to you. I just wanted you to know that.”
“You… you deserve it.” He kissed her on the forehead before closing his eyes and falling asleep.
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Take Me Out (Part 4)
Summary: You try to make the most of your family dragging you to live in Hawkins, Indiana with them by spending your time working and bar-hopping with your new friends. One night, you meet Billy Hargrove at a party.
Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Bi!Latina!Reader
Warning: Language, Drug/Alcohol Mention, NSFW In Some Parts
A/N: Okay, question. Do you kids think I should start including chapter titles and/or summaries? Please drop a comment or something and lemme know xx
It was October and your birthday was only a few short days away. When you were a kid, your mom had always invited as many family members as possible over to watch you blow out the candles on your cake and you’d hated it more and more each year. The only person close to you in age was your older sister and your relationship had always been… strained, to put it kindly. Maybe you should’ve been happy to have your living room and dining room crammed full of family members eager to see you grow, but it mostly made you want to crawl out of your own skin.
“No seas grosera, no seas caprichosa, no seas malcriada,” your mom would hiss at you whenever you’d catch her alone and tell her you wanted everyone to leave already. And you didn’t want to be bad, so you’d stay in your itchy dress and your jacket that always pinched your armpits and you’d smile wide with a clenched jaw until your house was finally empty. You’d curl up on your top bunk in the room you shared with your sister and read under your thin covers with a flashlight you’d stolen from the kitchen until she told you to stop fucking around and let her sleep.
As you got older, you drew less and less attention to your birthday. You were never very good at being the center of attention and your friends back in Miami had mostly respected that. Usually, you, Jorge, Laura, and whoever else you were on good terms with at the moment would spend the day at an arcade before getting dinner and meeting up in your living room to watch cartoons. You always opened your presents alone after they left. In a weird way, that was one thing you were happy about with Hawkins. Nobody other than your mom and sister knew your birthday, not even David. Not even Billy.
The two of you were in his Camaro again, panting in your respective seats in the front as the sweat on your body cooled. In your blissful, fucked-out headspace, you were glad you’d given Billy another chance to prove himself. He was a ravenous fucking animal. You knew your legs would be sore tomorrow, knew you had bright hickeys all over your tits and you loved it. It was late. It was always late when you and Billy saw each other and you preferred it that way. It felt like a clear, impenetrable barrier that kept the two of you at arm’s length. When the sun’s out, Billy goes to school and you rollerskate around your neighborhood, chainsmoking and chewing cinnamon gum just to keep your mouth busy, just to do something. Just to be out of the house.
You turned your head to look at Billy’s profile. He’d already lit a cigarette and it was dangling from his lips as he bobbed his head to the rock music streaming softly from his car’s speakers. You thought he’d be the type to blast it while he fucked you, so loud that the beat would be deeper inside you than his dick could ever hope to reach, but he’d surprised you. Well, maybe surprised wasn’t the right word because he’d been the exact kind of cocky little shithead you’d expected him to be when he’d leaned down with a smirk on his face and whispered in your ear, “I don’t wanna’ miss a thing, sweetheart, so c’mon, get nice and loud for me.” You had screamed so loud, you were worried for a second you’d actually hurt his ears, digging your short nails into his meaty shoulders when he egged you on, urging you to get louder, louder.
You could go for another round, but you knew Billy was probably all tapped out for the night and it made you want to pout as your eyes raked over his naked torso. “Do you work out?” you finally asked, needing to break the silence so you wouldn’t come onto him and show him just how desperate you were. “Or are you just an athlete? Like, at school.”
“Both.”
Of course it was both. You tore your eyes away and pulled your panties back on. They’d been dangling from your ankle the whole time since you’d already lost a pair somewhere in his cramped car. You were convinced he’d stolen them and kept them as a trophy like some fucking creep, but you didn’t care enough to bother him about it. The pair you’d lost hadn’t been particularly nice anyway. You got dressed quietly as Billy just pulled his jeans and button-up back on, leaving his t-shirt in the backseat. The windows were open and he was driving like a huge dick, as always, but you didn’t mind. Back in Miami, you’d dated a girl named Robin who drove like this and you’d always felt at home in her car, both the front seat and the back. Billy could hit 120 and you wouldn’t even flinch. There were times when you were drunk or high, trying to ignore some tense confrontation with your family, that you’d actually beg him to drive faster or turn harder, feeling the danger and adrenaline rushing through your veins like the roar of a crowd at a heavy metal concert. This wasn’t one of those times, though. He was cruising at a cool 85, drumming his thumbs on his steering wheel as you both smoked. The drive back to the gas station by your house was almost over before you spoke again.
“Where do you work out? I’ve only seen one gym around town.”
“I work out at home.”
“Can I join you sometime?” He snorted. “What?”
“No offense, girlie, but…” He waved dismissively at your small frame as he was making a turn, jerking the car back into the right lane when he put his hand back on the steering wheel. “You’re fucking tiny. I don’t have any five pound dumbbells for you.”
“Five pounds? I used to hit the gym, a lot. I’ve been wanting to go back.” He hummed, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and filling you with hot shame. “Whatever, Hargrove, forget I fucking asked.”
“Jesus, [Y/N/N], come on.”
“I said, forget I fucking asked,” you snapped, flicking the ash off the end of your cigarette in the wind and popping the filter back in your mouth. You finished it in less than two minutes. You always smoked too fast when you were angry. Your mistake for trying to hang out with Billy during the day, when God could see you and strike you down with a bolt of fucking lightning. The worst part was that he thought you were weak. Sure, you weren’t even five feet tall and the most you’d ever weighed was 98 pounds, but you worked in a fucking meat department. You carried boxes full of frozen bones, you cut up whole pigs, you slung giant roasts over your shoulders before slamming them down on a cutting board and carving them up. You weren’t weak just because you couldn’t bulk up like Billy because he was a guy and built different from you. Whatever. You stayed silent as you lit another cigarette, stewing in your bad mood even when you’d finally collapsed into your bed after a long shower.
It had become more and more common for Billy to join you and your little group on your drunk adventures on the weekends. David still wasn’t cool with him, but he’d probably never be, since Billy had put some kid he’d known in the hospital about a year ago. David had told you who it was, but you couldn’t remember. Not that it would’ve made a difference anyway. It wasn’t like you knew that many people by name in this fucking hick town. Despite that, though, the boys got along for your sake and you and Billy would usually sneak off to fuck or fool around somewhere relatively hidden. One night in November, you’d turned to David while Billy was in the bathroom and asked him if you could work out with him. You’d seen the weights in his room the first time you’d spent the night, but getting back into exercising hadn’t been a priority for you for a while.
“My sister,” he’d said in his big, warm, drunk voice, “of course! I’d love to!” And it made you feel so warm inside, knowing that he thought you could do it even though Billy didn’t. Even though your mom and sister didn’t like it. But that warmth was probably just the liquor. The next day, when you and David were both sober, the two of you hashed out a schedule. Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday night, you’d spend the night at his place so you could work out together in the morning, eat some lunch, and hang out for a bit before going to work on Wednesdays and Fridays. The hanging out portion usually consisted of David fixing something his mom had complained about around the house and taking the opportunity to teach you how to do it, too. On Mondays, the two of you would usually either stay at his place getting reasonably drunk and playing his Atari or head to the quarry and get high.
Your next date with Billy, if you could even call them dates (which you usually didn’t), was about two weeks after you’d started your arrangement with David. He’d shown up to your department a few days later with his stepmother’s order in his hand and a weird, nervous energy crackling around him. He was grounded, so that’s why you’d had to wait two whole weeks to get on your knees at the quarry and suck Billy’s cock while he leaned against his Camaro. You could feel his eyes on you like two searing cigarette burns, like the snake eyes you’d asked one of your friends to melt into your hips on the beach one night in Miami after you’d had too much vodka. He was hot and heavy on your tongue. Sometimes you swallowed, sometimes you didn’t. This time you didn’t, instead choosing to spit it out onto the grass before Billy hauled you up off the ground and slammed you into the side of his car, pulling you into the thick cloud of smoke he’d created while you were busy sucking him off.
You came on his fingers three times that night, not feeling the frigid air on your shaky legs even though your jeans were discarded somewhere in the weeds along with your tennis shoes. “God, look at all that fucking cum, [Y/N],” Billy whispered, pinning you against his car with his hips as he showed you the glistening wetness coating three of his fingers and the palm of his hand. He didn’t even break eye contact when he licked some of it off and your stomach fluttered as your eyes dropped to watch his tongue. “You taste like sour candy.”
You hadn’t planned on having sex with him that night, but damn, how could you not after that? You came two more times, careful not to whimper anything even vaguely resembling his name before letting him manhandle you back into your seat. He fetched your jeans and shoes, tossing them by your feet and speeding away like something awful was chasing him. Before he could get on Junction Road to head to your place, you remembered you were supposed to be spending the night at David’s. That was the whole reason you’d brought your bookbag filled with clothes along for this little “date”.
“Shit, Billy, wait,” you grumbled, waving your hands around, “don’t turn here. Keep going. Turn right on Killian Drive.”
“The fuck? Why?” he asked, but still listened to you.
“I’m spending the night at David’s.”
“What?” You had to fight the laugh clawing it’s way up your throat when you saw his hands clench on his steering wheel. You’d probably imagined it anyway.
“You didn’t know I do that? I thought I’d told you…”
“Your parents are okay with that?”
“My parents can eat a bag of frozen dicks for all I care.” He chuckled as he turned right on Killian Drive. “I’m working out with him.” You definitely didn’t imagined the way his jaw clenched and you didn’t bother to hide the Cheshire grin on your face. “You know the drill. I sleep over, we get sweaty together, we take a shower, no big deal.”
“They got a guest room?”
“Nope,” you chirped, feeling your heart soar as you finally got your revenge. “Oh, turn left here, sweet thing.” When you placed your hand on Billy’s thigh, his muscles tensed. You guided him the rest of the way and he was pulling up to David’s small house in just a few minutes. Your bag was already in your lap and ready to go.
“You know,” he said, licking his lips, “guys don’t really like girls who are too bulky.” You wanted to smack that easy smile off his face, but instead you flashed him a smile of your own and batted your lashes like a little doll.
“You know, girls don’t really like guys who are shorter than six feet or younger than them or nosy or annoying,” you said, letting your voice drip with syrupy sweetness and smiling wider as his face grew more stern. “I could go on. You want me to?”
He turned away to face the empty street ahead. “Goodnight, [Y/L/N].”
“I’ll see you around, Billy,” you giggled, slamming the door a little harder than you normally would’ve on your way out.
A week passed and suddenly Thanksgiving was just a few days away and work was crazy because everyone and their fucking mother was coming in to pick up their bullshit turkeys. Even Billy’s stepmother came by to pick one up, armed with that stupid order of hers. She was a sweet lady, but fuck, man. Who the hell needed five whole chickens skinned, deboned, and then ground twice? Who did that help? Who was that for? What kind of white nonsense was that? They had a whole wall full of ground chicken!
David hadn’t worked today, so you were probably just going to hit up the gas station down the street for a small snack before using their phone to call your mom for a ride. At least, that had been your plan until you saw Billy as you were leaving work at around 10:00 PM and, come to think of it, he’d probably been waiting for you since the store closed. He was parked across the street from the back exit, sitting on the hood of his car and smoking.
“You stalking me now, high school boy?” you called from your place on the sidewalk.
“Like I’d have to.” He smiled at you and it was all teeth, drawing you in until you were sitting on the hood of his car with him. “I wanted to ask you something,” he said after a few long, calm minutes of silence.
“Yeah?” You leaned back and blew a steady stream of cigarette smoke up towards the sky. It was ridiculous that you’d just worked in a department where the temperature was never higher than 60 degrees and you’d been working up a sweat, but out here in this freezing Hawkins Hell weather, you were shivering under three layers of clothes.
“Do you still want to work out together?”
“Oh?” You cocked an eyebrow at him, but he wasn’t looking at you, choosing instead to stare straight ahead like a statue.
“Well?” He fidgeted under your gaze, seemingly feeling your eyes on him like a couple of lead bricks.
“I thought you said you didn’t have any five pound weights for me. What, did you find some in your basement? Were they dusty?”
“Could you not be a shit about this, [Y/N/N]?”
“Only since you asked so nicely.” You leaned forward and patted his shoulder, noticing the way he jumped a little and cataloging it for later. At least he was finally looking at you. The streetlights made him look like he was cased in amber and for once his hair actually looked blonde. “I’ll do it. Besides, you could probably use a few pointers.” He chuckled. “I can only work out with you on Mondays, though.”
“That’s fine, sweetheart.” You knew he was letting you win too easily, so he probably had plans to slowly pull you away from your scheduled time with David until you weren’t lifting with him at all. A smirk crept onto your face. If Billy wanted to play, you could play. That was part of the fun, right?
The Monday before Thanksgiving, you finally entered Billy’s house for the first time. The back door led right into the small basement, which was bare expect for the weight lifting equipment and a boombox propped up on a plastic box with cassettes strewn on the floor around it. Before you’d even pulled your hair up, he made sure you knew you weren’t allowed upstairs. Like you cared. You were there to get built, not creep around his house and meet his whole fucking family.
When he gave you a pair of 20-pound weights, you scoffed at him and dropped them before making a beeline for his empty barbell so you could do your warm-up curls in peace. “You got any Duran Duran?”
“Yeah,” he said uneasily before sifting through his cassettes and shoving one in to play.
#stranger things#billy hargrove#stranger things fic#billy hargrove fic#stranger things fanfic#billy hargrove fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#billy hargrove fanfiction#billy hargrove x reader#mine
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Last Suppers Vol. 2
Shepherd Express
In the days B.C.(Before Covid), when normal life, and more importantly, sports, proliferated and dotted the rote landscape of daily routine, I held a superstition with any of my real or fantasy teams: they wouldn’t play well if I actually watched. It was best I averted my eyes, distanced my associative bad juju. Nowadays, I do the same, except with the only statistical options: infection rates and confirmed cases and total deaths. I don’t look at virus numbers all day, then, when the house is quiet, the dishwasher humming, the lights half-off, I sit at the tiny kitchen table with a spoon and a pint of something chocolatey and my desperation and my phone and the giddy anxiety dread of a fresh-inked boxscore. It’s like I’m an immunologist with a gambling problem. Some combination of the ultimate-stakes card game scene in Casino Royale and the uncontrollable absurdity of Kramer betting on which flight lands first at Laguardia. Come the eventual loss, and then the shoulder-shrugged resigned finger-stabbing, the desperate working of the back triangle, the scrolling down, there is always a path to the only spot of hope in any news source today: an updated list of open restaurants and takeout offerings.
This is how I eventually stumbled on MobCraft, or, rather, remembered it was there, barely safely social distanced outside my once-normal morning cycle of coffee and work, just another place before, another option, yet another in a too long list of new breweries, one I didn’t know how to take seriously before all this because I have a middle-aged mistrust of anything “crowdsourced.” In my mind it suddenly began burgeoning like a lighthouse, with the irresistible notion that homemade craft beer, and nearly equally curated pizza, could be brought to my car as I idled with my Spotify playlist and the safe removal of the other half. There are plenty of places to get either, there are plenty within blocks—Fixture has better pizza, Indeed has better beer—but here is both. Two birds, one stone. Or, as the day-appropriate analogy runs: two vices, half the infection chance.
Later, as I ignored common sense to waste ever-precious paper towel squares on wiping down the rectangular boxes, I noticed the packages are ink-branded: ‘Hidden Kitchen.’ How apt. In the age of hearth-cooking and HGTV-backed open concepting, how hidden they’ve suddenly all become. Though here I wouldn’t really know, as I’ve still never set foot even on the curb outside. And, really, you’d think no one has, judging from the streets on a recent beer and pizza run evening. There was a couple with matching face masks at the corner of 5th and Bruce, and one guy on a bike, also in a mask that maybe you could convince yourself was a scarf, if you wanted to make it all seem less Cormac McCarthy, which I often struggle to do, telling myself the usual: “Well, it’s Sunday.” You could also just blame the weather—there’s still time in the season for that. Everyone just wants to be inside, sure. Or maybe he is, maybe they are—maybe we’re all—bank robbers. But getting off the Hoan at the Lakefront, circling up Clybourn and through the Third Ward, by the shell of the Public Market, a cold Colectivo, the only sign of life or movement is generally the streetcar, empty, running like a phantom reminder of how petty all our social media grievances once were. The city looks like a darkened backstage set, waiting. It feels recently completed, clean, ready, an up-and-comer, Cream City brick and Rustbelt charm and hints of the river rubbing against new development, Shake Shack and West Elm framed by turn-of-the-last-century port city industriousness. It’s an attractive potential leading man, wizened but spruced, primed for today, for a turn in the spotlight. To play part, the setting and co-star both, in the historic naming of someone—whomever!—to lead us out of this national nightmare. Now tumbleweeds blow down Water. 1st Street’s major pulse is two just-hanging-on taco trucks. Instead of simply taking the bikes away, Bublr has placed plastic bags over each individual docking station, they billow in the wind like a line of waiting ghosts, emphatic in doom declaration. Steny’s, empty, makes it feel like it’s too early. Anodyne, empty, like it’s too late. The expectation, the possibility here, is only for pizza and beer to take back to your little abode that by now feels half sanctuary, part jail.
And once you are home, hands washed, boxes washed too, psyche shaken of the jarring urban emptiness, distracted just enough by HBO or Netflix, what is there but to eat and drink and discuss said eats and drinks? Yet, first, as a collective, writers, judgers, hall monitors and such, very clearly, as a commandment or some other kind of religious term, should agree: objectivity is rightly dead. There should currently exist no pretense of criticism. Any words spent on food or drink should simply be a celebration that we are still around, have health and funds enough to still eat and drink. Every meal is worth only the comfort it brings. My recent birthday dinner selection was Pizza Shuttle, and was met not with laughs, scoffs, but gentle understanding nods. This is for your soul, not your tongue, forget your mind. None of us are seeing our doctors for normally scheduled tire-kicking and blood death panels anytime soon anyways. In that spirit, Mobcraft might be the greatest restaurant in the world right now.
Opening the boxes reveals a sort of paradigm of the flat bread-y, happy hour shareable brewpub pizza. It is in some way reminiscent of those things we are all missing the most: where you don’t feel like going out after a long day, then you go out anyways, and have something hoppy and local and loosen up, and unexpected alliances are formed by ABV, and there are ‘nother ones, and excuses made to selves and to significant others, and the coming weekend seems suddenly endless, eternal, what, in hindsight, feels almost, yes, maybe, blessed. And there is the realm of “one more” and somebody orders something from the bar to share, and everybody gets a wedge and pulls without cootie and corona paranoia, and the collective cheese pull is beautiful, pizza delivery commercial Instagrammable. The soft, deep, focaccia-like layers house typically creative topping combos: mac n’ cheese with pulled pork, a pungent gyro number with shaved lamb, a reuben pie with sauerkraut for those that prefer to sleep alone. Or there are more standard takes—pleasing marinara and pepperoni, with stretchy, blankety mozz, pleasant dusty crust flour fallout that snows softly down on the sweat pants and couch, lovingly sprinkled oregano flecks, cheese and edges just going brown toward crisp, but everything immeasurably pillowy, like a salty, saucy padding to smooth life’s edges just a bit. The “Pollo” has become an overnight favorite, featuring chicken chunks, the underutilized brotherly punch-in-the-arm of poblanos, bacon bits, velvety, guilt-inducing Alfredo sauce. It’s neither Italian or Mexican, craft or common. It is simply a feel, that of comfort pizza done with deft touch, a happy taste experience, now especially, arriving on the nostalgia spectrum somewhere between a Grandma slice from a Brooklyn street corner, whatever doughy carb-and-sauce bomb you used to get way too late at night in college, and elementary school cafeteria pizza day square.
But you also can’t leave a palate sodium-parched. So there is the accompanying, expected microbrew tome of types and tastes—a cranberry farmhouse ale, a coffee brown brew, things fermented in barrels, limited offerings of ideas pitched by the public and then voted on by any Joe Six Pack with the internet, the flavor winner then brewed in house—most any to be jogged to your car in the ultimate “this is more like it” lesson we can take away from pandemic times. But it is mostly the distinct, pungent mouthfeel of a hazy IPA—”Squeezin’ Juice,” dry-hopped and 6.7% potent—that acts as total counterpoint to the state of existence right now. There is something of a citrus dance, a zest, a subsequent scrunched-up-face of bitterness showing reaction, any kind of reaction really indicating a defiant act of living. Even if it comes from a sip taken sitting on the couch, in the basement, solo cheersing another year gone by, alone, knowing everyone in the world is mostly doing the same, is in some state of either worrying, or sleeping, or dying. This is probably why even the fizzy astringency of kombucha tastes good to me right now. And probably why the thought of a crowdsourced brewery, whatever that really means, is totally fine.
By the time the pizza is done and the ice cream too, once the music and news of the day has been faced, when the blindfold is ready for donning, it’s like the next year wish all sports fans know too well. Tomorrow, for sure. The numbers will tumble with lead boots-weight in the right direction, a vax will appear imminent, a treatment will truly show promise. If not, there will be some leftover pizza. And maybe one juicy IPA to sink down with.
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Story of My Life 7/24
Kurt reflects on the past twelve years of his life, coming to realize that one man in particular has affected him far more than he ever thought he would
Welcome to day seven of my @klaineadvent fic, written for today’s prompt, Genuine. I... don’t think that I filled the prompt very well. It’s like... a bit of a stretch. Oops?
WARNINGS: Kurt/Sebastian (sorry to those of you who liked Adam!), some Blaine pining related angst at the end.
Oh, I keep forgetting to mention this, but please make sure you are keeping an eye on the dates for each part. It’ll help with situating when this is happening. I’m hoping to make a timeline soon that’ll state everybody’s birthdays and what ages they are at which points in the story.
Hope you all enjoy, and see you tomorrow!
Attachment | Bucket | Collapse | Drink | Example | Fraction |
Read on AO3
October 15th-16th, 2014
“This is so pathetic.”
“Tell me about it. They’ve just been sitting there for days.”
“It’s really sad.”
“I’m glad you called me over, this is really something else.”
“They aren’t even eating ice cream or crying, they just… sit there.”
“I think Rachel has gone completely catatonic at this point. Hold on, let me check something.”
A flash goes off, and Kurt can’t ignore his friends any more. “Can you three fuck off, please?” he asks, turning to Cooper, Tina, and Elliott, aiming his dirtiest glare at them.
“He lives!” Tina cheers.
“Hard not to when you three won’t stop nattering over there about how pathetic Rachel and I are.”
Elliott is the one who comes close, sitting on the edge of the coffee table and leaning forward. “Kurt, you know I love you, but you have to admit, this is getting kind of pathetic.”
“I will admit no such thing,” Kurt says, crossing his arms over his chest and pulling his legs up onto the couch with him, trying to get away from his friend.
“Come on, Kurt. It’s Friday night and you two are sitting in your sweatpants, staring at literally nothing, like zombies.”
“We’re heartbroken, and misery loves company.”
“Please,” Elliott rolls his eyes, causing Kurt to scowl. “Adam left almost two months ago, so you have no excuse, and Rachel,” he turns to her, and Kurt looks too, finding his friend still staring vacantly ahead. “You already knew that Brody was a douchebag, so these two weeks of moping is really over the top and unnecessary.”
“Brody was a douchebag,” Cooper chimes in, and Kurt sees Tina elbow him.
“Listen, I can mope as long as I want,” Kurt huffs. “Adam was the love of my life, and he barely gave me any warning before jetting off to England to fulfill his dreams of leaving his boyfriend in the dust.”
“He was not the love of your life, come on, Kurt,” Tina says, coming forward and sitting next to Elliott. “Yeah, he was your first serious boyfriend, and he was a great one, but love of your life?”
“He may have been,” Kurt says, turning away from them as much as he can. “I guess we’ll never know, since apparently going back to England was more important than making things work with me.”
“That’s not fair, Kurt,” Elliott butts in. “He got a role on the West End. Granted, it was ensemble, but still. That’s basically like getting a role on Broadway.”
“Fine, but he could have told me about it beforehand. He could have told me he was auditioning, so that I would have some warning, and he could have asked me if I wanted to try long distance instead of just abandoning me.”
“I know, Kurt. You know how I know? Because you’ve been a broken record about this for almost two months now. It’s time to get off the couch, get out of the sweatpants, and move on.”
Kurt scowls. “You’re a terrible motivational speaker, Tina.”
“No,” Rachel suddenly speaks up, making everybody turn to her. “No, she’s right.”
“What?” Kurt stares at her with narrowed, suspicious eyes.
“She’s right. So is Elliott. Adam left a while ago, and I already knew Brody wasn’t good for me. We’re wasting our time, and dragging everybody down with us. It’s time to move on.”
Kurt stares at her for a few moments, and she stares right back. Her eyes are filled with more emotion than he’s seen since she showed up at their apartment two weeks ago with a bag and the words, “He cheated,” on her lips.
“We should go out,” she continues when nobody else speaks.
“Go out?!” Kurt practically shrieks as Tina pumps her fist and says, “Now you’re talking!”
“Yes, Kurt,” Rachel says. “We should go out. It’s Friday, we’re all single, and we deserve to have some fun. Let’s go dancing.”
Elliott and Cooper hoot in agreement, and Tina claps her hands, excited. Kurt stares at Rachel for a few more second, then sighs.
“Fine,” he says. “But I’m not having any fun.”
“Then you’ll miss out,” Tina says, cackling. “I’ll call Sam and Mercedes and let them know.”
“I’ll call Quinn,” Elliott says.
Kurt frowns, turning to him. “You still talk to Quinn?”
“Yeah, all the time,” Elliott replies. “Ever since I made friends with you I’ve been more invested in actually keeping my class-friends around, and Quinn is cool.”
Kurt does remember enjoying the project he and Quinn worked on in the class they shared during the fall semester. He nods, then says, “You better warn her that I’m not going to be any fun.”
“Oh, trust me, she’ll know as soon as she sees your face,” Elliott says, smirking at Kurt. Kurt flips him off, but then forces himself off the couch and to his room, finally changing out his sweatpants for some skinny jeans.
Much as he’s loathe to admit it, his friends are right. He already feels better.
*
The club they attend allows people over eighteen and under twenty-one in, though they’re forced to wear bright red wristbands. Elliott, Rachel, Tina, and Quinn all smirk at Kurt, Cooper, Mercedes, and Sam as the bouncer puts on their wristbands, giving them all stern looks as he does.
“I hate this,” Cooper grumbles as they walk into the club. “I feel like a toddler.”
“Whatever, I already knew this was going to blow,” Kurt replies.
“Oh, come on,” Mercedes loops her arm through Kurt’s. “You’re telling me you’d have more fun lying around at home then out with your friends?”
“Or at work,” Kurt says. Since Adam left, he’s practically buried himself in work, to the point where Isabelle has had to ask him to take on less hours, wanting him to focus on his schooling as well. “I’d be there right now, actually, but Isabelle doesn’t let me stay past nine, or on the weekends anymore.” Her far-too-concerned, “This is only supposed to be a part-time job, Kurt,” rings in his ears, and he shakes his head.
“Well, I think you’re lame, and a party-pooper, so I’m going to dance with my boyfriend, and you can come join us if you feel like being less of a downer.”
She disappears onto the dance floor, leaving Kurt and Cooper awkwardly standing by the bar. He glances around and sees that Rachel, Elliott, Quinn, and Tina have all disappeared, too.
Cooper is looking around, then seems to land on what he’s searching for and says, “Hey, I’ll find you later, okay?” before running off. Kurt watches him disappear into the crowd, assuming that he’s going to try and dance with Rachel. He shakes his head, knowing his friend is headed for definite heartbreak.
He walks over to one of the few empty barstools and hops onto it, calling the bartender over and asking for a Coke. The man nods, glancing at his wristband, and grabs him a can. Kurt pays him right away, then pops the can open, ignoring the glass the bartended places next to it.
“You look like you’re having fun.”
Kurt turns to see a man around his age (with no wristband) standing between him and the person on the barstool next to him. He’s tall, with sandy brown hair and green eyes that seem to be staring right through him.
“What gave me away?” Kurt asks, inconspicuously placing his hand over the top of his hand.
The man shrugs. “The fact that you came in with like, ten other people, but instantly came to the bar instead of going out to dance.”
Kurt raises his eyebrows. “You noticed me come in?”
The man smirks. “You’re surprised by that?” He drags his eyes over Kurt’s body.
Kurt blushes and takes another sip of his drink. Despite his reluctance to come out tonight, he has to admit that this feels nice. Being noticed like this. Being approached by a total stranger.
“I’m Kurt,” he decides on, extending a hand to the man.
The man chuckles, but takes his hand. “Sebastian,” he replies. He keeps his hand on Kurt’s and says, “What are my chances of you saying yes if I asked you to dance?”
Kurt looks the man over. He’s attractive enough, tall and slim, and his grip on Kurt’s hand is firm, which his father always told him was a good sign. “High,” he says.
The man raises an eyebrow and gestures to the dance floor. Kurt nods and sets his almost-empty Coke can on the bar, letting Sebastian lead him onto the dance floor.
Maybe coming out wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
*
The following morning, Kurt wakes up with an arm slung around his waist and a warm body tucked into his own.
For a moment he forgets, allowing himself to cuddle closer to the man behind him. Then, his eyes widen as he remembers that Adam is in Essex.
This isn’t Adam.
He turns around, his memories of the previous night confirmed at the sight of Sebastian sleeping behind him. He tenses, eyes wide, then ever-so-carefully extracts himself from Sebastian’s hold. Sebastian doesn’t seem to care much, turning over and continuing to sleep without a problem.
Kurt pulls some pyjamas on quickly, disbelief running through his entire body.
He had a one-night stand.
He can’t even blame it on the alcohol, because neither he nor Sebastian drank last night. He can’t blame it on anything other than recklessness and impulsivity.
Oh, god, his friends are never going to let him hear the end of this.
He tip-toes out of his room and heads to the kitchen, wanting to get away from his room and the strange man in it. He freezes, though, as soon as he enters the kitchen.
Because sitting there, in the breakfast nook, across from Cooper, is Blaine.
“Kurt!” the boy grins and hops up, hurrying to Kurt to give him a giant hug.
“Blaine,” Kurt says, hugging him back carefully. “You’re here!”
“Yeah, I wanted to surprise Cooper, and Mom has a bunch of meetings here this weekend, so here I am!”
“Surprise Cooper? Why?”
Blaine frowns, glancing at Cooper in confusion before looking back at Kurt. “Because it’s his birthday?”
Kurt’s eyes widen, and he turns to Cooper in shock. “Oh, my god. I totally forgot your birthday.”
Cooper waves a hand in dismissal. “It’s fine. You were otherwise occupied,” he winks at Kurt, who blushes at the implications. “Speaking of which—”
“So when did you get here?” Kurt interrupts, shaking his head discreetly at Cooper.
“Just a few minutes ago, actually,” Blaine says. “Mom dropped me off and then had to run to a business meeting. We’re all going out for dinner later.”
“Sounds fun,” Kurt says. “Make sure your mom stops by before you two leave. I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Of course,” Blaine says. “Or, you could join us for dinner! I’m sure mom wouldn’t mind.”
“No, no, I can’t impose. What kind of friend would I be if I crashed his birthday dinner after forgetting it was his birthday?”
“A shitty one,” Cooper says, and Kurt nods in agreement. “Though I know how you can make it up to me.”
Kurt shakes his head again, worried about what Cooper might say. “Oh, yeah?”
Cooper nods. “You know your friend Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
“So, I totally made out with her last night, and I’d love it if you gave me her number.”
“Oh,” Kurt’s eyes widen, totally surprised. In all the time he’s known Cooper, he’s never seen him so much as look at a girl other than Rachel. “You… Wait, what?”
Blaine squeaks, and Kurt glances down, wondering if the subject of his brother making out with a girl is uncomfortable for him. Instead, though, he finds him staring behind Kurt, and Kurt turns to see Sebastian standing behind them, pulling his sweater over his head.
“Hey,” he greets once he’s fully clothed, then moves toward Kurt and pulls him in for a hard kiss in one fluid motion. Kurt is so shocked by the action that he doesn’t even close his eyes, staring just past Sebastian’s forehead, wondering if the ground can just swallow him whole.
When Sebastian pulls away, he says, “I have to go, but you were a pretty good fuck, so I left you my number.” He winks at him, then heads to the apartment exit, waving over his shoulder and calling out, “Call me!”
Kurt stays frozen where he stands even after Sebastian leaves. He doesn’t want to turn around, isn’t ready to see the look he knows he will find on Blaine’s face.
“He’s forward,” Cooper says, and Kurt winces.
“Is he, uh,” Blaine clears his throat, and Kurt shuts his eyes. “Is he your new boyfriend?”
Kurt groans quietly and, hesitantly, shakes his head.
“Oh,” Blaine says, and Kurt forces his eyes open, turning around hesitantly.
He was right. Blaine looks like he just saw someone kick his puppy.
Kurt sighs and walks over to Blaine, wrapping him up in another hug. Blaine clings to him instantly, and if anything, it just makes Kurt’s heart break more.
“Hey, what do you say the three of us go get breakfast at the Spotlight Diner?” Kurt asks, staring at Cooper pleadingly over his head. “I think Sam is working, and I have to see how he’s holding up after last night.”
“That sounds like a great plan,” Cooper says. “Blaine, you okay to wait while Kurt and I change?”
Blaine nods against Kurt’s shoulder, then slowly extracts himself from his arms. He smiles hesitantly and Kurt smiles back, heart somewhere in his throat.
Cooper and Kurt leave the kitchen together, and as soon as they’re out of Blaine’s sight, Cooper says, “Jeez, dude. Talk about the worst time to have your first ever one-night stand.”
Kurt groans and says, “I know, Cooper. Trust me. I know.”
Part Eight: Health
#klaine advent 2017#klaine advent: genuine#klaine fic#klaine au#klaineanummel fic#multi chapter#fic: soml
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BTS Reaction -You work out too hard because they forgot something important
~ @kaylacocobear : Now that I’m done screaming with excitement. Can I request it’s a little specific… BTS reaction to seeing you working out too hard because you’re upset with them for forgetting something important to you.~
wow this is like the longest reaction I’ve ever done….
Jin:
“Y/n, please stay in tomorrow, you’ve left me every morning this week.”
You were pretty angry at Jin all week but instead of confronting him about it you decided to take a 2-mile run every morning at dawn, leaving him to an empty bed when he woke up. You two were about to go to sleep when he brought this issue up. You mentioned him forgetting about your 6 month anniversary and that’s why you went running every morning was to relieve your anger.
“Oh honey, I’m so sorry I forgot. I’ll take you to dinner this weekend and we’ll go to a romantic restaurant.”
Suga:
Suga noticed you going to the gym more often especially when he asked to hang out. When you told him you were busy again he decided to tag along using the excuse of needing to be prepared for their comeback. You knew that was a lie when he hopped on the treadmill next to yours.
“Shouldn’t you be exercising your strength instead for your comeback?”
He ignored your question and turned on his machine anyway, setting it at a slow pace.
“I was trying to figure out what was so interesting here that you’d rather exercise than hang out with me.”
You were used to his bluntness and figured giving him a straight answer was the best.
“I’ve been avoiding you because you pissed me off last week.”
He looked at you confused “What did I do?”
You knew your reason was kind of ridiculous but told him anyways. “You forgot who my favorite girl group is when Taehyung asked you. I’ve only told you a million times by now!”
Suga laughed. “Oh, that was it. Well tell me again and I promise to remember!”
J-Hope:
J-Hope was coming to your shared home after practice late at night when he saw you walk out the door with running shoes on.
“Where are you going this late at night?”
You really hoped to have left before he got home but luck wasn’t in your favor. “Like you care.”
“What do you mean? Of course I care, it’s not safe for you to run at 2 a.m, Y/n.”
“You’re right, I should have just left at 7 but I was expecting to be on a date with you.”
J-Hope finally realized, you two were supposed to have a date that night.
“Oh my gosh, Y/n. I’m so sorry, I lost track of time. Can I make it up to you tomorrow night?”
Rap Monster:
You had been spending most of your time at the gym lately instead of with your boyfriend because you were mad at him. He was confused as to why you’d rather run for hours than spend time with him.
“Y/n, why are you going to the gym so much? It’s not like you. Did I upset you?”
When you wouldn’t tell him why he started making a million guesses of why, none of them being right.
“Is it because I broke your sunglasses last week?”
“You what?”
“Nevermind. I can’t figure out why you’re mad at me.”
“I don’t know Mr.IQ 148, how about my birthday!”
“Oh my god….I’m so sorry. How can I make it up to you?”
“You can start by buying me a new pair of sunglasses.”
Jimin:
Jimin noticed you put in more hours at the studio than normal lately. You were gone day and night and he was getting concerned about your health, he realized how you felt when he overworked himself with choreography.
“Y/n you should take tonight off from practice. You need to rest or else you’ll get hurt.”
“I’m already hurt.”
“What do you mean? Are you okay? Who hurt you?”
“You did!”
“I…how?”
“You forgot to go to my showcase! It was two weeks ago! It meant a lot to me.”
“Oh, baby I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to miss it. I promise to go to the next one and buy you dinner after.”
Taehyung:
You hadn’t talked to Taehyung all day and instead went for a very long run to avoid him. When you came back he noticed that you looked upset and asked if you overworked yourself while running.
“No, Tae I’m fine. Just leave me alone.”
It was rare that you two ever acted cold to one another so Taehyung was taken aback by your response. “Did I do something to upset you.”
“Yes you did!”
“What did I do, baby?”
“You forgot to take the fish out of the bathtub yesterday so when I drained it this morning I saw Gilligan swim down the drain!”
“I’m sorry? We can buy another goldfish, y/n.”
Jungkook:
You knew exercising to avoid Jungkook was a bad idea, he would be at the gym anyway. He convinced you to spot him while he lifted weights but you were very distracted and almost let the bar fall on top of him.
“Y/n, did you forget you were spotting me?!”
“Oh, like how you forgot my cat’s birthday last week?”
Jungkook knew your cat meant a lot to you, but this was ridiculous.
“I almost died because of your cat’s birthday?!”
#omg i almost died writing taes#the fckig fish#bts reactions#BTS request#bts#bangtan boys#bangtan reactions#bangtan requests#kpop reactions#kpop request#kpop#jungkook#taehyung#jimin#rap monster#jhope#suga#jin
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The Upper Hand: Jefferson x Reader {Part 3}
Part 1 | Part 2
Hamilton - Modern AU (Law School)
Jefferson x Reader
2404 words
Hey, guys! I just wanted to say wow I can’t believe people are actually reading this and, even more shocking, you actually like it! I’m having a blast writing this and the feedback I’ve been getting is super awesome. I hope you enjoy part 3!
With a groan Thomas throws the pen on his desk and rubs his eyes, cursing Y/N and her ambitious, overworking, 110% effort personality. The pressure she is putting on him combined with his other classload is starting to get to him. The two had had a total of four meetings after that first one, and each time she reminded him how much this project was worth and the amount of effort he needed to put into it (he can recite her inspiring (in her opinion) speech with her at this point). Doesn’t she know that he already puts a lot of pressure on himself in his studies? He didn’t become the second-ranked student in their class of 500 by smoking joints and partying all weekend or playing hacky sack or whatever she thinks he does in his spare time.
Her accidental admission of her class ranking had surprised him. He always assumed that she was average, maybe slightly above, that Hammy or one of the other HamilDorks helped her with her homework. Perhaps Thomas could find it in him to respect her enough to accept her suggestions and opinions about their project. She had definitely shown him that she was worth her salt by correcting his misinterpretation of a statute and quoting several laws and precedented cases from memory, which all helped strengthen their defense. One of the HamilDorks is actually useful—surprise!
He groans again just as James walks past his open door. His best friend/roommate lets out a chuckle and leans against the doorframe.
“Having problems?”
Thomas throws another pen against the wall over his desk, disappointed that it didn’t puncture a hole in the wall. “Yup.”
“Let me guess,” James says. “The little milkmaid from Kansas made another schedule for your case?”
For some odd reason, James’ condescending tone creates a little tickle of irritation in Thomas’ chest. His mind conjures an image of Y/N pulling her hair into a ponytail as she leans over her notes, her teeth working her rose-colored bottom lip as she concentrates. “She’s from Nebraska, James.”
“Does it matter?” he scoffs. “I think she needs to pull that stick out of her ass and relax. You’re top in the class. You’ll get it done no problem.”
Thomas clenches his fist and struggles to keep his voice even. “Perhaps you should focus on starting your own project, James. You know Hercules Mulligan isn’t going to be much help.”
He doesn’t see James furrow his eyebrows in thought, wondering why he is suddenly defending Y/N instead of joining in on making fun of her.
“You’re right,” James mutters after a pregnant pause. “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with her tonight?”
In a panic, Thomas checks his watch, realizing that he’s lost track of time. It’s already eight. “Oh, shit!” he yells, hurriedly gathering his case papers and defense notes and shoving them into his bag. James thoughtfully observes Thomas as he quickly grabs a jacket and pulls on his shoes. His friend pauses in front of the mirror, runs a hand over his shortly cropped beard, and swats at a few rogue curls.
Thomas pushes past his roommate and jogs to the door, pulling it open hurriedly when his phone rings. He answers it, standing in the doorway to their two-bedroom apartment. His eyebrows meet in a frown as he listens to the person on the other end.
“What? The library is closed? Why? … Water pipe maintenance? Sounds like a bunch of—sorry… Uh, I don’t know where else to go. A lot of the local restaurants close at nine, so that would only give us an hour of work… Yeah, I know we need to keep on schedule.”
James appears in Thomas’ peripheral vision and clears his throat to grab Thomas’ attention. “I’m going to Aaron Burr’s for the evening to study for the Theories of Civil Law exam tomorrow,” he announces.
Thomas nods, his face brightening just enough for James to notice. “Okay, how about we work at my place? Madison is gone for the evening so he won’t distract us… Perfect! Let me give you the address…”
“This is where you live?” you ask, following Jefferson into the living room. “This is so…normal.”
He laughs and motions for you to sit on either of the mismatched couches (one dark brown leather, the other a god-awful blue and green plaid—you choose the leather). On the light wood coffee table are pens, pencils, and highlighters, along with a variety of sweating unopened root beer and orange soda cans. The perpendicular couches face a large flat screen TV mounted on the wall. Under the TV is a long thin table with what looks like an XBOX, a Wii, and two ugly red and black striped vases.
“What did you expect?” he asks, smirking. “Designer décor? An open floor plan with hardwood floors? A bear skin rug? A roaring fireplace and a wet bar? Four-car garage?”
You shrug. “I dunno. I heard you lived in France for a couple of years, so maybe baguettes and wine? Miniature Eiffel Tower sculptures?”
“Actually, these—” he gestures to the two red and black vases under the TV— “did come from France. What do you think?” he asks excitedly.
Should you tell him your real opinion or lie through your teeth? He looks so innocently happy, like a kid who made a picture frame made of macaroni noodles for their parent. You can’t squash on that kind of pure, unadulterated pride.
“They’re very nice,” you say politely.
“You hate them.” He shrugs. “You’re from Nebraska. What do you know about taste?”
Instead of yelling at him for insulting you and your home state like you would have a week ago, you laugh. Your amiability shocks both of you, and your laughter quickly dies on your lips. Awkward silence. He shoves one hand into his jeans pockets and rubs the back of his neck with the other. You smooth your skirt and lick your lips, looking anywhere but at him or his red French vases.
“So…” Jefferson finally breaks the silence. “I think we have everything we need here. Help yourself to a soda. Unless you want something else to drink?”
You shake your head. “Oh, no thanks. This is fine.”
“Okay. Let’s get to work.” He takes a seat on the other couch and spreads out his defense notes.
The two of you alternately bounce ideas off each other and work in silence for the next hour. You discovered that sitting on the carpeted floor and using the coffee table as a desk is more comfortable than leaning over it while sitting on the couch around the twenty minute mark. He realized that chugging two root beers and one orange soda leads to a lot of bathroom breaks halfway through the orange soda. You both found out that listening to a classical study mix on Pandora through his TV increased productivity after he yelled at you for humming an obnoxious popular hip-hop song you’d listened to on the way over.
“Do you have any more pieces of paper?” you ask after an hour of note-taking and paging through your textbooks.
He looks over the table as if he expects it to be there, frowning when he doesn’t see any. “I thought I brought some out…”
“All I see are pens and highlighters here.”
“I have some paper in my room.” He pulls his long legs out from under the coffee table and stands, groaning as he stretches his muscles. “Ahhh, man, you should really get up and stretch. We’ve been sitting too long.”
He disappears down the hall toward his and Madison’s rooms as you push yourself to your feet, echoing his groans. You start walking, slowly, across the living room floor, stepping over books and your backpack and your shoes, when you hear a crash and Jefferson’s strangled yelp. It sounded like a rainstorm.
Curious and concerned, you follow the sound of his cursing down the hall and into the bedroom on the left. You clap a hand over your mouth as you try to stop the laughter at the scene in his room. Jefferson glares at you, lying prostrate on the floor, partially buried under an avalanche of hundreds of boxes of mac ‘n’ cheese. His closet door reveals another hundred identical boxes stacked on high shelves.
“What on earth…” You shake your head, your shoulders shaking as you try to hold in your laughter. “I have so many questions.”
He curses again and sits up, pushing macaroni boxes off of him. “I can’t believe my precious betrayed me..” he murmurs breathlessly.
“Okay, first question. Why do you have so much boxed mac ‘n’ cheese? This is really unhealthy.”
“Um, excuse you?” Jefferson leaps to his feet, indignant, and begins pacing back and forth in front of you. He reminds you of Washington when he gets really passionate during a lecture.
“Macaroni and cheese is the food of the gods. This is the perfect food for any occasion—birthday, Christmas, christenings, job interviews, bad days, good days, you name it! It should be everyone’s comfort food. It’s cheesy goodness with soft pasta, carbs and dairy, so it’s totally healthy. It’s easy to make—takes less than fifteen minutes. Plus, I memorized the directions so I don’t even have to look at the box. Are you impressed yet?”
“You are insane.” You look over the boxes in disbelief. “How much did this all cost?”
“I buy it in bulk, so less than you think.” His smile widens as he nods eagerly.
“Why was it in your closet?”
“Not enough room in the kitchen cupboards. Madison hates it anyway, so he told me to keep it out of his sight. I have another box of boxes under my bed, too.”
You suddenly realize that you are standing in his bedroom. You take in the décor, the grey-and-white-striped comforter on the bed, the magenta throw pillow, the Eiffel Tower poster hung over his side table, the bookshelf full of books (lots about France and one curiously titled The Miracle of Macaroni and Cheese: Variations of the Best Comfort Food), the desk in the corner strewn with textbooks, papers, and writing utensils. Above his desk handwritten notes, printed quotes, and pictures have been taped or tacked to the wall.
“That’s my Wall of Inspiration,” he says, and you realize he’s been watching you as you look around his room. You take a step closer and read quotes about success and hard work from Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Steve Jobs before finding one printed on magenta paper in a large, fancy script:
Nothing can stop the man with the right mental attitude from achieving his goal; nothing on earth can help the man with the wrong mental attitude.
That’s really true, you think, wondering who wrote it. You read the author’s name in smaller print under the quote:
--Thomas Jefferson
“Ha! You quoted yourself on your Wall of Inspiration? That’s a lot of ego, Jefferson.”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “I am big enough to admit that I am often inspired by myself.”
You shake your head at him reproachfully but you can’t knock the satisfied smirk off his face. His inflated sense of self makes you want to slap him but you also kind of admire him for it. He believes in himself and his abilities. He is comfortable in his own skin and doesn’t care about what other people think about him, which is evident by the magenta T-shirt with the words Qu’est-ce que j’ai raté? You find yourself secretly wishing that you had half the confidence he had.
Beside his quote on the Wall of Inspiration is a picture of Jefferson and a pretty girl with long curly hair and sunkissed skin. She is smiling at the camera, her nose crinkling cutely as Jefferson kisses her cheek. His girlfriend, you realize. You feel the smile on your face fade.
“That’s a cute picture,” you say, trying to act normal. “Who is she?”
His eyebrows move closer together as he follows your finger to the picture. “Oh, that’s Martha,” he says tersely, as if that answers your question. Technically it does, but it also produces more questions. Is she his girlfriend? Are they broken up? Why is she still on the wall? Is she around? Why haven’t you seen her around?
Wait, it’s none of your business, why do you care? It’s not like you like Jefferson. He’s an insufferable, overconfident jerk who wears too much magenta and has insulted you too many times for you to ever like him as anything more than a classmate. That’s what you two are—classmates and partners on a school project. That’s it. There’s no way you could ever be attracted to him.
Almost as though he had heard your inner monologue, Jefferson bends down to begin picking up the boxes of mac ‘n’ cheese strewn across his floor. His jeans tighten around his ass, giving you a front-row view of how round and—for lack of a better word—perfect it is. You can see the muscles in his back as his magenta shirt stretches with his reach. How had you never noticed how fit he was? It was as if someone had given you glasses that suddenly cleared up your vision so you could notice small details that you hadn’t before. Like the swell of his biceps as he lifts a big cardboard box full of boxes of mac ‘n’ cheese back onto the top shelf of his closet. You’ve always been an arm girl, you admit to yourself as you admire his toned muscles.
He glances over his shoulder at you and smirks as if he can read your thoughts. You shake your head hard, clearing your mind.
“We should probably get back to work,” Jefferson says, holding out a blank yellow legal pad.
You nod dumbly and take the pad from him, cursing your face as it betrays you with a deep blush. The blood makes your face hot and pounds in your ears as you follow him back to the living room. You fan yourself with the pad when he isn’t looking. Now you can’t help but watch his muscles as he sits back down, his back against the plaid couch and his legs stretched out in front of him.
Shit, you think. This can’t be good.
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