#what who did that? aha you thought i was here | queued

[gyurihq]

jang gyuri attends the hollywoodfame's night of the zodiac fashion show on september 28th 2024 in milan, italy with girlfriend veronica merrell | @ronismerrell

[fastbrother]

Desperate (M, 1.3k words)

For forty-one-year-old Draco Malfoy starting his twenty-fourth year of unemployment, the only interesting question is who is he going to sleep with next.

Tags: From Sex to Love, Grumpy Harry, Reclusive Harry, Slutty Draco (non-derogatory), unhealthy coping mechanisms, middle-aged Drarry

Author's note: Wrote this for @kamaela's birthday. Thank you for always being so kind and encouraging! 💕

* * *

For eleven-year-old Draco Malfoy starting Hogwarts, the only interesting question about school was who was going to come in second in his year. Imagine his surprise.

For forty-one-year-old Draco Malfoy starting his twenty-fourth year of unemployment, the only interesting question is who is he going to sleep with next.

Some days, it feels like he’s slept with everybody worth sleeping with. Other days—well.

* * *

When he was young, Draco Malfoy thought he liked women. He slept with a handful of girls, all very proper and sweet.

Then the war came, and he was in it, and he was tortured by the Dark Lord himself, which rewired his brain somehow, because after the war Draco Malfoy did not like women anymore. Nor anything proper. Or sweet.

Draco Malfoy liked to be fucked like he’d be murdered next.

* * *

Harry Potter is a big old grump. He lives in what should have been Draco’s house by birthright, nurses a terrifying beard currently in the process of turning grey, and only ever goes out in Muggle London, like the uncivilised brute Draco knows he really is. Draco dreams of being fucked by Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world, the slayer of Dark Lords. And whatever rude people say, Draco’s a man who works for his dreams.

* * *

“Harry Potter. Out and about. What a surprise.”

Potter barely spares a glance for poor Draco. His eyes are glued to the Muggle TV above the bar, in the process of broadcasting some beastly excuse for movement that the Muggles call sports. There are five empty glasses in front of him, and a cigarette dangling out of his mouth.

“Fuck right off, Malfoy.”

“Ah, I’m afraid not,” Draco says, and sits on the barstool next to Harry. “You go, if my presence bothers you so.”

“I don’t give a shit about your presence.”

“Beautiful. Have you taken to writing poetry, by any chance?”

“Tell me, Malfoy,” Potter says, slowly turning those grotesquely green eyes towards him. “You look like someone who makes enemies in every room he walks into. How come you’re still alive?”

“I have my ways.”

“Aha,” Potter says, emptying his sixth glass of whiskey, eyes back on the TV. “I’ve heard about your ways.”

“Would you like some first-hand experience with them?”

Potter lets out a chuckle, a loud and brutish sound.

“Have you been following me?”

“Hardly. I’ve been coming here every night for six months. Ask Robert.”

“Who’s Robert?”

“I’m Robert,” the barman says, pouring Potter’s seventh drink.

“Ah. Nice to meet you, Robert,” Potter says, and raises his drink. “So. Has he?”

“Yes.”

Potter turns to Draco. Offers a vicious smile that makes Draco’s body tingle in all the right places.

“I used to come here all the time. Before the Prophet published a photo of me. Six months ago.”

Draco shrugs. “Can’t a boy try his luck?”

Potter leans forward and pulls Draco’s stool closer to him.

“You’re no boy. You’re a slut.”

“Oh, yes,” Draco moans, biting his lip. “I am. I’m a bad, bad slut.”

* * *

Harry Potter fucks like he goes to war. There’s no fear there, no second guessing. Draco could die now, bent over a dirty sink in a dingy Muggle bar, and he’d be happy. He should die, actually, because what else is there to experience? He has peaked, and life can only be a disappointment from this point on.

“Please,” he begs when all is done. “Again.”

“You make a compelling argument,” Potter says, pulling up his pants. “But there are people queuing outside.”

“I’ll get rid of them. I’ll kill them. Nobody will miss them too much, I’m sure.”

“How about this,” Potter says, fixing his hair back in a ponytail. “You keep coming here every night for another six months, and maybe I’ll drop by again.”

“Don’t play with me, Potter. You know I will.”

“Oh, I know.”

* * *

Draco expects Potter to torture him for at least a couple of weeks, but he strolls into that cursed Muggle pub the next day. He’s wearing jeans and a ripped t-shirt. Truly living up to his reputation of decorated ex-Auror and beloved hero, this one.

“My, my,” he says, sitting next to Draco and gesturing to Robert for a drink. “What a good pet.”

“Aha,” Draco says, draping himself all over Potter’s offensively attractive attire.

“Let me get a drink in me first,” Potter says, struggling to keep Draco at arm’s length.

“If you wanted a drink, you could have gone to another pub.”

* * *

Robert bans them eventually. Draco’s about to Obliviate him but Potter solves the issue by inviting him to his house.

“You mean, my house,” Draco corrects him.

Potter doesn’t seem impressed. “How about we call it a night, then.”

“Fine. I relinquish all rights to that home. You can have it forever. You can have the Manor, too, if you want.”

Potter laughs, and grabs Draco’s arm. “I love how desperate you are.”

“Oh, I’m desperate, alright.”

Five minutes later, Draco’s thirst is finally quenched when Potter bends him over a Black encrusted dining room table. Draco discovers he has quite the taste for family intrusions.

“In front of my great-grandmother’s portrait next, please,” he begs. Potter, the charitable soul he is, complies. Predictably, his great-grandmother calls Potter Muggle-loving filth.

“He is, granny,” Draco moans, face squished against some dusty yet tasteful wallpaper. “He’s the filthiest person that’s ever lived.”

* * *

“Are you some form of house pest? A Black family curse? Why can’t I get rid of you?” Potter says when Draco shows up on his doorstep, carrying a bottle of wine and appetisers as any man of the world would.

“Get rid of me, then,” Draco says, and walks in.

* * *

Potter is on an agenda to steal Draco’s elves and have them clean his shithole of a house. It’s the only reasonable explanation for why he’s taken to drinking with them.

“Stop entertaining the staff. You should be entertaining the Master. And there’s no smoking in the sunroom.”

“There is, now,” Potter says, lighting up a second cigarette with his wand. “There’s a new Master around here.”

“Master Potter,” the elves say in unison, drunk on the Butterbeer Draco keeps for his nephew.

* * *

It’s all fun and games until Draco catches feelings.

“I’m sick,” he tells anybody who cares to listen, and also those who don’t. “Je suis gravement malade.”

“Pull down the shades,” he tells the house elves from under the heavy duvet. “Owl the Healer.”

“Maybe Master Malfoy should tell Master Potter how he feels.”

“Clothes! Somebody bring clothes!”

* * *

“I heard through the grapevine that you’ve fallen ill.”

Draco peeks at Potter from under his duvet.

“It’s true. I’m dying.”

The bed jounces when Potter sits down next to him. He puts a hand on Draco’s un-feverish forehead.

“It sure looks like it.”

“I just want you to know, I lied about the Manor. I’m leaving everything to my elves.”

Potter’s hand moves down Draco’s face.

“Where have you been? I’ve missed you.”

“You have?” Draco says, his illness intensifying.

“Yes.”

“I thought I was a curse you couldn’t get rid of.”

“You are. You’ve been slacking on the job lately.

Something sharp rattles in Draco’s chest. He moves away from Potter’s touch, and hides under the duvet.

“Hey,” Potter says, leaning until his hand finds Draco’s waist through the thick material. “What happened?”

Silence.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Slowly, Draco shakes his head under the duvet.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Draco nods.

Draco hears ruffling and squeaking, and then Potter gets under the duvet. He’s hot, like a cat.

“Where did all your eloquence go?” Potter says, gathering him in his arms. “What happened to all your fancy words?”

Draco buries his head in Potter’s chest. Takes a deep breath.

“I turn stupid when I’m in love. It’s a debilitating illness.”

“You’re a debilitating illness,” Potter says, and kisses his forehead. “And I’m chronically ill.”

[scapegrace74-blog]

Mister April

A/N I had an angst-ridden update to the Metric Universe all queued up, and then I thought, nah.  The sun is shining, people are getting vaccinated.  Angst can wait.  So this little ficlet fits into the Metric Universe after The Second First Christmas, but before Calculation Theme.

The entire Metric Universe, now chronologically ordered, can be found here.

March 16, 2019, Spittalfields, London, England

“Wait.  You mean you’re actually Mister April?!”  Several bottles into the six-pack of Tennant’s lager that he had brought home after work, Claire’s exclamation was too incredulous for Jamie’s liking.

“Aye.  Every year since I signed on, save one.  At first t’was flattering, but now, weel...” He peeled the label from the bottle held between his knees, cursing the trajectory of their late night conversation.  The idea had been to take advantage of the fact they were both off tomorrow to spend some time with his girlfriend, listen to a little music, get a bit sloshed, then hopefully fall into bed together.

“Can I see?” Claire interrupted his momentary sulk.  “I mean, I’ve been dating a veritable calendar boy for almost two years, and I’m only just now figuring it out.  Seems a bit unfair, don’t you think?”

“Seems to me ye’ve seen me wearing far less, Sassenach.  But fine, look yer fill.”

Grabbing his laptop, Jamie entered his name and London Fire Brigade Charity Calendar into a search engine.  A stream of results filled the screen.  Claire’s eyes goggled and she grabbed the computer, opening the first image.  A much younger Jamie appeared, rugby shorts hanging from the graceful arcs of his hipbones.  He reminded her of a Thoroughbred race horse, not an ounce of flesh to spare, kinetic energy in masculine form.  She checked the date: 2012, before they had ever met.

Further clicks brought her to subsequent years.  Each showed a beautiful man in the prime of youth, fit, cocky, a devil-may-care gleam in his cornflower eyes.  She knew it was her Jamie, but she barely recognized him.

He was missing from the 2015 calendar.  Claire did the math and realized that he would have been in the hospital when that year’s pictures were taken.  Instead of primping and smoldering for the camera, he had lain in an ICU bed for weeks, before undergoing painful rehabilitation and numerous skin grafts.  The brash young man of the earlier images had disappeared, erased by an industrial explosion in an instant.  In his place, the Jamie she knew had emerged. More cautious.  More prone to sadness, but with a limitless capacity to spread joy.  Would she had fallen for him, had they met before his transformation?  She honestly couldn’t say.

By 2016, the pictures had changed.  Jamie posed in a shirt, sometimes unbuttoned to the waist, but always with his shoulders covered.  The gleam in his eyes had dimmed, and instead of an infectious grin, his smile was forced.  She was certain no-one buying the calendar would notice.  He was still a beautiful man, with his burnished curls and Nordic bone structure.  But she could see what those photos cost him.  She knew.

“Dougal wanted me tae show my scars.  Figured t’would be good publicity, I reckon. Heroic firefighter burnt like a human candle comes back tae fight fire ano’er day. I told him I wasna some charity case he could trot out when it suited him.”

She fetched his hand from his lap, giving it an understanding squeeze.  Jamie had once confessed that he felt comfortable bearing his scars to her alone because she had already seen him at his worst, and that left no room for pity.  He was a proud, stubborn fool, and she loved him.

“You know what this means, don’t you?  There’s only one way to make this right.”

Not waiting for his response, she rose, sought her balance for a moment, and went to grab her phone.  Connecting it to their TV audio, she scrolled her music library, looking for a suitable choice.

“Aha!” she exclaimed, pressing play.  A synthetic tambourine and clap bass filled the room.  He recognized the opening lines of OutKast’s Way You Move.

“What are ye on about, Sassenach?”

“You’ve been sharing your glorious body with the Greater London area and god know who else on the Internet for years, Jamie.  As a philanthropist, I applaud you, but as your girlfriend, I’m a tad perturbed.  I am hereby re-asserting my rights to exclusive content.  Now stop lollygagging and get your fine ass off the couch.”

“Sassenach...” he laughed, starting to grab hold of her meaning and feeling a shot of adrenaline course through his veins.  Even before his accident, he had never...

“Don’t make me put it on repeat, Fraser.  Oh, look, here comes the chorus!”

Claire sat back on the sofa, her legs tidily crossed on their coffee table.  The room was dark, except for the undying city lights outside.  No-one was there to see except the one person he trusted to look without staring, to laugh without mocking, to understand without judging.  He’d never known Claire to ask for something she didn’t truly want, and he wanted to give her everything she desired.  Even if it came at the expense of his dignity.

“Ye ken I canna dance fer shite, right?” he said as he stood, taking an extra long pull on his lager.  He was going to need all the liquid courage it could offer.

“I’m well aware.  But as the woman who shares your bed, I can testify that there’s nothing the matter with your sense of rhythm.  If it helps, don’t think of it as dancing.  Think of it as upright simulated sex.”

His face was already hot from the alcohol and embarrassment, but with Claire’s words he felt the heat spread downwards across his chest and towards his groin.  Almost without willing it, his hips began to twitch in time to the beat.

“Now we’re talking!” Claire exclaimed with a grin, leaning back like the only patron at a very private strip club.

He was still dressed for work.  The navy shirt he wore beneath his jacket had no buttons, so he began by easing it from under his belt, baring his navel briefly before sliding it back down.  Claire sulked dramatically, making him laugh.  

With the song’s next horn flourish, he reached behind his neck and lifted the shirt clean off in a single tug, shaking out his hair afterwards.  When he next glanced at the couch, his girlfriend’s smug smile was gone, replaced by a blatant leer that sent shivers down his spine.  She wasn’t even pretending to look at his face anymore, spending her time somewhere between his shoulders and his waist.  He wasn’t really sweating, but he made a point of wiping his pecs before letting the shirt fall to the ground.

“Enjoying the show?” he asked, already a tad breathless.

“Immensely.  Don’t stop now.”

Fortunately, his boots and socks had already been removed, so with the next verse he made a show of unbuttoning and unzipping his blue trousers.  Claire’s eyes followed the movement of his fingers like she was memorizing them for the exam.  He could feel his cock grow heavy.

With a shake of his ass for good measure, the pants hit the floor.  Only a tight pair of boxer-briefs stood in the way of utter nudity.  They were doing a poor job hiding his belated enthusiasm for Claire’s request.  The fact that her eyes were now glued to the bulge of his erection only encouraged his excitement.

As the repeated chorus faded away, he carefully slipped the waistband over his now-rigid cock.  The material slid down his legs and he stepped free.  If someone had mentioned his scars in that instant, he would have no idea what they were talking about.

In the ensuing quiet, Claire sat up and very deliberately began to disrobe.  Once naked, she came at him like a heat-seeking missile, one hand reaching around his back to pull him tight and the other dragging him into a kiss.  They collapsed to the floor, rolling around on the area rug in a fight for dominance.  He let her win, because feeling her rise and fall over his length like a cresting wave was the best runner-up prize he could imagine.  

The sex was torrid, and frantic, and not at all polite.  The kind that left bruises and invoked daydreams for days.  Afterwards, they lay in a sweaty heap, trying to catch their breath.

“See?  I knew you had it in you,” Claire muttered into his clavicle.  “A bit more practice and you’ll be as good as the pros.”

“I didna realize I was auditioning fer a second job.”  He brushed Claire’s curls away from where they were tickling his nose.

“Oh, I have no intention of sharing your talents, lad.   Never fear.  But I wouldn’t object to a repeat performance.   Besides, I was so distracted by the show, I completely forgot to film you!”

Jamie groaned, pulling her tighter against him as sleep called him away to dreams.

[sluttyten]

7 and 13 with Sicheng? 🐥

“You taste like fucking candy.“ +  “I-I just, I wasn’t expecting that. But I liked it. A lot.” + winwin

You’re not a baby, that’s for damn sure. But somehow, someway, your mother still managed to foist a babysitter on you when you were a full-grown adult living in a city far away from her.

You were sick, but not the kind of sick that medicine could fix. It was more of an emotional sickness than a physical one, and that was something your mother didn’t really understand.

“It’s your birthday, you can’t be sick.” She’d told you as soon as you answered the phone. “What about going out with your friends, having fun?”

But that was just the problem. Since moving to Seoul a couple months ago, you hadn’t truly made any real friends. There were acquaintances at work, but none of them even really knew it was your birthday, and they certainly weren’t about to throw a party for you. You just didn’t know how to tell that to your family, especially since you’d told them stories about your coworkers enough that they recognized the names and assumed they were your friends.

“Mom, I just don’t feel well today.” You repeated against her insistence of it’s your birthday! 

Truthfully it was because of all of this that you didn’t feel well. The loneliness weighed down your stomach like a physical stone resting in your belly, swelling with nausea every time that you remembered that it’s your birthday and you’re alone in a city that you don’t always feel that you belong in.

“Well, you shouldn’t be alone,” your mother says. “Call over one of your friends.”

Again, a pang in your belly. You bite your lip. “I don’t want anyone else to get sick.” The lie only makes it worse.

“You won’t get anyone sick, you’re being silly. If you won’t call over a friend, I’ll text that nice boy from your building and tell him to come over.” You can already hear her moving away from her phone, heading toward the old-fashioned book where she keeps track of important things.

“Mom, oh my God. No! That would be humiliating.” 

What’s worse than being completely alone on your birthday? Having your mom send a random guy who lives in your building to come hang out with you out of pity. You can still remember the bizarre panic and embarrassment that had swept through you in those first few days when you were moving in. Your mother had come with you just to help you get situated and make sure that the apartment was going to be nice like the pictures online. 

She’d gone out to get groceries on the second day while you tried setting up the wifi completely, and when she returned she was beaming and began telling you about the neighbor just two doors down who’d helped her when she dropped one of the bags, who was about your age and so handsome, and she’d told him all about her daughter who had just moved in upstairs. Somehow your sneaky mother had gotten his number just in case she ever couldn’t get in contact with you or if something happened to you and someone needed to contact her.

Or, you know, in case her daughter was lonely and she could humiliate you by contacting this neighbor you had never met, and asking him to come sit with you.

You were mortified.

“Mom! No!” You insisted again as you heard her stop flipping pages and make a quiet aha as she found the number she was looking for. “Mom, are you seriously–”

“You need to have someone with you on your birthday, even if you’re sick. Happy Birthday. Love you!” And she ended the call just like that.

Now you felt even worse than before, so to take your mind off of how you were potentially being embarrassed long-distance, you took a shower, but that just gave you more time to mull over things, so then you dressed and cleaned the apartment, scrubbing at a stubborn stain on the sofa, and then vacuuming and dusting.

And when you were just finished with that, about to sit down and watch a movie, there was a knock on your door.

She didn’t, you wanted to scream and you almost wanted to cry angry, embarrassed tears. 

Another knock, and then, “Y/N?”

It wasn’t a voice that you recognized, but when you came over to the peep hole in the door, you were stunned as you realized that you did know that face. But how did it know your name.

You opened the door to face WinWin of NCT and WayV fame.

He looked at you. You looked at him.

“Uhh, when you moved in, your mom asked for my number, and she just called to ask if I’d come check on you?” He rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. “She said you were sick.”

You could feel your face heating up. “Yeah. You really didn’t have to come check on me. You were probably busy and I really, really don’t want to get you sick.”

WinWin looked at you again, glancing up and down. “You don’t look sick.”

You sigh and lean against the door. “I’m not sick. Not really. I just told her that so she wouldn’t get upset that I’m alone on my birthday, because then I’d have to admit that I haven’t really made any friends since I moved here. And it’s pathetic enough that I’m explaining this to you, I don’t want to have to explain it to her too.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be alone on your birthday.” He says, and then he holds something out to you that you hadn’t noticed before. “The auntie who cooks for us made this for you when I told her about what your mom said. She says it’ll make you feel better. She also told me that if I don’t feed it to you and nurse you back to health myself, she’ll never let me forget it.”

“Did my mom say that or the auntie?” You ask, carefully taking the food parcel from WinWin. 

“My dorm auntie.” He smiles. “By the way, I can’t believe we’ve never met before. We live so close to each other, and if you’ve not seen me or the others before, I’m sure you’ve heard them. They get so loud.”

Sometimes late at night you’d heard happy shouts or music coming from somewhere nearby. And once you had thought you saw Kun, but he was wearing a hat and a mask and it was late, so you assumed your mind was playing tricks on you. Now you knew that it was most likely him you’d seen.

“Well, tell her thank you for the soup. And I’m sorry about all of this. I’ll tell my mom to delete her number, like, I’d really hoped that she would have lost it by now so that way nothing as embarrassing as this could ever happen.” You start to step back to close the door, but the look on WinWin’s face makes you pause.

WinWin clears his throat. “I can still keep you company, if you’d like? I’m serious, I don’t think you should be alone on your birthday unless that’s what you really want.” It’s not what you want, but you don’t want him to hang out with you if he’s just doing it out of pity. As if he hears your thoughts, WinWin says, “Also, that’s a lot of soup that she made. A lot more than one person can eat. And I might have candy that I’d be willing to share with you as a birthday present.”

“Alright.” You step back, this time holding the door open wider for him to come inside, and in a light, teasing voice, you say, “But only because of the candy.”

As you pulled your short coffee table closer to the sofa, clearing it off a bit to make room for the soup, you were glad you’d cleaned your apartment and showered. WinWin sat there on your sofa, looking around the place with interest. Suddenly you were very conscious of the paintings you’d hung on your walls, the basket of unfolded laundry sitting outside the bathroom door, and the movie you had queued up on the TV.

But thank God the stain was gone from the couch and everything else was neat and tidy, fresh as your clean cotton air freshener could make it.

You grabbed bowls and spoons from the kitchen, and as you ladled some soup into a bowl for WinWin, you told him, “You know, you really probably shouldn’t give your number out to just anyone. Even if she is a mother concerned about the future of her daughter.”

“Why?” WinWin looked up at you, thanking you softly as he takes the bowl from you. “She could be crazy? Or a sasaeng’s attempt at getting my number?”

Yes, those are exactly the reasons. 

“But if I hadn’t given her my number, then what are the chances that I’d get to be sitting here with you?” Your belly does a funny floppy fluttery feeling at his words. “Pretty low, if I had to guess. And that would be a shame because so far I feel like we could get along.”

“It’s probably because you’re a Scorpio.” You say before you realize. Your eyes go wide. “I just, I mean, I get along really well with Scorpios.”

WinWin looks at you sideways for a second. “So you are a fan?”

Again, a funny feeling mixed with nausea and embarrassment. “No, not really. Well, yes and no. I like your music, but it’s not like I obsess over you or anything like that. I’ve just seen stuff about your birthday, so I know you’re a Scorpio.” How do I make myself sound less crazy? you thought, looking down into your bowl of soup, praying that the whirls of steam will reveal the answer to you. 

“It’s not a bad thing if you’re a fan,” WinWin says after a moment. “Just as long as you’re not going to sell pictures of me or stories. Or try to sell some of my hair.” He grimaces, but then tries to hide it as he takes a spoonful of the soup. 

“I’m definitely not going to do that. I didn’t even know you lived here, I swear. And I definitely didn’t want you or anyone else coming to my apartment today. That was entirely my mother’s doing.” 

WinWin changes the subject, talking instead about the art on your walls, asking if you painted them yourself (you did), asking questions about you and how you like living in Seoul. You talk for a bit about how it is coming from somewhere so different to live here, how it’s not a culture shock necessarily, but getting used to living in a foreign country can be difficult. 

Any awkwardness you may have thought you were going to feel with him vanishes, and soon the soup is gone but the conversation continues and WinWin produces the promised candy from his pockets. It’s sticky and sweet and exactly what you needed. Even after the last candy wrapper is crumpled up beside the rest, WinWin stays, and it’s only as it’s getting late that his phone buzzes in his pocket and he has to leave, but not before you exchange numbers, so the next time you’re feeling lonely your mother doesn’t have to be the one to ask him to hang out with you.

And crazy as it may be, you do feel much better afterwards, though you’re not sure if it’s the soup, the company, the candy, or some combination of all three.

You almost passed him on the stairs a few days later.

“Hey.” WinWin’s voice is what caught your attention this time. You looked up so fast that your neck twinged, and you had to clutch onto the rail to keep from falling. WinWin reaches out too. “Woah, careful. Don’t fall because of me.”

“Thanks.” You rub your neck, hoping to soothe it. 

WinWin then digs a hand into his pocket and the next thing you know, he’s holding a piece of candy out to you. You give him a funny look, but you take it anyway. 

“What’s this for?” 

“Just to make you feel better.” WinWin comes to stand on your side of the steps as another person tries to walk down. “Something to keep you sweet.”

You laugh and smile and pretend like you’re not blushing. “Thank you.”

“Are you feeling better? Less sick?” WinWin asks. “Or is your mom going to call me again?”

“She should leave you alone. I told her to.” You unwrap the piece of candy and pop it into your mouth. “And I am feeling much better. It turned out to be a pretty good birthday.”

WinWin’s gaze was warm on your face, a slow smile growing across his face. “Any particular reason?”

“Oh, it was for sure all the candy.” You ball up the candy wrapper, roll it around in the palm of your hand until WinWin suddenly reaches out and pinches it between his fingers. His fingertips brush your palm, leaving a tingle behind under your skin. Distracted by that, your voice comes out a lot softer when you say, “And the soup. Maybe the company, but that’s yet to be decided.”

Your busy smiling at WinWin, so you don’t notice when somebody rounds the stairs behind you and clears their throat. WinWin starts, and turns his gaze at the intruder. Hendery’s standing there, staring at WinWin’s fingers in your palm, the candy wrapper that you’re both seeming to cling to.

“Are you coming?” Hendery asks. 

WinWin nods. “Yeah. A minute.” 

Hendery slowly leaves, and when you’re alone again, WinWin says, “I have to go.” He steps down a few steps, not breaking eye contact with you in a way that suddenly feels very intimate. Before he turns away, he says, “You know, if you’re not going to let your mom contact me to come hang out with you, you could text me. I’ve got more candy, if you want it.”

As if you need the candy to want to hang out with WinWin. He’s handsome and funny and nice, sweet and smart and fun to talk to. 

From somewhere down below in the building, you hear a door open and close. 

“Go,” you tell him. “I’ll see you around.”

WinWin smiles and then dashes away down the stairs to catch up with Hendery.

Every time you see WinWin after that, he hands you a piece of candy. Sometimes more than one. Even if you’re only passing on the stairs or in the hall outside your apartments and neither of you has time to stop and chat, he’ll pass you a piece of candy and a smile. When you actually do text him and ask if he wants to come over, he brings candy. Once you even ran into him when you were coming home from a grocery run and he was stopping to grab some food from the place around the corner, and even then he had candy to give to you.

It was weeks or months later when you finally brought it up to him.

You were sitting together on the floor of your apartment. WinWin was leaned back with his head resting against the sofa, his eyes closed as he groaned about how full he was. You were still picking at what remained of the take out, but you were feeling pretty full too, and if the food continued sitting there, you knew you were just going to pick at it until you were miserably full.

So you started to clean up, gathering empty cola bottles, glasses, the food containers and napkins. And then you noticed a piece of candy sitting right there on top of your phone. 

You sigh and pick up the piece of candy. “What’s this?”

WinWin cracks open an eye to see what you’re talking about. He frowns. “A piece of candy. Like usual.”

“You know, you don’t have to give me candy every time you see me. I promise you, the candy is not why I like seeing you.” You hope he knows that every time you’ve said that the candy is why you let him in that first night, that was a lie. The candy is not what keeps you coming back to him. 

“I like giving you candy.” WinWin says. “Keeps you sweet.”

You wrinkle your nose at that cheesy line. 

WinWin leans forward then and plucks the candy from your fingers. “Fine, no more candy for you then.”

“No! I didn’t say I don’t want the candy.” You whine and reach for it, but he pulls it farther out of your reach. 

He holds it out of your reach, and you crawl toward him, stretching your arm up but your fingers only reach his wrist. WinWin laughs, and you watch as he nimbly unwraps the candy with just his one hand without dropping it. And then quickly, he brings it down. You move to intercept it, but then he closes his hand completely around it. 

“Do you want it?” WinWin teases. You nod. WinWin jerks his chin. “Okay, sit back. Open your mouth.”

You do just that, sitting back on your heels right beside his knee, and WinWin holds the candy out, making airplane noises at you like your a child. He flies it toward your mouth in a zig-zagging pattern, and you’re not about to try to chase it now, but then it’s so close, right there within your grasp, and you move forward. 

Your lips bump into his fingers, but it’s too late. WinWin jerks his hand back, pops the candy into his own mouth, and his lips curl into a victorious smile.

“That’s not fair!” You sit closer, so close to him that when he opens his mouth, you can almost smell the sweetness of the candy. “That was mine!” 

WinWin laughs and takes your hand. 

For a second you forget all about the candy. All that matter is his warm hand on yours, and your heart races trying to catch up with your mind which is jetting off into all sorts of different scenarios, down curious pathways. 

WinWin presses something into your palm and curls your fingers around it. “I have more candy.” His words are soft, sweet, wrapped in a layer of affection you’ve never noticed before. “I’ve always got more candy for you.”

As soon as his hand leaves yours, you unwrap the candy and pop it into your mouth, savoring it on your tongue. It’s the same candy it’s always been, but somehow it tastes sweeter.

One of the others lets you into their apartment when you show up at the door. By this point, they all recognize you as the neighbor that WinWin keeps spending all of his time with when they’re not working. He’s not there now, but he will be soon, and you didn’t feel like waiting around in your apartment for him, so since he’d recently told you that you were welcome over at his place whenever you wanted, here you were.

And oddly, none of the other guys seemed to find anything strange about that. 

You were just showed to the room that belonged to WinWin and someone else, neither of them were there at the moment, so you sat on the bed that was WinWin’s and you waited.

Looking around, you could see what in the space was his, what parts of it he’d made his own. And the more you looked around, the more you wondered, where did he hide his candy stash?

You didn’t want to look around through his things, being nosy and invading his privacy was not the reason you’d come over. However, it had been a few days since you saw him last, and you were craving just a taste of sugar. It didn’t really take long. You just took a peek under his bed, and there you found storage box that had a large bag of candy in it as well as some other snacks. 

You couldn’t help it. You quickly dug out a handful of candy, unwrapped them, and stuffed them in your mouth, shoving the evidence in the pocket of your sweatshirt as you fell back onto the bed to enjoy your mouthful of stolen candy. 

Several minutes later, you were still like that when WinWin came inside his room. He looked a bit worn out, a little rattled, and when he looked at you he seemed calmer.

“Hey.” You sat up, and in a light voice, you asked, “How was your day?”

He didn’t answer, not with his words anyway.

WinWin walked toward you, dumped his bag beside the bed, and put his hands to your cheeks, and drew your mouth to his in a bruising kiss. You gasped, opening up to him, and WinWin deepened the kiss, pressing you flat on the bed.

Part of you wondered if you’d somehow fallen asleep, if this was a dream? Because this had come out of nowhere. Hadn’t it?

You kissed him back, slowing it down and softening the kiss. WinWin makes a low moan that you echo back at him.

“You taste like fucking candy,” WinWin murmurs. He kisses you again, touching his tongue against yours in a way that has you squirming and making another little sound of pleasure. “So sweet. Hmm.” WinWin sits up then, runs his fingers through his hair, and suddenly frowns down at you. “I haven’t seen you in a few days. Why do you taste like candy so much?”

Tucking your hands into your sweatshirt pocket, you shake your head. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s just how I taste.”

WinWin shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s it.”

He leans over you again, and you laugh, place a hand to his chest. “Might I ask what brought this on? Not that I’m complaining about you kissing me. At all.” You can feel his heartbeat pounding against your palm, and it picks up again as he looks back at your lips.

“Don’t try to change the subject.” WinWin leans in again, and this time when he kisses you it’s just so gentle, his lips caressing yours, a hand cradling the back of your neck.

Your hand slips under his shirt, and he makes a strange but cute sound, shivering when you curl your fingers against his hip. “WinWin, why–?”

There’s a soft crinkling noise as WinWin touches your belly. He breaks the kiss, looks down at your sweatshirt, and then his hand plunges into your pocket, and draws out the crumpled up wrappers. “Mm, that’s what I thought. You found my sweet stash?”

“Yeah.” You tilt your chin, and WinWin crushes his mouth to yours again, the candy wrappers cascading from his fingers. “WinWin, really, what’s brought this on?” You ask between kisses.

“You make me happy.” WinWin strokes your cheek. “My day was kinda not great, but you make me happy. And I’ve been holding myself back, thinking that you don’t like me too. You just like me for my candy. But today, today I needed something happy, and here you were waiting for me.” He kissed you again, and this time you loop your arms around his neck.

You’re still kissing when the door opens. The floor creaks then creaks again and the door closes. 

“Oops, your roommate’s probably scarred now.” You laugh. 

“That’s okay,” WinWin says. He kisses you again. “Now he knows to leave us alone.”

You put a hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly as he moves forward to make out with you once again, and this time he pauses and looks down at you, your face all blushed and you a little out of breath. 

“Are you okay?” WinWin pushes your hair back behind your ear. 

You nod, twist your fingers in his shirt. “Yeah, just a little out of breath.”

WinWin moves off of you anyway. He rolls off the bed, and for a second you hear him rummaging around beneath it, and then he reappears. 

“For you.” He holds out a candy to you. 

You laugh and take it, unwrap it and pop it into your mouth, puckering as it’s a sour one that really hits you. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head, reaching out to lightly punch at WinWin as he laughs and slides back up onto the bed with you. 

“Sour?” WinWin cradles your cheek, his thumb tracing the shape of your puckered lips. 

“A little bit.” You shake your head and swallow. He offers you another candy, and this one is sweet. 

You’re in the middle of taking a bath when you mother calls. The bath was nice and relaxing before, filled with bubbles and a pretty flowery scent. The free-standing bathtub had been your favorite feature of the apartment when you moved in, and it still was one of your favorite things about the place.

She didn’t really want anything in particular, just to talk at a time of day that would work out for both of you. You chatted for a bit, talking about work and life and how you were going to make dinner after this call was over since you were in the bath at the moment. 

You run your fingers through the bubbles, scooping some of them up and blowing them around the room while you listen to your mother telling you about what her neighbor’s have been doing, which is apparently something gossip-worthy. 

That’s the exact moment that WinWin decides to make use of the key that you recently lent him to your apartment. You hear the distant sound of him sitting down his keys and his phone on your table.

And then his voice echoes through the space as he calls your name.

Your mother’s story stammers to a halt. “Who’s that?” She asks as WinWin calls your name again. You groan, but your mother ignores that and excitedly says, “Do you have a boyfriend? Wait, is that your handsome neighbor?”

“Mom, oh my God. No. I have to go.” You end the call, stabbing at the screen with a soapy finger. “I’m in the bath, WinWin, I’ll be out in--”

Before you can say anything else, he’s come around the corner, right in clear view of you through the open bathroom door. You’d been alone just a minute ago, not expecting anyone over, so you hadn’t bothered to close the door as you usually didn’t. 

You check your phone again, making sure that the call with your mom is ended, and then you sink lower into the bath, fully covering your body in bubbles, leaving only your head just above. 

“WinWin.” When you say his name, a few bubbles blow loose, drifting in his direction. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I just wanted to come see you.” He stands in the doorway, leans against the doorjamb, and tries to not stare directly at you. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to grab dinner, but you’re clearly busy.”

You lift a bubbly hand and curl it over the edge of the tub. His eyes land on it and can’t seem to move away. “I’m just finishing the bath. I’m definitely not too busy to go to dinner with you. Especially if...”

“If what?” WinWin looks back up to your eyes again.

In a small voice, you say, “If it’s a date?”

Since that day when you’d made out on his bed at his apartment for the better part of an hour, you hadn’t done anything like that again. Things were almost just normal, just friends. That had been weeks ago, but there was still tension between you, an awkwardness but a strong connection that was just unaddressed. 

“If you want it to be a date.” WinWin’s lips curl up in a shy smile.

You nod. “Can you hand me the towel?” You point over at the towel hanging a few feet away, just out of reach. 

WinWin takes a few tentative steps inside, and then he grabs the towel, and as he hands it over to you, his fingers meet your slick skin. Instead of moving back, WinWin stays there for another long moment, his eyes run over your face, lingering on your lips. 

“WinWin.” His name leaves your lips as a whisper, but it is enough.

He touches his fingers just beneath your chin, tilting your mouth up to perfectly slot against his in a new, heart-stopping kiss. 

You push a soapy hand into his hair, fingers running against his neck, leaving bubbly trails behind, drawing him more deeply into the kiss. He sits on the side of the tub, his hand drifting lower until it’s sunken below the bubbles, his fingers resting on your shoulder. You drop your hand down, twist it in the bottom of his shirt, and give a tug, trying to get him closer to you.

In just an instant, he loses his balance, and comes sliding into your bath.

“Oh, shit!” WinWin laughs. 

The room fills with disturbed bubbles. Water splashes over the sides of the tub. WinWin soaks in the water, his mouth barely pulled away from yours, and his denim-clad ass rests between your legs. 

“I’m sorry.” You laugh and stroke a hand over his hair. “Are you okay?” 

“Can’t say I’ve ever been better,” WinWin says. He closes the small space between you and him, pulling you into another kiss. You cling to him, kissing him back hungrily, desperately, and you shift, moving your legs out from under him just enough that you can throw one of them over his lap. 

You draw yourself up. The cool air bites into your damp, bare skin, but the bubbles cling to you just enough that although WinWin’s eyes are wide, drinking in the sight of you, he can’t make out anything more than he’s really seen before. “WinWin,” you whisper his name again. As you rise fully up onto your knees, he brings his legs into the tub, shifting around so you can comfortably settle down onto his lap.

The soaked denim, the bubbles, the warm water and his sinking hands feel strange on your body, but at the same time, the feel of his thigh beneath your pussy drives you wild. 

You press your bare chest against his, and you rub your pussy over his thigh with a whimper.

“Oh God.” WinWin looks at your face. “You’re so perfect, you know?”

“Shut up.” You kiss him. “I want you, need you.” Your hands fumble beneath the water, trying to undo his pants, and when WinWin realizes what you’re doing, his hands dip down to help you. His pants come open beneath your fingers, and then there’s his dick, hard and throbbing at your touch.

WinWin groans. You cover his mouth with yours to keep him quiet, a hand curling against the back of his neck, and the other you keep working at his dick beneath the bubbles until he’s fully hard, swearing between kisses until finally he pulls back just enough to tell you, “Please, I want to be inside you already.”

You lift up and then sit down on him, sinking down slowly to the sound of WinWin’s half-swallowed moans. 

It’s strange feeling his clothes wet against your skin, his dick long and so good inside you, and his mouth caresses yours, his hands brush away the bubbles from your skin, leaving more and more of your bare to his eyes and touch. You shiver when his thumbs traces the curve of your breast, when it swirls in towards your nipple, so by the time he reaches your nipple it’s a hard peak awaiting his touch.

You let out a squeal as he tweaks your nipple, and WinWin smiles into the kiss and does it again. You grip his shoulder, rising up just to drop back down on him, kissing his sweet moan from his lips. 

Each move you make as you ride him sends ripples, swallowing down the bubbles slowly. WinWin’s hands hurry the process along, as he touches you moving the bubbles around. 

“God, you’re so fucking pretty.” WinWin tells you, his hand on your hips helping keep your rhythm steady as you grow tired of riding him. “After that day, I just thought you didn’t want anything to do with me. You didn’t make any moves like you wanted me.”

“Are you kidding?” You moan as he rocks his hips up against yours. “I’ve been dreaming about having you like this for weeks now. When you kissed me, God, WinWin, it awoke something in me and I just wanted to have you fuck me.” You cry out, and the sound echoes around the bathroom. “I’ve had all kinds of dreams.”

His hold on you tightens, bouncing you up and down on his dick. “As much as I’d love to hear them, I don’t know if I can take it at the moment. I’m close. You’re so warm and tight on me. Do you want me to cum inside?”

Your clit rubs against the fastening of his jeans and he fills you up so well, and at the thought of him cumming inside of you, you feel a tightening in your belly. You’re on birth control, so you’ll be fine, plus you want it so much. 

“Cum inside me, WinWin. Oh, please, oh God.” You sink down to have him fully within you, and you swirl your hips in circles, your clit against that fastening of his pants, his dick rubbing against your G spot. “I want to feel you cum inside me.”

WinWin swears and bucks up into your heat a few times, and then he orgasms, shooting his load inside your pussy. You desperately rock yourself on his dick, pushing yourself nearer and nearer until a last it overwhelms you, your orgasm unraveling you in one quick moment.

You slump forward against him, heart racing, and you move on him a few more times, just getting the most out of it that you can until your energy leaves you, and you just bury your face into his shoulder.  

“Are you okay?” WinWin cradles the back of your head. 

“I-I just, I wasn’t expecting that. But I liked it. A lot.” You sigh softly. “I thought I’d just have a nice relaxing bath, wrap up and make something to eat for myself. Tonight turned out so much nicer.”

“It was nice, right? But I guess we’ll have to put a hold on dinner. For a little while at least.” WinWin brushes his fingers down your spine. “My clothes are a little too damp to go out to dinner.”

You draw his mouth to yours again, just leaving a little kiss. “I have a machine that dries clothes, believe it or not. If you just want to take your clothes off I can get you dry in no time.”

“I think you just want to get me naked, actually.” WinWin laughs. He pushes lightly at your hips, and you lift up off of him, stand to let the water sluice down your body, the last of the bubbles sliding away and leaving you totally visible for him. You grab up the towel from where you’d dropped it on the floor ages ago, and you wrap it around yourself, carefully stepping out of the tub. WinWin groans. “You’re so cute. Your butt, I mean.”

You swat a hand at him. “Get out of the tub. Take you clothes off. I’ll dry them for you, and I’m sure we can find something else to do while we wait for the to dry.”

As you walk toward the door, you hear him splashing out of the tub. There’s the wet slap of his shirt hitting the tile floor, and you turn to look over your shoulder just before you step out of the bathroom. 

WinWin catches you looking, so he winks your way, and you hurry to your room to put some clothes on. You rummage around, looking for anything you think he could wear while you dry his clothes for him. There isn’t, and it doesn’t seem to matter to him because you turn around from searching your clothes, and see him standing comfortably in the doorway with just a towel around his waist.

“I have something for you.” He says.

You eye his towel, but WinWin grips it tighter around him. 

“Not that. Here.” He holds out his hand, revealing a piece of candy in a soggy wrapper. “It’s a little wet, but I brought it for you.”

You take the candy, but you won’t eat it, not after it soaked in your bathwater. “How about we make some dinner, dry your clothes, and have a night in?”

Cooking while half-naked turns out to be a bad idea. The towel grows loose, you grow distracted, and you end up almost burning the food when you get a bit handsy and make out with your hand beneath his towel. But you wipe your hand clean on the towel, and sit down together to eat on the sofa, curl up to watch a movie together, and forget all about everything else but each other.

[gonnavhappy]

Missing Pieces

Word Count: 2,741 Rating: Not Rated Warnings: N/A Summary:

Phil feels lonely on Christmas

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It was the night before Christmas Eve, and Phil was feeling lonely. He had been lying awake in bed for exactly three hours and twenty-seven minutes, and he couldn't figure out why. Dejectedly, he rolled into a standing position, adjusted his glasses, and sighed. He briefly considered pulling out his phone and filming some bits for a "Sleepless Night with Phil" video, but he shook his head instead. He wasn't in the mood to bring the energy he usually displayed in those videos. Instead, he pulled his duvet around his head, which he suddenly decided was far too brightly colored for how he felt, and trudged into the lounge. Surely, watching a few episodes of an anime would bring him out of his slump. False. He realized as soon as he turned on the TV that every show he watched, he only watched with Dan. Phil felt even lonelier than before. He knew sitting in front of a blank screen with a pillow cradled in his arms probably wasn't the best way to deal with his issues, but that didn't stop him from trying. The time on his phone read 2:53. It suddenly occurred to Phil that it was Christmas Eve. He blinked. This time of year was supposed to bring joy into people's lives, but here he was, with no hint of happiness in his body. He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he heard footsteps behind him. "What are you doing up this late?" Dan's disembodied voice broke through his thoughts. Phil didn't bother to turn his head in Dan's direction. "Thinking." Dan chuckled, "Not pulling a Dan and having a crisis are you?" "No." He sighed again. "Maybe, I don't know." Dan's tone shifted immediately, "What about?" He asked, joining Phil on the sofa. He had two mugs of hot chocolate in his hands. Phil looked at the mugs, then up at Dan quizzically. Dan followed his eyes and muttered quietly, as though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't, "I heard you get up." Phil took the mug Dan was extending to him and sighed once again, "We're alone on Christmas, Dan. Doesn't that bother you?" He could've sworn Dan looked a little hurt by that statement, and his voice was softer than usual, "We're not alone. We have each other." "I know that, I just... I can't help but feeling like something is missing from my life, and I can't figure out what it's supposed to be." Phil saw something he couldn't quite put his finger on pass over Dan's face. He blinked twice and decided he was delusional from lack of sleep. He set his half-empty mug down, leaned back and sunk into the sofa as far as possible, and closed his eyes. He still felt terrible and more confused than ever, but he was comforted knowing Dan was next to him. When Dan didn't get up and leave him alone once more, Phil curled onto his side and ended up with his head in Dan's lap. He didn't move. He liked the closeness more than he knew he should. He reminded himself that this was Dan. Nothing more than his best friend. He was mostly just thankful that Dan let him stay there. As he drifted into unconsciousness, Phil could've sworn he felt the light touch of a hand run through his hair. He relaxed into it, though he figured it was his brain's cruel way of reminding him that all he really wanted was someone to hold on Christmas. ~ "Phil! Wake up!" To his annoyance, Phil was rudely startled out of sleep by none other than Dan Howell, who was currently shaking his shoulder excitedly and pointing out the window. Phil lifted his head from where it, surprisingly, still rested on Dan's thigh. He was attempting to blink the sleep out of his eyes when he realized why they weren't adjusting, "What the hell, Dan? What time is it? Where are my glasses?" Dan practically jumped up from his place on the sofa and made his way to the window. "I took them off after you fell asleep. They're on the table, you spork, where else would they be? Now hurry up and come look!" Phil obliged, albeit reluctantly and with a hint of distress, "What are you- oh wow." He lost all of his annoyance as soon as he saw what was so interesting. Outside, London was being covered by a thin layer of white fluff. It was beautiful, even if most of the glittering not-square flakes melted as soon as they touched the ground. It was Christmas Eve, and it was snowing. Phil's spirits were lifted ever so slightly seeing Dan so giddy over this simple occurrence. Dan didn't miss a beat, "You can practically feel the Christmas energy." He was truly glowing, and Phil felt a rush of some emotion that he craved much, much more of. He hadn't realized he was staring until his eyes met Dan's beautiful chocolatey brown ones. Without a second thought, Phil flung himself forward and wrapped his arms around Dan's shoulders. Dan made a small sound and froze as though he were a statue. But, he didn't pull away. In fact, he brought his arms up to support Phil's torso and placed his warm hands just above the other boy's shoulder blades. They didn't speak or move or even breathe too loudly for a few minutes. They were both too comfortable to change position or ask the other if this was even okay. Truth be told, they both wanted to stay like this forever. It was Phil who broke the silence, "So, what should we do to get in a more festive mood?" He was still attached to Dan from the waist up at this point, but had no intention of prying Dan's arms off of him. Dan's face turned from a soft smile to a mischievous grin in less than a second, "Christmas Baking!" "As long as we don't film it. We both know that would be a disaster." Phil giggled. "No filming then. Just us and 999 on speed dial." Phil mocked a pout, "I hope not, we can't burn Santa's cookies!" "Santa's cookies? Really Phil?" "Shh, just go with it." He put a finger in front of Dan's mouth before a new idea sprung to his mind, "We should bake something for the reindeer, too!" Dan looked at him incredulously, "You know that the reindeer don't actually come into people's houses, right?" Phil threw his hands up, finally separating from Dan, and shrugged, "You never know! Even if they don't, Santa can bring whatever it is up to them!" Dan rolled his eyes, "At this rate, we'll never get anything done." Phil huffed in fake annoyance and raced off to the kitchen, Dan trailing closely behind him. A couple hours later and with more flour on themselves than in the cookies, they had created some half decent chocolate chip Christmas-themed cookies. "That actually went better than I thought it would." Dan remarked, dusting off his pajamas. Phil scoffed, licking melted chocolate off his fingers, "I can't believe you didn't have faith in us!" "And you did, then?" Phil shrugged, "Well, no, but-" "Aha! See, Lester, now I know the truth." "Whatever, Howell, I'm going to go browse." Phil spun on his heels not quite as gracefully as he had envisioned and marched out of the kitchen. He had just retrieved his duvet from the sofa and settled under it comfortably when he was interrupted by his bedroom door opening. Dan ambled in and joined Phil under the covers without saying a word. "What are you doing?" Phil asked. Dan didn't barge into his room and tuck himself into his bed on a regular basis, so this situation was setting off a lot of warning bells in Phil's mind. Dan brushed off the implication of the question and replied, "What does it look like? I'm helping you celebrate Christmas Eve the right way. Let's watch something." Phil quickly shook his head to clear his racing mind, "Alright, how about a Christmas movie?" "As long as it's not so cheesy that it makes me want to pull my own eyes out." "You love cheesy movies." "Who told you that?" Dan's voice went an octave higher like it always does when he's defensive. "You did." "I did not!" "You definitely did." "Oh, shut up and pick a movie." Phil smiled to himself and queued up the first cheesy holiday movie he found. As soon as Phil sunk down comfortably into his bed, Dan shifted his position just enough so that their arms were pressed together. Phil felt a strange buzzing sensation wherever Dan's skin met his. He tried to ignore it, but his mind wouldn't stop twisting and turning. They made it 15 minutes into the film when Phil's self control wavered and he decided he was going to do something about their situation. He moved his hand so that his fingers brushed against Dan's ever-so-slightly, and slowly rotated it so his palm was facing up. Apparently, Dan understood his invitation, because soon enough, warm fingers were being cautiously intertwined with his own. Phil pulled Dan's arm towards himself, and Dan came to rest with his back on Phil's chest. Phil felt his heart swell with a sensation he was still adjusting to. He definitely wanted more of this. Neither of them was watching the movie. Both of them were occupied by the comfort of their hands interlocked and their bodies close. For the second night in a row, they fell asleep in each other's arms. ~ Today was one of the rare days that Phil woke up content. He'd slept soundly, no dreams or strange occurrences that would usually cause him to wake up exhausted. He also recognised that his body was entangled with another warm figure. Dan had stayed in his arms the entire night. Phil was elated, in more ways than one. When Phil went to get up, Dan noticed and pulled him closer in his current half-awake state. He let out a sigh of contentment as he buried his face in Phil's chest once again. Phil nudged the boy softly, "Dan? You awake?" Dan let out a disgruntled sigh and mumbled something that sounded like, "Mm… 'm comfy." "Alright, well, I'm going to get up now and I'd appreciate it if you moved-" Dan's grip suddenly tightened as he bunched Phil's shirt in his fist, "Stay." Phil considered getting up anyways, but seeing Dan like this did something to his brain. He liked watching the gentle rise and fall of Dan's chest atop of his own. He liked the way Dan's curls had been pushed up past his forehead in the night so that Phil could see the entirety of his features. He loved the way Dan clung to him like he was afraid of losing him. He loved those freckles, those eyelashes, that cute little nose. He loved- "Phil?" Phil's thoughts were interrupted as Dan lifted his head and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He rolled onto his back and stretched his arms above his head, allowing Phil to drink in the sight of him. Dan yawned, humming slightly and fluttering his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. Phil suddenly forgot how to breathe. "Oh- um- yes, hi, good morning." He sputtered, forcing his tongue to listen to his brain. Dan's face brightened, "It's Christmas." Phil giggled, "It is." "I need to give you your present!" Phil rolled his eyes, "Can't we just stay here for a while longer?" Dan scoffed and rolled his eyes, "I didn't say I had to give it to you right now, jeez, you really expected me to get up?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but there was a smirk on his face. "Gosh Phil, I thought you knew me better." "I do!" "Whatever, I'm going back to sleep." Phil decided not to bring up the fact that Dan was still in his bed. He just yawned, rested his arms on Dan's back and pressed his face into Dan's mop of hair. A couple hours passed before they disentangled themselves from each other. Somehow, their legs had tied together and gotten trapped in the sheets. It took a concerning amount of giggling and struggle to free themselves. Once they succeeded, Dan told Phil to meet him in the lounge. He then went to get dressed, seeing as they'd both been wearing the same pyjamas for two nights in a row. Phil picked out a particularly festive jumper and made his way into the lounge. Dan was already situated in his sofa crease, wearing an equally festive jumper and browsing Tumblr. Phil took the perfect opportunity to turn on the radio to a local station that he knew was playing themed tunes. He grinned as soon as he heard what song was playing. He began tapping his foot and swaying a little, accompanied by some offbeat hand motions. Phil turned away from the radio, and noticed Dan watching him curiously. He smirked mischievously and gestured for Dan to get up and join him, "Let's dance." "To Mariah Carey? Seriously, Phil?" "It's Christmas! Live a little, would you?" "Fine. But if I pull some muscle I didn't know I had from this, I'm blaming you entirely." "You always say that." Phil held out both hands and pulled Dan from his sofa crease. With their hands still intertwined, Phil pulled Dan to the center of the room and began swinging their arms back and forth to the upbeat love song. He saw a smile start to creep into Dan's expression, and felt himself smirk when it broke into a genuine, pearly grin. By the end of the song, they were both giggling and out of breath. Dan laughed until he bent over and seemingly fell into Phil's arms. He stopped laughing with a startled gasp and let his gaze fall on Phil's face. He straightened himself out and looped his arms around the back of Phil's neck. Suddenly, 'White Christmas' was playing and Phil's hands were on Dan's hips and Dan looked a little lost in the melody. They swayed together in the middle of their apartment, gravitating closer and closer until they were using each other as support. Dan's head came to rest on the place between Phil's heart and his cheek, eyes closed and still swaying. Phil looked down at Dan. His breath caught in his throat. The last bits of sun were shining through the window, illuminating Dan's face in the soft glow. He couldn't deny that Dan looked beautiful. Dan was beautiful. Dan had always been beautiful. He took a deep breath and whispered, so quietly he almost didn't hear it from his own lips, "I've finally figured out what's been missing from my life." "And what's that then, Phil?" "You." "M-me? We've lived together for nearly 6 years, Phil!" Phil shook his head fondly, "You're an idiot, Dan." He let his hands wander from Dan's hips to his chest to his shoulders to his face, and finally to the nape of his neck to gently guide their lips together. To say the kiss was magic was an understatement. No, this kiss was the type that Phil had craved his whole life, the type of kiss that you only hear about in fantasy. This kiss was the final missing puzzle piece that you search forever for, and when you finally find it, it's the perfect fit. Dan returned the kiss with some kind of fervency, guiding both hands to cup Phil's cheeks and pull him impossibly closer. Phil let Dan melt into him, their lips and bodies communicating emotions neither of them had ever shared with each other. Phil felt like he could burst with the exhilaration of kissing Dan. He didn't want to stop, not until Dan knew exactly what he wanted to say. The moment Dan smiled into the kiss, Phil swore that he fell in love a little bit more. He knew Dan wasn't going anywhere, and he was damn well sure that he wasn't either. When they finally pulled away, Dan had a stupid grin on his face, "So that's what you meant." "Shut up." Phil mumbled, bringing Dan's deliciously pink lips back to his. For the first time in a long time, Phil didn't feel quite so alone on Christmas.

[xfandomimagines]

STAR-CROSSED LOVERS (AN AU PETER PARKER IMAGINE) - PART TWO

Summary: One night at a party hosted by her father’s rival, Y/N meets Peter Parker and the two instantly connect. However, she has no idea that he’s the intern of Tony Stark, the rival.

Gender: Female

Notes: BALCONY SCENE!!! I was so excited to write that, aha, and I tried my best to fit in a version of “A rose by another name would smell as sweet” so I hope you can recognise which line that is.

This is queued for while I’m away. The third part will be up when I return home.

{REQUESTS ARE OPEN}

When you returned home your dad was waiting for you in the living room, an angry glare on his face. Between leaving the party and arriving home, Happy, Tony’s assistant, had called him up and told him about the situation and he was now livid. You had gotten a lecture, about how disappointed he was in you and how he’d expect this from Clint, even Wanda to some extent, but he thought you knew better. It hurt you knowing he was let down at what you’d done, especially since you didn’t originally want to go in the first place, but the fact that you’d met Peter there you couldn’t regret it. You knew it was wrong to fall for one of your supposed enemies but it was impossible to find anything bad about him.

You finally escaped your dad with a punishment of being grounded for the weekend, and you checked your phone as you finally collapsed on your bed. Wanda had sent you a quick text saying she and Clint had gotten home safely, and she hoped Steve wasn’t too hard on you. You replied quickly, before shutting off your phone.

The only person your mind was Peter. What had Tony told him about you? You assumed he now knew who you were after what had happened, and you prayed to whatever was out there that it didn’t make him feel any different about you. It didn’t you for him. Of course you knew it would be hard, and you didn’t even know if you would see him again, but your feelings hadn’t changed. They would never.

You stepped out onto your bedroom’s balcony, looking out at the city skyline. Why did Peter have to be on Tony’s side? It had to be your luck that the person you fell for was meant to be your enemy. This shouldn’t even apply to you both anyway. The feud was between Tony and Steve, not you and Peter. If he was an intern to anyone else in the city, you would have none of these issues.

“Why must you intern for Tony Stark? You could pick any businessman in the city and it was him?” You spoke out loud to yourself, thinking you were alone. “If Peter was working for anyone else he would still be Peter, so why must who he’s working for matter?” You sighed, resting against the balcony wall. “I really wish I could see you again.”

“Then look down.”

You jumped in surprise, quickly leaning of the wall to see Peter on the sidewalk below.

“Peter? How did you find out where I live?”

“Ned’s very good with computers, he found it out.” Peter explained. You looked at him worriedly.

“Should I be worried that you can find my address online?”

“Oh, no! Ned had to do some hacking to find it.” Peter shrugged, as if hacking was no big deal. You laughed at the flippancy of the comment, this boy was adorable.

“There’s a fire escape just round the corner if you want to come up. It’s just a small jump from the platform at this level to this balcony.” You told him. Peter nodded and quickly made his way up to you.

Once Peter was stood in front of you on the balcony, he wasted no time in wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you towards him, kissing you deeply. Your arms wound themselves around his neck, hands tangling in his hair as you pushed yourself as close as possible. Even after knowing this boy for a few hours, kissing him felt like coming home, that enclosed in his arms was where you were meant to be.

“That’s certainly the best greeting I’ve ever had.” You laughed, breathlessly. Peter grinned, and you tugged him down to floor, sitting side by side against the wall, your knees touching. “I was worried you wouldn’t want to see me again.”

“Because of what happened?”

You nodded. “I don’t know what Tony told you about us, me, but I certainly know he would never allow this.”

“He told me about Steve, that you were his daughter, and that under no circumstances I was to have any connection to any of you.” Peter said and you looked away at the floor. Of course Tony said that, you knew this but a small part of you still had hope that it wouldn’t matter. “But that doesn’t mean I have to listen to him.”

“Yeah, well, my dad would also say the same thing and unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of ignoring him.” You laughed bitterly. Peter cupped your cheek and turned you to face him.

“Then we don’t tell him. Either of them.” Peter decided. You were still slightly hesitant, knowing that if your dad ever found out then he would have Peter’s head on a platter. Literally. However, seeing Peter looking at you so longingly with such hope, you knew what your answer would be.

“Okay.”

Peter beamed. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded, a grin creeping onto your face as well. Peter kissed you sweetly, all of the love and adoration between you pouring into this one kiss, and you giggled against his lips. You both knew it was risky, if anyone found out then you couldn’t imagine what would happen, but here in this moment you couldn’t find yourself to care.

“Can I see you this weekend?” Peter asked, and you sighed.

“I can’t. I’m grounded for the weekend because of the party tonight. I can on Monday.” Peter groaned, exaggeratedly. “It’s only two days you can manage.”

“I barely managed a few hours.” Peter said, sweetly. You pressed another quick kiss to his lips.

“Y/N?”

You both sprang apart, and you rushed into your bedroom, pushing your back against the door. “Don’t come in I’m not decent!”

Peter looked at you suggestively and you laughed quietly, rolling your eyes.

“You dad wants you in bed. It’s almost midnight.” Bucky relayed from the other side of the door.

“Okay!” You stayed pressed against the door, listening as Bucky moved away and once it was quiet you exhaled in relief. “You need to go. I’ll meet you in Central Park straight after I finish school.”

“I’ll be there.” Peter confirmed, and you held each other in a tight embrace before Peter jumped back over to the fire escape and made his descent back to the street. You watched him over the balcony, waving as he went out of view.

  The Skype call connected, Wanda’s face popping onto your screen. It had been a few days since Peter turned up at your balcony, and ever since then you two had been texting constantly. You were still worried that your dad would find out but Peter constantly reassured you that you’d be careful, and suggested getting someone to be your alibi for when you were together if that helped.

That’s why you were on Skype to Wanda. You thought she would be the best option out of everyone to help, and the least likely to snitch on you to Steve. You also considered asking Clint but after the party you were unsure if Steve would trust him.

“How’s being grounded?” Wanda asked in greeting.

“Deal-able.” You shrugged. “How was Clint’s hangover and how was he after my dad got a hold of him?”

“Not deal-able.” Wanda laughed. “Your dad can be pretty scary when he wants to be, and Clint spent the entirety of yesterday morning bent over the toilet bowl.” You wrinkled your nose in disgust.

“Lovely.”

“Right? So what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?” You texted Wanda that you needed to talk face-to-face a few hours earlier, not wanting to explain the situation over the phone. You quickly double-checked that your door was closed and neither your dad nor Bucky were within earshot.

“I’m seeing someone.”

Wanda let out a squeal. “Who is he? What’s he like? When did you meet?”

“That’s the issue.” You sighed. Just get it over with, Rogers, it’s like ripping off a band aid. “It’s Peter Parker, Tony’s new intern.”

“Are you serious? Your dad will murder him. I mean that literally.” Wanda warned, looking at you in concern.

“I know, and that’s why I need your help! I need you to be my alibi for when I’m with him. Tell my dad that you’re helping me with my studies if he asks or calls or something.” You pleaded. If Wanda didn’t agree to this, you didn’t know what you were going to do.

“Is this worth it? I mean, it seems like so much hard work to see a guy you’ve only just met.”

“It’s crazy, and I realise I’ve only just met him, but there’s something different about him.” You explained, a dreamy look developing on your face as you talked about him. “Whenever I’m with Peter, it feels like I’ve known him forever. It feels like coming home. I’ve only been with him twice and I feel more strongly for him than I have anyone else in my entire life.”

“You really want this, don’t you?” Wanda realised.

“So much.”

“Fine, I’ll help.” You immediately perked up at that, thanking her profusely. “Just promise me you’ll at least try and be careful.”

“I will, I swear.”

You spent the next hour planning with Wanda about how you were going work this. You decided on saying you were going over to Wanda’s apartment to either study or just hang out depending on what school work was like, and you would text Wanda the times and dates of when she needed to cover for you, as well as the cover story to use for that time.

  As soon as school let out on Monday, you wasted no time in heading straight to Central Park as fast as you could, thankful that you had recently gotten your license. You found a spare bench in a secluded section of the park so you would be less likely to be spotted by someone who recognised either of you.

To Peter: I’m here, just up the path from the ice cream van.

To Y/N: A couple of minutes away. Can’t get there fast enough.

You smiled and pocketed your phone before leaning back on the bench, watching an old man across the way feeding the pigeons. He saw you watching and gave you a short wave which you returned.

A few minutes later and you saw Peter heading in your direction and you immediately grinned, waving at him as he jogged the last few steps over to you.

“Hey.” Peter said, sitting beside you and immediately engulfing you in his arms.

You guys stayed there talking and cuddling for what felt like only a few minutes but was actually a couple of hours. Every time you learnt something new about Peter, you fell for him just a little bit more. He told you about his Aunt May, Ned, who you learnt was his best friend since middle school ever since they bonded over Star Wars after Peter saw Ned’s Storm Trooper backpack, and how he loved science and photography.

In return, you told him all about yourself. Your favourite hobbies and how you met Steve six years ago when you were ten when you ran away from your current foster home and ended up at Sam’s Veteran Meeting in which Steve was attending. Steve escorted you back but by that point you had already latched onto him, the first person since your father abandoned you, and Steve knew he had to bring you back home with him. So he filed for adoption as soon as he could and few months later you were living in your current apartment with Bucky and him.

Peter also told you about his own parents. How they were often on missions for the CIA and often left him with his Aunt May, then one day they never returned after being killed on the job. The fact that it had been 10 years since that happened and even though he could barely remember them all that much he still loved and missed them dearly.

When it reached the time for you to leave, you and Peter knew each other so much more intimately, and you knew for certain that you were already falling in love with this boy. Before heading back to your car, you quickly grabbed a frozen yogurt from the store near the car park.

“I don’t understand how you can eat that much sugar.” You laughed, watching Peter tuck into a chocolate flavoured yogurt, with extra sprinkles, mini marshmallows and toffee sauce.

“It’s so good though!” Peter exclaimed around a mouthful of yogurt. You shook your head, taking a polite spoonful of your own raspberry flavoured one.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” You smirked. Finally, you reached your car and you rested the tub on the roof as you turned around to say goodbye. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride home?”

Peter nodded. “It’ll be safer for me to just catch the bus.”

“I’ll message you as soon as I get home.” You promised, running a hand through his hair. Peter placed his own yogurt tub beside yours.

“I’m going to hold you to that.” Peter said. He kissed you, meaning for it to be one quick goodbye kiss, but you ended up having a full make out session against your car, not able to bring yourself to separate. You never wanted to be apart from Peter, he was the best thing in your life right now, possibly ever.

Finally, you managed to say your last goodbyes and you hopped in your car, smiling at Peter with a wave as you started to head back home.

[chefgeofframsay]

Safe And Sound 10/15

Title: Safe And Sound Chapter: 10/15 Pairing: Eventual Michael/Reader Rating: PG-13 for the series Word Count: 6,678 Summary: Six months ago, your life was turned upside down when you won a recording contract on a singing contest reality show. It’s been a blur since then, and things were looking up for you, but people were starting to cross the line with you, putting your safety in danger. At the urging of your label, your manager found you a bodyguard that you could connect with, someone who would be a friend on the lonely nights of traveling. However, instead of getting the bodyguard that oozed masculinity, you got Michael. A/N: Would you look at that, I’ve actually finished it! We’re winding down to the last chapters, and that means you’ll finally see the end. I have it queued up to post on Fridays, once a week until it’s done! 

After what seemed like a full year of preparing for the tour, you were finally kicking off in LA. There were such a mess of emotions rolling around inside of you, but as far as you could tell, it was mostly excitement that you were finally getting where you’ve been working towards for years. In reality, before the contest, you were almost positive that singing as career was just a pipe dream; you’d never be able to do it, and you’d just have to accept that. Then, a year ago to the day (which when you thought about it, you were sure the record company planned it out that way on purpose) that you were announced as the winner of that silly singing show that you weren’t even sure was worth taking the time off from work to go audition for, you were starting your first tour. It was absolutely insane to you, in the best way possible. You and your band had been practicing for weeks, but as you sat on the stage of the Staples Center, looking out at all the empty seats that the record company told you were going to be completely full, you felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of you.

 “You good down there?” A voice from somewhere above you shook you from your thoughts. You looked around wildly until you found the source: a short guy with bright green hair. Jeremy was your drummer, and he was busting his ass as much as you were, if not more so. He was one hell of a drummer, and you just kept thanking him (and the rest of the band for that matter) for agreeing to come along with you. Jeremy just laughed every time.

 “Yeah, yeah,” you told him, smiling tiredly up from where you were sitting. You had perched yourself on a riser, and sat down to think.

 “You sure about that?” chuckled Jeremy, plopping down next to you. “You’ve been staring out to the seats for a solid five minutes, [Y/N]. I was starting to worry you were trying to find the best way out of here and bail on us.”  You opened your mouth to protest, but in order to give him a more exact amount of time you were ‘staring out’ you hit the button on your phone to turn it on to the lock screen. Your mouth snapped shut as you caught sight of the time your phone was displaying. He wasn’t wrong. It had been five minutes of you lost in your own thoughts, but it felt like a few seconds.

 “I wasn’t thinking about how to bail,” you promised, giving Jeremy a tired smile. “It’s just insane to think how different my life was a year ago today compared to…” you trailed off, motioning towards the empty seats.

 “You’d won the contest already a year ago, right?” he asked, and you nodded. “Then it was already different than it was two years ago. No need to freak out about it now.”

 “I’m not freaking out.” You rolled your eyes, chuckling. “I know I had already gotten used to the cameras, and I had gotten to sing to a room this big, and there’s the fact people watched it on tv and online and stuff…” you trailed off, rubbing at your face. “But I had only just won a year ago. No one had put the kind of resources into me they have now. It was all funneled into the show and I was just kind of there. But now, I’m the whole damn show.”

 Jeremy sighed, and you could tell he was trying to think about what to say. A few times, he’d made a noise like he started to say a word, decided against going in that direction, and then fell silent for another few seconds. Then, he let out a quiet ‘aha!’ and nudged you. He pointed to the left of us, and when you looked over, you saw a tall, lanky guy with a camera, right light on, pointing towards you. You raised your eyebrows and looked over at the green-haired drummer.

 “What’s your point?” you asked, confused why he felt the need to point Cole, the camera operator, out.

 “Think about it, [Y/N]! Not that much has changed. You’re still performing to thousands, and you still have cameras following you around. All that’s really changed is a shift in how the money gets divided up. If anything, it’s a good sign they’re giving you more,” he explained. “Just take a deep breath. It’s natural to feel freaked but chill! If nothing else, you’ve got a kick ass band that can carry you.”

 “Yeah?” you laughed, feeling more at ease than you were a moment ago. You hadn’t noticed that crushing feeling on your chest for what it was, but now that it eased, you realized just how anxious you were about it. “What makes you so sure?”

 “Because, a band’s only as good as its drummer,” Jeremy told you seriously. “And I’m a kick-ass drummer.” The both of you laughed, and you were very glad to have someone like Jeremy on your side. He stood up, still chuckling and offered his hand to pull you to your feet. You took it and he surprised you with just how little effort it took him to pull you up off the ground.

 “Don’t think too much about it, kid,” Jeremy sighed, “it’s not worth it. Once you turn those lights on, you can’t see them anyway.”

 “You’re right,” you agreed, “when we were on the show, I think they had to just point me in the direction of where the judges were sitting so I could sing to them. Because I had no shot of actually seeing them.” You laughed at the thought, remembering how they used to mark spots off for the performers during rehearsals for that reason. You hadn’t been the only one properly blinded by the lights, at least.

 The rest of your day was more or less a blur. Despite the fact you’d been up for six or seven hours for rehearsals, it was only one in the afternoon. Since the show wasn’t until eight, there was still hours for the record company to fill for you. At one, your tour manager, Trevor, ushered you out of the Staples Center, Michael appearing by the doorway when you haven’t seen him in hours, and into a car.

 “So, where are we going? Lunch, maybe?” you asked hopefully. Trevor shot you a look and then shook his head.

 “Sorry, [Y/N]. You have an interview with one of the biggest radio stations in the country at two,” he told you, “but then I promise we’ll find you lunch. You’ll have some time between this interview and the next.”

 “How many do I have between now and the show?”

 Trevor consulted his phone, sighing heavily. “It looks like…five. Which I think will be the worst of it,” he answered, clicking through tabs on his phone. “At least, as far as I can tell, this is the worst of it.”

  “Makes sense, I guess,” you conceded, sitting back in the seat. “Everyone’s in LA, more or less.” You looked over at Michael, who had taken a spot next to you, and offered him a slight smile. Since the tour rehearsals, you’d spent less time with him recently. He was around, Michael was always around, he was your bodyguard, but you were working hard to perfect songs so they could not be garbage live. You were more about the singing than the theatrics, which the record company respected, but a good show had show-like qualities to it, and there were new things for you to learn too. Where not to stand at the beginning of a song, and how the audience could get involved. There were way too many moving parts, and every waking second of your life had been dedicated to them. Pair that along with the fact that you were finally living in your new home, and not in Michael’s apartment anymore, and it made sense that seeing him next to you now was like seeing an old friend for the first time in ages.

 “Think you’re up to it all?” Michael asked suddenly, a few minutes after the car had pulled out onto the highway.

 “The interviews?” you asked, a confused tone in your voice. “I can talk about myself, and the tour, I guess.”

 Michael chuckled in that way that made you feel like it was at you rather than with you, but it didn’t bug you nearly as much as it once did; you were used to it with him by now. “Not what I meant. I meant the whole thing. The shows, the interviews, the traveling. You think you’ll be good?” he explained, giving you a curious look.

 “Kind of have to be, I guess,” you answered, frowning. “Can’t back out now.”

 “You cannot,” he agreed, glancing out the window as the car pulled into a parking lot. It was a standard with Michael that when you showed up somewhere that he scanned it the same way he always did, and this time was no different. He undid his seatbelt, opening the door, and slid out. He waited for you, pulling himself up to his fullest height.

 As you got out of the car and stepped past him, Michael grabbed you to stop you long enough to whisper in your ear. “You’re going to kick its ass.”

 You were a little dazed as you continued towards the door, Michael close by at all times, and waved at the fans behind the barrier. Your face felt hot, and you just kind of followed, not really thinking where you were going. You were too busy thinking about the vote of confidence from Michael, and how close he’d been. That distance was hardly new, but that felt different. You weren’t sure what to even make of it.

 “[Y/N]!” A woman with long dark hair was standing near the reception desk, beaming. “I’m Marissa, one of the producers for the show. I’m here to lead you back into the studio.” She glanced around at Michael, frowning slightly. “I’m afraid we don’t have a ton of room back there, so your boyfriend wil…” she started, but Michael cut her off.

 “I’m her bodyguard,” he snapped in a gruff voice. “She goes nowhere without me, got it?”

 Marissa paused, nodding. “Riiiight,” she said awkwardly, and turned her attention instead to Cole, who had followed you in, camera still over his shoulder, always filming. “And the record company gave us the heads up about the camera. I’m afraid we can’t let you into the room where [Y/N] will be, but you’ll have access to the audio after the fact, and we found you a spot by the window so you can see in, no problem.” Cole offered her thumbs up, and she smiled again.

 “Sorry,” you apologized.

 “Don’t even worry about it.” She waved away your apology and then motioned at the door to the left of her. “Let’s get you to the studio before Rocky has a meltdown that his guest isn’t here five minutes early.” Rocky, and the show, was definitely something you recognized. You weren’t sure why, you really didn’t listen to the radio, but you of this show. That must have been a good sign. It was popular enough that you knew it and you never turned your radio on. This was good exposure.

 You followed the producer down the hall, casting a sideways glance at your bodyguard. Michael was pretty stone-faced, and you know it was part of the façade, part of his job, but it was weird to see him like that. He wasn’t the most emotive person to begin with, but purposely having no emotion had its own look. You thanked the woman as she led you into the actual room where the radio show took place, smiling at the man who was standing up to shake your hand.

 “Rocky,” he introduced, giving your hand a firm squeeze. “Have to say, I’m excited to see you here, [Y/N]. I think we’ll have a fun hour.”

 “I hope so!” you exclaimed, “I’m really excited to be here.” You took a seat where a microphone and headphones were waiting for you. After a minute or two of small talk, mostly to test the levels and make sure you could also hear, you were getting the signal you were about to go live. You sat on your hands, taking a few deep breath to calm your nerves. You caught Michael’s eye from where he was standing in the corner of the room, clearly out of the way but there if you were to need him, and he gave you the slightest nod. You took it as a nod of encouragement and felt a little better.

 “Welcome back everybody!” Rocky said into the microphone, his voice suddenly different from the one he had just used. He was more upbeat and a little bit louder; it was a stage voice. Everyone had one. “This is Rocky here on LA 109.7, playing all the hits and getting the scoop for you every day! Speaking of getting the scoop, we’re joined in the studio by [Y/N]! You might remember her as America’s sweetheart from that singing competition we can’t legally name on air,” he chuckled. “How are you doing, [Y/N]?”

 “Pretty good!” you answered, smiling over at him, “Have to say, a little nervous to be doing my first radio interview so please, don’t be too mean. I don’t have a scoop for you anyway.” You giggled nervously, flexing your fingers under your legs.

 “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Rocky chided, “you’re about to embark out on your first ever US tour.”

 “First ever tour, period,” you corrected, shaking your head. “We kick off tonight at the Staples Center and then if there’s an area, I’m sure I’ll be visiting it throughout the next seven months.”

 “Tickets are sold out, and have been for weeks,” he explained for the benefit of the listeners, “but here on LA 109.7, we’ve still got two tickets to give away. That’ll be coming up soon after [Y/N] goes, so keep an ear out and tuned in. But how are you doing, [Y/N]? Think you’re up for the challenge?”

 “I certainly hope so!” you answered, “I have a really, really great band and we’ve been busting our butts, getting ready for this tour. There’s going to be a lot of really great things going on. I cannot wait to get out there and for people to see it.”

 “Is there going to be a meet and greet?”

 “There is?” you told him, though it came out as more of a question. The look on Rocky’s face certainly made you nervous.

 “So, there’s going to be more of an opportunity for people to get up and close with [Y/N],” he stated.

 “I guess so? I’m always for taking pictures and talking to people,” you explained, “I wouldn’t be here without my fans, it only seems fair.”

 “It seems like a lot goes with you and fans,” he laughed. “I remember hearing about you and a real lucky guy in a McDonald’s parking lot.” You winced. That was one of the instances that led to Michael.

 “It was an In-N-Out parking lot,” you corrected, deflating slightly. “And that was really not cool on his part. I don’t mind people entering my personal bubble but that was…excessive.”

 “You don’t mind people in your personal bubble,” Rocky repeated. With that, you noticed him stand up, pulling his microphone with him. “What counts as excessive?” he added, “for the fans, we can figure it out.” With that, he started to advance on you, and in that moment, you realized why you knew Rocky and his show. He was one of those radio djs that was constantly pushing celebrities too far, and coasting off the popularity of their freak outs.

 “I really don’t…” you started, but the microphone was shoved from you when Michael stepped in, putting himself between you and Rocky.

 “Sit down,” Michael hissed, looking up at the radio dj who was a fair few inches taller than him. Rocky just laughed in his face.

 “Listeners, [Y/N]’s bodyguard is a small man,” Rocky said into the microphone, “who doesn’t want us to find out, for you, just how close you can get in a meet and greet.” You couldn’t see Michael’s face from where you were sitting, really just the small of his back and his shoulder, but you could see Rocky’s face. He was still laughing, but he had something more resembling fear on his face, eyes looking Michael up and down. Michael’s fists were clenched, muscles taut, and something tells you the look on his face was less than friendly.

 “Sit down, or I’ll make you sit down,” Michael told him, and he wasn’t yelling, but he was definitely angry. He advanced on Rocky, and Rocky chuckled uncomfortably.

 “I’m going to sit down now,” Rocky said, and he backed into his seat.

 The rest of the hour was, for lack of a better word, awkward. The studio was obviously trying to choke the questions by screening callers before they took them, and the questions were about what you were there to talk about, but the vibe was different. The best they could do is just let the hour play out quietly.

 You were incredibly glad when it was over.

 “Who fucking scheduled that fucker?” Michael snapped at Trevor once everyone was back in the car.

 “It wasn’t me,” Trevor said defensively, and then turned to you. “I’m sorry, [Y/N]. I didn’t know why I knew Rocky’s name until it was too late. I would have warned you if I knew.”

 “It’s fine, Trevor,” you told him, “I had the same issue.”

 “It’s not fine,” Michael interjected, “It’s about damn time they started taking not throwing [Y/N] to the wolves seriously.” As the car passed a strip mall, Michael pointed at a building. “We need to stop there,” he stated.

 “We don’t have time,” Trevor told him, “You can’t just…”

 “You promised she could have food,” Michael said flatly. “It’s In-N-Out, we’ll go through the drive-thru and [Y/N] can eat in the car.”

 “Oh god, please?” you asked, giving Trevor a pleading look. “I haven’t eaten since seven.”

 “Fine,” he sighed, “we’ll cut it close, but you do need to eat.”

 With that, the driver was pulling into the turn lane to get into the strip mall. You looked over at Michael, offering him a smile in thanks. He just shrugged it off before looking away from you, out the window he was sitting next to. He had been acting differently since the tour started, which might have been there were different needs. He needed to do his job differently. Be less personal with you, you figured. Though, in the moments when the camera weren’t around, like when you were leaving the car, it was more like the days spent in his apartment. You just weren’t sure where the two of you stood these days, but you hoped you’d figure it out sooner rather than later.

  The rest of the interviews lined up for before the concert were blissfully more normal than the radio show. The next interview was a TV spot, and you’d walked into the studio with the In-N-Out cup still in your hand, but Trevor quickly plucked it from your hands as you were ushered towards the makeup station. Understandably, you were nervous about how it’d end up, but the hosts, two girls maybe not older than you, were infinitely kinder. After that interview, you were heading back to the Staples Center to meet your last interviewers of the day. Magazine reporters were a lot less demanding. The cameras for the youtube show disappeared after a little while, as there were times they technically weren’t cleared to shoot. They’d been fine at the radio station, but they’d only gotten a few minutes at the TV station before they had to turn off.

 After all of that was finally done, you were excited to finally be getting towards the show. You’d been practicing for ages now, and a few hours from that moment, you’d be getting on the stage, and starting to sing. As you fidgeted around backstage, sharing a few laughs with the band who were probably trying their best to keep you calm. You knew, at least in Jeremy’s case, this wasn’t his first rodeo. He’d toured with a few other solo artists the record company represented, and he’d told you a little bit about it when you’d first met. He’d probably seen artists freak out before their first show, and he was trying to keep you from doing that.

 “You have to get ready,” Trevor was telling you before you knew it, ushering you towards the dressing room. “Jon and Ashley are dying to get their hands on you.”

 “What?” you asked nervously, giving him a deer in the headlights look. Trevor chuckled, motioning towards a door he’d stopped in front of.

 “Don’t worry, they’re harmless,” he chuckled. “They’ve just been talking about clothes slash hair slash makeup collections and I think they’re just eager to finally get to it.”

 “Oh boy,” you sighed, but laughed. Admittedly, that stuff was kind of fun but if they had been talking about it for ages, you were certainly in for something. You grabbed the handle, rolling your eyes as Trevor gave you a smile and two thumbs up, and headed into the dressing room.

 “You’re here!” The man sitting on the couch jumped up, beaming.

 “I’m here,” you responded, giggling awkwardly as the man with long brown hair came towards you, arms outstretched.

 “I’m Jon,” he introduced, pulling you into a quick but bone-crushing hug. For someone for tall and kind of lanky, he was surprisingly strong. He points over towards the blonde on the couch who’s smiling up at you, phone in hand as if she’d been mid-text message. “That’s Ashley. We’re here to make you look as cool as humanly possible.”

 “There’s not much you can do with this,” you laughed, motioning at yourself, “in an attempt to be cool. I’m hopelessly lame.”

 “Nah,” Ashley disagreed, “you’ve got all the makings of cool. And we’re here to help.”

 “If you say so,” you said, shaking your head but smiling. “Where do we start?”

 “Clothes,” Jon informed, nudging you and pointing towards the rack of clothes on the other side of the room. “I’ve got some stuff picked out that I think will work for you, but you never really know until you try it on. I tried my best to pick out stuff like what you’ve been wearing. Stuff I saw on the show, in paparazzi shots, and make it a little more showy.”

 “You went through all the outfits I’ve been wearing in pictures?” you asked incredulously, heading towards the rack. You began to sift through all the outfits put neatly together on hangers, stopping on a few of them to give them a closer look. Every time you did, Jon would pluck it off the rack.

 “Of course I did,” he said shortly, “it was part of my job. It’d be dumb to put you in something that isn’t your style, no matter how good you might look in it.” When you were done going through the rack, Jon had four or five outfits in his arms. “Why don’t you try these on, see what we’re working with here.” He brought them over to a corner of the room with a screen set up, dropping them onto another empty rack. He left you over there, moving the screen a little to make sure you were definitely out of view of the rest of the room.

 Deciding to try on a pair of jeans and a tank top, the easiest outfit to get into and out of by the looks of it, you stripped down and pulled on the jeans. You were honestly amazed just how well they seemed to fit you. They sat comfortably on you, and they seemed to hug your legs. Rather than just fitting one part of you, it fit every part of you. You pulled on the tank top to see that it sat in all the right places on the top half of your torso, and flowed out flatteringly on the bottom half. You slid out from behind the screen, biting your lip as you waited to be judged.

 “Fun thing about this one,” Jon started, looking at you and walking a full circle around you, “is the outfit’s not done.” With that, he vanished into a section of clothing, and there was the sound of hangers sliding on the rack. After a moment, he reappeared with a couple different things: a flannel shirt with sleeves that matched the denim of your jeans, a field jacket, and a leather jacket. “Try this one,” he told you, shoving the flannel/denim shirt in your direction. You did so, looking at Jon as you waited for his opinion.

 “What do you think?” he asked, waiting expectantly. “I’m not the one wearing it.” You laughed awkwardly, not used to someone asking for your opinion. It was more like everyone else made the decisions, Ryan, the executives, Michael, and Trevor told you what to do, and in Jon asking you what you thought you realized how long it’d been since someone had.

 “I…don’t feel uncomfortable?” you told him, sounding unsure. “This feels like something I’d have bought myself. I’m a little confused about the denim sleeves, but I’m not mad at it.”

 “It doesn’t look bad on you,” Jon said honestly, “but let’s try the jackets. See if either of them call to you.” The field jacket, while cute, seemed to you (and Jon) that it was something more for an interview or a photoshoot or just going shopping than something to wear on stage. The leather jacket seemed to be more of the same.

 “Flannel shirt it is!” Jon exclaimed, tossing it back to you. Once you’d pulled it back on, Jon looked at it, making a face. “Do you mind if I tweak it a little?” he asked, and you shook your head. He pulled at it a little, straightening out the way it was sitting on you, and rolled up the sleeves to the elbow. He then busied himself in a box and came out with a handful of enamel pins. “Pick a few?”

 “This one’s super cute,” you said, pointing at an avocado with a smiley face on the pit, “and this one.” You picked out a smaller one of fries. Jon laughed, picking them with his free hand, as well as a couple other foods.

 “I like the way you think, kid,” he told you, “foods it is!” He put the two smallest pins, the fries and a burger, on the collar of your shirt and then just spread out the rest of the pins between the two sides, all by the collarbone. “And now, I think you’re done.”

 “No she’s not,” snorted Ashley from the couch. Jon looked over at her and rolled his eyes.

 “Yeah yeah, hair and makeup first,” he said, making a face.

 “Not what I meant,” Ashley laughed and pointed to your feet. You and Jon both looked down to see you weren’t wearing shoes. “Unless she’s going to be Tom Cruise in Risky Business, I think she needs shoes.”

 “Right,” sighed Jon, reaching into a bin. He rummaged around for a minute before pulling out a pair of black booties. “Yeah?”

 “Works for me!” you exclaimed, and you took them from him and pulled them on. They fit just fine, and you could definitely last on stage in them without wanting to cry. It was all you could really ask for from shoes.

 “Now, it’s my turn,” Ashley said happily, standing up. “Come on over, [Y/N]! Take a seat for what I’m sure is the first time in a while.”

 “You have no idea,” you said, sighing in relief as you plopped down in the chair by Ashley. She busied herself with taking off the makeup you had been wearing since the TV spot, grumbling about how they hadn’t bothered to really pick a color that matched your skin-tone.

 “You’re really pretty,” she told you as she surveyed your unmade face, “I don’t think I’ve got much work to do here.” You laughed a little, but thanked her.

 “Speaking of really pretty,” piped up Jon from the couch. “Have either of you seen the production manager for the youtube show? He’s definitely easy on the eyes.”

 “Seriously,” Ashley sighed, dabbing foundation on your face. “I don’t see how he’s not modeling or something with a face like that.”

 “His face?” snorted Jon. “Ashley, look at the rest of him. You’re missing the best part!”

 “I’m missing it too,” you chuckled as Ashley turned to grab another product. “I haven’t seen him at all.”

 “Truly a shame,” Ashley told you, “If I see him milling around tonight, I’ll point him out to you.” As she said that, there was a knock on the dressing room door and in slid Michael, grumbling about how until you took the stage, he was supposed to be with you. Jon and Ashley said their hellos to him, and he grunted in return.

 “It’s not too bad,” Jon said from his spot behind you, “There’s plenty of cute faces around. For a bunch of behind the scene workers, they’ve got some good genes. Anyone cute we’ve missed out on, [Y/N]?”

 Your immediate thought was of your bodyguard, but it would have been impossible for you to tell them as Michael was standing not ten feet from you. You bit your lip until Ashley glared at you, trying to think of someone else. “I mean,” you said finally, “Trevor’s pretty cute.” Ashley smiled, nodding approvingly as she went to work on your eyeshadow, forcing you to close your eyes. Admittedly, he was pretty cute, but your tour manager wasn’t really your type. You definitely had your eyes set on someone else in any case.

 “He’s pretty fine,” Ashley agreed, “nice and tall, too.”

 “He cleans up really well too,” Jon informed, “I saw him a few times on his way out of meetings when I was hanging around the record company. He’s got good taste in dress shirts, and a good pair of pants on that ass? [Y/N]’s got good taste.” The three of you laughed, and you almost wanted to try to look at Michael, but the way Ashley was brushing at your eyes, if you did, you were sure to mess her up.

 “And, you know, a little tour romance isn’t unheard of,” Jon told you, and you could just hear the smirk on his face. As Ashley finished up, you opened your eyes to see her nodding, and you turned around to see Jon giving you a ‘you should’ look. You blushed slightly, turning back to Ashley.

 “Nah,” you said quietly, suddenly a little nervous. “It’s bad business to get involved with people when you’re their job.” Brandon’s words annoyed you when they were about Michael, but about Trevor, they were fine.

 “I mean, I guess,” Jon groaned, “but god, you gotta live a little, [Y/N]! Get laid. If anyone relieve stress, it’s you.”

 It was then that you chanced a glance over at Michael. He was back to his stone-faced self, but he was also a shade of red. You could see the muscles in his arms tensing up. Apparently, this was not a conversation to be had in front of him. He probably didn’t care to hear about people you thought were cute anyway; he’d have no interest in it.

 The conversation continued between Jon and Ashley, rating the attractiveness of people you’d only seen once or twice or members of your band, but in the interested of not bugging Michael, you kept quiet. Once Ashley was done with your makeup, she busied herself with braiding your hair, which took no time at all to look absolutely amazing. It was nothing you could have done yourself.

 “There you go,” Jon said approvingly. “We barely had to try and you look infinitely cooler.” You laughed, giving him a look.

 “Thanks, I think?” you asked, standing up. “You’ve definitely got your work cut out for you on this tour.” You thanked Ashley and Jon, and turned towards Michael, smiling.

 “Off to sound-check, then?” you asked. He nodded, grunting instead of saying anything and when he pulled the door open, it was almost violently so. You looked over at Jon and Ashley in confusion, but neither of them seemed to share your surprise. You followed Michael out, side-stepping him as he slammed the door shut, and then led the way to the stage. You said hi to Cole, the camera operator, noting that it seemed to be okay to start shooting for the show again. At least they weren’t recording you getting dressed.

 The sound check went off without a hitch. You did a little bit of playing to the camera, like you used to when you preformed for the reality show, and then burst into laughter with your bassist, Mariel. Overall, you guys were going to be fine. You’d been rehearsing for weeks, and the sound crew was on their game. After sound check, you and the band were sitting around the green room, riffing on songs that you agreed were great, and one of the guitarists, Jordan, poked at you until you pulled out your guitar, and played along with them. All the time, Michael was there by the doorway, standing with a scowl on his face. At one point, the production manager you had heard about, Tyler, pulled you aside to get some footage that fit a testimonial kind of thing, and answered the questions he had.

 You had to admit: Jon and Ashley were right about him.

 It wasn’t until maybe fifteen minutes before the show did it really sink in. It hit you like a bus, what you were about to do. You’d had a moment in the morning that Jeremy had talked you down from, but you were sitting with Trevor and Ashley, waiting for Michael to come back from somewhere. You were alone with your thoughts for a moment too long, and then you felt like you were drowning. There was no way you could do this. Go out and be the main act of an area tour? Were they crazy for planning this for you? They had to be. And you had to be crazy for thinking you could do it.

 “[Y/N]…” Ashley started, concern in her voice. “Are you okay? Because you look like you’re about to ruin my work.”

 “I…I…” you stammered, feeling winded as you tried to speak. “I can’t do this.”

 “What do you mean?” Trevor asked, turning his phone screen off and shoving it into his pocket. “[Y/N] you’re going to be great.”

 All you could do was whimper and shake your head vigorously. “No,” you muttered after a minute. Words were failing you and Ashley and Trevor were attempting to calm you, but their words sounded more like a buzz than actual words. When the door opened, you wanted to throw up, afraid of who else it could be, but when Michael came in, you sighed a shaky sigh of relief.

 “Michael,” you started weakly. He looked to where you were sitting, and his demeanor seemed to change. His stiff body seemed to relax, and the scowl slid off his face to show a look of concern before looking annoyed. He turned to Trevor and he headed for you, bending down in front of you.

 “What the fuck, Trevor?” Michael snapped. He’d been snapping at Trevor all day, but he seemed particularly mad at him now, as if Trevor had done something to upset you.

 “She’s freaking about the fact she’s on in…” he checked his watch, “eight minutes.” That illicted a choked sound from you and the tears that were threatening to spill out did, and you felt a wave of guilt. Ashley had done your makeup so well and you were going to mess it up with the crying.

 “Shut the fuck up,” Michael snarled. “You’re clearly not helping.” He reached out to swipe the tears from under your eyes with a thumb. He was surprisingly gentle as he touched you. “Go fucking stall. And get the fucking cameras out of here.”

 The cameras. You had forgotten you were filming, and a hot wave of guilt washed over you. They were filming this and everyone was going to see how pitiful you were before you failed to get on stage and effectively ruined your career before it really started. Cole made a noise to protest, but Trevor was up and ushering him out, closing the door behind him. Michael turned to Ashley.

 “Go get your shit to fix her makeup,” he told her. Ashley didn’t need telling twice and she was up and out of the room, and once the door was closed, Michael sighed heavily. Wordlessly, he was pulling you into a tight hug. You sniffled, wrapping your eyes around him.

 “I can’t do this,” you told him, words muffled as you spoke into his shoulder.

 “Yeah you can,” he replied instantly. “[Y/N], you’ve been working for weeks. The band is there for you,” he explained. “The sound crew is there if anything goes wrong, and nothing is going to go wrong. But if it were to, there’s whole teams of people there for you. But you’re going to be great. You’re kick ass. You won that show for a reason.”

“But…” you started, but Michael snorted.

 “No buts,” he said shortly, giving you a squeeze. “I’ve seen you, [Y/N]. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” You gave a watery chuckle, taking a deep breath. The familiar smell of Michael, the one you’d come to accustomed to when you were living in his apartment, spending low stress days with him, was comforting. Paired with the fact of how he was holding you, you were feeling a little better.

 “You’ll be there too, right?” you asked stupidly as he finally pulled away from you. He rolled his eyes and smirked.

 “Right on the side of stage. Whole time,” he told you. “Look over if you’re worried. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Promise?”

 “Yeah, I promise, idiot,” Michael said, smiling and ruffling your hair. “Now come on. We have to get to you Ashley to fix this mess.” He stood up, and then pulled you to your feet. Keeping an arm around your shoulders, he led you from the green room to the dressing room, where Ashley was waiting. It only took a minute for her to touch you up, and she explained you were fine because if the makeup was sweat-proof, it was definitely cry-proof. From the dressing room, Michael took you to towards the stage, whispering that you’d be fine again and again until you actually believed it yourself. Trevor seemed relieved to see you were going out on stage, and after asking around, you were handed your wireless mic.

 “You ready?” Trevor asked, giving you a thumbs up. You chuckled, giving him one back.

 “Let’s do this!” you told him and he looked so relieved you’d calmed down. He turned to talk to a stage hand. A minute later, the lighting was going down and the music was starting. As you stood on the edge of the stage, you reached out for Michael’s hand, who was nearby. You gave it a tight squeeze and he squeezed back.

 “Go kick some ass,” he whispered as the lights came up, nudging you towards the stage. With one look back, you headed out, smiling, and knowing no matter what, he’d be right there.