#thumbs up emoji. and hes proud of me when I take even one slow and shaky step towards courage

[brown-little-robin]

~

[otomegema]

title: Convergence Theory, ch. 2 pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader summary: You are a lesser family member of the Gojo clan, so far removed you don’t even carry the name, but you carry the Limitless ability and thus the potential to be a bride to the future head of the clan— a fact you patently reject at fifteen. Twelve years later you are a second grade sorcerer struggling to obtain first grade status when the object of your deepest objections offers you a deal. rating: mature tropes: fake dating/engagement, rivals to lovers, slow romance Link: Archive of Our Own

It had been a logical move to allow Gojo to take down your number, entering it into his contacts with an obscene amount of heart and wishing star emojis by the brief glance you caught over his shoulder. It looked like he was already banking on your acceptance of the deal, but when you parted, your to-go sushi in a small plastic bag, you hadn’t expected to hear from him until tomorrow evening at the latest.

Or maybe even never.

But now, back in the hotel you were being comped for while in Tokyo, you wished silently that you’d never given that man your cell phone number.

Honey

Baby

Future-pretend-love-of-my-life

Have you made a decision?

He wasn’t human. It was barely 6am, did he wake up this early for lessons every day? You groaned, nearly swatting the phone off the nightstand in the dark.

You shot back a fast reply.

-oh I’m sorry

-I’m still recovering from getting electrocuted the other day

-Some asshat led a curse to me

You rolled over, managing to get at least another decent half hour of sleep in before the phone chimed again, lighting up the darkened hotel room.

\(★ω★)/

YOUR asshat

Should you choose to accept this mission

You threw off your covers, forcing yourself up to sit against the stack of pillows behind you as you tapped out a reply.

-My pretend asshat

-Mother will be so proud

The dots of his reply began immediately.

So is that a yes?

You sighed, rolling your eyes to yourself.

-Day isn’t over -Hasn’t even started tyvm

The dots began. Stopped. Began and stopped again, this time not reappearing. You tossed your phone onto the bed and teetered up and over to the coffee maker. The pot was finishing brewing by the time your phone chimed again.

You’re so slow.

The addition of punctuation and the sudden lack of emoji seemed almost like a warning flare that Gojo’s patience was waning. But you hardly knew the man and really, what did you care? A favor for a favor was what he offered. You didn’t owe him anything.

I have other options too.

His text continued and for a moment you frowned, wondering if his intention was to have that sound like a threat. You felt heat rising in your throat— he didn’t want to play that game.

So no pressure. Genuinely.

Oh. Good. That was better. You felt the tension uncoil as fast as it had grown.

Tho I AM your only hope for advancement <3

You could have thrown the phone right through the wall. Your thumbs worked rapidly, shooting out your reply in no time.

-Ah yes, your finest quality

A quick appearance of dots.

My special grade ranking? (･ω<)☆

You smirked.

-Humility

You’re no fun.

Text me when you are done being boring.

This was probably the most you had ever spoken to Gojo, despite having seen him on and off from a distance for the better half of your life. He was hard to miss. Every event at the main house would have him and his immediate family at the forefront. No one ever stopped talking about Gojo Satoru and his accomplishments and his strength and his skill as a sorcerer.

It was nauseating, having to pretend to nod and smile like it was all some great blessing just to orbit near him. It was bad enough he read like a sun to your abilities, as if he needed to be made to think he was anymore of the center of the universe.

Your palm itched. The desire to tap back a response now, a firm denial, very strong. But not stronger than your excitement at the possibility of being a first grade sorcerer. It was everything you had wanted. Prestige, recognition, tougher missions and the pay and rewards that came with them.

You were no weakling. Sure the telemetry technique took you out of commission, but it was hardly your greatest feat. You had finally been able to manifest the cursed technique lapse, blue. Granted, it was a one off and exhausted you so fully afterwards that you nearly fainted on the spot… but your tolerance was getting better. The precision of your manipulation of your cursed energy would never be on par with Gojo, but you could, some day, maybe even manage to shoot the technique off twice.

Reversal Red was next to impossible. And Hollow Technique? Truly impossible. The Six Eyes was needed to even attempt it. Most of your practice had been devoted to perfecting your long distance teleportation skills, fine tuning your telemetry technique and working on establishing your domain. That one was easier. The Unlimited Void crushed your opponent beneath an overload of sensory information, information you could easily channel and tap into with your own unique skills as a Limitless user.

But like all things, you were only second best. And barely. It was a joke. Comparing yourself to Gojo. He was on a level you could never achieve— unless.

You grabbed your phone, hastily dialing the new number and wincing at the loud, cheerful greeting from the other line.

“Good morning, moon of my soul, tenderest heart, darling—!“

“I haven’t even said yes yet, you monster.”

“Ah! A name of my very own? Be still my trembling heart!”

“I wish to make an amendment to the agreement.”

There was a lengthy pause. You could practically hear the slow spread of that sly smile. Content as the cat who caught the canary.

He knew he was about to win.

“Let’s hear it.”

“If you are putting my name forward for first grade, that means you have someone else in mind to be the second backer and someone in mind for me to shadow on missions and train with, yeah?

“I do.” Gojo said, his tone surprisingly serious.

“Have them put my name forward instead. I want to shadow you.”

Gojo laughed, a short mirthless thing, “What makes you think I have the time?”

“You have enough time to play pretend, I’d think any fiancé would leap at the chance to be with his lovely wife-to-be and keep her safe.”

Gojo hummed.

“Why me?”

This was an oddly familiar conversation.

“Purely selfish reasons. You are the best Limitless user. I am a Limitless user. I want you to teach me.”

“You aren’t on my level.” He said, no malice in his words, just simple facts.

“Then teach me what I can handle.”

There was another pause.

“I’m not gonna go easy on you just because you’re my girl.”

The bare utterance of the endearment sent a shiver up your arms and not an entirely pleasant one either. His girl. God, how would you even begin to explain this fake engagement to your parents? Who knew the depth of your jealousy and bitterness over Gojo since you were— what? Five? Younger?

“Since I am just your ‘pretend’ girl, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“Your funeral, babe.” Gojo said, “But I’m glad we resolved this early! Because we are having dinner. Reservations are made, I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something pretty!”

Your words caught in your throat, stuttering across your tongue and unable to force out before the line cut off and he was gone.

You pressed the edge of your phone to your temple, already feeling a headache coming on. Something pretty? Shit.

-Something pretty? -Too vague. I have no idea what I’m supposed to wear.

A dress! Something for the evening. A Line.

V Neck def

Show off what puberty gave ya (＾〃＾)

Chiffon with ruffle lace

And grey-blue

-Why?

To match my eyes <3

-Where in the world do you expect me to find that specific dress in the next few hours

Downstairs with hotel staff I had it dropped off <3 <3 <3

-That’s creepy

(つω`｡) </3 </3

-Enough with the hearts -How much? I’ll pay you back

It is a gift <3

-How’d you even know my size

A gentleman never reveals his secrets

┐(‘～` )┌

You sighed and set aside your phone to call down to the front desk. Sure enough, a few minutes later someone brought up a large white box, tied with a grey-blue ribbon. You set the package on the small counter in your room’s kitchen and opened the lid, brushing aside soft tissue paper.

The dress was ridiculously soft, made of fine, nearly translucent layers of chiffon. It was a lovely color, the sight making you suddenly think of the feeling in the air before a thunderstorm, the smell of rain. The ribbon matched.

You looked for a price tag and found none, but folded away at the bottom of the box was a hand written receipt. You paled at the figure displayed on it.

-Gojo, I can’t possibly accept this.

Don’t be stupid. No one would believe I was serious about a woman unless I was positively spoiling her rotten. s’not like it broke the bank!

-Forget the first-grade rec

-Pay my bills

Too late! Negotiations are closed :)

-So what the hell am I doing at this dinner?

Eating Duh and being seen with yours truly easy peasy right?

You sipped your coffee, keeping the mug well away from the dress. It was certainly nicer than anything you had ever owned in— well. Ever. It was hard to argue that there were clearly going to be some additional perks to this arrangement you hadn’t previously thought of.

Plus we gotta go over some ground rules

-Thought you said negotiations were closed

-This mean we can revisit my bills?

g2g

Students need me!

Ttyl babe

The ease in which that man showered you so soon with endearments was nauseating. Had he ever even had a girlfriend before? Or just those usual moon-eyed women who fawned and petted him?

And now everyone was gonna think you were one of those girls. You drank your coffee faster, relishing in the way it burned down your throat and overpowered the bad taste in your mouth.

“First-grade… first-grade. Remember the first-grade.”

And training. You’d squeeze every possible benefit from this arrangement out that you could. Sorcerers worked in teams, but at the end of the day, it was every man and woman for themselves.

Let them think what they want when you were seen tonight. You would come out on top.

***

The day passed quickly and you found yourself standing in front of the hotel mirror, twisting back and forth to get a feel for the movement of the dress— and half practicing staying upright in the heels that had arrived not even a moment later.

They were high enough to be appealing, but low enough to keep you from falling over on your face. Gojo had texted an explanation that he figured you were out of practice in wearing anything other than sneakers and combat boots and to consider them training wheels.

You’d wanted, once again, to punch him in the face.

The kind of girl he liked was a stilettos kinda girl, you guessed, huffing to yourself as you sat down and twirled one of your ankles, stretching the muscle. Even the low heels were not entirely comfortable, but you’d manage.

Checking your makeup one last time, you picked up your own worn purse and slung it over your shoulder. Women who wore these kind of dresses and came in on the arm’s of other men and women like Gojo never had anything more than the smallest clutch— but you weren’t those women.

You made your way down to the lobby and were surprised to find a chauffeur waiting outside with a very very sleek European car of some kind. You weren’t great about those kinds of things, only noting the seats were made with soft black leather and there was even a divider built in like in a limo to give the passengers privacy.

The chauffeur ushered you into the empty car and you sat back with a sigh as silently he delivered you to the next destination. You had, in some small place, hoped Gojo would already be present.

Why he felt the need for such spectacle was beyond you, but maybe this was what was expected of a clan family son when he courted a young woman. It felt— weird. Nice, but weird. The drive was not overly long, the car coming to stop.

You knew this restaurant. Some fancy French-Japanese fusion place that charged a hundred dollars for a single plate with a broiled pear covered in wasabi or some weird shit. Already you felt your stomach churning with anxiety and encroaching regret.

This was gonna suck.

This was gonna suck so bad.

The chauffeur opened the door and you barely managed not to wobble on the pavement. Feeling stilted and exposed as other guests and couples regarded you with open curiosity and veiled judgment.

Clearly they were used to seeing the same people come and go from this restaurant and you were not one of them.

You clutched your bag tighter to your arm, hand reaching inside instinctively to find your phone and text Gojo you were out. This was over. Find someone else— when your surname was shouted from the door.

All eyes turned as if in sync to Gojo, wearing simple trousers and a white shirt tucked in. He didn’t even have a tie or a jacket, his dark glasses obscuring his eyes even as he looked right at you.

A few people tsked their disapproval, but they may as well have been ghosts for all the attention Gojo paid them. When you didn’t immediately make your way over to him, Gojo shoved his hands into his pockets and strode over to meet you.

He grinned, the lowering of his chin and the slow rise back up an obvious indicator he was sizing you up and didn’t care if you knew.

He whistled.

“Ow, ow!”

“Shut it— you know this dress could cover my rent for half a year?! And these shoes! I could buy a used car with this ensemble.”

“You even drive?”

“Not the point.”

He laughed again, loud and careless.

“Figured since you were dawdling you might need an arm to lean on.” Gojo said, offering your his elbow without removing his hands from his pockets, “Or perhaps…”

He feigned a gasp, “Are you feeling shy?”

“I’m leaving.” you deadpanned, managing half a turn before his hand was on your waist, turning you back. He took your hand, the feeling of his palm on your side still burned into your skin as he hooked your arm in his own.

You allowed it, leaning on him only a little. He looked pleased, smugly so, as he led you inside and to a table that was already set for two.

There was a wine glass sitting by your own plate. The one by Gojo’s was turned upside down and set to the side… a can of soda sitting, bright and out of place, in its spot.

“… where did you even get that.”

“Vending machine.” Gojo said simply and even kicked your chair out a little for you to take a seat. How flattering.

“Wine is for you, if you want it. Figured it might help take the edge off.”

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to wait for the server to return and simply tipping the bottle of red into your own glass.

“What about you?”

“I don’t drink.” He said, cracking the tab on his soda with a loud pop. Several eyes filtered your way, whispers behind hands and napkins as Gojo all but drained the can in one gulp.

“So— ground rules?” you said, unfolding a cloth napkin and settling it in a half folded triangle across your lap the way you saw other women doing.

“Straight in, huh? Alright. Terms.” Gojo lifted one finger, “As already discussed, you and I will be ‘courting’— dating. Whatever the fuck. I’ll take care of arranging the dates, you show up, act sufficiently smitten and in about a year give or take, we break up.”

Gojo lifted a second finger, “Two. In exchange, I have two first grade sorcerers who will back your promotion. And, as requested—“ Gojo’s voice dropped a fraction, almost grumpily, “—you’ll come with me on my missions for your first semi-grade probation.”

“Now ground rules. At any point either of us wants out, it’s done. No questions asked. But don’t think that means you get to ditch and just keep that first grade appointment. I’ll make sure you end up right back at a grade two.”

You sipped your wine, giving your mouth something to do than form some very choice words at that moment. Gojo noticed, his smile almost a snarl, but the expression quickly vanished. You had a funny feeling trying to hoodwink or swindle him would end very poorly for anyone.

“And when you develop feelings for me—“

“If.” You amended quickly, but Gojo ignored you.

“—when you develop feelings for me. You have to tell me and again, the engagement is over. You can keep your rank. No harm no foul. I can hardly blame you for falling for me.” Gojo said with a wistful sigh. You were grateful for the arrival of the first course, forcing you both to fall silent for a moment until they departed.

You had no idea what was on the plate. Some kind of salad? It was hardly a mouthful. Gojo didn’t even touch his silverware and feeling less than impressed with the cuisine, you didn’t either.

You drank your wine.

“Barring sickness or injury you are required to appear for every date I set. Including the ones where you have to meet other members of the main family.”

You frowned, but didn’t object.

“Wait— what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Is the engagement off when you develop feelings for me?” You said lightly, trying to play off your smile as wistful.

Gojo scoffed, his reaction almost enough to hurt your feelings… just a little bit.

“Non-issue. I don’t do feelings.”

“God, you sound like a fuck boy.” The words came out before you could stop yourself, the last syllable off your tongue right at the moment the server had returned to reclaim your plates. An eyebrow was raised and you hid your face down with a flustered cough.

By the time you looked back up, you got the joy of seeing Gojo staring at you from over his glasses, a broad and deeply amused grin on his face.

“Not non-issue. If I get the feelings rule you get the feelings rule. End discussion.”

Gojo shrugged, again not touching the newest course which was, to your extreme annoyance, some kind of grilled pear.

“You should slow down.” He warned in a sing song voice as you poured another glass.

“I’m not a baby— okay. So we got terms, we got ground rules. Anything else?”

“You can’t refuse my gifts.”

Your eyes narrowed sharply and he simply smiled and hummed with a shrug.

“It’s for appearances! Oh. Speaking of appearances—“ Gojo sat up, fishing something from his back pocket and sitting it on the table. You stared at the simple black box, fearing a vein might burst in your forehead at any moment.

“What is that.” You stated more than asked.

“Open it.” Gojo said, his voice light and encouraging as he nudged the box closer, “Come on, open it. Open it. You know you wanna, sweetie, light of my life, fire of my lo—“

You snatched the box up if only to stop him from finishing that sentence.

You swallowed hard, the sounds of the room fading out as you flipped open the box and found, sitting upon a small satin pillow— a… key?

You lifted it from the box, noting it even had a little custom keychain made to look like a white cat with a tiny blindfold.

“It’s to my apartment!” Gojo announced with a giddy laugh, clasping his hands together in a way that was entirely un-adult like.

“… I have my own place. Thank you.”

“In Kyoto. This is here, in Tokyo. Where you will need to stay for this all to work, remember?”

“Where will you stay?” You asked dryly, vaguely hoping his answer would be something other than what it was no doubt going to be.

“Very funny. You’ll have your own room—if you want it.”

“Why—“ your voice nearly broke and you had to take a moment to clear it, “Why uh— why wouldn’t I be wanting my own room?”

“Feelings are off limits, naturally. But if you want to take me up again on that offer from back in the day…”

The surge of cursed energy that rippled off of you was so strong Gojo nearly toppled backwards, his laugh gaining a somewhat nervous lift to it if only for just a moment.

“I’ll have my own room. My own locked room.” You bit out, feeling your face flushing hot and hating every second Gojo seemed to be enjoying your utter mortification, “Unless that is a problem.”

“Nope. Not at all. Probably for the best ultimately, I’ve been told I have a bad habit of dickmatizing folks.”

“… I’m sorry, you what.”

“Dickmatizing! Ya know. Like hypnotizing but with—“

“I got it!” You groaned, pressing your face into your hand. When did it get so damn hot in here? You snatched up your wine glass and finished off the contents, feeling even hotter.

“Is that all?”

“Unless anything comes to your mind, then yep.” Gojo finished, ignoring yet another course. You were almost tempted. The dish was some kind of meat, but the sauce drenched over it smelt sharply of something bitter and sour at the same time. You stomach recoiled at the thought and yet rumbled in protest to its growing hunger.

“So what do you think?”

“You’re disgusting?” you said flatly.

“I meant about the deal.”

You glowered openly at him. It was going to take a lot of practice to turn that deprecating expression you felt naturally pull unto your face at his sight into something loving and tender… but for first-grade ranking? For lessons on your Limitless? Fuck. Fuck you’d do it.

You poured the remainder of the bottle into your glass and polished it off in one shot.

“I accept.”

Gojo clapped his hands together, “Excellent! Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Huh?” You barely managed to get the questioning sound out before Gojo was up and out of his chair. You scrambled up, head rushing with the wine and the weirdness of this entire conversation. By the time you managed to catch up with him, he snaked out his arm and wrapped it around your waist, pulling you flush and warm against his side.

You about threw him across the room, but your attempts at a grapple were thwarted by the sudden thrumming of the familiar Neutral Limitless ability, stalling your moments to such a small speed you felt suddenly frozen.

The impulse to toss him passed and instead you let him escort you outside where the car was still waiting.

“Take us to the place, ya know the one.” Gojo said to the driver and in a surprising show of gallantry, actually held the door open for you to get in first.

“And open the back window. If she throws up, I’d rather it be on the pavement.”

You elbowed him in the chest— accidentally of course.

***

The car drive was a bit longer, taking you away from the glitz and glamor of this side of Tokyo and to what looked arguably as one of the most hole-in-the-wall noodle joints you had ever seen. The street kitchen was small, the counter open outside with a few bar stools. The smells of teriyaki and spices and cooking oils were heavy in the air and made your mouth water.

Gojo perched on one of the stools and you came to sit alongside him, watching as he ripped open a set of chopsticks and rubbed the splinters off.

He ordered quickly—yakisoba and yakitori. Along with several packages of mochi they kept behind the counter in the same kinda plastic bags you’d find at a convenience store.

Gojo had been right— you should have slowed down. The world had a light haze to it… a slight tilting. His hand on your back felt massive and overly warm as he guided you back to sitting straight.

“Eat, ya lush.” He ordered, piling noodles and chicken unto a smaller empty plate for you from his own, “C’mon.”

Gojo popped one of the mochi bags and dumped the sticky sweet confection right on top of your yakisoba. You grimaced, picking the sweet off and trying to wipe some of the sauce from it before you took a generous bite.

The food was greasy and delicious and abundant and cheap and your mouth was in heaven. Even having not used your Limitless since yesterday, every taste still felt heightened. Maybe it was the way your cursed powers tried to compensate from the wine, but everything somehow was more delicious.

You attempted to snag another piece of yakitori from Gojo’s plate, only to have your chopsticks blocked with a clack.

“Ah ah ah— hands off.”

“What’s yours is mine, right?” You chided, only to be dodged again in a movement faster than your eyes could perceive. Did he just use his Limitless to counter you? Feeling emboldened, you activated your own, the faint pulse of the energy so close together giving you the sort of deflecting feeling one experiences when holding two sides of the same magnet near together.

Repelling, shifting. Trying to shove the energy into a way that the two forces would collide rather than deflect.

You were concentrating fully. The minuscule movements invisible to even your eyes, but the feeling was there. A sort of blindsight where you didn’t need the Six Eyes to tell you what was happening— but it would have definitely helped. You flicked a glance up and lost your control, your chopsticks shooting away and nearly cracking one in two.

Gojo chuckled. It was the expression on his face that had distracted you. His eyelids were half dropped, his smile soft as he readied himself to deflect you again. Your energy was no match for his… but it matched. It was made of the same stuff. Controlled the same way. He could see, with the sharp clarity of his Six Eyes, every tiny precise movement you made with your cursed energy. A mirror of his own abilities in miniature.

He was playing with you. And all the sudden you felt as if a small knot in your chest had shaken free, the coil coming undone.

Was there anyone else on this Earth you could do such a thing with?

Feeling strange and suddenly shy, you drew your energy back in and refocused on eating from your own plate, grumbling at your loss.

A second later, Gojo’s chopsticks moved over your plate, dropping another helping of noodles in.

A small concession. A victory in it's own right, even if it had not won the yakitori.

“Sober up, will ya? But don’t eat too fast. I’m not cleaning up vomit, no way, no how.”

“You’re always so vulgar.” you murmured, speaking around a mouthful of noodles and mochi. Gojo turned and stuck his tongue out at you. A confirmation or a reprisal, you couldn’t be sure.

But regardless, it did something to you he had never managed to do before.

It made you laugh.

[kumkaniudaku]

Understanding

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17

Recommended Listening: Understanding x Xscape, Purple Emoji (ft. J. Cole) x Ty Dolla $ign, My World x Asian

Word Count: 2,137 

If you were going to win an award that afternoon, it’d be for attire, not confidence. Your expertly crafted golf outfit was the only thing willing your feet forward once you parked your car in front of Senior’s golf course.

Black women and men dressed like modern Jet magazine ads waltzed in and out of the clubhouse while you scanned the area for your party. You’d been to your fair share of golf courses, but none as exquisite as The National. Marble accents complemented modern brass finishes and unbeatable views of the city. The desire to take photos for your father was almost too much to shake, but you managed to play it cool. Acting out of place was surely some type of faux pas for the wealthy.

Across the way, Senior sat at the bar sipping a glass of water while thumbing through a newspaper. His furrowed brow was identical to Yahya’s whenever he was knee-deep in work or a good book. The mental comparison made you smile before ushering in a tinge of sadness. For two people so undeniably similar, they were miles apart physically and mentally.

You navigated through groups of young and old alike on the way to the bar.

“You made it on time,” Senior spoke without looking up from a story on education budget cuts.

“I made it with time to spare.”

“You don’t get praise for doing what’s right.”

“Think of how much better things would be if we did.”

Senior paused his reading to take a deep breath and shake his head. You mentally berated yourself for overstepping so soon. Not even five minutes into the outing and you had already committed an avoidable infraction

Yahya I prolonged the unbearable silence as he continued to read through another article, reading each line painstakingly slow while you watched in agony.

“I apologize. That was unnecessary.”

“I’ll ask you again,” he spoke, finally looking away from the newspaper to study your face. “Let’s leave the character right here. We’re here for a purpose, so grab your clubs and follow me to the first hole. I hope your game is as good as you are at running your mouth.” Taking his retort in stride, you quickly grabbed your set of clubs and followed with no objections. “After you.”

Senior found himself immediately impressed though he wouldn’t verbalize his feelings. He watched you breeze through each hole with near expert precision, opening a series of questions at hole 5 during casual small talk.

“Where’d you say you were from again?”

“A tiny town in South Carolina that you probably wouldn’t know.”

“Try me,” he answered while taking stock of his position on the fairway.

“Anderson, South Carolina. Home of Larry Nance and the great Chadwick Boseman.”

“Can’t forget James Kennedy, Young Lady.”

You cocked your head back in surprise. “What you know about Radio? I mean outside of what the movie says?”

Senior remained quiet long enough to take a hard swing. The loud “whiff” of his driver slicing through crisp, clean air didn’t match the stroke’s output. Both of you watch the golf ball sail high into the air before making a landing well short of the intended destination. Senior shook his head at the miscalculation before turning to answer your question.

“Black folks from all over are connected, even without all that Snapgram and Facebook foolishness.”

“I could argue it’s helped, right? How else would you be able to share your granddaughter’s first steps with the whole family?”

“In photo albums. You might not remember those, but they did us just fine.”

“Yeah, but it’s instantaneous conversation and information. Who wouldn’t want that?”

“Maybe instantaneous conversation is the problem. We aren’t making enough time to stop and really think about what we’re saying to each other.”

“Mm.” You let the conversation naturally taper before following Senior to his golf cart. The rolling hills provided enough scenery to keep you interested while you sorted the words in your head.

“I think we may have started off on the wrong foot.” You spoke once the cart came to a full stop. Senior trailed behind in silence, gathering a new club while watching you examine the other golfers in the area.

“You’re rather observant.”

You chuckled and plucked a club from your bag. “I’ve been told. Yahya calls me Eagle Eye when I catch something he’s already talked about ten minutes ago.”

“It’s what his Big Mama used to call his Pop-Pop for the same thing. That man was notoriously late to the punchline.” The nostalgia in Yahya I’s voice caught you off guard though he didn’t see your minor fumble. Something in his retelling appealed to your sense of compassion in a way that you considered long gone when it came to him.

“Let’s not beat around the bush. You have an issue with my presence that we should discuss. Because I can assure you, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Bold,” Senior responded with a sarcastic laugh. He gestured to nothing in particular as you squared up to take a swing and nodded. “And direct. Continue.”

You took a moment to hit a line drive toward the green in the distance, using the movement as an outlet for the unexpected nerves churning your stomach. Both of you quietly watch the golf ball for its final resting place before you turned to speak.

“You are extremely hard to please, and it is literally ruining your family. Yahya does everything in his power, and, excuse my French, you don’t seem to give a fuck. Why is that?”

“What makes you think that my love isn’t what makes me push him to be the best that he can? It may not be the fluff and frills you’re used to in your home, but it’s what he needs to get him to his potential.”

“Did it help you?”

Senior mistakenly allowed a quick moment of confusion to take over his features. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You tell me. When’s the last time you enjoyed a laugh with your family or felt like you could just...be? You’re carrying a weight that is crushing the people around you, and you don’t even see it.”

“You don’t…” Senior caught his words and bottled them behind his lips. He took a deep breath as he approached his golf ball and took a half-hearted swing. Noticing his misstep, he shook his head. “I’m from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. My father, Yahya’s Pop-Pop, moved my mother and me to a shotgun shack to find work when things weren’t quite shaking out back home. He was in and out of trouble and such. Couldn’t get right, but he had a natural knack for building and design.”

A nearby group of golfers erupted into laughter, helping to break up some tension.

“So architecture’s been in the family for a while,” you asked. Yahya I curled the corner of his lips into a far-off smile.

“A long, long time. It got us out of that shack when my siblings came along and into a house with our own rooms and a backyard. But, my father was a hard man. Hard to please, you know,” he laughed, making a reference to your earlier words. “He wanted the best from me, and he made damn sure he got it. I needed that to get my head out of the clouds.”

“You also needed some reassurance.”

“Perhaps. But, what’s done is done. I look at what I’ve built with no complaints, especially when it comes to my boys. I couldn’t be more proud of the men they’ve become.”

Senior’s proud smile almost looked foreign on his face. You’d never seen more than an indifferent expression or the slight twinge of anger smoldering behind his eyes.

Leaning on your club, you kept your eyes forward to gaze out over the course.

“Yahya would love to hear that. I don’t know if you know this, but he is desperately searching for your approval. There is not enough praise from me or anyone else that could replace knowing that you’re proud of him. Yet, as much as he would like to tell you these things himself, he’s afraid that you’ll think less of him for being vulnerable.”

“I could never think less of the boy. Tough love is still love.”

“Maybe for you,” you added, shrugging. “But, what good is continuing this cycle if it’s hurting the children you claim to love and the grandchildren after them?”

Senior dropped his head in thought before looking up with an unreadable expression. “Deuce will be fine. He’s all the best parts of his mother. I...I’m confident he’ll figure out fatherhood on his own despite my shortcomings. We raised him well.”

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping -”

“That has never stopped you before, young lady.” His light-hearted chuckle invited you to follow suit.

“Fair point,” you laughed. “So, let me cut to the chase. Allowing Yahya to just ‘figure things out’ is a passive existence. Yahya says you’re constantly reminding him to take things into his own hands. Sounds like you should take your own advice. Be the parts of your father that you needed at 33.”

Instead of acknowledging your advice, Senior twirled his club in his hand on the way to the golf cart. He maintained an impenetrable poker face that even the most skilled readers couldn’t interpret. You silently hoped that at least some of your words had made it through his thick skull, but you chose to let the discussion meet a natural end.

As he started the cart, Senior turned to you and smiled. “How the hell you learn to swing like that? I know it wasn’t in Anderson.”

“Hey, we play a little golf here and there!”

“Where? Out in the woods?”

“No, out in the Bayou like you did.”

A small smirk crept across your face as Yahya I chuckled at your joke. He sounded identical to Yahya, full of mirth and beautiful melodies.

“The ole Bayou,” he repeated in a thick accent. “You ain’t seen a place more beautiful in your life.”

“Maybe Yahya and I could visit one day.”

He quickly looked over and shrugged. “Maybe. For now, you focus on defending this lead. I think I’m getting back into my rhythm.”

Senior couldn’t make a convincing comeback, but he did show glimpses of a softer, more personable disposition. He cracked jokes on occasion and asked questions that turned the conversation from a therapy session to banter between associates. Your mind traveled to the possibility of civil family dinners or vacations during the ride home. Though it seemed silly to create imaginary scenarios after one conversation, you couldn’t help the urge to see a better future.

Your happiness helped you float into your shared apartment, making Yahya smile when he caught a glimpse of your wide grin and short skirt.

“Damn, girl,” he hollered from the couch with Leche cradled in his arms. “If Tiger was out there cheeked up like that, I might’ve paid a little more attention to the golf network.”

“Oh, really?”

Your raised eyebrow made Yahya kiss his teeth once he caught on to the joke. “You know what I meant. Where you been anyway?”

“Oh, I was just out doing a little golfing...with your dad.”

“Right. That was today, huh?”

Even Yahya’s best attempt at feigning interest, his question came out in a flat drone typically used on annoying coworkers. You dropped your purse and keys against a nearby barstool on the way to his spot on the couch.

“It was today. I think we had a good time,” you answered as you slid your arms around his neck from behind, placing a gentle kiss behind his ear. “He didn’t yell at me.”

“You must’ve kissed his ass the entire time.”

“No. We talked about how great I am at golf. I mean, I kicked his ass.”

“Good on you, baby girl. Bring honor to our house.” In a surprise maneuver, Yahya pulled you over the couch and into the space beside him. “Is that all?”

Silence blanketed the room, allowing the college basketball game in the background to have center stage. You considered your options carefully, weighing the pros of a potential argument against a peaceful Saturday indoors. Yahya turned his attention back to the television as he waited for a response.

“Did you hear me, baby? He didn’t say anything rude to you, did he?”

“No!” You blurted. Taking a deep breath, you slowly slid the remote off the coffee table and pressed the power button. Yahya blinked twice at his reflection on the black television screen before turning to you for answers. Your fingers danced across his thighs to interlock with his long digits.

“I think...I think we need to have a real talk about your dad.”

----

A/N: I hope this is better late than never. Only two more chapters left! Really striving to have those to y’all by the end of the month.

Let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged!

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[jpegjade]

Writer’s Block - Spencer

IT HAS BEEN A LIL BIT SINCE I ACTUALLY COMPLETED SOMETHING. literally i’m jumping from job to job. i barely found time to write this lmao. 

this is for the lovely anon who requested this: can we have a fic where the reader has writer’s block and spencer is helpful? 

here you go anon, HELPFUL SPENCER 

warnings: all fluff and a lil bit of a reference talking about weight but it’s all fluff and nothing seriously deep. 

_____________

“Ugh.” You yelled, throwing your hands in the air. “This is pointless.” 

Spencer was sitting at his desk when he looked up to see you having a partial meltdown on your shared apartment couch. 

“Please tell me why I decided to do this. I can’t think of a single reason why anyone would go through this torture willingly.” You groaned to Spencer, who just smiled in response. 

You were glad he found this so amusing because you surely didn’t think any of it was cute in the slightest. 

“You’ve got a psychological inability to produce a substantial amount of content to satisfy your drive to create.” Spencer continued smiling at you. 

“Cliff Notes version, please. I’m mentally spent.” You said, looking over at him. 

“Writer’s block.” He said, as if he couldn’t just say that in the beginning. 

“At the worst time possible.” You said, groaning again. 

As an author, you were used to the words coming to you easily. There were so many ways to describe a single feeling that you just knew how to craft the language most of the time. It’s one of the many things that made Spencer fall in love with you: You crafted a world of your own through imagination and you were able to pull other people in to experience it with you. It was something special about you that set you apart from so many other writers in your genre. 

Getting up from his chair, Spencer walked over to your spot on the couch to sit next to you. He put his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. 

“How far have you gotten on your story?” Spencer said, leaning over to see your laptop screen. You turned it away from him so he couldn’t see anything. 

“Baby, you know I don’t like you to see my works in progress. I only want you to see things when they’re complete.” You said. 

“Baby, I want to see every stage of your creativity no matter how rough.” Spencer smiled. “Maybe I can offer some advice and corrections.” 

“I don’t want you to see everything bc plot holes and such. And I don’t want you to know the plot until it’s complete.” You closed your computer screen so he couldn’t see anything. 

You turned to stare at him as he pulled his arm back, leaving on the back of the couch. The two of you stared at each other, both holding your own secrets. 

Your secret was that you secured a book deal for a Young Adult book. While the signatures were still needed for paycheck negotiations to close, you were holding out on telling Spencer until your manager confirmed everything was official. The call could come at any minute so you were checking your phone every few minutes. You weren’t superstitious but you didn’t want to tell Spencer something before it was completely confirmed. You didn’t want to get your hopes up but more importantly, you didn’t want to disappoint Spencer. He was so proud of you for your constant writing and he loved to read your stories after you sent them to your editor for content when your story was chosen for different magazines, contests, and blogs. If you secure this book deal, it will be huge for you and Spencer, making your dream come true. 

Spencer’s secret was that he was off for a month. He just got back from a case that lasted 3 weeks and before that, he was gone for the larger part of 2 months. There were a lot of back to back cases that ran right behind each other. The two of you made a sarcastic joke that it was serial killer season because it was like clockwork that these cases would come in. It was sad that so many people were hurt and killed in the process but there were countless lives saved by the team and their constant, tiring work. They needed some time off, especially with the last case draining them so greatly. 

“I won’t push you but just know, I’m excited about everything you do. I’m so proud of you for being so persistent in everything. You know, the word persistent is a great word to describe you because it’s more than just the determination to accomplish a task, although many people use it in conjunction with the word. Based on the definition by the Miriam-Webster dictionary, the word persistent means to exist for a long or longer than usual time continuously. You’ve been determined to continue your writing but it’s more than that. You’ve evolved from only writing for whoever will read your work to writing for yourself. You connect with...” Spencer wanted to go on before he noticed your phone vibrating. 

“Hold on, Spence. I’m so sorry.” You said, pulling out your phone. 

It was a text message from your agent. 

“Closed and complete. Sealed the deal. Mucho bueno mi amor.” Your agent followed that text with celebration emojis and you couldn’t look away. By calling you her love, your agent meant nothing by it any more than you called your friends your girlfriends. Your agent knew you well so she was very friendly. 

Your heart was beating a mile a minute, your breathing strained. You didn’t know whether you wanted to laugh or cry, or both at the same time. It was real. It was really real. It was entirely real. A tear ended up slipping through the floodgates, quickly followed by another. Spencer immediately saw the shift in your body language before you were able to hide it. 

“What’s wrong?” Spencer said, worry crossing his face. He didn’t understand how such a happy moment could go south so quickly. 

“It’s not you.” You said, trying to hold back the fact that you were ready to start sobbing. You wiped the tears away and put your hands back in your lap. Fresh tears were right behind those and you weren’t going to stop them this time. You hung your head, chin barely touching your chest, watching the tears fall on your hands. 

“What is it? You can tell me, lovely.” Spencer grabbed your hands from resting in your lap. His thumb immediately began gently rubbing your hands, which only made you cry harder. 

Readjusting how he sat so he could pull you into his lap, Spencer was so confused and so hurt because he didn’t know how to fix it. He couldn’t fix it when he didn’t know what was wrong. He just wanted you to be okay and you seemed far from it. You fought him a little bit. 

“I’m going to flatten you.” You said, finally calming down. 

“Then I will be the happiest flat man alive. You won’t flatten me, lovely. You’ll put your cute butt in my lap, swing your arms around my shoulders, and hang onto me for dear life as you let go of whatever just happened. You don’t have to feel alone if you’re sad.” Spencer said. 

You got up, sat on the couch next to him, and put your legs over his. It was much more comfortable that way and made you less self-conscious. He was staring at you with his puppy eyes and it melted your heart all over again. 

“I have something to tell you.” You said, taking a deep breath. 

“Okay…” Spencer looked concerned, stoic even. He was even a little bit scared. 

“I’ve been hiding something from you and I feel so bad about it.” Tears sprang to your eyes again. 

“Lovie, whatever it is, we can work through it. There are very few things in this world you can tell me that I would be upset about. I”ve seen the worst of the worst. Working out a minor bump won’t break me.” Spencer slightly smiled. 

“No, no. It’s not bad. I promise it’s not.” You let out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding. “I got a book deal.” 

Spencer was silent for a second before he broke out in the biggest smile you had seen from him in a while. He obviously didn’t have a problem being happy as his emotion. Joy overcame him and he gently put your legs on the ground and stood up just to kneel in front of you to cover you in kisses. He kissed every major part of your face before kissing you. A slow, gentle kiss but it still took your breath away. 

“You know you’re amazing, right? You deserve this out of anyone.” Spencer held your face gently in his hands, his thumb slowly rubbing your cheek.  

“I’m stuck, Spence. How am I supposed to finish the book when I can’t even finish the short story I’m writing.” You couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Maybe I can help. What’s it about?” Spencer stood up, sitting back on the couch next to you. 

“It’s the story of this brilliant teacher who moonlights as a spy. Not the most original idea but it’s not supposed to be original. It’s just a short story that someone requested on my blog.” You grabbed your computer and put it back on your lap. 

“So you’re writing about me.” Spencer smiled. 

“You’re not a spy. You moonlight as a teacher.” You said, opening your computer. You couldn’t bear to look at Spencer’s face right now as he thought about how you were basically writing about him. 

You always took character inspiration from him. He was such a big part of your life that all of your writing had hints of Spencer in them, no matter how hard you tried to leave him out of things. So it was a big deal for him to even figure out that he was largely related to this story. 

“What if…” Spencer started, “You wrote about his dashing butt?” Spencer said, beaming at you. 

You choked on your spit. 

“What?” You said, in between coughs.

“His fabulous behind in pants. You’re always telling me how amazing I look in my black slacks. So why not write about that for fun? I’m sure your blog readers would be quite amused.” Spencer was so hilariously serious that you couldn’t stop laughing. 

“Okay, fine. You win. I will put in something about your butt.” You said, turning your computer on. 

“And insert something about his beautifully flowing hair.” Spencer said. 

“Baby, your hair is short right now.” You said. He allowed you to cut his hair a few days ago and he missed his longer hair but he really liked when you gave him haircuts. 

“I know but if he’s a badass super spy and a teacher, he needs to have versatile looks.” Spencer ran his hand through his hair, a new habit he started when you cut his hair. 

“Baby, you’re going to overwhelm me with ideas.” You said, chuckling. You felt a little better about the writer’s block and the book deal the more Spencer made you laugh. 

“Good. Maybe we should go on a walk and figure out more ideas. Exercise is good for ideas because your blood flow to your brain is increased. You also get mental clarity. Over the next 6 weeks, we can do that more.” Spencer quickly walked to the door to grab both of your running shoes. 

Sitting down next to you, what he said finally hit you. 

“Next six weeks?” You asked, putting your computer on the coffee table. 

You didn’t care that all you were wearing were some cozy shorts and an old t-shirt that was way too big for you. 

“Oh, I didn’t tell you.” Spencer got his right shoe on after a little bit of struggle. “I’m off for 6 weeks after the last case. We all need the break…” He said, his eyes going to a dark place for a moment. You gently touched his arm and came back to life, in the moment with you. 

“So… You can help me?” Your mood got significantly better as you realized he was all yours for 6 weeks. 

“Every step of the way, y/n.” Spencer said, popping up from the couch in his shoes, ready to go.

[jiangchengrights]

i wake to you at dawn

also available on ao3

“Alright, I get it,” Wei Ying mumbles to herself from where she lays, half of her face shoved into the pillow beneath her head, the other half just barely illuminated by the screen on her phone, “This dog is friends with that other dog now. Whoop de-fucking-do.”

Usually, these soft animal videos on Instagram don’t annoy her that much, even when they are about dogs, but she’s seen this specific post about fourteen times tonight. She can recite by memory the posts that come after it (a celebrity laying out in the sun, the tagline only the sunflower emoji, followed by one of Wen Qing, looking stern but fond as her lap is completely covered by both Wei Ying and Wen Ning, the tagline for that being ‘Reluctant jie’, and so on and so on) because she’s been frenetically refreshing all of her social media apps in order; she now knows the current lineup of instagram posts and tweets in her feed and has seen every godforsaken not-actually-that-interesting story of all of her friends (which isn’t fair to them, really, considering all of the important ones are here trapped in this same hotel as Wei Ying).

“Oh my god,” Jiang Cheng grumbles from the other side of the room where he lays on his bed (because of course he’s a part of her bridal party. Kind of. He’s walking her down the aisle tomorrow which, okay, makes him technically not a part of her party but she wasn’t about to let him skate free the night before her wedding)(or any of her bridal functions)(not that she needed to worry: he’d taken all planning rights away from her for her bridal shower and bachelorette party, he’d only tolerated the help of shijie) and throws his extra pillow at her, “If I have to hear that fucking dog video one more time, I swear to god, I’ll break your kneecaps. Do you hear me? I’ll have to drag you down the aisle tomorrow because you won’t be able to walk.”

“I thought you liked dogs, Shidi,” she replies, shifting ever-so-slightly so that she can squint at him past her phone.

“Wei Wuxian-”

“A-Cheng, A-Ying,” Shijie hums soothingly, from the other side of the room, “Please rest, for me. Your Shijie needs sleep too.”

“And if you don’t,” Wen Qing pipes up, “I know other ways to make you shut up.”

“Okay, okay,” Wei Ying whines, locking her phone with an audible click and resting it on the pillow next to her head, “I’ll try to sleep. For Shijie.”

Wei Ying does not sleep. She tries, she really does. Turns off all the lights and all the sounds and everything shiny that could keep her just engaged enough to stay awake. She tries to listen to the steadying breathes of her bridal party around her; Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang lay on the bed to her left, Shijie and Wen Qing to her right, Wen Ning passed out on the floor (he’d been invited, truly, to sleep in the empty spot next to her, only he’d fallen asleep long before everyone else and moving him to an actual bed proved to be very difficult when all the adults in the room were half (three fourths) wine drunk and giggling, so they’d just put a pillow under his head and wrapped him in their softest blankets and left it at that). She practices all the meditation tricks Lan Zhan had taught her; tries to calm her mind and her breathing and her heart.

It doesn’t work.

God, she wishes to herself, regardless of however illogical it may be, I wish Lan Zhan was in my bridal party.

With a sigh, she spends some time reflecting. She’s made so many bad decisions in her life, ones that have resulted in no less than three broken arms (sorry A-Cheng), many school detentions, almost getting expelled from university, a car accident that had left Shijie with seatbelt burns and a black eye from the airbag and Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, had left Lan Zhan, who’d been sitting prim and proper in the back seat, with scars that still lingered across the expanse of her back in the shape of all of Wei Ying’s nightmares. She’d chosen to hide away after that for three years in a different city with different hair and a different smile on her face and pretend like she didn’t feel a bone crushing loneliness in her entire being every time she thought of her Shijie, and didi, and her Lan Zhan who wasn’t really hers anymore, and that fact that in her self imposed exile she would never seen any of them again. That was, until Lan Zhan found her and dragged her back home and made her whole again.

Wei Ying was always whole, Lan Zhan would say, has said, I just helped Wei Ying find a way back. Will always bring Wei Ying back.

But with all that behind her and mostly wrapped up, this, tonight, right here, feels like her worst idea yet. She’d been so confident too! Had fought every naysayer, including Lan Zhan herself, with a cocky smile and a wave of her hand.

Brides shouldn't see each other the night before the wedding! She had laughed, and then laughed harder when Lan Zhan’s fingers had tightened where they dug into her hip, Besides, we’re not one of those couples! We can handle one night apart!

And she had been right, for the most part. Of course she missed Lan Zhan, but a night spent apart, having fun with her little family, all of them basking in the shared excitement of her impending nuptials. What she hadn’t anticipated was trying to sleep without Lan Zhan beside her, not when she’s this nervous, hadn’t thought about how deeply she would miss Lan Zhan’s warm weight behind her, her steadying arm firm around her waist, holding Wei Ying together like she did every night. She feels the absence with every shift of her hips that press backwards into nothing, every time she throws an arm out to rest on an empty pillow and the fact that there are no warm, soft, calves to ruthlessly shove her cold toes against.

By the time she picks up her phone again, everyone in the room is peacefully asleep and the  clock on her bedside table blinks 2:36, proud and red and rude, if you ask Wei Ying. She gives up on sleep and starts mentally calculating exactly how much concealer she’ll need to cover the bags under her eyes. After all, she wants to look her absolute best for Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan who is so steady and warm and beautiful, Lan Zhan who could open her mouth wide and eat Wei Ying’s entire heart in one bite but doesn’t, instead offering her own heart up on a silver platter for Wei Ying.

Wei Ying opens their messages on her phone, reads through the last few, laughs at the pictures she’d sent earlier in the night of Nie Mingjue, eyes half lidded with alcohol, laying messy kisses to the side of Xichen-ge’s face, who seemed to be accepting them with grace and only slightly tinged red ears. She taps her fingers on the screen, starting a message, lan zhan i can’t slee-

She doubles back, erasing it, deciding she doesn’t need to be whiny the night before their wedding, when Lan Zhan is surely asleep anyways. Again she starts, good early morning, lan zhan! i can’t wait to see you in your-

Too much, that is utterly too much. i love you, she types, hesitates with her thumb over the send button. What if the sound of her phone wakes Lan Zhan up? What if then Lan Zhan can’t fall back asleep? What if Lan Zhan tosses and turns all night and ends up with a headache, overtired on their wedding day of all times? What if this texts absolutely ruins everythi-

Her phone sounds, the little swooping noise it makes when she receives a new message on the thread she’s already looking at. She looks down and finds a link from Lan Zhan to a video of baby bunnies playing together with a message that says, When we return from our honeymoon, I think it is time we get another bunny. Possibly two.

And well. Her decision is made for her really. If Lan Zhan is awake, laying in her own bed in a room on the other side of the hotel, fighting off insomniatic boredom with bunny videos, there’s no way Wei Ying can stay here and allow them both to suffer.

She finds herself glad that Wen Ning is on the floor, though it looks a tad uncomfortable, because she’s able to slip out of bed with ease, bare feet silent on the carpeted floor. The only thing she grabs is her phone, not even bothering to try to find her shoes in the colossal mess that is her dark bridal room, littered with take out and bottles and stripped off clothing. Her nose crinkles, amused, when she thinks of the look of reprove she’ll surely get from Lan Zhan when she realizes Wei Ying walked around barefoot.

She manages to zigzag her way to the door without stepping on anything or making any noise, a feat she will congratulate herself on later. The door opens slowly, making the barest hint of noise as yellow hotel-hallway light floods the entrance to the room. Wei Ying pumps her fist, gloating at being able to sneak out without a single one of her party-poopers (read: caring family) waking up to ruin it for her and make her climb back into her own bed.

That is, until she catches Nie Huaisang’s eyes, watching her from where he lays next to Jiang Cheng. The most dangerous opponent, really, because with one shove of his arm he’d have Jiang Cheng up and yelling, alarming the whole room before she’d even make it to the elevator. She’s not sure she knows the layout of the hotel well enough to make it safely inside Lan Zhan’s room before one of them caught her.

Silent, slow, she moves one finger up to place over her lips, keeping eye contact with Nie Huaisang the whole time. She pleads with him from across the room, imploring him to be cool. He blinks, once, twice, slow like a cat in the sun, and then closes his eyes a third time for good and raises one, slow, thumbs up to her.

Her sigh of relief is the last noise in the room before she shuts the door and power walks to the elevator at the end of the hallway. She is going to buy him the biggest fruit basket. She dances by herself once inside the elevator, suddenly feeling cold and exposed in her red silk sleep tank and shorts, goosebumps prickling her arms and thighs. If only Lan Zhan’s room wasn’t so stupidly far away.

Of course her room has to be far away! Jiang Cheng had yelled when Wei Ying whined about it, the second you start drinking all you want to do is sit in her lap! You’re lucky I’m letting her party stay in the same hotel as yours!

And well, he hadn’t been wrong, per say, she thinks to herself as she tiptoes off the elevator and down the maze-like hall to get to Lan Zhan’s room. She still didn’t appreciate the distance though. She quietly tap taps on the door with one hand, pressing send on a text with the other that reads, lan zhan let me in lan ZHAN!!!

The door opens before her hand has even fallen back to her side. And there is her Lan Zhan, in soft cloud print pajamas pants and a white t-shirt, hair drawn up into a neat bun, eyes tired but awake.

“Wei Ying,” she says, the smile in her voice all Wei Ying needs to know about her welcome. She slides closer, wrapping her arms around Lan Zhan’s neck, grinning when she feels the others arms sneak around her waist.

“Mmm, Lan Zhan,” she hums against Lan Zhan’s neck, moving up to her tiptoes so she can nuzzle her nose against the corner of Lan Zhan’s jaw, “I’m tired, let’s go to bed.”

“I thought I was not supposed to see the bride the night before the wedding,” Lan Zhan replies, but she’s already inching backwards into the room, dragging Wei Ying along with her.

“Who ever said that?” Wei Ying asks, knowing full well she was the one who said that, a smile on her face when she lets Lan Zhan drop her into bed.

“Besides,” she says, once Lan Zhan is settled beside her, reaching one hand up to pet the side of Lan Zhan’s face, thumb rubbing gentle circles across the expanse of Lan Zhan’s cheekbone, “Does it count if there’s two brides? I don’t think so, we cancel each other out, see? If anything we have to do the opposite, you know, we have to see each other extra hard tonight.”

“Hmm,” Lan Zhan hums, her lips pulling up ever so slightly on one side as she leans in to rest her forehead against Wei Ying’s, legs tangling together, one hand sliding underneath Wei Ying’s shirt to spread warm and wide and firm in the valley between her shoulder blades, “Is that so?”

“Yes, tonight we have to,” Wei Ying nods, finally allowing her eyes to close as she presses further into Lan Zhan’s embrace, sleep finally weighing on her shoulders. She lets her head drop down, lips brushing against Lan Zhan’s collarbone, breathing her words right into Lan Zhan’s chest, “And every night too. I’ll tack that on for free, Lan Zhan, every night.”

“Yes, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan sighs against her hair and melts under Wei Ying’s nimble fingers, relaxed at once with the promise of forever, “Every night.”

“I love you,” Wei Ying whispers, one final thing, around a yawn and finally, finally settles for the night. She almost misses Lan Zhan’s whispered reply, I love you too.

But she doesn’t. She never wants to miss a single thing Lan Zhan has to say.

Coda:

For all of fifteen seconds, the world is warm and bright and everything good when Wei Ying wakes up. Toned legs tangle with her own and a soft hand pets her hair away from her face, gentle and comforting again and again. She herself is pressed messily against Lan Zhan’s chest, quite possibly, embarrassingly, drooling ever so slightly. She does not have time to register this, however, before the banging starts.

“Wei Wuxian, I know you’re in there!” comes a belt from the other side of the door, that has her shooting up in an awkward half sitting position, splayed on one-fourth on the bed and three-fourths in Lan Zhan’s lap. Lan Zhan’s hands act as a steadying force, one on her hip, the other on her back, as she blinks deliriously around the room.

Nie Mingjue seems to be in a similar position, probably blinking off a hangover and propelling up from his sleeping position, glaring around the room like he might find the source of their disturbance somewhere inside. Jin Zixuan, on the other hand, groans loud and long, pressing his pillow over his ears.

“I see you are up,” Lan Xichen smiles from the little table where he sits, drinking his cup of tea peacefully, unperturbed by the pounding on their door, “I hope you rested well.”

“I did, thank you Xichen-ge,” Wei Ying tries to laugh around the blush high in her cheeks, only now really registering the fact that Lan Zhan was also sharing a room and not, in fact, alone just waiting for Wei Ying to traipse her way in.

But when she looks down at the woman laying beside her, she sees none of her own embarrassment reflected there, only a fond smile and a soft hand reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ears. Huh, she thinks, revising her earlier thoughts, maybe not alone but definitely waiting for me.

“Wei Wuxian!” comes again from outside the door, though this time it just has her laughing, pushing into Lan Zhan’s hands like a cat.

“When did you get here?” Nie Mingjue asks, rubbing at his eyes. But he stands and stumbles his way over to Xichen and the tea and doesn’t seem particularly hard pressed for an answer, so Wei Ying ignores it.

“Hi, we’re getting married today,” she says instead, meeting Lan Zhan’s smile with her own.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hums while the banging on the door stops. Finally, Wei Ying sighs, leaning down to press her lips against Lan Zhan’s, chaste because they are still in front of Lan Zhan’s brother and her brother in law. She’s still there when the door pops open, revealing a quietly furious Wen Qing.

“Wei Wuxian,” she seethes, taking calculated steps closer, “You were supposed to stay in your bed.”

“I did!” Wei Ying says, smiling wide to prove her innocence, “Lan Zhan is my bed!”

“I am going to-” Jiang Cheng barges through, leaving no one to hold the door open; it swings heavily back straight towards Jiang Yanli.

Before Wei Ying can even shout a disgruntled hey! Jin Zixuan, who was already on his way to the door, catches it with his hand and leads Jiang Yanli inside with a gentle hand and a soft smile that makes Wei Ying want to puke.

But Yanli-jie smiles back, big and happy and unashamed, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, “Hello, husband.”

“Good morning, A-Li,” he says back, wistful and dopey as he leads her inside with a soft hand on the small of her back. Right in that moment, Wei Ying decides maybe she doesn’t hate him. For now.

“Sorry, Shijie,” Jiang Cheng responds, automatic when he looks back but Jiang Yanli waves him off with a forgiving smile.

“I know it wasn’t on purpose A-Cheng.”

The commotion leaves Wei Ying relaxed in a way she should have known better than to be, because all too soon she is being hoisted away from her warm spot on the bed and dragged out of the room.

“You promised, Wei Wuxian!” Wen Qing snaps, but Wei Ying can already hear the forgiveness in her voice, the amusement. Wei Ying lets herself be dragged along, barefoot again, back to her own room. And then because honestly she’s a little on the edge of too-excited and too-in love she shouts over her shoulder:

“I’ll see you at the end of the aisle, Wife!” and maintains vision of the room just long enough for Lan Zhan, who’d pushed herself into an upright position, turn red and drop back down into the bed with a gasp, like all of the air had been knocked out of her.

Wei Ying’s cackles are only rivaled by the quiet, but pleased chuckles from Lan Xichen.

“Do you have to be such an annoyingly sweet couple every single day?” Wen Qing huffs, letting go of her (fake, Wei Ying is pretty sure) anger entirely, sliding her arm up so they can lock elbows, walking arm and arm back to Wei Ying’s room.

Wei Ying thinks of Lan Zhan, warm around her and ever inviting, even if it was 2AM, even if Wei Ying looked like a ragamuffin, even if, even if, and smiles wide, cheesy, deliriously with all the right decisions she’s made in this life and says, “Yes.”

[blowingbarnes]

Candyman *

A/N: Again, my conversations with Em lead to my demise. Feedback is appreciated! I’m working on my Nat requests *eye emoji*. I did have to rewrite this cause tumblr was a bitch, so if you’ve read it already and enjoyed it, please like it and reblog.

Warnings: smut, badly written striptease? (can you even call that a striptease?), p*rn without plot, 69, butt stuff IF YOU SQUINT.

Word Count: 2,882

Summary: It’s Bucky’s 102nd birthday.

Y/N was in their shared bathroom, hair curled to perfection, plush red lips and lashes for days. Her outfit was the only thing she was nervous about. Was Bucky going to love it? Was he gonna hate it cause it brought him back to that time?

Bucky was sitting on the bed, nervous. But the good nervous. His black shirt clung to his muscles while his leg bounced, giddy with excitement.

She took a deep breath and waited for the first lines of the song, shaking the nerves off of her body.

Sweet, sugar, candy man

Christina Aguilera’s voice whispered “Sweet, sugar”, and Y/N took one step forward in a way that only her naked leg was visible through the open bathroom door. She did it again when “Candyman” was whispered and Bucky could see her in all of her glory.

Dressed to the nines as a 1940’s showgirl, she bit her lip and smiled shyly at Bucky’s expression. His eyes widened and then narrowed, his teeth biting his own bottom lip hard.

She walked towards him, a little more sway in her hips than usual, mouthing the words of the song to him. Bucky was hypnotised.

I met him out for dinner on a Friday night He really got me working up an appetite

Y/N jutted her hips in and out, flexing her knees. She stopped turning to her side, and ran her hands up and down her arm, smiling at Bucky and throwing him a wink.

He had tattoos up and down his arm There’s nothing more dangerous than a boy with charm

She walked closer to him and put one foot on the bed, swinging her hips oh so close to his face, Bucky had to give her inner thigh a kiss, but she backed away on purpose, so he wouldn’t touch her.

He’s a one stop shop, makes the panties drop He’s a sweet talkin’ sugar coated candy man A sweet talkin’ sugar coated candy man

Y/N circled around him and got behind him on the bed. Her hands were on his shoulders first but then she bent down, kissing the shell of his ear and letting her hands roam his broad chest.

He took me to the Spider club on Hollywood and Vine We drank champagne, and we danced all night

She let her fingers unbutton the first two buttons of his shirt and her hands roamed his abs and scratched them lightly as she kissed his neck and sucked a deep hickey.

We shook the paparazzi for a big surprise (a big surprise) The gossip tonight will be tomorrow’s headlines He’s a one stop shop, makes my cherry pop He’s a sweet talkin’ sugar coated candy man (oh yeah) A sweet talkin’ sugar coated candy man

Getting off the bed, she stood in front of him and turned her back to him again, bending down but keeping her legs straight.She was that close to Bucky on purpose, letting his hands roam the back of her thighs and ass, and he leaned forward and gave her a soft bite on her left ass cheek.

He’s a one stop shop, makes my cherry pop He’s a sweet talkin’ sugar coated candy man (oh) A sweet talkin’ sugar coated candy man

Facing him again, Y/N squatted and opened her legs, closing them in the same fast fashion, and brought her knees to the ground, crawling a couple steps to get to Bucky, she used her hands on his thighs as leverage to get up, bringing them to the apex of his thighs and crotch and applying more pressure, rubbing her breasts on his chest.

Well, by now I’m getting all bothered and hot

She turned around and sat on his lap, his chest flush to her back, grinding herself onto him, while her head was thrown back on his shoulder. Bucky’s heart felt like it was gonna beat out of his chest.

When he kissed my mouth, he really hit the spot

She turned her face and murmured those words so close to his lips he could feel her breath against his face. She was still grinding on his, legs open in a straddling position and while Y/N rubbed his thighs, he rubbed the top of hers, fingers grazing the hem of the military green set up.

He had lips like sugar cane, oh

Her soft hand grabbed his bearded jaw and brought him closer to her, thumb tracing his lips before she leaned forward and bit his lower lip, sucking on it. A grunt made its way out from deep inside Bucky’s throat at that.

Good things come for boys who wait

Bucky had gripped her inner thighs tighter, which only made Y/N lightly and playfully slap his hands away and stand up, but not before grinding onto his denim clad cock one more time.

Candy man, candy man (Sippin’ from a bottle of vodka double wine) Candy man, candy man

She swayed her hips to the beat of the song, her back turned to him and a smirk creeping its way to her lips. When she turned around, her eyes caught his bulge, almost a tent in his pants.

Her hands found their way to the sides of her neck, and then traveled down her collarbones, breasts, and stop to squeeze them together, never breaking eye contact with the super soldier sitting on her bed.

He’s a one stop, gotcha hot, makin’ all the panties drop (Sweet, sugar, candy man)

Her hands slid down further and she hooked her fingers on the hem of her panties, pulling them down and kicking them off when they pooled around her feet.

He’s a one stop, got me hot, makin’ my (uh) pop (Sweet, sugar, candy man)

Y/N straddled Bucky, making him groan at the slight friction of her naked wetness to his clothed dick.

He’s a one stop, get it while it’s hot, baby, don’t stop (Sweet, sugar)

She kept grinding onto him, and to be honest, Bucky had no idea if the “baby, don’t stop” was because of the song or because of him.

He got those lips like sugar cane Good things come for boys who wait He’s a one stop shop with a real big (uh)

Mouthing the words against his lips, Y/N descended her kisses to his neck and her hand to the inside of Bucky’s jeans, gripping him over his boxers, making him let out a low moan in her ear.

He’s a sweet talkin’ sugar coated candy man (Say what) a sweet talkin’ sugar coated candy man (Say) a sweet talkin’ sugar coated candy man, woo A sweet talkin’ sugar coated candy man

The song came to an end and both of them were panting. Y/N wore a proud smirk on her face while Bucky was downright starstruck.

“Like your birthday gift, Sarge?” She whispered against his lips, her hands never slowing down.

“Hell yeah, doll.” He breathed out, hands squeezing her thighs.

“Well, then. Unwrap it.” Y/N squeezed her hand around the base of his cock and Bucky had enough.

Flipping both of them over and earning a squeal from Y/N, he ripped the tiny micro skirt she wore off her body, along with the top, revealing her breasts to him.

Bucky wasted no time in attaching his lips to her nipples.

“Fuck, Bucky-” Her hands went straight to his hair, pulling on the silky strands.

“Uh, uh. It’s Sergeant Barnes for you, sweet thing.” The darkness in his voice when those words came out of his mouth made Y/N shiver, wetness pooling between her legs and dripping on the mattress already.

Bucky kissed his way down her body and to the apex of her thighs, flattening his tongue and licking a long stripe there.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one giving you head.” She laughed, the ending of the laugh turning into a moan when he kissed her clit.

“Oh, you are, baby.” Bucky flipped onto his back and tapped his chin. “Take a seat, sweetheart.” He smirked at her dumbfounded expression.

Y/N complied immediately, choosing to sit on his face facing his body. While she lowered herself close and closer to his lips, she unbuttoned his shirt, running her hands up and down his torso once she did it.

Bucky was impatient to her featherlight touches and wrapped his hands around her hips and pulled her down on his tongue, earning a hiss and a moan from Y/N’s lips, through gritted teeth.

“Oh, fuck, Sarge.” Y/N closed her eyes and braces herself with her hands on his lower stomach, his abs contracting and angry veins that lead to her favorite kind of seat popping.

Bucky let his tongue explore every millimetre of her pussy, never stopping. He flattened out his tongue and licked her from clit to asshole, and Y/N moaned out loud.

“Yeah, you like that sweetheart?” Bucky’s voice was dripping lust. And Y/N was eating it up. His metal hand reached down to rub her clit while he pushed his tongue in and out of her and his flesh hand went up to play with her nipples.

Y/N had her thighs shaking, nails scratching angry red lines onto Bucky’s stomach cause it felt that good. Until she had another idea. It was his birthday after all.

Y/N was already leaning forward so all she had to do was move her hands to unzip his pants and push them down his legs, Bucky groaned on her clit when he felt what she was doing, lifting his hips up to help her, and she slid his boxers off as well.

Her mouth watered at the sight of his cock, standing tall and proud less than a mere inch from her face. Head angry and red, leaking precum, certainly hard since her little dance earlier.

When Bucky licked her ass again and put one metal finger in, she moaned loud. Y/N grabbed his cock and licked a long stripe from base to tip before engulfing the head in her mouth and sucking on it.

The vibrations of his moan made her nipples even harder.

Y/N started bobbing her head up and down his shaft, and Bucky inserted two more fingers inside her, filling her to the brim.

“Holy shit, baby, you should see yourself right now… Downright dripping onto my face.” Bucky only riled her up more and more with his words and he knew it. Y/N moaned around his cock and he threw his head back before going back to it, fucking her with his metal fingers and teasing her hole with the tip of his tongue.

Which, in turn, only made Y/N suck on his harder. The knot in her stomach was growing tighter and tighter by the second and she was sucking her boyfriend’s dick like she was short on rent. It was sloppy and messy and filthy.

“Fuck- Sarge, put your tongue in me again, please. Please.” She took her mouth off his cock for a moment to say that, and he complied while she went back to sucking him off until she could swallow around him and feel him twitch in her throat.

“You wanna come, pretty girl? Wanna come on your sergeant’s face? Yeah?” Bucky could feel her nod and her hum in agreement around his cock. “Then beg for it.” He smirked and sucked a dark hickey on her thigh, leaving a bite mark on the other one when he was done.

Y/N took her lips from him but kept pumping him in her hand. “Please, please, pretty please, Sarge. Let me come, I need to come.” She let out a grunt when he went back to licking her and moved his fingers again. “Make me come.”

Which didn’t take long. Bucky moved his fingers faster and took them out to rub her clit while he pushed his tongue in and out of her again, and Y/N kept grinding herself on his face, reaching her release with a loud moan, but her hand never stopped moving, her thumb swiping over the slit on Bucky’s cock, making him groan into her pussy.

She rode out her high and Bucky licked her clean, making her legs shake with the aftershocks. Y/N got off of him, turning around and kissing him with all she had tasting herself and moaning, she moved to straddle him.

Bucky sat up, but never stopped kissing her. Y/N’s hands helped shrug the shirt the rest of the way off, going to his hair and pulling herself even more flush against him, grinding her folds over his cock.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby.” Bucky whispered against her lips, and she whimpered at the sensitivity of the tip of his cock brushing against her clit, she threw her head back and Bucky sucked on her neck.

“Need your cock, Sarge. Can I have it?” Her voice was so innocent Bucky would have a hard time believing it if she didn’t have his cock between her lips three minutes prior.

“You can have anything you want, doll.” He whispered against her skin. Hands going to her hips while hers went to his shoulders, helping lift her hips up. His flesh hand lined his dick with her entrance, and she shivered. “Ready, baby?”

She let out a faint chuckle. “Always, Sarge.” This time, the nickname had a teasing tone to it, and she threw a wink his way.

Slowly, he helped her sit down on him, her walls snug and wet around him. So, so tight.

Bucky let out a grunt and Y/N moaned, lips coming to kiss his. She grabbed his hands in hers and put them on her ass, a silent plea for him to squeeze it and spank it while she rode him. Bucky smirked into the kiss, squeezing her ass cheeks almost painfully tight before spanking her, making Y/N let out a yelp and squeeze around him.

“Feel good, doesn’t it, baby?” He pulled his lips away from her to kiss her jaw and bit it. “Feels good riding your sergeant’s cock?"

"Ugh- shit-, feels so good, Sarge. You feel so good inside me. Oh!” She moaned loud. “Always fucks me so good.”

Y/N kept bouncing on his cock, lifting herself up with a swing of her hips until only the head of his dick was inside of her, and coming back down with another swing of her hips, one that made her whimper cause it made her clit grind on his pelvic bone.

It was primal, their skin was covered in sweat and you could hear the wet noise coming from them in the room, which only made her ride him harder and harder, tightening around him when Bucky thrusted up.

“Wanna come again, Sarge.” She whimpered, but it sounded a lot like begging.

“Yeah? Wanna come around my cock?” Bucky kissed her neck and a finger went to rub on her clit while his other hand spanked her. “Wanna squeeze me tight and cover me with your juices?” To which she only nodded. “Come, baby. You can come.”

But she shook her head no.

“Want you to come with me.” Her hand came to grab his jaw and bring him insanely close to her. “Want to feel you twitch inside me."

Bucky only leaned forward and bit her lip, which turned into him sloppily kissing her in the process.

"Ride me hard, then, pretty girl.” He put his hand on her hip and brought her down harder on him. “Make me come, doll.”

His dirty talk only riled her up more and more, making her heart beat faster, and he walls flutter around him. Bucky was feeling lightheaded, he was in Heaven.

Y/N rode him harder and harder each time, the muscles in her thighs burned but she chased both of their highs. After a particularly tight squeeze, she felt him twitch inside of her.

“Gonna come for me, Sarge?” She smirked against his lips.

“Yeah, gonna fill you up to the brim, sweetheart.” He grunted out.

His hands went to his ass and boobs, tweaking a nipple while the other spanked her ass harder and harder, until she felt the knot in her stomach snap, and squeezed Bucky so tight he saw stars. She came with a broken moan that turned into grunts, and Bucky’s balls tightened and he felt himself coming inside of her, which made her whimper at the sensation.

They rode out their highs, Bucky still inside of her while they tried to catch their breaths.

Y/N took her head from where she had hidden her face on his shoulder to bite on it, and looked Bucky in the eyes. Cheeks flushed and a slick coat of sweat on his forehead, his hair everywhere and a lazy smile on his face. He looked utterly fucked out.

She brushed a strand of hair behind his ear, and kissed his lips. “Happy Birthday, Bucky.”

“Happy birthday to me, indeed, doll.” He smiled and kissed her palm, leaning onto her touch.

“I love you.” He looked her in the eyes when she said that.

“I love you more.” He kissed her again.

She smirked against his lips. “Love you most.” To which he also smirked and flipped both of them over, after all, the night was young.

[naturalbornsnickerdoodle]

Saturday night fever

I'm currently with a fever, and since I couldn't sleep I thought I'd write a story about Harry taking care of the reader to pass the time.

I hope you enjoy!

Ps. The title is trash I know.

Warnings: some swear words.

Y/N was pretty excited to see Harry after so long. Both had been caught up with work lately and he went on a business trip to discuss tour dates, TV interviews, and who knows! Perhaps even a new album.

Y/N was going to surprise Harry after picking him up from the airport. She bought his favorites snacks, would prepare his favorite dish for dinner, got the TV room ready to watch a RomCom, and she even shaved. You know...just in case.

It was morning, his flight would land by 7 PM, so Y/N had plenty of time to get the things she needed, go to work, and then bring him home. Or so she thought...

Her phone starts ringing while she was getting dressed for work, the screen lights up with the words "H ❤" and she answers.

Y/N: "Hi, baby! How's it going?"

Harry: "Hi, love. I'm alright. What about you?"

Y/N: "Oh, you know, pretty good. Been jumping up and down, cheering silently since I woke up *giggles* No biggie. What's up? Is your flight about to take off?"

Harry: "Actually, I have some bad news, button. They needed me here one more day, to see some business men down in San Diego. Label says it's important."

She stops putting on her shoes for a second. Then replies with a fake, slightly cheery voice.

Y/N: "Oh, I see!"

Harry: "I know. Good news is I'll leave tomorrow at the same time, same flight, and we'll see each other then, yeah?"

Y/N normally wouldn't get upset over something like this. She was understanding and would always assure him everything was okay. However, it's been a whole month of not seeing her boyfriend, and that could upset anyone, if you ask me.

Y/N: "Define good "

Harry: *he sighs* "Okay, maybe not the greatest of news I could deliver, but it's just one more day, love."

Y/N: "Oh yay, one more day. Woo hoo!" She said sarcastically.

Harry: "What's gotten into you? It's literally 24 more hours, Y/N."

Y/N: "Too many for my taste, Harry. But, hey! Thanks for trying to cheer me up. Didn't work."

Harry: "Y/N—"

Y/N: "You know what? I'm done talking to you. Have fun in all those meetings. Bye."

Harry: "Wait, bab—"

Y/N hangs up the phone before she got to hear the rest of his speech. And boy, was she upset. She tapped her fingers on the kitchen counter while taking deep breaths to calm herself down. She could only think about the nerve he had trying to see the bright side of this. Sometimes there was no brightside.

She couldn't get her mind off the following night. Plans ruined, they'd get home to a reheated dinner, and she'd have stubbly legs and private parts from almost 3 days of not shaving. Let's face it, she was too mad at him for that last part.

Finally, she snapped her head upwards and said "Fuck this", grabbed her car keys and headed for the door. Next thing you know, she was furiously tapping her phone screen, texting her friends to meet later at the pub.

Afternoon came along and after several failed attempts of Harry calling Y/N, aswell as texting her, she finally replied with "going out tonight" and a do not disturb emoji for an extra touch. That sure looked menacing. But Harry got that, and only replied with an "Okay, take care, yeah? Love you xx". A thumbs up would be the perfect reply, she thought. She hit Send.

At the pub, Y/N and her friends were ordering pint after pint, and then some questionable chili cheese fries since she'd gotten hungry. Needless to say it was a poor choice of snack.

Through the evening, she'd gotten a couple of texts from Harry asking if she was okay, and one around 5 am letting her know that he was going to the airport soon. She didn't reply to any of them, of course.

Fast forward to the next morning, Y/N woke up to the sunlight hitting her right in the face, as if he'd never shown his face in London before, the bastard, and with a thumping headache. Yup, this was going to be fun.

She had felt like crap the entire day. Didn't try to have breakfast 'cause she was too tired and nauseous, so she went back to sleep. At noon, she tried to have some tea and a sandwich but that only made her sick to her stomach, and ended up throwing it all up. It tasted like chili cheese fries and regrets. Emphasis on the regrets part.

At last, when the vomiting ceased, she washed it down with some mouthwash and grabbed her cup of tea to not dehydrate, then proceeded to try and get some sleep. Completely oblivious to the fact that her boyfriend was getting home that evening.

Harry's plane landed on time, but got worried after his girlfriend didn't reply to him all day that day, not even when he texted he'd landed safely. He got a private ride to get him back home, since she wasn't there to pick him up. Oh, he was in trouble, alright.

The ride parks outside their home, and Harry notices Y/N's car. "Thank god she's home!" He thinks to himself. He gets his suitcases, walks in only to find darkness. He turns on the lights and calls out for his girlfriend: "Y/N? You home?"

He walks upstairs and through their bedroom door only to find what he could only think was his girlfriend but in the form of a shivering ball. A trashcan on the floor, a cold cup of chamomile tea on the nightstand, and lots of baby wipes laid around the floor.

Harry gets closer to Y/N and sees her small face pale, sweating, and her whole body slightly shivering.

Harry: "Y/N? What happened, love?"

He touches her forehead and she's burning hot. God knows how long she's been with a fever. He'd like to think that's why she didn't reply to his texts earlier, not 'cause she was mad at him. One can dream.

Just then, she comes back to a semi conscious state and replies in a weak voice. Blinking slowly, barely opening her eyes.

Y/N: "Harry?"

Harry: "Yeah, button. The one and only."

Y/N: "Y-You-You're h-home" stuttering through her words.

Harry: "I am, and you're burning. Come on, let's check up on you. Did you take anything for the fever?"

Y/N: "No, I did-d-didn't know I had one, until n-now."

Harry: "That's alright, I'll take care of you, yeah?"

She could only reply with a soft and weak "okay". Then, Harry proceeded to take her temperature, 38.5 °C. No wonder why she was shivering. He left her side only to fetch her medicine and some water. Then, he continued to get a small bowl with ice water in it and a small towel. He also noticed she was sweating profusely, got her shirt all wet. He fetched fresh PJ's for her, wanting to replace the ones drenched in sweat.

Harry: "Can you sit up, love? I'll help you out of these in a second."

Y/N: "You trying to get in my p-pants, Styles?"

Harry: *smirks* "Me? Nah."

Y/N: "Go-Good. 'Cause I'm still m-mad at you."

Harry: "I'm very much aware of that, honey. Come on, arms up."

He changes her into a fresh t-shirt and discards the old one in the laundry basket.

Harry: "Good as new! Now, let's get that fever down. Here"

Harry gives her the tylenol they had in their first aid bag, she chugged it down with water, and then continued to put her on her back again.

Harry: "Alright, could you lay down for me, please? This cold towel will help you. There you go." He places the wet and cold towel on her forehead. He hears a big sigh coming out of her. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing slow. She shivered every now and then, grabbing her hand hopefully would make her feel better. And it did.

Harry only left her side to get more cold water for the towel, and to make her some chicken soup. Thank god he knows how to cook. When the soup is ready he wakes her up by kissing the back of her hand and playing softly with her hair.

Harry: "Hey, babe."

Y/N: "hm?"

Harry: "Hi there, love. Fancy some dinner? Made your favorite soup"

Y/N: *wide eyed* "of course!" She says in a raspy voice.

Harry: *giggles* "Okay, sit up for me please."

Y/N sits up and lays against the headboard. Then Harry places the tray they use for breakfast in bed, with the most delicious smelling plate of soup you could ever imagine. Lots of veggies and chopped chicken breasts. And the best part, it was made with love.

He'd pulled a chair next to their bed to sit beside her if she needed anything. She grabs her spoon and tries the soup out. The only thing coming from her lips are happy sounds. She really needed that.

Y/N: "It's delicious, as always. Maybe even better than the last time you made it"

Harry: "Proud to hear that. Gordon Ramsay who?"

They both laugh at his comment. Then, after a moment, Harry speaks.

Harry: "I'm sorry I canceled on you."

Y/N: "Oh, that's okay. Actually, I overreacted, too. I, I know how hard you work and how much you care for what you do. I just felt... overwhelmed. Cause I had the entire day planned out for us and then they make you stay one more day, and then-"

Harry: "I know, love." He takes her free hand on his own and squeezes it tight.

Y/N: *sighs* "What I mean is...I'm sorry, honey. For everything.

Harry: "Apology accepted. But you'll have to make it up to me for not answering my calls or texts earlier today. Had me very worried back there." He pinches her nose lightly between his thumb and index finger, making her blush.

Y/N: "Oh, shit. Right. Again, I'm sorry. How was your flight back, by the way? You must be so tired"

Harry: "Eh, it was alright. I'm used to them now. I just wanted to get home ASAP."

Y/N: "and now here you are stuck with a sick girl next to you."

Harry: "Yeah, how did I get so lucky?" *giggles*

Y/N: "Life can be funny like that sometimes, even if we're not laughing with it"

Harry: "True, but there's no other place I'd rather be."

They both smile at each other.

Harry: "So what did you do or eat to get this sick?"

Y/N: "Ugh. It was the beer and the cheese fries I had last night. Ew" She gets goosebumps from thinking about the goddamned fries.

Harry: *giggles* "Not the best of ideas, yeah?"

Y/N: "Not at all"

She finishes her soup, Harry puts the tray and plate aside, only to make her lay down again, change her cold towel one more time and go put on some PJ's and go around their bed to sleep next to her, it was already pretty late.

She tries to find his hand, grabs it and squeezes tight.

Y/N: "Thank you."

Harry: "For what?"

Y/N: "For checking up and taking care of me. Even if we were mad at each other"

Harry: "Hey, c'mere." Harry gets closer to Y/N and wraps his arm around her shoulder only to let her rest her head on his chest. She was still pretty cold anyway.

Harry: "I love you, I like taking care of you, hun. I know you'd do the same for me" he says with a smile. "except for the soup" *giggles*

Y/N: "Well, it's nice to see we agree on something"

They both laugh, say their I-love-you's and wish each other good night, slowly drifting to sleep.

The next Morning (reference is the gif above)

Harry grunts and feels a little too light for his taste. He opens his eyes only to see Y/N missing from her usual spot. He jumps from bed and starts calling out her name, looking for her in the bathroom and walk-in closet. His heart starts to slow down once she replies with a "Down here, in the kitchen!"

He finds Y/N making two cups of tea and toast.

Y/N: "Good morning, love!" She plants a quick kiss on his lips.

Harry: "Morning! Um, how are you feeling, button?"

Y/N: "Oh, a lot better than yesterday, for sure. Still a little light headed, but no biggie. Nothing a good breakfast can't fix.

Harry: "Here, let me help"

They chat over breakfast. They talk about the meetings he had, when he'd have to travel again and that she could accompany him this time.

After they're done with their meal, Harry urges Y/N to go back to bed.

Y/N: "Honey, I'm fine now. I'm sure a shower and then watching something on tv will be an even better cure.

Harry: "Oh no, you're not getting your way this time. Medicine, water and rest, doctor's orders, Y/N."

Y/N: "oh really? Who's gonna make me"

Harry: "That's it!" He jumps toward her and lifts her in his arms, carrying her upstairs

Y/N: "Oh my lord, HARRY! PUT ME DOWN!" She said laughing.

Harry: "I said you should rest and REST you will, woman!" He said in a very superhero like voice.

And all you could hear after that were giggles and laughter, and they knew they were okay.

[stutterfly]

Love Bytes 03 | Processing Power | KNJ (M)

Last time on LB02: You’re mortified as Jimin, Hoseok, and Namjoon view your tinder profile on the way to the club. So as soon as you get there, you get as drunk as possible to forget about it, which leads to a breach in the firewall later on. Namjoon denies he has any feelings for you, but it’s clear to Hoseok that he’s a damn liar and he’s determined to get in the middle of it.

Rating: M (18+)

Word Count: 10.9K

Series: Love Bytes (3/?)

Genre: F2L, fluff, humor, slow burn, friendship feels, ANGST! pining, sexual tension eventual smut, Bestfriends!au, CollegeProjessor!Namjoon, S O F T Namjoon, embarrassingReader

CW: fingering, voyeurism, exhibitionism,

Pairings: Namjoon x Reader, brot7

masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter 

A/N: I work a lot of insane hours so I barely have any spare time, but I enjoy writing this, even though I still feel anxious sharing. So please leave a comment if you like; it makes my day!

Do not repost.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You’re absolutely lost in the way Jimin’s tongue is dragging down into your cleavage when you feel the buzz of your phone press against your chest; you had forgotten it was there.

He pulls back, startled by the vibration, then laughs. “Maybe it’s Tinder? Could be someone interested... Aren’t you going to look?”

“Nope,” you hum against his neck, suctioning your lips over the exposed skin

A low groan escapes his throat and he reluctantly drags you by the chin, cradling your face with one hand. “My agent will kill me if I show up to work with hickeys.”

“I won’t leave any. I’ll be good,” you promise, knowing full well the honeyed words are pretty lies spilling from lips too drunk to have pure intentions.

He laughs again. “I don’t believe you. But that doesn’t mean I can’t make some.”

His tongue laves across your neck, crossing your collarbone and meeting the exposed flesh of your chest again. The sensation of his mouth clamping down in combination with his pelvis grinding up between your thighs causes you to throw your head back. You feign resistance with the most pathetic “Jimin don’t” as you have a hand roaming through his hair.

BUZZ. BUZZ.

You curse your pockets for being too small to fit your phone as the vibrations give Jimin pause for a second time tonight. It’s only a moment before he smiles and returns to your bosom. Immediately the drone of a text alert goes off again. He blinks a few times and stares up at you. Again and again the notification buzz has you patting your chest, trying to desperately stop it.

What the fuck! Come on!

He peels himself back, taking a deep breath. Your body is weeping at the loss of his warmth against you. He fans himself with a goofy smile, and even in the dim light you can see the sweat beading along his forehead. “You should see who wants to talk to you. I need to get some more air anyway.”

His fingers trace a line across your jaw and he rests a thumb on your lip. “Join me when you’re ready?”

With that, he playfully boops you on the nose and disappears in the crowd before you can ask if he would rather just get out of here. Taking your phone out of the pocket between your bra and tit, you swipe at the screen to see messages from Hoseok and Namjoon. Your brows furrow as you try to navigate away from the dance floor while concentrating on the screen. You decide to open Hoseok’s first, as your mind is annoyed with Joonie, though you can’t quite remember why.

Hobi 😛: i see you Hobi 😛: dirty Hobi 😛: girl!!!! Hobi 😛: 😧 Hobi 😛: are you really going to fuck jimin right here 🙊🙈 Hobi 😛: WHERE I CAN SEE???? 🤤 i hope so

As dark and loud as the dance floor is, you become keenly aware of the bodies around you, your skin blazing. Before you can think of response that will save face, arms are snaking around you from behind. Large, slender fingers fold across your waist.

His voice is already at your ear, causing your eyelashes to flutter and heat to pool between your legs all over again. “If you wanted to fuck while dancing, you should have just asked me... Dirty girl.”

You smack him on the arm and he concedes with a giggle, letting you squirm from his grasp and face him. “Oh my god will you please stop saying that?”

The wide grin on his face threatens to spread a sheepish one to yours, despite fighting to remain stoic. It seems as though Hoseok has a penchant for ruminating on humiliation, especially yours-- and you don’t want to give the satisfaction of letting him know exactly how mortified you feel in this moment.

His hands grip your cheeks tightly. “I just can’t believe you’re about to get laid! I’m so proud!”

“Hobi please. It’s not like that,” you begin, trying to hopelessly hide the shameful way your legs cling together.

It’s not like that. Not the first time he’s heard that one tonight. Hoseok knows for damn sure if you and Namjoon are using the same defensive phrases, things are one hundred percent like that. He rolls his eyes, roaming his hands over your hips and rocking them back and forth. Just like that he has control, making you feel compelled to move yours in time with his.

“If it’s not like that then stay with me. I’ll show you a good time.” His husky voice has you hypnotized, swallowing hard as you clutch the phone in your hand. “No Jimin, no Tinder. Just you and me, sweetheart.”

“H-Hobi...” your voice is pitiful and weak as it escapes.

Things are tense only for a moment and you’re sweating as you realize he may very well go in for the kill, the same way Jimin did. But the moment passes and he laughs, pulling away from you. “You’re so easy, Y/N. How can it be so hard for you to hook up? If it doesn’t happen soon, then you call me and I will help you out, no strings attached.”

You’re not sure if you should feel flattered or pissed off as he winks and begins circling you, as if to let you consider the offer. The alcohol swimming through your head is making it hard for you to be sure about anything, so you choose to ignore the way he just suggested pimping himself out to you as a thing your brain made up rather than words that were actually uttered by the gorgeous Jung Hoseok. Making out with Park Jimin had already maxed out your suspension of belief. Hobi was just joking. He had to be, right? Maybe you would just wake up sweating in another minute. Then again, if this was a dream, maybe you could press your luck and have a threesome? Could alcohol ever make you that bold? You chuckle at the thought. No fucking way.

Hoseok starts to casually stroll away, before he turns back, a brief pained expression striking his features.“Oh, before I forget! Namjoon was looking for you earlier.” He makes a lewd jacking-off motion as he smiles big once more. “Maybe talk to him before you get your rocks off with Jimin?” Before you can respond, he spins back towards the crowd, rolling his body to the music and internally applauding his performance as master cockblock. You shake your head as he goes, the irritation of being called easy paling in comparison to the sexual frustration lingering deep in your belly. With a grumble, you pull out your phone to glance at Namjoon’s text, noting the timestamp was much earlier in the night.

Joonie 😬: Remember. 🔥🧱

The fire and brick emojis immediately brought a pang of guilt through your heart. He had tried to remind you of exactly what you had asked. It was a little late now and you couldn’t help but feel like you may have ruined a friendship that you swore you would never interfere with. You struggle to not topple over, taking a moment to stand in place and try to fix what you feel in your gut is absolutely broken. Each text you attempt to compose only gets worse and you contend with the words forming on screen whilst getting elbowed by the dancers surrounding you.

You decide it’s too hard to accomplish in your current environment and make a beeline for the bathroom. There’s nothing that a good long pee and a hard look in the mirror can’t help you fix on a drunken night. You take a moment to survey the bathroom, noting each stall is occupied and a pack of women line the wall, waiting for their turn. You stumble over to the mirror to address your swollen racoon eyes, wiping excess mascara and eyeliner from your face and taking a deep breath. Making your way back out to the main floor, your eyes scour the room for alternatives and realize there’s another tier hardly anyone uses unless they’re in need of some privacy. As long as you keep your head down and avoid eye contact, you feel confident you can just chill in the restroom upstairs and think.

On your way up you immediately disregard the rules you just set, letting your eyes wander to a pair of bright red heels, finding legs partially agape. Next to those are sneakers --the wide spread of legs indicating a man, and finally a single black heel on the floor with the woman’s other leg stretched out over the man’s lap. Your eyes quickly travel up the owners’ legs and find the man’s hands planted underneath both women’s dresses. Black-heels has her panties thoroughly exposed, bush out. You watch in awe, jaw dropping as you take in the sight of the deft fingers sliding in and out of her dripping cunt.

Every fiber of your being screams to avert your gaze. But the shock of what you’re seeing has you paralyzed, leaning against the railing for support as your mouth hangs stupidly agape. Her hips greedily chase his palm each time it leaves the comfort of her clit, fucking his fingers further inside. She’s got her eyes closed; no doubt lost in the feeling, completely forgetting her surroundings as she squeaks out the kind of long, high-pitched moans you’ve only ever heard in pornos. The other woman is much quieter, more reserved as he rams his fingers into her, and seeks refuge in the crook of his neck.

Again you try to will the movement of your legs, but it seems more and more futile the longer you gawk, especially after you recognize the glint of faded green hair.

Oh fuck.

Now you’re desperate to keep moving, but your legs are still concrete. You’re drinking in the sight him finger-fucking not one, but two women in a public setting-- all while whispering something to the one who’s obviously embarrassed but doing nothing but parting her legs further. Honestly, you couldn’t blame her after watching the skillful way he slid into black-heels’ cunt while rubbing her clit with his thumb.

Is he really doing that to red-heels, too? Fuck. Me.

Yoongi ticks his jaw, an action you had seen him do many times in annoyance; now keenly aware of the audience. A heavy-lidded side-eye in your direction has your heart pounding. You’re using the same tactic that had failed on Hoseok: remain perfectly still to blend with the surroundings, praying again that the rules have changed and all hot guys now have movement-based vision.

Shitshitshitshit. Homer Simpson meme this shit. Come on, legs! Do something! Oh fuck. Jesus Christ. If there is such a thing as a merciful god, please let me die right now.

Slowly his head turns towards you, an expression on his face both deliciously sinful and wildly intimidating. You’re left stranded, trembling as his sinister gaze falls on you, furrowed brow challenging you to keep watching the show. His movements begin to slow on black-heels and he drags his digits at a leisurely pace, sure to spread her lips in a way that gives you a clearer view of his fingers disappearing inside her. 

He surveys your face, the faintest hint of a smirk knotting at the corners of his mouth. You can’t help the bug-eyed response, resolve completely crumpling beneath his ruthless scrutiny. Your legs are wobbling beneath you, threatening to toss your ass down the stairs if you don’t do something.

But here you stand, quaking at the sight before you. Yoongi’s perverse eyes roam your face, drinking in every last detail in your expression. But black-heels has had enough of the teasing, lingering strokes. She claws along his shirt in desperation, begging him to pick up the pace and stealing his attention.

She trails long fingernails down toward his chest and along his sweatpants, blindly grasping for the bulge she knows is hidden there. His eyelids flutter for a millisecond and you make a clumsy point to peer at the length. You swallow, throat incredibly dry as you watch the lewd display of Yoongi inserting a third finger into the woman and increasing the speed of his thrusts. She keens, throwing her head back against the couch.

His eyes fix themselves on you again, dark and full of power. You get the sense that the longer you stay, the more interest he gains in making you his next objective. His fingers glide in and out of her slick at a vigorous pace, making her arch her back above the couch. Meanwhile he’s looking as though he wants to devour you, as though making this girl cum is simply an obstacle to achieving that goal. You’re struggling to hinge your jaw shut, realizing now that you’re bobbing your head lightly along with the thrusts. Or maybe you’re just shaking that much; it’s hard to tell.

“Do you like it?” He asks loud enough to be heard over black-heels, knowing full well the question is aimed at you.

She responds with an exaggerated moan that vaguely sounds like a yes and rolls her head forward. In that moment she finds your slack-jawed, fucked-out stare. Finally your mouth snaps shut, guilty eyes darting away from the scene. You manage to purse your lips, heat flaring in your cheeks.

Instead of hiding and letting embarrassment consume her, she smiles wickedly, recognizing the envy and desire on your face. She thrusts her hips harder onto his dripping fingers, telling you it’s still her turn, but she wouldn’t mind if you wanted to join too. Yoongi cracks a smile, leaning in to bite her bottom lip and give you a chance to see what you’re missing. You shake your head and shriek out an apology before covering your peripheral with a hand and finally finding the strength to leave.

___

You’ve been sitting in the empty bathroom for what seems like an eternity, head resting against the toilet paper roll as you glare at the blinking cursor on your phone. You’re trying to forget the way Yoongi had stared you down as he pumped his fingers in and out of those girls and you pray they won’t make their way in here while you attempt to string together an apologetic text message to Namjoon. ‘I’m sorry I kissed your friend after I said I wouldn’t’ seemed like an incredibly shitty thing to text. But the fact that you were thinking so hard about it probably meant you weren’t as drunk as you thought, right? Your body counters that thought with a hiccup that makes you queasy.

Your stomach swirls, heat gathering in your cheeks as sweat beads off your forehead. You roll your head to the side, fighting back the nausea in your gut as you type. The tremble of thighs against your elbows has increased the difficulty of composing a message, but you find that you can’t make them stop and you’re too tired to lift your arms up further. How do you even start?

You: Joon ifucked up

Ah yes, very finely crafted. Send.

A minute passes as you wait for the dots to come that indicate a response. Nothing. You roll your head against the stall, feeling like you just need a second to collect yourself, if only the room would stop moving. The pop of unfastened metal echoes throughout the stall as the cheap toilet paper dispenser springs open against the pressure of your head. Grumbling, you adjust the roll of toilet paper currently acting as your pillow and smack the side of the dispenser shut.

Regret hits you immediately as you feel the unmistakable snag of your hair caught in the metal. You try to push the metal back open but you find it stalwart and unyielding.

Are you fucking kidding me.

You do your best to calm yourself and card your fingers through bits of knotted hair, carefully attempting to yank it free. When it doesn’t work and you can’t stomach the pain of pulling out a giant tuft, panic sets in and you sink to your knees, twisting your body to try and get a better look at where it’s caught. Suddenly you’re very grateful that you had already relieved yourself because this would be ten times worse if your pants were around your ankles.

BUZZ. BUZZ.

Fuck. Of course it would be now. You open the message, staving off another wave of nausea from being so close to the toilet.

Joonie: Ok what did you do? You: i kissed iruined evrtyghin Joonie: Who we talking about here?

You can’t bring yourself to type any more and resume working out the knots in your hair. This is the worst place to be having this conversation. The buzz goes off again and you’re compelled to look, getting more and more frustrated with your current predicament. You give up and sit there with your head stuck to the dispenser.

Joonie: Hellooooooooo Joonie: You still there Geeksquad You: I BORK FIREWALL

Immediately Namjoon sends a picture of a silly dog with a comic sans caption “bork bork bork.” You can’t stop the laugh bubbling in your throat.

You: GDI JOON HTIS IS SRS >:\ You: ikissed mjinni like hot and sweat Joonie: WHO? How drunk are you rn? You: 🍆 You: ALSO FUCK YOU Joonie: Ah… So did you suck his dick? You: STOP Joonie: Please tell me you’re not in the bathroom throwing up on his dick You: 😭😭 Joonie: Please tell me you’re not in the bathroom CRYING on his dick You: HE’S 🍆 U LIED JOON if elt it Joonie: What. The. Fuck. 

You sigh, head aching as you try to pull it back again. You know he would help you if you only asked, but goddamn this was such a shitty, embarrassing place to be. The breath hitches in your throat as you analyze the situation; would it be better to sleep like this and let a janitor find you and assume you’re dead, or let Namjoon tease the shit out of you? It was a close call at the moment and you weren’t sure which you actually preferred. Wasn’t there someone else you could text?

You think about Jen, the only real friend you have outside of Joon’s circle. You’d shared more than a few classes during your college years: she was a Graphic Design major and you were a programming/IT major so a lot of the core requirements were similar. When you couldn’t afford to scrounge enough change for coffee, you’d bribe her to buy you drinks in exchange for tutoring lessons in web programming. She’d been your friend for several years now, but she was out of town visiting her parents. Maybe if you ask nicely she’d drive two hours just to get you out of this mess? You frantically swipe your fingers across the screen, trying not to sound like anything is wrong. Hard to do when you’re drunk.

You: wheb areu coming back

There’s a long pause before you see the dots appear.

Jennie: Why did Joon let u keep your phone if he knew u were gonna get shitfaced again You: bicyh hes not my boss Jennie: I’m back next week... Kinda flattered u miss me this much but please let me sleep Jennie: Unless you need something??? Are u safe????

You glance at the time in the upper corner of your phone. 2:13am. Welp. Now’s definitely not the time to ask for a favor. Better play up the drunk card as long as your texting abilities are still shitty.

You: 😭NO I MISS OU IS ALL You: im sorry imok You: dgnight beb Jennie: GO TO BED DRUNKIE

You close the app and sigh. A thought sparks in the back of your mind and you mentally slap yourself for not thinking about it until now.

“Hello?” you call out, realizing there’s bound to be other girls in here. There’s no way a women’s bathroom is entirely empty for this long. “Is anyone there? I’m in the first stall... I need some help.”

Silence. How is this bathroom empty but the one downstairs is packed?

Then it occurs to you that anyone coming up the stairs would have to pass by gatekeeper Yoongi and the duo-heel guardians. Anyone with any common sense would go right back downstairs, pretending they didn’t see anything --or they’d be too preoccupied coming up here to do some nasty shit exactly like what Yoongi was. Your common sense had dried up with your last brain cell two drinks ago and you definitely weren’t waiting for a horny couple to barge in and be forced to listen to them bang while you were stuck like this. So unless you wanted to call loud enough to bring the menage trois to you, you were most likely shit outta luck.

Your fingers tap the screen again just as a new message from Namjoon appears.

Joonie: So you fuckin him in the bathroom or…? You: pls come get me Joonie: What do you mean come get you? Joonie: Where you at? You: bathroom Joonie: Are you fucking serious right now You: im surck Joonie: Excuse me? You: I,M FUCKING STUCK Joonie: Please tell me you’re not STUCK on his dick after throwing up and crying You: KIM NAMJOON COME FCUKING HEKLP ME >:(!!!!!

Seconds pass before your phone rings. You fumble with the buttons, tears stinging your eyes. Everything is frustrating and hard. Why are you such a mess?

“Geeksquad, which bathroom are you in: first or second floor?” The music is muffled and you’re glad to be able to hear Namjoon’s deep voice on the other end.

“S-second. Don’t worry there’s no one in here,” you choke out, defeated tone causing him to hamper the cheeky comment on the tip of his tongue.

“Hey, are you okay?” His concerned tone makes you feel ashamed and guilty.

The sobs start coming and you spend a fair amount of time weeping against the receiver before delivering the grossest sound that’s a cross between gargling and whimpering. All the words you mean to say get lost on the way to your lips.

“I’m on my way.”

The soft beep of the disconnect is the only thing you can focus on, your eyelids heavy from crying and the need for sleep. You don’t even realize you’re nodding off until you hear the main door creak open.

“Yo Geek Squad you in here?”

“First stall,” you call out, hardly recognizing your own voice with how small it sounds. You reach to unlatch the stall with a grunt, straining as best you can to reach.

“Do I even wanna know what’s going on over there?” he asks, the shuffle of his sneakers indicating he’s moving closer.

“I’m trying to get the door,” you sneer, feeling the latch finally unhook. “Got it. Dick.”

He pushes the door in a bit and you shift, trying in vain to avoid getting hit as it swings towards you.

He sighs, rubbing his face as he steps in. “What the hell did you do?”

“Please don’t. I really don’t need your smart ass comments. I can’t get it open… Please, Joon.”

The crushed tone your voice takes on causes him to soften his own. “Aight let me see.”

He crouches down beside you, joining you in the cramped space to inspect the tangled mess caught in the metal, briefly stealing a few glimpses at your tear-stricken face. You flinch as he brings his hands across your head, one above and one below, feeling around the apparatus beside you.

“You could have warned me about Yoongi,” he mumbles, carefully combing a few strands of hair out of view with slender fingers.

You feel the heat in your cheeks flare as you remember the show you had gotten on your way up the stairs. You offer a sheepish grin. “Oh, is he still out there? He uh… was a little busy last I checked.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “I can see why you didn’t just text him to come help instead. Imagine those sticky, pruney fingers all up in here. Bet you’d love that.”

You wince as he tussles your hair and skims his fingers along your chin. “You’re supposed to be helping me, not making it worse,” you say, trying to separate the tangled mess he’s made from yours.

He brushes what he can from your face with an amused smirk. “Sorry. Let’s see here…”

He leans back in, arm cradled around your back to resume the task of freeing you. You can’t help but breathe in his scent as his face hovers so closely next to yours. He was never big on cologne, so you’re surprised he doesn’t smell terrible, despite the moisture glistening on his skin.

You hate to admit it, but you actually like his aroma; it’s a natural light scent that reminds you of a forest mixed with a bit of sweat. Then again, you remind yourself that could just be the deodorant fighting off his stench. Either way your nose is weirdly into it, and the more you breathe in, the more agitated you become with your body’s overwhelmingly positive reaction to his pheromones. What the fuck has tonight’s rollercoaster of teasing done to you?

This is why you needed to get laid. You’re wound so tight that even Namjoon is setting off your sexytime radar; you’re just about ready to grab that man by the collar and lap up every inch of his sweaty body. You scold yourself for being so fucking gross. But damn if he doesn’t smell like heaven to your senses right now. Maybe it’s the toilet bowl to your left that’s making him look so good. You smile at the thought, a fine attempt at putting your hormones at ease. However, you find it does nothing to quell the butterflies swirling in your stomach and chest.

You try to pinpoint what it is exactly that’s making you crazy enough to consider throwing yourself at him --especially when you’re this much of a mess. You note the heat radiating from his face as he focuses on the task of freeing you. His profile is soft, gaze concentrated on the task at hand, large pillowy lips slightly parted. Every gentle contact of his fingers against your scalp has you craving to lean into his touch and your fail to realize you’re subconsciously drifting towards him until the snag in your hair tugs you back to reality. You curse loudly, praying he didn’t notice what you were doing.

“Stop moving,” he chides, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “You’re such a hot mess. How did you even do this?”

“I’m a hot mess,” you parrot back, thankful he missed your drunken attempt at kissing. “Isn’t there a release bar?”

“I’m looking for it, but there’s a big ass head in the way.” He sticks his tongue out at you briefly before rising up a bit to get a better view. “You’d think there’d be more sense in here with how much space there is.”

“Har, har, har.” You roll your eyes and look away, trying to focus on anything but how good he smells as his firm chest presses against your cheek. Your arm instinctively comes up to steady his back as he wobbles forward for a second, muttering a quick apology. Clearly you weren’t the only one drinking heavily tonight. You both fall silent as he fiddles with the metal, leaving you to quietly bask in his scent.

Before long, the metal springs open and you breathe a sigh of relief as you yank your head forward. The sudden force causes him to fall back onto his ass, elbows hitting against the tile.

“Thanks Joonie.” You rub your head, feeling for any bald spots before tying your hair back up to avoid any more mishaps.

“Yeah, no problem,” he mutters as he sits up, crossing his arms and rubbing circles around his sore elbows. Timid eyes drop to your face, searching for an answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked. He had seen how much you enjoyed yourself; there was no need to ask. And yet... His eyes dart away.

“What?” You swallow hard.

“So...” he begins softly, finding the resolve to meet your gaze. He raises his eyebrows, doing his best to feign confidence. “How was it?”

“How was….?” Your eyes widen in realization and your voice raises a few octaves. “What, the kissing?”

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “No, the handjob in the back room.”

“I didn’t--!” You catch the sarcasm a bit late and puff your cheeks out before deflating. “It… was good but…” You’re scanning his face apologetically. “...not worth ruining a friendship over.”

Your suck your lip through your teeth and hold your breath. You bow deeply, letting your forehead to meet the cold tile. “Please forgive me, Joonie…”

His stare is blank as he’s trying to process what you’re doing. “Ah….! Pfft.” He raises a hand to his mouth, covering his laughter before scrambling over to you. “Don’t apologize. I already told you if it’s what you wanna do I’m cool with it. ”

Liar; the word echoes in his mind over and over.

“So is he,” he continues, wedging his fingers between your face and the floor. He cups your cheeks and forces you to look at him, his face twisting into a doleful smile at the sight of the tears welling up in your eyes. God, he was so soft when it came to you. You made him stupid. You made him a liar. You turned him into instant putty, absolutely malleable and vulnerable in your hands. He wanted to tell you anything --do anything-- to make it alright. “Don’t apologize, Y/N. It’s okay. You guys play so much chicken, it was a matter of time, really.”

“But I made things weird!” you sob, letting your heavy head rest entirely on his grip.

“No you didn’t,” he insists, rocking you gently back and forth. “You’re fine. Jimin is a really cool guy. The only one who thinks it’s weird is you. And honestly? The slut you know is better than the one you don’t, AKA nasty Tinder boys.”

The statement makes your lips curl into a tired smile, the motion causing tears to drop from your eyes. Namjoon whisks them away with his thumbs. He wants to stop there, knowing it’s enough to have pulled a smile from you, but he can’t. “Yeah, my friendship with Jimin is important and yeah I never want that to be in jeopardy. But my friendship with you is just as important. We’re all adults and we can handle what hardships come our way together. I know it. So please don’t ask me to stop you or make you feel bad about pursuing anything with him, or with anyone in the group. Honestly, I just want to see you happy and I will be there for you no matter what. We’re all friends so just follow your heart and I’ll be there, wherever it leads you. Okay?”

Your heart swells with admiration. How could he go from being the shithead Namjoon --the one who teases you and eats whole cherry stems--- to the sweet, compassionate, understanding Namjoon before you? Despite being drunk you know that regardless of what he says, you don’t think you could handle causing any sort of rift in the group. It’s one thing to insinuate mindless flirting, kissing, or sex --something you had never been good with anyway. But it was a whole new dynamic when you introduced meaningful feelings that could rock the boat. Sure it could go very well and enhance your lives, but it could also go very, very poorly and affect more than just two people at the end of the day. Even hammered you knew that much.

“No relationships in the group,” you maintain, shaking your head weakly in his palms.

A heavy sigh crosses his lips. He doesn’t know whether it’s relief or disappointment flooding his lungs; maybe it’s both. “Whatever you say.”

“I just don’t want to make things more difficult for you,” you admit, tiredly rubbing the remaining wetness from your eyes. “For anyone.”

He drops his hands and sits back on his knees. If only you knew. You didn’t have to try so hard to skirt the difficult part; it was unavoidable. He struggled any time he was alone with you. It was so hard being so close without ever really having you. Not in the way he longed for. He had come to terms with that fact that eventually you were going to fall for someone else. He accepted that life would never be easy as long as he carried these affections, but it was better than not having you in his life at all.

You’d find someone and he’d find someone of his own to numb the ache, maybe many ‘someones,’ and eventually it wouldn’t hurt anymore. Eventually these feelings would pass. How different is it in the grand scheme of things to lose you to a friend than to lose you to a stranger?

Regardless, you’re still not snuggling up to him at the end of the day. You’re not reaching for his hand when you’re feeling anxious or sad. You’re not searching for his lips when you seek intimacy. You’re not waking up in his arms, in his bed with your stupid tangled hair and raspy morning voice. And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

No matter whom you seek, it doesn’t stop Namjoon from waking up to thoughts of you, thoughts that sometimes make his heart race, fingers that itch to hold yours, legs that twist around pillows for comfort. Sometimes they make his stomach dance, indulging in the concept that you might feel the same. Sometimes they wake him with a throbbing cock, making his lungs burn with need, mind racing with shameful desires that he would never dare admit. Every last bit of him was aching to have you, but could he ever express it? Out loud? To your face?

The fact of the matter is that you make his life impossibly difficult no matter what. As much as he hated to admit it to his friends, he couldn’t hide from himself. How could he ever possibly explain that to you without making a complete fool of himself? There aren’t words he can piece together; nothing feels good enough, and maybe nothing ever will.

“You’re always making things so complicated,” he sighs, rising to his feet. “You’ll be back to playing chicken again in no time.”

You cross your arms and pout, knowing he’s probably right. “You don’t have to say it like that.”

“Aight well I’ve had enough for one night. I’m going home. You wanna catch a lyft with me or you just gonna ride Jimin’s dick home?” Teasing you is the only coping mechanism he has right now. He swears he’ll be fine the more he jokes, the more he reiterates the notion that you’re going to hook up with someone who cares for you as much as he does.

He begins to saunter away, hands in his pockets. He’s got a hand gripped on the handle when he looks back at you still sitting on the floor and giving him a heavy-lidded pout. He throws his head back and releases a heavy puff of air, scoffing at you. “What?”

“I don’t feel good,” you whine, voice small and deflated.

“I told you not to drink so much. I told you to drink water. But do you listen to me? Noooooo. What does Namjoon know? I told you to slow down and you just had to keep up with Jimin. Jimin... who literally guzzles bottles of champagne like water,” he chides, though there’s no bite to the words. He can’t fight a certain tenderness spilling out in his tone; he’s far too tired. “You know you don’t have a good tolerance. You know you’re a lightweight and yet--”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. You told me so. I’m drunk. Blah, blah, blah. Are you done lecturing me? Can you help me up now?” You stretch your arms up, grabbing at the air with your hands, to which he rolls his eyes.

“I should leave you here,” he grumbles, even though he’s already on his way over to you. “Maybe you’d learn your lesson this time.”

“Joonie, please,” you groan back, voice cracking with fatigue. You sound pathetic, even to your own ears.

There he is again. Putty boy. Soft. Squishy. Stupidly wrapped around your fingers. Best of all, he will thank you for squeezing the shit out of him until he breaks apart and still comes back for more. Why can’t he make you deal with your own problems for once? After all, you did this to yourself. God, he hated himself for wanting to take care of you, but in some fucked up way he loved that it made him feel like you wanted him, like you needed him for something.

“I gotcha,” he murmurs, hooking his arms underneath your armpits and helping you clumsily to your feet.

You stumble towards him, letting him support a good amount of your weight as you try to keep the world from spinning around you. For a second you’re just leaning into one another, arms slung across each other in what would be a rather tender embrace under different circumstances. You blink a few times, legs wobbling as you tilt your head up to meet his eyes.

A particularly long strand of hair falls across his face as he attempts to help steady you, glasses tipping down to the edge of his nose. Your hand moves unconsciously to correct the frames, pushing them back up for him. You comb back his unruly hair by carding your fingers through it slowly. He can’t help but close his eyes, trying to commit your touch to memory. You drift your fingers across the back of his head, grazing his ear before resting the heel of your palm along his jaw. Your index finger extends, toying with the longer strands that had been styled back for most of the evening.

“You really need to cut this,” you mumble, your words slurring together.

“Mmm-hmm,” he hums. It’s all he can manage as he tries to keep himself from completely melting into your touch. He bites the inside of his cheek, absorbing the desire for more contact with you.

You blink a few times, expecting a rebuttal but receiving nothing. You playfully smack his cheek a few times. “You must be tired if you ain’t even arguing.”

“I’m exhausted,” he admits, letting go of the breath he had unwittingly been holding. “Think you can handle the stairs?”

“If I say no, will you carry me?” you ask, only half joking.

He snorts. “I’d have to get Jungkook to help me and you know he’d be pissed to lose to Tae.”

You reach for the door, one arm draped around him for support. You can feel his fingers grip your waist, setting your nerves on fire. You do your best to ignore them. “Still going at it? What’s the score?”

“4 to 3 last I checked; Tae’s winning anyway.”

You snickered, knowing how competitive Jungkook was and how badly he must be trying to even the score. You kind of wish you could stick around and see how it ends.

As you’re rounding the corner, you both fall silent. Your legs are stone once more and you feel Namjoon stop as well, registering what lays ahead. Black-heels is nowhere to be found, but red-heels is on her knees, head bobbing over Yoongi’s lap. He sits with his head thrown back against the couch, eyes closed in complete bliss and you’re thankful that he can’t pin you down this time with that dark scowl.

Namjoon spares an awkward glance in your direction, but you’re enthralled once again, your teeth clamping around your bottom lip to try and sate your hunger for the scene before you. He clears his throat loud enough for only you to hear. Your bugged-out eyes snap to him, realizing he has the most arrogant grin you’ve seen from him tonight, and it causes shame to burn through your lungs. In an instant your lip releases, slightly swollen and red from the pressure.

“Come on, creeper,” he teases into your ear, practically dragging you as quickly as he can past the duo.

Yoongi peeks out from underneath one eyelid, watching your descent with Namjoon with a satisfied grin.

_____________________________________

The car was already waiting when you finally emerged from the club with Namjoon. It felt like an eternity as he pulled you through the sweaty dancers; honestly the fact that you didn’t have the best coordination right now didn’t help matters. You had apologized to Jimin on the way, claiming you didn’t feel well and needed to go home. He seemed understanding enough and you were anxious that he might hate you for leaving him after getting him all riled up earlier.

Of course you didn’t know Namjoon had already talked to him, requesting a take-back on the endorsement he’d given earlier that night. The boys had their own off-limits agreement regarding you, mostly because there was a general consensus that Namjoon was hopelessly smitten, regardless of his frequent denial. But after seeing your profile and how unsuccessful you were, of course he wanted you to have something good in your life, someone who made you feel wanted and was actually good at sex. Jimin and Hoseok didn’t hesitate to agree, both volunteering for the job --much to his chagrin. He convinced himself, at least for a little while, that it would be for the best if you were with someone he knew was safe.

But after seeing you with Jimin, getting hot and heavy out in the open, he knew it was a mistake to say he was fine with it. It hurt so much to think about, nevermind actually seeing it unfold. Thankfully they had the type of friendship where all he had to do was ask and they backed off, but not before Hobi gave him an ultimatum, which Jimin fully supported after getting blueballed for the umpteenth time. They had seen him flip-flop too much on this to keep doing nothing about it; it was time for some action. They would all help you with your profile and make you as successful as possible on Tinder. You’d go on dates with strangers, possibly even go home with someone; Joon could either nut up or shut up before that happened. And if it didn’t?

You close your eyes, resting your head on Namjoon’s shoulder, causing him to stiffen. “Wake me up when we get there?”

If she’s still single after a month, you have to tell her. Or I will. Hoseok’s words echo in his head as he sits with his hands on his knees, reliving the conversation like a movie reel on repeat. You slip your fingers over his, searching for comfort. He flips his hand around to lace his fingers with yours, sighing softly. “Mmm-hmm.”

Why couldn’t he just come out and say it? Why did it scare the hell out of him so much? Is it that it’s awkward and uncomfortable to talk about? Is it because he’s built you up so much in his head, he’s worried you won’t measure up to his fantasies? Or is it because he feels he won’t measure up to your needs and expectations?

He gives your hand a light squeeze and is surprised when you return the gesture with a squeeze of your own.

Is it because he’s afraid you won’t reciprocate? Or is it because he’s not sure what will happen if you do?

______________________________

The lights flicker for a good ten seconds before remaining on. He sighs again, closing the door and locking it. You couldn’t even get out of the car on your own; three flights of stairs would be impossible in your current state. Besides, he had grabbed your keys from Tae’s couch. Didn’t he say he wasn’t babysitting you this time? Yet here he was in your apartment, dead tired and panting from practically carrying your sloppy ass up the steps. It wouldn’t be the first time he crashed on your small, uncomfortable loveseat. His neck was aching just looking at the thing. He was pretty sure you grabbed it off the side of the road, even though you always insisted you got it for a great price at a discount furniture store. He could always wait until Hobi or Yoongi came home. It also wouldn’t be the first time he’d crashed on their couch down the hall instead.

You feel along the walls as you make your way to the bathroom, vaguely hearing Namjoon ask if you need help. You mumble a quick “no” before shutting the door and peeling the sticky jeans from your legs.

“Where are your night clothes?” he calls through the door.

“Night clothes? What are you, a 17th century peasant? They’re fucking pajamas,” you wait for a smartass response, but it doesn’t come. “In the drawer by the bed.”

“Very helpful,” he grumbles sarcastically while surveying the room.

There are multiple drawers. Of course there are. Choosing a drawer a random yields the surprise of a long, pink, bulbous shape carelessly discarded above several pairs of frilly lingerie. He steals a glance at the closed bathroom door before focusing back on the item. His lips purse into a thin line and his fingers trace along the smooth, velvety surface. He turns it over in his hands, taking a second to measure it against his palm. He smiles wickedly, admiring the way his fingers extend past the edge; it’s such a little thing. Could it really feel that good for you?

His body grows ever more attentive to its contour as he tries to imagine what kind of expression paints your face as it plunges into you. Are you the type to ball your fists up in the sheets and let the sweet notes of your pleasure carry through the walls, or are you quiet, deliciously panting and groaning against pillows to muffle the sounds that escape while you’re coming undone?

His long fingers curl around the shape, noting the flexibility and ridges detailed into the silicone. He exhales a shaky breath, trying to subvert the erection currently tenting his pants. Suddenly there’s a light streaming out the bottom and a steady buzz reverberating off his hand. His eyes widen in panic as he shifts his attention from the vibrator to the bathroom door, praying you can’t hear it over the fan in there. He frantically tries to find the power button, but to no avail. He squeezes and pulls, twists and turns, trying every motion he can think of like it’s a goddamn “bop-it.” After a few seconds it whirs down, light on the bottom extinguishing itself.

Oh, thank god.

He tosses it back in the drawer, closing it as quickly as possible. Shuffling through your other drawers, he picks some clothes out at random before knocking on the door.

“You okay in there, Geeksquad?” he asks, leaning against the wall and listening for a response over the sound of the vent above his head.

You swing the door open and his eyes widen, sweeping over your exposed thighs. He anxiously thrusts the clothes into your arms and turns heel. “Can you please not be walking around in your underwear while I’m still here?”

You scoff, closing the door before tossing your panties on top of the pants. “I don’t know why you’re so mad. I only took off my jeans. Do you know what it’s like trying to squeeze back into wet jeans? Not fun. Sweaty. Gross. Too tight.”

“Sounds horrible,” he remarks, voice distant.

You’re glad he brought you shorts that are made from loose, breathable fabric. It’s too damn hot for anything more. You work to free your tits and quickly slip on the roomy t-shirt he selected, eager lay down so the world won’t spin anymore. You emerge from the restroom again, this time looking like an amorphous blob with legs and arms.

Namjoon extends a glass of water toward you. “Drink.” He quirks an eyebrow at the discarded clothes scattered behind you, but doesn’t care enough to comment beyond the assertive order.

You’re irritated by his demand, a scowl on your face as you bring the glass to your lips. You want me to drink? Fine, bitch. I’ll drink. You guzzle the entire thing for him in one go.

“Happy?” You blink a few times and give him a sour smile.

“Don’t be a brat when I’m taking care of you. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“Are you sure? Will I? Will I really?”

“You’d better thank me after I went into the ladies bathroom,” he snorts, “and saved you from the toilet paper trap.” He ruffles your hair and takes the glass, disappearing from view. “I still can’t believe you did that.”

“If you tell anybody about that I swear to god our friendship is over.” You shuffle your way towards the bedroom, using the wall as your guide. You practically fall onto the mattress, immediately curling your knees into your chest. You’re nowhere near the comfort of your pillows, but all you care about is getting the room to stop moving. If you can just lay still, you know you’ll be fine in a few minutes. Why does it feel like everything is still going? You’re down, aren’t you? You can’t even lift your head to make sure. It’s too much.

“God, you’re so drunk.” Namjoon sets down a full glass of water on your nightstand. “Remember when I said you got a big head you don’t use? This is exactly what I mean. You make yourself sick when you do this. You’re never gonna learn, huh?”

“Joon…” You weakly open your eyes, offering a pout. “It’s not nice to lecture someone who doesn’t feel good.”

“It’s not nice making other people take care of you when you make yourself sick, but you seem to be fine with that,” he shoots back, followed by a heavy sigh. “Is it fun being this fucked up? Why do you do this?”

“It makes me feel less empty,” you mumble, rolling your head towards the soft blankets. “If I’m drunk and having fun, then I can’t focus on how lonely I am.”

“Y/N… Do you really feel that way?” He sits on the edge of the bed, placing a warm hand on your shoulder.

You shiver at the contact with your skin and you can feel goosebumps already forming along your arms. “Yes,” you reply, your voice small and apologetic for the way you’re starting to tear up. How pathetic you must seem to him, falling apart like this over your nothingness.

He gently moves his palm across your shoulder a couple times before giving it a light squeeze. He wants to tell you that you’re not alone, that he’s always going to be here for you, but the words catch in his throat and he can’t muster enough force to get them out.

“Pfft listen to me being sad. That’s not like me, is it?” You peek back up at him through watery lids, cracking your best smile while trying not to let him see you cry. His knotted brow and pressed lips tell you he’s not buying it. “Don’t look at me like that, Joon. You don’t have to feel sorry for me. Hey, I didn’t throw up this time so I must not be THAT fucked up.”

He hums softly, amused by your last statement. “That’s true, Y/N…” He pauses to lightly rub his hands across your shoulders; it soothes you and he knows it. While it isn’t his first time taking care of you, his touch is still delicate and reserved. His fingers feel uncertain as they connect with your form, gingerly kneading the skin through your shirt with his thumbs. You find yourself melting beneath the contact of his thumbs, exhaling a breathy moan that makes him tense ever so slightly.

“Everyone gets lonely. You gotta find the coping mechanisms that work for you. Healthy ones. Alcohol ain’t a good one. That’s why I worry about you.”

You manage to roll onto your back, looking up at him from what you’re sure is your most unflattering angle ever. “You worry about me?”

He floats a hand over your face, brushing the hair from your forehead. “A lot, actually.”

You can’t help but lean into his touch, eyelids fluttering closed for longer than you like with the question burning on your lips. “Why?”

“Because,” he begins with a heavy sigh, “you’re dumb smart, except when you’re not.”

Your eyebrows furrow and you lay there blinking at him, waiting for him to stop with his deep-talk and get to the point. He must notice because he rolls his eyes. “I mean, you take apart computers all day right?”

“Mmm, sometimes at night too, but yeah.” He looks like he’s about to say something when you start back up. “Sometimes I build them and sometimes I’m just repairing them.” You hesitate a moment, thinking about it. He opens his mouth when you mindlessly interrupt again. “Sometimes I’m just sifting through parts of our recovery programs, honestly.”

“...Can I finish with my point or you wanna keep going with that?” he teases, raising his eyebrows at you, a small smile playing on his lips.

You blush, wishing you could turn off the ramble function in your brain.

“You fix things, you wire complex shit all day. If you don’t know how to do something, you figure it out. You’re smart. But when it comes to people, you’re dumb,” he stops to correct himself. “Dumb isn’t the right word. You’re just... I don’t know the word I’m looking for. Desperate? No, sorry. Not it. Naive? Eh, I don’t think that’s the word either.”

“If this is supposed to be a pep talk, I’m not feeling it.”

He ignores you, continuing his train of thought, “You’re so open. You may not notice it, but you have this glow, this... energy around you. You smile and the room smiles back. There are people out there who will try to take advantage of someone like you, who will use up all your kindness and love and try to turn you into this dark little raincloud.”

“Am I a sun in this metaphor? You’re losing me here.”

“Nah not a sun. Well, maybe a sunset. More like… a rainbow I guess. You make people feel good, so good they stop and think, wow I love... looking at you, being around you.” He catches himself, knowing it’s time to crash. He’s spouting nonsense that’s too close for comfort. “You just need to be more careful. I won’t always be around to babysit your ass.”

Your eyelids flutter in displeasure. “So you’ve said. Where is this font of knowledge stemming from anyway? Where are these people who love looking at me? I wanna meet them.”

“You’re too drunk for metaphors, got it. Come on, let’s get you on the pillows at least. One, two, three,” he takes a deep breath on the third count and drags you towards the soft, fluffy pillows at the head of the bed. “There we go.”

You offer a soft groan, annoyed by the quick movement. “Joonie…”

But he ignores the sounds of your discontent, rolling you onto your side so he can pull the blankets down, but they catch underneath your body. You raise your leg to try and help, but the fabric to your shorts rides up, exposing the flesh where your thighs meet your ass. It’s then Namjoon realizes just how skimpy and thin the shorts are, eyes frantically searching for the missing layer beneath them.

Realizing the trap he’s about to fall into, he averts his gaze and quickly pivots you back towards him to further work the blankets down. You grunt disapprovingly at the rocking motion and rub your temple, unaware of how he’s clumsily grasping at the sheet to cover you as quickly as possible.

“No it’s too hot,” you complain, hooking your leg and trapping it between your thighs.

Namjoon swallows hard as his eyes settle on your bare asscheek. “You’re going to get cold.”

You disregard his comment and nuzzle your face deep into the pillow, trying to get comfortable.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Whatever. I need to get some sleep. So if you don’t need anything else, I’m gonna go crash on the couch.” He gestures toward the door and waits a moment for you to respond. When you don’t, he begins to walk away.

“Wait,” you call in a small voice, peeking at him through heavy-lidded eyes. Your arms outstretch, beckoning him to come back.

He turns back towards you, lifting his glasses to briefly rub his eyes. “Yeah?”

“When you said everyone gets lonely, do you...” your words falter, not knowing if it’s the alcohol, your hormones, or the loneliness that’s been haunting you, but you have to ask. “Do you feel lonely?”

The hum catches in his throat and he smiles softly, resting his tall frame against the doorway. He’s quiet for a moment, carefully contemplating his answer. “Sometimes. I try to let my friends know so that I don’t get lost in it. It helps.” You get the feeling he’s trying to offer advice and you open your mouth to refute the point, but close it when he continues. “But sometimes, it’s not as simple as having someone to talk to. Sometimes… I just want to find someone to be close to. To hold. To touch. And no amount of talking satisfies that feeling.”

His eyes trail off with his words and you can’t help but ache at the vacuum they leave behind. He gets it. Of course he does; he’s only human. How does he combat that loneliness?

“What do you do when you feel like that?” you ask, melancholy expression mirroring his.

He crosses his arms and thinks a moment. “I try to think about things that make me happy. I try to think about things that I’m grateful for. My job. My apartment. My friends.” He pauses and spares a glance at you, finding your blown out pupils scanning his face. He attributes it to the dim light, though for a second he almost swears there’s a hint of something dark and hungry hiding just beneath the surface and it makes sweat bead along the back of his neck. “...I… think about all that and try to reflect on the good, rather than the bad feelings.”

“Do you ever try to find company instead?” You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes as you twine your fingers between the sheets and tap them against one another. You’re considering the option through beer goggles, thinking about how his hands steadied you at the bar and the surge of electricity it sent through your spine. He’s always been super chill. Would it really be so bad to ask him to climb into bed beside you? Slowly, you move your other leg outside of the sheet, letting the fabric twist around to cover your torso. Your face is absolutely burning as you watch him take the bait.

“Sometimes,” he admits, face growing hot as his eyes crawl across the expanse of your thighs. You can’t help but relish in the shaky exhale he tries in vain to hide.

You stretch your arms across the bed and awkwardly tap at the mattress with your fingertips, lifting your head. “What about right now?”

His gaze locks onto yours, unblinking. His mouth falls open, in heavy need of clarification. “Huh?”

Before he can ask you to repeat it, the next question falls through your lips. “Do you feel lonely now?”

He blinks a few times, unsure if he’s hearing what he thinks he’s hearing. You find yourself growing agitated and increasingly embarrassed at the need to spell it out for him; the fact that you’re even considering this is downright insane, but your body is so touch starved that you have to say it. The hormones racing through you demand some kind of resolve for all the heavy grinding, Jimin’s lips all over your skin, Hobi’s hips at your back, Namjoon’s fingers swirling circles into your shoulders. Would it really be so bad? Is he going to judge you for insinuating such a thing? Is he going to get weird about it? Maybe it’s not such a great idea. Racing thoughts have you internally backpedaling while he draws out his response.

“I might be,” he answers quietly, taking a few slow paces towards the bed. You’ve got hope that Namjoon is also willing to entertain the idea but you have to confirm it.

You can barely hear yourself over the sound of blood rushing in your ears. “Maybe we could be lonely together?” You lick your dry lips and swallow hard, tapping the mattress with your fingers again. You see the pity in his face as he gets closer and suddenly you feel like a moron. Your head drops back against the pillow. “Ah, shit. Ne-Nevermind!”

But he continues to walk over to your bedside and chuckles softly. Soft fingertips brush along your forehead and whisk stray hairs from your forehead. His face floats into your field of vision, the sad smile making you want to crawl under the covers. Pathetic as you are, you lean into his palm as he rests it against your cheek.

“I’m not going to take advantage of the fact that you’re drunk and horny,” he says in a low, soft voice. “You really think I’m about to tap that and have you wake up with a million regrets in the morning?”

Your face twists into a scowl, and then an embarrassed pout. “I’m not saying we bang. I mean, even if I were insinuating that --which I’m not, you don’t have to act like it’d be so gross to fuck me. Sheesh.”

He holds back a laugh as your hands clumsily grip and fiddle with his fingers, pulling them away from your face. Boy, you took that terribly. Did it really bruise your ego so much because he turned you down? “Look, I never said it would be gross. I just mean that you’re not in any position to consent. I’m not about that life.”

He bites his lip, unable to explain further that if you asked on a sober day, he’d take you in a heartbeat. But he knows that will never happen and he doesn’t want to get his hopes up with drunk promises you don’t mean or will never remember.

On some level you know he’s right, but the sting of rejection doesn’t make it easy to accept. So you squash the one shred of pride you have left. “Could you… Do you think you could just hold me? Would that be okay?”

If his heart could pound out of his chest, it certainly felt like now was the time it would happen. He swallows, throat dry as he gives your fingers a small squeeze. “I can do that.”

You flick the light off as he scoots next to you, resting his back against the pillows. He’s incredibly rigid, awkwardly extending an arm over your head and waiting for you to settle in. You can’t help the uncertainty bubbling in your stomach. You slowly rest your head across the expanse of his chest and you can feel him expel the breath he had been holding. Goddamn it Joon. Stop being weird.

“You’re stiff,” you murmur, nuzzling your head into the fabric of his shirt, trying in vain to get comfortable at a ninety degree angle. “Can you like… lay down instead?”

He sighs and repositions, wiggling down beside you. His massive hand cups your head close to his chest as he does so. His head falls against the pillow and he nudges the side of your face with his knuckles. “Better?”

Your face angles upwards and you can just barely make out the mocking flick of his tongue in the moonlight that slips through the blinds. You bury your face, humming a note of approval over his collarbone. You’re quick to splay an arm across his torso and uncurl your fingers against his chest. Heavy fingers climb on yours, trapping your hand between his and the heartbeat beneath your palm. His other hand lands on your shoulder and you shiver when he starts to trace lazy lines up and down your skin.

You don’t have time to fully appreciate the motion as sleep threatens to take you. The last thing you feel is his chin falling against the top of your head, both of you subconsciously snuggling closer. Never in your life have you felt so relaxed, so fast. You forget whom is resting beside you, holding you in a way that keeps you from drunkenly crying yourself to sleep. The world falls away. The thoughts of the night fall away. The emptiness is replaced by something good. Something tender. It’s a strange and foreign concept, and you can’t quite put your finger on it, but what you do know is that it’s the closest thing you’ve ever felt to a place you’ve never truly had: Home.

[catsandstrawberries]

~Real Family: 13

Pairings: BTS x teen female reader, platonic love

Warnings: Language, neglect, past child abuse, toxic relationships, cliche fluff

A/N: Only ONE more chapter left before the series is done!!!

Summary: It’s not blood that makes a family. It’s love

Masterlist 

The boys had easily gone back to their normal selves, praising me for standing up to Aki and his group, and handling it without violence. 

“Did you see the look on his face?” Tae laughed arms wrapped around Sugas shoulders at his comment. 

“(Y/N) you were such a savage.” Jungkook gave me a squeeze from behind wrapping his arms around my waist and a proud smile spread to my face. Never would I have thought Jungkook calling me a savage could be so satisfying. Yet I couldn’t help but wonder why Aki asked those questions. I wondered how much truth was behind it. Why had they adopted me? Why did they want someone’s else’s rejection? I’m not related to them, not their blood, why did they want another problem in their busy lives? 

I was knocked out of my thoughts as Seokjin nudged me, 

“You must be hungry, do you want something to eat?” I nodded at him as he moved towards the kitchen, pushing at Jungkook as he tried to follow him and telling him something about how he wasn’t allowed into his kitchen anymore. 

“Can we have waffles?" Jimin asked excitedly sitting down in a bar stool at the island. 

"It’s almost midnight and you want waffles?" 

"With chocolate chips!” Tae added sitting next to Jimin and ignoring the glare Jin sent him. Jin then turned towards me, 

“Is that ok?” I nodded, giving him a thumbs up. Jin then got to work on cooking the waffles while my eyes downcast to the floor. A gentle hand was placed on my shoulder and I looked up to see Yoongi sending me a concerned look. 

“Are you ok?” I shook my head at his question just as the other boys turned their attention to me. 

“No, I’m not. Why am I here?” The room went quiet at my question, the only noise being the sizzling of the waffles. 

“What do you mean?” Namjoon spoke up, an awkward laugh escaping his throat. 

“I mean…” I hesitated, knowing that I may not like the answer to the question I was about to ask. “Why did you guys adopt me?” Some of the boys shared concerned glances, “you guys have everything. You’re rich and famous and you have each other, why did you feel the need to adopt someone? Let alone a teenage girl?” Another silence filled the room, Hoseok started to speak up, stuttering over his words. 

“We adopted you…because, w-well, its-” Namjoon interrupted the boy gently taking my hands into his.

“(Y/N), we adopted you because something was missing in our lives. That was you. We brought it up to the company managers and they thought it was a good idea. We wanted to adopt you.”

I stared in shock at Namjoon and gave a small hesitant nod. As soon as I had, the tension in the room completely shifted and I watched Hoseok let out an audible sigh of relief. But that wasn’t what concerned me. As everyone went back to joking and dealing with the beeping of the waffle maker, all I could think about was how Namjoon hadn’t looked me in the eye at all while he told me why I was adopted. And if there was one thing I knew from living in an orphanage, 

People don’t make eye contact when they lie 

~

The loud school bell shocked me out of my thoughts as I closed my locker, grabbing my textbooks and walking towards the classroom. Once I had broken through the sea of teens and finally got to class I took a seat at a two-person table. Searching through my backpack for a pen, 

“Hi,” a shy, soft voice spoke from my left. “Can I sit here?” I perked up at the voice, thinking it was Zara’s only to be met with sad eyes, curly blond hair pulled up into a messy bun and dark circles painting her tan skin purple under her eyes. 

“Amber? U-um, sure.” She took a seat in the green chair, putting her bag down then turning towards me. “Amber are you ok? You look….horrible.” I flinched at my harsh tone, hoping it didn’t sound as bad as it did out loud.

“Well, ever since the party all my friends left me. Calling me a drunk whore, and now the video of me in that pool is everywhere. Instagram, Snapchat, even Facebook.” She rubbed at her forehead with her hands. I didn’t know how to react, Amber had been such a, well, a bitch, and now I was watching her fall apart.  

“I’m so sorry Amber.” I paused, thinking over my next few words. Could I trust her? “If it’s any consolation, I lost my friend too. Zara won’t even talk to me anymore.” A silence developed between the two of us before she spoke up, 

“Its because you helped me, isn’t it?” I slowly nodded at Ambers question. While she groaned into her hands, 

“(Y/N) I’m so sorry.” Just as the words escaped her mouth the bell rang signaling the start of class as the teacher started talking. 

I couldn’t help but notice Ambers saddened glance as she snuck looks at me. Our English class had been taken over by our guidance counselors who had been working us up towards a project that I was particularly excited for. They wanted us to shadow a male or female in any business or job title, watch what they do and record the likes and dislikes to what they did. Supposedly it was supposed to help us choose what we wanted to study in college or pursue after high school. The bell rung quicker than expected and I started to pack up my bags until Amber slipped me a piece of paper. “If you ever want to talk or hang out, here’s my number, and I live right down the street from Zara’s house.” She gave me a sympathetic smile that made me question who the person standing in front of me was. This was not the Amber I knew. 

I returned the smile, taking the paper from her hand as she got up and left the classroom. I looked down at the slip of paper, Zara’s warning echoing in my mind, ‘we can’t trust her.’ I guiltily walked towards the exit, crumpling up the slip of paper and tossing it in the recycling as I left the room. 

My thumbs passed over the screen of my phone, rapidly texting the group chat that Namjoon had created with me and the seven boys. 

‘hey, r u still at BigHit?’ Jimin responded almost instantly to my text, 

'Yeah, why?’ I quickly explained over text that I had a project where I had to shadow a job and wanted to shadow them. The boys sent a flurry of heart emojis, uwu, and cutes in response. 

'Of course, I can meet you in the lobby in fifteen.’ Namjoon replied, just as the bell rang signaling the end of school. I rushed out of the building towards my driver who quickly brought me to BigHit. 

I lucked out in this project, most people would be shadowing CEO’s or office working jobs but I got to shadow real Kpop artists. I would be able to witness their songwriting process, dance rehearsals, behind the scenes. The more I thought about it the more anxious I got in my seat. The driver brought me towards the back entrance and after shouting a thank you, I exited the car and typed in a password to the lock key on the door. Once getting inside I walked towards the lobby, passing by several businesswomen and men, all barely giving me a second look since this wasn’t the first time I had been here. I dropped my bag on one of the couches, sitting down and waiting for Namjoon just as two security guards passed by behind me. I didn’t pay any attention to them until I heard their conversation, 

“Did you hear about BTS adopting some kid.” I huffed and slumped in my seat as I overheard the two men talking. I knew it was strange for a kpop group to adopt a kid but when would people finally get over it? “I heard bang PD forced them to do it for publicity” I froze at the security guards words, breath catching in my throat. 

“Bang told me that they got the oldest, win-win deal. Not only can she take care of herself but as soon as she turns eighteen they can kick her out cause she’ll be an adult.“ My mind started going into overdrive and suddenly everything made sense. The reason why I went on television with them, went to big events, did photoshoots, it was all so they could get a better reputation. Was this what Hoseok was trying to tell me the other day, that the whole reason they got me was so they could kick me out? Would they just drop me after high school? Was this all a game, a plot to them? I picked up my bag in a rush, slinging it over my shoulders. Tears forming in the corner of my eyes, I stood up from the couch rushing out of the lobby until a hand gently grabbed my arm. 

"Woah, hey, hey slow down.” I turned to find Namjoon just as more wet droplets started to fall down my face. “What happened, where are you going?” He softly asked which only annoyed me further. 

“Why would you fucking care?” Namjoon flinched at my harsh tone and he opened his mouth to say something but I cut him off. “ Actually why don’t I do you a favor I’ll disappear and we can tell the public that you’ve adopted an orphan, get your fans to feel all sympathetic and I’ll take care of myself so you don’t have to wait till I’m eighteen.” A look of realization fell on his face as a quiet sob escaped my throat. He reached forward to brush away my tears but I slapped his hand away. 

“That way I’m no longer a problem.” My shoulders shook as I bit my lip to stop the sobs attempting to escape, rapid tears dripping down my cheeks. 

“(Y/N) that’s not what happened.” His voice cracked slightly at his words as if he was about to break down at either the sight of me crying or the fact I found out the truth. 

“Really? How come you didn’t get a cute kid then? Wasn’t it because they were too much work. In a few years I’ll be an adult and out of your lives, isn’t that what you wanted?” He took a step towards me as I took a step back, 

“No! Just wait, please.” I ignored his comment and swiftly turned on my heel running through the building towards the back entrance only to slam into a body as I turned a corner. I grunted as I fell to the floor, rubbing at my head as someone offered me a hand up. 

“Woah there, (Y/N)? Are you okay? Have you been crying?” I disregarded Seokjin’s hands and concerned brown eyes as I stood to my feet. 

“Just, stay away from me.” Seokjin recoiled at my words, his face morphing into one of confusion, hurt emoting from him at my words. 

“Wha-,” I ran off, away from him before he could say anything else and ran out the back door phone in hand as I called the nearest taxi, knowing my driver wouldn’t bring me anywhere if any of the boys told him not to. 

Within minutes I was rushing out of the building towards the front parking lot, jumping in the back of a taxi and telling the driver the first address that came to mind. 

~ 

Pulling out a crumpled twenty dollar bill from the bottom of my backpack I handed the bill towards the driver. An annoyed grunt escaping his mouth as I climbed out of the smelly car. I walked up to the steps to her house, finding myself once again in front of her mahogany door. “Zara?” I called out as I pounded on the door, “Hello!” When I got no answer I turned to the driveway to find it empty, maybe she wasn’t home. My stomach started to twist and I angrily slammed my hand against the door. What the hell was I supposed to do? I couldn’t go back to there house, Zara wasn’t home, even if she was she wouldn’t let me in. I had no friends, no family, what was I supposed to do? 

A high pitched bark knocked me out of my thoughts, 

“(Y/N)?” I turned away from the door to find a casually dressed Amber in Skinny Jeans, tube top and a cardigan instead of her normal school uniform. She held a black leash with white dog paws imprinted on the material, connecting to a white-collar around a fluffy, small brown dog. Ambers dog was the fluffiest dog I had ever seen. It reminded me of a giant brown puffball, the only thing that disguised it as a dog was its four legs and the black snout and tongue that stuck out of its mouth. “Hey, are you ok?” I shook my head at the girl, wrapping my arms around my waist, 

“Um, do you, want to hang out?” Amber hesitantly nodded as she motioned to a white house down the street. 

“Yeah, my moms at a business conference so it’s just you and me, you can stay however long you want.” I nodded at the girl, giving her a small smile as she leads me towards her house. My phone beeped as I took my phone out, expecting it to be one of the boys messaging me but instead it was from another unknown number. 

‘See you soon.’

~

    I walked out of Ambers bathroom, clad in a pair of her sweatpants and sweatshirt she offered me so I wouldn’t have to keep wearing my school uniform. I tucked my phone back into my pocket, ignoring the countless calls and text messages from each of the boys. Shutting the device down so I wouldn’t have to listen to the constant buzzing and vibrating. I sat down next to Amber on her bed as she patted her dog. 

    “What’s his name?” I motioned to the brown fluff ball who was turned on his back, wiggling his stomach for attention. 

“Don’t laugh,” Amber spoke then started rubbing the dog’s belly, as he let out little chatters of happiness. “His name is peanut butter.” A chuckle escaped my throat and she sent me a humorous glare throwing one of her pillows at me. “I told you not to laugh.” Her words caused the two of us to burst into obnoxious chatters until we finally calmed down, the only sound in the room was peanut butter’s small yips. “Do you want to talk about it?” I parted my lips, thinking over what exactly I should and shouldn’t tell her. A part of me was still concerned that I was in Amber’s house, the girl who bullied me, and the girl I punched. 

“Well, I’m adopted, and I always thought it was strange that world-famous Kpop band BTS adopted me.” Amber nodded at my words, her attention fully devoted to me. “I mean, what 20-year-old boys would want a teenage girl? Life doesn’t work that way, or at least that’s what I thought. I know it’s stupid, but u-um, l-lately I thought they were different.” I felt my eyes well up despite the amount of crying I had done today. “It’s silly, but I thought they might want me.” More tears started to fall from my face and I brought my hand up, covering my mouth and the sob about to escape. “But, I found out today that I was just another publicity stunt.” This time the sob escaped my mouth and I did nothing to hide it, an awkward hand patted my shoulder in comfort and I raised an eyebrow at the girl across from me. 

“Gee, that sucks.” I laughed through my tears at her words and she gave me a bashful look. “Sorry, I’m not that good at comforting people.” I gave her a thankful smile then started looking around the room. 

“So, where are your parents?” As soon as the words left my mouth I instantly regretted them. “Sorry, that was insensitive.” 

“No, no, it’s fine. My moms a corporate lawyer, so she’s always out of town and a lot of people hate her. My dad works in New York at Apple industries. He sends money on my birthdays and last year he gave me a car for Christmas, so it’s cool.” Damn her parents were loaded. “They aren’t married though, my mom goes through a lot of guys.” I nodded at the girl, 

“I’m sorry, that must be rough.” She shrugged at my comment just as Peanut Butter stood up on his four legs, walking towards Amber and snuggling up next to her. “Thank you, by the way, for helping me.” 

“If anything I should be thanking you. If you weren’t at that party I don’t know what would have happened.” Amber scrunched up her nose at her next comment, “sorry for puking in his car.” I laughed, wiping at the dried tears on my face, 

“Can you believe you puked in Jungkook, maknae of BTS, car?” 

“You could sell that on Etsy for millions.” Our laughter brought me back down to earth, thoughts of Zara invading my mind. 

“Why does Zara hate you so much?” Amber tensed at my question, her dark green eyes meeting mine. 

“Zara and I were best friends, but I hurt her. I stopped spending time with her and was more interested in Instagram likes, and boys while she focused on school. 

I hated how easily you and Zara became friends when you showed up at the school. You stood up for her, something I could never do, and now I don’t have any friends.” Amber looked down at her hands in shame, messy bun flopping to the side as she moved her head. 

“We can be friends.” Her head shot up, a wide-smile replacing the frown on her lips. 

“Really?” I nodded and she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “About Zara, I’ve never seen her so happy with anyone, until she met you. She’ll come around.” I smiled at the girl as she stood up and flopped backward onto her bed, eyes cast towards her ceiling. 

“Hey Amber,” she hummed in response. “I like the real you better than the fake you.” It was crazy when I had first met her we were enemies when I had entered her house I couldn’t decide whether we were friend or foe. Now I knew for sure, Amber was like me in a lot of ways. Another scared teenager impacted by their parent’s bad choices. Amber was definitely a friend.

Taglist: @xxqueenwxtchxx @ayyeaestheticgirl18 @im-emo-motherfuckers@kamirichibi  @officiallyza @treetops68 @there-could-be-stairs  @acklesgold @bisoo-ausucre @bts-edits-bitch @celestial-m00n @springdayblink @joyful-jimin @vannilacake  @youcantbesiriusremus @i-like-puppy-mg @namjoonsslutakakoreanmanswhore  @officiallyza @odditiesanddeities

[colonel-insomniac]

I Won’t Dance

Welp. I did it again, and I made it into a one shot book on AO3

“I won’t dance, don’t ask me…” 

Patrick can’t dance. Too him, that’s a fact that he thinks is plain to see. And still, whether it be Bobby or Sandy asking him, he feels bad for saying no. But he doesn’t want them to think he’s stupid for not knowing how to even dance. He already knows he’s not the smartest, and that’s the worst part to him. 

“My heart won’t let me do things they should do. You know what, you’re lovely…” 

Sometimes, Pat thinks the only thing he can do is eat, sleep, and play music. At least, he thinks he’s good at making music. Bobby’s assured him so many times that he’s perfect the way he is. But sometimes Pat doesn’t know whether that’s true. 

He wants to dance, and that’s the bad thing. His parents tried to get him to learn how to do something when they found that he wasn’t great at normal things. They’d enrolled him in a ballroom dancing class; it was supposed to teach the students how to do many types of slow dances, and a few faster ones. 

He got kicked out. Turns out, he isn’t the most graceful, and he supposes that maybe knocking over a glass table wasn’t very inexpensive, but why should a dance class have glass? 

He’s watched Sandy and Bobby dance, wishing he were one of them. They just looked so focused on each other that they didn’t have to think about where their feet went. They were so lovely together. Maybe Pat was the odd one out.

“When you dance, you’re charming and you’re gentle…” 

They were always so gentle with him, but he’s always so absorbed with his thoughts of music. He plays at diners, bars, clubs, wherever he can, really. Sometimes he gets paid, and sometimes he doesn’t. That doesn’t ever matter to him, though. He just loves spreading his joys to the world. 

He sings Frank Sinatra mostly, idly plucking chords on his guitar while the track for the orchestra plays from the speaker. Neither Bobby nor Sandy know he’s singing and playing at all; and he’s tried telling them, but coincidentally, whenever he tries bringing it up, they aren’t listening. He’s given up trying to tell them at this point, simply dedicating them to “two very special people in his life.” 

The crowds that show up increase every time, and on social media platforms, he comes across the occasional post trying to find out who he’s talking about. He can’t respond otherwise his “secret” will be outed to his girlfriend and boyfriend. Since they haven’t figured it out by now, he isn’t sure he wants them to just yet. 

“For heaven rest us, I’m not asbestos…” 

He often catches Edward, Pat and Bobby’s neighbor, at the places he plays, clarinet in hand. Edward is a pretty anxious guy, and he isn’t as bad as some people tell him. When Pat sees Edward on those nights, he makes sure to cheer as loud as he can for the poor guy. 

He’s told the two that Edward plays at clubs and bars, and diners, and both Sandy and Bobby have said they ought to go watch Edward play. So Pat has come up with a plan. A genius one, if he says so himself.

They’ve arranged to go to a diner tonight. Pat visited earlier and told Edward he wants to perform tonight, but can only do it if Edward goes on before him. It seems that’s exactly what Edward needed to hear, because he’d said he was right about to tell Pat he’d given up. 

“And that’s why I won’t dance, why should I?”

It isn’t that Patrick isn’t appreciated by Sandy and Bobby, but he has been itching to tell them, and sometimes they don’t want to hear him. He’s just used the resources that were handed to him. 

The three were getting ready, walking to and from the bathroom and their respective rooms. Pat excused himself saying he had somewhere to go, and stood outside for a moment, the cold wind biting his cheeks as he clutched his phone in his hand. He and Eddie had agreed to walk together to prepare, and he was currently waiting on Edward to come downstairs. 

<Tall and Leggy: On my way downstairs, don’t leave.> 

Pat replies with a thumbs up emoji, his stomach queasy with nerves for the first time ever. He’d decided to forgo the guitar tonight, figuring it was better to leave it rather than get questioned by Sandy and Bobby or them figuring everything out. They hadn’t found out by now, they could wait a couple more hours. 

“I won’t dance, how could I? I won’t dance. Merci beaucoup…” 

“Thank you for this, Patrick, I know I’m not the best at clarinet, but I am trying to get better.” Edward appears behind Pat, weearing a nice white button down shirt and blue tux jacket. The pants are the same shade as the jacket and white dress shoes. 

“Ed, I’m the one who should be thankin’ you for being so willing to do it for me. I know we haven’t always gotten along, but it still means a lot to me.” Pat knows he doesn’t do a lot of thanking and acknowleding what others do to help him, but maybe this can be the turning point. 

“I know that music leads the way to romance…” 

“So you’re going to sing for Bobby and Sandy?” Edward asks as they turn the corner to the diner The Chum Bucket. 

The food isn’t great, but Sheldon, the owner, holds music nights every Friday night for five dollars per person, so, it works out. Pat nods, wishing he had his guitar for comfort. “They don’t know I’m performing at all. I tried telling them, but they don’t listen sometimes.” 

Ed winces, a sympathetic look on his face. Pat doesn’t want to keep talking, but it feels so good to just admit things to someone. “I feel like they’d be better as a pair, istead of the three of us, y’know? But they always tell me they love me so much.” 

Ed nods, fiddling with the clarinet keychain on his keys. “I mean, you guys work well together. I never really thought Sandy would be into the two of you, but I’d always expected you and Bobby to be together, romantically and whatnot. I do think they care about you though. What song are you singing for them?” 

Eddy’s onstage currently, and Pat’s waiting in the wings of the stage, looking at the audience.  Sandy and Bobby look at each other. They seem a little worried, but turn to watch the stage as Edward plays a slow, sweet song. He’s improved, Pat thinks, proud of the effort his friend has put into music. 

“My heart won’t let my feet do things they want to do…”  

Pat grows more nervous by the second, and he knows Edwards performance is coming to a close. He checks his phone really quick, as it’s blowing up with notifications. People are tagging him in all their posts, and a majority are speculating whether he has split with whoever they think he’s with. He drafts a response really quick. 

<Pat-a-Rat-Tat: to all: Just wait… ;P>

Sandy and Bobby are the first to clap for Edward, giving him an ovation. Pat thinks about how happy that makes him. Others follow, and Edward beams, bowing deeply and rushing offstage. “Oh Pat, did you see?” The starry-eyed man grabs Pat by his shoulders. “They gave me an ovation! They loved me!!” 

Patrick grabs Edward and hugs him, “I’m so proud of you man!! Congrats!!” 

Edward thanks Pat again, and tells him he’s going to pack up his clarinet and join Sandy and Bobby, and to wait for him to get there to start. Pat nods, and wathes his significant others as they scroll idly on their phones. He pulls his own phone out, reading the messages he’s gotten in their groupchat. 

<Not-So-Simple: Pat where are you, we’re worried>

<San-dee: Patrick Starr, you better get your sorry butt here before I kick you>

He has to refrain himself from laughing as his phone is flooded with messages from Bobby, who, from Patrick’s spot backstage, looks like he’s about tear the whole town apart in search for Pat. 

<Super-Starr: Guys, quit worryin>

<Super-Starr: I’m just runnin a little l8>

He can tell neither Bobby or Sandy are happy about this, and he knows they’re going to yell at him later, but he pushes past that thought. Edward approaches them and takes a seat, all smiles now. Pat smiles as Edward aims a thumbs up at the stage, knowing Patrick’ll see it, and both Bobby and Sandy’s eyebrows furrow in sync, and he can just barely here Bobby ask Edward what’s going on. 

Edward simply aims a smile and ruffles Bobby’s hair before shushing him. 

“I’m like an ocean wave that’s bumped on the shore…” 

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, we are proud to present, the one and only, artist who has been gracing this establishment for months now…” Sheldon begins, holding a mic as Pat takes deep breaths, “Patrick Starr!” 

The crowd goes wild, and Patrick keeps his eyes trained on the shell-shocked couple as he walked onstage. “Hey guys!” He began, speaking into the microphone on the stage. Now he began to look elswhere. The tide was changing, things were finally shifting into place for him. 

“You all know I’ve been doing this for a while now, and I’ve always dedicated them to two very significant people in my life.” He was now pacing the stage, smiling as he gripped the mic. 

“But this feeling isn’t purely mental…”

“Well, they didn’t know I’ve been singing, ‘til now. I tried tellin’ y’all!” He exclaimed, laughing as Bobby blushed. “Anyways, even though they sometimes don’t pay attention to me, I love them to pieces. That’s why I’ve finally decided to do this song. As you can all tell, I’m without my guitar tonight. Had to keep the secret going until I came onstage.” He laughed as the audience clapped. 

“Tonight’s performance is all thanks to Edward. Couldn’t have done this if he didn’t say he would perform before me.” Patrick took a deep breath, calming his nerves. “I’m singin’ to good ole Frank Sinatra’s I Won’t Dance. Those two are always asking why I won’t dance with them, and I think this serves as a good reason why, along with the fact that I’m not good at anything other than making music.” 

The crowd laughs, and Patrick smiles, glancing at Sandy and Bobby. Bobby looks absolutely enthralled, cheeks blushing a rosy color as he grins widely at Patrick. Sandy’s also smiling, but there’s an evil glint in her eyes, and Pat gulps, tugging at the collar of his shirt comically. “This might be my last performance y’all. She’s gonna kill me. Enjoy!” 

As Patrick sings, the audience sways. 

The last note plays out and the audience cheers, standing. “That’s my boyfriend!” Bobby manages to yell louder than the audience. And when the audience falls silent and turns to look for the guy claiming he’s Pat’s boyfriend, Bobby turns too. Pat laughs, and Bobby looks back at him again, red in the face. “Haha, Sponge, ever the theatrical nerd.” Bobby winks at him as the audience sits back down. Sandy’s still laughing, but she drags a finger across her neck, playfully threatening Pat. 

“Patrick Starr, why in the world would you do that? You done had Bobby and I just about to rip the town apart in search of you, you goof. And now,” She states, stalking toward him with an evil grin, “You. Are. Gonna. Get. It.” She jumps on top of him, tickling his sides. Bobby, always wanting attention, hops on the couch next to Pat.

“I told y’all…I can’t…dance.” Pat states between gasps for air. 

“So if I hold you in my arms…”   

“You had me so worried.” Bobby joins Sandy with the tickling. 

Patrick could easily overpower them, he realizes. He wraps his arms around the two, sides hurting, bringing them close to him. “Sorry, guys, but I told you that I’ve been doing this. Y’all need to pay more attention to me!” 

“Sorry Pat.” Bobby apologizes, sincere and with a sweet smile gracing his face. 

“Yeah, Pat, sorry.” Sandy chimes, pinching his cheek with a grin. 

“That’s alright,” Pat looks at them, “now you know.” He pecks them each on the cheek. 

“I won’t dance!”

[angelic-holland]

Silver Bullet // th x reader

Summary:  Tom feels like he’s changed since he became famous, you remind him that even if he’s changed, he’s changed for the better.

Notes: Part of my Drive North series. Inspired by the album by the SWMRs, feel free to listen to each song while reading the fic as they are based on the songs. Listen to SIlver Bullet here. 

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.3k

“I’m sorry,” Tom mumbles against your neck, you’ve got one last night with him before he’s off to Bali for more press for Far From Home. You’re laying on the couch together, a movie playing on the TV which you’re basically ignoring.

“What’re you sorry for love?” You ask, hand squeezing his arm that’s draped over your shoulder.

“Gone for so long, gone for weeks or months at a time.”

“You know that’s what it’s gonna be like, I knew what it would be like when we first started dating, I signed up for it,” you say, turning the TV off.

“I know,” he sighs, “just, wish I could be here more for you.”

“I know you’re not here physically as much as you want Tom, but you’re there for me emotionally always and that’s way more important.”

“I just, feel bad for being gone, can’t help it.”

“Tom.”

“Yes?”

“Are you, do you want to be in a relationship? Because if you think that we can’t make this work, if you don’t want to make this work, fine,” your heart’s racing, does he not love you anymore? Does he not care enough to make it work? Is this his way of telling you he wants to break up?

“What? Of course, darling I love you, I just, I feel like, just feel,”

“What?” You ask, moving away from him and turning so he has to look you in the eyes. He’s looking at you, the look in his eyes tells you he’s thinking of what to say, and he’s thinking very hard about it.

It’s silent, you too staring at each other, then a sharp tension, the awkwardness is so stiff you can practically feel it.

“Feel like I’ve changed, since Marvel, and I’m trying, been trying so hard to be the guy I was when we met, before I got the role, the guy you fell for, but I just feel like I’m not that person anymore.”

“Tom, as your girlfriend, but more importantly as just a good person, I would tell you if you’ve changed in a bad way. Sure you’ve changed, you’ve grown as a person, every young person does. I’m not the same person I was 3 years ago, the girl you fell for. Does that mean you don’t love this version of me?”

Tom takes your hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs along them, “Course not, because you’ve changed for the better, graduated uni, gotten a really good job, you’re more confident.”

“Tommy, sweetie, how do you think you’ve changed?” You frown, you were worried when your boyfriend talked low about himself, usually not self-deprecating unless he was in a really bad slump.

“I just, worried I’m not as humble, not as down to earth, worried fame’s got to my head,” he says, heading dropping between his shoulders, you thought you saw his eyes watering but wanted to let him deal with that on his own terms, you knew he hates crying, hates feeling vulnerable even in front of you, so you weren’t going to point it out and make it worse.

“Do you wanna tell me why you think that?”

He nods, taking a deep breath, a little shaky before looking back up at you. There’s a small tear running down his cheek, he sniffles.

“Just, everyone always warned me not to let this all get to my head, don’t change, don’t be someone you’re not.”

“And do you think you’re turning into somebody else? Think people are turning you into somebody else?” You ask, his hands letting go of yours to rest on your thighs. You cup his face, thumb brushing away his tears.

“No, not really? I mean, some fans have been saying-,”

“Tom, you know that those people online, they don’t mean anything, by what they tweet, what they post. They don’t know you. Even if they said you’ve changed, since you first started acting or were in Marvel, they don’t know who you really are.”

“I want to, I try to be as genuine as possible with them, but it’s hard sometimes, gotta put on a smile when I’m not happy. Thank you, for letting me get like this.”

“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of Tommy, everyone cries, everyone gets worried about who they are, who they wanna be.”

He’s silent before pulling you into a hug, his face pressed against your neck, arms tight around your waist. You can feel his tears wet your neck but you ignore them, your hands rubbing his back. You whisper sweet nothings into his ear, how much you love him, how proud you are of him, how brave he is, how strong he is. His breathing slows, chest no longer heaving as one of your hands pets his hair, running your fingers through curls.

“Wanna know something I love?”

“What?” He whispers, voice a little rough from crying.

You tuck your feet under your legs, leaning your back against the couch, resting Tom’s head against your chest so he’s curled up against your side.

“Love when you dressed up as Spiderman and went to that hospital and visited all those kids. That was so nice of you, so fucking nice, on your birthday nonetheless. I honestly can’t think of another celebrity who would be as selfless.”

“Guess so,” he sniffles and you nod.

“All those brothers trust events that you and the twins work so hard to put together. Those really help people and your fans love being able to bid money for time with you and knowing it goes to a good cause is all the better.”

“You don’t haveta, you don’t need to-,” you cut him off, he doesn’t always like to hear when you compliment him, he doesn’t like the praise, says he gets it too much from everyone else, doesn’t want to inflate his ego. But you knew this was something he needed, just to bring him back to baseline, back to feeling okay.

“And my favorite thing about you? How you are with my family, how when you first met my mums, you were so nervous, ‘member? You were scared they weren’t gonna like you, thought you were gonna break up with me when you pulled the car over before we got to their house and said you couldn’t do it. That was almost three years ago baby.”

“Just didn’t want them to hate me. Your mums are kind of intimidating.”

“Yeah, they just want what’s best for me. And you know, when I met with them for breakfast the next day, you wanna know what they said?”

“What?”

“Said that they’ve never met a boyfriend of mine that they like as much as they like you. Said you could be part of the family, if you want to. Even though the family’s just me, them, and two cats.”

“I’d say that’s a pretty great family,” Tom says, laughing a little. You smile, hoping he’s slowly easing into a better state of mind.

“Just the other day Cheryl sent me a picture she found from some random fan’s Instagram page, here, lemme just show you,” you say, pulling your phone out of your pocket. You open your texts from her, her contact name aptly named ‘mom 1’. You find the screenshot of a photo of you and Tom from the Homecoming premiere, he’s looking at you, smiling, your head is thrown back in laughter, definitely because of something he just told you.

You show him what Cheryl said.

He looks at you the way I look at Stacy, you two are so in love honey, he’s a keeper

“I like how many heart emojis she uses,” he laughs.

“She’s making up for the fact that Stacy doesn’t even know how to text properly let alone use emojis,” you laugh, putting your phone down.

“So am I?”

“Are you what?”

“A keeper?”

“Tom, if you keep me, I will very happily keep you.”

“Yeah?”

“Love you Tom, loved you then, love you now, love who you’ve grown to be, love every piece of you baby,” you say, kissing the top of his head.

[dvp95]

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 9

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, deeper than anticipated but still not that deep y'all this is primarily silly, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 6,538 for this chapter (41,509 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Dan wakes up alone. He's stretched out on Phil's sheets, mostly on his stomach, and he buries his face in a pillow to hide from the afternoon sunlight streaming through Phil's small windows. He listens carefully, but he can't hear Phil shuffling around the room or anything.

He's not overly worried, really. This is Phil's place. It would be next level weird for him to cut and run.

Sure enough, when Dan blinks away the spots in his vision and looks around the flat, he sees a sticky note on Phil's headboard. Had to go to work! Won't say your name on the radio lol, it says, and Dan feels a surge of fondness and embarrassment.

He rolls onto his back and rubs at his face, trying to wipe the stupid grin off even though nobody's here to see it. He grins wider when he remembers that someone else is here, actually.

"Thor," he calls out, not bothering to sit up. "C'mere, buddy!"

The jangling of Thor's collar and the rapid taps of his claws on the hardwood floor let him know that the dog is approaching.

Dan looks over and sees Thor sitting at the side of the bed, head cocked and ears perked. He might actually start to cry; he is obsessed with this dog.

"Hey there," he coos, patting the bed next to him in invitation. Thor just keeps looking at him. If Dan were to assign a human emotion to Thor's vibe right now, he'd say the dog looked dubious. "C'mon up, little guy, I won't bite."

Thor jumps up with his stumpy legs and Dan laughs delightedly at the height he can manage when he's got a running start. He snuffles into Dan's borrowed shirt and gives him a bunch of sloppy kisses.

Truly, there is no better way to wake up. Dan is in heaven right now.

He gives Thor a bunch of pats and coos nonsense at him for a little while. He's not really in a hurry to go anywhere. In fact, he wouldn't get out of bed at all if it weren't for his bladder starting to get angry with him. Dan sighs and gives Thor a kiss on his tiny forehead.

"I gotta get up," he laments. He blinks at Thor.

Thor blinks back.

"You need to get up, too," he informs the dog very solemnly.

Thor puts his front paws down like he's getting ready to play and lolls his tongue out, smiling at Dan.

Dan clutches at his chest dramatically and fumbles around for his phone. He needs to capture this moment. He notices that he's got missed texts, missed calls, but he shoves the spike of anxiety to the side in order to focus on getting cute photos and videos of Thor. He takes a bunch of the corgi alone, giggling to himself the whole time, and then pulls Thor close to him to take a few selfies as well.

After brushing his teeth and taking a quick piss, Dan lies back down and looks through the camera roll. He's smiling at his phone and petting one of Thor's soft ears. They're all super cute pictures, good enough to post if they weren't so laden in implications.

Two photos - one of them grinning wide at the camera and a follow-up where Dan's face is scrunched in laughter as Thor gives him a surprise kiss to his nose - get messaged to Phil instead of posted.

It's almost as good, really. After a beat, he sends the photos to Jaime and Patrick as well. He's already talked to them about everything, more or less, and he just wants to share the joy he's feeling right now to people who get it. His thumb hesitates. After a moment of consideration, he sends just the silly picture to Adrian.

Adrian responds with a knife emoji, followed by a heart eyes emoji.

They're never going to be like Phil and his brother, working together and razzing each other over dinner, but that's okay. Dan feels a little bit of softness in his chest, easing some of that decades-old guilt. Maybe they can, at least, be more than the strangers they are now.

Spurred on by something as simple as his brother replying immediately, Dan holds his breath and opens the text chain with his mum.

Blimey dear that must be a load off after all this time! Of course I still want to see you on Saturday... I love you with my whole heart and always will xx.

Fuck. He's not going to cry. He won't cry. Not here. Dan inhales lungfuls of air in gasps, trying not to let them turn into raspy sobs. Thor makes an inquisitive noise and noses at Dan's hand.

"I'm okay," he whispers, even if he isn't quite sure that's true. He makes a bunch of typos as he replies to her, just a short love you too that takes him an entire minute to get right. He doesn't want to make a big deal over this, even though it is a big deal, so he just adds a heart emoji and buries his face in Thor's soft fur.

His phone buzzes a few times, but Dan ignores it for a little while. He feels safe in Phil's bed, Thor in his arms, and he doesn't want to face the world again until he feels a bit less fragile. Eventually, though, Thor wiggles out of his grasp and bounds off the bed in search of a toy.

Jaime and Patrick have both responded to the dog selfies, Jaime with a string of barely-comprehensible emotional texts and Patrick with a single exclamation point iMessage reaction.

Phil has sent him a selfie in return, wearing radio headphones and a pout. Hate that I'm at work!!!!!!!!, he captions it. Dan hates that, too. He sends a quick shot of Thor on the other side of the flat with the caption, abandoned by both of u.

By the time he circles back to his mum, he isn't really sure what to expect. She isn't the type to wax poetic about her feelings, none of them are, so he doesn't anticipate another round of affection and love and pride right this second. Maybe in her goodbye text when he heads to the continent. Not right away.

Sure enough, she's said, Why don't you & I grab lunch in the city on Saturday? I've been meaning to try this new sushi bar... xx. Dan's heart sinks.

It's okay, he reminds himself. His mum loves him. Adrian loves him. They both said so.

His mum not wanting him to come to the house anymore speaks volumes to Dan. He expected this, anyway - his dad barely wanted to see him before this, Dan's always been nothing but a physical reminder of his wasted youth, and it isn't shocking that he doesn't want to see Dan now.

Dan lies back down and covers his head with Phil's duvet. He'll let himself be sad, just for a minute, for the loss. This is the first relationship he has to cut off if he wants to live authentically, move forward as a gay man who doesn't hate himself, and it hits hard. Maybe he'll let himself be angry, after this. Then, he'll get out of bed and start living the authentic, quietly proud life that he's only ever dreamed of.

It's okay. But, right now, it stings a bit.

--

By the time Thor's ears perk up and he runs to the door, a clear indication that Phil is home, Dan has well and truly gone through some stages of grief and landed on repression. He's been playing Guild Wars and idly tidying Phil's flat throughout the day, lazy with the impromptu day off as he is. Thor follows him around and Dan plies him with more treats than he thinks Phil would approve of.

Dan feels a little sheepish when Phil comes in and he's just lounging on the sofa with his laptop and a pair of Phil's ridiculous slippers on his feet. The flat looks better than it had last night, but Dan has done fuck all with himself. He could have at least showered, he supposes.

"Hey," he says, tugging an earphone out and giving Phil a quick glance. "Sorry, I'm raiding, I'll give you attention in a second."

"Hi, Dan, my day was good," Phil says dryly. "Thanks for asking."

"You signed up for this," Dan informs him, not taking his eyes off the screen again. He can hear Phil enthusiastically greeting Thor, which makes him smile. "I did make dinner, 's in the oven."

"You cook?" Phil sounds far too surprised, in Dan's opinion.

Dan's character gets murked, and he shuts his laptop with a little huff of a noise. Normally he'd wait out the respawn and keep playing, but he's got more important things to focus on. "No, not really. I know how to throw a bunch of stuff in a pot or dish until it's food."

He gets a proper look at Phil while he peeks in the oven and feels even more like maybe he should have gotten dressed.

It's not like he's dressed up nicely or anything - he's wearing the corgi jumper that he interviewed Dan in and a pair of Vans that are surely on their last legs - but the fact that he is dressed gives him a head start on Dan. He looks a little tired, and Dan wonders if it's comfort or a distinct lack of it that has Phil's shoulders hunched forward more than usual.

"It smells good," Phil informs him, smiling a bit. "You didn't have to do that, y'know."

"Shut up, I wanted to," says Dan.

"I don't think I've come home to food cooking since I lived with my parents," Phil says, his hands inside out in his jean pockets. "I, uh, better not get used to it, huh?"

That definitely is a problem. The elephant in the room, that Dan can't just stay here forever. Dan sighs and stands, carefully stepping around the sofa so he doesn't trip on Thor. He comes close to wrap his arms around Phil's shoulders, smiling when Phil immediately takes hold of his waist like they're dancing.

"Hi, Phil," Dan mocks softly. "Good to see you, how was your day?"

Phil laughs. "Alright. Better now."

"Good," says Dan, and then he kisses Phil. It hasn't even been a full day since he did it last, but he hums and arches into it like it's been months.

They're making up for preemptive lost time. Dan is distracted, though, even when Phil licks into his mouth and pulls him closer. He can't stop thinking about the call he'd made to Amy earlier, the things his agent had said to him.

Netflix announces renewals and cancellations whenever it pleases, not on any sort of set schedule, so Dan will have to live in limbo for a little while. Amy doesn't know how long, exactly, but she promised him to at least find him a British film or series to do in the space between seasons. She called him an idiot, but she agreed to it.

Dan is wondering if he should tell Phil about that conversation. He spends half a minute tossing the possibilities around in his head while Phil sucks on his tongue, his lip.

This is so stupid. Dan pulls back from the kiss. He laughs a bit and puts a palm on Phil's chest to stop him from coming back for more. It warms Dan, knowing that Phil doesn't want to stop kissing him.

"Down, boy," he jokes, and Phil rolls his eyes.

"I don't like this habit you have of interrupting us," says Phil. His cool hands slip under Dan's borrowed Friends shirt. His thumbs trace mirroring shapes just under Dan's ribcage. Now that is distracting. "You could just let me keep kissing you."

"I could," Dan agrees. "But I've got shit to say, y'know?"

Phil grins at him, exasperated in a way that Dan thinks he could get used to. "I've noticed, Dan, that you always have shit to say. And I'd love to listen. Any other time."

"Rude," says Dan. There's no real heat to it, since Phil is right. "It's just that I almost didn't tell you something important because I didn't want to get your hopes up or sound like a freak, and then I remembered the disaster that not talking became last time, so, fuck it."

Even though he's already had experience with watching Phil's eyes go neutral and guarded, it's still a bit of a weird thing to watch happen up close.

It's not even that Phil is a particularly good actor, it's just that he's clearly so practiced in hiding his reactions to things that he can switch it on in an instant. Dan huffs a bit and pokes at Phil's cheek.

"None of that," he scolds.

"None of what?" Phil asks. He's smiling now, though. "What's so important?"

"I talked to my agent," says Dan. "Things are up in the air until we know if we're getting a fourth season, but. I'm thinking about moving to London if we aren't."

Phil's smile goes absolutely blinding, but he sounds suspicious when he says, "Really? That's something you want?"

"I always wanted to live here," Dan says with a little shrug. "Just got lucky in America and ended up staying. Nothing specific was really drawing me back here, I just knew London was always a 'someday' thing. Every time I come back for Christmas I remember how much I like it here." Dan pauses, then jokes, "It's not all about you, y'know."

It kind of is. The timing of it, at least, but Phil doesn't have to know that.

"Yeah, alright," Phil says, outright beaming at Dan now. "Makes sense to me, it's a way better place to live than Atlanta."

Dan laughs. "Atlanta is fine, you jealous bitch."

"I guess," says Phil. He presses a couple of soft kisses to Dan's jaw. Dan is ready to get carried away again before he adds, "It must be hard being so far from your family, as well. You'll get to see them more."

He knows that Phil is only trying to motivate him into staying without actively using himself as a reason, but Dan still grimaces.

"I'll probably see them about the same amount, honestly," he says. "Except my grandma, I'm sure I'll have tea with her every once in a while."

"Don't be silly, I'm sure they'd be excited," says Phil.

That's a very easy thing for Phil to say. Dan can't help the face he pulls at the idea of his family being excited that he's nearby. "They really won't. My parents aren't like yours, Phil, and my brother definitely isn't."

Phil cocks his head and blinks. Dan almost laughs at how eerily similar the action looks to Thor's confusion.

"Well, I know nobody's family is perfect," Phil says, squeezing Dan's waist. "I just figured you'd like to be closer to them."

"No," Dan says honestly. "I mean, it's not like it's a reason not to live in London. Where I am in relation to my family doesn't really affect my decision either way, TBH."

He kind of expects Phil to keep arguing with him about it. Dan only reached out to his mum about getting together in the first place after Phil got all disapproving about how little Dan sees them. Maybe he just takes Dan's word for it this time, though, because all he says is an easy, "Okay."

That's all it takes, really. Phil's agreement, even if he doesn't understand. Dan has already told this guy more about himself than anyone else he knows, and he can feel the words bubbling uncomfortably in his throat.

"I don't actually want to talk about this," says Dan, "but, like, okay, I came out to my family and only some of them are handling it well."

Actual understanding dawns on Phil's face, and he just nods.

"We won't talk about it, then," he says. Like it's that simple. "Let's eat. I'm gonna take Thor to the park afterwards if you want to come with us."

Dan leans in for a grateful kiss that lingers a bit too long. Phil's hands travel further up his shirt, tracing along Dan's ribs and making him shiver. "Thanks," he murmurs into the barely-there space between their mouths. "I'll come with you guys."

For as long as Dan has known about commitment issues, he's known that he has them. With personal projects, with schoolwork, with his own sense of self. It's hard for him to settle on something, harder still to follow through. He's felt it with the women he's dated, too, but he'd already known there was an underlying issue that made it impossible for him to say, 'yeah, okay, this could be something I do long-term'.

Now he's making out with a man who he's pretty sure is his boyfriend, even if they hadn't actually said that word, talking about sharing dinner and dog walks and clothes, and Dan has never done this before, and he knows that he's committing to something just by being here right now.

He waits for that moment of panic so he can whack it aside with some logic, but. It never comes.

Huh.

--

When they head to bed later that night, it isn't because Phil has almost passed out on the sofa again. They'd been ignoring a film for about an hour to snog, and Phil's perpetually cold hands had started wandering about five minutes into that.

Dan had managed to handle Phil's hands under his shirt, in his hair, on his thighs, even brushing the side of his neck, all without major issues. When Phil had decided to outright grope his ass through his too-tight jeans, though, Dan's brain had short circuited. So he'd dragged Phil across the room and pulled him down in a tangle of limbs and laughter as they accidentally elbowed and kneed at each other.

They're not exactly graceful people, but Dan can't complain much with Phil's hands in his back pockets and Phil's mouth on his jaw.

Dan's breathing already feels too loud in the softly lit room, small windows not letting much background noise through at all, and Phil isn't even doing much of anything to him yet.

The part of Dan's brain that exists only to remind him that he's attracted to men has literally never been so loud. He'd foolishly assumed that admitting it to himself and other people would shut it the fuck up, but instead it is outright screaming at him.

You're so fucking gay! it reminds him, as if it's yodeling from the top of a mountain.

Yeah, Dan thinks, he is, he's aware, he's currently straddling a guy he really likes and mouthing at his neck to try and get his breathing as ragged as Dan's is. He doesn't need the commentary.

Still, it keeps shouting, and it only gets louder when Phil tangles one hand in his hair and tugs him back up for an open-mouthed kiss.

He's kissing you! AmazingPhil is kissing you! that part of his mind is chanting, and in the short break between their lips meeting, Dan can't help but murmur a, "Shut up."

Phil pauses. Dan realises he's said that out loud and promptly wants to die.

"I didn't say anything," says Phil. His voice is low and amused, and Dan feels a renewed spark of heat up his spine.

"Not you," Dan says.

Raising his eyebrows, Phil makes a point to look around the flat as best he can without dislodging Dan from his hips. "Uh huh. Y'know, I always knew this place was haunted. I just figured I'd be the one to make friends with the ghosts."

"You're ridiculous," says Dan, but he can't stop himself from smiling.

"I'm not the one talking to ghosts," says Phil.

"I'm not taking to ghosts, Phil, I'm talking to myself. My brain won't shut off, it's so fucking loud right now."

Phil laughs, but he doesn't seem like he's making fun of Dan. He twirls his finger around one of Dan's curls and grins up at him. "I can help with that," he says. In case there were any doubt about what he means, Phil squeezes Dan's ass. "Bet I could make your brain be quiet."

"Yeah?" Dan grins and noses at Phil's jaw. "Yeah, alright, do your worst."

"What do you want?" Phil asks, using his light grip on Dan's hair to make Dan look at him. Dan personally thinks he could tug harder, but they can talk about that when Dan has to pull up a PowerPoint presentation on his kinks.

That's not an easy question. Dan wants everything, whatever Phil's got on offer. He shrugs.

"Honestly," says Dan, "I'm even easier about sex than I am about food."

"This has not been easy," Phil grumbles, good-natured about it. Dan cackles in response. Not a very attractive sound, but Phil doesn't seem to mind. He just smiles.

"Okay, yeah, fair enough," says Dan. "You know what I mean. You can make that call, I believe in you. Although, for you to make an informed decision, you should know I haven't showered since..." He trails off, frowning.

"Not a good sign that you can't remember," Phil laughs. He doesn't seem anxious the way he has when Dan pushes him in the past, but maybe he's just feeling the same loose vulnerability that's making Dan go mad with it. Phil hums and toys with Dan's hair. "Uh, alright, you wanna maybe fuck me?"

The suggestion being somehow both unsure and totally blunt makes Dan laugh, and then Phil is ducking giggles into Dan's collarbone, too.

"How is that a question?" Dan grins. "Sure I do."

Phil is grinning back at him, bright and beautiful, and Dan has to lean in and connect their lips again for a long moment. "Mm, you wanna grab the stuff from the loo, then? And put Thor in there while you're at it."

"Why do I have to?"

"You're on top of me."

"I don't have to be. You go put the dog away."

"No, you should - okay," Phil cuts himself off with a laugh and takes his hand off Dan's ass to hold it up between them in a fist. "Rock, paper, scissors you for it?"

As Dan proceeds to lose two of three - and then three of five, and then five of seven when he keeps complaining about not being in the Zone - it occurs to him that this whole thing feels ridiculous.

It's not a bad thing. Dan hasn't had silly sex in a very, very long time. He's certainly never had sex with someone he trusts quite as much as he trusts Phil. He's trying not to think about that too hard when he lures Thor into the bathroom with treats and his favourite toy, because he doesn't want to accidentally activate his own fight or flight reflex.

Phil is propped up on his elbows in bed, watching Dan with an absent smile on his face, and Dan remembers seeing him like this when they were drunk together. He'd been sprawled out over Dan's sheets and smirking up at him and Dan hadn't done anything about it.

"God, I'm stupid," Dan breathes, and Phil laughs.

"Yeah," he agrees, even though he can't possibly know what Dan is thinking about. "You just gonna stand there?"

With a rude gesture, Dan tosses the bottle of lube at Phil, who yelps as it almost hits him in the face. Dan finds himself cackling again as he fights to get his ultra-skinny jeans off his legs while he's still standing. He'd put them on to go to the dog park - stayed in the Friends shirt, though, it's very comfortable - but he's regretting that now. Phil's cotton shorts would be way less awkward to shimmy out of.

"Must you watch me do this?" Dan huffs, hopping on one foot as he tries to yank his jeans down over his other ankle. "It's not exactly sexy."

"It's very funny, though," says Phil.

Dan manages to get his jeans and socks off without injury, and then he flops back into bed to help Phil with his own tight jeans.

"We need to rethink our fashion," Dan laughs. Phil is giggling, too, and lifting his hips for Dan, and this is all so fun. Dan had actually forgotten that sex could be fun. His jeans come off easier than Dan's, thank god, and Dan runs his hands over Phil's thighs with a little hum. "Damn, you're pale."

Phil makes an amused, choked-off noise and kicks out at Dan without actually trying to hit him. "Hey, fuck you, you're supposed to say nice stuff to me."

"I'm so sorry, Phil, the beauty of your alabaster legs just drive me crazy," Dan simpers, exaggeratedly batting his eyelashes. He's being a dick about it, but the sentiment behind the words are true enough. Phil's got nice legs, nice thighs, a nice semi in his nice boxers. Dan brushes his fingers in a way that's probably ticklish and laughs when Phil kicks his shin for real. "Fucking ow, do you want me to tell you how hot you are or not?"

"You're so annoying," Phil informs him, and then he's sitting up to take his shirt off and Dan's mouth goes dry for real.

"Oh," he says, shifting further up the bed so he can flick his thumb over the metal bar in Phil's left nipple. He hadn't really expected that from Phil. Dan blinks, trying to get his brain back online. "Why didn't you get both?'

Whatever Phil was expecting him to say, it wasn't that. He sits there for a moment, stumped, the pads of Dan's fingers curiously poking at his nipple. It doesn't seem like it's very sensitive. Dan wonders if that's from the piercing or if Phil just doesn't have sensitive nipples. He wonders how long this piercing has been here - it hadn't been, back when he was an avid AmazingPhil subscriber, and Phil hasn't taken his shirt off for YouTube in years.

Then, Phil shrugs. "You only get one pierced, don't you?"

"I think most people get both," Dan says, but he's talking on autopilot right now. He shakes his head, tries to clear it. "Fucking symmetry or whatever, yeah?"

"I guess," Phil says. He doesn't shrug again, but his broad, bare shoulders twitch like they want to. He's got freckles and beauty marks on his shoulders and arms and torso, and Dan wants to get his mouth on every single one.

"No offense," says Dan, "but I really didn't peg you as the piercing type."

Phil smirks a bit. "Wow, the MySpace boy I was trying so hard to be is crying right now. Yeah, I dunno, it was one of the really impulsive things I did a couple years ago. Getting Thor was one of those, I think I told you about that."

He had. Dan remembers it, vaguely, remembers wondering if Phil was hiding a tattoo under his clothes.

"Did it hurt?"

"Not as much as I expected," says Phil. "And definitely not as much as my other ones did."

Dan narrows his eyes and looks Phil over, dubious. Phil isn't wearing anything but a pair of boxer briefs with sushi print on them, and Dan can't see any more metal or healing holes on him. Phil's little smirk only grows while Dan looks him over carefully. "Stop fucking with me, you don't have more piercings."

Phil raises an eyebrow and his hips in a synchronicity that Dan didn't know his body possessed. Dan swallows, hard, can hear his heart pounding as it rushes all the blood in his brain south and makes him a little dizzy.

The room is quiet and still and too hot for a long beat. Then, Dan pulls his borrowed shirt off and chucks it somewhere over his shoulder so that the cool air of the basement can stop him from overheating. He slides his fingers under the hem of Phil's boxers and pulls them down his long legs, unable to stop himself from dropping a kiss to one of Phil's very pale thighs as he does.

"Fuck," Dan breathes. He nips at Phil's thigh a bit, making the muscles there jerk. "Alright, so I can see how that would hurt more."

Phil's cock is pretty and thick, which Dan suspected but had no way of knowing, and it's also got two piercings in it. Dan knows the name of the one, a Prince Albert ring right at the tip of Phil's dick, but he has no idea what the other is called.

He has to touch them, of course. He wraps his hand around Phil's cock and rubs his thumb back and forth over the ring, watching Phil's face carefully as he does.

"Dan," is all Phil says, but his voice has gone low and his eyes have gone dark, so Dan figures he's doing something right.

"What the hell is this?" Dan has to ask, trailing his fingers down Phil's cock to nudge at the bar through the bottom of it, right above his balls. "Like, what is it called? Also, why did you do this? Also, also, I want to suck your dick now."

Phil laughs, throaty and dark, and that doesn't help Dan's situation at all.

"You only grabbed one condom," he points out, waving the wrapper in Dan's face. "So you can either fuck me or suck me off, your call."

"I don't need a condom to suck your dick," says Dan.

Somehow, even with Dan's hand idly stroking him and playing with the piercings, Phil manages to roll his eyes. "You do. I'm not giving you a safe sex lecture, Dan, either make up your mind or go get another condom."

Dan sulks, but he doesn't bother arguing. He hasn't actually heard Phil be so strongly opinionated about something before. There's not a hint of hesitation or anxiety in telling Dan what he wants, and Dan likes that too much to bicker over something as miniscule as a condom.

"Fine," he sighs, sitting up between Phil's legs and letting go of his dick.

"Aw, Dan," Phil lightly mocks. He reaches out and pets Dan's hair, which Dan is only a little embarrassed to lean into. "It's like you don't even know that getting tested together can be third base for gay people."

"Well, I don't know," Dan huffs. He's a little prickly and defensive about the teasing, but Phil smiles at him so softly that he melts all over again. "It's been a while, okay? And it's not like any of us were the smartest bulbs about this shit in uni."

With a sympathetic little hum of a noise, Phil pulls Dan up by the hair to kiss him. It's slow and lingering and Dan's body is pressed against Phil's with the angle, only his thin Calvins in the way of them sliding together. When Phil pulls back, Dan is the one who gets stopped from leaning in for more.

"Sorry," Phil says, quiet and sincere and still smiling. "I really will talk about why it's important to me later, but right now I just really need you to put your stupidly big hands to work."

Another request, no hesitation. Dan is only too happy to oblige.

Dan has never fingered another guy before. The rare times, back in the day, that he hadn't been craving something inside him to ease that constant tension he carried around with him, Dan's sexual partners had just done the task themselves.

Still, it's not rocket science. He's had his fingers in women and in himself before, how different could it be?

Too much lube and a wrist cramp later, Dan is getting the hang of things. He's using his right hand on Phil so his left wrist can take a break, pushing and prodding deep with his longest fingers to coax drawn-out noises from Phil's pretty lips. Dan kisses him, rocks against his hip, murmurs absolute nonsense into his ear that he'll feel embarrassed about when he isn't so fucking turned on. He hasn't managed to consistently hit Phil's prostate or anything but Phil doesn't seem to mind. He's grinding into Dan's hand, biting his lip hard, murmuring, "That's it, you've got it, c'mon, give me another."

"Yeah, alright," Dan breathes, carefully pressing another finger into him and shuddering at the way Phil's back arches into it.

This is easily the hottest thing he's ever done, and that might be pathetic if it wasn't so obvious that nothing else could even come close to this. Phil doesn't bother telling Dan when he's ready, he just shoves the condom into Dan's free palm and wraps a hand around himself.

"Not getting any younger, here," Phil says on a little pant, and Dan realises that he's just been staring.

"Right, fuck, okay."

Dan's fingers shake a bit, but he manages to get his boxers off and his cock ready without any incidents - aside from another mean twinge in his left wrist. He waits and just looks at Phil again, spread legs and long neck and all gorgeous man, and Phil's eyelashes flutter as he tugs lightly on one of his piercings, fuck.

"C'mon," Phil urges again, hooking a lanky leg over Dan's hip to pull him closer.

"It's gonna be like that, is it?" Dan laughs breathlessly. He hoists Phils body up by his thighs for a better angle and keeps a hand on Phil's ass to hold him there. "Fucking pillow princess, I should have guessed."

"Whatever, Dan," says Phil. He seems very distracted by Dan lining his cock up and slowly, so slowly, pressing inside of him. Phil groans then, the loudest noise he's made yet, and rocks his hips to take more of Dan's cock than Dan is giving him. "Not gonna fucking break, c'mon."

"Jesus, Phil," Dan half-laughs, half-moans. "So demanding. Feel so good, though, shit, I can't stay in Atlanta, I can't not have this all the - fuck - all the time."

It just kind of slips out, the way everything Dan babbles during sex slips out, but Phil is nodding along anyway, wrapping his arms around Dan's shoulders to pull him down into a messy kiss.

The wet noises where they're joined should be comical, maybe, all squelching lube and skin slapping against skin as Dan starts to fuck into Phil properly, but Dan is too focused on the breathy noises escaping from their kiss to care. This is just what sex sounds like - this is what sex with Phil sounds like, and Dan could really get used to that.

Phil's heel digs into the small of Dan's back to urge him on until, presumably, his leg gets tired or cramped and he wraps them both around Dan's hips instead. They gasp into each other's mouths at the slight change in angle, and Dan's hips snap forward.

If Phil weren't sucking on his tongue right now, Dan would be prattling on and moaning loud and generally making an idiot of himself. He feels the telltale sensation of heat in his gut that means there's an orgasm at the finish line, he just needs to get there.

Dan plants a hand on the bed and lifts Phil's lower body a bit more with the other, moaning absolute nonsense into Phil's mouth as he thrusts a little harder and faster to try and get Phil where he is.

A whine reverberates through Dan's body as Phil makes the noise with his teeth on Dan's lower lip, and then Dan can feel the rhythmic nudges of Phil's knuckles against his stomach as he jacks himself off, fast, because he's close too and Dan can tell. Dan wants to wait it out, he does, but Phil feels too good around his cock for him to hold out any longer. His orgasm hits and he groans like he’s been punched in the stomach, burying his face into Phil’s neck as he does.

He hears Phil say, "Fuck, okay, just stay there," and stays deep inside of him, pressing wet kisses to his neck and grinding his hips in little circles until Phil gets his, too, toes curling against the backs of Dan's thighs with a quiet groan and one hand gripping his hair so tight that Dan sees stars.

Dan presses a soft kiss to Phil's jaw and carefully pulls out of him to flop onto his back, trying to get his breathing back to a regular rate. He's seriously unfit when he isn't filming, his personal trainer would be so furious about all the Domino's he's been eating. He laughs at the thought of his trainer's angry face and then he's just giggling, throwing an arm over his face to hide from Phil's curious eyes.

"I think you fucked me stupid," Dan tells him through the giggles, and Phil responds with a low chuckle.

Arms are wrapped around Dan's waist and a line of kisses are dropped along his collarbone. "Hey, now," says Phil, his voice low and fucked out, "I can't take credit for that. You were stupid when you got here."

"Oi," Dan laughs, shoving at him. If they had more energy, they'd probably roll around until all the mocking words are just breathless laughter, but as it is they just manage to elbow each other a few times and then curl closer. It's quiet for a few minutes, just holding each other close and letting their hands brush softly over each other's skin.

Then, Phil yawns.

"Okay," he says, like he's psyching himself up. "Contacts out. Dog out. Pants on."

"That last one seems optional," Dan says, waggling his eyebrows. Phil laughs and swats at his chest.

"You," says Phil, swatting the same spot again for good measure, "condom off, pants on."

"What is this pants agenda you're pushing on me?" Dan hums into Phil's hair. It smells sweet, like some kind of berry. "I'm not sure I'm interested in these pants you speak of."

Phil laughs and pulls away to stretch all his long limbs out. Dan takes the opportunity to shamelessly check him out again, admiring the glints of metal that the majority of the world doesn't get to see. "You will be. Thor's going to want to cuddle after we locked him up."

He watches Phil as he searches his room for clean boxers, wolf-whistling when he bends down and laughing at the finger he gets in return.

"Yeah, okay," says Dan. He feels a smile spread across his face before he even thinks about it. Yeah. This is what he wants. This is what, for some godforsaken reason, he's been allowed to have.

[niall-is-my-dream]

You & Me - Part Eighteen

2600 words

19th November 2017

Standing backstage waiting for the winner to be announced of New Artist of the Year at the American Music Awards was one of the worst things you had ever done. 

In the build up to it, you had been to the loo at least five times. When you were nervous you had a constant need to pee. You had a nauseous feeling in the pit of your stomach, you slowly sipped water from a bottle to try and relieve it.

Niall was sat out in the seating area, waiting to hear if he had won or not. His nerves had been evident the last few days, even more so while he was getting ready. He'd had his team with him, getting him suited and booted, ready to walk the red carpet. You were so incredibly proud of him.

You'd seen some messages online asking if you were going to walk the red carpet with him. People had obviously seen the pictures of you both in New York. Fans had begun speculating even more about you both. Niall was performing Slow Hands tonight, so you had that to deal with, and you definitely weren't ready to go public like that. Yes, you'd appeared on his social media a couple of times, but that was as much as you both wanted to share. The comments on the posts had been mainly positive, with only a few nasty ones.

When his name was called out amongst the nominees, he got the biggest scream from the audience. You of course were backstage fangirling over him with Tara and the whole crew and band. When he stood up after being announced as the winner, he hugged Shawn Mendes, Mully and Olly Murs who he had been sitting with, before making his way up to the stage. 

Everyone backstage was going crazy, jumping up and down in excitement of his win. You pulled out your phone, typing him a quick message which you knew he obviously wouldn't see right away, but you wanted him to see it at some point.

"So proud of you. I love you with all my heart xxx"

With the event coming to a close soon, you quickly worked as a team to pack up the equipment following Nialls performance. You were heading off on the 370 mile drive to Phoenix, travelling overnight ready for the show there tomorrow. Niall would be going to an after party and staying at his L.A. house for the night, before flying to Phoenix in the morning. He had tried to make you stay with him, but you had once again insisted on travelling with the crew. Tour was nearly over with just two dates left, Phoenix and San Francisco. You'd be arriving for the last show there a day before, so could celebrate with him that evening just the two of you.

You did feel bad about leaving him that night, but you had to be professional and go with the crew. Plus you wanted him to go and celebrate with his friends without the worry of you both being photographed.

He came up behind you as you were stood by the crew tour bus, pinching your hips and making you yelp with surprise. 

"Jesus Niall!" You said clutching your heart and playfully pushing him away.

He looked absolutely gorgeous in his suit this evening, you would need to congratulate Ellie for her amazing taste when you saw her. All the crew were congratulating Niall and talking about the evening.

 "Martin, can I steal Callie for a few minutes before you guys leave?"

 "Yeah of course, but no funny business!" Martin replied laughing.

 "I promise!" Niall said.

Making your way to Nialls tour bus, you had barely made it up the steps before his lips were on yours. Reaching your hands up around his neck you were careful not to run your fingers in his hair and ruin Sienrees work. His hands were wandering up and down your sides before he reached around and gave your bum a squeeze causing you to smile against his mouth.

"Needed that to keep me going until tomorrow." He whispered against your lips.

"Mmmm me to. This suit looks fucking amazing on you."

He laughed before leaning in for another kiss.

You continued to kiss for a few more minutes before you pulled away, resting your forehead against his.

 "I'm going to miss you Petal. Are you sure I can't persuade you to come to the party with me and then stay at mine?" He asked, as he kissed you along your neck, nipping your ear.

 "Niall........" You managed to mumble out. "You know I can't, I have to go with the crew and then get set up for tomorrow. It needs to be done before you arrive."

"I'm sure we could work something out. Or would you really prefer to sleep on a bus rather than next to my naked self?" He said smiling.

"Hmmmm Niall you know what I'd prefer, you don't even need to ask." 

"So come with me.....don't make me beg." 

"I can't babe, it's my job. I can't leave the crew to do my work just because you want me naked in your bed."

 "I just wanted to celebrate with my favourite girl." He said as he continued to pepper kisses along your neck and jaw.

 "I know you do." You smiled. "I'm sorry, but we will have to celebrate together when we are in San Francisco. We've got the whole day before the show to do some sightseeing and then the whole evening in a hotel, just you & me."

"Been dreaming about it already." He whispered.

"Such a filthy boy." You laughed.

"I tell you all the time, the things you do to me." He said, as he kissed you deeply again.

When you finally emerged from the tour bus 5 minutes later, you were completely flustered and Niall looked smug about it.

With another quick kiss and lots of I love yous before you left, you boarded the tour bus with the crew and jumped on the road to Phoenix.

 "We're hiring bikes?!" You asked Niall as you pulled up outside the rental shop in Sam Francisco. "That's the surprise?!"

"Yeah, is that ok?" He asked unsure of your reaction.

"Hell yeah, that'll be a great way to see everything!" You replied smiling.

With Mark, the band and Adam and Kyle from the crew you all got yourselves sorted with safety helmets and suitable bikes. Tara had found a cycle route for you all to take and had given Mark the instructions, trusting none of the others to be able to navigate it.

You spent the afternoon cycling along the route she had suggested, pausing only to take a group selfie in front of the Golden Gate Bridge. Niall snuck a selfie of you both too and a cheeky kiss since there was no one else around.

"Just because we all know about you two now, doesn't mean we want to see the smooching!" Gerry had called out and everyone laughed.

By the time you got back to the bike rental place you were all shattered. Your legs were definitely aching and so was your bum. It had been a long time since you had cycled like that. Spending twenty minutes on a spinning bike at the gym was easy compared to spending nearly three hours on a bike.

When you got back to the hotel you all decided to grab a quick dinner with each other. Not even bothering to go to your rooms to shower first, you all sat looking exhausted at the dinner table.

Conversation was light and full of talk about the amazing sights you'd seen today. This was the type of day that Niall had wanted when he visited cities around the world. To finally be able to explore where he was and see the real city, not just the venue he performing at or the tv station where an interview was.

You picked a homemade bacon burger and a beer to have, taking a photo of the massive thing and sending it to Bex with a thumbs up emoji. The ride had made you completely ravenous and your tummy had been rumbling for the last hour.

Everyone made their excuses and went to their rooms after you'd all eaten, all of you tired after your busy afternoon. Niall called the front desk when you got back up to your room asking them to send up some wine. You went into the bathroom and upon spotting the massive jacuzzi bath big enough for two, you started to run the water. When you emerged a few minutes later, you had stripped off all your clothes.

Niall's eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw you leaning against the door frame, and he instantly made his way over to you.

"Fancy a bath to ease that knee of yours?" You asked him, as he ran his fingers up and down your skin.

"Definitely." He smirked. "Go get comfy in there while I wait for the wine."

When you both finally sank into the bath, wine glasses sitting on the edge, you let out a massive sigh. Pressing the button for the bubbles to start made you sigh again and Niall gave you another of his smirks.

"You ok over there love?!" He asked from the opposite end of the tub.

"Mmmmmm." You replied, eyes closed, head tipped back. This was complete heaven after your bike ride today.

"Your boobs are amazing." He suddenly mumbled. You opened your eyes to find him taking a sip of his wine, his gaze set on your boobs that were bouncing up and down in the water.

Biting your lip down, feeling slightly embarrassed. You didn't reply anything, just reached over and took your own wine from the side and taking a long sip.

 "So......last show tomorrow. Has your first tour been everything you hoped it would be?"

"Been better than I could've wished for, especially with having you by my side." He smiled at you as you blushed.

"Next year will be even better." He added. "More shows, more travelling."

"It's going to be amazing, I'm hoping to be able to see loads more cities, do a bit of sightseeing again if we can."

"Definitely."

You spent the next twenty minutes discussing where you wanted to visit and what you wanted to see.

"Maybe we can get a couple of holidays in before all the madness of tour starts again?" He said.

"Yeah, sounds good. Any ideas?"

"Well I have to go to Dubai for a golf thing in January, so if you wanted you could come too. Maybe we could spend a few days out there sunning ourselves?"

"Like the sound of that!" You grinned.

"What are your plans for when this tour ends? Have you got any other work lined up?" He asked.

"No, I haven't. I'm fully contracted to you, so can't work for anyone else until that ends in 13 months time."

"Really?" He replied quirking up his eyebrow.

"Yeah, why does that surprise you?" You smiled.

"Doesn't surprise me, just like the fact that you won't be away working for someone else." He said, a massive smile on his face.

"Well, they pay me a monthly salary while I'm contracted to you, so I don't actually need to work for anyone else."

"So, the first part of my original question was do you have any plans while on the break?"

 "I don't really.......why?" You questioned, nervous about what he was asking.

"Just trying to decide if it's really selfish of me to ask you to give up your time off and follow me around or not?"

You hadn't expected him to say that. You knew that just because tour had ended that didn't mean that he had a complete break from work commitments. He had mentioned something about Paris and a Paul Smith meeting when you'd been sitting having lunch with Ellie a few weeks ago. Niall had also been talking with Tara about paperwork he might need for his work trip to Dubai. 

If you were honest, you would travel whenever he wanted you to. That pull towards him was getting stronger each day. And you knew if the tables were turned, he would follow you to. You decided to have a little fun with him about it first.

"Hmmm, depends." You replied, trying to keep a straight face.

"Depends on what?!" 

"On what I get in return?"

His eyebrows quirked at that.

"So, there are conditions of you coming to Dubai and L.A. with me?"

"Most definitely." You said taking a sip of your wine.

"Such as?" You loved how his face had a look of total confusion on it, he was definitely curious to what you would say next.

"I'd like to see that cute bum of yours naked everyday for a start."

"Ok, but only if I can see yours." He replied laughing. "What else?"

"A date night at least once a week." You said stretching out your legs a bit more.

"Of course." He nodded. "Think that would be amazing to be able to go on proper dates together all the time."

"On a more serious note though, I do want to spend some time with Bex. And I don't want you turning down time out with your friends for me. I don't want to be one of those couples."

"I get that. Anything else?"

You shook your head. "No."

"Deal."

"We can go over your diary and work out a plan when tour ends." You added.

"Yeah, we need to sort out Christmas anyway."

"Christmas?"

"I've got a flight booked for the evening of the 23rd, I always go back to Ireland then."

With a hectic tour and all the crap with Saskia you had been dealing with, you hadn't even thought about Christmas. When would you see each other? What did he normally do over the holiday season?

"I'm not wanting to presume anything but I would like to spend some of the holidays with you, if you want that is?" He said.

"I'd like to spend some time with you too. I'll talk to my parents in the next couple of days."

"Sounds good."

"Mmmmmm, can we just stay in here forever." You said, sinking down into the jacuzzi bath.

"I'm up for that!" He replied sinking further into the bath as well. "You know, I've never really been a bath person, but I think I might get me one of these for my bathroom."

"Babe, baths are the best."

 "Never been a fan of sitting in my own filthy water."

"Hey, the water is not filthy!"

"It is! When you wash in a shower it goes down the drain. In a bath you sit in it! You know that's true."

You shook your head at his insults of baths.

"Only thing filthy in here Niall, is you." You muttered.

"Not going to lie love, I haven't stopped looking at your boobs. Bit gutted you've moved under the water more, can't see them as well."

"Told you........you're filthy!"

"You're the one tickling my balls with your toe Petal." He replied, his head laying back against the edge of the bath, eyes closed.

You splashed him then and watched his face screw up as the water hit his face. Running his hand down his face, he wiped the water from his eyes.

"You're going to get it now!" He laughed as he sat up and moved towards you, a devilish look in his eyes.

Part Nineteen

https://niall-is-my-dream.tumblr.com/post/183885038168/you-me-part-nineteen

Tag list

@niallersdirtylaundry

@youvegotyourvictory

@fireawayniall

@sugarwithlilspice

@juicyfruitlove

@ihearthemcallingforyou

@klairelavarias

@lizziespidiepridie

@irishfireandice

@someoneunimportantxx

@awomanindeniall

@loulouloueh

@sing-me-a-song-harry

@niallergirl1d

@niallspeachybooty​

@roseytattoo

[chisie12]

Gency Week Day 4: Morning Glory/Affection

A little late for Day 4 but I do hope you enjoy! 

Just some notes: Meine Maus is German for 'My mouse', a small term of endearment. Jungspunde (if you've seen it in Dance of Silver) just means 'youngster' These might also be spelled wrong. My fav German is currently asleep. So mistakes are on me.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19071907/chapters/45535678

Day 4: Desire and Desiderium

The last week's event with the daffodils had been successful. The limited time food and drinks were quite a hit with the customers. Upon opening the cafe, she picked up the mail in the mailbox on the way, dropped them onto the counter and begun the early setup. She worked silently and efficiently, not a single word of complaint escaping. She was happy to be able to put her back into this, to the point she hummed a small tune. The melodious sound echoed in the empty cafe and unbeknownst to her, a shadow was watching her the whole time. But he never showed himself, at least not until a little later.

Dawn had just broken when she finished putting the chairs down and a cheerful voice broke the comfortable silence.

“Good morning, Angela!”

“A very good morning to you too, Mei,” the blonde grinned and they started cooperating on getting the cafe ready. Angela entered the kitchen, preparing the ingredients that needed to be used that day as Mei checked on the machines that they would use for the drinks.

“Last week was really fun!” Mei giggled, bending over the counter on the tip of her toes. With a flick of her finger, the switch to the coffee machine was turned on. “We should hold another event like that again!”

“I agree!” Angela’s laughter drifted out from the open kitchen door.

“Have you seen the posts online?”

“No?”

That’s when Angela suddenly found herself — after finding her phone and opening the social media applications — grinning at the comments she read online.

“Homemade Swiss chocolates. Definitely not for children unless you want to put them to sleep!” A user posted a picture of chocolate drops finely presented on a porcelain plate. Each chocolate was different, some were spherical, some dome-shaped and white one was heart-shaped. By its side, fresh, cut strawberries decorated them, a chocolate drizzle lightly covering the juicy redness.

A commenter responded below the picture: “Oh my God. Did she draw the angel around the chocolates?”

Because right on the other side of the fruits, an angel in dark chocolate was drawn embracing the alcoholic sweetness.

“Yes, she did!”

Users, especially young teenagers, who found out of the event the week after were feeling utter regret. How did they not find out about this café sooner? And those flowers around the cafe! Warm lighting! Perfect Instantgram photos!

Pride swelled up within the blonde café owner. Her hard work had paid off! Those angels were not easy to draw, especially when 60% of her customers requested it and only she knew how. She scrolled down further on the social media results of the café’s social media tag, upon which she spotted the handiwork of Mei herself.

“Mei! Come look at this!” She yelled out to Mei who was busy concocting another iced drink in the kitchen. The Chinese girl popped her head out as Angela brought the phone over to her.

“Oh, I haven’t seen this!” Mei exclaimed and she read out loud, "Mei's ice cream rolls! Made on the spot! Do you feel your mouth watering now?”

In the picture was the image of cookies and cream ice cream rolls placed in a glass sundae cup held up by beautifully manicured nails, with similar flavoured Pocky sticks further adorning the creamy sweetness.

"You were at Mercy's Apothecary?! Why didn't you bring me!” A user commented with a series of angry emojis.

The two of them giggled at some comments that followed after, feeling immensely proud after such a hectic week. They took a quick breather, simply reading post after post, comment after comment, until one caught their eyes.

“I heard that their menu was designed a little after some of the fallen Overwatch team members. Do you think that’s true?"

“I remember the names Hellfire Shots and Sleep Special in the night drinks menu. Are they some?”

“Their Rum Punch was named ‘It’s High Noon’, I believe.”

“I ate some sandwiches named Grillmaster 77. And I think the Lemon Syrup Tea was called Mountain D.Va? Isn’t D.Va the Korean eSports celebrity who was in the army before joining Overwatch?”

"Do you think she was part of them?”

"She does look a lot like the blonde doctor that used to be on the field!"

Angela’s face contorted into confusion. What were the users saying? She had come up with those names on the fly. Overwatch? She didn’t know anyone from that organisation. The closest person she knew to an agent was Jack, and Genji (Jesse and Lena too), but even he wasn’t from Overwatch. At least, she didn't think so. And she definitely wasn't.

“Angela?”

The blonde woman shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. They’re just speculations. I don’t know what they’re talking about.”

Mei looked on worriedly. “Al…right. If you say so.” She turned back into the kitchen, but not without taking a second glance back. Angela’s eyebrows were furrowed into a deep confusion, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. Her fingers clenched at the phone before she clicked it off.

Speculations? They're not speculations at all.

‘Why would Angela be confused? What was wrong with their comments?’ Mei sighed inwardly before grabbing the drink she just made and coming back out.

“Here.”

Angela looked up from her thoughts. “Thank you,” she said upon receiving the iced tea.

Mei took the other seat beside Angela behind the counter.

Angela then picked up the letters and looked through them. “There’s one addressed to you.”

“That’s weird? I didn’t set the cafe’s address for anything.” Mei took the letter with a frown as she sipped on her green tea frappuccino. She flipped the letter over. "There's no sender either."

Angela hummed as she opened each letter, the majority being bills that she had to pay. At one letter however, was an enveloped exactly identical to Mei's, down to the font used on the front. Mei originally brushed the letter away, her attention directed more at her phone, but when Angela looked over to compare their envelopes, even she couldn't help but be curious. Tacitly, they simultaneously tore their respective envelope open and picked out the paper folded within.

"Dear Angela, I am pleased to invite you and your Overwatch teammates to attend a specially organised masquerade dinner celebrating your good deeds. The event will take place on the 13th next Friday at Lumiere Hotel. We will also be graced with the appearance of a special guest joining us that evening," Angela muttered under her breath. Below the body were details of the event printed in elegant cursive text.

Feeling a presence peer at her letter, Angela looked up with a quirked eyebrow at Mei. "Oh, it is the same too!"

Huh? Same too? What did she mean by 'too'?

Seeing the inquisitive, baffled expression on Angela's face, Mei was beginning to be convinced that something was wrong with Angela, otherwise why else would she be rough with Genji?; wouldn't react upon seeing Junkrat or Roadhog except for confused silence; upon treating her like merely a colleague when they've shared late nights discussing the effects of climate and weather in relation to cybernetics; upon receiving the overly friendly smile you receive when you weren't good friends yet.

But they were. And have been for years — ever since she joined Overwatch after being thawed out.

"I received the same invitation," Mei waved her letter.

"Overwatch?" Angela tested the words on her tongue, so foreign yet why did it feel so familiar at the same time. She'd felt it before, just only a little over four months ago, when she saw his face wrapped around that scarf, the faint scars carved into his skin. It was… just like the time she did with Genji. Her face furrowed into confusion. Wait, if Mei received one too then wasn't she from Overwatch too?

"Yeah, Overwatch," Mei parroted without missing a beat before Angela could question. She contemplated whether to continue or not, to inform Angela that they've gone out into the field together way back when Overwatch still stood tall and proud, but something tugged at her not to say and to not intrude into the matters of others, yet… "Angela, were —"

"G'day, snowflake!" Junkrat slammed the cafe doors open. The maniacal grin dancing on his lips stretched wider when his eyes found their target sitting together with Angela. "How ya doin'!" He bounded over to the women as Roadhog lowered his head to enter the just-tad-too-short doors.

Mei waved Angela to remain sitting while she stood up to attend to their new regular customers. "Good morning, Jamie. What's your order today?"

Junkrat chuckled under his breath and, for the first time Mei saw him, he straightened his spine and leaned back. His hips were pushed forward, thumbs hooked in his pockets and she found herself flicking her gaze onto his remaining fingers. "You."

"Alright! I'll get that —  wait, what?" She had subconsciously jabbered on in routine when his order finally clicked in her mind. "M-Me?"

"Yes, 'flake. You." The slightly crazed man grinned while he watched her reaction, having caught her gaze. "What say you? You, me, on a date?"

Was it just her or was the cafe heating up? Junkrat watched, satisfied at the deep flush her fair cheeks were sporting. Her pink lips parted, only to have her teeth nibble at her bottom lip. The seconds felt like minutes and everything slowed down in that very moment; Angela watched with curiosity deeming proud for a feline, Junkrat puffing out his chest with the pride of a lion, and Mei, poor flabbergasted, confused Mei, simply pinched and played with her fingers. Was he playing a joke on her? If he was, it was such a sick joke! But as she lifted her eyes to glance at him, the shred of sincerity shining in his eyes caused her to flinch. Was it real? It really seemed so real. Should she accept?

‘I mean like, it wouldn’t hurt to right? Maybe? Argh! I don’t know!’ Mei felt as though animated tears streaming down her distraught face as she wished she was holed up in a corner to her thoughts.

This was just too sudden! This wasn’t the Jamie — Junkrat — that she knew! Where did that crazy, maniacal laughing, bubble tea loving pyromaniac go! She’d rather face his usual babble of explosions and threats of blowing this building, that building, or even the park if he could just because some dog peed on his leg (and no, clearly not on the fleshy leg).

As the time ticked by, Junkrat’s confident smile twitched at the corner. It shouldn’t be taking that long to decide would it? Or did she not find him attractive enough? That what? She preferred those stick thing, unreliable Asian men better (with of course, excluding that cyborg ninja Genji and archer Hanzo. Those two could give me one hell of a run if they tried, he scoffed)?

“Uh…”

His ears perked up at the soft voice, just like the little tweet of a nightingale and his eyes sparkled with anticipation. Really, just what could go wrong, right?

Everything, of course.

The door, for the second time that day, opened with the lightest of push, but it was that small creak that sounded especially deafening in the tense silence. In stepped a tall, muscular blond man whose blue eyes first beamed at spotting Angela behind the counter, before falling onto a nervous Mei and a threatening Junkrat.

“You — What are you doing to Mei?” Jack stepped towards Junkrat with a level glare. “You wouldn’t happen to be threatening a waitress, would you?”

“Fuck off, cunt. I was just asking her a question!” Junkrat returned the glare with one of his own. “Fucking ruined the moment!”

Jack ignored his cussing, turning to Mei instead. Gesturing at the angry pyromaniac with a flick of his chin, he asked, “Is that true?”

“U-Uh, yeah. He was,” Mei heaved a mental sigh of relief at seeing a familiar face walk through the door. Oh gosh, she couldn’t even begin imagining what she’d do if unacquainted customers came by!

Jack was about to continue questioning her when a gentle voice cut him off. “It’s alright, Jack. He really wasn’t threatening her.”

At Angela’s reassurance did the agent relax his guard and walk up to the second cashier, to which she stood up to man. He observed her grinning countenance, scanning for any abnormalities, but he found none. ‘So, the letter hasn’t arrived?’ His mind floated towards the ninja that appeared moments before he entered, frowning at the memory. 'Did she see him too?'

Angela paid no heed to his stare and continued gracing him with her smile. “Good morning. You’re not normally in this early, or this often.”

Concluding that it really hasn’t arrived and haven't seen the cyborg ninja, he returned her grin and shook his head. “I just miss you that’s all. I was wondering if you’re free later today after work as I got a day off.”

“Sure, I don’t have anything planned. What did you want to do?” she responded almost immediately.

“Just perhaps a walk in the park? Thought we could both do with a nice change in pace,” he suggested.

“Sounds good to me.”

Junkrat seethed at the side, scowling darkly at the scene and faced Mei again. She half feared that he was going to ask her out again and forced herself to keep smiling. If he asked, she’d reply! If not, then… well. She wasn’t sure?

“Just give me the breakfast set. Roadie will have the same but with more sausages.” Instead, he grumbled under his breath while glaring at the till.

Somehow, just somehow, Mei was disappointed. Was she only worth that much to him? Was it really a joke after all? She carefully took his payment and gave him his order number before quickly entering the kitchen to prepare the meal. Simple dishes like this, she could do, but anything that required more skills, they were normally sent to the kitchen staff on hand or Angela to complete. However just for this meal, just this one, even if she’d deny it in front of others, she wanted to at least make that crazy man his breakfast. Juicy, ripened tomatoes were sliced in half before being lightly seasoned with salt and pepper with a drizzle of olive oil before being baked in the oven. On the frying pan was a couple of thick striped bacon and sausages sizzling away that she flipped over before checking on the simmering pot of water. With a dash of vinegar, she then stirred to create a whirlpool before carefully cracking a fresh large egg into it. She watched in anticipation as the egg whites swirled and danced around the yolk, like a butterfly’s wings cocooning itself.

It didn’t take long to finish the meal. The tomatoes came out first and then poached eggs, and she neatly plated them on a warm porcelain plate. A garden salad was placed on the side with a lemon balsamic tang before the bacon and sausages was put on. She repeated the same on another plate but with added sausages. Once content with everything, she brought out the plates, one in each hand and sauntered towards the table. This time, confidence was oozing out of her every pore and it showed, as Junkrat’s attention was suddenly shifted towards her as he caught her from the corner of his eye. His eyes were locked onto the delicious upward tug of her lips before blinking at the glint in her eyes so bright behind the glasses. He visibly gulped the lump in his throat when he watched her curves dance towards him with mouth-watering meals in her possession.

“Here you go. A breakfast special made especially for you.” The plates lightly thudded on the wooden table and Junkrat was stunned at the smile that she gave him.

He gulped again, somehow noticing that the distance between them was rather short. He could feel the heat that radiated off her body and even when she pulled her hands back to her side, they were made deliberately slow and elegant as she turned to fully face him. “So,” she whispered breathily. Goosebumps tickled his skin when her cold fingertips graced his warm ones gripping the armrest. “Is the date still on?”

“W-Wha?” Incoherent words tumbled off his tongue. What was his Snowflake saying?

Mei grinned cheekily at his response and the confidence building within allowed her to lean forward just by a few inches, enough so that the words rolling off her lips would tickle his ear. “The date. The date you wanted to take me on. When will you take me out?”

The warm breath, so unlike her cold fingertips, caressed his ear and he shivered at the intensity of it all. The words repeated in his mind over and over again, before his mind finally processed it and he felt his lips tug at the corner. His shock vanished like a drop of water in the desert and he returned her gesture, sheer satisfaction blooming at the pinkness that slowly crept upon her cheeks. Leaning on his arm, he closed into her face, the smug smirk playing off his lips. “Oh, babe. We can have a date tonight if you want. Or even right here, right now.” Then, with his free hand, Junkrat lightly traced his thumb over her parted lips with a quick, fluid motion. “Of course, if you rather not, my flames are hot as fuck like the Australian sun and it’ll definitely keep you warm at night.

It was like the kettle going off when the last of his breathy words kissed her lips. Mei’s face flushed entirely red where it rivalled the juiciest ripened red apples, feeling extremely hot to the point she believed steam was about to rise. Just what, why, how, what?

With his smirk widening, Junkrat leaned back and winked. “I’ll see you tonight then, Snowflake.”

With a blink of her eyes, Mei managed to compose herself before smiling sweetly at him. “Okay!”

When Mei walked away, cheeks still a little red and a little flustered, but her steps had a bounce to them. Angela grinned upon seeing that and couldn’t help her eyes wandering over to Jack who was seated by the window, eating his sandwich and reading the news. She too, was pretty eager for tonight.

“Oh, good morning Ana!” Mei chirped when an elderly lady appeared by the door. Her skin was tanned and white hair braided neatly, but unlike normal women, one of her eyes were hidden behind an eyepatch.

“Good morning. I brought the new batch of flowers for this week,” Ana smiled as she held up the pots of morning glory. The royal purples were a beautiful contrast from their dark leaves and a fresh scent immediately wafted around the cafe. “I have the rest in my car.”

Angela beamed at the morning glory. They were absolutely beautiful! And they seemed to have just bloomed as well. Gratefully taking the heavy pot from Ana’s hands, she proceeded to set it down near the door, close enough to be by the entrance but not enough to get destroyed when the door opened (courtesy of a particular fellow).

While Ana turned around to get the other pots, a burly man standing at easily over 2 metres was blocking the doorway. In his thick arms were two large pots of morning glory, the trellises covered with buds in full bloom. “Ana, Meine Maus. You left your car door open.”

Ana grinned lopsidedly at the man. Steps filled with elegance and a deathly vibe, she walked up towards the man and lifted her hand to gently caress his cheek on her tiptoes. The short hairs of his beard tickled her calloused palm. “Why wouldn’t I, my love? I could easily spot you from a mile away.”

Reinhardt, the big old burly man chuckled lovingly at the smaller woman before him. Her head was lowered as she lifted her one eye to blink innocently up at him. “And besides, you wouldn’t let anyone steal a defenceless old woman’s car, would you?”

Her whisper was only audible for him to hear and he couldn’t help guffawing at the bashful, defenceless look she was putting on. Her? Defenceless? Hah! She could easily send someone to meet their father in Heaven if she wanted to!

“And besides, who would steal the car when someone like you was already stealing flower pots out of it?”

His laughter bellowed louder in the cafe. Nimbly, he pecked her on the forehead, the adoration so clear in his gaze. “Oh, Meine Maus. I’m just helping you carry these heavy things.” He knew full well that she could easily handle these pots herself too with all the years having been in the field with her sniper rifle, and gods, that gun was not light to begin with. “I even finished training the Jungspunde as fast as I could, just so I could see you.”

Ana smiled and stepped aside to allow Reinhardt entry, mouthing him a silent ‘thank you’ before turning to Angela. “Tell him where you’d like them.”

She warmed at the scene before her, feeling rather wistful from it all. When would she be able to experience something like that? A simple, comfortable relationship with nothing else that was more important. A sigh slipped from her lips before she stepped forward to instruct Reinhardt on the positioning of the plants. A few customers arrived when the cafe was being transformed into a mini garden once more whom Mei attended to as Angela handled the decorations. It was bittersweet, watching the old couple. Sweet, simple ministrations of small pecks, rubbing of her cheek on his bicep, and unburdened laughter that was so addictive that the others couldn’t help but join in too.

“Thank you.”

Ana and Reinhardt looked up from their seats to smile at Angela who brought a plate of food and a tray of refreshments. Setting the sandwiches down with the drinks, she thanked the couple once more.

“It’s our pleasure, Angie. You’re doing really well with the cafe.” Ana commented, her words tinged with pride.

“It’s a team effort,” Angela responded bashfully. And that was true. Without Jack’s assistance in forming the cafe, she would have then never built the cafe up to the standard that she wanted; He was the one who found Ana the florist, and not long after she posted job positions, Mei came (with a few other staff of course, but the Chinese woman was the most memorable one out of the lot) with her refreshing iced drinks. When she faced the couple again, there was something that nagged at her mind, itching at her to ask: “How do you make it work?” She knew Reinhardt was somewhere in the military; the guy had to be with that kind of body!

“You mean relationships?” Ana asked back and she nodded. When the old woman turned to look at Reinhardt, she caught his silent, endearing gaze as he nibbled on his sandwich and her lungs burst out into giggles. “They’re work, Angie. Definitely not 50/50. Some days when I get up, I feel like only giving 10% of my effort and my love here will have to step up to give 90% that day.”

“But there’s 100% love,” Reinhardt finished for her as he handed her the cup to drink. “It’s really hard to put it into words because it can’t really be measured. Sometimes you just gotta feel for it.”

“But how would you know who?”

“Someone who feels like home,” Ana grinned, taking Reinhardt’s hand into hers. “It’s not about the excitement or the things you share in common. Sometimes, it’s really just someone that makes you feel comfortable, someone that you can go home to and relax without a worry.”

“Without a worry, huh…”

“How come, Angie? Is there someone on your mind?” Ana questioned, leaning back as she daintily picked up her cup and sipped her tea. She truly did wonder, just who might have Angela ended up with? She watched the pondering woman closely, feeling slightly odd at the sight. The blonde cafe owner before her was nothing like the doctor she knew back in Overwatch, like something… had changed. It wasn’t such a major, drastic change no. Just something subtle, something you wouldn’t have been able to grasp if you weren’t attentive enough.

Angela hummed as she hugged the tray closer to her chest. At first, her eyes darted towards Jack, her questioning gaze staring at his back. Would he be the one? Sure, they’ve shared laughter and smiles before, but that’s all there was. It was like there was never a rainy day between them and honestly, that was nice. She felt happy with him and rather free, yet simultaneously, there were times where she had to constantly put that smile on — even if she didn’t want to. Putting away her fatigue, her stress for the day, just so she could smile for him… was that really what she wanted? Yes, she was smiling. Yes, they laughed together. And he'd helped her with a new beginning. But it was just so tiring…

Ana caught onto the direction of her gaze, and so did Reinhardt. They both shared a glance, untold conversations silently weaving through the air.

"I haven't seen Genji in awhile. How is he doing?"

Angela was snapped out of her reverie at the man's question. Genji… huh. "I haven't seen him in awhile. I guess he must be busy."

Reinhardt let out a sound of acknowledgment. "I suppose he is. But shouldn't you check up on him? To make sure he's working fine?"

She was startled. "Huh? What do you mean?"

This time it was Reinhardt who was surprised. "Am I wrong? Don't you regularly perform checks on him? To make sure the cybernetic parts of his body are operating at optimum levels, or something?" He paused, holding her gaze with his quirked eyebrow. "Am… I not right? These things are just too confusing!"

"I - I…"

At a loss for words, the cafe owner flinched back a small step. Everything in her was a mess lately. She hadn't believed Genji the first time he told her she was a doctor, that she was in Overwatch, but then the letter came. Inviting her. And then, now this.

Was this why they all gave her weird expressions when they first met? When Mei came for an interview and she appeared all cheerful, only to be shocked and confused, before the same smile was brought back, although albeit forced. Angela honestly always thought that the icy woman was just someone who wore her heart on her sleeve while still being capable of maintaining a professional attitude; the ability to create the iced drinks were just icing on the cake. And when Angela first met Ana, the older woman had instantly treated her with warmth, giving off the vibe of a loving grandmother who desperately wanted to give hugs and cookies. Yet, when Angela kept that professional distance and introduced herself, Ana, similarly like Mei, had given her an expression full of confusion.

As though they were supposed to adjust be acquainted.

But she… couldn't remember.

Remember.

It's always her memory. Something was definitely missing. Something related to Overwatch. Something she should have known but couldn't. Something… argh! What was it? If only she could —

The door to the cafe opened and the first wave of breakfast customers came rushing in to get their daily coffee and food. Dropping the topic right there, Angela quickly returned to her position with an apology and helped Mei attend to the customers.

"Something's not right… with Angie."

"I agree, Meine Maus. It's like she can't remember us."

"But it's only been a little under five years since the disbandment of Overwatch."

The couple had only gotten in touch with Angela from time to time before she opened the cafe. That was simply life. You'd get busy and things start to pile up. You'd focus on one task before moving onto the next, or even, you'd just sit and laze there, waiting for the time to pass for the exact reason that things were starting to pile up, like pile up.

"I don't know, my love. It's not as simple as that…" And pursed her lips while her motherly sixth sense was tingling. Something. Was terribly wrong.

Angela busied herself with the customers, plastering on the usual smile as the wave kept coming for breakfast or early lunches. She'd pass Jack occasionally with a plate of food or with a tray of drinks, and though she wished she could forget about what the old couple has mentioned, her mind constantly strayed away. Would he be the one? Was he the one I feel like home? She glanced at Jack as she walked towards the table behind him before quickly lowering her lashes. The image of his smiling side profile flitted into her mind, chin in palm and a warm mug in the other. He watched the people by the sidewalk pass by the cafe while the sun peeked out from behind the clouds. A lovely day indeed.

After serving the drinks, she too, looked out the window. 'It's been sunny for awhile,' she noted mentally. 'I wonder when will it rain?'

Her footsteps immediately paused and her nose wrinkled.

If every day was a sunny day, who would not wish for rain?

His words, crisp and clear, rang in her mind. It was already muddled with thoughts, a total mess of a mindscape like messy clothes strewn carelessly around the room, but his words remained bolded and strong. Her lips subconsciously twitched upward.

True. We all need a rainy day once in awhile.

And when the day had come and gone, the sun finishing its cycle to allow space the moon to bask in its glory, Angela stood outside her cafe with her face towards the fiery sky. Hues of orange and yellow painted the clouds a passionate colour, with a visible of violet and pink. She released a deep sigh, letting it all out and the gentle breeze blew, caressing her cheek and danced with her hair. It's been 17 weeks since she opened the cafe, 17 weeks since her new beginning, and two weeks since she saw him. Was he doing well? Was he eating well? Did those scars hurt?

"Have fun!" Mei called out from inside the cafe. Junkrat was waiting on her inside, fingers drumming impatiently on the armrest as he balanced the car on its two back legs.

"Thanks for closing up!" Angela smiled. There was still 30 minutes to closing, but Mei had offered to close up, giving the owner the short break from the Monday Mayhem. They hadn't expected it to be so busy, but after the first wave came, they never stopped.

Jack waved bye to Mei after a warning glance at Junkrat to come stand beside Angela. "You cold?" He asked when he saw her crossed arms.

Smiling sweetly, she shook her head. "Not really. I'm fine."

Although he acknowledged her words, he still removed his coat and gingerly wrapped it around her shoulders. An indescribable feeling washed over her, the emotions bubbling up to her throat. He was sweet, such a gentleman, and he was strong and loyal. But why did she feel like there was something that she could never cross? Something held her back, an invisible threshold her heart refused to jump across.

"Come, let's go to the park nearby."

However, just as he uttered those words, the darkening sky lost its passionate hue as dark clouds immediately converged above the city. Lightning flashed before their eyes as the winds picked up speed, with barely three seconds later as the thunder clapped, the sound rumbling and shocking her nerves.

Instantly, like a tear in the sky, it started pouring. Angela stood beneath the eaves of her cafe, watching the grey faded curtain of the rain fall before her. The chill pervaded her senses, yet the feeling was refreshing, a nice calm in the chaos of her heart.

"Shit. I'll go borrow an umbrella." Jack turned back into the cafe.

Angela hummed nonchalantly, her attention still on the pitter-pattering of rain. Her fingers, still on her cross arms, twitched, as though something was missing — something that had normally done before. A sad smile flitted onto her lips the more she thought about it. The empty slate of memories that she had of year before her awakening in the hospital, that wide gap, was beginning to get on her nerves. The doctors said that with time, her memories should resurface. Nothing was wrong with her that was extremely detrimental, everything was functioning alright. At least, that's what the doctors said.

Were they right?

She began to seethe at the doubt that arose. What was the truth? What was the lie?

"Ahh, there aren't any umbrellas in the cafe," Jack groaned as he returned to her side. "Why isn't there one? Sigh… what would you like to do?" He felt dejected at the weather, inwardly cursing the bad timing to have it rain. After so long of finally getting a day off just to spend it with her, it rained. It. Just. Had. To. Rain. Fuck.

Angela didn't even spare him a glance, too lost in her thoughts when she suddenly cried out in pain at the sharp stab to her brain. It pulsed and burned, like a knife was carving in her skull. A faint, blurry memory was resurfacing, the scene dark, but she felt a sense of comfort. A phantom warmth crept on her cheek, like a gentle caress of the wind, but the calloused touch brought shivers down her spine. She closed her eyes and relished in the memory, as blurry as it may be.

Murmured whispers began to echo.

“Oh, it’s raining.”

“Mmm, it would seem like it is.”

“If I recall, it was raining when I found you too.”

“Yeah, it was raining just like this at that time.”

“I’m glad that I did though.”

“Huh?”

“It allowed me to meet you.”

The close intimacy of those words brought upon a wave of desire and anguish in her heart. The man’s voice was familiar, too familiar in fact and the same instinctual feeling she felt weeks ago — buried long ago — resurfaced.

She tried to calm her breathing, the pain now throbbing a dull ache. By her side, Jack was worried and anxious, but his words fell on deaf ears. She couldn’t hear a word he uttered, nor could she hear Mei’s.

“Then I propose we have a date in the rain.”

“In the rain? Then I’ll just have to bring an umbrella.” The her in the memories giggled, giggled, at the prospect of walking in the rain.

There came the phantom caress once again, causing her heart to burn with renewed fervor.

“Two lovers in the rain have no need for an umbrella.”

His name, barely audible in the rain, was murmured under her breath, a soft kiss of desiderium that warmed and at the same time, anguished her within.

The large hands that held onto her arm and patted her back brought her out of her senses, and cruelly back to reality. She snapped her head towards a worried Jack and she stared into his eyes so blue that mirrored her countenance. Did he know?

'Did Jack know anything of me in Overwatch?' She thought. 'If he did, why wouldn't he tell me?'

An uneasy feeling rose up his throat at the blank, level stare that she gave him. Did she recover her memories?

The doctors said that with time, her memories should resurface, but it was Jack that told her, "It's alright if you don't remember. Each day is a new beginning."

What were his intentions then? She believed him like a baby depended on its mother when it first opened its eyes. He was there by her bed when she woke up, there when she felt lost at everything, there when every new thing popped up. But now —

Just how much shit could she have avoided if she knew his intentions from the start?

"Angie…?" He tested the waters warily, a sense of danger sparking off in his mind. An angry woman was after all, more dangerous than any sniper bullet.

The unreadable expression on her beautiful countenance disappeared with the blink of an eye as the same smile he was used to appeared. "Oh, I'm sorry. I blanked out."

He heaved a mental sigh of relief. Outwardly, he returned her smile. "You were in pain just now. Did your head hurt?"

"Yeah, but it's fine now."

And now, for the actual worry. "Did you recover your memories?"

Angela closed her eyes as she shook her head, using that moment of darkness to hide the sharp glint in her gaze. Memories? Yeah, she recovered just the slightest bit of them, but it doesn't look like he wanted her to. However, she easily lied through her smile, "No. I didn't. I think I'm just cold. I want to go home. Sorry about this."

Jack patted her head and she forcefully repressed the urge to flinch. "You don't have to apologise." I do. "I'll send you home."

She wanted to refuse him, to go alone and sit with her thoughts, but seeing the eagerness in his eyes made it sizzle away. "Sure."

And as they ran across the streets, jacket or hands covering their heads, a lone shadow appeared by the cafe door. In his hand was a brown paper bag. For the first time in two weeks, he wasn't in his cyborg suit. He didn't shiver at the cold, feeling a hollow space in his heart. For two weeks, he held back in seeing her. For two weeks, he worked hard to finish the thing in the bag. For two weeks… he tried to swim against the raging waves of his mind, that she didn't intentionally forget who he was, that she didn't intend to leave him, to hurt him like this.

Yet, when I tumbled and turned in my thoughts, I always came to the same conclusion: It's sad when the person that gave me the best memories, becomes a memory.

"Genji! You're here." Mei greeted me despite Junkrat's scowls and grumbles. "Do you want something to drink?"

I shook my head, looking around the cafe for any signs of Angela. Water dripped from my hair, wet clothes clinging to my body and the scent of morning glory entered my senses. Affection, I vaguely remembered its meaning. Mei caught onto my gaze and asked, "Are you looking for Angela? She just left with Jack before you arrived."

I gave her a bitter smile. Jack. Jack Morrison again. He stopped me from entering this morning when I gathered enough courage to see her as the cafe opened, and when I heard his words, I swallowed the acid in my throat and resolutely walked away. The dragon in my blood stirred, the unaccepting fury bubbling.

"What are you doing here, Genji?"

"Commander," I had curtly replied with the same brown bag in hand. Tugging my scarf higher, I continued. "I'm here to see Angela."

Jack shook his head, arms crossed on his chest as he leaned his weight on a foot. "You're just going to hurt her when she sees you."

"Why?" I narrowed my eyes, the dark irises flashing a dangerous red and Jack tensed his muscles in retaliation.

Instead of replying, Jack shook his head and shifted the topic. "You know. It was amazing how you two have been friends for so long. She talked about you all the time."

My ears perked up. "She did?"

"Yeah, I have to say, I have no idea how you didn't fall in love with her yet." My heart ached at the bitter memory of months ago. "Lucky for me though."

And I swore, I was about to pummel him for the smug grin he graced me with. Had he thought I hadn't felt that? That they were together? That I had missed out on my only chance just because of a damn mission?

"Did you have to fucking tell me that?" I growled at him. "Then go, go to her."

And I had then turned around, my back to the cafe, to her, and walked away, and it was with that, that I missed Jack's agonised expression, muttering incoherent words under his breath.

"I wish I could. She hasn't even agreed to date me."

Turning my attention back to Mei, I ignored Junkrat by the side and handed her the bag. "Could I leave this bag here with you?"

"What's in it?"

My face twitched into a smile. "Nothing much."

Mei narrowed her eyes in jest. "Really? It's not something I need to be afraid of, right?"

I shook my head but Junkrat had been faster, grabbing the paper bag from my grip before she could lay a finger on it. "No! If it's fucking dangerous, cunt. You're not leaving it here with her."

I rolled my eyes at the pyromaniac. "It's a lot less dangerous than you."

"Damn right it should be!" He proudly exclaimed.

Mei laughed at his antics, taking the bag away from him. "I'll keep this safe. How have you been?"

I could sense the hidden worry in her tone and I chuckled sadly. "As good as I can be. Jesse and Lena are helping me through this ordeal."

Mei hummed in agreement. "That's good. Angela is a little different though."

I scoffed lightly. "Of course. She's lost her memories. Doesn't remember a single thing."

Mei gasped. "Seriously? Aiya, no wonder she found it weird when she got the letter. Did you get it too?"

I raised an eyebrow. "That dinner invitation?" At her nod, I replied, "Yeah. I did."

"Hey, hey. What letter! Why am I not invited to something Snowflake is invited to?" Junkrat grumbled with a scowl.

Mei rolled her eyes. "Cause you're not part of Overwatch."

Junkrat narrowed his eyes at her. "You aren't anymore too!"

I turned my head away from their public display of affection and bid them farewell. Stepping outside the cafe, I watched the heavy rain fall from the clouds. It was raining just like that night many years ago, and just like that one memory I've shared with her.

If I could, I'd take her out on a date on the rain. Her hand in mine as we walk amidst the rainy curtains. Grace her with a rose and surprise her with a box of Swiss chocolates. She'd hum a tune, that's for sure, and we'd dance to it. Freely, like birds uncaged. Not a care in the world as it's just us. Just us two, living in the rain.

Closing my eyes, I allowed the rain to fall on my face in the night. No, no tears in the rain. A cleansing of my broken heart. To allow the pain to slowly wash away with the rain, leaving me nothing but an empty hollowness in my chest. It hurt. Hurt too much.

Yet, I also knew, knew that the pain will never really go away. No one would really ever forget the pain of losing someone once loved. I'd pretend to move on and act like it didn't happen before everyone else, just because it's what to be expected.

Rubbing at my cheeks, I gulped the heavy lump lodged in my throat and fought the burning sensations in my eyes.

'If I did anything right in my life, it was when I gave my heart to you.'

[notbang]

r/n + off the clock

She pretends she doesn’t notice, at first, the way the lights are still on in the top corner of the building.

The alarm is echoing innocuously throughout the lobby, loud enough to be obnoxious in the excessive time it takes her to figure out how to disarm it but subdued enough that she’s sure it would dissuade exactly no one in the event of an actual break in. As it is the shop looks completely untouched, the undisturbed dusting of flour across the countertop a pretty good indicator that the only disruption to the peace has been the ineffectual blaring of the seemingly accidentally triggered security siren.

Once the noise has been dealt with, though, she can’t stop her eyes from darting to the elevator.

Call it curiosity, call it new year cheer, call it two glasses of wine and her not being able to help herself—she finds herself perusing the front cabinet for the plainest pretzel she can find. It’s not fresh, obviously, but it’ll do—its intention is symbolism, not sustenance—and she’s not stupid; the chances of it going uneaten are high. After some consideration she doubles back to snag a bottle of merlot, and she only hesitates a moment before hitting the button for the third floor.

The overhead fluorescents are off in the bullpen when she steps out, the only source of light the beckoning glow of the office that had once been hers. Nathaniel is in there, just like she knew he would be since she first spied the warmth in the window from the street below. If hears the ding of the elevator doors he doesn’t show it, head resting against the hand that’s nursing the scotch, eyes on something on his computer screen. Even from the other side of the office she can tell he looks weary—tie loosened around his neck and shirtsleeves pushed up around his elbows.

“Hey,” she says, voice unnaturally high as she hovers in the doorway.

Nathaniel doesn’t startle so much as shake himself drowsily to look up at her, but when his gaze meets hers he straightens and stares a moment before his hand comes up to slam his laptop shut. “Hi.”

She takes it as permission to cross the threshold, sidling exaggeratedly closer in her awkwardness. “Whatcha doing, there?”

“Uh, working,” he says, brows flicking upwards, and she thinks he’s trying for some of his usual acerbity but the sting doesn’t quite filter through.

“Right. That real estate law—really stops for no man. How quickly I forget.”

“Ha.” He flashes her a quick smile that doesn’t remotely touch the rest of his face. After a second of hesitation he points at her and adds, “Stopped plenty for you, though.”

“No man,” she repeats, her own smile spreading slow and easy.

“Ah.”

It’s bad idea, being alone with him in the lowlight of this office that for so long they shared and couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Just standing on the other side of his desk turns the dial way up on a pleasant, spicy heat simmering low down in her belly that isn’t entirely from the wine. But there’s just something so comfortingly effortless in how they can slip back into their banter, playful and almost cozy in the way it settles around her shoulders like a blanket. Like an old friend.

She’s caught for a moment between two alternate universe Rebeccas—the one that surges forward, takes his face firmly in her hands and kisses him, lets him hike her skirt up around her waist to press her back against the desk. Versus the level-headed, reformed Rebecca that comes in purely platonic peace, conciliatory pretzel in hand and nothing more, that bids him goodnight and then leaves. Both of them lose out in her hesitation, though—Nathaniel breaks the silence first.

“What are you…” He trails off, apparently taking note of the way she’s holding something behind her back.

“I get security alerts,” she explains, pulling her phone from her pocket, “and Siri thought there was a break-in, or a fire, or something. But I guess it was a false alarm, because everything looks fine downstairs.” Her eyes slide over the decanter on his desk, the liquid line lower than she ever remembers it being. He’d touched it once or twice after a particularly gruelling day in their brief shared stint as partners, but she suspects he’s tossed back more than just a finger tonight. “Drinking alone on New Years Eve? That’s kind of sad, dude. Whijo didn’t invite you to the shindig at Home Base?”

“He did,” he says. “As did Heather, actually.” When she raises her eyebrows at him expectantly he elaborates, “It wasn’t my scene.”

She feels a pang of sympathy for him, holed up in his office alone, even if the isolation is self inflicted. She knows he doesn’t have many friends, and the holidays have a terrible habit of highlighting otherwise ignorable shortcomings in the whole surrounding-yourself-with-loved-ones department. It can’t help but occur to her that he could be spending the evening with Mona right now, champagne in hand at some kind of fancy LA soiree, if only things had gone a little different.

“Feel like some company?” she asks, swallowing down on the uneasiness that washes over her at the realisation. She withdraws the bottle of wine from behind her back; tips it back and forth. “A drink between two old friends?”

Warmth rises high in her cheeks as his eyes flit over her face, almost suspicious, searching her out.

“Why not,” he says eventually, the smile more sincere this time, and he pushes up out of his chair to find her a glass.

Nathaniel settles back against the edge of his desk to watch her pour, long legs stretched out in front of him and ankles crossed, the arm cradling the crystal curled against his chest.

“Cheers,” she says, and he gives her an obligatory clink.

They’re silent as they sip, and Rebecca drains her drink quicker than intended in lieu of conversation.

She steps closer to where he’s perched to reach past him for the bottle, the way her arm grazes his as she leans over both intentional and not, the cause and effect of her motivations something that would make Schrödinger proud. She’s so close she can hear him swallow, and they both freeze, the air between them alive with electricity—every echo of their time together contained in these walls crackling kinetic between them like inescapable muscle memory.

They both startle at the vibration of her phone against the glass top when Valencia’s name splashes across the lock screen in an ill-timed, incomprehensible flurry of emojis. Gurl, where are you?? It’s countdown time! Get your ass back here.

She lets out a nervous titter. “I should—” she begins, meaning to move away, but Nathaniel’s fingers tangle in hers before she can remember how her feet work, tugging her infinitesimally closer.

“I miss you,” he says simply, head tilted, eyes open and pleading with her to read them like a book, to stop him from having to say what he’s thinking out loud. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I didn’t want to push. You made yourself very clear. But some nights I can’t help but think… Can’t help but hope…”

Her eyes flutter shut as the music swells inside her, as the latent heat of every time he’s shared her personal space courses through her bloodstream like a heady drug. Her hand is warm where it’s wrapped in his, and he rubs back and forth at the webbing between her thumb and forefinger, grazing the sensitive skin with the blunt of his nail until she can’t quite stop the whimper that squeezes out of her in response.

She makes herself look up at him just as the faraway popcorn-peppering of fireworks starts stuttering in the distance.

“Happy New Year,” he murmurs, gaze fixed firmly on her mouth.

It can’t be anything but an invitation, the only half-deliberate way she sinks her front teeth into the pink-stained swell of her lower lip. So she can’t fault him when he takes her up on her cue, dipping his head so that his breath puffs out enticingly across her upturned face, the rich, oaky aroma of the whisky so sharp she can taste it on her tongue.

“I’m living with Josh, now,” she blurts out, palms flattening on his chest and god, her resolution really needs to be to curb this new impulse of hers before it becomes a rather unfortunate habit. “Or he’s living with me. Inside my house.”

Nathaniel looks at her, lips still slightly parted from his intent to slide them down to hers, and she watches wide-eyed as the heavy crease takes shape in his brow. “What?”

“In Heather’s bedroom, not mine,” she adds. “Not that you needed to know that. But I think I wanted you to know that. Maybe. I’m not sure.”

He doesn’t pull away immediately so she does it for him, taking an apologetic half-step back and pushing her hand up into her hair, feeling the residual flour from the countertop scrape across her skin. He lets his hands hover around the space where she was standing before holding them up to her, splayed.

“I don’t…” He takes a deep, shuddering breath—shakes his head like he’s trying to shake her out of it. Hardens. “You were right. I don’t understand you. At all.”

Every single reason he has to say it doesn’t lessen the blow, the finality in his voice sinking through her, making her upsettingly sober.

“Nathaniel,” she says, tone pleading despite all the evidence stacked against her favour.

She tamps down on every other desperate confession that threatens to bubble up in her throat now that she’s gotten started. Josh went fake camping with me in my kitchen and I felt a little bit like glitter was exploding inside me. Greg’s back in town and I don’t know how that makes me feel. Every time you do something nice it’s like the world’s most overwhelming aphrodisiac, and I almost kissed Darryl at a truck stop in the middle of nowhere. It’s been an I don’t understand you mess of a freaking year.

“Why did you come here, Rebecca?”

“I already told you,” she says. “I got an alert on my—”

He makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. Cuts her off. “Why did you come here?”

The wine and the pretzel lay discarded on his desk, but she knows that’s not what he’s looking for, either. She shrugs, hopeless to give him a proper explanation. “I don’t know.” She fidgets with the hem of her shirt. “I don’t know. I just… I saw your light on, and I just… wanted to.”

The nod starts out slow then gains momentum, lips twisting as he stuffs a hand in his pocket and grabs his lowball, gripping it so hard his knuckles glow white. He turns his back to her in favour of staring stoically out the window, raising his glass with sardonic cheer. “To you figuring out what you really want,” he mutters, bitter as the burn of the scotch sliding down the back of his throat as he downs the rest of his drink.

Her chest feels all at once like it’s too full and she can’t draw in enough air, and she hates the angry prickling of tears threatening to well in her eyes at his words that hit a little too closely to home.

The elevator doors can’t open fast enough, and she doesn’t even stop to switch off the lights at Rebetzels.

So much for starting over, she thinks, throat tightening as she chokes on the smoke of yet another bridge she feels like she’s managed to burn in such a short stretch of weeks.

The muffled words catch the breeze at a nearby party and are carried towards her as she strides shakily through the parking lot, whipping her hair windswept and wild around her face.

But seas between us broad have roared since days of auld lang syne.

mini fic prompt meme.

[thevezinamonologues-blog]

Three and Time to Spend with You

Prompt: Hilary Knight and Freddie Andersen Threesome For: the sin bin gc Warnings & Tags: NSFW, Threesome, Oral, Cockwarming, Face-sitting, IDK LOTS OF THINGS.... also I moved Hilary back to the NWHL and put the ASG in Toronto for purposes of this fic whatever let me live Word Count: 3505

It started with Instagram.

You hadn’t thought anything of it, posting to your story about how excited you were to go to the NWHL All Star Weekend. You’d saved up for months, treated yourself to a nice hotel room, and you were all ready and dolled up, wearing your Hilary Knight jersey and a backwards cap with a bi pride flag on it. You’d managed to get a picture of your back and posted it to your insta story. You location-tagged your hotel (it was fancy, you were a little proud that you’d saved up enough to treat yourself there) and you only hesitated a moment before deciding to tag Hilary herself in it, too. You hadn’t expected a response, you hadn’t even really expected her to see it. And if she did, it was just so she knew she had some support there coming from you.

Ten minutes later as you brushed your teeth, your phone pinged with a notification.

Lookin good! 😍 🙌

At first, you thought it was from your friends, but then you saw the username and nearly dropped your phone in the bathroom sink.

Hilary. Knight.

Holyshit.

You eventually got your shit together, but you were still too afraid to answer, so you just let it be. Until later when you got to the rink to watch the skills competition. You were right at the glass from the get-go, taking as many pictures on your phone as you could. At one point, Hilary skated right past you, no helmet on, grinning wildly. You got an incredible close-up. She looked so happy, so free, so beautiful.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you opened your Insta DMs and sent the pic to Hilary with the exact same thing she’d sent you earlier.

Lookin good! 😍 🙌

You settled in to watch the skills competition and nearly forgot about the message until you got back to your hotel afterwards. The all-star game itself wasn’t until the next day and you had some time to kill, wondering if you should grab dinner or something. You opened up UberEats when a notification came through on your phone.

Hilary Knight followed you on Instagram.

You were still staring at the phone in your hands with complete shock when a second notification came through. Another DM. From her.

Great pic 😉

You clicked the notification and just stared at the message for a while as a second one came through.

Looks like we’re staying in the same hotel. I’m meeting a friend for drinks and we’re grabbing dinner at the hotel restaurant after. You want to join?

You blinked a few times as a third came through. Then more.

Nothing funny or anything (I mean you’re gorgeous but I don’t want to assume that bi = you’re into threesomes because fuck that’s annoying, right?)

But also if you want to, I sure wouldn’t say no.

He probably wouldn’t either.

But no pressure, seriously.

Love to buy you dinner, though. At least as a thanks for taking that dope pic (can I post that btw?)

Ok now that I’ve sent you like 30 messages I’m just gonna let you do your thing here 👉👉

It took you the better part of a minute to get over the shock and answer.

Yes. To all of it. Yes to posting the picture, yes to dinner or drinks, and maybe yes to other things?

Your answer came back immediately.

👍 Meet you at the bar at the restaurant in 30?

You sent a thumbs up emoji back. Then, after a little debate, you followed up with your phone number. Just in case.

You took a quick shower, shaving and exfoliating as much as you could in the limited time you had. You toweled off and checked your phone to find a text from a new number.

It’s Hilary. From Instagram. Looking forward to seeing you tonight, Y/N 😄

You didn’t pack all that much with you, but you managed to find a yellow cotton dress that looked cute and was comfortable. You’d planned on wearing it on your drive home so you didn’t have to bother with jeans, but it was your cutest option at the moment. You put on some makeup and a little product in your damp hair to make sure it didn’t get too frizzy and declared yourself the best you could get with your limited resources. You sent off a quick text to Hilary.

On my way 😃

You got down to the bar, looking for Hilary and her friend. You saw her long hair and approached slowly, only pausing when you saw who her friend was.

“A buddy” turned out to be Freddie fucking Andersen.

And he looked just as good as Hilary did.

Jesus, you weren’t sure you’d survive this dinner.

You did survive the dinner. Hilary was warm and engaging. Freddie had introduced himself to you quietly, but eventually, he was just as welcoming as Hilary. You weren’t great at social situations with new people normally, but talking with them was easy. Hilary’s bright enthusiasm and Freddie’s dry humour meshed perfectly and had you feeling completely at ease. You weren’t sure if the aforementioned “other things” were still on the table. You would be absolutely down if they were, but even if they weren’t, you enjoyed dinner and thought you may have found one, or even two new friends.

The three of you split a giant chocolate lava cake, crowded together in the half-circle booth. You giggled to yourself as Hilary took a piece right off of Freddie’s spoon and Freddie gasped in mock-shock.

You leaned forward to grab a spoonful of the homemade whipped cream and you felt a hand slide across your lower back. You turned toward Hilary, grinning so that the woman didn’t move her hand away. You settled back against her, enjoying the feeling of her thumb sliding back and forth over the soft fabric of your dress. Her hand went higher to settle her arm around your shoulders and you noticed on a quick glance that Freddie seemed to be enjoying you licking the whipped cream off your spoon.

Maybe those Other Things were still on the table, after all.

Hilary leaned close to your ear, your hair tickling your neck as she whispered. “My room? And do we invite Fred?”

Okay. Definitely on the table.

“Yeah,” you breathed, leaning into Hilary. “And yeah.”

Hilary’s room was a few floors up from yours and the elevator ride was humming with unspoken energy. Hilary’s arm was still around your shoulders and Freddie was looking at the two of you as though you were the real dessert.

You looked between them. “Are you two… like… together?”

Freddie shook his head no. “We used to be, but we’re just friends now.”

“Sometimes we meet up when we’re both in the same place,” Hilary added. “But yeah. Just friends, now.”

You blamed your nerves for the lack of brain-to-mouth filter when you spoke next. “Too much gorgeous for one relationship?”

Hilary snorted and turned to press a kiss to your temple. “Something like that, babe,” she said against your hair.

When you got into Hilary’s room, she excused herself to go to the bathroom and you turned to Freddie. He approached you slowly, reaching out toward you but halting his hand.

“Y/N,” he said softly. “You’re definitely okay with this?”

You smiled softly, stepping closer and grabbing his hand to put it on your hip yourself. His large fingers curled into your soft skin as he dipped down to kiss you slow and searching. He was a patient kisser, coaxing your lips open and by the time you pulled apart for air, you weren’t quite sure you remembered how to breathe.

“Jesus, that’s hot,” you heard from behind you. You turned toward Hilary, Freddie’s hand still on your hip.

Where Freddie was a patient, intense kisser, Hilary was indulgent and fiery. She read you instantly, finding what you liked and chasing it down with a firm tenacity. She pulled your lower lip between her teeth before swallowing your resulting whimper in another kiss, deep and bruising enough that it pushed you back into Freddie’s chest.

Freddie’s hands slid around between you and Hilary, hands splaying across your stomach. You weren’t built like either of them, nor were you all that thin. You flinched a little away from his hand, a little self-conscious about the soft skin he found there.

“Stop that,” Freddie said, voice gruff as he moved one hand to pull your hair to one side so Hilary could suck a bruise into your neck. “You’re beautiful, Y/N.”

You felt your cheeks redden, and it only got worse when Hilary nipped at the newly-created hickey before agreeing. “He’s right.”

You weren’t sure what to say. Anything that came to mind was either self-deprecating or just awkward so you opted for letting it go and tugging at Hilary’s blouse until she relented, stepping back just long enough to tug it up and over her head.

Jesus Christ. Her arms. “Just fuck me up,” you thought, only realizing you actually said it out loud when Freddie chuckled and Hilary all-out laughed. She was still grinning when she pulled you into another kiss.

Freddie had moved into your peripheral vision, pulling off his grey henley and undershirt. You lost track of him for a moment as you closed your eyes, one hand sliding up to the soft cotton of Hilary’s bra, tugging one of the cups down to thumb at her nipple. Freddie moved back behind you and you leaned back, using him as a bit of a wall.

Hilary arched into your hand and you repeated it with your other hand, shifting a little so her legs were straddling your thigh. She shifted one of her legs up, Freddie seamlessly grabbing her thigh so she could roll her hips into your thigh. Her lips were pink and puffy and she looked so fucking beautiful.

“Bed?” you asked them both and the three of you reluctantly untangled. Hilary pushed her jeans down, stepping out of them before guiding you to the bed. She’d hiked your dress up over your hips before you sat down. You marveled at her coordination as she pulled your dress over your head while simultaneously settling herself on your lap. Your hands slid up her thighs, feeling her muscles flex beneath your palms. Freddie was standing, silently watching and lazily palming himself through his jeans.

“Fred and I are probably gonna fight over who gets to eat you out, fair warning,” Hilary hummed against your lips and you cut your eyes to Freddie, then back.

“Both?” you grinned as you pulled away, unhooking Hilary’s bra and tossing it aside. “Both is good.”

“I like the way you think,” Hilary laughed. Her laugh quickly turned into a moan as you slid a hand between her legs. You could feel her wet through the cotton of her panties and you shifted a little, tightening your thighs in response to the warm heat that rushed through you.

“Freddie?” you finally asked, reaching out to him. You felt a little bad he was so quiet, just watching for a bit. He seemed fine with it though, but just as happy to step out of his jeans and kneel on the bed, catching your lips again. He started to unhook your bra strap as Hilary worked her lips up his neck. When he finally pulled his lips from yours to catch Hilary’s, you watched, dazed for a moment before finishing what Freddie started and getting your bra out of the way.

They moved seamlessly together and watching them was like watching a secretive, sensual dance and you shivered a little at the idea that you not only got to witness this beauty, but also participate.

Freddie broke the kiss and guided you back to lie in the center of the bed, eyes trailing over your body as he gazed approvingly. “Since I’m a gentleman,” he said, teasing as he smirked at Hilary. “You can taste her first.”

Freddie ignored Hilary’s triumphant grin as he tipped his head to kiss across your collarbone and down your chest between your breasts. You were pretty well-endowed, but you’d never really considered your breasts a huge erogenous zone before. As Freddie’s stubble scraped over your nipple before he flicked his tongue across it, you realized may have been mistaken.

Hilary, meanwhile, was sucking little bruises into the skin of your hips, still teasing around your panties. She nuzzled over your center, still covered by the soft cotton, and breathed you in. You rolled your hips toward her and whined low in your throat.

Freddie swallowed your moan in a kiss as he palmed your breasts, causing you to arch up into him. You felt all lit up, just shy of overwhelmed from the attention you were getting. You needed something to focus on, so you slid your hand into Freddie’s boxer-briefs and wrapped your hand around his semi-hard cock. You stroked lightly, but mostly you just wanted to feel the weight of him in your hand, occasionally thumbing over the slit, spreading drops of precum around the head.

By the time Hilary finally stopped teasing and started working your panties down your legs, Freddie was lazily fucking into your hand while he alternated teasing at your breasts with his mouth and kissing you slow and tender.

Finally, you felt Hilary’s mouth on you. She spread your lips apart with her fingers and licked the flat of her tongue up your slit slow and hard. You whimpered into Freddie’s mouth, eventually breaking the kiss when Hilary’s lips closed around your folds, sucking them into her mouth.

“Please,” you whimpered, not even knowing what you were begging for.

Hilary moved your thighs over her shoulders then zig-zagged her tongue over your clit. Your thighs shivered, feeling the muscles jump without you even trying.

“So beautiful,” Freddie said, sliding a hand down one of your thighs, squeezing, then giving it a little slap and watching it jiggle. You flushed, a little embarrassed but he pinned you with a look.

“I mean it,” he said, moving back up your body to nibble at your jawline. “I wish Hils brought her strap-on. You’d look so good with your legs wrapped around her while she fucks you.”

“Guess you’ll have to do it instead,” you said, your voice breathy as Hilary worked her mouth over your pussy. You felt her chuckle against you as she slid two fingers into you. You arched into it, seeking more until she crooked her fingers up and the pads slid across your G-spot.

“Guess I will,” Freddie agreed, grinning and palming his cock. “Keep it warm until then?”

You nodded and opened your mouth, tongue covering your bottom teeth. He reached up to put a few pillows under your shoulders and head, making sure you were comfortable before sliding his cock into your mouth, just enough so that you didn’t choke. You tasted the salty precum. You closed your mouth over him, suckling lightly, but he shook his head. “Just like this. Is that okay?”

You nodded as much as you could, keeping your mouth still, just letting his cock rest in your mouth. He cupped your cheek in his hand, running his thumb across your cheekbone. “So beautiful,” he breathed. “So good for us. Is Hils making you feel good, darling?”

You hummed your assent against his cock and he grinned, keeping his hand on your cheek and a steady stream of dirty talk that was, quite frankly, doing a lot for you.

Soon enough, Hilary had your thighs shivering around her head as you came hard, your cry muffled by Freddie’s cock. Hilary kissed her way back up your body, and Freddie took his cock out. You had just enough time to suck in a breath before Hilary’s lips captured yours. Freddie’s hand went between your legs, staying away from your still oversensitive clit.

“You want me to fuck you, baby?” he asked, sliding three thick fingers into you. You whimpered and nodded against Hilary’s lips.

You broke the kiss. “Yeah and-” you broke off on a sigh as he slowly slid his fingers in and out.

“And what?” Hilary prompted, passing her hand over your breasts, then down your ribs. “What do you want, babe?”

“I want-” you breathed, trying to gather your thoughts into words and make those words come out of your mouth. It was a lot harder than you thought, but eventually, you choked it out. “Want you to ride my face while- while he fucks me. Want my mouth on you.”

“Fuck,” the word sounded like it’d been punched out of Hilary and she stopped her gentle exploration to reward you with a hard, deep kiss. “Fuck yes, baby. That sounds- yes.”

“Just-” you added quietly, not wanting to disappoint them, but the way they both immediately stopped and listened to you had you relaxing and feeling warm. You turned your gaze to Freddie. “Be a little gentle at first? I get uh… oversensitive for awhile after…”

Freddie nodded and settled between your thighs, dipping to press a kiss to the inside of your knee. “Of course, dove. Of course.”

Freddie hiked you up a little, then slowly, gently, patiently slid into you and you breathed out slowly, feeling the best kind of full. Hilary put her hand on your cheek, guiding you to look at her.

“You ready?” she asked.

You nodded, more than a little desperate to taste her.

“Keep your hands on my thighs and tap if you need me to get up, babe, okay?” she asked and you nodded, nearly making grabby hands for her as she settled over your face.

“Love watching this,” Freddie said, rocking slow and patient in and out of you.

Hilary grabbed onto the headboard and slowly lowered herself onto you. You opened your mouth, flattened out your tongue and let her settle the flat of your tongue exactly where she wanted it. You lapped slow, moving in tandem with Hilary’s gyrating hips. Freddie’s cock felt perfect, just keeping you turned on while you ate Hilary out from under her.

You speared your tongue at her entrance while the tip of your nose brushed her clit and you two kept a slow, steady build up for a while, giving you time to breathe and her time to build up to a good orgasm. You could tell when she got closer because she let her body do the talking for exactly what she wanted. Eventually, she was just grinding her clit down on your outstretched tongue while her thighs shivered beneath your palms. Freddie sped up his thrusts, moving a little faster and a great deal harder as Hilary slowly moved off of you.

After a few moments, you pushed at Freddie’s chest before turning the two of you over so you could ride him.

“Jesus, you look good like this,” Freddie breathed as you started grinding down on him. You started off slow, but you could tell he wanted more. You leaned forward a little, steadying yourself with your hands on his chest, and moved faster. You felt Hilary’s lips on your neck and her hand between your legs, sliding across your clit.

“Fuck I’m gonna…. If you keep doing that, I’m gonna-” you started, breath stuttering.

“S’fine,” Freddie said, digging his heels into the bed and thrusting up to meet you, finding a speed that worked for him. “I’m close too, babe.”

You shuddered and came around Freddie and not long after, you felt his hands tighten on your thighs and he held himself up as he finished into the condom.

You moved off of him on shaking legs, and fell to the bed. Hilary curled up beside you and Freddie took a few breaths before getting up to dispose of the condom. He came back with two warm rags, carefully cleaning both you and Hilary up before curling up on your other side.

“That was… holy shit…” you finally said and you felt Hilary grin against the bare skin of your shoulder blade.

“Yeah? Glad you enjoyed,” Hilary said, twining her fingers with yours and settling your joined hands on your hip.

“I never actually got to taste you, dove,” Freddie said as he hit the light on the nightstand then rolled over and threw his leg over the two of you. “In the morning? Then I’ll take you both to breakfast. I know a good place.”

You hummed an assent and gave a sleepy nod.

“Damn gentleman, you are,” Hilary said, nuzzling into your neck. “Sounds good, though, Fred.”

Hilary then nudged you a little. “Fred’s got plans tomorrow night though but I’d love it if you stayed in town a little longer, Y/N.”

You were more than a little shocked at her admission, but you quickly recovered. “Y-yeah. Absolutely. Yeah.”

“Good,” she hummed contentedly as Fred started lightly snoring to your side. “I look forward to it.”