#thank you for cheering him on i can just imagine him straining on his tiptoes as you say he can reach itttttt!!!

[restinpeacesensei]

i want an akodoroid

[works-of-fanfiction]

“He’s the Best.” - 90s!Graham Coxon x Reader

Summary: Graham struggles with his self-esteem within the band and the reader tries to cheer him up.

Requested by: Anon. I hope you like this <3

Warnings: Swearing (literally once).

Word Count: 3.3k - a bit of a longer oneshot from me! I didn’t mean for it to be this long.

A/N: I’ve been writing this and putting it off for days because I just don’t know if I like it, but I don’t want to restart it. Argh… I hope someone enjoys this cheese fest.

* Gif credits to the linked creator

_______________

No one in this life is born ‘better’ than anybody else. It’s not a competition or a game of comparison. Every single human on this planet has their own unique qualities that make them interesting and most importantly, worthy. However, humans sadly aren’t wired to see those qualities in themselves. They spend the majority of their lives obsessing over others; wondering if they’re as talented as the next man, or if they’ll ever look as good as whatshername. Sometimes, it gets to a point where even the deepest of friendships can become strained due to one or more parties comparing themselves to another’s achievements.

And seeing Graham go through exactly that, has been killing me. There was a time when everything Graham and Damon did together, was truly that - together. Every single melody, riff, lyric - it was theirs. Neither one did more work than the other, neither was more musically talented. They were both kids crammed inside a Portakabin with their very first instruments, strumming and plucking and making probably rather bothersome noise. They had no idea what was to become of their lunchtime jam sessions and after school practices. Both were just excited to have a friend that liked the same things as them, and enjoyed the noise the other was making.

But Graham has since become a shadow of who he once was around Damon - he’s become Damon’s shadow. Or so he thinks.

Being in a band with a boisterous frontman like Damon was bound to become hard work for the other members at one point or another, but I never thought it would affect Graham like this. It’s getting harder to communicate with him, and I know it’s not his fault but I’m running out of things to say to fill the silences. There’s only so many times I can ask if he wants a cup of tea, or tell him about the encounter I had at the bus stop earlier that day. I’m sick of hearing my own voice, so I can’t imagine how he must feel. The silence seems to be the only thing he wants; he doesn’t write anymore, he hardly plays guitar outside of work commitments, and he hasn’t picked up his sketchbook in weeks. He just seems to stare at the TV or sit on the sofa with his head buried in a book that’s stuck on the first chapter. I watched him the other day and in forty-five minutes, he turned the page once. I bet if I asked him about the story he wouldn’t be able to recall a single character’s name, never mind the plot.

Watching him struggle with his self-esteem is crushing, and I don’t want him to live another second feeling the way he does. I know it may take a while for him to find himself again, but if I can do anything to help move things along, it’s worth a try. I’d drop everything for Graham in a heartbeat.

“I dropped those music stands off today. Did you get them?” Dave asks, his voice a little crackly on the other end of the phone.

“I did, thank you!” I chime, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I assemble the very same stands.

“Oh, good. I was a little worried about leaving them outside. I thought somebody would take them… What do you need them for anyway?”

“That’s something for me to know and you to find out, Dave.” I laugh, tightening one last knob on the second stand and straightening it out. I stand back and admire my handy work, smiling at the prospect of what they are to become.

“Alright, alright. Well, I hope they come in handy! I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks again. See you next week!”

We both hang up and I grab the stands, climbing up the stairs and into the spare room, placing them in their desired places. Grabbing two pieces of sheet music, I slot them onto the stands neatly and adjust them until they’re perfect. With one last thing to check, I turn on the projector I borrowed from an old university friend and let the film play out on the blank wall opposite. I mess with the sound a little, making sure it’s loud enough before rewinding the footage to the beginning and turning it off until later.

Standing in the middle of the room, I turn around and admire everything on the walls. Everything from lyrics to old album art concepts, to still life paintings from Graham’s time at Goldsmith’s. Beside the music stands, there’s crates filled with records, decorated with lyrics scribbled onto scraps of paper, some in Graham’s handwriting and others in mine. I of course, couldn’t resist writing them out in various colours and covering them in star-shaped stickers. The finishing touch is a large beanbag against the wall for us to sit and watch the projector from. I fluff up the beanbag for the thousandth time before heading downstairs to wait for Graham to get back.

It takes around two hours for Graham to arrive home. As soon as I hear his taxi pull up outside, I jump up from the sofa and head into the kitchen to flick the kettle on. Nerves bubble through me as I anticipate his entry. It’s impossible to predict how Graham’s going to be feeling on any given day. He could come through the door and speak to me as normal, or he could disappear into his studio until he’s tired enough to head to bed. Through the rumbling of the kettle I listen out for the door, fingers impatiently tapping on the counter as my gaze fixates on a magpie outside, shakily balancing on the washing line. A second joins it and I smile, muscle memory taking over as I pour the boiled water into two cups, not taking my eyes off of the birds.

“Hi.” Graham’s voice peeps behind me. Putting the kettle down, I turn around with a warm smile on my face. Despite everything Graham has been going through, seeing him come through that door every day is still my favourite sight. Having him come home to me will simply never get old. I don’t know what I’ll do when he has to go out on tour again in a few months.

“Hey.” I breathe, the sides of my face already beginning to feel sore from the ridiculous grin stuck on it. He smiles back, the expression not quite reaching his eyes but I know he means well. He’s trying. “You go and sit down. I’ll bring these in.” I gesture to the brewing teas on the counter and he nods, hanging his bag on the nearest kitchen chair and leaving the room without another word. I finish the drinks as quickly as possible, grabbing the stack of takeaway menus from the junk drawer and bringing them with me, the pieces of paper clamped between my teeth as I concentrate on carrying the two steaming hot cups in my hands.

Setting the cups down on the coffee table, I toss the menus onto the sofa next to where Graham is very aggressively, trying to pull his Docs off. “Need a little help?” I ask, laughing as I kneel down and bat his hands out of the way. “It would help if you untied them.”

“It’s easier to leave them tied.”

“Oh, really?” I scoff, gesturing to his feet still stuck in the cherry red boots. The laces are a complete mess with three bulky knots in them. I sit down cross-legged on the carpet, carefully plucking and unravelling each knot whilst Graham buries his head in the takeaway menus. “How do you even - “ I struggle, pulling at the frayed shoelace whilst trying not to damage it further, “- get these things on?” With one last tug, the first lace loosens and I’m able to slide the boot off with ease. Graham’s face pops out from behind the menu, a side-smile plastered onto his lips and a cheeky glint in his eyes. I know he wants to laugh.

“Shall we get Indian tonight?” He changes the subject, flipping over the tatty piece of bright orange paper as he squints at the options. He always orders the same thing, yet still insists on reading the whole menu front to back. He does it for every restaurant.

“Indian sounds good.” I nod, pulling the second boot off and shoving them to the side. “I’ll call them now.” Jumping up to grab the phone, I type the number in from memory and hold it up to my ear.

“What’s the rush?” Graham mouths and I hush him when somebody answers. I order the usual along with some extras and give them our address, despite them not even really needing it anymore. The phone call is no longer than a minute and Graham sits staring at me, nose scrunched in confusion. “Are you going to tell me what’s going - “

“Follow me.” I blurt out, stretching my arm towards him and rising onto my tiptoes out of excitement. He stands slowly, shrugging off his jacket and leaving it on the sofa. “I was going to wait until we’d had our food, but I have to show you now.”

“Show me what?” He asks as I grab his wrist and drag him up the stairs. We squeeze up the narrow staircase, almost tripping each other over a couple times until we stop on the landing, feet overlapping one another’s on the small square of carpet.

“I know you haven’t really been yourself lately.” I start, my fingers slipping from Graham’s wrist to entwine with his. He looks down, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes watch our hands as I lightly stroke the back of his thumb in an attempt to relax him. He has a habit of tensing up whenever I broach the subject. “So I wanted to remind you just how great you are.”

I watch his face intently, the corners of his mouth twitching and trying to smile. With my free hand, I open the door and flick the light on, pulling Graham into the room with me. His hand slips from my grasp and I back up to stand against the wall, watching as he takes in the room around him and everything in it.

He walks to the music stands first, fingers tracing the notes on the pages, flipping them over then back again. He walks towards the canvas on the back wall - a woodland painting he’d won a prize for back in college - running his hand over the textured patch of paint that forms the trees. I nervously bite the back of my thumb as he kneels down to sift through the records in the large black case below, flicking through every Blur album and single released to this day. My favourite lyrics are scattered on sheets of paper all over the ground, and he picks up the second verse from Coffee & TV. “You’ve always loved this one.” He says, turning to me and smiling.

“I happen to really like the guy who sings it.”

“He must be pretty good then.”

“Oh, he’s the best.” Resting my foot against the wall, I kick my body forward and stand straight, joining Graham beside the projector.

“What’s this for?” He asks, hands hovering near the buttons but not daring to touch anything. I take his hands in mine and give them a loving squeeze.

“Sit down and I’ll show you.” I chirp and he sinks down onto the beanbag. I mess with the projector until the sound starts to creep in, stretching over to switch off the light. Graham shuffles to the side to make some room for me on the beanbag and I flop down beside him, nestling into his side.

The image from the projector is surprisingly clear against the wall, although could’ve been improved had I borrowed a screen from somewhere. A variety of different clips play out in front of us, ranging from Graham performing onstage to snippets of his band members talking and praising their guitarist. I try my hardest to focus on the film in front of me, but I can’t help glancing over at Graham to see his reactions. His brows are furrowed, but not necessarily in a bad way - he’s focused, fully concentrating on everything he’s seeing and hearing.

I fidget with my hands, twiddling my thumbs and quietly cracking my knuckles. Graham notices this and grabs my left hand, squeezing it tightly and bringing it over to rest in his lap. Laying my head on his shoulder, I press a kiss onto his sleeve, rubbing my head against him and breathing in his familiar scent. He lays his head on top of mine, but never looks away from the video playing on the wall. Absentmindedly, his fingertips dance on the back of my hand, the drumming following the beat of Song 2 as it plays from the projector. I too can’t help bopping along to the beat, my foot tapping softly on the carpet.

The video closes with one final clip, a message I recorded for Graham. Too embarrassed to watch myself, my focus stays on him as I squeeze his hand a little tighter and snuggle up as close as possible. The picture begins to fade and the sound plays out until there’s no footage left, and the whirring of the projector becomes background noise in the room. Graham doesn’t say anything at first, but as I try to stand to turn the projector off, he pulls me back down onto the beanbag and rotates his body to face mine.

“Hey.” I whisper, my right hand supporting his cheek as he leans into me, his eyes closed and lips pressed into a line. Our bodies slot into one another’s on the beanbag, the very little space between us growing warmer by the second.

Graham releases a deep breath, his eyes slowly opening again with a small smile spreading across his face. It’s hard to see him properly in the dimly lit room, but I could never mistake those big brown eyes staring at me. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.” He says, his voice low as he leans in close to speak like we’re the only two people who matter inside a crowded room.

“I wanted to show you how incredible you are. You’ve been so hard on yourself and I just - “ As I speak, tears start to well up in my eyes and I look up to the ceiling to try and stop them from falling. I’d already told myself earlier that I wouldn’t cry, because I don’t want Graham to think he’s upset me. I press at my eyes lightly with my fingertips in an attempt to push the tears away. “I can’t stand seeing you this way because you don’t deserve to feel like this. If it wasn’t for you, Blur wouldn’t exist! Everything you’ve all achieved wouldn’t have happened.” My voice begins to shake and I feel Graham’s hand on my arm, rubbing it gently to try and calm me down.

“Y/N.” He starts, before reaching up to turn on the light. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, before my gaze falls to the ground to avoid his. If I look at him properly, I know I’ll start bawling. “Look at me. Please.”

“I can’t. I can’t because I’ll cry, and then you’ll get upset and I don’t want to make you feel any worse than wha - “

“You won’t upset me. Y/N, I’m sorry I’ve - “

“No, Graham. Don’t apologise.” I grip onto his shirt tightly, my fingers tangling in the fabric. Graham bows his head and nudges it against mine, edging closer until he pushes my head up with his and our noses are almost touching. We both open our eyes, our faces too close that my vision is distorted and I’m seeing double. I pull back, sniffling once and dabbing at my eyes again, still not allowing any tears to actually emerge.

“I’m sorry,“ he starts and I sigh at his words, but he hushes me by holding his finger up to my face, “for putting you through this. I was so caught up in my own head that I didn’t realise how it was making you feel.”

“Graham, this isn’t about me.”

“But it affects you. Bloody hell, if I had to live with this miserable twat - “ he points to himself and I scoff, slapping the back of his hand playfully. “ - I’d have given up by now.”

“I would never give up on you.” My voice is barely above a whisper, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. Graham goes silent again, staring down at our joined hands and moving his thumbs around. I nudge his head with mine in the same way he did previously and he sniffles, his chest rising and immediately falling again. “Graham?” I bring my hand to his chin and push his face up to find his eyes watery, and cheeks significantly more red compared to a moment ago.

“God, look at me. What the hell are you still doing with me, ay? I’m a bleeding mess.” He sniffs, roughly wiping tears off of his cheeks with the backs of his hands.

“Because I wouldn’t want to be with anybody else.”

“Not even - “

“Ah! Stop right there. There’ll be no more of that.” I take his hands away from his face, holding onto them loosely. “Graham Coxon, you are the best thing to ever happen to me. And I’ll give you a free pass to slap me silly for being so cheesy.” I laugh, his grip on my hands tightening as he awkwardly slides closer on the beanbag, his body sinking into it at a strange angle and pulling me with him. “I love you.”

Within a second, Graham’s hands are on both sides of my face, pulling me in for a kiss; the kind of kiss that feels like the person is pouring their entire heart out to you. Like the kiss between the main characters of a movie, when they’ve just ran across a field or a busy road to collide with another at the centre. His lips messily press against mine and I can feel the stray tears running down his face as they dampen my cheeks. My hands rest on his legs, holding on firmly as his thumbs dig into my face a little. It doesn’t hurt, but he soon pulls away and swipes at my face softly as if to apologise for it. He uses his sleeve to dry my face and I do the same for him, small gasps of laughter exchanging between us.

“Thank you for doing this. If you can’t tell, I really love it.” He says sincerely with a genuine smile, the biggest smile I’ve seen from him in weeks. The expression is infectious and I can’t help mimicking him as I grin back like the Cheshire Cat. The faint sound of knocking from downstairs pulls us out of our romance film-esque daydream and we both clamber to our feet.

As we approach the stairs, Graham stops and spins me around, pulling me into him. I land against his chest with a huff, before adjusting my hair and looking up at him. “After we eat, can you show me the film again?” He asks, his hand meeting mine to help me fix the loose hairs falling in my eyes.

“We can watch it as many times as you like.”

[honeycobie]

Honey

Jacob x reader, fluff

requested: @heartyyjeno​ (thank you bb 🥺)

a/n: this gif is so soft and i just realized that it matches with my profile picture! i would recommend listening to any cover by jacob to get into the feels and imagine jacob in this fic. hope you enjoy this one and take care, everyone! 🥰

You exhale softly, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders and chest, releasing the tension from a busy and burdensome day. It was the type of day where you didn’t even have the time to think, let alone relax. 

You tilt your head to examine the rapidly darkening sky, feeling a sense of serenity come upon you like the waves crashing upon the shore of a beach. You slow down to a stop, leaning against the railing as you eye the water of the lake ripple, the wobbly reflection of the crescent moon bright against the dark canvas. 

Adjusting one side of your headphones, you close your eyes, allowing yourself to bask in the moment, to find peace again. You gradually start to tune out others’ conversations, focusing on the music, your sense of hearing heightened. Shifting, you crack your eyes open, only to meet the sight of a crowd gathering near the sheltered plaza. 

Your interest piqued, you take off your headphones, making sure to secure them in your pocket. Starting down the path, the gravel crunches underneath your feet as you near the crowd. 

Tiptoeing slightly, you wonder what has caught the undivided attention of them, their expressions both serious and captivated. No, rather who, as you catch sight of the male, singing as he strums his guitar.

Your ears straining, you advance closer to hear the performance. As you edge as close as you could get, your cheeks heat up slightly when you notice how handsome he is, his hair reminding you of soft caramel as it dances in the wind and your thoughts wander. It looked so luscious and soft and you wondered how it would feel if you run your hands through it, the strands slipping between your fingers.

Scolding yourself silently, you fix your eyes on him, letting yourself think past his attractiveness, diverting your attention to his voice. Instinctively, a smile spreads on your face as you sway to the rhythm of the song. His voice is smooth and saccharine, reminding you of honey, charming in the way it seems to be the very embodiment of liquid sunshine, sweet and pleasant. 

Your heart warms, watching as the male sings, his gaze switching between the crowd and his fingers, switching the chords in a way so effortless, it made you envious. You don’t look away from him, entranced, finally understanding why the singer had drawn such a large crowd. As if sensing your intense stare, he looks up, only to smile at you, his eyes crinkling adorably. 

You flush, breaking off eye contact. Inwardly, you panic, berating yourself for not offering a smile back. Biting your lip, you sneak a glance, almost letting out a sigh in relief when you realize he’s not looking at you anymore. As you register that thought, you almost roll your eyes. 

Of course, the singer isn’t looking at you, he’s performing, duh. 

Shaking off the idiocy of your thoughts, you concentrate on his heavenly vocals. To your dismay, the song ends and he smiles shyly as the crowd applauds, cheering loudly. He thanks them respectfully before turning away to start packing away his equipment.  

The crowd starts to slowly disperse, people trickling away to wander along the path of the park. You hesitate, lingering in your spot for a bit. Not wanting to make the male uncomfortable with your presence, you turn away, searching for your headphones. Just as you take a step, he calls out, halting your departure.

Turning around, you blink at him lazily, a look of inquiry on your features. Compared to just a few minutes ago, he looks less confident, adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows. 

“Are you (Y/n) (L/n), by any chance?” he asks after a pause. 

Shocked, your lips part, betraying your surprise before you find control of your features, schooling them into indifference. “Yes...may I ask who you are?” you respond warily, your eyes narrowed. You did not recognize him but if you squinted and thought hard enough, you could probably remember. 

“I’m Jacob,” he states, his name no longer a mystery. 

Your brow furrows and your face doesn’t change from its expression of confusion, no sign of recognition apparent. 

He chuckles softly to himself at your bewilderment, reminding him of a puppy with the way your head was slightly tilted. “Jacob Bae?” he adds, eyes shining with hope. 

Your eyes widen as you inhale sharply. Jacob Bae. His name was familiar, and as you continued to stare at his features, you reprimanded yourself for your terrible memory. You swore you had the memory of a goldfish. 

Jacob, you remembered, was the resident sweetheart at your high school, years back and even remained one throughout university. He was nicknamed the “angel” of your school, resembling one with his looks as well as his considerate and lovely personality which caused many girls to crush on him.  

You nodded slowly. “I remember you.” 

The moment the words are out of your mouth, you groan, hating how awkward you sounded. To your relief, Jacob carries the conversation as he continues to pack away his guitar. 

“Really? You didn’t seem so sure seconds ago.” he teases playfully, finally finishing as he grips his guitar firmly, slipping the strap of the case on his shoulder.

You laugh and you’re hit with how you’ve missed his teasing and jokes, no matter how corny they could get. Back in high school, you two used to be friends as well as seatmates, close enough to talk daily but not close enough to continue those conversations after. 

“I didn’t know you could sing,” you admit, switching the subject to avoid humiliating yourself on that topic. Although you had seen him carry his guitar to and from school and rumours had flown around, girls gossiping about how he could supposedly sing and daydreaming about him serenading them, you didn’t know for sure.

Jacob shrugged nonchalantly, smiling bashfully. “It’s just a hobby.” 

“You sing well, though.” you complimented, causing the tips of his ears to redden. “You could consider becoming a professional singer or maybe a vocal coach.” you continued and he could hear the sincerity in your words. 

“I haven’t considered that,” he mumbles, gazing off into the distance, his eyes glassy. You step closer until you’re both leaning against the railing, eyes fixed on the moon. 

“Maybe you should,” you suggested, hands playing with the cord of your headphones, twisting it idly around one finger. 

He doesn’t reply, still absorbed in his little world. Although the silence would have been suffocating and awkward for you in other situations, it was oddly comfortable, your arm brushing against his ever so often. 

For a while, you stay like that, drinking in the scenery before you jolt back to your senses. Checking for the time, you sigh, crestfallen. 

“Sorry to break things off so early, I got to go.” you apologized, genuinely disappointed that you couldn’t continue catching up with Jacob or reminisce about the old days together.

He shook his head, dismissing your apology. “It's alright, don’t worry. We could always catch up another day?” he offers, smiling at you.

“Of course. Then, do you want to exchange numbers?” you question, your phone dangling in your hand. Jacob accepts wordlessly and you watch as his thumbs fly across the screen, his features illuminated by the glow.

“Actually,” he began, chewing on his lip nervously. “Are you free this Saturday?” 

“I should be,” you answered, taking back your phone and you feel an electrifying sensation jolt up your arm when your fingertips brush with his. You pocket your phone, averting your gaze. 

“There’s a cafe that just opened near here. We could catch up over coffee.” Jacob suggests, unfazed by your curt responses. 

You only offer a nod in response, acknowledging his words. “I’ll see you then,” you say, giving him another amiable smile before jogging down the path. 

Jacob’s gaze lingers on your departing figure. “See you then,” he whispers, except it’s more to himself than anyone. 

»»————-　　————-«« »»————-　　————-««

A couple of days later and it’s already Saturday. 

Time flies when you’re busy and you swore that it felt like just yesterday that you had seen Jacob, except it was five days ago. After receiving a cheerful greeting from the staff, you sit, surveying your surroundings. 

The cafe was small but exuded such comfort that you couldn’t help but relax. The walls were painted a soothing, warm beige and the decorations were minimalistic, yet so pretty you itched to ask the owner where they had bought it. You loved how there was a variety of plants situated in almost every corner as it seemed to bring the place alive.

Slumping, you close your eyes for a second, your foot automatically tapping along to the beat of the song. You let yourself get immersed in the fragrant and rich scent of coffee, breathing in deeply. You were unaware of Jacob approaching you, his footsteps light.

Hearing the legs of the chair opposite to yours scrape against the floor, your eyes shoot open. “You could’ve been quieter.” you chide, and although you seem solemn, he can see amusement glinting in your eyes. 

Jacob scoffs before sitting down, his chin in his hand as he gazes at you. You feel a rush of warmth at the way his eyes hold so much emotion, shimmering like stars in the night sky. You could pick out mirth and something...tender and adoring. You swallowed, convinced that you were seeing things. After all, one’s emotions were not easy to interpret. 

“Do you want to order first?” you ask, suddenly interested in the wooden table, your eyes roving over the grain of it, the lines winding and creating a unique and abstract pattern. 

“Yeah, sure. What do you want?” he queries, pulling out his wallet. 

“Wait, let me pay.” you utter, lifting your head as your hand instinctively shooting out to clasp on his wrist, lowering it as your other hand rummages in your bag to find your wallet.

“No, it’s quite alright. I can pay for both of us. You can pay me back later.” Jacob replies, giving you a wink, shifting his hand so he can hold yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you look down at your lap, knowing that your face was the colour of a tomato. Flushed, you mutter your order, grimacing when you stammer, your heart hammering against your ribs. You hear him chuckle before you hear the chair gets pulled out again, the sound of his footsteps slowly receding.  

Resisting the urge to hit your forehead against the table, you lift your head, watching as Jacob waits in line. You puff your cheeks out, mind frantically running through conversation starters. You were determined to carry the conversation like a proper human being without getting flustered or stuttering. 

»»————-　　————-«« »»————-　　————-««

When Jacob returns with both of your beverages, you decide to play twenty questions, as there was simply too much to catch up on the years that you lost contact with him. The questions ranged from everything, from current career to less serious ones like favourite boba flavour and whether you preferred dogs or cats. 

Throughout the whole discussion, you found yourself leaning closer and closer towards him, eager to hear more about his life and you had to admit, something about him was so magnetizing.

It wasn’t even about his visuals anymore, his personality was like a warm mug of hot chocolate, sweet and mellow, causing everyone to be charmed, whether they exchanged only a word or multiple conversations. You slowly understood why so many girls had fallen for him in high school. Although Jacob was still endearing to you back then, you didn’t have time for romance as you were strictly focused on your studies. 

You fidget with your necklace, humming as you think of another question. Jacob’s full attention was on you, fingers drumming against the table as he waited. “What’s something you regret most?” you ask, satisfied with your final decision amongst all the other questions. 

He blinks, stunned. “That’s a good question.” he murmurs, lost in thought as he gazes off into the distance, pursing his lips. “I have too many.” Jacob laughs, tilting back his head to move his bangs from obscuring his sight. 

It was dangerous how your heart raced at the mere action, everything he did suddenly became a thousand times more attractive to you and you cleared your throat, struggling to compose yourself. 

Thankfully, Jacob doesn’t seem to notice as he continues pondering, searching deep within to find the biggest regret he has, or maybe the most recent one.

“Come on!” you whine, impatient, throwing back your head to groan loudly. He was taking so long to make a decision, you thought you would wither away.

“Alright, alright.” he simpered, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. You shift closer, anticipating his long-awaited answer. 

“I regret...not asking for your number earlier and not chasing after you when we started to drift apart,” Jacob confessed, a flush creeping up his neck.

When you just gape at him, speechless, your mind striving to comprehend his sentence, he presses on, growing bold. “I’ve liked you since high school and I still do. I doubt I’ll ever forget about you.” The last part is muttered, his voice hushed as he avoids your eyes, looking everywhere but you. 

When you still don’t answer, Jacob takes that as rejection and he’s disheartened, opening his mouth to apologize, but is interrupted by you, pushing your chair away from the table as you stand up. He winces, wondering if he’s gone too far. 

However, his eyes widen when you walk over, bending to drape your arms around him, squeezing him into an awkward hug. Jacob stills, feeling like his heart was going to explode, his cheeks bright red. He reciprocates the embrace, moving in his seat to hug you back, his face buried into the crook of your neck.

Involuntarily, a giggle bubbles out from your throat and Jacob can’t stop the wide grin from occurring so he just lets it, succumbing to it like storm clouds clearing up as the sun appears. 

Because he knows that this is your way of telling him “I like you too.”

[barnesandco]

Third Time Lucky (Expanded)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Kissing

A/N: I wanted to expand the original drabble, but I’m leaving the original up as it is instead of editing it bc it’s smol and I like it. 

The first time she kisses Bucky, it's an accident.

He, along with Earth's mightiest heroes, is helping her move into the apartment she bought because she wanted her own space. An escape, a personal sanctuary, away from the Compound. 

Not away from Bucky, though, never away from him. Much like him, she's quiet, still hesitant, only four months in as an Avenger. Her calm demeanor occasionally interrupted by bouts of laughter at his dry remarks, usually aimed at Sam. Bucky finds himself speaking more in an attempt to elicit that magical sound, not knowing that she's managed to bring him out of the shell he's been in since he left Hydra. In a number of weeks, she's unwittingly and effortlessly accomplished what they've all been working at for months - Steve's incessant mothering, listening to Sam at the VA, his therapy sessions, Shuri's cheerful video-calls, hours and hours in the gym to work out all that anguish. She hasn’t fixed him, and she isn’t trying to. But she’s made him comfortable, and that’s all any of them were asking for.

She can't remove his pain, nor he hers, but they've established a silent companionship; alone together. She prepares his coffee in the mornings, accepting a quirk of his lips in return. Breakfast passes with him pretending to read her newspaper upside down - he's actually studying the movement of her lower lip as she chews at it thoughtfully. 

On the days they don't have missions, or meetings, or meet-and-greets, they'll spend the whole day on opposite ends of the breakfast nook. Surrounded by history books and a laptop - all Bucky's - and cocooned by her blankets and the scent of the flowers that grow in her vicinity when she's at ease. And she is, around him at least. His gentle, inaudible movements now useful for something other than assassination. Tranquility only broken by someone in the kitchen - mostly Sam for lunch, or Wanda, teaching Vision. The bustle of the Avengers filtered out between the tapping of her nails against her phone, and his pencil scratching against half-full notebooks. Peace is a rare thing for a soldier, and yet, here she is giving him some that soothes his very bones.

All of this without apparent affection, other than a fond look when he laughs at a meme she shows him, or the urge to hold his hand when his forehead wrinkles at a particularly nasty detail in the books before him. Averse to touch, after the kinds they've experienced. 

Until now, and it’s a thoughtless, subconscious action that finally introduces Bucky’s skin to the feel of hers, the feel of her lips, actually, and it’s electrifying.

He holds the door for her on his way out to pick up more of her stuff, and she absently pecks him on the cheek in thanks, despite the box full of books straining her arms. She moves forward quickly, not knowing that the soldier now cannot, the split-second sensation like being tased, and the current runs from his face to his feet, stopping his heart momentarily.

The first time she kisses Bucky, he's left standing in the doorway, rowdy sounds from his teammates playing in the background as he tries to calm the furious blush painting his face.

---

The second time she kisses Bucky, she's flirting. 

They've been dancing around whatever the hell this is for months, and she’s sick of it. Growing closer was inevitable, a predetermined destination with the course they were taking, but she didn’t think that getting addicted to the scent of his cologne was a prerequisite for becoming attracted to Bucky Barnes. Which she is. Hopelessly, ridiculously, unfairly attracted. As a consequence of their growing friendship, she’s become more familiar with him, providing excessive material for the Bucky-involved part of her brain to think about. The cool metal of his left arm around her shoulders, the way his nose scrunches up when he laughs. The sound resonates through the room and then through her heart as if it’s an empty cavern, even though it feels so, so full when she’s close to him.

Right now, she’s very close to him, as they're dancing, metaphorical situation having manifested itself in real life. Surrounded by S.H.I.E.L.D. employees at the office party, Billie Holiday on the Stark sound system, courtesy of Steve’s unwanted wingmanning. He doesn’t need the wingmanning; does just fine on his own. Took him a while to loosen up, but even he - forties boy that he is - knows the tension between them is palpable. Uses it to his advantage, loves making her shy away, and loves it even more when she responds to his 9mm shots at her with a .950 JDJ. In fact, he's about to tell her her skin glows in the fairy lights when Sam - cockblock that he is, vodka-drunk off his ass, asks to cut in, and bows so low he almost falls at her feet. 

She giggles and then gives Bucky an apologetic look, before the innocence gives way to something more, and she stands on her tiptoes to murmur in his ear. His hands automatically fall to her waist when she holds his shoulders to steady herself.

“Sorry, Buck. Thanks for the dance.” It’s a millisecond exchange, over just as Sam straightens up, rolling his eyes when she winks at Bucky, and pulls away from his hold.

The second time she kisses Bucky, he's left in the middle of the dance floor, rubbing the spot where his jaw meets his neck, just below his ear. Wondering if the whisper against his skin is a phantom feeling, or if she actually nipped him with his teeth in goodbye. 

---

The third time she kisses Bucky, it's to interrupt his tirade at her recklessness. He had been grounded for this mission, and she was on a self-destructive streak because she blamed herself for the injury responsible for his obligatory bedrest. Three gunshot wounds and a shattered arm. He could have died. She knows this all too well, having spent a consecutive 36 hours at his bedside thinking of nothing but his absence. 

They’ve just gotten back from another mission, where she went after the ringleader of the illegal weapons manufacturing they had gone to shut down. Normally, that’s their aim. However, when you disconnect your coms, and go in without backup to kill, instead of arrest, a powerful, well-protected man, it is very much a problem. She could have died, and he’s thankful that she didn’t, but presently the gratitude has been pushed back as the anger and fear elbows it’s way forward. 

The team waits awkwardly for the argument to end from the next room so they can have their well-earned meal. 

“Well, someone needs to get laid.” 

“Tony!” Bruce hisses furiously, and the others erupt into discussion, Steve doing his best to disguise the smirk on his face. Silently, he agrees, as the battle of wills rages on.

Not much of a battle, really; Bucky's yelling his face off as hers gets more and more tense until the rubber-band finally snaps. 

“Are you out of your mind? Do you still not underst-” She grabs him by the face, pushing her mouth to his, all tongue and teeth and flesh. It's inelegant and angry, and this is not how she imagined it would be, but it doesn't matter because it's him. It's Bucky, and he's holding her by the waist, as well as he can with his arm in a sling, uncomfortably pinched between them. She doesn't care, focuses instead on the feel of his hair in her hands. The deep groan that she feels rumble from his chest where it's pressed to hers when her nails scrape against the nape of his neck. His tongue, warm and wanton, learning hers thoroughly, attentively. The gentlemanly Brooklyn boy, both corrupted and saved by the tinge of copper on her lips, and the beating rhythm of her pulse under his hand on her neck. 

“I can’t lose you. Not you.” Bucky says against her mouth. Chest heaving, she nuzzles her nose to his, shuts her eyes, and breathes him in.

The third time she kisses Bucky, he's left out of breath and with a raging hard-on, metal fist cracking the counter behind her. They pant against each other, lips rasping against one another, foreheads bumping. She kisses him until she finally, finally, loses count.

Taglist: @suz-123 @mermaidxatxheart @buckyreaderrecs @shield-agent78 @corneliabarnes @kentuckybarnes

[multifandomhaven]

Tip IV

A/N: There is a slight WARNING for this chapter - there's some unwarranted touching in this one - nothing explicit, but it is workplace harassment.

Nacho Varga x OC

Sarah and Tessa, her favorite young, broody co-worker covered the evening rush, and although Sarah kept her cheer about her, Tessa's had quickly soured. She wasn't one for appeasing anyone, but the customers that came in demanding their food in an untimely fashion drove her to the brink of insanity. Sarah was supposed to train her - show her the ins and outs, groom her in the art of customer satisfaction, but it seemed the teenager had other plans.

Sarah had already lost count of how many times she chided her for openly rolling her eyes in the face of the customers.

Days turned to weeks, and, little by little, Tessa warmed up to the older woman. She started cracking jokes, sinister and a little dark, but they made Sarah's day all the same. She really liked Tessa - it was a shock, initially, at how fast they bonded, but it was more than welcome by the owners. They were serious advocates for 'Teamwork makes the dream work', so to say they were pleased might be the understatement of the century.

Doug, on the other hand, detested the young girl - and he made it painfully obvious. Sneering at her every word, snapping at her for the smallest of things.

It made Sarah's blood boil, and although she didn't want to get on his bad side she wouldn't stand for him bullying the newest team member.

"You're in an good mood," Tessa observed from her seat behind the register. She blew a big, pink bubble then popped it loudly. "Like, an eerily good mood."

Sarah kept her eyes on the table as she scrubbed the worn rag over it, her ears rising with her grin. She chanced a glance up at the young girl who was looking at her with an expectant gleam in her eyes and shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about, Tess."

"You're practically beaming," Tessa shot back. "It's kind of disgusting."

Sarah shook her head lightly and moved the the chairs to the side so she could do a through sweep of the floors. "You have a very overactive imagination."

"Oh my God, you go laid." Tessa made a noise in her throat, as if she couldn't believe Sarah existed outside the diner. "What's his name?"

"Tessa!" Sarah gasped in shock but couldn't fight the blush that crept up when she thought of a certain pair of brown eyes. The very same ones she'd been lost in just a few days prior. "You're insane. I don't know what or who exactly it is you're referring to."

"Him," Tessa said pointedly, gesturing in the general direction of the door. "That's him, right?"

Sarah's head shot up and she glanced out the door, her eyes instantly locked to the shop across the road from them. Her brows were furrowed and she turned back to Tessa who was looking like the cat who cat the canary. "What are you-"

"Well, well," Tessa drawled, her inky lips curling on one side. "It's guy with the snake earring, huh? The one that comes in and flirts with you on an almost daily basis. I mean I guess he is kinda hot. If you have a thing for bald guys."

Sarah couldn't help the laugh that bubbled from her. "You're an idiot."

"Hey," the girl grinned and held her hands up in defense. "I'm not here to judge your middle aged mistakes."

A loud bang from the back made them both startle. Sarah turned to see Doug staring through the window of the kitchen, his wide eyes locked onto her own. The muscle in his jaw ticked as he grit his teeth before speaking. "That's enough gossip, ladies. You're at work, not in the hen house."

"There's nothing else to do, Doug," Tessa argued blankly. "The diner is empty. No customers, no running of the register. And hen house, really?"

Doug didn't blink, but his face grew red. "Then find something."

Tessa sighed dramatically and then turned on the stool, her gaze back on Sarah. She mouthed 'asshole' before she strode off to find something to clean.

Sarah walked slowly over to the window, a small, friendly smile on her face. She leaned against the wall beside the window before she spoke. "Don't be so hard on her Doug, she's just a kid."

"She's working in my diner," he said, puffing his chest out. His eyes roamed over her face, and then down to her chest. "Besides, she's distracting you."

Sarah instinctively crossed her arms over herself, clearing her throat. "She's fine, I'm training her, remember?"

Doug nodded, his eyes hooded as he drank her in. "I remember."

"Okay, then," Sarah said, uncomfortable with his gaze on her. "I'm going to get back to it."

The rest of the day was uneventful. Tessa made quick work of the orders, sliding in a rude comment or dramatic sigh where she could, and Sarah was sure to clean each table as soon as the customer left. It was a good system they had going, and before they knew it it was closing time. Tessa had already counted down the register and Sarah was nearly finished with the windows.

"You can go ahead and leave," Sarah told Tessa lightly. "I only have to mop and I'm out of here, too."

Tessa paused by her side, eyeing her through her thick fringe. "You sure?"

"I'm sure," Sarah assured her with a pat on her arm. "You're a teenager, it's a Friday night. Go have some fun."

"Wow, thanks Sarah." Tessa said, almost sincerely. "Maybe you're not so bad. For an old lady, anyway."

"I'm twenty-five," Sarah exclaimed, swatting her with the clean cloth she pulled from her apron. "Get out of here before I change my mind."

Tessa laughed her way out of the diner, waving to Sarah as she drove away.

Sarah finished the windows in record time and then, reluctantly, went the back to fill the mop bucket.

While she ran the water she looked around for the antibacterial cleaner the owners insisted she used on the floors. She knelt and rifled through the bottom set of cabinets, raising her brow at the insane amount of window cleaner they'd somehow stockpiled - she had lost count after the twentieth container. She stood back up, her knees cracking with the movement, and Tessa's jab at her made her wonder if she really was becoming an 'old lady'.

Sarah's lips twitched - the girl's spunky attitude reminded her so much of her sister back home.

Sarah let her mind wander back to her hometown as she scanned at shelving over the counter, straining her neck to look for what she needed. She stepped back just a bit and it was then she saw it - sitting there on the top shelf the bright yellow container almost smiled back at her.

Sarah raised onto her tiptoes, arm reaching out for the top shelf of the cabinet where the bottle of cleaner sat. Pushing herself closer against the wooden doors below she grazed the sleek bottle with her fingertip, cursing loudly when it fell with a loud thump.

"Need some help?" A voice croaked behind her.

Sarah gasped, her heart leaping into her throat. She turned and nearly shuddered. "Doug, you scared me."

He grinned and placed his yellow latex covered gloves on his hips, crinkling his filthy, damp apron tied haphazardly around his waist. His eyes were narrowed onto her heaving chest, a hungry look on his face. He inhaled deeply, his eyes never leaving her. "Mmm."

Sarah blinked, not aware as to what she should say so she simply swallowed the lump in her throat at the noise he made, and turned to reach for the cleaner once more. She stretched her hand out, her fingers brushing the bottom of bottle just so when she felt him press against her back, filthy wet apron and all, trapping her tightly between the counter and his own body.

"D-Doug, I've got it." Sarah's hands came down between her hips and the wood and she tried to push back to no avail. "Doug, move."

"Let me help you," his breath puffed against her ear as he whispered. "I can help you."

"Move," she ordered again, pushing back against him again in an attempt to get a little space between her hips and the wood that bit into them. Doug made a grumble in his chest and grabbed her waist, his gloved fingertips moving slowly to the hem of her shirt, biting into her skin, his hold so tight it made her eyes water.

"Doug!" Her heart beat erratically in her chest as panic seized her mind. Her arms felt like lead and she found she no longer had the energy to shove away from him so she sunk limply onto the counter, tears pooling in her eyes but never falling. "Doug, move. Please."

The man laughed, removing his hands from her, then he reached up to the cleaner she needed just a few moments before. "Here ya go."

Sarah plucked it from his hand and dashed back to the front, her legs trembling with every step. She poured almost the entire container into the bucket, her breath still leaving her in short, heavy puffs. With every breath she took she willed herself to swallow her emotions - only a few more minutes and it would all be over. Sloppily, she raked the mop over the floors, uncaring of how the water pooled on the floor in big puddles.

She just wanted to be home.

Once she finished she hastily dumped the dirty water down the drain, leaving the bucket sitting behind the counter. She pulled her dark apron over her head, tossing it onto the bar and all but ran to the door, desperation filling her. She almost slipped on a stray puddle, but righted herself with a table by the door.

Footsteps sounded from the back and she bit her lip to keep from sobbing. "Leaving?"

She stilled, her grip like iron on the table she clutched onto for support. She didn't turn as she spoke. "Yes."

"See you soon, Sarah," he crooned. "Have a good night."

Sarah shivered and rushed out the door, the warm summer breeze nearly stealing the breath from her lungs. She fished her phone out of her pocket quickly, flipping it open and clicking on Nacho's name faster than she even thought was possible. She kept her gaze trained to the inside of the diner, not wanting to risk Doug sneaking up on her again.

He answered on the second ring. "Nacho."

Sarah inhaled nosily, her chest tight. "H-Hey. It's me."

"Sarah?" He asked quietly. "You finished with work?"

She shivered, her eyes trained on the inside of the diner, making sure Doug wasn't near. Her hands were still trembling and she felt her heartbeat in her fingertips. "Uh, yeah... I-"

"Sarah, are you good?" She heard him shuffling around, then the sound of a sewing machine. "Do you need me to come over?"

"Could you take me home?" Her voice cracked and her bottom lip trembled violently. "Please?"

"I'm coming over now," he said softy. "I'll be right there."

Sarah sniffed a thank you and disconnected the call.

And then she sobbed.

[riseandshinelittleblossom]

Go Mets!

A/N: This is my submission for the wonderful @mf-despair-queen‘s 2019 Dylan O’Brien Baseball Week.  This is my first ever Dylan fic, as well as my first ever reader insert (ish) fic, so keep that in mind hahahaha I hope you enjoy it!

 Also! DISCLAIMER: I write this purely for fun, I don’t get paid or anything like that, I’m just borrowing our favorite Mets fan for a bit of  good natured fun...

Warnings: light swearing, because it wouldnt be a riseandshinelittleblossom fic without it. :D

Shout out to my wonderful friend @ao719 for indulging me and pre-reading this for me..girl your rock!

 Tags: @leelee10898 @fullbeaumonty @kennaxval @superapplepie @mrs-mitch-rapp93 @stiles-o-dylan24  @ownworldresident @mrscutiefandobhaz

    Dylan held out his arm, staggering backwards a bit as he caught the baseball in his well-worn mitt.

    “Hey, nice one Maggie!” He chuckled.

    The six year old across the yard beamed at him and he couldn't help but feel his heart melt seeing her snaggletooth grin.

     He was so proud of how much she had progressed since he first started bringing her out back to play catch two years ago.

     His friends had all warned him to steer clear of getting into a relationship with you because dating a single mother also meant “you have to play Dad,” but that had never worried him in the least. Maggie was a good kid, really smart, and she shared Dylan's passion for baseball and the Mets. These days he couldn't imagine a better way to spend his time off between filming than to be in the backyard helping her practice for her little league games.

   She flipped her long, chocolate- colored plait over her shoulder and resumed her batting stance.

   “Okay, Dyl. Let's have another one. And don't go easy on me this time.” She sassed.

   “Go easy on you? I would never..” he feigned innocence, grasping the ball firmly and grinding into the mitt a few times.

   Maggie rolled her eyes, the bat falling to her side.

   “I'm serious, O'Brien. You think the girls on the Grizzlies are gonna go easy on me this weekend? Not a chance! They're out for blood after we wiped the floor with them last season.”

   “Out for blood, huh? Okay, well pick up the bat and I promise I won't hold back then, Princess.”

    She resumed her stance and Dylan shook his head.

    “Here,” he began crossing the yard in a few strides to stand behind her. He widened her grip on the bat and helped her crouch a bit lower. “Gotta widen that stance, baby girl. Otherwise the first speed ball's gonna knock you right off of home plate.”

      He returned to the makeshift pitcher's mound that he and Maggie had made with a pile of her kinetic sand. It was a project that you had been none too happy about.

      He stomped his feet a few times before releasing a steady pitch.

      With a loud crack, the young girl sent the ball sailing away from her. Dylan hit a backwards run in an attempt to catch it, but it soared over the fence anyway.

   You watched from the open kitchen window as your boyfriend raced across the yard and hefted the small girl onto his shoulder.

   “And the Mag-ster rounds first! She's off to second! Oh my God, she's flying past third! Aaaand she makes it all the way home!” He shouted as he ran a circle in the yard and Maggie cheered, her small fists pumping into the air as Dylan mimicked the sound of a crowd roaring. He placed the child on the ground and you couldn't help but chuckle.

    You and Dylan had been going steady for two years now, but it always made you smile to watch him with Maggie. He was the best daddy to her that he never had to be and it made you love him even more.

      You thought back to the day that he first entered you and Maggie's lives as you finished washing up the mountain of dishes in the sink.

***********”**

     You adjusted the settings outside of the batting booth before crouching in front of your preschooler.

    “You sure you want to do the batting cages? We could go for another round of skee ball instead.” You suggested as the little girl before you adjusted her baseball helmet and shook her head. The child-sized aluminum bat in her hand still looked humongous and you bit your lip, wondering why you'd agreed to let her go in there and let a machine lob baseballs at her.

    “I wanna baseball! I'm tired of just tee ball! It's time to break into the big girl game, because one day I'm gonna play for the New York Mets.” She told you matter-of-factly as she stepped into the cage.

   You blamed the babysitter. She was a sweet woman that kept Maggie for next to nothing and she had two boys of her own that were only a little older for your daughter to play with.

   The sitter's oldest son, Jacob, was nine and he played little league, which meant he and his brother often tried to get Maggie to play catch with them outside. Jacob was Maggie's hero and a die-hard New York Mets fan. All the time she spent with Jacob had ignited a fire within your near five year old. It had started with endless tee ball games in the local junior league and now...batting cages at the family fun arena.

   You wrung your hands nervously as the first pitch shot out. You'd set the machine on the lowest setting but it still felt like the ball was the Roadrunner, jetting away from Wile E. Coyote as it hurdled towards your small child. Certainly anyone watching must have thought you were insane to let her in there.

   Maggie held her own, swinging confidently even though the ball barely glanced the end of her bat. The metallic ting caused her to giggle wildly.

   “I hit it!” She shouted.

   “Hey, good job!” a male voice came from behind.

   You whipped your head to see a tall slender man wearing khaki pants and, coincidentally, a Mets jersey. Your eyes scanned over him, your bottom lip tucking itself involuntarily between your teeth.

   He twisted his baseball cap, leaving the bill sticking out behind him and tucked his folded sunglasses into his shirt. He gave you a polite smile and nod, the fluorescent lights overhead catching his honey colored eyes just enough to make them sparkle.

   Your heart all but stopped as you smiled back and quickly averted your gaze, embarrassed that he'd no doubt noticed you checking him out.

    “Thank you. She lives for this stuff.” You said shyly.

     TING

   “I hit it again!” Maggie squealed in delight, turning to face you. “Who's he?”

   She scrunched her face up as she stepped out of the cage.

  “Oh I was just waiting my turn is all. I'm going to use the cage when you're finished. Nice form in there,though. If you'd like, maybe I could give you some pointers.” The man said.

     “You would?!” She squawked.

    You were taken aback by the way he peered directly into Maggie's eyes when he talked to her. Not many people were so attentive when they spoke, especially to children. It made your knees feel weak as he trained his eyes on you in the same fashion.

   “I'm Dylan.” He offered, extending a hand.

************

    Your attention was pulled back to the present as you heard Maggie's sassy, near whiny voice through the window.

   “I am NOT a baby anymore, Dylan. I'm getting bigger everyday, you know.” She scoffed.

   He nodded. “Unfortunately.”

   You stepped onto your tiptoes to get a better view of the two loves of your life, straining to hear their conversation. They were seated on the patio now, Dylan helping Maggie oil her own glove as well as his own.

    “Mommy says that if I want to keep playing I have to take good care of my equipment. She said only responsible players get into the big leagues, so I have been trying to oil my mitt like you showed me, but sometimes it's hard.” The girl huffed as her mentor lifted his large hands-the ones that plagued your every day dream- and placed them over hers, patiently guiding her movements.

   “You want to make sure you get into every groove, Princess. Every crevice. See? You've got it. I'm so glad to hear you've been listening to Mom while I've out of town, though.”

     You let out a sigh, a warm feeling spreading from your chest throughout your body, a small chuckle escaping you. How did you ever get lucky enough to find him?

    “Dylan, can I ask you a question?” Maggie piped up.

     “Anything, squirt. What's on your mind?”

    “Why were you and Mommy yelling at each other last night?”

     Dylan's eyes went wide as he turned his gaze to his own mitt.

    “Wha..wuddaya mean? We weren't-”

     “Come on, O'Brien. I'm not deaf. You were saying, ‘Oh, Y/N,’ and Mommy kept screaming 'Dylan, oh my God’. Were you guys fighting?”

    You tried to stifle a laugh, your hand flying over you lips as you remembered the absolutely mind blowing events from the night before. The ones your daughter had apparently overheard. You could barely see your boyfriend's cheeks turning bright red right about now and you would have paid good damned money to get a view of that up close.

    “Uh, no. We weren't...we weren't fighting, Princess.” Dylan tried to be vague and he cleared his throat. You knew he was silently hoping that his answer had been enough to end the conversation, but you also knew Maggie better than that.

   “Oh. Well then what were you doing?”

    Dylan turned to wipe off his hands, holding the towel out for Maggie to do the same.

    “We were...we were talking in our sleep.”

    “I heard banging, Dyl.”

     The dark haired man gulped audibly, one hand rubbing over the days old stubble of his chin.

    “Uh...that? Oh we were… okay listen. You know I love your Mommy, right Princess?”

    Maggie nodded, “Yep! And she loves you.”

    “That's right. So we love each other. Sometimes, uh...when a boy loves a girl...ya know...they...dance...together?”

      You cackled softly listening to Dylan not even buying his own bullshit.

   “Oh. But I can dance without banging, see?”

   Maggie hopped from her seat and swept into a graceful ballerina twirl, her hands above her head.

    “Well that's because you're a beautiful baseball-playing ballerina, and as such you're very graceful. Mommy and I...well, we're sort of clumsy.”

   The child laughed. “So you mean you guys fall down a lot?”

   “Exactly.”

    “So that's why you were yelling right? You just kept knocking each other down?” the six year old cocked a skeptical eyebrow and Dylan nodded.

    “You're gonna have to do better than that, Dyllie. I'm not buying it.”

     Your boyfriend let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay how's this? We were dancing together because we love each other and we're clumsy so we kept falling down, but then he had...um bruises..?” He stopped short, clearly at a loss.

   “The truth, please. I was born at night but not last night, ya know?” Maggie sassed with an eye roll.

   “Okay the truth is... The truth is that I love your Mom and she loves me and sometimes when you love someone so much you just...you want to show them. There are things that you will learn about when you're older that help grown ups show each other how much they love their boyfriend or their girlfriend. And so..that's what we were doing. But those things are for grown ups only. I mean...grown ups that love each other and want to get married someday...not just any old boyfriend and girlfriend…”

     Your heart stopped at the thought. You and Dylan had been together for a long time, but somehow you'd never talked about marriage before.

    Maggie stared at him, one eyebrow cocked, her face scrunched in thought.

    “Do you..? You understand anything I just said?” He asked nervously.

    “Uuuuhhhh…..go Mets?” Maggie replied still obviously confused.

    Dylan laughed loudly as he ruffled her hair. “That's my girl!”

    “I don't even wanna know anymore,” she shook her head. “As long as you promise you and Mommy aren't breaking up.”

    Dylan wrapped his arms around her shoulders pulling her into a tight hug.

   “No way, Princess. You two aren't going to get rid of me that easily.”

     “Hey, Mommy!” Maggie beamed as you appeared in the sliding glass doorway.

      “Hey, kiddo. Why don't you take your gear upstairs for me? Dylan and I need to talk.”

      She complied with your request, gathering her belongings and tossing them into her athletic bag before hefting it inside.

     You grinned widely at Dylan as your daughter disappeared up the stairs. He exhaled audibly, silently mouthing “thank you,” as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

       He ambled across the patio, wrapping his long arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly close.

   “I know you were listening, you evil woman. Way to leave me hanging.”  Dylan muttered, his lips brushing yours as he spoke. His whiskey eyes were locked on yours, making your knees suddenly feel weak.

   “I dunno, you seemed to be handling things pretty well on your own.”  You smugly replied.

    “Yeah? You think so? I'd love to show you a few other things I can handle pretty well.” he pressed his lips to yours and you giggled into the caress.

    “You mean like...Go Mets?”

    He scoffed, giving you his near award-winning, lopsided smile.

    “You're damn right, go Mets.”

[chronicfangirling]

Crystal Snow (Hoseok ver.) - Heart Crystal

Pairing: Hoseok x OC Genre: Romance, encounters with beautiful idols, impromptu dates, Christmas kisses--no mistletoe necessary, koi no yokan, love and its possibilities Words: 2499 Summary: Taking a flight to Shanghai as a chance passenger and risking deportation to attend an unlicensed party for the sake of dancing with one Jung Hoseok? Totally worth it.

Crystal Snow (Christmas with hyung line) Seokjin ver. | Yoongi ver. | Hoseok ver. | Namjoon ver.

(2017 December 24)

"I can't believe you let Kim Seokjin go to that ice princess! You know how the Shanghainese would say his name? 'Zhen'--for treasure--meaning you let the grand prize slip out of your hands."

"Nuh-uh!" Hyejoon wagged a finger at her supervisor's face then traipsed down the street, ahead of their group. "Seokjin-oppa was meant to go with her, and I'm meant to come here. He may be a prince, but he's not my prince. My grand prize is out there somewhere, I can feel it."

Ducking into the dark maze of back alleys after Hyejoon, her long-suffering supervisor winced. "Is that why we're heading to that unlicensed night club with a bunch of teens instead of celebrating like proper adults?"

"I guess I'm just nostalgic..." Hyejoon mused. "You know, when I was in school, I once went to this rave--"

"And it was dispersed by the police and you were nearly booked as a juvenile delinquent, but some dude saved you." Her supervisor sighed. "You've told this story many times."

"It's my favorite story after all," she giggled.

The rest of her co-workers all sighed as well, saying that she should've gotten rid of all her rebellious impulses as a child, rather than drag them into a dodgy party in Shanghai and get them all deported. Hyejoon imagined that flight attendants always had such wild adventures on their trips, but they were ground staff after all... still, she wanted to do something crazy for Christmas Eve 2017. She waved her phone containing alert of the party--she just had a good feeling about it.

When they finally found the place, it was at the height of an impromptu couple dance contest. Hyejoon clapped for the current performer, but her hands went still and silent when she caught sight of the man across the dance floor. Bopping his head to the song, even his little graceful gestures seemed timed to the beat. The dance ended with an insane death drop, and he smiled in appreciation--not even the bucket hat obscuring his face could hide the radiance of that smile... like a ray of sunshine in the dim club.

"Hey, want to dare me to enter the contest with that guy?" Hyejoon suggested.

Her supervisor goggled at her. "Umm, no--"

"Well, if you insist!" She fluffed up her hair, free of its usual work-regulation bun for once, and checked that her sequined dress clung at all the right places before she sashayed towards him.

"We totally didn't!" her coworkers yelled after her.

Slipping past the next couple taking their places on the dance floor, Hyejoon smirked at them over her shoulder. "I'm not someone who'll ever back down of a challenge!"

She reached the man, belatedly noticing that he was surrounded by a bunch of suited companions. He himself wore sweater and jeans for a more casual look--but she could tell that they were rather expensive. "Hi!" Waving with both hands and bowing at the same time, Hyejoon greeted the man.

"Oh, hello!" he replied. Up close, he was almost literally shining--beyond his good looks, it was his bright aura that attracted her, like a moth to a flame.

I think I know now... why I ended up here in Shanghai.

"Why don't you enter the contest with me?" she asked.

He tugged the bucket hat lower on his head. "I don't know..."

"Oh, come on!" She winked. "Don't worry so much about it, I won't bring you down."

His companions snickered about him being popular anywhere, and he shushed them before turning back to her. "Uh... I'd much rather just watch right now."

"Aww, but--" Hyejoon patted his hand and he snatched it away. He was slouching in his seat now, as if in hiding, and she realized now that his demurring wasn't out of hesitation, but an actual rejection. "Oh... okay. I'm so sorry. I just... thought there would be good results if the two of us worked at it together." She forced herself to simper cheerfully as she bowed in apology and tiptoed on the edge of the dance floor to rejoin her coworkers.

But they were nowhere to be found in their previous spot, and a couple more performances passed before they tottered back to her, red-cheeked and giddy. Clearly, they each had a shot--or five--to loosen up. "Where were you?" She pouted, unhappy that she was now the only sober one.

"We got some liquid courage for you, crazy girl, not that you need it!" Her supervisor pushed two cocktails in her hands. "And we told the DJ to play that song you're always dancing to."

Hyejoon choked on her drink. "Wait, what? But I'm not dancing--"

To her chagrin, the host was already announcing her as the final entry: "Kim Hyejoon and her partner!"

Sufficiently buzzed, her coworkers whooped and tossed her out into the dance floor. The crowd cheered--then groaned when she attempted to leave, motioning to the glasses still in her hands. Someone relieved her of her drinks and shoved her out again.

The first strains of 'If you leave' floated from the speakers and Hyejoon gawked at the crowd, which was first hushed, then grumbling in discontent as she remained frozen. One partygoer booed and while she was still mentally debating fight versus flight, someone tugged at her hand.

She gasped and found herself pressed against the chest of the shining young man from earlier. "There will be good results if we work at it together." He gave her a small smile as her eyes widened; in shock, in realization, then in hope. He nodded at her. "Ready?"

He twirled her into place beside him, and Hyejoon surrendered to muscle memory to take her to the correct stance. They danced in unison, with the exact same moves, as if they had practiced together hundreds of times before. She let the music take her over, arms popping and feet sliding across the floor. Her partner danced at a level far above hers, but she didn't let that worry her, and enjoyed moving to the rhythm.

The song wound down, and instead of moving to the last stance, he took her hand again--she had felt it coming and was ready for him, and half-dipped, supported by his arms. The crowd went wild but they hardly heard it as they beamed at each other, basking in the rush of the dance.

The host stopped them from leaving and called back all the other couples. Despite the enthusiastic response to their dance, the death drop couple took the win.

"It's okay, Hyejoon, you did great!" her coworkers cheered. "You too, Hyejoon's partner! You were awesome!"

The host distributed participation prizes for all the ladies. Excited, Hyejoon opened the little red velvet box and found a pair of earrings, adorned with heart-shaped crystals. "How pretty!" she exclaimed. Grinning coyly at her partner, she leaned close enough for him to breathe in her perfume. "Could you put it on for me?"

He didn't respond to her blatant flirting, but he took the earrings and carefully put them on her ears, not poking her unnecessarily even once.

Hyejoon tilted her head, feeling the crystals swinging. "How do they look?"

Her partner's smile evaporated and he winced. "Sorry..."

She cringed. "Oh no, does it look that bad?"

"No, you're pretty," he clarified. "But you only got the consolation prize because of me."

"Nuh-uh. I wasn't sure earlier but..." She gripped the rim of his bucket hat, giving him a chance to protest, before pulling it off to fully reveal his handsome face. "You're Jung Hoseok. I'm right, right?"

"Uh, yeah." Seemingly bashful, he scratched at the nape of his neck. "How...?"

"I'd know those moves anywhere--bursting with power but flowing seamlessly." she gushed. In a quieter voice,  she revealed: "I've always wanted to dance with you."

"I see," he chuckled.

"And I did. You--" She tapped his chest, right upon his heart. "--are my grand prize." She gazed into his eyes, wondering if she had enough courage left over to kiss him, but her reverie was interrupted by the entire club thrown into a commotion.

"Ack, it's the police!" people screamed.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Hyejoon shrieked. She watched her coworkers rush off and turned to Hoseok, who was waving for his companions to go while they can.

She was clutching at his sleeve and he peeled her hand off--she thought he would slap it away and make his escape--but he grasped it securely. "Can you trust me?"

She nodded. "Of course!'

Walking, Hoseok led her into the street, and she was about to ask why he wasn't hurrying, but he pressed a finger upon his lips for silence. Hoseok walked right into a bunch of policemen who all yelled for them to halt.

"Oh, thank God!" He shouted in English. "We're lost, me and my girlfriend, please help!" He crowded them, loudly asking for directions to the nearest McDonald's until the annoyed policemen finally waved for them to leave. It was only when they were rounding the corner that one of the policemen brought up their fancy clothing and how they had smelled of cigarette smoke and alcohol, and chased after them. But Hoseok led her into a niche between two buildings and they crouched in the shadows as the policemen ran past.

They had barely gone when Hyejoon gave way to emotions bursting in her chest: nervousness, shock, and above all, mirth. "Hah... hahahah!" she cackled.

He gaped at her, as if she had lost her mind. "I don't mean to offend you, but this isn't an appropriate time to be laughing." He shook his head. "What terrible luck to lose a contest and then get caught in a raid."

"No, it's the best luck!" she insisted. "I mean, some people might say, that it's bad luck that the two times I've gone to an illegal party, they both got busted by the police--"

"I hate to tell you this and ruin your good mood, but that is pretty bad luck, yeah." Hoseok wrinkled his nose.

"However!" She bopped the end of his chiseled nose. "Both times I got saved by someone truly amazing."

Leaning against the cruddy wall with no care for her party dress, Hyejoon closed her eyes, as the memories came flooding back. "Gwangju, summer of 2009, there was a party hosted by the most popular dance groups in town." She watched his face for any signs of listlessness, but when he cocked his head to listen, she continued. "At that time, I fought a lot with my parents because no matter how hard I tried, I always ended up as average and that wasn't good enough for them. For once, I wanted to rebel. So I went there."

She snorted at the mental image of her awkward teenage self. "In my average way, I could follow a rhythm but the very best dancer there--he encouraged everyone to let go and pour their feelings into dance."

"And that was when you discovered how much you liked it?" he prompted.

"Yes! It didn't matter that I wasn't a talented dancing star, it was fun." she affirmed. "But then the police came because of reports of underage drinking. I nearly got caught but that same dancer rescued me."

"While we were hiding, just like this, I cried and cried... saying that my parents would never let me back home then, and that I should let the police catch me because it's not like I'll amount to anything--I'll always be the unspecial, ordinary, average me." She shuffled closer to him. "But do you know what he said?"

Hoseok blinked at her, and ventured: "'If you don't work hard, there won't be good results...' was it?"

"You remember?" Giggling, she pointed at herself. "It's me, Kim Hyejoon... I was the girl you saved that time."

His face fell. "... Sorry. I don't remember," he murmured, wringing his hands and looking down at them. "It's just something I say to people all the time."

"It's okay." She caressed his arm and when he glanced up, she smiled. "It doesn't matter that you've forgotten, that I'm only one of the many people you said it to. Because it was what I really needed to hear at that time, so I kept those words in my heart."

"You ended up making your parents proud?" he asked.

"No way!" she pealed in laughter. Noticing Hoseok's confused, slightly horrified frown, she added: "But I also realized that my 'good results' could be different from someone else's good results. Some days, just surviving is good enough. And if I can be happy for that day, then I've also done well."

He stared at her for long moments, pondering her words. Finally, he chuckled. "Then, you're wiser than I could ever be."

"That's why, I want to thank you." she said. Her hand moved down his arm, patting his hand.

"I should be the one to thank you." He took her hesitating hand and squeezed it. "Thank you. Those words that I scattered like seeds in the wind... thank you for letting them root in your heart."

"No matter how many times you forget... I'll always remember," she promised.

Shaking his head, he graced her with that sunny smile, all for her this time. "I don't think I could ever forget you now, Kim Hyejoon."

"Keep me here," she commanded, with an impish flick of her finger against his beating heart.

"This moment will crystallize in my heart." Holding her hand, he crossed his heart with her finger. "Preserved as one of my precious memories."

"And I... I'll keep you here." She pressed the fingers of her free hand against her lips. As she inched closer, he guided the hand he was still holding on his shoulder. They kissed in that blind alley like two teenagers, fulfilling the promise of that interrupted connection from eight years ago.

When they parted, Hoseok blinked at her, as if in a daze. She was about to tease him, but her ears perked up. "Hey, do you hear that?"

"I don't hear anything," he mumbled, still sneaking peeks at her mouth as she talked.

"Exactly. The coast is clear." She grabbed his hand and stepped out of their hiding place.

But her coworkers popped out of another alley, now sober from the shock. "Hyejoon!"

"Hoseok!" His companions had been standing watch and rushed over to him.

"You crazy girl, we thought you were a goner!" her supervisor screamed.

"Hey, let go--!" Protesting when her coworkers tugged at her arm, she struggled to keep hold of Hoseok.

"This is dangerous, if you got caught here it would be very, very bad!" One of Hoseok's companions--his manager, it seemed--seized him by the shoulders and started leading him away.  

"Hyung, wait!" Hoseok's hand unlinked with Hyejoon's and he grasped at air in an attempt to maintain the connection, but their respective companions pulled them their separate ways.

"There's no time!" the manager cried and marched him down the alley.

Hyejoon looked over her shoulder, searching for Hoseok and met his eyes--she knew his frantic look was reflected on her own face. To calm him, she quirked her lips in a grin. He grinned back, just he was walked out of the alley and out of sight.

"What happened to you?" her coworkers all asked in concern as they hurried to their hotel.

"Just... making more precious memories," she answered dreamily.

And she would've thought that it were just a Christmas dream, if not for the weight of the heart earrings dangling from her ears, their crystalline coolness brushing against her skin with every step.

One day, I know, our paths will cross again.