#somehow managed to fuck this up half a dozen ways on instagram

[professorfaber]

it’s that time of year again

books finished in 2024:

Las Derechas: The Extreme Right in Argentina, Brazil, and Chile, 1890–1939 by Sandra McGee Deutsch (February 24)

Found this in the bibliographical essay of Paxton’s Anatomy. Vibrantly and readably traces the evolution of the far right in the ABC countries over three generations, from intellectual exploration to vague patriotic militias to fully-fledged fascist parties. Pays close attention to the roles of gender and class, and uses Stanley Payne and Ernst Nolte for a very solid treatment of fascism in part three.

Polish Politics in Transition: The Camp of National Unity and the Struggle for Power, 1935–1939 by Edward D. Wynot, Jr. (March 15)

Read Wynot both to learn more about the Polish fascist party Falanga and to explore Gregory Kasza’s concept of the kakushin or renovationist right, or ‘revolution from above’. Frequently felt dry, tedious, or even meandering but histories of bureaucratic squabbling might just always have a bit of that. It does contain interesting information about Falanga, along with a decent though undefined concept of fascism, and it is useful for dissecting the ‘guts’ of a renovationist regime.

The Golden Dawn’s ‘Nationalist Solution’: Explaining the Rise of the Far Right in Greece by Sofia Vasilopoulou and Daphne Halikiopoulou (May 27)

Started reading this initially as part of a research project on Golden Dawn. It’s short and often repetitive but actually very insightful, part of the authors’ larger research agenda of analyzing the Greek crisis as a fundamental crisis of regime legitimacy. Uses Roger Griffin and Michael Mann to integrate Golden Dawn into comparative fascist studies to a greater degree than anything else I’ve seen.

Who Were the Fascists? Social Roots of European Fascism edited by Stein U. Larsen, Bernt Hagtvet, and Jan P. Myklebust (June 29)

Gets cited all over the place, especially in work from the 1980s and ’90s; in particular it was Juan Linz’s chapter that motivated me to read. An absolutely mammoth collaboration attempting to unpack the socio-economic bases of interwar European fascist (and other authoritarian) parties and regimes; deeply imperfect but often deeply fascinating, probably best used like an encyclopedia. I have said before that fascist studies ought to recapture the spirit of this book because the cultural approach is getting a bit stale.

New Right versus Old Right & Other Essays by Greg Johnson (August 7)

Probably found on Johnson’s Wikipedia article to be honest. One of the most lucid and tolerable fascist authors I’ve read, though the bar is low and content warnings apply for white supremacy, antisemitism, and misogyny. In my opinion, required reading for understanding what the alt-right was and what they were trying to do, as well as the place of fascism in contemporary white nationalist thought.

Never Caught: The Washingtons’ Relentless Pursuit of Their Runaway Slave, Ona Judge by Erica Armstrong Dunbar (October 30)

Assigned for a class. Very approachable, actually almost to a degree that the writing feels like YA fiction but that probably isn’t fair. Impressively weaves a compelling story and a concrete sense of life for a black woman in the early republic out of very little documentary evidence, often having not just to read between lines but to juggle multiple alternative interpretations in places where we simply do not know.

The Old Christian Right: The Protestant Far Right from the Great Depression to the Cold War by Leo P. Ribuffo (December 27)

Not sure where I found it specifically, possibly Paxton’s Anatomy. A famously sharp and innovative intellectual history of the American far right through profiles of three key figures, contributing the concept of the “Brown Scare” and providing an early critique of ‘counter-extremism’ frameworks. To a degree Ribuffo does for the American right what the ‘new consensus’ did for fascist studies in attempting to take these people and their ideas ‘seriously’ through methodological empathy.

Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts by James C. Scott (December 30)

Also assigned for a class, which is funny since it’s the first anarchist theory I’ve read in ages. While self-admittedly schematic and groundwork-laying, Scott still manages an extraordinarily perceptive study of power relations and their impact on everyday life at a very granular level, especially those ‘quiet’ forms of resistance to oppression that often go unrecorded. Despite some partial disagreements, I do think probably everyone ought to read this.

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x reader (part 7)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.  

word count: 2.5k

warnings: um just implied smut and fluff and a reference to bdsm I guess?? but it's pretty chill overall

Liked by starkcosmetics and others

y/n.y/l/n okay first of all, it takes an act of god to get a picture of this guy smiling, but it’s always worth it.  he really changed everything for me and I can’t thank him enough for that.  so happy ❤️ 

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caroldanvers 😍😍😍

flowercrowny/n oh my god this is so sweet i’m gonna cry

1 HOUR AGO

He smiled as he stared down at the post you’d made, remembering how much effort you’d put into finding the perfect picture (in your opinion; he thought he looked kinda dopey in it) as well as writing and re-writing your caption.

The speed at which your post gained likes and comments was inconceivable to him; even more impressive was the speed at which gossip rags were picking up the story.  Sure enough, his phone’s alerts to new headlines about you were not only going off like crazy, but had started to include news about himself as well.  

Y/N Y/L/N Shocks With Romantic Instagram Post, Confirms Dating Rumors

You’ll Never Guess Which Hollywood Starlet Is Dating Her Driver

Who is James Barnes?  Everything We Know About Y/N Y/L/N’s New Beau

Skimming one of the articles, he was impressed at how much information they’d managed to get without actually getting anything from you or him.  Born in Brooklyn, disabled Army veteran, worked a list of odd jobs before becoming your driver and bodyguard.  ‘No social media presence, prefers to keep a low profile’ one of them said; you can say that again, Bucky chuckled to himself when he read it.

He found another from People and didn’t particularly appreciate that it spent half the time going through all your past exes and rumored partners (turned out ‘rumored’ is a fancy word for ‘a bunch of fans deluded themselves so hard that it somehow turned into news without any proof necessary’).  But he still smiled when he got to the part that was actually about you and him.

‘The relationship is pretty new but they’re so happy together,’  a source close to the couple reported.  

Close indeed; that statement came from your publicist, who he’d never even meet.  

‘He’s a very private guy and she’s got this huge following, so they’re sort of an odd couple in that way, but she knows her fans are respectful and will let them have their own life outside of the spotlight.’ 

Bucky wasn’t sure that the respectfulness of fans was such a given here, but he hoped you were right.  To be fair, they’d been very sweet on your original post insofar. 

However, when he scrolled to the bottom of the celebrity magazine articles and realized they had their own comments section, he discovered that they were a little less forgiving than the ones on your Instagram.  

Is this the best she thinks she can do?  So sad tbh :(

a military guy…. yikes, she could get any guy she wants and she goes for a murderer. 

He looks like a hobo that found a coupon for a free haircut lol

I don’t buy it, I know she’ll always love Pietro!

Pietro being your former co-star that so many of your fans were convinced was actually your soulmate.  From what he’d heard from you, those speculations had made things so uncomfortable between the two of you that it killed your friendship.  Those were nothing, though, compared to the comments about someone you actually had dated.

she’s obviously not over sam… they were so good together

He’d better watch out for her ex, he still likes tweets about her and they have so much chemistry

Wait, she’s not still with Sam Wilson??  I could’ve sworn they’d been dating for, like, five years.

You were scrolling through your phone with a smile as you walked past where he was sitting on the couch, and he just couldn’t help himself from asking even though he knew it wasn’t the best idea.  “Do I need to worry about this Sam thing?” he blurted out, trying to play it cool and not sound too anxious.  “People are really obsessed with you two…”

“Sam and I…” you sighed, staring off into space for a second.  He made himself anxious imagining what you were thinking about in that moment.  “I haven’t talked to him in… years?  I think it’s just because our relationship was so public that people are still talking about it.  And it had a lot of gossip material— we did a movie together, people thought it was sweet that we got together during production, it was great promotion for the picture… and from the outside, we made a lot of sense for each other.  But he has his own problems.  I loved him, but… he wasn’t ever going to be a one-girl kinda guy.”

“But you’re not just any one girl.  You’re… you know, you,” he emphasized.

“You’ve been reading too many headlines,” you shook your head as you sat down beside him.  “Please don’t turn into one of those guys who thinks of me as a celebrity first.  Before that—” you pointed to your own name where it was bolded on his screen in the trending topics page of Twitter— “was popping up on movie posters and in gossip magazines, it was just my name.  And I’m not perfect.  Not even close.”

Bucky sighed and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him and holding you tightly.  “And before I knew you were famous, or rich, or incredibly talented, I was totally obsessed with you just for who you are.”

“You’re too fucking amazing,” you sighed as you held his face and gave him a gentle kiss— the kind of kiss that instantly melted his heart and banished his worries.  When you pulled back and looked up at him with a smile, it was like everything else just… faded away.  “Don’t read the comments, okay?  None of them matter.”

He smiled and brushed his thumb over your cheek, overwhelmed by not only the softness of your skin but of your spirit as well.  In all his life he’d never been handled so… gently, with so much care.  “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he mumbled, not even really realizing he’d said it aloud until you gave him a beaming smile.

“I can’t believe you’re my boyfriend,” you giggled pridefully.

“Seriously?  I can… very easily believe it,” he scoffed.

“I just mean… you’re so…” you searched for the words.  “You’re actually good to me, that’s the thing.  I’m not used to that.”

“You deserve the world,” he assured.  “I’m just gonna keep trying to give you as much of it as I can find.”

He watched his hand trail over your face, down your neck and to your chest where he played with the hem of your t-shirt.

"It's odd to know there are millions of people who are jealous of me,” he admitted quietly, remembering some aggressive comments from some very angry dudes who had apparently also watched your nude scene a few too many times.

"Do you like it?  Do you like how it feels to know you're making them angry every time you touch me?"

"Couldn't care less," he refuted.  "Nobody else matters when I'm touchin' you."

“Do you maybe wanna… touch me a little more about it?” you smirked, opening your legs slightly in invitation.

“Always.”

//

Bucky had, thankfully, not let the newfound fame get to his head.  In fact, he had demanded that the two of you hunker down in the house, since he feared that going out would lead to being recognized.  What he apparently hadn’t anticipated was that that might not be enough.

“Will you get that?” you requested when the gate buzzed, too wrapped up in the book you were reading to answer the intercom.

He hopped up and held down the button to communicate with the gate speaker.  “Who is it?” he asked.

“I’ve got a delivery from Anjappar Chettinad on 23rd?”

Bucky didn’t even reply before hitting the green button and granting access to the driveway.  BEEP BEEP BEEP! you heard the gate signal its opening, and the car pulling around up to the door.  Bucky didn’t open it until there was a knock, greeting the delivery guy with a smile and the necessary cash.

“I’ve got a lamb korma, hyderabadi mutton dum biryani and an order of— woah,” the man suddenly stopped, staring at Bucky’s face.  “Are you—?’

“Hungry?  Yes,” he frowned.

“You’re the guy dating— holy shit, congrats man,” he beamed, smacking Bucky on the shoulder pridefully before leaning in with a mischievous smirk.  “Say, is she a freak or what?”

“She is,” you piped up from the couch, making both men turn their heads; but one was chuckling while the other looked mortified.  “You better not have forgotten my paneer pakora or I’m gonna chain you up and whip you.”

“Uh, I— no, I got it right here,” he promised weakly, handing the bag over to Bucky and starting to dash away before Bucky grabbed his arm, making the smaller man whimper fearfully.

“You forgot the money,” Bucky reminded him gruffly, stuffing the bills into the driver’s front pocket.

Finally, he let go, and the delivery man instantly pulled away, rubbing his arm and looking a bit like a kicked puppy as he went back to his car and drove away.

“You didn’t need to scare him that bad,” Bucky chuckled.

“I could say the same to you!  Grabbing somebody with the metal arm like that will put the fear of God into them pretty fast.”

“I didn’t mean to grab him that hard,” he admitted, examining the prosthetic hand as he came back to the couch with the bag of food, handing it to you while he focused on watching his motorized fingers curl and uncurl.  “I think I need to get this thing recalibrated… it’s been bugging out lately.”

“I dunno, it was working just fine last night,” you smiled, remembering how delightfully cool those fingers felt inside you.

Bucky seemed to miss it entirely, though, as he stared off into space.  “I can’t believe I got… recognized.”

“You’re a star,” you winked.  “And not just with random delivery drivers.  I’ve had a lot of press requests, everybody wants to be the first one to get nice pictures of us together— we’ve had a dozen event invites as a couple.”

“Seriously?!” he scoffed, snapping back to reality slightly enough 

“Yeah, and look what came in same-day mail this morning!”  You leaned over to shuffle through the mail on the side table before finding and handing him a letter in a gold-embossed envelope, watching him read what you knew was inside.

The Hollywood Foreign Press Association extends an invitation to Y/N Y/L/N and James Barnes to the annual Grant Banquet in support of the Young Artists Fund.

“It seems like a good first event for us,” you explained.  “Relatively small and low stakes, it’s for a good cause…”

“Are you sure I’m ready to be, you know… seen?  By people?” 

You scoffed, hardly believing how insecure he could be sometimes.  “You look great, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Will I have to talk to anybody other than you?” he asked, grimacing as if that were a form of brutal torture.

“Probably,” you admitted.

His frown deepened.  “What if I say the wrong thing?”

“I’m not that worried about you,” you smirked.  “You’re a lot better at this stuff than you think you are.”

“I don’t have anything to wear…”

You smirked, a little too proud of yourself, when you remembered the email your publicist had forwarded to you just this morning.  “Hugo Boss will pay you $1500 to wear one of their suits on the carpet.”

“They’ll pay me to wear free clothes?” he repeated with wide eyes.

“Yeah, that’s one of the cooler things about fame,” you laughed.  “I make a grand every time I wear this watch outside!”

“I guess I should send them my measurements then…” he trailed off.  “Any chance I can get in on that watch deal?”

“No, but you can make $50 by getting papped at Jamba Juice.”

He paused for a moment, scratching the back of his neck as he thought.  “Is the smoothie comped?”

“I don’t know.  Do you want me to ask?”

“...kinda…” he admitted with a shy smile.  

“Well, I will, and I’ll RSVP to this invite saying we’ll be there next week,” you decided as you started to open up the food, but Bucky stopped you by reaching for your hands.

“Are we really doing this?” he asked.

“If you want to,” you mitigated.

“Of course I do.  I guess I have to accept that you’re actually willing to be seen with me,” he chuckled.  “It’s just sort of hard to believe.”

You leaned in and kissed him; it was meant to be a casual, reassuring peck but he held you closer and you melted into him, moaning softly at his touch as you started to climb into his lap.

“The food’s gonna get cold,” he reminded you with a mumble against your lips.

Unfortunately, your literal hunger was a bit too strong to ignore, even with the growing intensity of a metaphorical hunger for Bucky.  “Alright,” you relented, getting off of him and returning your attention to the meal on the table.  “Just know that I really, really want to be seen together, in public, just in case anybody missed the news about us already.  I’m not embarrassed by you or afraid you’re going to do something dumb.  I…”

One of those words that can’t be unsaid started to bubble up in your throat and you coughed, banishing the thought.

“I really like you.  I think we have something special.”

He smiled gently, giving you one more kiss on the cheek.  “I think so, too.”

//

Since this was slightly less of a big deal than a premiere or press tour, you had managed to convince your styling team to let you dress yourself, which was why he was laying on the bed and talking to you through the bathroom door while you put on your gown.

“Do you want me to hire a new driver?” you prompted him, voice muffled slightly as he imagined your head covered in the fabric, trying to navigate through the dress.  “I don’t want you to feel��� I don’t know, like a servant?”

“A servant?  You’re still paying me,” he reminded you.  “You are still paying me, right?”

“Yes,” you laughed, “but still, I would hate it if you felt like staff.  You’re my boyfriend!”

(His heart still fluttered every time you said it.)

“No new driver,” he decided.  “I can drive just fine, and considering how things went between us… let’s not open the door for anybody else,” he smirked, making you laugh in that way you did when he made a stupid joke but you still liked it somehow.

“Okay, sure, but what about being my bodyguard?  Is that too weird?” you continued.

“God no,” he scoffed, “if anything I’m gonna be better at my job than ever.  As your boyfriend, keeping you safe is my job, but since keeping you safe was already my job… it’s, like, doubled-up now.”

He lost his train of thought when you opened the door.

“How do I look?” you asked as you stepped in and gave him a spin in your new dress.  Your whole body was draped in red silk, with the exception of your back which was almost entirely exposed, as if it were begging him to run his fingers down your spine.

“Like everything I ever wanted,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

And it was so odd that you questioned his desire to drive you, because those moments where he could steer with one hand and rest the other on your thigh, when he could catch a glimpse of you looking out the window at the city rolling by, when he got to listen to you ramble about something to kill the time during a drive; those were his favorite moments, and he wouldn’t trade them for anything.

After a relatively brief trip, you arrived at the venue, and all of a sudden he was doing what he’d fantasized about more than he’d like to admit: escorting you down a red carpet.  It was almost overwhelming— yelling, chattering, reporters speaking into camera, flashes going off in every direction—

“Hey,” you whispered, bringing your hand up to his cheek and instantly taking all his attention.

“Hey,” he returned.

“Just follow my lead,” you instructed.

“That was the plan.”

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 5

Masterlist

Shoutout to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my sounding board and beta reader! She's the absolute best a girl could ask for, thanks my love!

Word Count: 3.0k

Recommended song: "The Heart is a Muscle" by Gang of Youths

You woke before the sun, Pierre's bare chest pressed to your back and an arm slung over your middle. You wiggle in his grasp, trying to be sneaky as you turn to face him but ultimately waking him. You run a finger over his lips as they curve upwards before biting lightly. You draw back and he laughs quietly.

"Morning," You whisper, head throbbing slightly. "I feel like I got hit by a train."

"Knocking back four or five shots in a few hours will do that to you." Pierre stretches, arching his back and exposing his neck. The slight mark you left the night before had darkened into a true, unmissable bruise. The reminder of it sent a thrill down your spine, and you couldn't resist ghosting your lips over the hurt.

He sighs, cupping your chin and bringing your mouth up to his. The kiss is lazy, both of you still too ensnared by sleep to put any heat into it. 

You stayed tangled in him until Yuki called to remind Pierre they had to be at the airport by eight. You helped him pack as slowly as you could manage, a stone settling in your gut. When the time came, Pierre hadn’t wanted to leave, only relenting when Yuki called again to say the jet was waiting on him. 

The longing wasn't something that normally hit you this hard when Pierre left. It was new, the edges raw and unhealed when you poked at it. Everything on campus Tuesday reminded you of him, from the sunlight hitting the lab table to the rare cloudless blue of the London sky. 

Just when you’d gotten over the sting of his absence, the news broke. Charles sent you the link to the article, simply captioned, 'You will want to read this.'

Gasly snogs mystery girl in London bar, the headline read. And fuck, that was a grainy picture of you standing between his legs, fingers tangled in his hair. You scroll through the article, heart in your throat, praying you weren’t called out by name.

By some small miracle, whoever had taken the photos hadn’t gotten one of your face. Against your better judgement, you checked the comments.

That was where your name came up. Fans had connected the dots. Your hair had been up that night, but it was the exact same shade as the picture. Your instagram had been filled with photosets of London for months, and Pierre had flown out early before Silverstone. Clearly he had been meeting someone. Anyone with half a brain could figure out that you were the one in the photos, even if the article didn't mention you directly.

The first DM didn’t come for a few hours. It was nasty, the user hurling cruel words at you that struck your chest like tiny knives. Plenty more followed, threats and names alike. 

Gold digger.

Does she really think she deserves him?

He could do so much better.

You couldn’t bear attending classes. You sent Pierre the link to the damning article and stayed in your apartment and sobbed. The fans- if they could even be called such a thing- pulled no punches. Every DM and comment struck home, until you eventually had to turn your phone off and curl up in bed, defeated.

People are cruel, you thought, wiping the tears that streak down your cheeks. 

You kept your phone off for a few hours before you gathered the courage to check it again. You immediately uninstall any and all social media, unwilling to let it affect you further than it already had. But messages pour in, most from Pierre and a few from your brother.

Hell yeah! Was all your brother sent, along with a screenshot of the article. Your mouth twists, the memory of the comments washing over you again.

Pierre’s messages were the ones that broke you. There were close to a dozen of them, accompanied by missed calls and panicked voicemails. 

“Are you okay? Please pick up the phone, my love, I need to hear that you’re okay. I love you. Please call me back.”

The last message, time stamped from a half hour earlier, simply said, “I’m getting on a plane.”

A fresh sob wracks your body. You press a hand to your mouth, trying to silence it. God, he was so pure hearted. You knew the comments would hurt him just as much as they hurt you, if not more. He would blame himself, when in reality, it had been a mutual mistake. Either one of you should have recognized the risks of your actions. But you couldn't let him risk his career for it. You could make it through… somehow.

I’m okay, you type, hating that you had to lie. You don’t need to come to London.

I’m already in the air, He informs you, and you curse softly. He would have hell to pay upon returning to Austria, even if he had somehow convinced Tost to let him leave at the last minute.

I'll be there soon

The flight from Vienna to Heathrow was about two and a half hours, which meant you had that long to pull yourself together. You didn’t want Pierre to see you broken. You shower and change into slightly less ragged sweatpants and an oversized shirt. You grab your laptop, quickly emailing your professors to apologize for missing lecture unannounced and informing them you wouldn’t be there the rest of the week either. You'd need time to sort out your head before facing your peers.

Pierre’s knock came far too quickly. You’d barely assembled your face into a mask of resolve before the door opened. Whatever semblance of control you'd managed to construct came crashing down at the sight of him. He looks just as distraught as you, eyes red and cheeks flushed.

Before he says a word, he gathers you in his arms, tucking your head to his chest. Your lip wobbles, and when he whispers “I’m so sorry,” the tears fall in earnest. For less than a week, you’d been on top of the world with Pierre by your side. You’d gotten to enjoy the idea of being his girlfriend for six days before reality stepped in and ruined it.

You clutch at his shirt, fighting hard to piece yourself back together. Now that he was there, the dam had burst and no amount of willpower could keep the sobs back. 

Pierre sweeps you up, one arm under your knees and the other keeping you tight to him as he carries you to your bedroom. He climbs into bed, shoes and all, and keeps you in his lap as he strokes your hair. He sniffles, softly enough that you know he's trying to be strong for you.  The realization that he's crying too just makes it hurt that much more.

"I'm sorry," He whispers again and again, as if the two syllables were the only ones he remembered. You can't find your voice to tell him you don't blame him or how much his presence means. 

Instead, you press your face into the soft cotton of his sweater. He doesn't move except to stroke a calloused hand over your hair. You let his presence wash over you until your breathing turns more even and your fingers stop trembling. 

"H-how were you able to leave Austria?" Your voice shakes, but you tilt your head up to face him. He quickly wipes away the wetness on his cheeks with a sleeve.

"I just left. The only one I told was Yuki. He said he'd cover for me. I saw the comments and I couldn't think straight. I didn't want you to believe them." The look he turns on you is an apology. "When I called and it didn't even ring, I had to get to you."

"I don't think you'll be welcomed back with open arms," You point out, and he presses a tender kiss to your brow.

"They can be pissed at me all they want. I don't care. I needed to be here." You wouldn't admit it, but he was right. The fact that he'd risked everything to comfort you helped you ignore what those users had said. Nothing could ever erase the words, but Pierre’s presence dulled their impact.

“I already petitioned for the article to be removed,” Pierre says softly. “Don’t know if it’ll amount to anything, but it’s worth a shot.”

You nod and wipe your nose on your sleeve. “It’s so much worse than I imagined.” Pierre’s cheek comes to a rest atop your head, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your arm. “I get that I’m not the only one that loves you. But it’s like they don’t remember that I’m human.”

“People are bold when they're speaking to a screen instead of another person.” 

"It was so much easier before anyone knew," You say, words dipped in longing. Rumors had never swirled when you had kept your distance, you'd made sure of it. But now that the secret was out… Would your life be spent dodging threats and dealing with negativity?

He pauses, thumb stilling. “Do you… Do you want it to go back to the way things were before? When we were... friends?"

Your head whips around. “What?”

“It isn’t fair that you have to go through this because of me,” He explains. “I hate the fact that I’m the one causing you pain. The way you’re being treated is only because I live in the spotlight.”

“It’s not your fault,” You assert, placing a hand on his stubbled cheek. “Please don’t blame yourself.”

“Maybe it would be easier if we-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” You say sternly. You force him to look at you, his eyes storming like the sea. “We’ll figure it out. Our emotions got the best of us last week. We just have to be more careful, keep this behind closed doors. We don’t need to flaunt it, right? Just tell the press that you want to keep your private life private, and I’ll take a break from social media. We can figure it out.”

Pierre nodded in agreement. His voice is scratchy, like he had swallowed gravel. “Alright.”

“It’s us against the world,” You tell him, “And I couldn’t ask for a better teammate.” Your lips ghost against his in an attempt to reassure him. He returns the kiss, firmer and more confident. Your hand slips to the nape of his neck, drawing him in as your tongue glides against his lower lip. 

Last week, you’d fucked. But tonight, the sex was something else entirely. It was soft sighs and languid kisses, whispered words of adoration and promises of endless love. Above all, it was an affirmation. Pierre loved you; heart, mind, and soul. In every sense of the word. He would let nothing come between you and himself. Not his career, jealous fans, or the thousands of miles that may sometimes separate you.

Pierre offered you his heart, and you accepted it without question.

**********

The few precious hours Pierre managed to give you were enough to keep you afloat the rest of the week. The break from seemingly endless lectures helped to reset your mind and give you time to focus on yourself.

Pierre called as often as he could, and texted when he couldn’t. You filled him in on the little things you did to keep busy, like how you spent all of Sunday rearranging your tiny apartment so that your bed was as close to his in Austria as you could get it. Monday night, you fell asleep on Facetime with him as you tried and failed to write a term paper for your architectural history class. 

Pierre’s visit and subsequent calls had made you feel invincible. But the moment you walk into the lecture hall on Tuesday, everyone’s eyes are on you: the first test of your newly minted confidence. Chin held high, you meet a few of their stares and take your usual seat at the front. The moment you start to question yourself, if you're ready to face the scrutiny, your phone buzzes with a text from Pierre.

Ignore them. Remember that I love you. I’ll call you tonight.

Once again, he somehow knew exactly what you needed to hear. It amazed you that a handful of carefully selected words could grant you so much strength. But it was proof that Pierre recognized and accepted your fears and was willing to help you work through them. 

You take a breath, letting the whispers of your classmates fade until they were nothing more than a faint hum. You turn your focus on the professor as she enters, falling into your usual cadence. Easy. You could ignore the gossip until they got tired of it and left you alone. Their fascination couldn’t last more than a few days. 

You made it through the rest of your classes and walked home without incident. No one ran up to you and demanded you explain your relationship with Pierre. Your worst fears had been abated. The stress of it rolls off your shoulders when you make it to your apartment. It was already 7 o’clock, but Pierre hadn’t called yet. Seeing as Austria was an hour ahead, you weren’t sure he would hold to his earlier promise.

Your stomach growls, and you leave your bag next to your bed before heading to the kitchen. Dinner was a box of macaroni and cheese, simple but delicious. You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at your phone every few minutes, hoping to see Pierre’s name on the screen. 

Coming to terms with the fact that you probably wouldn't be getting a call, you settle into your favorite chair and crack open your laptop. Term papers didn't write themselves, and you still had a few thousand words to write. You lost yourself in theories and articles for a few hours before your phone breaks your concentration.

You awake?

A smile splits your face. Yeah. Working on this never ending term paper.

I'll leave you to it. Love you, sleep tight.

You laugh quietly. You agree with his 'school first' mentality most of the time, but there were exceptions to every rule. You call him, heart stuttering when he answers.

"You're supposed to be writing."

"Well, nice to hear your voice too," You say playfully. "It was boring me anyway. Who wants to read twenty pages comparing Roman and Greek columns anyway?"

"I'm pretty sure your professor does," He says with a laugh that warms your bones. If only he were standing in front of you so you could feel his chest rumble beneath your fingertips. Wanting to see his face, you switch to a video call.

"I was wondering how long that would take," He teases, smile wide and welcoming. 

"I miss you," You say softly, padding to your bed. You'd accomplished enough that you could push off writing more until tomorrow. "I wish I could come to Japan this weekend."

"Me too, my love," He responds, voice tinged with longing. "It's one of the more challenging circuits on the calendar. And you've always wanted to visit Tokyo."

You weren't surprised that he remembered that silly dream of yours. "Send me something that reminds me of you." You flick off the lights before climbing under the covers, pulling them up to your chin. "Something cute and sweet."

"I fly out tomorrow night to meet Charles. I should have some extra time to do some window shopping."

"You and Charles going on a date?" You tease, propping your head on a hand. Now that you were cozy, it was hard to keep your eyes open.

He shakes his head. "He's been… helping me with the press. Tackling it all."

"Oh." The mood sours. You decide not to dwell on it, turning to humor instead. "Give him a kiss for me as a thank you."

"He would love that," Pierre laughs. Comfortable silence blankets you, broken only by Pierre humming softly. It was a song you recognize as one of his favorites; it must have been stuck in his head.

"What time do I have to wake up on Sunday?" You mumble, struggling to stay awake while he was unknowingly serenading you.

"Do you want to watch the prerace stuff?" Papers shuffle softly on the other end as he figures it out for you. "If you do, probably like 3:30. If not, the race would be at five your time, so maybe 4:30."

"That's early. You're lucky I love you enough to sacrifice my beauty sleep."

He didn't hesitate before responding. "Luckily you don't need sleep to be beautiful."

Your mouth curls in a sleepy smile. "When you say things like that, I hate the distance between us even more."

Pierre scrubs a hand over his face. "I don't have a break for another month or so."

"I know."

Silence falls again, both of you lost in your own heads.

"You should sleep," He says finally, and you nod. Your first class was only 6 hours from now. "I'll sing to you if you promise to close your eyes and try to sleep."

Despite your best efforts, you yawn. You often called him for a song when you couldn't sleep and the time difference permitted it. Just hearing his voice was soothing enough, but a song? It was heaven. "Shouldn't be hard to do." Sleep came within minutes, Pierre's soft song your lullaby.

Tagging: @flashcal @sunshinesewis

[beautifulletdownfics]

The Nearness of You - A Harry Styles One Shot

A friends to lovers one shot feat. birthdays, pining and stolen purses.

Hello, please enjoy this fever dream fic that came to me a week ago and is now somehow 13.5k and gracing your eyeballs. I’ve never written a one-shot of this nature before and it was quite a refreshing distraction from my usual, long-form fics. Thank you to Anne @oh-honey-styles​ for the encouragement (bullying) and for posting the pic that inspired it all. To everyone else, read on x katey *Because this is quite lengthy, I’d recommend opening in a browser because the Tumblr app can be glitchy*

My masterlist Chat to me here

“When you're in my arms And I feel you so close to me All my wildest dreams came true” The Nearness of You, Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

++

You love the cold.

London in February isn't everybody's cup of tea, but you feel positively giddy walking down the icy Soho street in your new & Other Stories snow boots. The hard, black leather is already making your toes ache, and they're rubbing against the heel of your left foot, but they'll stretch to size, and you can tell these are going to be Your Signature Boots. The wind whips against your cheeks, red flushing them as you cross the laneway and push open the door to the chic little restaurant you've followed on Instagram for years but never had an excuse to try. Figures Harry chose it for tonight. Sometimes you wondered if the coincidences were a little too … Coincidental.

"Hi," you smile brightly to the maître d', "I'm uh … I'm here for the birthday? For Harry?"

Do I need to say his surname? You think to yourself.

"Can I have your name, please?" The suited man pulls a piece of paper out of the reservations book and waits for you to identify yourself. Your chest is rattling from the cold and the flurry of nerves you're all too familiar with ignoring.

"Y/N," you say your full name, taking in the dark floor of the restaurant, the flickering candles on the tables and lining the bar that takes up the entire left side of the room. The whole place is beautiful, just like you've double-tapped online; all deep reds and burgundies, vintage posters, and mismatched, dark wooden furniture. A jazz record plays just loudly enough to fuse the conversations at all the tables into one comfortable sound. It would make for a sexy place for a date, you decide, stolen touches under the table would feel thrilling and seductive.

The maître d' nods, you're on the list, "Back in the private dining room," he says, "Follow me this way."

You push your evening bag further up your shoulder and walk half the length of the bar, your eyes adjusting to the darkness. You catch the bartender watching you as you go, he's cute, and you give him an awkward little wave before calling out ahead of you.

"Sorry, excuse me," you get the attention of the man leading you through, "Can you point me to where I need to go? I'm going to get a drink to take in first if that's okay?"

"Just there," he points to the doorway at the back, next to the kitchen pass, "The curtain on the right."

Thanking him, you watch as he walks back to his station by the front door. You turn to the bar and rest your hands on the cool wood. They've stuck the pages together of old Little Golden Books for the drink menus, but you'll be ordering what you always get on birthdays, so don't take in the beverage options as you flip through The Tawny Scrawny Lion. You remember it from when you were a kid.

The bartender moves to stand in front of you, a gleam in his eyes and flirtatious smirk on his face, "Pretty good read, that one. You have to order a drink though, this isn't a library."

You laugh, he's laying it on a bit thick but probably just after the tip, "I was more a The Poky Little Puppy sort of girl."

He gives you a grin of approval, flipping a napkin up onto the bar in front of you, "What can I make for you?"

"I'll have two Old Fashioneds, please," you lean forward onto your elbows to give your feet a rest as he pulls up a second napkin and then two crystal, lowball glasses. "They're pretty," you comment without thinking.

"It's all about the glass," he confirms quickly, dropping brown sugar cubes into each one and then shaking bitters on top. Your eyes focus on the way the squares dissolve and fall in on themselves as he speaks again, "I'm Jack."

"Y/N," you give your name for the second time, throwing a brief smile his way, "I've never actually watched someone make these before."

Jack pauses and gives you a teasing look, "Do you want me to stop so you can get something to write this all down?"

You laugh and roll your eyes at him as he goes back to making the drinks. You're stalling. You know when you go through the curtain in the back there'll be a dozen people who're all dressed nicer than you, with more impressive jobs than you, who have funnier, more outrageous stories about the birthday boy than you. You'll need to stand awkwardly in the doorway for a few moments too long before Harry notices you, and then your greeting will be watched by all his cool, London friends.

You know better than to let any of that dull your shine—you really do—but you've had a rough few months, and if you're honest, you'd like your first time seeing Harry since the summer to be a little more low-key than this. So that's why you're wearing the new boots that hurt and might not suit the dress code because they're new and you feel good wearing them with this outfit. It feels a little special to be out celebrating Harry's (belated) birthday in a semi-new ensemble. You managed to fluke getting your hair and makeup just right, and yes, your legs do look pretty fantastic in these tights with the short, roll neck, knit dress, thank you very much.

"Here you go," Jack brings your attention back to him, you can smell the citrus twist in front of you, and the crystal glass deflects the light from the candles, "Can I put this on a tab for you? You're with the birthday?"

"I'll pay," you tell him, already digging for your card and holding it out to him.

"Oi!" You hear a very familiar voice call out from the far end of the bar, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you shiver, "What're you payin' for? What's she—don't take her money!"

You keep your arm out steadily to Jack and raise your eyebrows at him, "Take it," you urge him quickly, feeling him pluck it from your fingers just as you turn towards the voice you know so well.

That familiar Tom Ford cologne hits your nose just as Harry hurries up and deposits himself heavily against the bar, right up in your personal space. His broad frame blocks out the room to you, and he's lit softly in the dim light and looking radiant from within, as per usual. He's got his crazy eyes out—accusing you—and his eyebrows are pinched together slightly, but he looks good. Happy. Rested. Pleased to see you.

Harry's always pleased to see everyone, you tell yourself, Hold it together.

He pulls you into his chest for a hug. Your cheek presses just below his pecs, and you feel the way he's grown more defined since you last saw him. The material of his t-shirt is soft and smells clean. It's a tight squeeze he gives you, one that you resist reading into. Was it healthy for there to be so much comfort in a simple hug? Was your whole body allowed to tingle and fizz from the embrace of a friend? Was it pathetic to have been carrying around in your ribcage the same crush from when you were thirteen?

Affirmative. Without a doubt. Yes.

You haven't seen Harry since mid-September, the last time he was in London. Well, the last time he was in London and had time to see you. You're sure there were probably business trips, Christmas definitely. And going off Instagram, you think he might've flown into Manchester and spent a long weekend with Anne back in October, but if it was any of your business, it would've been your business. You needed to be grateful simply for what you got; intermittent texts about books he'd read or maybe a happy drunk voicemail if he thought of you at the right time. He sent an email at Christmas with a charitable contribution in your name instead of a gift.

"It's so good to see you," Harry says as he pulls away, all crinkled eyes and broad smiles. You don't know your grin has launched his heart into space and that despite having just gone to the bathroom, Harry feels due for a nervous wee. He thinks you look fucking gorgeous tonight. Knowing you've done your hair, and eyeliner, and picked that dress to come out and celebrate his birthday … It sends a jolt of desire straight to his groin—beauty blooms in front of his eyes in you.

Tell her, you idiot. Twenty-seven could be the year.

"Hi," you chirp at him happily and pick up one of the glasses in front of you, "I got you a drink."

Harry watches you fondly and then dramatically looks off to the side, lets out a little huff, "Typical Y/N, buying her own drink … You really think I wouldn't have one here for you?"

Nevertheless, he says a quiet thank you, takes the glass from you and deliberately sniffs it as if he's not sure what's inside or if he'll like it. You smack his arm lightly at the show and pick up your own glass, chinking it to the side of his and watching him over the rim as you both take your first sips. The familiar taste and view fill your tummy with gurgling happiness that sits high in your chest. He's dressed almost exactly how you expected him to be—smart, high-waisted dress pants and a printed t-shirt. You're glad you didn't go too formal, the restaurant is nice, but it's not Hatted or anything, not like the place he took you in LA that time, where you felt like the biggest idiot in the world for not realising beforehand, was properly fancy.

"Fuckin' delicious," he rumbles slowly, bringing you back to the cocktail, "A classic."

"Happy birthday," you tell Harry sweetly, thankful for what's likely to be your only quiet moment with him all night, "Sorry I couldn't make it to the LA party."

"Ah," Harry waves you off, "Your job's much too important here."

He means it. Harry's beyond proud of you. He's always telling people you work for the NHS, saving lives and keeping the country going. The party in LA was thrown together by some people at the last minute, and even though most of the friends he left in the backroom when he went to find the bathrooms a few moments ago were able to fly across for it, Harry's not the least bit put out by you not being able to. Would've been a big trip for you to do on your own and he knew there's no way you'd miss his London celebration. And you sent over a gift, which shouldn't have surprised him. His actual birthday was spent in LA, and that morning a parcel arrived from you—two new notebooks and a novel Harry read the back of and instantly knew he would love. It's what he read on the flight home to the UK.

Trust you to want him to have the gift on his birthday—go to all that trouble of packaging it and sending it over—when you were going to see him in London ten days later anyway. Harry could do worse than a friend like you.

"I just need a bit more notice than four da—

—Please," Harry's shaking his head at you, hating watching you apologise for something he really doesn't care about. "I'm glad you're here tonight," he tells you genuinely, fingers reaching out to brush your bangs away from your eyebrow briefly and—did the room just spin around you?—get a glimpse of the bronze sheen over your eyelids, "I haven't seen your new hair in person, looks lovely."

Lovely? he scolds himself, Lovely is a nice jam scone, lovely is a hug from mum …

"Oh," you coo, automatically sending your own fingers up to where Harry's had just been to reposition your newish bangs, "Thanks, still getting used to it, wanted to do it forever but wasn't brave enough to I guess."

"I like your natural hair colour, too," he continues slowly, eyes running over your whole head, "I mean, I loved how it used to be … But I like this a lot."

Shit, Harry's already failing to adhere to the strict series of pep talks he's given himself over the last couple of days. He's babbling, and he's probably just made you think he's not liked how you've had your hair for the previous twelve years. Is he buzzed from the cocktail or from the way your cheeks have gone a little pink since he touched you? His compliment made you squirm, and Harry wants to do it again and again until what he's feeling makes sense.

"Just, you know, feels like a throwback to the old days," he mumbles through another sip of the cocktail you both love, a glint appears in his eyes as he continues, "When you had Barbie overalls and would spend half a day plaiting your whole head in those tiny little rat tails."

Your mouth opens into a horrified O, and you let out a single laugh, "Rat tails? They were cool. And I was eleven when we met, I'd definitely already outgrown the Barbie overalls."

"Whatever you say," Harry smirks at you, signature dimples appearing on his cheeks, "I just remember those little beads from the ends of them ending up all over the bottom of the pool."

You smile at the memory. You remember duck diving with Gemma to collect all the beads so they could be put back into your hair the next day. Nearly drowning from laughing so hard at Harry and the other boys trying to stand on your backs in the water. Summers with Harry were always spent laughing. The local pool and skate park saw all your adventures. When Harry's dad moved in next door to your family after his parent's divorce, you and your brother hung off the fence, peering into the backyard to see if any toys or a trampoline might appear signally new kids next door. They didn't, and it wasn't until the summer when Harry and Gemma arrived for their holidays that you jumped the fence with ice lollies and offered yourself up as a new friend.

"Simpler times," you muse to yourself, looking up and catching the perplexed look Harry was giving you, "Spaced out a bit, sorry."

"I've missed my little weirdo," he grins at you affectionately, angling a little closer and levelling his head down to yours as he bit his lip and frowned, "Are you doing alright though?"

You let out a little sigh and avert your eyes to where Jack, the bartender, is busy making trays of drinks for different tables. Harry observes you carefully, a twinge of guilt forms for causing the sad look that's come over your face, but also for not having asked the question weeks ago. Gemma told him at Christmas, an off-handed comment about you being newly single. When he heard the evil gremlin in him was fucking relieved, just like he always was.

"I'm fine," you try a smile out and pull your lips up higher when you don't think Harry buys it, "Better. Had my crisis haircut and drank myself to tears with my work friends. Just a normal break up, really. M'getting used to them at this point."

A small, white lie.

Each breakup bruises you deeply. Talking about it afterwards fills you with a shame that makes you feel naked, like everyone else can see what's wrong with you but you. As though it's obvious why nobody's picked you yet. You don't ever want to talk about it afterwards, (especially not with Harry) don't want to draw attention to it. Prefer to let the disappointment and loneliness pool in your tummy and sit there heavily, weighing you down, waiting for the One Day someone spectacular might come along and be buoyant enough to float away with you.

You're looking for your forever. You want the cheesy romance, and the love, and marriage, and kids, and the whole stupid thing. You want to be wanted and loved and cherished. That's what you're ready for. You just can't find anyone who's ready for that with you. So, you date, have mediocre boyfriends who rarely make it to the first anniversary, then pick up the pieces and try again.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

"Well," Harry swallows, reaches out for your arm to make sure you look at him, "You look beautiful tonight. And it's his loss, he's clearly a monumental idiot."

You give Harry a noncommittal hum in response. Just as you're about to say something you shouldn't—get into details you bet Harry really isn't that interested in knowing—you catch the movement of someone appearing from the doorway behind Harry and then approaching you both.

"Harry, mate," you don't know the guy who's recognised Harry's back and is calling out for his attention now, "Thought you might've fallen in."

Harry snaps around quickly to the voice, blocking your view. You take another sip of your drink and pull in a deep breath. Not fitting into any of Harry' groups socially has its downfalls. If his sister wasn't around, you tended to have to make friends at anything Harry invites you to. You're not part of his Holmes Chapel crew or his LA friends, and you definitely don't fit into the London group. Over the years there have been faces you've come to find familiar, but you're still the singular, hanger-on friend from Harry's second childhood home.

Peering around Harry's shoulder, you catch the end of a look between the two guys you think alludes to this new friend gauging whether Harry needs rescuing from you. You briefly wish the ground would open and swallow you whole. You know that look well.

"Aiden, this is Y/N," Harry raises his arm and angles to pull you around in front of him.

You hold up your drink, awkwardly, "Hi."

Aiden gives you a hesitant smile, "Hello," then he raises his eyebrows at Harry, "Harry, you coming back in, mate?"

Harry bites his lip and chuckles, reading the look on his friend's face, "You're a prick, I don't need saving. Known Y/N since I was twelve, we were just catching up."

You feel yourself go bright red, and you're thankful for the forgiving lighting. This isn't the first time this exact scenario has happened to you. You've been on the receiving end of that uneasy look before—his friends checking if the girl who isn't there with anyone else is supposed to be there at all. Backstage at the O2, a member of Harry's security once hauled you to the tour manager's office to check your VIP credentials were legitimate. You'll take that story with you to the grave.

Aiden deflates slightly and waves a hand your way, "Shit, sorry, thought he'd been cornered by a fan again … I mean, a pretty fan to say the least but …" he coughs into his hand when Harry gives him a glare you don't see, "Great to meet you."

"No worries," you wave it off like it's nothing. The truth is your brain has short-circuited at Harry's palm resting on the small of your back, he's not moved it from when he first brought you forward. Friendly touches weren't strange between you, but this lingering, comforting hand is burning a hole in you tonight. You haven't been out and had anyone touch you since your breakup, and Harry is setting off all you nerve endings. You tilt your weight onto your other foot to pull back from him slightly, but Harry's hand travels with you. "We should go back, I might use the loo first though, is it that way?"

Harry watches you point in the direction of the bathroom, you're flustered and he really wishes he could tell Aiden to buzz off so he could just take another few minutes with you. Brief you on who was in the room you were about to go into. You wouldn't know any of them, and Harry always appreciated that you came to things on your own, particularly when you wouldn't know anyone aside from him once you got there. He should have invited his sister so you'd have a buddy. Or told you to bring a friend. Not a boyfriend, though.

He watches you take the final drag from your drink and put the glass down on top of the bar, "Thanks Jack, t' was dee-lish," you catch the attention of the bartender, throwing him a beaming grin. And Harry watches the way the guy's features light up at being called on by you. Envy rumbles in Harry's gut, he recognises the dumb smile and dopey nod of Barman Jack's head. Has felt it a hundred times himself when he's been on the receiving end of your quirky humour.

You walk away, and Harry feels Aiden watching him, "She's fit," he comments, trying to get a rise out of Harry, reading the room perfectly.

"Fuck you," Harry grunts at him.

++

Harry sits opposite you at the long table in the private dining room.

You nurse a glass of rosé and eat the food slowly, savouring it. You deliberated over the menu for a long time before settling on what to order, you've seen photos of most of the dishes online, but there were several new ones too. Harry goes off your recommendations but spends a lot of the dinner talking to the people sitting beside him. He knows if he tried talking to you right now, he'd just get lost in you, which is both rude for a birthday party and bound to be too conspicuous.

You insert yourself into a conversation with the girls sitting next to you and pretend you're good at making friends. They spend most of the meal talking about something that was on the telly the night before. You were on shift so missed it, but pretend to be interested or like you might've seen it—anything to not stick out like a sore thumb.

Harry watches you out the corner of his eye the whole time. You've shrugged off your jacket, and he recognises the gold necklace you've got around the collar of your dress, sitting over the black fabric on your chest. He's pretty sure it was a gift from Gemma a few years ago, you wear it all the time. Harry makes a note to get you something that compliments it for your birthday coming up. You're chatting to one of his mate's girlfriends and Lisa who's been on his publicity team for years. Those would've been the two he'd have introduced you to first as well. He can't stop watching the way your lips turn up every time something funny is said, or one of the girls makes eye contact with you. Watching you try with his other friends always makes Harry feel warm and giddy for some reason.

Fuck, he's missed you. And he berates himself for the fact he never seems to remember that until he sees you again. (It's strategic usually, his heart doesn't take your company well when he knows you're going home to someone else) You're so engaging and kind and unintentionally charming, and you always have time for him. Harry knows he's not an easy human to be friends with; he constantly ducks in and out and is never around for the big things, let alone being available to call on a random day to just hang out with. The friendship is always on his terms, and he knows it makes him a selfish prick. You definitely could've done with a call a couple of months back when you had your heart broken. Like always, he missed it, and by the time he was sending you a message about an episode of Midsomer Murders, he felt as though the moment to console you had passed, and Harry didn't want to draw attention to the fact he wasn't around for it.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?" His head snaps back around to the person next to him, thoughts still on you across the table. He agrees with whatever was said and does his best to catch up.

Harry's got to stop thinking about how you're single at the moment. He really does.

++

A few hours later, it's the girl sitting to your left, Lisa, who first mentions the idea of kicking on.

It's after dessert—after everyone sang happy birthday to Harry over a round of espresso martinis—and you're starting to think that if you leave now, you'll be home before midnight, which means the tube won't be too deserted to feel safe. You're also at a comfortable place to wake up without a hangover in the morning. Two cocktails and a glass of wine over dinner, because any more and you're scared you could say something stupid to the wrong (right) person.

Harry's face lights up, and he looks around the room, eager at the idea of going to a bar or two for more drinks. He's not been out in London for the longest time, and he's happily buzzed enough to not be too worried about running into people. Feels like this group of friends have gelled well together. How often does he get to have a night like this in London? Hardly ever.

"Yeah, let me sort out the tab and then we're good to go," Harry says, pushing his seat back from the table and standing up, his hands hunting his pockets for his wallet and phone, "I'll be right back."

When he goes, you decide now's as good a time as any to split. You pull your coat on and say goodbye to the friends you made over the meal. Lisa gives you her business cards as if speaking to you had been part of her job, you slip it straight into your coat pocket and can already picture it at the bottom of the garbage in your kitchen. You revisit the bathrooms, and when you come back out into the main restaurant area, Harry's still leaning against the front desk, chatting to the maître d' from earlier.

He feels your small hand land on his back and jolts upright at the contact, your gentle voice calling his name softly, "Harry, I'm going to head home."

He spins around, and you catch the fall of his face, "What? No … No. You're the one I want to hang out with the most," his bottom lip juts out and his brows furrow. "Y/N."

"Thanks a fuckin' lot, mate," you hear a male voice laugh at your back, they slip behind you and out into the chilly air, and Harry flips them the bird. You were pushed closer into his chest as they jostled past and he steadied you with his arms latched onto your forearms. Still watching outside, you see a cigarette lighter flare-up on the footpath and the end of an orange butt glow spectacularly in the night. When you glance back at Harry, he's not looking happy.

"Don't pout," you tell him lightly, you reach up and press the skin taut between his eyes smooth again, "Can't wrinkle that rockstar face of yours."

His face lights up, and his skin heats where you made contact, "You can't go yet."

"Harry," your features tangle into something like a grimace, "You'll have a better time without me. Everyone seems to be pretty tight—"

—Y/N," he gives you a final, pleading look, "Please come."

You make out like you're stomping your foot in defiance, "Fine."

"Score!" Harry cheers under his breath, shrugging his jacket up over his shoulders and saying a final round of thank yous to the staff. When you're out on the street at Harry's side somebody mentions the name of the next place and points the direction of it, Harry places a hand on your shoulder as you start to walk and leans down to your ear, "I just have one condition for you coming."

You pull back and look at him, "I don't think you get conditions when you've begged me to be here."

"A birthday condition then," he edits, pressing his lips together and smiling at you with his eyes, "You have to promise to do what I say before I ask it."

You narrow your eyes at him, "I suppose you only turn twenty-seven once. You can have a single wish from me."

Harry laughs and slips his fingers under the strap of your evening bag, "Give me this."

You think briefly he means to carry it for you, which is a strange thing for Harry to request. But then he unzips it in front of you and starts rifling around inside it, slipping your phone under his arm so he can move around the lipstick and tissues and emergency Galaxy bar to eventually pull out your small purse.

"Harry! What are you—

—Ah, ah!" He holds it all away from you and reminds you of the promise. "This is mine for the night," he says, slipping your purse into his coat pocket. "Otherwise you'll end up buying too many rounds."

You try to sneak your hand into the pocket after your wallet, "Don't be stupid. It's your birthday, I'll buy every round if I need to."

"Exactly my point," he steps away from you down the street, and you skip to be back at his side. He's stolen your money and your chocolate bar.

"Harry, give it back."

"Nope," he pops the 'p' and hands you back the bag, the Galaxy bar hanging from between his teeth, still in the packet, "You promised. Now hurry up and walk, and I might give you a bite of this. 'm freezing my balls off, we are not in LA anymore."

So that's how you end up in the next bar, your handbag a little lighter, squished into Harry's side with a pleasantly sour cocktail he paid for between your fingers. The booth is so far into the back wall you're not even really sure which direction the front door is anymore. Somehow, you've managed to sit ten people around a booth probably designed for six, but nobody seems to be bothered.

Your whole right side is on fire, though.

You can feel Harry from the top of your shoulder all the way to your ankle. His hip sits neatly next to yours, Harry's left elbow rests just above your right thigh, and your knees press together every time he gets excited when he speaks and unintentionally opens his legs up. If Harry's bothered by it there's no way you'd know, he's hardly looked at you since you all sat down, much less uttered a word of discomfort about the seating arrangements. Makes no sense really, when he seemed so desperate for you to stay out with them.

(Next to you Harry's felt like he was high most of the time, he's flashing in and out of the conversations around him. Because he can smell your perfume—Stella by Stella McCartney, he'd know that fragrance anywhere, you've been wearing it since you were seventeen—and you're warm and snug beside him. He feels completely insane. But he also feels inflated with a heart-crushing joy at having you so close. He's trying his best not to draw attention to it or to you because what he's always liked most about your friendship is that you're just his. God, he needs to do better at seeing you more often, talking more, being more. Each breath as he's touching you is like a crack of electricity through his chest that aches beautifully. Nobody else feels like this. Even when he's dated, what he's felt with them can't hold a candle to his boyhood crush on you.)

You sip your drink and laugh at the embarrassing story that's being told about Harry, oblivious to his torment. Oblivious to how Harry feels your forearm brush his leg and has the overwhelming desire to deposit his palm on your thigh and keep it there, probably forever.

It strikes you that the last time you saw Harry was before the current anecdote about him in Italy happened, and at the table, it's being spoken about as though it was ancient history. You wonder what historic classification your memory of thirteen-year-old Harry would get, that time he attempted to bleach his hair with lemon juice. He ended up with second-degree burns on his forehead from the acid reacting with the sun.

Or the time Gemma stayed in Holmes Chapel for the summer because she had her first boyfriend, and so you spent six weeks learning that maybe you'd been wrong about who your favourite Styles child was. Maybe the boy who, when you were eleven, didn't impress you much, suddenly at thirteen, demanded all your attention. Made that summer become the first where you considered your outfits and whether your mum sending you next door with homemade snacks made you look lame.

"… And of course, Harry can't walk away from a dance floor when he's on the tequila …" everyone around the table laughs. Harry peeks at you to make sure you are too, but he's not very good at it because you notice, a smile flares on your lips.

You're used to long periods of not seeing each other, it's how it's always been. Harry and Gemma spent the summers with their dad and then returned to Holmes Chapel for real life. Sometimes that's what it still felt like, as though each time you saw either of them you were acutely aware there was a foreign Real Life they would go back to without you.

Harry in particular. You were used to not seeing him for months on end, usually the whole school year. Just a few messages over MySpace and birthday cards, and then, when you were out of school, invites to parties Harry couldn't come to anymore—'I'm in Australia, how insane is that? Sorry, I'll miss your 18th …' or 'I can only stay until the 8th, could you maybe graduate a week earlier? ;)'—and emails every other month with a new mobile number for you to overwrite his contact in your phone with. You're not saying you feel hard done by in your friendship, you don't. It's just always very take-what-you-can-get with Harry.

"You've got your thinky eyes on," he's pivoted his whole body towards you, hips twisted in an entirely uncomfortable looking position. Harry's got his resting elbow on the table right next to where your hand holds your drink, and he's looking down at you with careful eyes, "Where are you?"

"The pool a dozen summers ago," you answer easily, pursing your lips together and running a knuckle along your hairline, "Thinking about your ah, burn incident."

Harry's face explodes in a grin, and his eyes roll up to the ceiling and then capture yours again, "For fuck's sake, you're never going to stop bringing that up, are you?"

"You were a horrible blonde," you remark quickly, "If you ever so much as blink in the direction of a packet of bleach you have to call me, okay? I'll have no issue telling you, categorically, you should never dye your hair."

"Categorically," Harry mimics you childishly, "Alright, I get it, you went to uni. No need to use words with fifty syllables to make me feel stupid."

You bring your glass up to your lips, "Come off it, Harry, you're ten times smarter than me."

His forehead raises, "You're the cleverest person I know. Don't make me call Gem to confirm it."

"Don't bring your sister into this, Harry," you deadpan.

He goes to reply but holds back, something unnamable travelling across his eyes as he watches you lick your lips after taking another sip of your drink. Harry's leaning a little closer than he might usually, and despite the fact he's a few drinks in he still smells only of Tom Ford and clean clothes. He's just about to ask you what you're doing the next day when he gets hit in the side of the head with a coaster.

"Hey," he cries out, pulling back from you and frowning around at the group trying to figure out who the culprit is," 'M the fucking birthday boy, watch it."

Lisa is the girl directly across from Harry and yourself, and she's is the one who threw it. She's giving Harry a coy smile and holds up her empty glass to him, a not so subtle request makes the drink in your hand feel like a concrete brick. Something dirty you don't like having. She's got captivating blue eyes and straight blonde hair—exactly Harry's usual type. Your heart sinks as he slides out of the booth next to you, laughing at her flirtatious request and taking a tally of who else wants a new drink.

"Y/N?" Your name is delicate on his lips, and it makes you want to cry. Why is it so easy for you to make things feel like they mean more with him?

You direct your smile his way, "I'm good, thanks."

His head tilts to one side, "You sure?"

"Positive," you nod, feeling your cheeks burn as everyone watches the exchange.

"Okay," Harry taps the table with the corner of his phone, "I'll be right back."

After a few moments, you sneak off to the bathroom, happy to see Harry's beaten you back from the bar when you return. He's sitting in your spot, deep in conversation with the person beside him who you recognise from the radio. Tentatively, you slip in next to him, careful not to touch him this time. Harry's got his hand casually resting on the table, turning your glass forty-five degrees one way and then back the other way as he speaks. You think about reaching over and pulling it out of his hand gently (you're losing your buzz, and Little Miss Bombshell across the table has made you feel silly and juvenile) but it looks to be an almost serious conversation, so you don't. With a smile plastered on your face, you look around the table, resisting the urge to pull out your phone to check if either of your flatmates has text you to meet up with them somewhere.

It's a delicious whiff of your perfume behind him that turns Harry's head. You're back from the bathroom, although nobody was able to confirm that's where you went when he got back from the bar and asked after you. Harry pushes your drink over and gives you a smile, taking note of the fresh layer of lipstick and messy oomph to your hair that perfectly shows off the new style and bangs.

Golden, he thinks, As always,

"Your new hair really does look beautiful," Harry tells you, the bar stilling around you as his face becomes all the world is for you at that moment, "Next time, don't wait for a dickhead to break your heart before doing something to make yourself feel good."

You swallow down the thickness in your throat, "Thanks, Harry."

++

Walking to the next bar, Harry can't stop himself from asking.

"What happened?"

You kick your foot out as you wait at a set of traffic lights, half the group ran to cross, but you, Harry and a couple of others were too slow, "What happened with what?"

Harry watches his breath fan out in front of his face, "With your ex, with …"

"Tim."

"Tim, yeah," he turns to look down at you, hands tucked into his coat pockets, "What happened with Tim?"

"Nothing really," you start strong, then shrug one shoulder as you think about it. It's safe to cross so you wait until you're stepping up over the gutter and onto the opposite footpath before you continue, "Probably a lot of little things but … Always felt like he thought I was asking for a bit too much. I guess in the end he just didn't like me all that much."

The way your voice drops kills Harry, he's not detecting self-deprecation but something far worse. He's detecting acceptance or acknowledgement or like you're confessing some truth that should have been obvious.

"Y/N," he stops walking and halts you as well, lets Adrian and Lisa walk around and out in front of you, "If he didn't like you very much then he's got some kind of chemical imbalance. I mean it, this guy's not worth a second of your heartache."

It's not like Harry's a dickhead about it, not like he thinks you should date people with more money or status or who are more impressive. A person isn't their job or what car they drive, he knows that. Harry's not about judging anyone, but you really do seem to date guys not worthy of you. He hasn't met many of them, but Harry knows this to be true because if they were worthy, you simply wouldn't be single right now. If you dated someone half-decent, there wouldn't be a chance in hell they'd let you go. You're beautiful and thoughtful and intelligent and funny—so funny—which means Harry knows without a doubt that this Tim guy was an absolute fuckwit.

"It's not necessarily about the guy," you start and Harry can hear the thick emotion in your voice, "Is it? It's about the idea. The disappointment is more about not getting the fairytale, not finding my person. Not getting the whole package everyone else seems to have found. I know Tim wasn't right—truth be told I didn't end up liking him very much either—doesn't stop me from being sad that I still haven't found it."

"'It'… That's what you're looking for?" Harry asks, eyes out front where the rest of the group are all stopped waiting at another set of traffic lights.

They're laughing and chatting loudly to other people on nights out, and hanging off street poles to get funny pictures. He doesn't want to catch up to them, not when the two of you are in the middle of this conversation that's making his heart race and his hands sweat. He starts taking smaller steps.

"Yeah," you breathe out, almost sounding ashamed of yourself, "Don't seem to be looking in the right places."

Look over here, Harry thinks.

"But I mean, each breakup I end up getting something out of it," you've flicked your positivity switch, "This time I got these boots and bangs," you kick out your foot and watch Harry take note of your footwear, "Last break up I got four houseplants and a new watch … It's not all bad. What about you?" you turn it back on Harry, "Are you seeing anyone at the moment?"

It's hard to tell with Harry. You either find out from his sister or sometimes, social media. Although that's all usually trash. Generally, when Harry's seeing someone, you'll hear it confirmed from Gemma, and the next time you see Harry, it'll be something you're assumed to know. You haven't seen Gemma since Christmas time though, for your annual festive get together, and she didn't mention anything. Tim had ended things with you a few days before, so that was the main topic of conversation.

"No," Harry confirms what you'd already deduced—and hoped—in your head, "Not for a while now."

"Got your eye on anyone?" You quiz faux cheekily, your smile a little too wide.

Yes, you, he says to himself as he looks at the side of your face.

You hope he's not got some girl in LA he's into. Just like you'd hoped his answer to the previous question. But the hope was silly, something that bloomed in your chest each time you saw him and died again before you were home in your bed, alone.

"I'll let you know," he says aloud.

You think you see something else there in his expression, but you know you can't have. Your mind is swirling, and you're feeling a tingling sensation all over that you know you shouldn't. It'll only leave you disappointed when you part ways tonight and don't see him for another few months. The tiny bits of maybe mores and perhaps are dangerous to things to cling on to now, they'll all turn into Nothings very quickly.

Someone steals his attention away from you when you get to the next street corner. Most of the group are gathered there, and you're not sure whether to believe it when Lisa says they missed the green man to cross the road because they were talking. She sides up to Harry and starts waving her hands around in an animated story about something or other. Harry crosses the street with her, and you give him up for the night.

But he's acutely aware of what's happened. Harry's not stupid—he's emotionally intelligent, and spent enough time with Lisa on nights out before—and he can see that she's deliberately pulled him aside. He likes her, quite a bit, but she doesn't make his insides flip, or his toes curl. She's firmly Just A Friend. Harry hasn't spent countless hours over the years thinking about her, lying to himself about how he's completely fine when she starts dating someone new. He's never thought about an alternative life, one where he stayed at school and went to uni and got a regular job and maybe (definitely) ended up with her.

He's imagined that life with you—more than once. More than a dozen times, if he's honest. For years now, Harry's bitten his tongue and smiled through the pain of not being able to have you. And sure, most of the time it's a dull ache, deep in the recess of his mind, that needs to be called on or conjured to really be felt, but it's always been there. He's always had an (Astronomical) Soft Spot For You. Ever since that summer you broke your arm falling off the back of the ramp at the skate park, and he first saw you cry. At fifteen he didn't know what the hollow but sharp pain through his heart was as he rushed to your side, but now he knows that was the first sign he didn't see you as just a mate. Would never again see you as just a mate.

And now, hearing you use the word 'it'. You say you're out there dating idiots trying to find it and Harry's just unwaveringly sure he that could be him. He wants to be it for you.

You've pulled out your phone and fallen behind, face pulled down as you type away furiously. Harry watches you out of the corner of his eye, half just to watch you and half to make sure you don't get separated entirely from the safety of the group.

"Y/N," he calls out, unable to keep up with Lisa's story and unwilling to try to tune back into it. She stops short, and annoyance flits across her face, but Harry still turns to you, still crosses his arms over his chest and gives you his best scolding look, "It's the oldest trick in the book," he goads you. Lisa sighs behind him, and he ignores it.

Your head slowly comes up and takes in Harry (and Lisa sulking behind him), "What is?"

"Fallin' behind so you can peek at my bum."

You point at the long coat Harry's wearing that goes to his knees, "Can't see half of you under that thing."

"Ah, ha!" He calls out, his pointer finger floating in the air right in front of your face, "So you've tried."

You shove his shoulder and step around him, trying like anything to act neutrally. You're aware Lisa is still watching on, and you're not used to your friendship with Harry being quite so carefully observed. You know your face has gone red and you're really not going to involve yourself in a pissing contest with her. It's not classy and certainly not your vibe.

As you walk away, boots clip up behind you, and Harry heavily drapes his arm right across your shoulders, pulls you into his side, "Was just teasin', love."

"I know," you respond quietly, not upset, not really.

"Though I might've made you sad," Harry continues solemnly, "Know you get embarrassed in front of people."

Your face cracks into a smile, "Opposite of you, hey, you're practically an exhibitionist."

He should flirt because you've led him to a pretty easy window into a dirty joke, but something has Harry hanging onto his regret, "I mean it, shouldn't tease you …Should be old enough to use my words, tell you what I think."

You've got no idea what he's on about, "Harry, the teasing was fine. Where's this bloody bar though?"

Up ahead, everyone's standing on the footpath in a clump. Harry can feel the next words on his lips but has to hold them in when his mates turn and see he's finally caught up. They're waiting a few minutes for a table, someone explains, then they'll be able to go in. Harry thinks how little he feels like another drink at another bar. A few people walk away from the group to share cigarettes. You're standing a little bit away, under the sign for the butcher next-door and kick your foot back against the wall like the slight movement might warm you up.

As he steps up to you, Harry watches you get distracted by the group of people spilling out of the bar you're all about to go into. He doesn't want to take advantage of knowing you're newly single also doesn't want to let this opportunity pass. You're always dating someone, or he is, or there's some other reason not to. There's always a reason to hold back from you and Harry refuses to believe it's the drinks he's had nudging him into this. Neither of you is drunk, he wouldn't even say he's tipsy anymore. Just warm and contemplative and less inhibited than usual.

"C' mere," he calls softly, the tips of his boots landing right in front of yours, your bodies a hands' width apart. He wants you closer.

"Harry—

He opens up his coat to you and when you don't move—your brain is busy short-circuiting—he acts for you and winds his arm around your shoulder to encase you in the warmth, "Get in," Harry says, "You're shivering."

You're shocked by the contact, at him being so close and inviting you in and then just taking you in his jacket. He's wrapped the lapels around both your bodies and forced you against his chest. He hums against you, but you're feeling incredibly awkward with your arms hitched up against your chest and pressed rigidly into his shoulders. You've not been in a hold like this before and certainly not with Harry.

He pulls back and digs around for your wrists, "You've gotta put them around me," he stretches his arms behind his back, taking yours with them and instructing you to really settle against him. "There, that's better," he wraps the jacket back around you, and the two of you stand like that—hearts pressed together, scents converging and your whole frame shaking against his—for what seems like far too long for it mean nothing. Right? Your thoughts ricocheted around inside his jacket and go nowhere, solve nothing in your mind.

Over your shoulder, he sees the rest of the group have gone into the bar. He's not surprised none of them called out, Harry's angled you both away from the door and with his head ducked down against yours they probably (hopefully) missed you both there.

It's Harry's twenty-seventh birthday, and maybe that's made him sullen or introspective. Made him think about the passage of time and how another year has passed him by, yet here he stands in the same place as ever—wanting you. Wishing for more, or waiting for a moment that feels right, or hoping something will happen. With growing older comes a sense of regret and an acceptance that twenty-six has happened and anything he wanted to achieve by that age but didn't he never will. There's only the future. Only the things he can do. And the mix of all that with the cocktails has Harry feeling as though he has to act on this. Every birthday he thinks maybe by the next one the Somethings or the Maybes might have happened, and you won't be standing in front of him as just his friend.

"Always had a thing for you," Harry says, his chin resting against the crown of your head while his arms link around low on your back, holding you against him, "I've always liked you more than I should."

Oh god, you think, your chest freezing in place, I'm hallucinating.

"What?" Now your heart is really racing. Or maybe it's completely stopped, seized up and fallen out of your chest onto the salt-covered footpath.

His voice comes out evenly as he repeats himself, "Feels bigger than a crush, but I guess that's what it is … Since we were kids."

(Oh, how those words have been his best-kept secret for all these years but now, in less than two seconds, he's let go of them more easily than almost anything else he's ever done)

"Y/N?"

Harry thought he'd be scared. Thought this would be a moment of panic. Every time he's imagined this he's thought 'and I'd be absolutely shitting myself because what if she doesn't feel the same way?' but now that he's said it he's almost completely calm. The only reason he's worried is that he can feel how hard your heart is beating—even through the layers of clothing—and surely that quickly can't be good for your health.

You're speechless, and he leans back so he can see your face and, oh your eyes. Why on earth didn't he say it to your face, so he could be looking in your eyes? Watch his words project across your expression and settle into your mind.

You look worried, and Harry's transported back to that time he had you on FaceTime when he was somewhere on tour with One Direction. He was telling you about how management was going to let them fly friends out on tour, bring a little bit of home along and give the boys some needed space from each other. You were nodding along and so excited for him but sure Harry was talking about someone else, that this was just news and he'd called up to tell you how he was inviting the boys he went to school with in Cheshire or people he met through X-Factor. Of course I'm bringing out you and Gem, you idiot, he'd told you when you were surprised to get an invite, Who else did you think I was talking about?

He kind of loves watching the look on your face right now, the cogs turning in your head and wheels spinning, furiously trying to figure out what Harry means.

Why isn't he terrified of what you're about to say?

"Why … but you've… and I've…"

Your hands have moved to his hips so you can see him properly, and Harry's encouraged by the fact you haven't pulled away or pushed him off you. You're watching him with a puzzled look on your face and a burning heat across your cheeks.

He brings his forearms up to rest on your shoulders and smiles at you, "I wasn't brave enough to act on it … Guess I didn't want to fuck it up. Didn't want it to not work out. Couldn't stand you becoming an ex."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Right." You don't seem capable of more than one word at a time.

"You feel bad for yelling at me about the chocolate bar now, don't you?" Harry's narrowed his eyes playfully.

That does it.

Your eyes snap back up to his face from being fixated on staring at his neck, "Chocolate bar … No, what the fuck, Harry."

He laughs. A real laugh that comes from the base of his tummy and squeezes his eyes shut and crinkles his nose. His head falls back, and it's a deep, uninhibited laugh, "Don't stomp your new boots at me," he eventually says, crooking his head down to be almost pressing his forehead against yours. "You've been my favourite girl for years, I've always been a pansy idiot who didn't want to wreck the friendship."

"Oh, and now you don't mind wrecking it?" You bark back sarcastically, unsure why you're angry at him but you are.

"No," Harry says softly, moving through your emotional responses seamlessly, "I don't think it's going to wreck it, do you? Think twenty-seven has finally given me the balls to pursue it. To tell you how I feel. How I've always felt."

Your eyes instantly ball with hot tears you weren't prepared for, "You're an idiot."

"I am," he agrees readily, fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

"Why have you told me this now," your voice is small, unsure.

Harry frowns, now he's starting to panic, "Do you … Do you not feel the same? Or do you not think maybe you could?"

Oh, if only he could have been in your head every time you saw him these last few years. Heard you talk yourself down and away from anything more than platonic, from any thoughts that might elevate you in his eyes. You've spent all this time trying to convince yourself to believe you were nothing more than a friend to him, and now this.

"Harry, are you sure you—

—I'm sure," he insists quickly.

"I just—

—I'm sure."

You're suddenly very embarrassed by the conversation the two of you had earlier about your ex. The conversation where you basically told Harry you're incredibly desperate to settle down and find The One. He's so achingly cool, and you feel like a little tinned tomato, thin-skinned and persistently flustered.

Tinned tomato? Really? You berate yourself, Case in bloody point.

"Y/N"

You scratch roughly at your forehead and grimace at whatever thoughts are going through your mind, "I'm just …"

Harry brings one hand up to fix your bangs, carefully sweeping the hair back across your forehead evenly, letting the pads of his fingers dust over your skin, "I think if you didn't feel the same you'd have said No by now."

His words steal the air from your lungs, "Harry, you've just always …"

"I've always?"

"I never thought …"

The smile comes up over his face gently, "It's me, Y/N, please finish a sentence. I'd really like to kiss you, but you haven't yet said anything to imply you'd be open to that …"

You pull your lips together like a reflex you can't help, you've rarely let yourself fall that deep into imaging things with Harry, but your body reacts to his words in an instant, "Promise you're not kidding …"

"I promise I'm not kidding," Harry said sincerely. "I'd never kid around about this, Y/N."

You believe him, and ten seconds of bravery comes over you, "I was thirteen."

His eyes narrow slightly, trying to figure out what you mean, "Thirteen?"

"My thing for you," you continue quietly, heart racing as adrenaline swamps your legs, "Started the summer I turned thirteen."

Harry hears the slight shaking to your voice and almost misses what you've said. Then it hits him.

"Oh yeah?" He squints at you and pulls up his nose with a smile, a secret little smile that will never belong to anyone but the two of you. The Smile that happened just before Harry leant down and kissed you for the first time, pressed his warm lips against your cold ones and really breathed you in.

He holds it like that for a moment, your lips touching but not moving. Then his hands come up to cup your face, and Harry moves his mouth to one side, just a touch. You open up to him, and he has the brief thought that this is probably the Most Important Kiss Of His Life. His insides curl in on themselves as he gets completely lost in you. Completely lost in how perfect this moment feels and how much finally kissing you feels like a relief.

You can't believe this is happening. You're still tucked into Harry's coat—warm and safe—but now you're joined at the mouth, and Harry's a really really good kisser. He's got his thumbs pressed into your cheeks and his fingers laced through the hair around your ears. When his tongue first licks your bottom lip and then goes searching for yours, you don't think you've felt yourself flicker On so quickly. A soft moan escapes your lips, and Harry's kiss somehow becomes harder, his nose bumping yours where he'd been good at keeping things smooth until then. As quickly as it intensifies, Harry takes a slight step back and drags his mouth away from yours.

"Y/N," he breaths out your name, sealing your lips with one of his thumbs as he pulls back. Harry's taking stock of your face (hopefully) getting used to being this close to you. Noting the way your eyelashes kink out at an odd angle right at the corner of your eye, and the freckle that's so close to the edge of your mouth he's never noticed it before. Harry's can feel your heart has slowed down, and the expression on your face right now is content, but curious. He's also sure he can see fear under it all.

"Well," your voice shakes, because Harry's looking at you like you've only dreamed and now that you're here you're not really sure what happens next. You kissed Harry.

He clears his throat lightly and his hands both fall to hold either side of your neck, "There's no way I'm going back to not being able to do that whenever I want."

Then, he kisses you again. You feel yourself melt against him as Harry's chest presses back against yours. You link your arms around his waist, clutching the back of his shirt between your fingers as Harry leads the kiss with a hand on your neck and the other holding your chin carefully. You've picked up right where the last one let off, hungry and exploring and a little bit desperate (perhaps a lot desperate) to have more of each other.

But then his phone rings in his trousers pocket, right against your hip, and you jump away in surprise.

"Shit," Harry mutters, pulling the stupid machine out, cursing the universe, "Sorry … It's Aiden," he tells you with an eye-roll.

And then you're back to reality. Your drinks have all worn off, your feet ache, your ears are freezing, and you've just made out with one of your oldest, best friends. Shit.

"Oh," you take a hearty step back, hands slipping out from Harry's coat and your body bracing the full brunt of the cold night, "Yeah … That's—

—Aiden," Harry barks the name of his mate down the phone while at the same time hooking his free arm around the back of your neck and pulling you close again. He's not giving up touching you that easily, and he doesn't care, quite frankly, about giving you any room to start internalising or retreating from him, "No, we've gone to get some food … I'll see you during the week sometime. Tell everyone thanks for—Yes, I'm serious … I don't care, saw all you lot last week … I'm hanging up now. Bye."

You listened in on the conversation because it was really all you could do. Aiden was obviously inside the bar, and they were all wondering where Harry got to. We've gone to get some food, Harry told him, so they'd know he was with you. (You supposed he was hardly going to say, 'oh yeah we've been out the front making out') Bits and pieces of the other end of the conversation, you were able to pick up on, but not enough to truly know what was said. By the end of the call, Harry was smiling though, you could hear it in his voice.

His nose found the shell of your ear and Harry leant into you, "Come back to mine, or we can go to yours … Watch a movie, play Scrabble, anything … Just wanna be with you."

"It's two o'clock in the morning, Harry," you murmur, your mind struggling to make sense of what's just happened. You're outside a club in Soho held against Harry's chest with lips that know what he tastes like and a body that's on fire.

"I'm not tired," he shoots back, "Are you?"

"Well, no but—

—Great," Harry turns towards the road, takes a few steps to the curb (you trot along with him under his arm), as he flags down a black cab. "Mine or yours?"

His question is simple, he prompts you to answer by calling your name as he opens the door for you and gestures for you to hurry up and get in.

"Yours," you say.

Harry doesn't speak much in the cab, you figure it's about privacy. You hope it's about privacy. The thirty-minute drive out of the city and to his place feels much longer. Halfway through he reaches over for your hand and gives you a reassuring smile across the back seat. You thought the journey might make you sleepy, the sitting down in a warm car would bring the haze over your eyes and bring the long day to a close in your mind. But you could never feel sleepy with Harry's fingers playing with yours, or when he leans over and kisses your cheek for no reason at all.

At his house, Harry tells you to make yourself at home while he turns on the kettle for a cuppa. You kick your boots off in the hallway, and your feet start throbbing in relief as you follow his retreating form. It's certainly not the lusty, hurried entry you imagined you might have. Which only plants doubts in your mind about what's actually going on between the two of you.

"I'm just going to use the bathroom," you call out ahead of you, turning back to the stairs and taking yourself up to Harry's second storey.

Upstairs you don't take long. You're looking a little worse for wear—who wouldn't at 3am—but you're not really in the mood to try to fix yourself. Even if you did Harry would notice, and that felt like something you wanted to avoid. As you walk back to the landing, you wriggle your toes in your socks and happen to look back down the upstairs hallway. You've been in this house dozens of times before but this time feels different. It feels quiet and intimate somehow. Just as you're about to go down the first step, you see Harry's bedroom door is open on the opposite side of the stairs to the bathroom, and you notice something that makes you stop.

The book you got him for Christmas is sitting on his bedside table.

You're standing over it before you realise that your legs have started moving, looking at a picture of Anne, Gemma and Harry, a bottle of water and the book. You pick it up, the cover a little bent and the spine cracked to where he's read. Harry's using the birthday card you send along with the gift as a bookmark. The top of the familiar design sticking out the top of the pages, you can't even really remember what you wrote inside. Something generic probably. Platonic.

Happy birthday, old man! Have a wonderful day, sorry I can't be there in person. Love, Y/N.

The floorboard at the top of the stairs creaks and you turn around to Harry looking surprised to see you standing over his bed. He's got two cups of tea and a family-sized Dairy Milk bar under his arm. Something churns inside you, this was Harry as you'd always known him. Except now you looked at his lips and wondered why the hell you weren't kissing him.

"Oh, yeah, I've been reading that," Harry sees the book in your hands and walks towards you, "It's excellent, unsurprisingly."

A smile starts on your face, "You doubted my selection ability?"

"Never," he returns quickly and then raises his eyebrows at you, "Looking for anything else?"

You feel your cheeks heat and you drop the book back into its place, "No, sorry, I was coming down the stairs and saw … I'm sorry."

Harry passes you a tea, "It was really kind of you to send something over. Was fun having something to unwrap on the day."

"I'm glad," you smile and take a sip of the tea. It's sweet, and you screw up your face, "This is yours."

Harry watches you with a strange expression on his face as the two of you swap mugs. He's worrying his bottom lip, obviously weighing something up in his mind. You see it when he decides what he' going to do about it.

"I've got something I want to show you," he tells you finally, tilting his head back to the door. "Wanna come see?"

"What is it?" You ask automatically, but Harry's already walking out the door, and you have to hurry to catch up.

He leads you into his study, and you hover in the doorway as Harry sets his tea and the chocolate down on the desk. He pulls Bananagrams out of the draw and places it next to the mug.

"We're actually going to play Bananagrams?" You ask.

He looks back at you, "You'd prefer actual Scrabble?"

"I didn't know what you meant by—I guess I …"

Realisation dawns on his face, and he widens his eyes, "Oh, you thought it was a euphemism."

"No!" You snap back quickly, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks (for the record, yes, you thought 'a movie or Scrabble' was a thinly veiled way of Harry suggesting … something else), "No, I just … I just don't think I'll be able to spell words right now."

"I didn't think you were still tipsy" Harry states, shit-stirring.

"I'm not!" You squawk at him. "I'm… I' m—You kissed me!"

He grins, loving the fact he's driven you a little crazy, "Yeah. Want me to do it again?"

Harry's playing with you. He's teasing. And you know it but what you don't know is how he's so confidently jumped to it. Not when you feel like you've been left on the street outside the bar trying to figure out what the hell this means, and what's going to happen tomorrow when he stops looking at you like that. You don't like to think this whole night could've been him playing with you, you don't know Harry to be that cruel. But there's a tripwire in your mind you keep getting snared on.

It's Harry.

"C' mere," he reaches his hand down across the room between you both, "C' mere and kiss me again. You don't seem to be getting it."

"Getting it?" You're cut off by Harry taking two big steps toward you and then planting his lips on yours again.

His palms find your hips, and you hold him in the same spot. It takes a moment for the two of you to find a rhythm, and even then, you're too in your head. You're struggling to remember what little Harry's said about this whole thing. You know he said he had a crush on you and you've gotten the distinct impression he wasn't too fond of your ex. But for all you know Harry's been kissing his mates like this for years but just never gotten around to kissing you. You might've been next on the list. He's a friendly guy. Maybe a crush isn't what it used to be. Or maybe—

He pulls back from your lips with a huffy expression on his face, "Y/N," he says quietly, "I'm a man with an incredibly fragile ego, whatever you're worrying about is really getting in the way of kissing you."

"I'm just—

—Let me show you what I brought you in here for," he interrupts you, takes your hand and tugs you towards the window. Then, he puts a hand on each of your shoulders and directs your attention to the wall.

It's lined with record sale plaques for singles and albums over the years—double Platinums and Gold-Somethings. Harry watches you eyes run over them all, a proud but unsure look in your eye. You're not sure why he's showing them to you, he knows that. He hopes you're not intimidated by them, he's certainly not showing you to try to score any points. There's a sweeter gesture behind it. He points to one leaning against the wall, not hanging. He's got it resting on the bubble wrap it was sent over in.

Stepping up closer behind you, Harry rests his chin on your shoulder, "That one's for you."

"What?"

"I want you to have it, been saving it for you … If I ever got brave enough."

The question falls from your lips before you really think about it, "Why would you want me to have it …"

Harry waits to see if you'll let on you've figured it out, he thought it was pretty obvious really, but you've never been one to elevate yourself or assume, and Harry knows that about you. So, when you don't keep talking, he confirms it for you, "That song is about you."

You just blink, eyes on the framed plaque taking in the name of the song and hearing it in your head.

It's about me? You think you want to hear it, you need to Google the lyrics and make sure you have them right in your head. Harry wrote a song about you. Harry wrote that song about you.

"When … When did you write it?"

"You mean why?" Harry raises his head and steps to stand next to you, he observes your face carefully.

"No, I mean when." You're starring at it like the plaque might answer the question, "When did you write it?"

Harry runs a hand over his head as he thinks, "A few years back, after that time you came out to LA … Didn't record it until this year though …"

Harry watches your face expand in surprise and then crumple back down to confusion. You really don't get it. He's not sure how to make you in one night. He supposes he can't. So he trails his hand up the back of your arm and then around your back, tilting his head down and waiting to see if you'll pull away. When you don't, he kisses the corner of your mouth and then opens his wider to take you lips in his properly.

It's different to the kisses outside the bar, now that you're both out of your outer layers Harry can feel your body against his in ways he's only dreamed, and it's sending everything straight between his legs. Harry's hands explore your back and the curve of your hips, thumbs almost reaching the underside of your breasts but not quite. It's a little awkward when he senses you've felt him hardening between you. Usually, lust clouds that moment, and Harry doesn't mind intimate partners being acutely aware of how they're affecting him. But with you he's a little hesitant, he senses the awkwardness on your side. Friends don't feel those body parts on each other, friends don't… He almost groans when your mouth leaves his without warning.

You think he'll probably change his mind about all this.

"Have you changed your mind?" You ask, not able to stop it.

Confusion colours his features, and his lips smack together, like he's savouring tasting you, "Wha—

"About wanting to be kissing me," you clarify.

"What? No." Harry's eyebrows have shot up, and he's shaking his head, "I barely even started! Didn't I just say I wrote that song about you—why the hell would I—want to do more than just kiss you—You think I'm gonna change my mind?"

You shrug, "Maybe. I don't know."

"Well," he stands up straighter and pins you with his stare, "I'm not. I promise I'm not going to change my mind. And I promise I'll never make you feel like you're asking for too much. Ever."

"Now you're trying to make me cry," you say, hearing him repeat back to you the insecurity leftover from your conversation about your ex. You're half kidding with your words but also not. You believe him. You trust him.

Harry grimaces, sways your bodies together gently, "I really hate seeing you cry, could you not? I had other plans."

You sniff through a laugh as Harry wraps his arms around your middle tighter," What plans are those?"

"Well, I literally thought Scrabble," he tells you through a smile, trying his best to make you laugh, "But I'm open to whatever dirty things you were thinking as well."

"You'll win Scrabble."

So, Harry instructs you to bring your tea and your sore feet back into his bedroom. He gets you a fluffy pair of hiking socks and tells you to take yours off, and your tights, and get comfortable on the bed with him and the block of chocolate. You've polished off a family size together before, the sugar going straight to your heads and always leading to a giggly night of reminiscing and Almosts.

This time though, you only get halfway through the tea and Harry pushes the chocolate off the bed onto the floor in favour of you straddling his hips. It started with a stolen kiss against your temple, and then another on your cheek, and one close to your lips, and then you captured his face in your hands and really kissed him. Within a few moments, Harry was dragging you over to him. His hands settle on the swell of your backside as it sits against his thighs and your lips trace the line of his jaw. This was really happening. You'd really let him peel off your dress and flick off your bra. His shirt was somewhere with the forgotten snacks, and you seemed extremely eager to keep feeling his hardness pressed between your legs.

"I swear to god, I never dreamed this would happen," he murmurs, hissing when your hips pressed into his at a different angle, "Was sure I'd be going to your wedding one day, completely miserable and probably end up drunk and causing a scene. Embarrass you so badly you'd never want to see me again, and you'd just run away with your stupid husband."

You pull back and watch Harry ramble, your bare chest rising and falling against his, "You're a real glass half full kinda guy, aren't you?" you smile at him.

"I just," his eyes drop to your chest, nipples puckered for him, and he scrunches them shut then drops his forehead onto your sternum with a big sigh, "This is fucking unreal, and my brain is just struggling to comprehend—you're breathtaking, and I feel like my chest is gonna explode."

"It's also 4am, so there's always the potential your brain is just plain tired," your index finger is drawing circles on the back of his shoulder as Harry leans against you, you pause and run your hand over the back of his head, "Maybe we should sleep for a little … I'll be here when you wake up," you say in response to Harry squeezing his arms around your waist tightly as if you were going to disappear. Or worse, leave.

His indescribable green eyes find yours in the light from the bedroom lamps, "Will you let me hold you while you sleep?"

"Yeah," you nod, although somehow that question seems more intimate than the lack of clothes between you at the moment. You're distinctly less dressed than Harry, who's still got his trousers on, you're only covered by your underwear.

"We don't have to rush this, right? Got all the time in the world now," still, as he speaks his palms trail up your back and then down again, skimming the sides of your breasts, "Just don't wanna miss anything is all."

"I promise I'm incredibly boring in my sleep, won't miss anything," you tease, "Might be the only time you get any peace."

Harry tightens his forearms around your back and finds the soft skin below your ear with his lips—once, twice, three little kisses—"I feel pretty at peace right now, just having you here. Feels like I'm living a dream."

You don't reply for a moment, but you let your body rest against Harry's in a comfortable hug, your voice is quiet, "You really wrote me a song?"

"I did."

"I've always loved that song."

“Well, it's been yours all along."

"Nobody's ever written a song about me."

"I should hope not."

"Are you going to write another one?"

"Without a doubt."

++

Chat to me here

[vixenpen]

Can I request domestic life, black s/o with bakugou and hawks having 3 sets of twins(4 boys 2 girls) all with strong quirks and strong personalities like them. Ending with nsfw and them finally getting some alone time without the kids.

Everyday Hawks asks himself why the hell he had so many Damn children.

His answer? Because he loves kids and wanted to be a family man.

Let his twin flame tell it? Because he has a breeding kink.

To cap it off, they all had some combination Of both of your powerful quirks. All three sets of twins had Hawks’ wings in various colors. It seemed he was destined to birth all prodigies as all six of his children displayed their quirks early.

Hawks couldn’t have been more proud or felt more blessed. He loved all his chicks, but my lord...

THUMP!

“Keito! Kaito! What are you two doing?”

.........

“Kaito! Keito—“

“Nothing!”

It wasn’t nothing.

When Keigo went upstairs, the two (your h/c) twins had managed to knock over their entire toy chest.

Dozens of blue and red feathers hovered in the air as two pairs of wide (e/c) eyes stared back at him.

👉🏻“He did it!”👈🏻

Keigo just sighed and rubbed his forehead

“I don’t care who did it, just clean it up.”

“Yes sir!”

“Keigo!!!”

That was you calling for him.

Keigo flew downstairs to see you looking somewhere between exasperated and exhausted

You simply pointed at the ceiling where your infant twin daughters had floated up to the rafters.

“It’s amazing that they can already fly at one.” Keigo marveled proudly.

“Yeah they’re regular prodigies, just like they’re daddy,” you sighed, tiredly. “Just get them down, please.”

“Ok daddies’ little chickadees,” he flew up toward the ceiling To grab the giggling baby girls.

He nuzzled their blonde hair. “My little chicks. Please don’t scare mommy like that.”

“I told you we need to get baby leashes for them.”

“We are not putting our kids on leashes like dogs, y/n.” He passed you the babies. “Remember, there are no locked cages in our house.” He grinned, cheekily.

You shook your head with a small smile. “Why did I let you pump six kids into me?”

“Hmm,” he wrapped an arm around your waist, his amber eyes growing seductive. “Want me to remind you?”

You giggled. “Kei—“

“Mommy! Daddy!”

That was your second set of twin boys

You and Keigo glanced at each other, panicked, and ran outside.

Once you two made it to the back yard, you were met with your eldest two twins. Neither of you could believe what you were seeing. The humongous tree house—more like a god damn tree mansion—that Hawks had constructed for the eldest children was completely bottomed out.

The floor of half of it decorating the ground and two by fours hanging from the sturdy branches like Christmas ornaments.

“H-how,” you muttered in disbelief, “just...how...?”

Hawks appeared to be near tears.

“It took me almost a year to build that thing...”

The six year olds flew up to you both, talking animatedly over each other.

“Mommy, Kato and me were playin’ heroes, and-and Kaya was tryin’ to do Daddie’s feather sword move an-“

“Nah uh Kano! That’s not what happened, you were tryin’ to do uncle Enji’s moves, and then, and then-“

“And Kato, and..”

Their explanations overlapped into an incoherent mess that only served to leave you and Hawks with more questions than answers.

The two of you glanced tiredly at each other. Pretty much in a silent agreement that you both needed a break.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you think Mirko is ok?” You asked worriedly, as you removed yourself earrings.

“Trust me, if anybody has the energy to handle our chicks, it’s Rumi.” Hawks replied, snatching off his tie.

The two of you had just come back from dinner at one of your favorite upscale restaurants. Hawks had truly gone all out, getting you a room at an upscale hotel and spa.

Mirko had luckily jumped at the chance to babysit her favorite baby carrots, allowing the two of you a much needed evening out.

“I know, but I’m just worried. She hasn’t texted me in three hours...”

“Whelp, either our kids killed her or there’s nothing wrong,” Hawks quipped.

You shot him a withering glance. “Very funny, Keigo. I’m gonna call her.”

Just as you whipped out your phone, a tickle along you leg made you pause. Another ran down your arm. Then along your neck.

“Stop it, Kei.” You giggled, swatting his crimson feathers before they could make their way up your skirt.

“I can’t help it, babe,” hawks mumbled back, he reached to grab your hips. “You’re so fucking sexy when you’re in concerned Mom mode.”

He pulled you on to the bed until you were straddling his hips. “Those motherly instincts are what drew me in.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile.

“Well, that,” his amber eyes grew hazy with lust, “and how fucking sexy you are.”

Pinching your soft stomach, you shot back; “Oh yeah, six kids later, and I’m a regular Instagram model.”

In a flash, your husband had you flipped on your back.

“Nah, baby, you’re better than any IG model. ‘Cuz you’re real.”

His scarred hands slid along your thighs. You shivered as his avian golden eyed gaze held on to your own. The scruff of his goatee tickled your thighs as he kissed the soft flesh, kneading it.

“Ahh Kei~”

“This body,” he slurped harshly against the dark skin of your hips and pelvis, “has given me six of the greatest blessings in my life.”

His fingers danced it’s way towards your dripping womanhood. A sweet sigh slipped from your lips when you felt two of them enter your heat.

“You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, y/n.”

His thumb pressed against your clit, setting your body on fire. You were already clenching his pumping fingers. His tongue slipped around your nipples, tickling your nerves once more.

“So yes,” he glanced back up at you, “you are fucking sexy to me, Lovebird. And I haven’t been able to fuck this body proper in a long time. So fuck the phone, fuck calling Mirko, fuck everything.”

He hoisted himself on top of you, his erection gliding against your pulsing clit and wet lips. The fire in your womanhood was absolutely raging now.

Fuck, you needed him.

“Let me fuck the shit out of you,” he smirked down at you, “the way we used to fuck before the kids.”

Well shit, when he put it like that, who were you to protest?

You snatched off Keigo’s white button down in seconds. Your dressed was tossed aside and in seconds, your legs were wrapped around Keigo’s trim waist.

“I got you, babe.” He mumbled into your ear.

With a powerful thrust, he plunged deep into you. A sharp pleasure shot through your entire body.

He ground his hips hard, fast, and deep against the friction of your gushy grip.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—oh my goddd..”

You cursed. The pain of Keigo’s teeth in your neck, juxtaposed with the sweet pleasure he was assaulting your pussy with.

“My baby,” he moaned against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “Feels so fucking good, fucking amazing...”

“Don’t. You. Dare. Cum. In. Me.”

You managed between his powerful thrusts. You tried to glare at him, but he felt too good inside you to manage anything other than desire.

He pushed himself up to his knees and pulled your legs apart.

His sexy smirk aimed at your blissed out face.

“Make a pretty face for me to come on then, Lovebird.”

He slammed into you even harder. His thick dick hitting your g-spot with every stroke.

“Ah, god, Keigo!”

Your loud moans mounted into breathy screams.

“Oh yeah, that’s the spot isn’t it, Lovebird?”

“Right—fuck—right there, Daddy~”

“Yeah?” He groaned.

Somehow, even with his orgasm clearly approaching, he kept his eyes on you. You could barely hold your own open as Hawks’ strokes you to your orgasm.

His red feathers flared out, ruffling. That was it. That made you snap.

Your orgasm closed in on you, bathing you in ecstasy.

Hawks was right behind you. He slid out of your grip and shot his thick, hot load all over your panting lips and heaving breasts.

“Shiiit.” He sighed before sinking down on top of you.

The pair of you lie in the afterglow of your mutual orgasms. Hawks cradled you in his arm, wrapping the both of you in his soft wings.

“Do we have to go back?” You asked.

Hawks chuckled, kissing your kinky curls. “We do, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Yeah,” you smiled, “we wouldn’t.”

((This was a very difficult to do but it was also very cute. So thank you for that request I hope you like it))

[bbugyu]

finding something to do + kim mingyu

you had spent your better years bored with mingyu, and he thought holding your hand felt like holding his fleeting youth.

wc.4088 | almost smut, mostly fluff, friends to lovers/uni au, fem reader, that one trope where there is mutual pining but both of them think the other is gay, maybe like half an ounce of angst if you squint Really Hard, lots o swears

i usually make my fics hella neutral as far as gender and size and orientation goes but hahahaha this ones for the average sized bi girls! also just realized that i stopped using capitalization in my fics and yk what? im fine with it. this fic is based off of the song of the same name by hellogoodbye.

*

“stop honking, other people live here.”

mingyu grinned at you through the half-open passenger window, leaning over to pop open the door. the handle had never recovered from a giant cup of soda crashing into the side of his ride in the middle of a particularly rowdy summer shenanigan, the sticky substance soaking into the mechanics before he had gotten the chance to hose it down in a friend's driveway at 2am. now, you had to wait for him to open it from the inside on all future shenanigans, and you could only roll the window down half way, lest you have to laugh at mingyu aggressively pulling on the window between his palms as you pulled on the motorized switch to coerce it back into the closed position. you slid into the co-pilot seat and looked over to your best friend.

"if you answered your texts i wouldn't have to honk."

you rolled your eyes, tugging on the seatbelt. "go, gyu."

he laughed and shifted into drive, turning up his stereo as he pulled away from your apartment building, hand returning to the stick to shift up a gear. "thanks for coming."

"what else was i gonna do?" you slipped the slides off your socked feet and pulled your legs to sit cross-legged. "i finished rewatching avatar."

"study, maybe?"

you looked at him. he was right, finals were right around the corner, but you had an uncharacteristically light load this quarter (due to you not realizing you needed approval for one course before registration and it filling before you could sign up) and you weren't too worried about the three tests you would have to take in a couple weeks. "could say the same to you."

mingyu let out another laugh, suddenly singing along to the song as he ran a hand through his hair. you smiled at his profile, then pulled out your phone to update your instagram story. as you moved the camera over to mingyu from the streetlight-lit road ahead of you, he laughed midway through a lyric and practically yelled "mwoya" at you, gripping the wheel with both hands and jumping in his seat. 

you laughed hysterically, frantically saving the video before pointing the screen at him. he turned down the music to watch it, eyes flickering between your phone and the road. he laughed at the way it cut off on both of you screaming. "what was that?"

you giggled, swiping through filters. "you being dumb."

"you love me."

"you're right."

mingyu smiled at that, adjusting the stereo volume again, bobbing his head to the rhythm as he drove to the one convenience store in your town that sold his favorite mint chocolate chip ice cream, a mission he had called upon you for at 11:30pm. when it switched over to a song you knew, mingyu noticed your subconscious humming to the tune and a few lyrics falling out of your lips, the wind from the open window whipping through your hair.

by the time you reached a small parking lot across town, you had yawned probably half a dozen times.

"tired?" mingyu pouted as he rolled up the windows and unbuckled his seatbelt. "sorry for dragging you out."

you shook your head, following suit and pulling yourself out of the car. "i slept too late, i think. i'll be fine."

you followed mingyu across the quiet street to the convenience store the two of you frequented perhaps too often, finding yourself there after late night study sessions or mid-barhop for ramen, snacks, and most importantly, the mint choco ice cream bar of mingyu's affections.

after perusing the options as if you hadn't been there earlier in the week, you picked out an ice cream bar as well as a couple bags of chips. you walked up behind mingyu at the register as he was pulling out his wallet.

"i'll pay if you come over and play smash," he said, nodding at your hands full of snacks.

you eyed him. "what's the catch?"

"you can't be mad when i play meta knight."

you groaned, but put your things on the counter for the cashier that was likely the same age as you both to scan. "fine. i'll still beat you."

mingyu grinned at you, and you snagged your ice cream bar off the counter as he paid, the other snacks getting put in a plastic bag. you grabbed the bag and held it open as mingyu retrieved his own ice cream, both of you peeling them open as you exited the convenience store.

"mm," you let out, mouth full of ice cream as you leaned against the metal bar meant to lock up bikes on the sidewalk. "it's nice out tonight."

mingyu agreed, biting into his treat. "it's refreshing but not too cold."

you nodded, watching cars pass on the street. "i can't believe it's almost summer already."

"me neither," he said, squatting in front of you as he ate. "we're gonna be seniors next year."

you groaned. "have you decided if you're doing summer quarter?"

he shook his head. "i decided against it. i only really have to take one extra course next year so it didn't feel worth it."

you nodded, looking down at him. he was looking to his left, absentmindedly watching someone walk their dog across the street.

after the ice cream was finished and you threw away your wrappers, mingyu cursed slightly at the fact that he still managed to get his finger sticky despite doing his best to avoid meltage. after he popped open your door, he dug in the glovebox for some wet naps, playfully knocking your knees aside as you tried to sit. you laughed, waiting for him to be done so you could put the bag of snacks on the floor in front of you.

when you met mingyu sophomore year, your hair was shorter and he was blonde. he had sat next to you in your shared ecology lab and promptly fell asleep before the class had even started, and you had to nudge him awake when the professor was handing out the syllabus. 

"gah, fuck, i'm up," he waved a massive hand in your face, blinking away his sleep before focusing on you with furrowed brows. "you're not seokmin."

seokmin was his roommate, you learned, and also met a few weeks later when you went over to their dorm to work on assignments together. they've since upgraded to a compact but efficient three bedroom apartment and acquired another roommate. you stared out the window into the night sky as mingyu drove to said apartment, blinking heavily at the lure of a nap. you pulled your knees up to your chest and tried to listen to the song playing from the stereo.

only moments later, mingyu glanced over and noticed that your eyes had fluttered shut, your head lolling against the window. he wondered, staring at you in awe, how much longer he could pretend he wasn't in love with you.

when you and mingyu had first gotten to know each other, you admittedly had a bit of a crush on him, until you found out he had a boyfriend. even after they split almost four months later, and you had been there to bring him chicken and beer while he fumbled with the drawstrings of his sweatpants and rubbed his swollen eyes with the back of his hand, you decidedly resigned any feelings for him, knowing it was a lost cause for you to pine after a guy that didn't even like girls. hell, you barely even liked boys - you had gone on dates with six different girls, yet not a single guy since you came to university, and mingyu had sat on your bed while you tried to get ready, giving a concise "try again" when you showed him an oversized sweatshirt.

"why not this?" you asked, groaning.

"you have good proportions, bitch. show 'em off."

rolling your eyes, you rooted around in your closet for something less shapeless. your style had always skewed a little athletic, a little hip-hop. you bought mostly mens fit shirts, making the task slightly more difficult. you found a nice pair of high waisted jeans you hadn't worn in a while and paired it with a drop shoulder tee and a turtleneck, finally getting the approval of your best friend.

all of the facts laid in front of him led mingyu to believe you were completely and utterly gay, and even if you weren't, your taste in women suggested he was the exact opposite of your type. you liked petite girls. girls with long hair and that wore skirts and lots of rings. the kind of girls that you had to lean down to kiss. 

so he continued to try out the pool of eligible bachelors in your area that were within a respectable age range. he had even tried to date some girls, but every time they tried to suggest the dates go further, he would think of the way his best friend's fingers had sent electricity through his entire body just by brushing an eyelash off his lip, or how you would trace the veins that ran through his wrist as you watched a movie together on your couch. the way your touch set his skin on fire. the way he wished he could just admit the way he felt about you. 

he always smiled and said he'd call them sometime. he never did. it wasn't fair to them, but neither was him only ever asking them out because they reminded him of you somehow.

guys were easier, he thought. they didn't remind him of you.

mingyu was so caught up in the sight of you sleeping that he absolutely ran a red. he cursed under his breath when he realized the light he was passing under had been yellow for longer than he had thought, thinking how lucky he was that the cross street was empty. good thing he was almost home.

"hey, sleepyhead," he said when you stretched suddenly as he pulled into his parking spot. "do you wanna go home?"

you shook your head, yawning. "no, i need to eat chips."

he laughed and killed the engine. "you left a pair of house shorts here and you can borrow a shirt," he said, suggesting you crash in his bed when you got too tired for smash.

"what, you don't wanna carry me home?"

mingyu slammed the car door shut and shoved his hand in his pocket. "i'd rather not, no."

you stretched again, a hand reaching out to ruffle his dark hair as he tried to punch in the door code for you to enter his building. "mean."

he laughed at you again, leading you up the three flights of stairs to his apartment.

"hey, minghao," you said, waving at the shadowy figure that was seemingly melting into the couch, illuminated by the tv.

he raised a hand in acknowledgment, sitting with his neck at a 90 degree angle, a movie with subtitles on, and his phone face down on his chest. "yo."

"wanna play smash?" mingyu asked.

"no thanks."

mingyu dropped his keys on the kitchen counter. "we're playing smash."

"you're funny."

you laughed, and mingyu pouted. "please, myungho?"

minghao finally looked at his roommate. "i'm watching annihilation. the switch is handheld for a reason."

you watched mingyu roll his eyes with a smirk on your lips. he went over to the switch dock by the tv and grabbed the console, sticking his tongue out at hao. you giggled, following mingyu down the short hall to his room as minghao waved you both off.

"have i said that i like hao a lot?"

"yes," mingyu said. "like, every time you come over."

you smiled, throwing open his dresser and carding through the shirts that would surely be massive on you. "well i do."

the switch got tossed onto his bed and he sneaked around you to grab a pair of sweatpants from the drawer above the one you were looking in. he also pulled out the pair of shorts you had left, putting them on top of the dresser. "i'm getting naked now."

you shook your head lightly, knowing he was only changing his pants, but kept your back to him out of respect anyways. you picked up the shorts. "did you wash these?"

"yeah, i threw 'em in with my laundry last week."

you nodded, spotting the color you had been looking for. "aha!" you pulled on the ashy gray shirt, revealing one of your favorite things you had ever convinced mingyu to buy. an extremely soft, lightly distressed shirt with a tasteful rip along the neckline. "i'm getting naked now."

"clear," mingyu said, letting you know he wasn't looking as he flopped onto his bed, propping up the switch on his bedside table and setting up the controllers.

you pulled off your loose sweatshirt and swapped it for the borrowed shirt, then shoved the denim shorts down your legs, laughing lightly at how your sleep shorts completely disappeared under the shirt. you turned around, stretching out your arms to show how large the shirt was on you. "look."

mingyu rolled onto his back and propped himself on an elbow to look at you, giggling as you swam in his shirt. outwardly, he smiled, but internally, he thought this was simultaneously the worst and best idea he had ever had.

you looked absolutely stunning in his clothes, he thought, but only said that you were cute. he ignored the familiar feeling in his stomach and handed you a controller as you crawled onto his bed, settling on your stomach next to him.

he had to stop putting himself in this position. you were far too pretty for him to forget his feelings towards you.

but maybe that's what he wanted. maybe he didn't want to forget his feelings. maybe the few times you had told him his dates were attractive weren't just objective reassurances. maybe he held onto the sliver of hope that you could possibly be attracted to him, too.

you slammed your face into the bed as the game loaded. "why are all switch load times utter ass?"

mingyu adjusted so that he was laying on his side with an arm propping him up and flicked the back of your head. "because the console can fit in my palm."

your hand went up to swat at the culprit of the flick, and you pouted as you lifted your head to look at him. "that's not fair, your hands are huge." you wiggled onto your elbows to grab his wrist, pressing your palms together. "see?"

mingyu laughed, feeling his cheeks heat up. "well, you have baby hands, so." he punctuated his point by curling his finger over yours. you pouted again, then slipped your fingers between his, thinking about how nice his warm hand felt over yours.

you blinked, then pulled your hand away and grabbed the joycon as the game finally loaded the skippable intro, hoping you weren't blushing too much as you cleared your throat. mingyu stared at your pink cheeks for a moment, his mind reeling. was he seeing something that wasn't there? or was his hope in you validated?

you were clicking through the menu and felt his eyes on you, and all you wanted to do was hide behind your hair and avoid eye contact. you nearly jumped when mingyu cleared his throat.

"hey, i have something i've been meaning to ask you."

your eyes met his briefly. "shoot."

"do you…" mingyu paused, trying to think of the right way to phrase his question. "i know you have exes that are guys, but is that something you're, like… still into?"

your ears burned and you wiggled until you could sit back on your own legs, fiddling with the hem of the shirt you stole and hesitating to make eye contact. "you mean, being with guys?"

"yeah," he said, watching you intently with his brows furrowed.

"yeah, i mean, i guess?" you shrugged. "i like both."

mingyu nodded slowly, watching your eyes as they stared at the wall across his small room. your cheeks were a rosy pink, and you were chewing on your lip. "me too."

you looked at him finally, your eyes wide. "what?"

he gave you a crooked smile. "i like guys and girls, too."

if you were blushing before, now you were blazing. "oh, my god, i'm an idiot."

he laughed. "what, did you think i was, like, totally gay?"

"shut up," you threw yourself down onto his bed, hiding your face in the blanket. in your defense, he had definitely called himself gay before, but you definitely called yourself gay constantly, so maybe you shouldn't put so much weight in those words. "shut up, i'm embarrassed. i don't want to talk about it."

hearing mingyu laugh next to you made you feel like you were on fire, then you felt the ghosting of fingers on your arm. you froze. mingyu's voice was soft when he spoke again. "do you wanna talk about how i have a massive crush on you?"

you slowly raised your head to look at him, cheeks burning red. he gave you a small smile before you choked out a "huh?"

"i ran a red earlier," he said suddenly, his fingers moving from your arm to absentmindedly brush your hair out of your face, then to your shoulder, then back. it was a reassuring touch, one you had felt from him before, but you still were caught off guard by his sudden succession of confessions. "you were sleeping and i couldn't stop looking at you. i totally could have crashed the car."

"dude, what the fuck." you stared at him, then lowered your voice to imitate him. "'hey i have a crush on you and i almost killed us both because of it.' that's you, that's what you sound like right now."

mingyu laughed in your face and you couldn't help the chuckle that fell out of your mouth. "sorry i almost killed us."

"i guess i can forgive you," you said, picking at your nails suddenly despite them being clean. "especially because i might have a crush on you, too."

mingyu kept staring at you with a fond smile, and you wondered if he could also hear how hard your heart was beating. "can i kiss you?"

you looked at him, trying not to stare at his lips. you nodded, almost hurriedly. his hand pulled against your back as you rolled your body to face him, and your hand reached out for his jaw as he pulled you into him. and when his lips crashed into yours, you yelped slightly, melting into him almost immediately. they were plush against yours, and he was gentle as he pushed your back onto the mattress, adjusting to hover over you slightly. when you let your head fall back onto the bed, he grinned at your blown out pupils and swollen lips, buzzing at the way your hands curled around around his neck, fingers digging into the hair at his nape. he adjusted again, a hand finding your waist as he pulled back to let you swing your leg across his lap. you pulled him back over you, enjoying the way his hips hit the back of your thighs as he caged you in with an elbow by your shoulder. you stared up at him, heart racing, eyes flicking down to his lips too many times for him to not take the hint.

mingyu had always enjoyed pleasing you. this definitely felt like the next natural progression.

he dove into you, and your arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders. mingyu was a hugger, and he also liked wearing very little clothing when he worked out, so you knew what he looked like under the plain white tee. knew what he felt like. but suddenly - with his hands slipping under what was technically his shirt to properly feel your waist, with how his tongue fought with yours - you really felt him for the first time. the way his shoulder muscles rippled just beneath the skin as he adjusted, clearly trying to not make his growing bulge so obvious. you considered the fact that you might get to see how much leg day really benefited, considering how much he posted about it with sweaty post-workout pictures on his story.

mingyu felt your thighs squeeze around his hips, pulling back slightly. "is this okay?"

"is it?" you responded, a hand pulling back to fall on his jaw. "i've wanted you for ages."

he laughed lightly. "god, we're idiots."

you had no time to respond before he was kissing you again, his hips rolling into yours, pulling a surprised moan from you. he ate it up, his fingers gripping your waist tighter at the sound. you felt his girth as it pressed against you, and you gasped. when was the last time you had been with a guy? high school?

when mingyu's teeth bit down on your lip, you were really glad he was the guy you were unconsciously waiting for.

he tugged on your hips as he rolled onto his back, pulling you to straddle his lap. you giggled slightly, settling back into the open mouthed kisses as he ran his hands from your ass up your back, slipping under the sports bra you were wearing.

then there was a knock. you yelped, burying your face in his shoulder as you heard the door swing open. "make room for king k r- oh shit!"

you laughed into mingyu's neck as he yelled for seokmin to get the hell out, his hands tugging the hem of the stolen shirt over your butt in an attempt to shield it from view. you heard him squeak out an "i'm sorry!" as the door shut again.

"i'll kill him."

you exhaled, the laughter still on your lips as you looked at his profile from where your cheek pressed against his shoulder. "bet he thinks we're secretly dating."

mingyu laughed, scratching an eyebrow before returning his palm to your ass. "not a secret now."

"oh, so we're dating now?"

mingyu craned his neck to look at you. "is that not what was going to happen?"

you giggled, sitting up and putting your hands on his chest. you adjusted your knees, fully aware of how the movement would rub you against his still hard bulge. "we have both fucked people without dating them afterwards, kim mingyu."

"ah," he said, digging his fingers into your soft ass and rutting into you gently, making you gasp. "we're gonna fuck? i thought we were just joking."

you slapped his chest, giggling still as you rolled your hips. "if you don't wanna, i could ask hao-"

"oh, shut up," he said, pulling you down to kiss him. "if you liked myungho like that you would have tried it ages ago."

you smiled, your thumb running over his adams apple as you placed gentle kisses on his jaw. "sweetie, are we jealous?"

"i don't deserve this, you know?" mingyu pulled your hips against him again, a low grunt tumbling from his beautiful mouth. "i haven't put my dick in a girl since i met you and now i'm with you and you're talking about my roommate? this seems extremely mean."

you giggled again, then placed your lips on his again. he instantly kissed you back, one hand leaving your ass to go to the back of your neck. "you're the only guy i ever think about," you whispered, getting repeatedly interrupted by mingyu's needy lips on yours.

the wolf-like grin that broke onto his face sent chills down your spine. "let's keep it that way."

*

seokmin's hand was still on the doorknob, his wide eyes blinking, when minghao paused his movie and sat up to poke his head out and look down the hall. "the hell was that?"

he puffed out his cheeks as he walked back into the living room, his palms clapping gently. "i thought you said y/n came over to play smash?"

minghao's eyebrow quirked up. "she did."

the eldest sat on the couch. "i thought mingyu was gay?"

"what?" minghao looked down the hall again. "wait, what? were they-" he stopped when he heard a muffled groan that was far too familiar.

seokmin grabbed the remote and pressed play, scratching his cheek as he turned up the volume. "what are we watching? catch me up."

[moonb-eam]

june 25th

a ficlet for eliott’s birthday ☀️

Eliott is half-awake.

He’s in the sweetest liminal space between dream and reality, when the warm sheets tangled between his legs feel like the tendrils of clouds, the mattress beneath him a gently undulating sea. He’s coming out of a dream that has already passed into memory, too lazy to hold onto it, too content to do anything but let the comforting feeling of it seep into his heart.

A beam of light passes over his eye and his blinks, squinting at the bedroom window, where just beyond its glass waits another blooming morning in June.

He rolls onto his side, reaching for a warm body and when his fingers land on cool sheets he frowns, and rolls to the other side, reaching for his phone.

His screen is flooded with notifications and he blinks again, brow furrowing until he begins to read, then he grins. Laughs. In the midst of everything that had been going on - finishing his film, Lucas writing the bac - he had honestly forgotten that this day was coming. He hadn’t realized how close to the end of June they were.

The oldest text is from Idriss, sent at exactly midnight the night before. All it says is, birth.

Then there’s one from his mom, a happy birthday message buried in dozens of flower emojis.

One from his dad, with an attached photo of him as a toddler, sitting on his dad’s shoulders.

A text from Sofiane, with a video attached of two baby raccoons because, I know you’re obsessed with these.

There’s texts from every member of the grew, with varying amounts of exclamation points and emojis. There’s even an Instagram message from a girl in his class he’s spoken to a few times, and opening his Instagram app brings along another wave of notifications, old and new photos being shared across stories.

It’s an overwhelming amount of affection for Eliott, who sometimes feels like nothing more than a shadow at the fringes of the world itself, destined to be an outsider, as thin and fleeting as smoke. He slowly sits up, the sheets pooling at his waist, his eyes fixed to his phone. He scrolls through his mentions, snorting when he sees a particularly embarrassing photo from his first year of lycée that Sofiane shared, and smiling softly when he comes across a photo Alexia tagged him in, of himself and the girls piled onto a couch together.

He stares down at the outpouring of love from his friends and his family, the gentlest and simplest we’re so happy you’re here, and he feels beautifully solid, as real as the sun, warm and constant and alive.

He’s still smiling, misty-eyed, when the bedroom door opens, and someone clears their throat.

“Joyeux an-oh fucking shit, fuck.”

There’s a thud, and Eliott turns on the bed, eyes wide to see Lucas, wearing boxers and one of Eliott’s shirts, stumbling on a pair of sneakers by the door and balancing a plate on one hand. Eliott can’t quite see what’s on the plate, but there’s no mistaking the single lit candle sticking out from its surface.

Lucas smacks his elbow off of the doorframe and he swears again, the plate teetering dangerously close towards the floor. Eliott watches the entire thing with his mouth open, his hands reaching out as though he could somehow make it to Lucas in time from the other side of the room.

But Lucas manages to right himself, the plate finding balance between his hands, and Eliott can’t help but let out a laugh from the look of palpable relief on his face.

Lucas scowls at him. “Shut up,” he whispers, his cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. Eliott smothers another laugh into his hand. He wants to kiss him there, the soft curves where colour starts and ends.

Lucas clears his throat again, with great gavitas, and rolls his shoulders back.

“Joyeux anniversaire,” he starts to sing, voice low and soft, taking a careful step forward, his eyes rapidly moving between where his feet are going next and the plate, which Eliott can now see is holding a small, round cake.

“Joyeux anniversaire,” Lucas continues, kicking a sock out of the way with one foot. Eliott couldn’t stop smiling if he tried.

“Joyeux anniversaire, mon amour.” Lucas glances up at him then, grinning widely, eyes bright and curved at the corners, and Eliott’s heart dances under his ribs. “Joyeux anniversaire,” Lucas finishes, drawing out the last word with a flourish, and Eliott giggles, pressing his hands to his cheeks.

Lucas lowers the plate towards him. “Make a wish, baby,” he says softly, and Eliott closes his eyes, thinks, just like this, always, and he blows out the candle.

The cake is covered in a thick, neat layer of cream-coloured icing, but what makes Eliott gasp in delight are the large, lopsided sunflowers that have been piped onto the surface.

“How did you do this?” Eliott asks, already reaching for his phone so he can take a picture of the cake to show it off on Instagram.

Lucas huffs, tilting his nose up imperiously. “I’m very talented, you know.”

Eliott takes three different pictures of the cake, and wraps an arm around Lucas’ neck so he can pull him close, kiss the pink points of his cheeks. “I know you are,” he murmurs, and then he kisses Lucas’ lips, humming when he tastes something sugary sweet. “What did you-?”

“Had to make sure the icing was good.”

“Of course.”

“That’s what the professionals do.”

“Absolutely.”

They both smile into another kiss, Lucas’ head tilting back when Eliott leans forward to deepen it, laughing when Eliott groans, licking into his mouth.

“Eliott, your cake.”

“Mhm, but you’re so much sweeter.”

Lucas pushes his face away with a flat palm, ignoring it when Eliott pouts. “Come on.” He pulls two forks seemingly out of nowhere, offering one to Eliott with a raised eyebrow. “What other day of the year is it acceptable to have cake for breakfast?”

It’s a good point.

The cake is delicious, sweet and light and most delightfully, coloured bright yellow on the inside. Lucas disappears to the kitchen and returns with two coffee cups, setting them down on the bedside table and grinning when he sees Eliott take another big bite.

“This is amazing,” Eliott says with a dreamy sigh. He smacks a kiss to Lucas’ cheek and leaves behind a smear of icing. “You’re amazing. When did you find the time to make this?”

“I got up early,” Lucas says, as though it’s the simplest thing in the world.

But it isn’t. It really, really isn’t.

“I can’t believe you did this for me.” Eliott swipes his finger through the corner of a sunflower, yellow and brown catching on his knuckle.

He glances up, and Lucas is already staring at him, his face melting into something quiet and soft that makes Eliott smile. He shifts closer on the mattress, planting a hand on Eliott’s thigh and leaning into him, nudging their foreheads together.

“You deserve it.” He says, and Eliott’s smile falls, slightly, a sudden thickness in his throat. Lucas gently kisses the highest point of his cheekbone. “Happy birthday, sunshine.” Another kiss to the shell of his ear. “I love you.”

Eliott buries his face in the space between Lucas’ neck and shoulder and he stays there, breathing him in, feeling their hearts beat together. He tries to collect every detail he can about the moment, every sound, every sensation, and he captures them, folding them greedily into his chest. He wants to always be able to remember this exact moment with perfect clarity: when he sat on his bed with the love of his life, ate birthday cake, and felt as loved as sunlight.

“Thank you,” he whispers into Lucas’ neck, and it falls short to convey even half of what he’s feeling. “I love you so much,” he tries, and that feels better.

The cake is clumsily deposited on the floor, forks clattering against porcelain, crumbs getting lost in the sheets, and Lucas turns back towards Eliott with a grin, wrapping his arms around his neck and sliding into his lap.

“So,” he begins, and Eliott guides him, holding onto Lucas’ thighs and smoothing his thumbs over his skin, fingertips catching on the edge of his boxers, “birthday boy.” He says it with a touch of suggestion that makes Eliott laugh, his hands tightening their hold on his hips. “What would you like to do today?” He frees one hand to poke Eliott on the nose. “We’re still having dinner with your parents tonight, but from now until then,” he leans back on Eliott’s lap, spreading his arms wide, the light catching on the joint of his elbow, the curve of his shoulder peeking out from where Eliott’s shirt gapes open, “the day is entirely yours.”

Eliott hums, tilting his head to the side.

“We could go to the botanical gardens,” Lucas suggests. He wobbles on Eliott’s lap and giggles, gripping onto his shoulders to right himself. “We could…” He taps his fingers against Eliott’s collarbones. “We could walk to the park and bring the rest of the cake with us. We could go bookstore-hopping.” Eliott grins at that, remembering when he mentioned it to Lucas weeks ago as something he always wanted to spend an entire day doing, but never had the time. “We could go to the cinema for a double feature. We could go exploring at La Petite Ceinture. We could look through the old maps at the library. We could get sushi. We could go to the river and watch the boats go by.”

Possibilities and possibilities. All things that are normal, even mundane, but wondrous in the simple realization that somehow, this entire time, Lucas has been collecting a list of Eliott’s favourite things to do. And now, he wants to do all of them. Together.

“Yes,” Eliott says, and Lucas laughs, his nose scrunching up.

“Yes to what? I said like, six things.”

“Yes to all of it.” Eliott slides his hands around Lucas’ lower back, tugging him up on his lap. “I want to do everything with you.” He aches up so he can kiss the hollow of Lucas’ throat.

“Okay,” he says softly, gasping when Eliott kisses his collarbone, nosing into the skin. “Well, then we better get started.”

“Later.” Eliott says. “We’ll go later. Right now, I just want to-” He falls back into the mattress, Lucas following him down with a huff when they land. “I want to stay here,” Eliott says, quietly, like it’s a secret. An entire world to see, and Eliott wants to live in the space between Lucas’ arms. “Just for a little bit.”

Lucas smiles, smoothing his hair off of his forehead. “Whatever you want, sunshine.”

Eliott grins, then rolls them, delighting in the sharp, echoing laugh Lucas lets out at the sudden motion.

“This,” he says, and Lucas blinks up at him, deep oceans that Eliott sinks into, pressing him into the mattress, pressing their lips together.

This. Just like this, always.

[callyrose1986]

my reality is a fantacy

MY REALITY IS A FANTACY  

Its beginning of April and I've been hearing voices since my birthday last September, I can't say I had the best time of my life... I decided to type it all down of what I went through, let me break it down for you, one day around my birthday I decided to read a few tarot cards online and the more I did they showed the same outcome, that I was to meet my twin flame, twin soul or/and soul mate, not sure if it's all in one or if it's just one of these, that I'm not sure of, now for those of you who don’t know what that is a twin fames or the others twin flame is when one soul splits into two, not sure exactly what twin soul is other what it sounds like, seems to me it is the same thing like the twin flame, soul mate is just that, a mate for your soul, look it all up for yourself.  

For some odd reason I begin to hear voices of a women and she helped me get better at hearing them I can't say exactly what she did I can't remember, I have the worst memory anyway though this times of readings I figured out who my other flame was and I don’t know if it was fate or dumb luck but it was my celebrity crush.... Imagine that, I have no idea who or why it turned out to be him but I was constantly told that I could manifest my desires and welp.... take that as you may I have no idea myself what is truly going on in my life right now..... only the gods and answer that messed up bit of information, not that I'm a religious person I prefer to spiritual instead.  

I tried to contact him online his name was Tom Hiddlston, I had a crush on him since I first saw I'm in the superhero movies when he played Loki in the Thor, tall dark and handsome was my type, I then fell for him even more once I got to know the actor, well as much as I could get to know him behind the silver screen. Anyway, I was reading pictures from his hashtags on Instagram like you read tarot cards and then I would post a reply and put it in Tom’s @page and I would get something like a reply... I could hear him in my head too and then for some reason he told others it turned into something like a little game them who turned out to be the cast of avengers.

it went over pretty good on his side, but unfortunately on my side when I broke it to my mother.... I made one of  the biggest mistake I ever made...deciding to walk from my small town of Coulhurst all the way to the city of Lethbridge to go to chapters. Where I thought the tort card where hinting I would meat Tom, not that I actually though I would I just wanted to go, and they were egging me on to go, something else that I could inform you all about is that there is many different realities not just the one you live in and unfortunately that mean that there are many, many different versions of ourselves and unfortunately, I did not contact just my version of Tom Hiddlston but I contact all of the others two, I have no idea how I managed that... the one that came was not my Tom from my world but from another and that means I could not see him.  

I still don’t know if I have talked to the Tom from my world, I guess I won't know till I get the chance to meet him in person, if that ever happens of course, let's see... I died in other reality's more times than I could count, mainly because I can't remember, being stabbed in the back by a trickster god called Loki a few dozen times and I don’t mean from the Norse mythology I mean by the Loki from the marvel movies, ya because that’s a thing....  

Everything you watch is a window to another reality and dreams are something of the same, now there is more like I can put myself into movies and shows I watch and I can hear what the characters are thinking and saying, not to mention in the begging I thought whatever I do in my mind what actually happen in the other reality's I was thinking I was in, now I changed that it just everyone imagining it but not really having it happen, I did a lot of not so nice stuff and still do but at least it's not real, I was sent to hell a few times wish I know what heaven was like, think I got jipped on that one, worst thing I ever did really was sole chock from when I was at school and church, I did watch some porn that was not meant to be watch by anyone's eyes and played some pornographic games but I don’t think I'm meant to go to hell for it...  

Apparently the ‘devil’ just wanted someone on one time, I brought myself back to life as soon as I knew I was dead, well eventually sometimes, it was just tiering having to do that all the time, oh by the way I can do that bring myself back it along with anything else you can think of, I can do anything I want too in other realities, does not work in my reality but then again I can't be killed by other people from other realities in my reality, also I got murdered on my way to chapters stabbed and molested by some random guy still not sure about the whole story behind that one my mother found me walking still to the book store in my reality, that was a trip I tell you, before I was picked up I somehow jumped into other bodies of the actors who had flown down with Tom and had found me at my house.

I did end up at the store but of cause no one showed up, that was one journey I won't soon forget, I  found out that my other selves where from other realities and that characters I created comes to life, like since tv and movies characters where once created, I was not sleeping and was not eating but I was not tiered or hungry but for a girl who did not have the  waite I didn’t need to louse more of it.

I was seeing signs of that my house was evil and that the color red was bad and everything that was ‘dark’ needed to go so I got rid of mostly everything I had in my room that was considered ‘dark’ on top of that lost a caption America sweeter and Tom Hiddlston doll and Spiderman figure and almost lost my phone, it was found  thankfully but not the others.  

Among all the other versions of me there is a few evil characters evil clowns evil demon things a robot some zombies some vampires and a dnd character and an original character called Cally, among others I'm not sure about, one of them is called the moon goddess who has the power to have everyone fall in love with her looks, and it leaks out into me so others from the other universes feel overly attracted to me because of her, there is an off switch but it keeps turning on and she says it's not always her doing it, I'm not sure if I should believe that, Tom has the same thing but I won't know that till later, names the sun god, I'm not too fond of that one, my fault for calling him the sun to my moon, nether one of them where exactly what I though them to be.

it wasn’t just that everyone was attracted it was harassment and no one would take no for an answer I was raped in a lot of realities, it's gotten better but still not perfect yet, they are lucking they didn’t die from doing that to me.  right after I when walking to the book story my mother had me admitted to a mental health facility, where they drugged me up to take away the voiced, it worked but on the down side I could not eat I could not sleep, I was shaking uncontrollably and it was worse than when I was home,  I just didn’t feel the need to sleep or eat at home.

I was drooling from the shot they game me and I was losing wait because I could not swallow the food, it was not a fun time, I was there for about a month after that I want in to shasha house and I was therefore a day or two and they took me to the hospital to see if they could figure out what was wrong with me, they gave me something for the shot I took to get rid of the voices since that’s what was making me have side effects, it didn’t take long for me to feel better, I was in the hospital for about a week or something close, after that I was at my sisters for a few days, meanwhile my mother had got something called global amnesia from the stress.

Then I was back to shasha house I was there for about a week or two and was thinking of the voices again, I haven't heard from anyone since I had that shot but even with everything that happen I still wanted them back I was lonely I liked talking to them I liked talking to Tom, you may think I'm stupid to start this all over again but I don’t give a damn! This time I would tell no one, have it be my little dirty little secret, don’t really remember how I got them back but I did, I didn’t get the right ones though I didn’t know that, I have been going through so many to find the one from my reality, there is no real way to find out who is Tom from my reality I've told Tom who loves  me by now that maybe we should meet at a comic expo somewhere where I can get to, so in Canada hopefully in Alberta.

let's see this second half I got stepped a few times again and mind f*cked a couple of time no more evil things like seeing red and thinking devil is after me, no more going to hell or dyeing, we tried merging all the realities but didn’t work tried to merge all the Toms still don’t know if that works to our advantage or not. I still have my highs and lose, I've run across the first group a few times and they are merged with a Tom who is now called God... btw I HATE HIM!!! Fuck the sun god GOD, ‘GOD Tom’ IS THE WORST!!! I will MURDER THIS BASTERED WHEN I SEE HIM because he lied about being the ‘REAL’. I also decided to stop giving ‘second’ chances to the villains, they just don’t learn.  

I'm sure there is more I could say but that’s it for now, I still haven't seen anything of Tom going to a Con near me yet, I still have a few weeks to go till I go.  

[littlemisslovelovelove3]

If this comes across your dashboard, just ignore it. I’m stressing out but it’s 4am and everyone I could normally talk to is sleeping, so I’m basically using this as a digital venting session/journal entry because it’s easier than digging out all my actual journaling stuff.

I don’t know what’s going on with me tonight but I’m feeling very off. I’m feeling an intense urge to cry like I haven’t felt in years despite nothing of importance happening. And not like “aww I’m a little sad” but like “I want to sob like the love of my life just died” cry. The ugly, splotchy face, runny nose, can’t catch your breath kind of crying session that dominated my childhood. (I had a very good childhood- I was just hella dramatic and still am. I was never a weeper, I was an all out crier)

My sleep schedule has been fucked up for like the 300th time this year where I am wide awake all night and sleeping all day, or at least some variation of that. I’m so tired all the time but there have been more nights this year than any other year in recent memory that I’ve struggled this much with sleep. I used to be out almost as soon as my head hit the pillow and now it’s not uncommon for me to be wide awake at 8am having not gone to sleep at all. And I’m sure not seeing a decent amount of sunshine isn’t helping, but once I finally manage to pass out, I’m out. It’s not always restful, but it’s better than no sleep at all.

I’m struggling to focus on anything for a decent length of time- I’ve bought an ~obscene~ number of books, started half a dozen of them and none of them are holding my interest. I used to be able to fly through 800 page books in under 2 days and now I can’t even read a 472 page book in 3 weeks. I’ve read some fan fiction to see if that will help my reading slump but it’s been touch and go on those too.

I’ve tried watching tv and with the exception of the few shows I watch at night with my mother, I’ve been unable to get through any new or currently started shows. I restarted Rizzoli & Isles and haven’t been able to make it through the first season of a whopping 10 episodes. I’m beyond behind on Doctor Who, I lost interest in my favorite show of all time Buffy the Vampire Slayer, stopped Angel and haven’t been able to get through episode 2 of The Queen’s Gambit. Even picking a tv show has been hard. I was never good at making simple decisions before but now I’m hopeless.

The only movies I’ve watched lately are with my mom or the kids movies I watch with my friend’s son that I nanny for part time. He’s a great kid and I live him like he was my own, but I can’t watch The Addams Family one more time. It’s great but damn kid pick one of the other 50,000 available options.

I scroll through social media a lot but even that bores me. Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, tumblr, tiktok, Snapchat- none hold my attention for very long. Except maybe tiktok because I’m pretty sure it’s digital crack but sometimes even it bores me.

I’ve been awful about going to the gym. I used to go 4-6 times a week and lately it’s been once a week and only because I pay for a group session with a trainer. It’s literally me and 1-3 other women depending on the day. And I can feel myself losing endurance, muscle and strength.

We aren’t going home for Christmas and while I absolutely understand why, I’m incredibly devastated that I won’t see my sisters, their families and my extended family this year. Sure I saw my one sister and her family in June but there’s something about going home for Christmas that is always extra special to me. We’re (my parents, brother and I) are going to miss out on my nephew’s second Christmas and the first one he’ll be able to really enjoy. He was 4 weeks at his first Christmas so he basically slept the whole time. We already missed his first birthday and while we’ve FaceTimed a bunch, it’s not the same.

And I was really hoping to see my grandpa, but he’s 91 and I could never forgive myself if I exposed him to covid. But I’m also scared about the very real possibility of never getting to see him again. His wife, my grandmother died 2 years ago and if I had known that the last time I saw her was the last time, I would’ve hugged her a little tighter and told her how much I love her. I miss her every day. I catch myself still calling the house “their home” or “grandma and grandpa’s”. Calling it “grandpa’s” still feels foreign to me. The idea that I’ll be missing Christmas with my dad’s family for the first time in my life is not sitting well with me.

My head gets it- there’s a fucking pandemic raging and traveling is ill advised but my heart doesn’t care, as melodramatic as it sounds. It’s like my body wants to go home to my hometown and back to where I grew up like it’s somehow going to be a source of comfort. Even though it’s not the same as it was when I lived there. I moved away 5 years ago and it kept on growing and changing despite my naïve belief it would stay the same.

So basically I’m feeling incredibly nostalgic and stressed. My anxiety is raging and I’m pretty sure the antidepressant my psychiatrist prescribed me isn’t doing much. I’m not having dark thoughts like I was in the spring when I first started seeing him, but I still don’t feel like myself. I’m also unemployed which is definitely not helping matters. I have savings and live with family but that’s not a long term solution. But my family is all high risk for covid and there aren’t many jobs around me right now that a) pay enough and b) can limit exposure.

If it weren’t wildly inappropriate I’d drive myself to my friend’s house right now and go snuggle his dog and/or cat right now, because honestly I feel like that would help. But I’ll wait until the morning when he’s at work so I don’t scare the shit out of him. Full disclosure if you’ve actually been reading this and made it this far- I’ve been given a key and explicit permission to go to his house and squeeze his pets. Tomorrow I might actually take him up on the offer. I may even bring the dog back to my place, which again, I’ve been given permission to do.

Adult friendships are weird y’all. My friends and I all have keys or security codes to each other’s homes and using them happens on a more frequent basis than I would’ve anticipated. My house has become the Friday night landing zone for after work (for them) drinks, relaxation and occasionally dinner. Which is so foreign to me because for the last couple years all my friends lived in other cities and/or states, so actually being even somewhat social again has been jarring. Between not having friends nearby and the damn pandemic it’s been really really fucking weird.

I’m sure the pandemic is a major reason I’m feeling so out of sorts, but it’s not going away any time soon and I feel like I need to figure out some of my shit or at least find some healthy ways of coping to survive. Not anything crazy- I’m not suicidal- I’m just super dramatic and also realize that I don’t want my anxiety and depression to keep controlling me like it feels like it has been. I’m big on needing to feel like I’m in control even the littlest bit, so this whole situation is making me feel very unbalanced and I’m not a fan.

And now that I’ve at least written this out I’m actually feeling somewhat better. The stress is still here but it doesn’t feel as overwhelming as it did earlier. It helped I cried while writing about my grandmother. One day I hope I won’t get overly emotional when thinking about or talking about her, but I’m ok with that being not today.

It’s kinda cliché but the whole “it’s ok to not be ok” mantra is really accurate for me right now. I’m sure I’m not the only person in the world feeling overwhelmed right now with everything going on and I certainly won’t be the last.

[dargeereads]

Title: With This Ring

Series: To Have and To Hold Duet #1

Author: Natasha Knight

Genre: Dark Mafia Romance

Release Date: February 2, 2021

BLURB

When I rescued Scarlett De La Cruz from her tower it’s not like her prospects were looking so great. 

You’d think she’d show a little gratitude. Thank me for putting my ring on her finger and marking her as mafia property. 

My property. 

I’ll keep her safe. And the trade-off isn’t so bad. Most women would jump at the chance to sleep in my bed. 

Not Scarlett, though. 

My Cartel Princess has a big mouth and an even bigger attitude. But it’s her furious caramel eyes that keep me coming back for more. That and the way her body bends to mine like it already knows it belongs to me. 

Scarlett is my enemy. She’s also the one woman I can’t keep my hands off. 

But if I don’t keep my head on straight, everything I’ve worked for all these years will have been for nothing.

ADD TO GOODREADS

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EXCERPT

Lace falls across my face. It’s yellowed over the years and the smell that clings to it is musty. Old. But it’s my mother’s. The one she wore on her wedding day.

Baby’s breath and discarded lilies litter the stone floor as the woman grumbles behind me. She’s annoyed at having to work with the old veil when a brand new, prettier one sits unused in its box. I move my foot, crush the delicate baby’s breath, impaling the fallen petal of a pale pink lily with my heel.

Funeral flowers for a wedding. An omen.

Not that I need one.

The stink of them turns my stomach. This isn’t how I imagined my wedding day.

“Finished,” the woman announces.

I stand, the petal sticking to my heel. I don’t care. I look up to meet my reflection in the mirror.

“He won’t like the veil,” she says. She’s a blur beside me.

I shift my gaze, letting my eyes focus on her. She’s plump and short and has a wart on the side of her face with a thick black hair growing out of it. Don’t judge a book by its cover has nothing on this one. She is as much a bitch inside as she looks on the outside.

“I guess he’ll have to get over it.”

“You should wear the one he sent.”

I don’t bother to answer her, although I agree. The veil was a gift from my brothers.

Gift.

No, not a gift.

Just another cruelty to make me wear my mother’s veil for this sham wedding.

She snorts, turns to gather up the dress, the keys jangling on her belt. I could take them. Overpower her. That part would be easy. It’s the men with the guns outside the door who’d be the problem.

Noisy footsteps on the hundred stairs announce the approach of soldiers to my tower room.

A tower. They locked me in a fucking tower. My own fucking brothers.

From the sound of things, they’re expecting me to put up a fight. They’ll take me kicking and screaming if I do. Besides, I know better than to waste my energy on them. I’ll need it after. For the wedding night.

A man says something, another one laughs, just before I hear a loud crash, like something smashing hard against the wall.

It’s then that it happens. Gunfire explodes just beyond my room. A bullet splinters its way through the thick wooden door and shatters the mirror, breaking my reflection into a thousand pieces, sending me backward into the stone wall.

The woman with the wart screams.

I right myself. Touching the back of my head with one hand, I somehow still manage to keep hold of the lilies. Suddenly, the door is kicked in, banging against the wall as heavily armed men in military fatigues raid my room. A cloud of smoke follows behind them, seeping into my circular tower.

They fan out, a dozen of them and I don’t recognize a single one. These aren’t my brothers’ men.

The woman is on the floor blubbering something, sobbing.

I just stare at the door as another set of footsteps approach, quieter now. This one isn’t in a hurry. And I know the instant he steps into my line of vision that he’s in charge.

He’s the one to worry about. The only one who’s masked.

He stops just inside the room, surveys it, eyeing every soldier, every stone, every cobweb. And when deep blue eyes land on me, a weight drops in my belly, a hundred-pound cement block.

The woman with the keys stands, tripping over her words as she walks toward him. He looks down at her like he’s irritated, and she doesn’t get far. An echo of bullets shuts her down, splattering blood like paint on my neck, my face. The shots put her back on the floor.

Fuck.

I don’t spare her a glance. I don’t need to, to know she’s dead.

The man’s eyes return to mine. They narrow. And when he takes a step toward me, I take one back, knocking the chair behind me to the floor, panicking then. Animated then.

I turn to run but see a dozen sets of eyes staring back at me. The masked intruder, the biggest of them all, blocks the only exit. I can’t even jump from the window. They’re barred. Suicide was never an option, not for my brothers. They needed me.

But something’s gone wrong.

And before I can decide what to do, before I can make up my mind to try to charge him, to risk bullets putting me down like they did the woman on the floor, he’s got my wrist in his right hand and he’s squeezing it.

My hand opens. Flowers scatter to the floor. I watch them, then watch him lift my hand to his face. His thumb comes to my ring finger where the hideous diamond catches the waning sun. For a moment I think he’s going to break my finger. But he twists and forces it off. It’s tight but he manages. He pockets the ring then shifts his gaze to mine again.

I swallow hard.

He cocks his head to the side, one hand still locked around my wrist. He spins me around.

I scream as he jerks me to him, his body a solid wall at my back.

He releases my wrist and bands his arm beneath my breasts. With the other, he pushes the veil off my neck, his hand rough against my skin, fingers digging, bruising. I think he’s going to snap my neck. One quick twist is all it would take. He’s a fucking giant.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, the moment I turn my face up to his, he squeezes and instantly, my knees give out. My arms drop uselessly to my sides. He shifts his grip and as I slip, he lifts me up, hauling me over his shoulder, turning the room upside down before it goes black.

COMING SOON

Releasing February 23

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU

B&N / KOBO / APPLE BOOKS

AUTHOR BIO

Natasha Knight is the USA Today Bestselling author of Romantic Suspense and Dark Romance Novels. She has sold over half a million books and is translated into six languages. She currently lives in The Netherlands with her husband and two daughters and when she’s not writing, she’s walking in the woods listening to a book, sitting in a corner reading or off exploring the world as often as she can get away.

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[rawmeanderson]

bring you back to me ― part II

ft. jeff skinner plot: when your high school sweetheart gets traded to the same city where you now live and work, your best friend just can’t mind her own business ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ((surprise, no gif. maybe I’ll add on later, we’ll see.) warnings. swearing; mentions of intoxication, drinking, and anxiety. word count: 5.2k so, part 1 of this fic officially broke the record for most notes on a fic, so I’m very happy you guys enjoyed it so much! I know I’ve said this a THOUSAND times, but I’m so excited about this series, and I’m glad you guys are too! Things will be heating up a bit soon!!! As always, comments and thoughts are appreciated!!!

It took you more than half the game to text anything to Jeff. You agonized over what to even say to him as a greeting, and you absolutely hated it. Eventually, you settled on “Hey, it’s Y/N!” because Lydia threatened to throw your take your phone from you and do it herself. It took you until the start of the second period to hit send.

The game was a blast, more fun than you’d had in a while. Lydia kept up her end of the bargain and got you a second beer during second intermission. You stayed at your seat while she ventured out into the halls. Scrolling through Instagram, you practically jumped out of your skin when your phone buzzed as Jeff texted you back.

Really, you hadn’t expected him to text you until after the game, so getting the message now had thrown you entirely off. You read his message half a dozen times before sending back a thumbs up emoji. All he’d really said was how to get down to the locker room entrance where he could meet you after the game, and you were thankful Lydia came back a moment later to serve as a distraction from your racing thoughts.

“He texted me back,” you say as she hands you a beer. Her eyebrows raise but she stays quiet as she sits down, waiting for you to continue. There’s a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, you can see it. “He’s having me come down to the locker room to meet him after the game.”

Lydia’s smile grows as she takes a drink, looking rather pleased with herself. “See, told you this would be fun,” she responds, making you roll your eyes. You nudge her with your elbow and you’re trying to look annoyed, but Lydia’s unphased.

“You know what, just for this, I’m gonna return the birthday gift I bought you,” you tell her, doing your best to sound threatening. Her response is to scoff.

“What, I try to get you laid, which is something you desperately need, and that means I don’t get a birthday present?” she questions with a laugh. The first part of her words make you glance around, making sure there aren’t any young ears around before you respond.

“I do not desperately need to get laid, thanks,” you grumble, sinking a bit lower into your seat. Your words were a lie though and she knew it.

“Babe, did you not tell me two weeks ago that you were considering downloading Tinder again because you need to get laid?” Lydia’s voice has a knowing tone to it, and you ignore her question to take a drink of beer instead. When you glance at her a second later, she looks absolutely bemused by your silence. The two of you are quiet for a beat, then she speaks again. “You know I love you, right? Like, I just want you to be happy, and I’m sorry if this was too much or if I took things too far.”

Her words are genuine, and you glance at her and roll your eyes easily. “I know, it’s okay. I kind of needed a kick in the ass anyway,” you admit with a quiet scoff and a grin. You know Lydia’s smiling next to you, feeling proud of herself.

You’d be lying if you said the game wasn’t the most fun you’d had in over a year. With Lydia being a lifelong Sabres fan and her personality, you should’ve known that going to a game with her would’ve been an experience. Jeff scored. Twice, even. Each time, your heart had leapt as you jumped out of your seat. For his second goal, you were on your feet before Lydia.

The game went into overtime, and Lydia teased that you seemed more stressed than she was. It was probably true. You’d forgotten the excitement of the game, you’d forgotten just how good Jeff was on the ice. Your eyes had been on him the entire game, your heart swelling in your chest.

When the Sabres won less than a minute into OT, you were still tipsy enough that you were up and screaming, jumping around with Lydia as both of you laugh. As anxious as you’d been all night, as nervous as you were to see Jeff again now that the game was over, now you felt happy, warm inside.

Lydia’s leaving your row, starting to the stairs a moment later when you say her name, and she turns to look back to you with an expectant look.

“Since I didn’t say it earlier, thanks for tonight. Maybe I won’t return your present after all,” you tell her with a smile. She looks pleased with herself, she’s practically beaming.

“Well, you’re welcome,” she says with a nod, obviously trying to hold back her urge to gloat over the fact that you’d had a good time. “All I ask is that the two of you have an open bar at your wedding.” Her words are punctuated with a snicker then, the sound turning to a laugh when you nudge her with your elbow playfully.

In the main concourse of the arena, you hand Lydia your keys. You were surprised that she hadn’t tried to come with you to meet Jeff. When you mentioned that, teasing her, she scoffed and said with a wink that she wasn’t that invested before heading out of the arena.

Chewing on your bottom lip all the while, you followed Jeff’s instructions on where to meet him. Security stopped you along the way, and when you said who you were waiting for, they asked your name, then directed you down the hall. It turns out they’d directed you to a lounge, where you sat down on a sofa, trying to silence the nervous screaming in your mind.

You’d expected to wait for him in a hallway or something, so now that you were sitting on a plushy leather sofa, you’re anxious all over again. You hadn’t closed the door all the way behind you, because knowing your luck, you’d manage to lock yourself in somehow. Feeling antsy as you wait, you fish your phone out of your pocket and scroll through your social media, trying not to think about where you were.

A soft knock on the door startled you and you jumped to your feet, heart racing as the door open a bit more. Of course, it’s Jeff, and from the look on your face, it must’ve been obvious that the knock had surprised you. He’s grinning rather sheepishly as he steps into the lounge, closing the door behind him.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he says with a soft laugh as he meets your eye. You shrug it off, a smile pulling at the corners of your mouth as he steps into the room a little more. “I know I’d said I’d meet you in the hall, but I figured you’d be more comfortable in here.”

Still smiling, you tuck a bit of your hair behind your ear. “Oh, yeah, this was fine, obviously,” you assure him with a breath of laughter. You wonder if he’s as nervous as you are. He seems to be keeping a bit of distance between the two of you, but he’s slowly moving closer. Your knees are shaking as you stand there, and he looks so good in his suit that it’s making it hard to focus.

There’s a pause between the two of you, like neither of you are quite sure that this encounter is actually happening. You’re both smiling and looking at each other, and eventually, he lets out a soft laugh as he shakes his head that makes you bite your lip.

“It’s really fucking good to see you,” he says, his cheeks a bit pink as he grins at you. His words make you goosebumps rise along your skin, and you nod, clearing your throat.

“It’s really good to see you too, Jeff,” you assure him with a nod and a warm smile. He looks happy to hear that, like he’d been worried you wouldn’t want to see him.

When he asks if he can hug you a moment later, you’re quick to nod, already taking a step closer to put your arms around him. He puts an arm around your shoulders to pull your body against his, keeping you close as your face presses into his shoulder. You can smell his body wash, his deodorant, and he’s so warm and familiar that it makes your heart flutter.

The hug was a long one, like neither of you wanted to pull away. He kept his arm tight around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. You wonder if he can tell that you’re practically shaking as you lean into him, the gravity of how much you’d missed him hitting you all at once.

When you force yourself to pull back, it’s only enough to look up at him with an almost bashful smile that he returns. A second later, he pulls away completely, clearing his throat as he gestures for you to sit down.

“You didn’t come to the game alone, did you?” he asks as you sit on the edge of the sofa.

You exhale a breath of laughter and shake your head as he sits down as well, putting the slightest bit of distance between the two of you. “No, uh, my best friend came with me,” you tell him and he nods as he listens. “She’s waiting in the car, charging her phone, or else I’m sure she would’ve insisted on coming down here with me. She’s a big Sabres fan, so she was a good person to come to my first game here with.”

The two of you talk for another ten minutes or so, catching up a bit. Jeff smiles at you the whole time, making it hard for you to concentrate on the conversation. You’re running on sheer adrenaline by then, and as much as you hate to leave, you’re exhausted, ready to climb into bed after the long day.

“Are you busy the day after tomorrow? Like, other than work?” Jeff’s question as you both stand takes you by surprise, and you take a moment to think about your plans for the next couple of days.

“I don’t think so,” you say, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

“Do you want to get together for drinks and catch up a little more? At a bar or something this time, versus here at the arena.” He sounds a little nervous as he speaks, even letting out a soft chuckle, and a wide smile settles on your face as you nod quickly. You realize that he sounds more nervous now than when he asked you out for the first time almost a decade ago.

“Uh, yeah, I’d really like that,” you told him, still nodding. He looks relieved, like there was some possibility you’d say no. Jeff looked so happy that it made your heart hurt, and you wondered what he was thinking, how he was feeling. It was all so surreal still, just to be there with him after so long.

Jeff offered to walk you out to your car, and you really shouldn’t have expected anything less. You laughed though, told him if Lydia saw, he’d be stuck talking to her for the rest of the night. The two of you left the lounge, and before parting ways for the night, you hugged him again, quicker this time.

“I’ll see you in a couple of days, yeah?” he says, hand rubbing over your back slowly as he pulls away.

“Yep,” you respond with a quick smile. “I’m off at 5, so just tell me where to go.” Your words are met with a signature smile from his, and you’re not sure, but you think you see his eyes drop to your mouth quickly. You try to tell yourself that it didn’t happen, but that didn’t stop butterflies that were fluttering in your stomach.

The goodbyes were slow, like neither of you really wanted to leave, and by the time you make it back to your car, you’re not sure how you’re going to survive the less than 48 hours until you see him again.

“So, is there gonna be an open bar at the wedding or what?” Lydia asks, sitting up in her seat and reaching to turn the music volume down as you settle behind the wheel. Your head lolls toward her lazily as you roll your eyes and you exhale a heavy sigh, feeling utterly drained now that the evening was over. As always, she looks amused. “Hey, at least they won! It might’ve put a little damper on the reunion if they’d gotten destroyed out there.”

She’s trying to get you to smile, and it works. Lydia’s gotten good at being able to make you grin regardless of the circumstances. With another sigh, you straighten up in your seat and turn the vehicle on. You fasten your seatbelt, and after putting the car in reverse, you clear your throat.

“We’re getting drinks the day after tomorrow.” You pull out of your spot after glancing at her quickly. Her expression was hard to read, but she was smiling which was a good sign. A second later, she nods.

“Good.” She sounds pleased with herself and you roll your eyes with a bit of a grin.

The two of you decide to skip getting dinner, and instead go through a drive-thru for fries before heading home. By the time you’re in bed, you find yourself itching to grab your phone and text Jeff, but you don’t even know what you’d say to him.

That desire to talk to him certainly didn’t fade overnight, and by the time you got to work the next day, it was practically nagging at you. When you passed Lydia’s cubicle, you were far from surprised when she said your name. She had a nasty habit of distracting you for the first fifteen minutes of the workday. It was a welcomed distraction, and you guys decided on where to grab lunch that day before heading to you desk.

Work ticked away, and lunch comes and goes. Surprisingly enough, Lydia didn’t mention Jeff or the night before. Instead, the two of you had a nice conversation about the new season of Game of Thrones. A little later, back at your desk, your phone buzzes and when you glance at the screen, your heart leaps when you see that it’s a message from Jeff.

JEFF: i don’t know many places here yet, any idea where to go tomorrow?

The message makes you grin as you pick up your phone to type out a message.

YOU: yeah, i’ll send you an address later. Have a good game tonight! JEFF: okay 👍 thanks!

He responded quickly, then for a moment, he was typing. Your jaw grew tense when the bubbles vanish, but no message appears. For a few seconds, you keep watching before you force yourself to put the phone down and get back to work. Your focus only holds on your computer screen for about five minutes before your phone buzzed again, and it was another message from Jeff.

JEFF: how’s your day going so far?

The question is so simple, but it makes a grin tug at the corners of your mouth. You finish the sentence you’re typing before reaching for your phone. It’s small talk, but really, you’re just happy to talk to him at all. You tell him that you’re day’s been alright, that you’d had lunch with Lydia. He says that they’re on the plane to Nashville and that he’s watching Grey’s Anatomy to pass the time.

You text back and forth with him for the remainder of his flight, all superficial conversation. You’d forgotten how funny he is. At one point, you mentioned that you’d be watching the game from home that night, and he promised to try to live up to his performance the night before when he’d scored twice. Soon after, he said they were about to land, and tacked on a “talk to you later 👋“ and you knew that you weren’t going to be able to get any work done for the rest of the day after that.

Later on, you sent Jeff the link to a bar you and Lydia frequented just after the game started. The game...wasn’t pretty. You watched from your couch, grimacing every so often as you took sips of your beer. To distract yourself from the third period, you reply to a few work emails and do a little bit of reading, and you’re grateful when the game ends. You stay on the couch, too transfixed by your book to be bothered to move, and you don’t look up to watch post game coverage until you hear Jeff’s name he comes on screen for a post game interview.

He looks worn out, still in his jersey with his stick in hand. Losing had never been easy on him, and that had clearly never changed. He’s still out of breath and there’s sweat on his brow, and truthfully, it’s a little hard to stop yourself from outrightly staring at him. When it goes back to just showing the commentators, you clear your throat and reach for the remote to finally turn the TV off.

You stay up a while longer, quite comfortable on the couch as you continue reading. You’d had a little too much caffeine earlier, so you know that even if you try to get some sleep, you likely wouldn’t be able to. When your phone vibrates in your lap, you fish around the blanket for it, surprised to see a text from Jeff.

JEFF: 👍 what time are we meeting tomorrow? YOU: I’m off at 5, does 6 work? JEFF: sounds good 😁 YOU: see you then. have a safe flight home.

You put your phone in your lap, not expecting him to message you again, and turn your attention back to your book. Before you’ve even turned the page, your phone buzzes again, and you grin when you see that Jeff’s texted you back. He said he was ready to be home, and you asked what time they’d be back. You remembered that he didn’t like to talk about a loss right away, so you didn’t bother to mention the game.

The two of you settle into a conversation easily, and you forget all about the open book in your lap. He told you that he was exhausted, and you’re glad that he thinks it’s funny when you tell him that he’d looked it in his interview. Eventually, you move to bed and warn him that you might end up falling asleep on him.

It feels nice to talk to him again so casually. Before long, he tells you that they’re boarding the plane and that he’ll let you get some rest. He slips in that he’s excited to see you tomorrow and just reading the message makes your cheeks flush. Giddiness bubbles in your stomach, and you bite your lip as you respond that you’re excited too. A second later, and you tell him goodnight before reaching to put your phone on the nightstand.

You shift onto your other side and fluff your pillows, trying to keep your mind from drifting to tomorrow evening. If you started thinking about it now, you’d never be able to get to sleep. You had plenty of time to be anxious, so why start now if you could help it.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long to get to sleep, but the next day felt like it lasted an eternity. At one point, you truthfully thought that time was running backward. You were absolutely drowning in emails and somehow got pulled into a meeting that forced you to miss your usual lunch hour. When you finally got to grab lunch, you worked as you ate, trying to get caught up.

You finally make it to 5, and by the end of the day, you’re glad that you gave yourself enough time to pop home and change before meeting Jeff. Your nervousness had caught up to you as the day progressed, and changing into more casual clothes would help you relax. Parking in your driveway, you run into the house quickly and head to the laundry room. You change into jeans and a blouse and run your fingers through your hair, hoping you didn’t look like the nervous wreck you felt like.

Of course, you hit a bit of traffic, and you’re still a few minutes away when Jeff texts you to let you know he’s there. Finding parking was of course, a nightmare, but when you finally found a spot, you let him know you were on your way there.

You find him waiting outside for you, and when he sees you, a smile immediately spreads across his face. As always, that smile is infectious.

“Hey! How was work?” Jeff asks when you’re close enough, immediately pulling you into a hug. You’re a little surprised at first, but you relax quickly as you lean into him. Smiling softly, your arms wrap around his torso for a short moment before you pull back to speak.

“I survived, I suppose,” you answer with a grin as your hand comes up to tuck your hair behind your ear. You take the chance to look at him, and he thankfully looks more rested than he had last night. Meeting his eye, the two of you fall silent for a moment before you force yourself to look toward the door of the bar. “Ready for a drink?”

Jeff nods in response to your words, still smiling as he takes the lead. He holds the door open for you and you thank him quietly as you glance around the bar. It’s a little crowded, mostly with people that have obviously come straight from work.

“Do we want to grab a table or sit at the bar?” he asks, taking a step closer to you when someone slipped behind him in the entryway.

“Uhm, let’s just head up to the bar,” you say with a bit of an indifferent shrug, and he nods for you to go ahead of him and pick a spot. A grin tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you know he catches a glimpse of it. You can feel your face flush softly, making you grateful that your back is to him as you head over to the bar.

You choose a spot near the end of the bar and settle on your stool. The bartender greets you and you turn to her with a smile, ordering an amaretto sour. Jeff orders himself a beer after asking what they’ve got on tap, and when the bartender leaves to get your drink, his attention turns to you.

“So, work was rough today?” he asks, obviously making small talk. For a short second, you wonder if he’s as nervous as you are. The question makes you grin through, and you nod quickly.

“It just dragged, that’s all, and I felt like I worked every second I was there,” you explain, shrugging it off as the bartender returns with your drinks.

“How long have you been in Buffalo now?” Jeff questions a moment later, watching you as he raises his glass to take a drink.

“It’ll be three years in April,” you reply, biting your lip a second later while you stir the contents of your glass idly. “I worked for the same company in New York, and they offered a promotion that would require I move. It worked out though, because I’d been wanting to move closer to home. That was right after Logan and Grace found out that she was pregnant, so I’ve gotten to be there a lot to see Hazel growing up.”

As you speak, it’s hard not to feel self-conscious with the way Jeff is watching you. He’s listening to you in a way that no one else ever had, and it’s the same way he’s always listened to you. Your mom used to tease you that Jeff looked like he could never wait to hear what you were going to say next. It’s making your ramble a bit, and when you stop talking, Jeff is still grinning.

“Hazel’s really the best, isn’t she?” Jeff says, laughing then. You nod in agreement, know that your two year old niece is quite the character, and really, you’re not surprised that she and Jeff have met and got along.

“Have you gotten all settled in with the new city and the new team?” you ask, taking a sip of your drink.

You’d forgotten how easy conversation was with him, how easy it was to block out the noise of everyone else around you when the two of you were together. He talked for a bit about leaving the Hurricanes and getting used to playing with a completely new team. As always, he’s optimistic about the season, an it makes you so happy to see him doing so well.

The conversation is briefly interrupted when the bartender drops in to ask if you need anything else. As if on cue, your stomach growls, and you order some fries along with a hard cider as you finish off your first drink. Jeff asks for another beer and once the bartender’s walked away, he looks to you.

“So you’ve been here almost three years, and last night was really the first game you’ve been to?” he asks, looking rather amused. You know he’s teasing, and you scoff softly, shaking your head.

“Hey, don’t feel so special,” you tell him, raising your eyebrows at him quickly as you swirl the ice around in your empty glass. “I didn’t even know we were going to the game until we were in the parking lot.”

Jeff claims he doesn’t believe you, and of course that makes you laugh before you offer up a simplified version of the story. Instead of clueing him in on the fact that Lydia had all but tricked you into going to the game specifically to see him, you say that going to the game had been a last minute surprise.

When the bartender returned with your fries and drinks, Jeff helped himself to your fries, just like he always had. You scoffed in mock disbelieve and looked at him, only to be met with a sheepish grin and a shrug.

“Old habits, I guess,” he teases, earning a laugh out of you as you roll your eyes.

“And here I thought being a professional hockey player might have taught you some manners or something,” you respond, raising your eyebrows at him quickly. It’s his turn to roll his eyes at you then, already grinning.

“As if you weren’t going to offer me some anyway,” he tells you knowingly, reaching for his beer. You know he’s right, that his habit of swiping your food had stemmed from how often you offered him some of your food when you guys were younger.

Certainly, that only added to the surrealness of the fact that you were sitting there with him now after so long. Somehow, it felt like no time at all had passed, like you could so easily still be teenagers. He still looked at you the same way, though now it felt like his gaze was lingering here and there.

The two of you stayed at the bar for a while, not only catching up but just talking, enjoying the fact that you’re both in the same city for the first time in so long. Neither of you really brings up the past. He talks about his teammates and his game, you talk about Lydia and your job, and the only odd thing about any of it is remembering that you’re both adults now.

Time passed so quickly that before you realized it, it was after 8, meaning the two of you had been sitting there talking for over two hours. After a second hard cider, you switched to water, and it came as no surprise that between the two of you, you’d completely emptied the basket of fries in front of you.

When you both decide that you should probably head out, it comes as no surprise that Jeff pays for your drinks and the fries. He’d done the same thing at that diner over Christmas years earlier, and at the very least, it was nice to see that he was consistent. When he laid the cast down, he had a grin on his face that tells you to not even try arguing with him over the check.

As you’re leaving the bar, Jeff keeps close to you, offering to walk you to your car. When you step outside, you’re realize that the temperature had dropped a bit, and you’re quick to zip your jacket up.

“I bet you didn’t take the cold into account when you came to Buffalo,” you tease, seeing Jeff shiver as you started toward the side street where you’d parked.

“Yeah, I should’ve gone to Miami or something,” he responds with a grin, nudging you gently with his elbow. Your smile matches his and you nudge him right back, stealing a quick look at him.

When you get to your car, both of you linger a bit, standing there in the cold like you’re not ready to say goodbye for the night. If it was warmer, you probably would’ve stood there at your car for another hour, but instead, you’re both kind of toeing around the idea of leaving each other already.

“What’s your schedule like for the next couple of weeks?” you ask, your hand finally on the door handle. You hadn’t opened it yet, still not fully committed to leaving.

“Uh, we’re on the road a bit, but I’ll let you know, yeah?” he says, eyes dropping to where your hand is on the car. He takes a deep breath, like he’s realizing that it really is time for you to go your separate ways for the night.

“Yeah, I’ll see you soon,” you tell him with a nod, taking a step forward so you can hug him.

This hug is tighter than before, your face pressing into his shoulder. His body is warm against you, and your heart swells when you feel him press a kiss to the side of your head as his hand rubs over your back. He repeats what you’d said, that he’d see you soon, his voice quiet and warm as you lean into him. You actually sigh softly when you pull away, a small smile on your face as you finally open the door of your car.

“Bye,” you tell him quietly as you settle into the driver’s seat and closing the door behind you. Jeff is still smiling when he waves as you start up the car, then heads back in the direction you guys had come.

[supposed2bfunny]

2doc Week Day 5- Vacation

Rating: T+

Warnings: Mentions of sex and drugs/drug addiction 

“Can I be honest?” Stu asked, licking spicy red sauce off his fingers as he passed what remained of his bomba to Murdoc.

“Uh-oh,” the bassist looked at him wearily as they wandered through Parc Güell. “Here it comes.”

“Relax. I was just going to say, I’m surprised. I wouldn’t have thought Barcelona would be your first choice.”

Murdoc chewed the last bites of the potato croquette and tossed the empty container in a nearby trashcan. “Well, it was this time around. You chose Jamaica for our anniversary, I chose Spain for the anniversary of, erm, ‘D-Day.’” He tapped a finger against the singer’s temple playfully, looking into his black eyes, the result of an act of stupidity that had happened over two decades ago that they had celebrated every since.

“It was a good choice,” the singer confessed. “The castle was really cool, and I didn’t really understand most of that Dalí museum, but it was colorful. The food’s been great and the beaches in Spain are always wonderful.”

“And look at that view,” Murdoc exclaimed, sitting down on the mosaic-covered bench to point at a particularly stunning vista of the city. “You can’t beat that!”

“Yeah, that’s pretty, for sure.”

“Get in the shot, Stu, let’s get another picture for Twitter!”

“Murdoc, you’ve posted like two hundred pictures of me today alone; your followers are going to hate you!”

“Half of ‘em already do, bluebird,” he quipped with a smirk, merrily snapping away regardless of his boyfriend’s protests.

“Okay, fine, but I want a picture of the two of us,” he said after a few poses. He approached the man on the bench, reaching for his phone. “Can you figure out how to flip the camera or do you need me to—”

“I know how to get it to Selfie Mode, mate, I’m not that old!”

“Did you just call the front-facing camera ‘Selfie Mode?’”

Murdoc glared, but only for a moment, because then Stu was guiding his hand so that the angle was perfect: a shot of the two of them, cheek-to-cheek and giddy, and a view of the city behind them. They snapped one picture, two. Murdoc turned, kissed Stu’s cheek (the picture would become his home screen approximately two minutes later), then licked his cheek, earning a squeal.

“Don’t be gross when we’re in a public park!”

“Honestly, Stu, I’ve never heard such a boring string of words come out of your mouth,” he teased.

“You avoided my question,” the singer complained as they continued their walk.

“Which was?”

“Why Spain? I love it. I’m not complaining. I’ll definitely want to do this again. But why?”

Murdoc looked around, watching a small guided tour weave its way through the park, watching vacationing families with matching shirts, watching young couples, presumably on honeymoons. It was strange to observe all these people; somehow when he took trips alone with Stu, it often felt like the two of them had the world together in spite of crowds.

“We came here to promote Demon Days,” he finally said.

“Yeah. I remember that. We traveled all over Europe to promote that,” he replied.

“But it was here, in Barcelona that we started hooking up.”

Stuart slowed down then, watching the bassist carefully and struggling to remember. Those early days were a blur for him. His attempts to balance medications to keep the migraines at bay during their debut album had turned into a dangerous addiction by the second album, and whole weeks were often gone from his memory, sounding fresh when one of his bandmates would bring up a party or an interview that he couldn’t recall being present for.

“I think I remember that…we were in the hotel by the water, right? So we stayed here more than a day...”

“We were scheduled to be here four days, three nights,” Murdoc helped him out, pausing to purchase some bottled water from a cart as the heat of the day wore on. “You and I stayed an extra two days.”

Stu furrowed his brow. “Why?”

Murdoc took a sip of water, passed the bottle to the younger man. “Because you and I spent almost the entirety of the trip in my hotel room, bluebird.”

Just like that, an image of the hotel’s interior jogged his memory, and he could remember kissing Murdoc feverishly in the elevator, breaking apart when they stopped on a floor to pick up a large family before finally making it to their own floor. He could remember the master bathroom in Murdoc’s hotel suite, and taking a shower with the bassist in there. He could remember ordering room service when they were famished from their activities, and he distinctly remembered them sharing a plate of cheeses, olives, and fruit, feeding each other and giggling and kissing like lovesick teenagers.

“Oh my god,” he exclaimed. “Yeah! Now I remember! That trip was amazing! We stayed an extra two days to fuck more, not to see the sights. We went the to the beach like, once that whole time we were here.”

“Yeah,” Murdoc agreed, giving him a strange look. “I think about that trip a lot.”

“Why? Why Barcelona specifically?”

Murdoc stopped at the top of a staircase to take a few pictures of one of the dozens of Gaudí sculptures (and also to catch his breath, Stu assumed, given the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders). “Because on that trip, that’s when I realized that you were it.”

The singer stepped a little closer, letting his arm bump the older man’s. It was making his head spin to think about how close they had been, yet how emotionally distant they still were all those years ago. “Speak up, Muds,” he implored. “I want to understand.”

With a sigh, the bassist turned to look at him, clearly a little embarrassed. “Watching you sleep in the mornings when the sun rose, spending that much time with you. Mate, I knew it then. That I was never going to feel as strongly about anyone else in the world as I did about you. I knew you were the only one I would ever love.”

Stu felt his mouth go dry despite the water bottle he had been guzzling. “Oh…”

“I know,” he added quickly, “I didn’t say anything to you, so obviously nothing came of it. Not right then, anyway. I was too scared to put myself in a position like that. Especially back then! My old man was still alive, I wasn’t on meds so the hallucinations were still fucking commonplace, and also…” he let his arms drop to his sides as he looked out at the spires and palm trees wistfully.

“Go on, lovely thing.”

“I assumed that you felt it too,” he said, sounding so sad that the singer hooked an arm around his waist and pulled him close despite the hot sun. “I thought you could feel what I was feeling, so when we left Spain and continued traveling through Europe and you went back to shagging birds and acting like nothing had happened…”

“It’s all coming back to me,” he admitted. “You were insufferable after that trip. Oh god, the next few weeks, you gave me and everyone around you absolute hell. I didn’t realize you were acting out because you were frustrated with me. Muds, if you’d just told me how you felt—”

“It doesn’t matter!” he snapped. “It’s all in the past. I got a taste of what it was like to hold you for a night without all the commitment crap. Anyway, we couldn’t stay apart for long, could we?”

“We hooked up again as soon as we were back at Kong,” the singer agreed with a smile. “And all through the music video shoots. We couldn’t keep away from one another.”

“It was only a matter of time before you returned my feelings,” Murdoc joked.

“Maybe in time, you’ll want to be mine.”

“That’s it.” He agreed quietly.

A soft wind blew, and Stu brushed his bangs out of his face, brow furrowed in thought. “I never realized,” he confessed. “I thought you hated me back then, Muds.”

“I never hated you, you daft twat. Only resented you a tad. The sun might be hot in the middle of the day, burns and makes us sweat and complain, but we need it so we can snap shots like this for Instagram,” he broke away to take a picture of some flowers, leaving Stu to contemplate the metaphor that he had very intentionally cut short.

“Well, I’m sorry your first trip to Barcelona didn’t work out the way you wanted,” he said. He walked up behind the bassist, so when Murdoc turned around, he was right there, tall enough to block out the sun, dark eyes fixed on the older man. “But I hope this trip makes up for it.”

He had intended to kiss his boyfriend then, but it felt too aggressive given the history that they shared in the city, too much like something that he would have done when he was younger and wilder and always carrying switchblades around for no good reason. Instead, he took Murdoc’s hand and kissed it. They were in a country filled with castles; let him act like a prince for once in his life.

It did the trick, because Murdoc’s eyebrows shot up behind his fringe and he sputtered uselessly, too flustered for words for a shocking five, ten, fifteen seconds.

“You incorrigible sap,” he finally managed. Quite mild as far as Murdoc Insults went.

“That’s me,” he replied with a grin, and Murdoc was already lacing their fingers together, guiding them out of the park and to their next destination in the city. “Thank you for telling me all that. Makes me all the more eager to savor every second of time with you now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grunted, “Don’t be too cheesy or I’ll toss you into one of the fountains.”

Stu laughed. “Fine. Where are you taking me next?”

“First, lets get some ice cold cervezas. Then, I’m thinking a siesta before we hit the beach.”

“Sounds perfect. Y’know, you’re actually quite good at planning these tips, Muds.”

“Of course I am,” Murdoc replied, swinging their hands between them as they walked, uncharacteristically playful. “I’ve been planning how I would woo you since the first time we stepped foot in this city, mi corazón!”

[iamnotbrianmay]

The A Experience

Chapter 6

Okay I hope you like this chapter because I realised that last chapter was definetly NOT a good segway into what's happening here. I was just trying not to give away too much of why Roger stumbled into Brian's profile and I realised way to late that I hadn't included ENOUGH. I try to make up for it tho.

Leave me your thoughts!

Mercury: sorry for taking so long

Mercury: my boss can be a bitch sometimes

Roger chuckled and shut the phone off. He took a long drag from his electric cigarette, letting the raspberry taste linger in his mouth before exhaling. A little kid shot him a glare from the other side of the courtyard and Roger couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty. He didn’t stop though, he just made a smoke ring the next time the kid caught him smoking.

The blond boy’s glare lessened and guilt hit Roger like a train. He quickly stuffed his cigarette in his pocket and took his phone, checking if Freddie had finished his shift already.

“Has anyone ever told you how ridiculously white you look when you some an electric cigarette?”

Roger looked up and found Freddie staring down at him, smirking, “Seriously Roger, you could at least strive to be a little more than a basic white girl.”

Roger rolled his eyes and smiled, “What if I don’t?”

“Your loss, I guess.” Freddie, shrugged and sat on the chair in front of Roger. “So tell me darling, how well can you drum?”

“Straight to the point?”

Freddie nodded and Roger smiled, thanking god for phones, and took out the three hundred different videos of himself drumming. He even showed Freddie the ones were he messed up, the ones were he messed around with well known solos, and the ones were he had to stop playing because of his drumsticks snapping in half or flying off.

He was not perfect, far from it actually. But he knew he was good. A few more years of drumming and maybe he could even get to be great, which was Roger’s wet dream ever since he had started drumming. He had tried so hard to get somewhere, and he had been getting with his current band, but something just told him that maybe the band wasn’t going to be the timeless wonder he was hoping they could get to be.

“Are you free?” Freddie asked, locking Roger’s phone, “I mean, are you band-less?”

He grimaced, “No, but I wouldn’t mind leaving, if that’s your next question.”

“What’s the name of your band?”

Roger took his Juul out, taking a drag before answering Freddie. Ready for the mocking he dejectedly answered, “ Humpy Bong.”

Freddie, bless his soul, didn’t laugh. Or well he tried to, until Roger told him it was okay to laugh. He, too, hated the name Tim had picked for them at the beginning of the band.

“Can you imagine my face when he told me?” Roger complained, “No one will take us seriously, yet he seems to believe that a name like Humpy Bong can make it to the Billboard Hot 100.”

Freddie laughed at Roger’s misfortune, and kept laughing when he told him about the other member of the band wholeheartedly agreeing with Tim about the name of the band.

“And the worst part? After having to stand being known as Roger Taylor for Humpy Bong and playing songs that, I honest to god, could play in my sleep, they have the audacity to, you know, sneakily imply that they have found a better drummer. A guy named Colin Petersen or something like that-- I really don’t care. I just want the asshat gone.”

Freddie grew quiet and serious, for a second Roger was afraid that this Colin whatever was a friend of Freddie’s, but then the older man surprised him, “Would you mind playing with a band called Queen ?”

Roger blinked.

Maybe the cold was affecting his ability to process information. Or maybe he had ordered a pod for his Juul with something other than nicotine. But Freddie looked deadly serious, and Roger wondered if that was what a miracle looked like.

“You have heard our songs, haven’t you?”

Roger thumbed his cellphone wondering if Freddie had somehow looked through his phone and found the excited text he had sent his sister when he saw Brian’s profile on Tinder. Or his embarrassing playlist made up of Queen’s only album, Smile , titled ‘<3’.

Or even worse, Roger worried that the older man had somehow found out that the reason he had started liking Queen was because Mr Lee, otherwise known as Roger’s godfather, had taken Roger to his bar to watch the performance of  one of his bartenders. Roger had fallen in love, and had done his fair share of stalking, until he had stumbled with Brian’s profile by accident.

“How did you know?”

Freddie shrugged, “Light stalking is one of my passions, darling.”

Roger grimaced for the second time that day, “Don’t tell Brian.”

Freddie made a cross on top of his heart, “My mouth is shut, I promise.”

He relaxed, leaning on the table and looking at Freddie with a small smile, “I didn’t know you were looking for a drummer.”

He lied, even though he had clearly heard Deacy said otherwise. But other than that he had honestly never thought about Queen needing a drummer. Or well, maybe he hadn’t been paying enough attention. With his sole focus being the guitarist he had hardly ever paid attention to the other members of the band, so little in fact that he had almost forgotten about Freddie and John the night that Brian had brought him back to their apartment.  

“Well,” Freddie took the Juul that Roger had left on the table and took a drag, “our drummers are good, but their not unique, you know?”

Roger nodded, and Freddie kept talking, “Kelly tends to repeat herself a lot when writing songs and Richie, well, I can’t have someone who keeps asking me if I like what they are doing every five seconds.”

“So you want a new drummer?” Roger asked.

“Yes,” Freddie said, “Someone with spark.”

Any other moment, any other time, Roger would have jumped at the idea of joining a decent band like Queen. Of finally making enough money out off ad revenue and spotify streams to afford a new sweater. Of being recognised as Roger Taylor of Queen rather than Roger Taylor of Humpy Bong. But in his current situation he could very clearly see why he couldn’t do that. Why he couldn’t scream at Freddie for being the best person in the planet.

That prospect alone, the idea of not being able to be part of Queen because he had first thought about getting into Brian’s pants, nearly made him cry.

He had already been feeling guilty about what he had been doing three days ago when Brian had told him that the dinner wouldn’t be for another three weeks. He had been so ready to cut off things before they got too out of hand and his infatuation for the guitarist became something a little bit more tangible than just a post on instagram, but when Brian looked at him with those hazel eyes of his and sad smile Roger couldn’t help but be selfish. And here he was again, being selfish and an overall shitty person.

“What about Brian and me?”

Freddie raised his eyebrows, “What about it?”

“Wouldn’t it be a problem?” He knew it was a stupid question the moment it left his mouth, Freddie and John were together and as far as he knew they were dating.

The problem, however, was that he and Brian weren’t dating. Just pretending.

“Ridiculous,” Freddie answered, “I’m not that much of a hypocrite.”  

There was a second of silence and then the older man continued, “But, if it worries you that much, we can always have a band meeting.”

Roger nodded, relieved at the prospect of a band meeting, knowing that Brian was sure to shoot down any ridiculous idea that Freddie proposed. Freddie’s smile widened, and he was quick to fish out his phone and start typing in what Roger believed to be a group chat. He took his phone out and quickly texted Brian.

Taylor: i think we may have a problem

He expectantly watched as Brian’s status changed from last seen 11:45 am to online and then to typing…

May: What happened?

Roger tries to explain the situation as fast as he can, but the numbness of his fingers from the cold and the pressure of Freddie talking to Roger again and making him stop typing is too much. He barely manages a coherent message, to which Brian replies;

May: What?

Before typing a much more eloquent,  

May: Oh, I understand now. That’s definitely not good.

Roger groans in frustration, “Seriously, will Brian ever stop texting with perfect grammar?”

Freddie looks up from his phone, dark hair framing his face and rolls his eyes, “It’s infuriating, isn't it?”

“Really fucking so,” Roger vents, “I almost expect him to sign his name at the end of every text. It’s like I’m trying to date my grandpa .”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be surprised if he ever did that,” Freddie mumbled, “that’s why I refuse to let him anywhere near our instagram posts.”

May: Sent 1 Photo

May: Definitely not good.

Roger opens the image wearily and nearly groans when he reads the text messages that Brian had screenshotted. It was a conversation in, what Roger assumed, was Queen’s group chat. Freddie said something about having found their permanent drummer, John asking if he had finally managed to convince Roger to be part of their group, and then dozens of emojis once Freddie replied that, yes, he had convinced Roger to join them.

May: What should we do?

Roger bit his lip.

Taylor: whens the next gig Taylor: ???

Brian went offline and Roger had to convince himself not to scream in annoyance. He put down his phone, not before turning on the notifications for when Brian decided to text him back and looked at Freddie, who was staring at him with joy in his eyes.

“They said yes!”

Roger had to feign excitement, “Holy shit! They said yes?”

Freddie nodded, “The next gig is so far away Roger, we will have time to rehearse, get to know each other more-- God this couldn’t be more perfect.”

Roger smiled, “When’s the gig?”

Freddie frowned, staying quiet for a second before answering, “The Sunday after our Christmas dinner.”

The monkey part of Roger’s brain started chanting about the plan he had been brewing ever since he had laid eyes in Brian. Seduce him , it screamed, make him fall in love with you and never leave your side.

The rational part just sighed sadly. He knew this was wrong. He knew that in many ways this was like a musician’s worst nightmare. To have a creepy random dude who was unhealthily obsessed with your guitar skills try to be your significant other sounded like hell. Even more so when the person had been lying about never having heard of the band in his life.

He smiled at Freddie as gleefully as he could and then excused himself to make a call. He had made up his mind the moment he clicked on Brian’s contact name and pressed call. Roger would just have to appreciate the three weeks ahead of him before he never saw Brian or any of the other members of Queen again.

“The gig is after the Christmas dinner.”

Roger smirked, “I know, and that gave me the best idea I have had in awhile.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” Roger hummed, “Brian, babe, how into the idea of making a terribly big scene in front of your friends are you?”

Brian made a noise at the back of his throat, “Not very into the idea if I’m being honest. But then again, when do I ever get the choice to do what I’m comfortable with?”

Please tell me how you felt about this chapter!

I'm not feeling to great about it.

Also, please tell me if you like the texting thing, I don't know if it makes the fanfic feel like one of those 2010 cringey wattapd fics with cheesy dialogue and bad writing.

(If you haven't noticed, I'm starting to feel a little bit too self consicous about my writing now that I have such a large audience)

Okay, onto the tag list! Hope you are not dissapointed! @seven-seas-of-why, @twotitsjohndeacon, @dancindeaky, @gee-uloser, @mozzarellamazzello, @mozzie-s, @deracine-dogma-deux, @shutupanddontjudge, @warping-reality, @demianhill

[moonprincess92]

Tell me what you eat and I will tell you who you are

the food travel au 

3 ½ month film schedule. 31 countries. 24 episodes.

2 people who might just fall in love along the way. 

(read on AO3) 

Chapter 1: London  Author: @moonprincess92nz 

It’s her first fucking day and she’s late.

“SHIT, SHIT, SHIT–” Jyn dodges through suitcases, around security guards and even leaps right over an empty bench at one point as she races throughout Heathrow Airport. She practically slams right through a holidaying family and nearly bowls into a couple of kids with giant backpacks on their backs, but nothing slows her down because if there is anything worse she can do than being goddamn late on her first day, she can’t think of it. Her rep is bad enough, she needs this job –

ARRIVALS, the sign blares. 

Her poor battered suitcase screeching to a halt next to her, Jyn stops to stare around at the hordes of people pouring out of the arrivals gate. The production crew is flying in mostly from USA, she thinks she is one of maybe three people who are from the UK. They told her to meet at the airport, and she checks the email on her phone for the billionth time before scanning the crowd once more.

Finally, she catches a familiar face.

He isn’t so much familiar because she knows him, but rather because she may or may not have binge-watched Cassian Andor videos on YouTube for about eight hours the previous night. Thing is, Jyn honestly wouldn’t call herself a foodie. She knows how to scramble eggs and burn chicken nuggets, but that is about the extent of her cooking skills. Half the time she doesn’t know how she even ended up getting this job, but there she was balls deep in some popular Mexican cooking show because apparently, his face wasn’t so bad to look at. It was only when her roommate barged unceremoniously into her room at four in the morning to ask, “Don’t you have to be at the airport by like, 7am?” when she figured that she might have a bit of a problem.

(“Shut up, Bodhi,” she threw back at him).

Operating on as little sleep as she is, seeing Cassian Andor in person kind of makes her ovaries feel like exploding.

SHIT.

Luckily, before she says something and makes herself look ridiculous, it appears that someone notices her. She hastily says her name, and she’s pulled into the sea of formal introductions by who is apparently their production manager, Mon Mothma. Jyn has never been good at this part. Sometimes, she thinks that she chose the wrong profession entirely – she should be working in a lab or office, somewhere with as little human interaction as possible – but rather unfortunately, she’s chosen a profession where it’s impossible to get by without kissing arse and playing nice with others.

She’s learned over the years how to put on a polite mingling face, but Jesus, it takes it out of her.

“Hi! I’m Luke, the social media manager!” a bright-eyed blonde says.

“Wedge Antilles,” their sound engineer introduces. “Looking forward to working with you!”

“… Kes Dameron. Sorry, I haven’t had coffee yet,” It turns out their head of security is about as sociable as she is this early in the morning.

Honestly, she’s doing fine until suddenly she’s face to face with Cassian Andor and that’s about when it strikes her what she’s really gone and gotten herself into. She’s standing in front of an honest-to-god celebrity, here. She’s never worked on something on this large a scale in her life! It doesn’t help that there’s really something about his jawline as well, but either way she is a professional, goddamn it. She holds out her hand and says,

“Jyn.”

Cassian quirks an eyebrow.

“Is that… your favourite drink, or…?” he asks in confusion.

“What? Oh, bugger,” Jyn curses as he tentatively shakes her hand. “I don’t mean gin, I mean – it’s my name, Jyn with a J – and a y – apparently my parents hated me as a child,” She tops it off with a slightly awkward laugh.

God, she is bad at this.  

“Oh. If it helps, I often get called Caspian whenever I go to Starbucks?” Cassian offers.

“Well, that was your first mistake going to Starbucks.”

“What’s wrong with Starbucks?”

“Talk about commercialisation!” Jyn points out. “Whatever happened to supporting your local businesses?”

Incredibly, he laughs. “I’m sorry, you’re the new camera operator, right?”

“Right, right – I was offered the job a little last minute.”

“Of course – Kay unfortunately got sick – that was the guy who was originally hired.”

“Ah, I see,” Jyn tries to lean casually on her suitcase. “I wasn’t given any details, just a contract and a place to meet – sucks to be him, amiright?”

Cassian frowns. “He’s my best friend.”

Jyn blinks. Of fucking course he was his best friend.

She just gestures vaguely behind her somewhere. “I’m gonna…” she says, weakly. He smiles politely back.

If it was at all appropriate for the setting she would be SCREAMING.

“… so all in all,” Jyn eventually says through Skype later that night. “within the first minute of us meeting, I convince him I’m an alcoholic, criticise him for going to bollocking Starbucks and also somehow manage to insult his best friend!”

Little Bodhi through the screen shakes his head. “Oh my god, Jyn…”

Oh my god, Jyn sounds about right. She snuggles down into the hotel bedsheets and is at least thankful that she’s on a production that can afford actual stars underneath their accommodation. The last time she had a job, she was put up in a student hostel, and she’s pretty sure she’s still washing fleas out of her hair to this day. Most of day one was dedicated to production meetings with only a few establishing shots being filmed that evening. After hours of listening to Mon Mothma drone on and on (3 ½ month film schedule, tight deadline, 31 countries, 24 episodes, etc., etc.) Jyn was thankfully able to clear her head down by the Thames. With only her and the essential crew, she was finally able to breathe as she captured her city by sunset.

She honestly doesn’t know what this job is really going to entail. The travelling she is relatively familiar with thanks to her job, but even then she technically hasn’t been out of the country since she was 16, and she mostly tries to forget her time with Saw anyway. She might not have had a family for a long time, but she’s at home here in London as much as she’s ever been. It’s the only place she’s ever felt truly safe, felt like she has ground beneath her feet and she’s a little (a lot) terrified to actually leave it.

But hell, bills need to be paid and a T.V. show needs to be filmed.

“What am I doing, Bodhi?” Jyn mutters underneath the blankets.

“I believe it’s called ‘flirting’,” Bodhi smirks back in their flat on the other side of the city. “and, if I might add, you’re not doing it very well.”

“Fuck you, mate.”

“Just calling it like it is.”

“Seriously,” Jyn stresses, then. “what am I doing here? I’m working on a travelling food show and I barely know how to cook!”

“You’re the camera operator, not the bloody caterer,” Bodhi says, exasperatedly. “I’m fairly certain you don’t need to know.”

“But–”

“Jyn, listen,” Bodhi cuts her off. “Lord knows I’d prefer to just wrap you up and bring you back home, but honey, you gotta stick with this, ok? No more flaking! You think you don’t fit in, fine – fake it until you do. Go get bloody lost in Germany or finally learn how to make pasta or something, I don’t care, just get out and do it, because we both know you’re not really living here.”

“I’m living!”

“You’re existing,” Bodhi sighed. “and I know your life has had its fucked up moments. I know. It sucks. But it’s time, Jyn.”

She snorts. “You know, when I called you it wasn’t for another therapy session. How much do I owe you this time?”

Her best friend rolls his eyes. “A lifetime of free pancakes.”

“You know I can’t make pancakes.”

“Lifetime supply of Jammy Dodgers, then.”

“That, I can do,” Jyn points at the screen.

Bodhi laughs, only it quickly turns into a violent yawn. “BLIMEY, I’m tired.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take the hint,” Jyn smirks. “but, um, before you actually do go – on a scale of 1 to 10, exactly HOW bad was the flirting?”

“Minus 5,” Bodhi deadpans. “Don’t insult his friends next time.”

“Yeah,” Jyn grimaces. “I’ll do that.”

He grins. “Love you, Jyn.”

“Yeah. Love you, too.”

tellmewhatyoueatofficial check out that view! #tellmewhatyoueat #london #tower bridge #filming #cinematogropher #travel #sunsetwiththecrew #bts @jynserso

bodhitherook JYN BABE U MANAGED TO MAKE IT ONTO THE OFFICIAL INSTA ACCT  

bodhitherook also how the fuck are u not wearing a jacket

tellmewhatyoueatofficial @bodhitherook i confess we might have asked her to take her jacket off for the #aesthetic

bodhitherook WHO RUNS THIS ACCOUNT JYN BC CLEARLY THESE PEOPLE ARE TRYIN TO KILL U IT’S OCTOBER

jynserso pfffft sun was out, was a solid 15 degrees that’s basically sunbathing weather

jynserso but still calling you out @walkstheskies his name is Luke Skywalker go stalk him 

Jyn manages to corner Luke Skywalker in the hotel hallway.

“WHY ME,” she despairs. Her phone is open on the show’s official Instagram page, and it’s pretty clear what she’s talking about, although she quickly adds, “and before you say anything, I KNOW signing the contract means technically I consented to my image being used on multiple forms of social media, but still–”

Luke just shrugs happily.  

“I belong behind a camera, not in front of it,” she protests.

“Hey,” Luke counters. “you look beautiful in that shot! Also, I should be the one complaining, after you sicced your best friend on me.”

“Oh good, Bodhi did his job then,” Jyn says. She steps out of the way hastily as several of their fellow crew members run down the hall between rooms, someone cheering something about shots in the background.

“He’s sent me about a dozen messages insisting that I look after you and treat you right,” he laughs. “Nice guy!”

Jyn just smirks slightly before eyeing down the hallway once more. It’s been two days, and their insane shooting schedule is already starting to hit them all. Quite frankly, none of them have any business still being awake at this time, but it was a long day and apparently they are all still so hyped that trying to sleep with the racket they’re making would be fruitless anyway.

“We should get out!” someone calls enthusiastically from one of the open rooms, and Jyn turns to see their lighting director’s face beaming when she notices her. Shara Bey dashes over and clings hold of her shoulder. “Hey! Where should we go?”

“What’re you looking at me for?” Jyn asks in bewilderment.

“Well, you’re the local girl,” Shara points out.

Jyn stares at the over-tired, wired and enthusiastic faces all staring back at her. They’ve all spilled out of their rooms, nodding and asking and between this and the Instagram post, Jyn isn’t sure she’s been on the receiving end of this much attention in her life. There’s a reason she stays behind the camera! She glances at Luke, although the man just shrugs at her in response.

“I’ve never been to London! Where do we get good food around here?” he asks.

Shit.

“Uhhhh... I know a place that sells killer fish and chips?”

“It’s an adventure and it’s happening - c’mon, guys!” Shara leads the way. 

She ends up bringing them to The Cantina, of all places.

A fun fact to rattle off is that there are literally thousands of pubs throughout London, and somehow she always ends up here. Her and Bodhi almost haunt the place at this point. It’s objectively not the most popular in London nor even relatively famous, but in Jyn’s opinion it captures the very heart of British pub culture (you know, getting shit-faced and yelling about football). It’s kind of what the entire show they’re filming is supposed to be about, so… yeah, here they are. The place is always dark and a little shady, the music always slightly too loud and the lights slightly too piercing, but Jyn feels almost relaxed here.

“I moved back to London when I was 16,” she explains as they approach. Shara Bey has already filmed several snapchat videos of herself by this point and now seems to be flirting with the security guy. Most of their group is hanging onto her every word and she adds, “We’d come here on the weekends with our fake I.D.s and get hammered.”

“My kinda party,” Luke grins.

They all pile inside The Cantina, Jyn dutifully avoiding Cassian’s eyes. Honestly, she had no idea that he was even coming - did famous T.V. presenters even do that? - but someone called out to him just as they were walking out of the hotel doors to go catch a train and he dashed out to join them. After embarrassing herself so spectacularly, she figures the only way to handle tonight is the true British way: ignore all emotions and pretend everything is fine.

She notices a gap at the bar and she manages to quickly order two shots as everyone piles into the pub. She thought she had avoided all scrutiny as her colleagues get caught up in which drinks to order, but apparently nothing gets past the social media manager. Luke gives her a look of bemusement from over his shoulder and Jyn bites at him,

“What?”

“Steady on,” he says.

“Shut up,” Jyn accuses.

“You know, if you want to talk to him all you have to do is open your mouth and start saying words,” Luke says, slyly.

Jyn glares. “What d’you know? You know nothing.”

“I know that look! Trust me, I get it. I’m a huge fan too.”

Jyn finally meets his knowing gaze.

“You also watch three seasons in eight hours?”

“Without subtitles!” Luke nods. “My Spanish got a LOT better.”

“Stalk on Instagram?”

“I’m a social media manager,” Luke scoffs. “Raise me something actually valuable.”

“Imagine marrying someday?”

Luke laughs. “Jyn, we all know that he’s out of both our leagues, but with you… ehhhhh, there’s potential.”

“I’m sorry, EHHHHH?”

“I also said potential!”

Jyn was going to offer one of the shots to Luke, but with that statement, she keeps them both for herself. It’s true, she’s been filming this man for the last two days and she still technically hasn’t had any kind of one-on-one conversation with him that isn’t to do with camera angles. Besides the disastrous first attempt, that is. She isn’t even sure what’s stopping her at this point. It’s not like she’s kidding herself that something is going to happen – they’re on a schedule, they’re going to be travelling in a tight knit group for months without space to get away, and who even looks at her like that anymore? – so it’s not even the fact that he’s hot that makes her like this.

She’s just never done anything on this kind of scale before. These people all have established careers, been featured on Ellen, have followers on Twitter… this is the first time Jyn’s worked on a project where the director isn’t some uni student filming a sex scene in their parent’s garage. Bloody hell, what could she even say to him?

“Ok, look,” Luke sighs next to her. “exactly how many shots is this going to take? Because I will literally buy them all if it will get your ass over there.”

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “but at least one more.”

tellmewhatyoueatofficial rumour has it that somewhere round here you can get some killer #fishnchips! @theofficialcantina #tellmewhatyoueat #bts #london #camden town #camden market #london pub #the cantina #filming #cinematogropher #travel  

Her ass inevitably did not end up over there.

“Ok, we’re going for the casual ��we’ve just stumbled upon this place’ feel,” Their director, Draven, is running backwards somewhere behind her, trying to keep up with the action as Cassian walks down the street. She’s aiming for the vision of him being in amongst the crowd, just one with London, which is kinda contradicted by the fact that they have blocked off one side of the entire stretch of street outside the restaurant they’re currently featuring and their security guy is letting through a controlled amount of people to walk through their shot. Still, she gets to watch Cassian stroll down the footpath with his hands in his pockets, contently gazing around the streets, so she’s probably got the good end of the deal, here. Voiceovers will be added in later, so literally all he has to do is walk and smile as Draven yells out direction.

“Ok! You reach Rebel Rebel,” he calls out. Cassian pretends that his eye is caught by the actually previously chosen restaurant, glancing up at it. She zooms in on his face.

Yes. Definitely has the best deal, here.

“CUT,” Draven yells. “Perfect, we’ll shoot it once more, then head on in.”

They take a break before moving into the restaurant to do more filming and she listens to Draven rave to their producer about how big they’re expecting their audience to be for this particular episode. She probably doesn’t try hard enough to hide her scoff, but she’s exhausted from being up until 2am that morning and still too pissed off at herself to care. Despite all of Luke’s encouragement, she still hadn’t managed to get herself over to the table where Cassian had been sitting. She had an opening and alcohol, and yet…

“Look, I’ve worked on this show before and I’m yelling you,” Luke nodded at Cassian last night. “He’s a good guy! He’s worth getting to know.”

She was sure he was. It was just getting to the point of knowing him that worried her. She glances bitterly up at Rebel Rebel. Honestly, of all fucking places in London, they just had to choose the most cliché.

“Why do you not like this place?”

She whirls around in a slight panic, heart practically leaping into her throat. Cassian’s watching her curiously, water bottle in hand and please Jyn, please remember what proper words are.

“Who – who says I don’t like it?”

“That expression on your face,” Cassian points out.

She’s almost impressed that he noticed. “Is filming going to be this forced the entire time?”

For a moment she isn’t sure if he’s going to give her a real or diplomatic answer. She supposes his job’s on the line, but just as that thought occurs he admits, “A lot of things are pre-shot filming this kind of show. It’s like reality T.V., we pretend it was all filmed on the spot when actually we planned the entire thing. But the food and the reactions, that’s going to be real. You can’t fake taste.”

“What if you don’t like something? Are we allowed to include that?”

“Usually depends on who I’m allowed to piss off,” he mentions.

“Well, I dunno who chose Rebel, Rebel, but this place sucks,” If he can figure it out from the look on her face, then there’s no point denying it. Jyn points out the restaurant that is technically one of London’s top places to eat. Recommended on Trip Advisor, stars and celebrities were known to dine there and even Jamie Oliver did a special there once, but as far as Jyn is concerned the entire place was overrated.

“How do you know that?”

“Like I couldn’t possibly know great food,” She winces a little at the tone. Blimey, she needs to work on not sounding so defensive.

“Show me,” Cassian suddenly challenges. “After filming today, take me to the good food.”

He can’t be serious. Surely he isn’t? They have a schedule, they have deadlines, they can’t just go bloody rogue! Yes, fine, she does have somewhere in mind. She might consider wine and a can of tinned soup a decent meal, but that doesn’t mean she can’t recognise great food when she sees it. The memories suddenly hit her, of meat sizzling, of swinging on vinyl chairs and knives clinking against plates. She remembers being allowed to stand on a stool behind the counter to take customer’s money and running through the kitchens trying not to get caught by the chefs. Whenever she hears classical music she’s taken back and they’re literally only around the corner, but…

It’s a stupid idea.

She shrugs. “I think Draven’s gonna burst a blood vessel if we don’t get back to it.” 

JUST TAKE HIM TO THE FUCKING RESTAURANT JYN DO IT DOOOOOO IIIIITTTTTTT

FKJDJFKJDFJKFJKDF KILL ME Also are u still harassing luke to be nice to me bc honestly bodhi

Im just lookin out for mah gurl Also turns out he’s kinda funny so But not the point, just take him Jyn seriously

But it’s such a personal place and we barely know each other

Don’t make it about you then. Just say u know a place that’s better, bring ur camera and film the magic. Oooooh, get baze to make his special, that shit is GOOD Plus this way you’ll get to know each other eeeyyyyy

I’m going to regret this

No u wont 

It eats at her, until eventually Bodhi manages to make her snap. Damn it, it will not leave her alone and apparently, her way of asking people out these days is just turning up at their hotel room door and demanding them to come with her, since the moment Cassian answers her slightly too hard knock on his door she blurts out,

“Get your coat on, we’re going somewhere.”

Cassian blinks slightly, but seems entirely non-phased as he ducks to the side to grab a jacket and follows her out the door. “Where are we going?”

“To the good food.”

It’s a bit far to walk and she’s still not used to the T.V. glamour of being able to take taxis everywhere, so she drags him out into the cool, drizzly evening and onto the tube. Taking the Piccadilly Line into Covent Garden, the night is fresh and just starting to buzz when they climb up into the street. She wasn’t going to get her camera out until they reached Lahmu, but the side street they cut down is strung up with multi-coloured lanterns and his face is honestly too good to not try and capture.

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure if we’re even allowed to do this,” Jyn admits, as she points out the way. “Like, filming outside of scheduled shooting. Have I just violated my contract or something?”

“Depends if Draven likes what he sees,” Cassian answers her.

“I’ll delete it later, then,” Jyn says, walking sideways as she filmed and hoping that nothing got in her way lest she accidentally go flying. “No one has to know a thing. And if you talk, I’ll kill you.”

He laughs a little into the camera. “I’m starting to think I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“But anyway, welcome to Covent Garden again,” she makes a deal out of saying, ensuring that she can still see his face through her lens. He pauses under a lamp post and thankfully, no one seems to recognise them in the dark and without the addition of an entire film crew. To someone else, they could literally be any random YouTube vloggers or something. “Naturally, this damn show only brings you to the touristy side of London, but there are some admittedly great places to eat in this area. Not fucking Rebel, Rebel though, I mean shit that’s actually edible.”

“We might want to edit that last part out.”

“Yeah, post can handle that,” She would wave a hand if she had one to spare. “Tell me, superstar Cassian Andor, how are you enjoying London so far?”

He smiles a little against the backdrop of lit restaurants. “It’s cold.”

“Of course it’s cold, it’s fucking England.”

“But it’s exciting,” he adds. “There’s so much history here, buildings that have been around for hundreds of years… it’s great to see.”

“You’re supposed to say you love the food, stop going off script.”

“Sorry – I love the food.”

“Good,” she says. “because if you don’t love where we’re going, then I’ll buy the next round of drinks.”

“Where exactly ARE we going?”

She points across the street and she films him turning and seeing the lit up sign of Lahmu. Owned for the last fifteen years by Baze and Chirrut Malbus-Îmwe, it’s known for its wildly eccentric yet still somehow delicious menu. Jyn leads Cassian there, waving to the matire’d on their way in and asking if Baze is around.

“You’re a regular?” Cassian asks.

“Kind of,” Jyn hedges. “it’s weird to explain.”

She doesn’t rest until they find Baze in the kitchen, the co-owner and chef shaking Cassian’s hand vigorously like any person who was vaguely familiar with food would. Jyn keeps the camera rolling the entire time until finally, he tries Baze’s famous Secret Special and the unearthly sounds that come out of his mouth Jyn deems a little too inappropriate for their G-rated show.

“This is fucking amazing,” he practically moans.

“I’m glad,” Baze says warmly as Jyn hastily cuts the recording.

“And you seriously won’t tell me what kind of meat this is?”

“Of course not, that’s the secret part.”

“It’s not going to have me arrested, right?”

“No. Well… I don’t think so, at least.”

Cassian just shrugs. “Good enough for me.”

Carefully working on packing the camera away in the bag she has strung around her neck, Cassian continues to enthusiastically shovel whatever mystery meat it is into his mouth. Over by the kitchen bench, Baze leans in and squeezes her shoulder.

“So can I expect to actually get on T.V. here, or not?” he asks in undertone.

“Probably not,” she admits.

“Ah, well. It was a nice idea while it lasted,” Baze sighs, gruffly.

“You guys are still doing well, right?” Jyn asks, casually.

“Stop worrying. We’re fine,” Baze shoots her a look. “Exposure never hurts, however.”

“Just let Cassian tweet about this place,” Jyn points out. “You’ll have people coming in hordes.”

Cassian cuts in to scoff, “I’m not THAT popular.”

“When you have a follower count with 5 digits or more, you’re considered popular, mate.”

Cassian protests, but honestly they’re mostly silent after that as he apparently just savours the flavours Jyn knows have to be hitting his tongue. She realises at one point that she’s closed her eyes and she hastily snaps them open because Jesus, Jyn, get a grip, she can listen to the boiling soup and scraping of pots without looking weird about it. It’s only when Baze moves away to carry on directing his kitchen, however, when she finally says,

“Look. I think we got off on the wrong foot when we first met,” she says. “I swear I usually know how to talk to people normally. I’m a big fan?”

Thankfully, he laughs and she lets out a slow breath of relief. “I’m honoured.”

“No really,” Jyn points out. “I don’t even speak Spanish, and I watched all three seasons of your last show.”

“That’s dedication.”

“Sorry again.”

“Hey,” he shakes his head. “It’s fine – I’m a big fan of yours too.”

“Piss off,” Jyn says before she even stops to think whether that might offend him or not. “I film obscure niche documentaries and indie films that lose money rather than make money, there’s no way you like any of that shit.”

“No really, I looked you up when we knew you were coming,” Cassian points out. “Or, ok, Kay sort of insisted that we look you up, he was feeling a bit territorial. But we watched a little of that one documentary you did on the abandoned insane asylum?”

“Oh god,” Jyn shivers. “that place was creepy as all fuckin’ hell. I had nightmares for weeks.”

“But the camera work was beautiful! Wait, exactly how creepy?”

“I’m pretty sure that one of the film crew got possessed.”

“You’re not serious?”

And it’s weird, but he finishes his Secret Special and she tells the quite frankly terrifying story of when one of her crew members had gone a little nutty and claimed that they were having visions of dead people and it kind of… goes well. Her heart is still pounding, but they’re finally talking. It at least makes her feel a little more grounded, a little more like she actually fits into this project that until this point made her feel like she was just floundering under water. This isn’t another weird documentary about haunted buildings, this is something that will eventually air on prime time British television…  

“So how did you end up as a T.V. presenter, of all things?” Jyn asks once his plate is scraped clean.

“I started in regular journalism. Believe it or not, but I’m not the best cook.”

“Shut the hell up,” Jyn insists.

“No really,” Cassian says, earnestly. “I can appreciate good food, but I still cannot make anything like my mother can.”

“Well, I burn toast so together, we’ve got this show covered.”

“Thank God, I was starting to worry.”

She laughs. Fucking laughs. But he’s laughing too, so she hopes it’s ok and he asks her then, “How did you get into camera work?”

“The professional answer is that I have always appreciated the entire filmography of whoever happens to be employing me at the time,” Jyn says. “The real answer is that I was running out of time to pick an elective at uni and I chose this random media studies paper on a whim.”

“So we pretty much started in the same place.”

“I guess, yeah,” It’s hard to imagine herself having literally anything in common with the celebrity, but what the hell does she know in the end? They’re quiet for a moment, Cassian moving to wash his own plate and Jyn pretending that she isn’t watching. It’s only when he’s finished and everything is put away when he turns back to her and says, 

“So what’s the story?”

“Sorry?”

“The story,” he reiterates and Jyn’s chest thuds painfully. “about why this place. Don’t try and tell me there isn’t a story.”

It’s true, there is one. And she honestly wasn’t sure whether she was going to say it when she first brought him in here, but there’s something that makes her want to say it now. She takes a deep breath and answers,

“My father used to own it.” 

He nods, but doesn’t say anything else. He waits, clearly willing to let her talk when she’s ready, and she eventually sighs in exasperation. “Fine, my father owned it and it’s how he met my mother,” she adds on. “I practically grew up here, but they died and it got sold when I was eight and it’s never felt exactly the same since. I guess I still try sometimes, though.”

It’s a very glossed over version of the story, but it will do for now. He nods in understanding before gesturing to her camera once more. “Do you mind?”

She frowns. “What do you want to film?”

“I have an idea – just roll with it?”

She humours him, once again pulling out the camera. She’s at least thankful that the kitchen lights are kind of perfect for filming as she sets it on top of an upturned saucepot in lieu of a tripod. She prompts, “What are you thinking?” and Cassian looks up right at her through the lens.

Blimey.

“We’re going to be taking Europe by storm, right?” he says, and she almost thinks his words aren’t even intended for the camera. “The idea is that we experience multiple cultures and different kinds of foods, but I love that there’s one thing that seems to be universal. No matter where you are in the world, food has this ability to connect things. We associate food with the places we come from, certain celebrations, smell with memories, a restaurant with home…” Her heart is definitely somewhere up around her throat and he smiles at her. “and that’s pretty awesome.”

tellmewhatyoueatofficial rumour has it if you order the #SecretSpecial you’ll become a changed person! #tellmewhatyoueat #restaurant #food #filming #locations #london #covent garden #bts @lahmurestaurant

k-lara7 omg I love this place!!!!

yavemiel @ pingou7 we are so going here next time you come visit me

bodhitherook I had no idea they were filming here @jynserso??????

doptimous Definitely would recommend @lahmurestaurant. The owners are so nice, you’re never waiting long and it’s honestly a great experience every time we go. 

In the end, Draven loves their side project so much that it turns into his idea.

They were all supposed to be on a flight to Cardiff at this point, but the network has apparently let them delay by twelve hours to allow them to shoot additional footage and anything that gets her favourite restaurant exposure is fine with Jyn. But despite their filming obviously fake candid shots outside the restaurant, Draven’s admitted that there’s a lot of charm in the real candid-ness of what they filmed the previous night and hopefully, a lot of their original footage will end up being used in the final cuts.

“I’m going to miss London!” Luke says cheerfully as they wait at the airport. Definitely not a big enough production for a private jet, they get a few looks waiting amongst everyone else but luckily at 4am not many people care all that much about the moderately famous food show host and crew. Jyn is attempting to sleep in her cold, plastic chair but it’s kind of hard when Luke won’t stop chatting.

“Do you ever stop?” she asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind,” she mutters. She gets up and leaves Luke to his cheerful trawling through Twitter and notices Cassian slumped down near the phone charging station. With his hoodie pulled over his eyes it’s difficult to tell if he’s awake or not, but he stirs when she sits down next to him.

“Naturally the network couldn’t wait for tomorrow and literally had to book us on the next flight to Cardiff,” she says. “Who the hell even flies to Cardiff at this time in the morning?”

“Right?” he smiles a little. Then, after pausing he adds, “Hey, um… I’m sorry if I stepped over a line or something before. When we were filming at Lahmu. I know you didn’t really intend on it being a part of the show and it got kinda personal so I just wanted to make sure you’re…”

“It’s ok,” Jyn says softly.

She isn’t sure what it is. It’s 4am in an airport, it’s one of those liminal spaces where time stops existing and only vacant expressions and stress endures. But she turns to glance over at him and he’s looking at her and shitballs, her stomach twists itself inside out.  She still doesn’t know what to expect from this entire project and she certainly doesn’t expect anything ever from him, but a part of her is really, really pissed off to know that they have to part ways at the end of all this.

But then again also, they have 30 more countries to go.

Finally, the announcer is declaring that their flight is beginning boarding. All around, tired people stand and yawn, stretching and picking up suitcases and rousing sleeping children. Cassian sighs before pushing back his hood and giving her a determined look.

“Let’s go to Wales,” he says.

“Let’s go to Wales,” Jyn agrees. 

---

[muses14]

Original 151 Poke’mon

And what it says about you! By: James Grebey This is a fun read! :D Bulbasaur — You’re accessible, reliable, and don’t like to be challenged. If you did like a challenge, you wouldn’t have chosen the starter that can steamroll the first two gyms. Ivysaur — You’re starting to be a “real adult,” so you pay your own cell-phone bill. Venusaur — You’ve had to deal with several rounds of layoffs and all sorts of bullshit, and your body hurts and you’re just goddamn tired and full of resentment. Charmander — You’ve fooled everyone—maybe even yourself—into thinking that you’re all cute and sweet, but there is a fire inside you and you are ready to let folks know that they’ve wronged you. Charmeleon — Your favorite soda is Diet Mountain Dew. Charizard —  You think of yourself as a scrappy underdog, despite being undeniably popular and powerful. Ninety percent chance you’re a Boston sports fan. Squirtle — You’re sweet and innocent and are blessed with the ability to rock any pair of sunglasses. Wartortle — You’re a little upset when people don’t comment on your new haircut, even though you totally did not get it for the attention. Blastoise — Your favorite genre of movie is military documentary. Caterpie — You have low expectations for yourself, but the key is finding joy in the ordinary. Metapod — You would eat undercooked chicken when you ordered a salad rather than tell the waiter that they got your order wrong. Butterfree — You’re still deeply scarred by that episode of Pokémon where Ash says goodbye to his Butterfree, and that emotional trauma is the only reason why you haven’t picked a better Pokémon to be your favorite. Weedle — Contrary to the saying, you do not know when you’ve been insulted. Kakuna — You remember every single slight that’s ever been leveled against you, real and perceived. Beedrill — You have forgotten about at least one of your tattoos. Pidgey — People wrongly assume that you can’t keep a secret, but you’re actually extremely trustworthy, and it’s a little hurtful, actually, that people think they can’t confide in you. Pidgeotto — You attempted to start going by your middle name when you went off to college, but it didn’t stick. Pidgeot — You don’t participate in the group text thread much, but whenever you do chime in, it’s a knockout. Rattata —  You’re a tattletale. Raticate — There’s a pizza box somewhere in your bedroom, right now. Spearow — You push away people who are only trying to help. Fearow — You have stabbed somebody, or at least seriously, seriously considered it. Ekans — Deep in your heart, you know that you’re a Slytherin. Arbok — You proudly self-identify as a Slytherin. Pikachu — Ya basic. Raichu — You think that those rentable scooter start-ups are good, actually. Sandshrew — You have a rich inner life, and you’re secure enough that you don’t feel the need to always be a part of every conversation. Sandslash — Nobody ever really knows what you’re thinking, and it keeps people on edge. Nidoran♀ — You’re deeply upset about what’s happened to Tumblr. Nidorina — You would be onboard a “Hillary 2020” campaign. Nidoqueen — You listen to Lemonade once a day. Nidoran♂ — You probably have some personal biases that you should really address. Nidorino — Inexplicably, you are super, super into soccer, or, as you call it, “football.” Nidoking — In lieu of a personality, you are really into bourbon and craft beer. Clefairy — You would die for Carly Rae Jepsen. Clefable — You can utterly destroy somebody’s sense of self-worth and self-confidence with just the briefest of withering looks. Vulpix — You have dabbled in crystals. Ninetales — You’ve tried running the way they do in Naruto at least once because, well, what if it really is faster that way? Jigglypuff — You want to be the center of attention, yet you cannot handle even the mildest criticism. Wigglytuff — You are deeply invested in the Royal Family. Zubat — You are extremely annoying, and everyone wishes you would stop bothering them!!!! Christ, I’m just trying to walk through this cave in peace!!! Golbat — You nasty. Oddish — You have fallen prey to a multilevel-marketing scheme you learned about on Instagram, and you just don’t know it yet. Gloom — You forgot to put on deodorant, and even though you smell fine (it’s really not a big deal), you are mortified and want to die. Vileplume — You’ve uploaded multiple YouTube videos that begin with “Hey guys, sorry it’s been so long since my last video!” Paras — You’re just trying to get by, man. Parasect — You are Too Online, and it has poisoned your brain. Venonat — Bernie Bro. Venomoth — You’re a Warren G. Diglett — First dates always go well for you, but the person you’re dating will soon discover that you have a lot of stuff going on under the surface. Dugtrio — You’re almost never seen without the company of your best friends in the whole world, and you are terrified about what will happen if anybody moves away. Meowth — You were the class clown in high school, and in retrospect you probably deserved all those suspensions. Persian — You do not have any student loans. Psyduck — You use Tweetdeck to view Twitter, and you’re constantly confused and upset. Golduck — You deleted your Facebook account, but you can keep tabs on your friends with both of your Instagram accounts, so it’s pretty much the same. Mankey — You have punched an authority figure at least once. Primeape — You have punched an authority figure at least once...and won. Growlithe — You don’t love it when people don’t follow rules, but you’re extremely loyal, so you’d never make a big deal of it. Arcanine — You would like to speak to the manager. Poliwag — You go along with the flow out of necessity. Poliwhirl — You are Jason E. Christian, and you live at 23rd East Walnut Lane in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Yes, Jason, we know where you live, and we know what you’ve done. Don’t try to deny it, and don’t try to hide. Poliwrath — You knew multiple yo-yo tricks when you were a kid, and could probably still walk the dog if somebody gave you a yo-yo, even though you’ve largely put such childish things behind you. Abra — You have made important life decisions based on astrology. Kadabra — You took an online IQ test, and because you were happy with the result, you take it as gospel. Alakazam — You’re a mod for several important subreddits. Machop — You’re excited for the tub of protein powder you ordered from Amazon to get here already. Machoke — Machoke me, daddy. Machamp — Remember Big Dick Energy? You have the opposite of that. Bellsprout — You are in way over your head. Weepinbell — You were recently ghosted. Victreebel — You recently ghosted somebody. Tentacool — You think it’s funny to call sports “sportsball.” Tentacruel — You are lurking behind the scenes, waiting for your moment. Geodude — You’re a 14-year-old Men’s Rights Activist. Graveler — MAGA. Golem — You’re a dad who drinks exclusively Milwaukee's Best. IPAs have too much flavor. Ponyta — You’re a horse girl (or horse guy, but you for sure were an enthusiastic junior equestrian). Rapidash — You have never taken a public bus, and you don’t ever plan to. Slowpoke — The people who make fun of you secretly envy you. Slowbro — You just want to relax and not worry about things, but somebody is always riding your ass. Magnemite — You never miss trivia night at your favorite bar, and you take the competition super seriously. Magneton — You never miss trivia night at your favorite bar, but because your friends carry most of the weight, you view it as a weekly opportunity to get sloshed. Farfetch'd — You host a podcast about bad movies that you started with your buddy. Weekly downloads average in the dozens. Doduo — You are paralyzed by even the most minor decisions. Dodrio — After weighing all the options, you then just say “fuck it” and go with your gut. Results have been mixed. Seel — Just happy to be here. Dewgong — You follow multiple National Geographic and wildlife accounts on Instagram, and those commercials about abused animals make you cry every time. Grimer — You’re trashy as hell, but you own it. Muk — You’re trashy as hell, but not in a cute or kitschy way. Shellder — Ariana Grande would hate you. Cloyster — Everything you do is vaguely sexual. Gastly — You shitpost online. Haunter — You are an online troll. Gengar — You steal people’s jokes and post them on your own viral Instagram account. Onix — You have a lot of opinions about “kids these days.” Drowzee — Your allergy medicine is really slowing down your roll. Hypno — You have serious “creepy uncle” vibes. You are not actually an uncle. Krabby — Honestly, given all the stress you’re under, you’re pretty goddamn calm, all things considered. Kingler — You’re always inviting yourself to have a taste of someone’s meal or split a dessert with them, even though they maybe wanted a whole dessert, Kingler — You can order your own instead of stealing half of mine. Voltorb — You’re keeping your mouth good and shut, and it is the only reason you haven’t been fired. Electrode — Premature ejaculation : ( Exeggcute — Part of you is broken. Exeggutor — The funniest movie you’ve ever seen is Billy Madison, and The Waterboy is a close second. Cubone — You own a Corpse Bride T-shirt you bought at Hot Topic because it’s goth. Marowak — Your emo phase resulted in you getting a face tattoo. Hitmonlee — Your least favorite day of the entire year is January 1, because you can’t deal with all of these poseurs ruining your workout because their New Year’s resolution was to go to the gym. Hitmonchan — Given how much you pay for the membership and for all the fancy workout clothes and equipment, you should really go to the gym more. You look the part, though. Lickitung — You are a generous lover, yet somehow unnervingly so. Koffing — Vape influencer. Weezing — Can smoking weed give you black lung disease? You’re determined to find out. Rhyhorn — You’re very goal-oriented but don’t really do “outside-the-box” thinking. Rhydon — You are always ready to rumble. Chansey — You live a very sheltered life. Tangela — Your online browsing history is an absolute nightmare, and your greatest fear is somebody seeing what kind of weird stuff you’re doing on the web. Kangaskhan — Wine mom. Horsea — You’ve never done anything wrong in your entire life. Seadra — You own multiple leather jackets. Goldeen —  You have the Sweetgreen app downloaded to your phone, and you use it pretty much every day. Seaking — Everybody is lying to you, and you had no idea until just now. Staryu — You delete posts when they don’t get enough likes. Starmie — You claim to have famous friends. Mr. Mime — You have a humiliation fetish. Scyther — When everyone was busy partying, you studied the blade. Jynx — You have been canceled due to old tweets. Electabuzz — You still mourn the demise of Four Loko. Magmar — You have unironically worn a fedora and don’t have any friends who are close enough with you that they’ll tell you the truth. Pinsir — You want DC to #ReleaseTheSnyderCut. Tauros — You’re sorry, you thought this was America! Magikarp — You’re just going through a rough patch, it’ll be okay. Probably. Gyarados — You’re overcompensating. Lapras — Your friends love you for being “Team Mom” and making sure everyone gets home when someone has a little too much to drink, but deep down you wish they could just be a little more responsible so that you wouldn’t have to make sure they don’t drown in a pond every single time you go to the bars. Ditto — You’re adaptable but have chronic imposter syndrome. Eevee — You can get away with a lot, and nobody will really get mad at you. This won’t last. Vaporeon — You’re a brunch aficionado. Jolteon — You love a good 5K and taking your company softball team very seriously. Flareon — You would never buy something off the rack. Porygon — You have an idea for an app that’ll really disrupt things. Omanyte — You are sitting on an incredibly hot take that you’re kind of nervous about sharing. Omastar — You have a lot of opinions about how bad Daenerys’s military tactics are on Game of Thrones. Kabuto — You prefer subs, not dubs. Kabutops — Your Super Smash Bros. pick is Fox, and you will only play Final Destination with no items. Aerodactyl — You’ve been single for a long time and it’s a little hard to get back in the dating game, but you’re trying and that’s what matters. Snorlax — Honestly, happier and more content than any other Pokémon on this entire list. God, I envy it. Articuno — It takes you a long time to figure out what outfit you’re going to wear, but once you’ve finally picked something from your closet, you always look good. Zapdos — Your mother really wishes you wouldn’t swear so much. Moltres — Your life is constantly a flaming mess and you’re always teetering on the edge of collapse, but somehow you’ve tricked everyone into thinking that you’re doing great and are always in control. Dratini — Your “I want to be a marine biologist" phase lasted longer than most. Dragonair — You were the editor of your high school newspaper, and you served on student council. Dragonite — You’re not like regular bosses, you’re a cool boss (until somebody fucks up). Mewtwo — You’re overpowered. This is bullshit, you shouldn’t be able to pick Mewtwo as your favorite Pokémon. Stop being a jerk and pick another. This isn’t fair. Mew — You’re baby.

[lalainajanes]

I don't know if you're taking prompts, but I had an idea: Klaroline fanfic, Misfits AU/AH. I don't know if you're familiar with the show but basically a bunch of young offenders get struck by lightning and gain (super)powers. They find out that others got struck and also have powers. It doesn't have to be young offenders, but could be based around the idea of one or both getting struck by lightning and gaining powers. The show was like Heroes meets Skins/Skam/Teen Drama,

I’ve only seen a bit of Misfits! It’s on my to continue list. I snuck in some bonus Halloween vibes just because.

The Rush Too Much

Klaus rollsinto the driveway slowly, his eyes on the half constructed haunted house on thefront lawn. It was rather larger than he’d anticipated but then he’d only seenit in pieces.

Carolinehas obviously been busy.

It’s beendrizzling all day, and claps of thunder have been steadily growing in volume asKlaus made the drive home. Caroline seems undaunted, decked out in a rain coatand a knit hat. She’s perched on a step ladder, carefully stringing lightsaround the top edge of the haunted house’s façade. Her curls are a wild messunder her hat and her cheeks are pink and wind chapped. Still, he’d bet moneyshe’s humming happily to herself while she works.

The Fourthof July Barbeque she’d thrown had proven that Caroline took holidays veryseriously and thoroughly enjoyed herself in the process.

Carolinehad moved into the house in June. At that point she’d merely been a friend of afriend who’d been looking for a new living situation. Klaus had been desperateto fill his spare room. Kol had been unsubtly hinting about relocating andneeding a place to stay and Klaus thought living with his younger brother wouldbe a special sort of hell.

Asroommates he and Caroline could havebeen a disaster – they were both a bit overly fond of getting their own way – butthey’d come to rub along rather well. Despite being the social sort, and anunrepentant chatter box, Caroline was very much an only child, fond of her ownspace and occasional bouts of quiet. She was excellent at reading when hewanted company and when he preferred solitude. And while Klaus might not be asneat as she liked as long as he kept his clutter confined to his private spaces(and took care of the messes in the shared ones in a timely fashion) she mostlymanaged to keep from complaining too strenuously. They liked some of the sameTV, enjoyed arguing about the instances where their opinions differed.

If an outside party were to witness one of those debates they might have commented on how Klaus andCaroline tended to crowd closer together on the sofa, all under the guise ofmaking their points. Klaus had come to deliberately stoke the flames, tossingout a not-so-innocent observations that he knew would irritate her. He thought Caroline might be doing thesame, that she was going out of her way to touch him when they sniped at eachother, and Klaus was mulling over a way to test the theory.

Theroommate angle made making a move annoyingly complicated. Klaus had neverhesitated to go after what he wanted but he didn’t relish the potentialawkwardness that would follow if he was drastically misreading the situation.Their respective friend groups had begun to mingle and Rebekah would likelykill him in his sleep if he ruined it now that she was making her own moves onCaroline’s friend Enzo.

Besides, itwasn’t as if Klaus was just attractedto her. That would have been easy. He’d seen the way she looked at him when hewas just out of the shower, noticed her eyes lingering appreciatively when hewas shirtless and rushing around in the morning. If it was just lust they wouldhave been able to work that out in a night or two and then slip back into theireasy routine with their sexual tension no longer an issue. Klaus had found thathe liked Caroline. Liked making herlaugh, liked hearing her impressions of her least favorite coworkers as sheunwound from her day, liked sharing coffee and the newspaper over bowls ofcereal on Saturdays.

It wasdifficult to figure out if Caroline felt similarly. She was an affectionateperson in general, free with smiles and touches and, as far as Klaus couldtell, she’d yet to make a gesture that could be definitively considered morethan platonic.

He spentfar too much time thinking about it, dissecting their every interaction,wondering if she were possibly doing the same.

A wickedgust of wing whistles past and Caroline wobbles on her perch, steadying herselfjust as Klaus gets out of his SUV. “Hey!” she calls, once she’s stable again.“I didn’t hear you pull up.”

Klausburrows deeper into the collar of his jacket, stuffing his hand in his pocketsas he approaches her. “Lost in your own thoughts?”

“Somethinglike that. Do you like it?” She wriggles her fingers, dropping her voice, “Isit spo-oo-oky?”

Klausfights a smile as he studies the weathered planks. The haunted house is made ofwood with groves cut into it in a brick pattern, painted grey and made to looktextured. Caroline had made a special trip back to Mystic Falls to pick it up afew weeks ago, had spent last weekend painstakingly re-doing the paint. Klaushad helped, had even added some creeping vines around the windows and door inshades of green.

He’d been abit dubious as she’d laid it all out. He’d thought she’d been exaggerating whenshe claimed that she took Halloween was muchmore important than July 4th (and hewas a bit concerned about what Christmas would bring given that holiday’sposition at the very top of Caroline’s hierarchy of celebrations. He’s going toneed to draw the line at a Santa suit). It had been impossible not to be sweptup in Caroline’s excitement as she’d told him about how she’d helped her Dadbuild the haunted house, how they’d added and embellished over the years untilshe’d gone away to college.

He’d died afew years ago and this was the first time since that Caroline had lived in aplace with a yard. She was determined to restore the house to its former gloryand make a Halloween to remember.

By the timethe painting had been done Klaus had agreed to help carve jack o’lanterns (andhe’d been out on a mission all day searching for perfect pumpkins). He’ssomehow even been roped into manning the haunted house, in costume (though he’dvetoed the first dozen or so of Caroline’s suggestions), and handing out candyto the neighborhood children – previously the stuff of his nightmares.

A crack oflightning sparks and they both startle. “It certainly fits into the currentambience,” he says. “It’s perfectly apropos for a dark and stormy night.”

“Right?”Caroline agrees. “I’m going to have to take a picture for Instagram after I’mdone with the lights.”

Klausglances up at the darkening sky, “Maybe the lights can wait until tomorrow,love.”

“I’m almostdone. You can go in. The pumpkins will be fine in the car. I’ll help you unloadtomorrow.”

She turnsback to her task and Klaus fights a sigh. He’s only lived with Caroline for afew months but he’s well aware of what she’d like when she’s set on a project.She stretches to reach a corner and Klaus eyes the step stool worriedly. He hasno idea where it had come from and it doesn’t look especially sturdy. He stepsa bit closer, a hand rising to hover around her lower back. “How about I help?If you fall and break your neck I’ll be stuck with about a dozen pumpkins and aBatman suit.”

He can’tsee her face but he knows that she’s smiling. “Pumpkins are nutritious and delicious. And I’m pretty sure youcould totally use the suit to pick up women. Chicks dig the illusion of atwelve-pack.”

Klaus openshis mouth, intent on using the opening she’d just given him – he has zero interest in picking up women whoaren’t her – but he’s interrupted by another flash of lightning, closer thanbefore, and accompanied by an ear-splitting burst of thunder. Caroline yelps,losing her balance and toppling off the stool. Klaus lunges for her, wrappingan arm around her waist as she crashes into him. He struggles to stay uprightwith her added weight, and they plow into a nearby tree. “Fuck,” Klaus gritsout as he takes the brunt of the impact and pain shoots from his shoulder.Caroline looks up worriedly at the curse, her hands running over his sides,“Sorry! I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” hemanages, clenching his teeth together.

Carolinerises up on her tiptoes and touches his shoulder. It stings, even though she’sbeing careful. “Ouch, that looks gross. You’re bleeding. I can call Elena. I’msure she’d be thrilled to practice her stiches.”

“No,” Klaussays, immediately. “I’m sure it’s just a scratch.” Elena Gilbert was Caroline’sleast tolerable acquaintance and he did nottrust her to sew him up, doctor in training or not.

Carolineisn’t completely placated, “We’ll see. I’ll clean it up when we get inside andsee if the bleeding will stop on its own. The better news is I think I can evenfix your jacket.”

“You don’thave to…”

She makes adisbelieving noise, “Shush. It’s the least I can do after you did such a kickass knight in shining armor impression.” She catches his eyes, hers narrowingeven though a smile curls her lips, “Try not to ruin it with an ‘I told youso,’ okay?”

“I wouldnever,” Klaus teases, gratified to see her smile widen.

He thinksabout kissing her. Imagines her sharp inhale and grasping hands as sheresponds, softening and crowding closer until they both forget all about thechill in the air. Unfortunately, once again, Mother Nature sees fit tointerrupt a moment.

The lastthing Klaus remembers is a light so bright he has to close his eyes.

He awakenswith a cough and it’s painful, his throat dry and burning. It’s fully darkoutside though the moon is full. Klaus can just make out the splinteredremnants of a trunk where the tree used to be. He’s soaking wet and smells ofsmoke though all that barely registers because his head is pounding. It’s difficult to focus – why in the world is he layingon the ground?

A movement catches his eye and a he remembershe hadn’t been alone. He sucks in another lungful of air and turns his headwith a pained groan, one that’s echoed by Caroline as her hand flutters to herchest. He hears her thick swallow, watches her push her tangled hair from hereyes. She looks confused and Klaus can’t blame her, wincing as he sits up.“What…” her face twists and she coughs, hoarse and hacking, rolling to herside.

Klausreaches out to rub her arm, helps ease her into a sitting position when shequiets.  “I don’t know,” he says,answering her unspoken question. He nods to the tree, or the jagged splintered remainsof it. “I suppose the lightning hit the tree? And we were thrown in theimpact.”

“We wereunder a tree during a lightning storm,” Caroline moans, burying her face in herhands. “My girl guide troop leader would kick my ass. Of all the moronic…” Herexpression turns guilty, “Sorry, It’s not like you had time to figure out abetter plan when I fell. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Klaus wavesher apology away, “I know you didn’t.”

“It couldhave been worse, right? We’re both in one piece.”

Klaus’relief grows when she smiled. If Caroline’s managing that sort of optimismalready she must not be injured. “I genuinely did not think the storm was thatclose though, truthfully, I was a bit distracted.”

“By?”Caroline asks with a slightly teasing flutter of her lashes.

“By havingmy lovely roommate so near, of course.” He heaves himself to his feet beforeCaroline can reply, stretching and double checking to ensure all his limbs havea full range of motion. He’s a bit achy but it’s nothing a proper meal and a littlesleep in a warm bed won’t cure. He offers Caroline a hand and she takes it,mimicking his actions once she’s upright. He watches her carefully. “All right,love?”

She nods.“I’ll probably have some nifty colored bruises but everything’s intact.” Shehesitates for a moment before she steps closer, winding her arms around hiswaist in a hug. Klaus draws her even closer, gently, mindful of the bruisesshe’d mentioned, burying a hand into her hair. Her forehead rests against hisshoulder, “I’m really glad we’re okay,” she says.

“As am I.And look, your haunted house survived too.”

“It’ssturdier than it looks,” Caroline mumbles. He expects her to pull away to checkbut she doesn’t, seemingly content where she is. Klaus eyes the structure, thebranches and chunks of tree that litter the ground next to it with somedisbelief. “You’re probably not as stoked that it’s standing,” she teases. “You’restill on candy duty. Wonder Woman can’t face the hungry hoards alone.”

“I’llsurvive,” Klaus tells her dryly. He might even enjoy the experience, because he’scertain Caroline will go all out with her costume. “Shall we go inside?”

Carolinehums and Klaus stiffens when her lips brush his throat, “Yeah. We smell likebarbeque and dirt. Rock paper scissors for the first shower?”

“Deal. Doyou want to order some food?”

“Totally. Ideserve pizza.”

She tanglesher fingers with his as they make their way up the footpath. Caroline casts hima speculative look, “You know, they say near death experiences arelife-changing. That they put things into perspective.”

“Oh? Andhow do you expect your life to change?”

Shesqueezes his hand, “First, I think you should pay for the pizza so we can callthis a date.”

That issomething Klaus can definitely do. “And second?”

Caroline’slips curl, a smirk with a naughty edge that makes Klaus’ interest rise and hisbody tense. “I’m not sure. But I’m open to suggestions.”

He’d wonthe first shower (best two out of three). It might have been more gentlemanlyto have let her win but Caroline wouldn’t respect such a move, as competitiveas she was. He’d rummaged under the sink for his electric razor, figuring hemight as well tidy up a bit since the evening has potential to go somewhat differentlythan his evenings in with Caroline usually go.

If he getsthe opportunity he’d hate for the beard he’s been lazy about tending to chafeany of her delicate skin.

He stripsdown, happy to get out of his wet clothes. Turning to the side he’s pleased tosee that Caroline had been wrong about the severity of the cut on his shoulder.There’s only a thin scratch, and it’s no longer bleeding. He doesn’t even needa bandage nor does the wound hurt when he pokes at it. Klaus is just reachingfor a towel when the door opens and Caroline enters. He hadn’t locked it andshe jumps when she sees him, the door shutting behind her. Her eyes widen andshe flushes prettily, her eyes slamming closed as she turns around. A hurriedexplanation tumbles from her. “I didn’t think you were in here since I didn’thear the water! I was just going to pee but I can totally wait and…” she’spicking up speed and Klaus wraps the towel around his waist. He’s about tointerrupt her (or at least try to) when their very eventful evening gets evenweirder.

Maybe he’dhit his head at some point but Klaus drops the razor as he watches Caroline plowthrough the bathroom door. She’sstill talking, apologizing, but it’s now muffled by the wood.

“Caroline!”he calls, taking several large steps forward. He rips the door open, uncaringwhen it bangs into the wall. She faces him slowly, her lips parted like she’dbeen in the middle of a word. She eyes the door for a long moment, reaches outslowly, “Did I just…” she breathes unsteadily.

“I thinkyou did,” Klaus manages, fighting to keep his own tone even. Caroline’s gonealarmingly pale and if he loses his composure she’ll surely feel worse. Still,it’s difficult to maintain calm. “But how…”

He gripsthe doorframe when she touches the wall, her hand slipping into it, coming out on the other side, once more inside the bathroom while the rest ofher remains in the hall. He hears her breathing quicken, the obvious edge ofpanic in it.

He can’tblame her. He lifts his own hand, presses his palm to hers, pushing hers back untilhis own meets the solid wall. She yanks her arm away and into her chest,cradling like it’s been burned.

“You…” hestarts, trailing off. “Your hand. Through the wall.” He’s never been lessarticulate in his life but his brain is having trouble comprehending what he’djust witnessed. It’s impossible and,if he wasn’t seeing it with his own eyes he’d never believe it.

Sheattempts a smile, and there’s a hint of tears in her eyes. “What was that I wassaying about life changing? Becoming a super freak was so not what I meant.”

She blinkshard and Klaus shakes his head, grasping her shoulders firmly, “Don’t say that.You are not a freak. Perhaps it’sjust a fluke.”

Herexpression turns stubborn and she shakes him off and darts forward, easilypassing through the wall and circling behind him. “You were saying?”

Klaus runsa hand through his hair, “We’ll figure this out, Caroline. It’ll be okay.”

“Promise?”she asks, though her chin lifts and he sees a welcome spark of determination.

He doesn’thesitate before answering, “I promise. And I don’t hand those out to justanyone, you know.”

Carolinepresses her lips together and takes a tentative step forward before she laysher hand on his chest, dread flitting across her expression. Klaus holds hisbreath but remains still. The both relax when nothing happens, her palmsettling on his skin. It’s cooler than he’d like and he brings his own hand upto cover hers. “I can touch you,” she says, relief evident.

“Anytime,”Klaus replies, letting his tone dip suggestively. She rolls her eyes, a smallsmile tugging at her lips.

“This is such an inappropriate time forflirting.” As an admonishment it’s weak, particularly when her other hand comesto rest on his stomach. Her eyes fall, tracing over his skin as her hands pressharder. The towel was hastily secured, sits low on his hips and her eyes lingeron it for a long moment. Klaus’ lack of clothing seems to dawn on her andCaroline takes a quick step back, bumping into the vanity. She staresresolutely at a spot beyond his shoulder. “Right. We can’t do this right noweven though I really, really want to.You, shower. I’m gonna call for the pizza and get my laptop. I’ll see if googlehas any entries for post lightning strike weirdness.”

She bustlespast him before Klaus can think of a clever way to lure her back. Perhapsthat’s for the best. They’ve got a pressing matters to deal with, a problem tosolve. He’d promised to help her and it’s not one he’d made lightly. Whateverit takes for her to be okay he’ll do it.

He’s waitedmonths for a sign that Caroline felt something for him he can wait a littlelonger know that he knows that she does. When they do move forward, when he hasher underneath him, flushed and squirming and on edge, he’ll require her full attention.