#'fringe relationships' meaning awkwardness with silence | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

just-a-torn-up-masterpiece · 2 years

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can I request joyce byers x fem reader where reader is a teacher at will's school and it's a parent-teacher conference, they feel attracted to eachother but neither admits it until they see eachother elsewhere (like in a shop downtown) and reader makes joyce flustered and it turns into a relationship, it's secret but then jonathon and will find out (I'm not sure how 😭) thank you!! and don't forget to drink water + take care of yourself! :))

flustered

Pairing - Joyce Byers x Reader

Warnings - kissing, allusions to smut, mostly fluff though

Word Count - 3162

A/N - i really hope this is okay :)

You'd seen her walk through the doors from where you sat and even in the sea of people between you she caught your attention. She stood out among the crowd in her brown corduroy jacket and jeans, a pondering look over her face as she searched the room for where she needed to go.

Much to your annoyance she hurried over to another table, perching in front of your least favourite science teacher in the building, whilst another parent sat before you poking you with questions about her daughter as soon as her ass hit the seat. It took everything in you to restrain the eye roll begging to be released; this was far from your idea of a good evening, endless chatter in place of the bottle of wine whilst sprawled in front of the tv.

She looked just as bored as you felt with the droning on of the stale old man in front of her, it almost made you smile at the way her eyes glanced around for an excuse to escape. Her eyes locked with yours for just a moment, a brief smile playing on her lips at the mutual understanding of the yawn inducing situation you were both in - of course you hadn’t listened to the mother in front of you but you didn’t feel guilty when you brushed her off with an over exaggerated compliment. ‘She’s the best in class, you have nothing to worry about’ spoken with a grin, finished with a sigh of relief when she upped and left.

You saw her rush a thanks and a goodbye with a wave before she all but ran over to your desk before anybody could steal her spot.

“Hi.” She smiled, perfect and radiant. Up close now you could see the warmth of her eyes, the pink tint to her cheeks and the delicate way her fingers brushed her fringe out of the way.

“Hi, Ms Y/L/N.” You greeted with a handshake, her hand was soft in yours and you were positive she blushed even more, your own cheeks heated up too - she was just so radiant. “The art teacher.”

“Oh - yeah - sorry. Joyce Byers.” She rushed out in introduction and you both realised your hands were still joined together above the table, hurrying to part them nervously.

“Oh, Will’s mum.” You smiled. “He’s a talented kid.” She brightened at that, a motherly glint in her eye.

“He is, isn’t he? I don’t know where he gets it from.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so modest. You have the hands of an artist.” You returned, it made more sense in your head than it did aloud and you scolded yourself at how stupid you must sound.

“I do? What does that mean?” She smirked, she could tell you didn’t even know what you meant but wanted to make you just as flustered as she feels.

“Oh, you know.” You shrugged with a nondescript gesture of your hands as she looked on expectantly. “Just that your hands look like they could create things - anyway - Will. He’s great, a lot of artistic talent. He’s polite, I have no problems to report.” You rambled, looking at the sheets of paper in front of you despite them having no information related to this conversation.

“That’s great, I’m glad he’s doing well.”

You nodded with a smile, locking eyes with her in a truly captivating way. The silence wasn’t too far from awkward when neither of you managed to get any words out, just waiting for the other to speak, to break the tension sizzling in the space between you. A clearing of a throat separated your gazes, looking beside you to find another parent waiting.

“I, uh, think that’s everything Ms Byers.” You spoke, shaking her hand again with a subtle stroke of your thumb over the soft skin of her knuckle, making her cheeks flush red again - in such a short space of time it had become such a wonderful sight to you.

“Thank you, I’ll see you around.” She muttered before hurrying away right to the exit and you watched her go. Joyce Byers: beautiful when flustered.

Joyce: 1 Y/N: 1

—

You softly whispered the lyrics of a Blondie song to yourself as you browsed the shelves, rows and rows of wine bottles staring back at you, light reflecting off the green glass. You settled on the cheapest you could find, of course, before heading to the snack aisle for something to pair it with for your dinner.

You were in a world of your own as you made your selection, taking the task too seriously you’re sure. Once you’d made your choice (several options in hand) you turned to head to the tills, bumping straight into somebody else.

Your hand reached out on instinct as they stumbled, grazing their hip to keep them steady as whatever they were holding fell to the ground.

“Shit. I am so sorry, I wasn’t paying any attention.” You rushed out, crouching to pick up the bag of popcorn from the floor.

“It’s no problem, don’t worry about it.” You stood to come face to face with none other than Joyce Byers herself, dazzling smile on show and pink tint to her cheeks when you smiled.

“It’s you.”

“It’s me.” She giggled. That eye contact again, neither of you daring to look away. “Nutritious dinner?” She added, nodding towards the embarrassing selection of foods in your grasp.

“Yep.” You responded with a nervous laugh, cheeks burning at her smirk. Two can play at that game you thought. “Oh, you have an eyelash, let me just-”

Your hand reached out to rub your thumb over her cheek and her skin was so much softer than you could’ve imagined. Her cheeks flooded with a bright flush of red when you pulled away.

You leaned in closer, “Make a wish.” She stared at you as she blew the eyelash away with her breath tickling your skin, so wrapped up in her blushing state she didn’t even realise the eyelash didn’t exist. “Well, I better go - big plans.” You spoke with a smug smile tugging at your lips, holding up the bottle of wine. “Have a good evening, Ms Byers.”

She only nodded at your words with a small wave whilst you strutted away proudly, unknowing of the way her hip still felt as though it was on fire where you hand had held her for just a moment.

Joyce: 1 Y/N: 2

—

Joyce was sitting enjoying a cup of coffee, mindlessly watching passers by out of the cafe window, picking at the blueberry muffin in front of her when she saw you walking past.

She watched as you walked in with the ding of the bell above the door sounding at your entrance, she watched shamelessly as you walked up to the counter to order, completely unaware of her eyes grazing over your body. She licked her lips that had grown dry as she watched you lean against the counter, skin of your lower back being exposed with the way your shirt rode up at the action.

She made sure to quickly engross herself in her drink when you turned around with your own drink in hand on the hunt for somewhere to sit and in a wave of confidence she called out your name.

“Come, sit.” She smiled, pointing to the empty chair across from her. The rest of the seats were mostly taken so it was the perfect excuse.

“Ms Byers, hi.” You grinned back as you sat. “Thanks for letting me sit here.”

“Joyce, please.” She insisted. “And it’s no problem, it’s my pleasure really.”

There was something about this confident side of her that made your skin hot, the way her eyes trailed over your face as you made conversation, often flicking down to your lips as you spoke. She let her leg rest against yours beneath the table and you’re positive you saw a smirk hidden behind her mug at the way your words fumbled.

The conversation flowed smoothly, both of you enjoying one another’s company, sharing stories and laughs, learning about each other eagerly.

“You should try this, it’s amazing - they bake them fresh in store.” She spoke, gesturing to the remains of the muffin on her plate. When you began to shake your head in refusal she eyed you with a look you never expected from her, eyebrow raised and stare playfully firm. “Here.”

She held it between her finger and thumb, moving it towards your face. You swallowed thickly as she inched it nearer, parting your lips reluctantly when she’d moved it close enough for you to feel the crumbs on them. She plopped it into your mouth but didn’t move her hand away before swiping a few crumbs from the corner of your mouth with a delicate touch of her finger.

“Good?” She smirked, an obvious and smug smirk this time as she sat back in her chair.

You could only nod with your face feeling like it was on fire, surely you were sweating right? Could she tell she’d made you nervous? Your mind raced whilst your hands wrung together in your lap. Of course she knew, she did it on purpose.

Joyce: 2 Y/N: 2

—

“Mom, why the hell are you following me into school?” Will groaned in annoyance, embarrassedly walking through the doors with her in tow.

“I have a meeting with the principal.”

“What for?”

“Um, parent stuff. Don’t worry about it.” She smiled, digging her hands into her jacket pockets as she manoeuvred her way through the busy corridors. “See you later, kid.” She added with a squeeze of his arm before continuing on.

“Bye, see you at home.” He waved.

Of course she couldn’t remember which room was yours so she peered through the windows of each door she wandered past. She’d not seen you for a few days, since the one date of multiple you’d had in the past few months and she missed you.

She finally found you, chuckling to herself when she saw you singing quietly to yourself with a small dance as you tidied up a little, in your own world completely oblivious to her presence. She managed to open the door silently, stepping into the room and closing it behind her with an almost silent click.

“Nice dance moves.”

“Fucking hell.” You gasped, heart pounding beneath your hand in your shock as you spun round to face her. You huffed with a pout at the laughs passing her lips as she stepped towards you.

“Aw I’m sorry, baby. Did I scare you?” She teased, linking her fingers with yours, moving to stand so close that you could smell her shampoo.

“No.” You scowled, cracking a smile at the sound of her laughter erupting again. “What’re you doing here anyway? I have a class in like five minutes.”

“Just wanted to say hi.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.” She stroked her thumb across your knuckles whilst her other hand dared to creep its way to your hip. She closed the space between you with a lingering peck to your lips and a squeeze to the flesh of your waist before pulling away. “See you later.” She winked, waving as she opened the door to leave.

“Bye.” You returned, touching your fingertips to the still buzzing skin of your lips where hers had just been and desperately trying to cool down from your flustered state before students started piling in.

Joyce, however, walked back to her car with a pep in her step and a proud smile.

Joyce: 3 Y/N: 2

—

Flashdance was playing on the TV, the coffee table held an empty bottle of wine and two glasses with only the silty remnants coating the bottom and an empty pizza box adorned with crumbs and smudges of grease.

Joyce’s body was pressed against yours where you sat on her sofa; Jonathan and Will were spending the night with the others at the Wheeler’s and it left her with an empty house. An empty house meant time with you and time with you meant a perfect evening.

Your arm was looped around her shoulders, twirling her hair between your fingers as your attention was fixed on the film. Joyce’s attention however was wavering, eyes flitting between the screen and the side of your face. Goosebumps pricked your skin when she subtly inched her hand beneath your shirt, just gliding her nail over your waist.

She began with a soft kiss to your cheek making you smile but that didn’t satisfy her and neither did the second kiss to your jaw. She cupped your cheek in her palm to turn your face to look at her, immediately glancing at your lips, inching forwards slowly until you closed the space between you.

Her lips were soft as they moved against yours fervently, the faint taste of red wine dancing on your tongue. She was quick to position herself in your lap, knees planted either side of your legs whilst her hands held your face between them and yours got lost in her hair, the dark strands wrapping around your fingers.

Her tongue pushed past your lips, licking into your mouth in a passionate haze, desperate and hungry for your touch just as you were for hers. She pulled away with a tug at your bottom lip when the need for a breath grew too great to ignore, looking down at you with parted lips and a lust filled glaze over her dark eyes.

You couldn't control the heat that spread over your flesh at the way she looked at you, hungry for you and full of want, her bottom lip between her teeth while her fingers stroked softly over the hot skin of your cheek. Joyce smirked when she pulled her shirt over her head, putting on a show before climbing off your lap, all the while holding intense eye contact with you as you stared in anticipation.

She took a few steps backwards in just her bra and jeans. “You coming?” She asked, her voice breathy as she neared her bedroom, throwing a seductive glance to you over her shoulder as you followed.

Joyce: 4 Y/N: 2

—

The next morning you awoke to the sun blaring through the window, your naked body haphazardly covered by the duvet and the smell of fresh coffee wafting through the air. The empty space beside you was cool to the touch, Joyce’s floral perfume scent lingered on the pillows much to your pleasure.

You stretched leisurely with a smile on your face before getting up to pull on some underwear and one of Joyce’s shirts, the material left little to the imagination as it grazed your upper thighs.

Joyce had woken not too long ago, deciding on brewing coffee for you both which she planned to bring to you in bed. She happily moved around the kitchen in a blissful haze, she’d cheekily dressed in your shirt from her bedroom floor and it smelled like you. It was only when she’d poured two mugs of coffee that the front door opened and closed, the footsteps of her sons approaching.

She quickly put the mugs down, standing in front of them to block their view and smiling brightly at them as they walked in - they weren’t meant to be back so soon.

“You guys are back early.” She grinned nervously.

“Yeah, we’re heading back out with the others later on.” Jonathan answered, pulling open the fridge in search of some breakfast, eyeing the two steaming cups of coffee poorly hidden behind his mother.

“Oh, right. Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah it was good.” Will smiled. “We’re renting a few movies to watch later - actually I might look at what we have here too.” He finished before wandering off. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight of two wine glasses on the table but he brushed it off as nothing overly suspicious, his mum had friends.

He rummaged around until he found what he was looking for before going back to the kitchen where Joyce was acting surprisingly suspiciously, fidgeting with her fingers and constantly glancing towards the hallway as she spoke to Jonathan.

“Hey mom?” Will spoke, gaining her attention when he stepped into the room. “How come there’s two glasses on the tabl-” He began, his curiosity getting the better of him, though he was interrupted by the sound of a door creaking and a voice calling out - the way Joyce’s eyes widened was comical.

“Babe, where did you- oh shit.” You shouted, barely paying attention to your surroundings as you stepped out and rounded the corner into the kitchen.

“Oh hi, Ms Y/L/N - wait - Ms Y/L/N? What the fuck?” Will exclaimed as Jonathan hid a laugh behind his hand at his ex teacher’s appearance and his mothers red cheeks. “Mom?”

“Will, honey, I’m sorry.” She rushed, glancing at you as you uselessly tried to pull the shirt down to cover more of your legs and it definitely was not the right time for her to be staring at your legs and how she loved them wrapped around her neck.

His eyes batted between the two of you and your absolutely flustered states, he huffed a small laugh when you tried to discreetly back into the bedroom as though you’d never been seen, of course stumbling slightly over a stray shoe before hurrying off.

“Can we talk about this in a minute?” She pleaded and Will being Will just gave her a reassuring look, one of understanding, and a nod. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

She burst into the room to the sight of you with your face in your hands leaning against her bedroom wall.

“Babe, are you okay?”

“That. Was. Mortifying.” You groaned with a laugh, both of you falling into a fit of laughter at the entire situation.

She held her body up with her arm against the wall beside your head with her other hand teasingly stroking over your bare thigh, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as her giggles still bubbled in her chest.

“I’m fine with them knowing if you are.” She murmured against your skin with a peck to your collarbone.

“Okay.” “You’re sure.”

“Mhm.” You nodded, pulling her into you for a kiss. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been so embarrassed.” You sighed, tilting your head back into the wall with a frustrated groan as Joyce just laughed again. “Stop laughing - I saw how much you were blushing, it wasn’t just me!”

“It was horrible, you’re right. But it’ll be fine. I just wish you didn’t look so fucking good right now because I’m gonna have to wait until I can have you.” She muttered as you just gulped, barely catching the trousers she threw at you. “Hurry up - coffee and an awkward conversation awaits.” She winked.

Will: 1 Joyce: 5 Y/N: 2

#joyce byers #joyce byers fluff #joyce byers x reader #joyce byers x fem!reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #robin buckley x fem!reader #stranger things smut #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #lgbt #jonathan byers #will byers

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ejunkiet · 2 years

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lover never let me go

set after 'light the match', with the canon-au confirmation of David/Asher (!!!)

redacted asmr: imperium!david/asher, milo & asher.

on marking and wolf relationships, grief and recovery.

There are things that Asher doesn't talk about. David is one of them.

–

There's a mark there, at the nape of his neck. The impression of fangs, too broad and pronounced to be the mark of a vampire.

A wolf bite.

READ ON AO3

lover never let me go.

“What happened here?”

It’s late, the failing light casting most of his office in shadow aside from the table full of papers they’ve been bent over for the last hour. Milo is at his right hand side, the sole human resident of his pack to his left. The threadbare sofa is barely big enough to fit the three of them, squeezed in as they are, and their thigh is warm against his, a steady weight.

Their grey eyes on his are shadowed from lack of sleep but still soft, curious. Their hands are playing with their hair and it takes him a moment to realise what they’re referring to, see the way their eyes linger on the nape of his neck, where his hair covers the mark he knows is there.

The impression of fangs, too broad and pronounced to be the mark of a vampire.

A wolf bite.

Milo clues in quickly, judging by the way he stiffens imperceptibly, his dark eyes unreadable as he glances between them, a pinch in his brow. He’s ready to break the awkward silence that’s fallen between them, to change the topic, but Asher beats him to it.

“It’s not what you’re thinking.”

A smile curls up their lips and they drop their pen, straightening until they’re sitting upright again, the battered cushions creaking beneath their shifting weight. “And what’s that?”

Their voice is warm, teasing - and why wouldn’t it be? They don’t know what the mark is, what it means. What it means to a wolf.

Milo clears his throat, shifting uneasily in his seat as he lowers the stack of papers he’s working on. The movement catches their attention and they pause, glancing over at him, their brow furrowing as they read his expression, and that’s when it clicks.

The teasing smile drops from their lips. “Ash-”

“It wasn’t a fight.” His hand curls around the mark, the raised skin beneath his palm. The scar is subtle, barely visible in most light unless you were looking for it. They’ve spent a lot of time in close quarters lately, and they’re observant (they've had to be). He’s not surprised they noticed.

“It has significance to us,” Milo finishes, an edge to the gravel of his voice, a note of finality. “And it’s private.”

Biting down on their lip, they nod, their grey eyes lowering before they bend back down to the papers. The heat at his thigh wavers, before pulling away completely.

He misses the contact.

–

Later, when they’re out in the woods, a chill in the air and the bite of the frozen earth beneath their paws, Milo breaks the silence that’s fallen between them since the conversation.

“Ash… you got a minute?”

It’s just the two of them on this particular route, checking the wards at the fringes of their territory. They all take turns on the rota, no matter their position in the pack; it was a rule set in place by Gabe Shaw, and the alphas of the pack that followed him abided by it.

Tonight was Asher’s shift. Milo had volunteered to accompany him, a determined glint in his eye that told Asher that he was gonna come with, no matter what he said. Milo had always been like that. Even after David, when the mantle of alpha had passed to him, he’d stuck by him, no matter how much Asher had tried to push him away.

And if it wasn’t for him, Ash doesn’t think he’d still be standing here, right now.

Pulling to a stop, Asher turns until he can catch his beta’s gaze, waiting. Milo holds his stare, eyes glittering in the light from the streetlamps, a stubborn tilt to his jaw, the one he gets when he’s facing down something he’d rather think twice about. He’s trying to find the words.

"Are you… okay?"

They don’t talk about it. They don’t talk about him, not if they can help it. David.

There's an ache in his chest that never goes away, old and familiar by now. A piece of him that is missing, and will never be replaced. A year ago, he wouldn't have been able to talk about it. To put it into words.

But time had a way of dulling the pain, even if it couldn't fully heal the wound.

"Does it matter?"

He scoffs, his expression twisted in disbelief. "Fuck, Ash. Of course it does."

He steps closer, closer than they've been in a while, his hand hovering over his shoulder before he clasps it, pulling him in until they're touching fully, chest to chest, temple to temple. His heat is a fiery brand against him, and it's been so long since he's been touched like this that he can't help the small gasp that escapes him, or the way he leans into the contact.

Milo doesn't say anything, just grips him tighter, his arms wrapped around him, holding him close.

"We lost him, Ash. I know we don't talk about it, but it fucking hurts. And you two-" He cuts himself off with a soft curse, and there's wet heat against Asher's cheek, his eyes burning. He's crying, he realises, and fuck.

This time Milo does acknowledge it, his hand slipping from the back of his neck to his cheek, the pad of his thumb rough as he presses the tears away. His eyes are bright when he catches his gaze, wet.

"I know. Fuck Ash, I know. It's okay, it's just us. You can lean on me. I've got you."

Something breaks in him then, and he can't hold it back anymore. Everything that he's been holding in for the last year - it comes spilling out in shaky gasps and sobs against the shoulder of Milo's hoodie until the material is soaked through, until Asher doesn't think he has anything left to give.

"We're here for you, you know that? Through the thick of it. Until the end."

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #ej writes redacted #imperium verse #look i couldn't not #;u;#redacted david/asher #writing

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thran-duils · 3 years

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And Those I Can’t Charm, I Can Kill (P.1)

Title: And Those I Can’t Charm, I Can Kill (Part One) Summary: Fem!Reader x Mafia!Tony Stark. Too many fringe gangs were making ties and your father noticed. He reached out to the Stark mob for an alliance, offering up a piece of his territory at first. When Stark told him he had enough land, your father offered up the next best thing: you. He knew Stark needed a wife and what better way to solidify a relationship between the two mafia families? You were not naïve, you knew the life and you were trained with guns and negotiations. Your father had made sure of that. The two of you had seen each other on multiple occasions at mafia get togethers and knew of each other. Stark accepted the transaction but little did he know he was going to get a little hellion handed over to him that would not kiss the ground he walked on. He would grow to love it too. Words: 1,656 Warnings (more WILL be added, I am sure): Eventual smut, power dynamics, sexism, smut, public sex, fingering, dom/sub powerplay, kidnapping, violence, death, knife kink, gun kink, angst with a happy ending

Author’s Note: READ the intro! This chapter starts there.

Introduction || Part Two || Masterpost mobile || Fanfic masterpost

You barely remember the wedding ceremony. There had been no courting, no engagement whatsoever to speak of between you and your now husband, Tony Stark. Your marriage was a business transaction between him and your father. The ceremony had been short and sweet, the reception being the thing people were most concerned with and between your father and Tony, the food and drink had been exceptional. You had kept your head about you, not drinking too much, and turning down drugs that had been offered. Tony had done the same, much to your surprise. He was being as cautious about you as you were being about him in turn; neither wanted the other to get the jump on them.

A town car, driven by one of his men, had come at the end of your night to take the two of you to the airport to your honeymoon. On the drive, the car was quiet, the pair of you on your phones or looking out the window, with small comments about the reception sprinkled in. Neither of you were pretending this was anything more than it was at this point; you were practically strangers, only having crossed paths a couple times a year before now.

Plus, you were not inclined to speak with him considering what you had been told by one of your bridesmaids. Tony had apparently been bragging about how he was going to get you into bed on the honeymoon. One of your girlfriends had happened to overhear him speaking to a handful of his men in what was supposed to be a private conversation. There had been comment from another about your ‘rack’ looking ‘delectable’ in your wedding gown and that term had made you gag. Another told him it should be ‘easy’ to get you on your back considering your reputation for clubbing. You despised the men in this business sometimes.

He had not gotten you into bed on the honeymoon. Much to his extreme annoyance; he had trouble hiding his temper, that much you had figured out already. You had kept yourself occupied with local attractions and the pool for the weekend.

His mansion was foreign to you and even after a month, you had still not settled in. And he was still trying to strong arm you with his comments and behavior to be submissive. Just like he was doing right now with his trying to order you around to get him and his men drinks. Fat chance. You stayed relaxed on your floatie, hearing June, your personal favorite of the servants because she was not an idiot and could hold a good conversation, gathering up the champagne to take over to them.

<><><>

Later in the evening, you came out of your closet, finding Tony walking into his. He was uncuffing his dress shirt and he stopped seeing you.

“That’s a nice dress,” Tony commented, his eyes running over you quickly, eyes only lingering at the tight fabric around your hips for the briefest of moments. “Mind telling me where you’re going?”

“Out.”

“Y/N.” There was warning in his tone.

He had an annoying habit of tracking you whenever you left the house. Whether or not he thought you were going to betray the marriage deal, cheat on him, or he was just a control freak – the last being very likely considering the sexism in the mafia – you were unsure. But it drove you up the wall he wanted tabs on you all the time.

Sighing as you dug through your clutch to make sure you had everything you needed, you told him, “I’m going out with my friends.”

“Where?” he pressed.

“The Bungalow,” you answered seeing your friend texted that she was outside. “It’s in Santa Monica.”

Tony chewed on the inside of his cheek, staring you down. You looked up at his silence finding the glower being aimed at you.

“What?” you asked exasperated.

“Be back by midnight.”

“You’re not my fucking parent, Tony.”

Tony rose his eyebrows in annoyance at your tone. “No, you’re right. I’m your husband. And as your husband, I’m telling you I want you back home by midnight. It doesn’t look good if you’re out partying until 3:00 in the morning all the time. That shit is gonna stop sooner rather than later.”

“It’s almost 8:00 and it takes a half hour—”

Tony cut in, “Then it sounds like you better stop arguing with me and get going.”

Clenching your jaw, you turned away from him and stomped out of your bedroom.

“Maybe invite your friends here next time! It’s not like there’s not a bar and pool here,” you heard him call after you.

You were suppressing the urge to scream as you descended the staircase. Just because you were married did not mean your life had to end. In the hall, you ran into one of his guys, Bucky, meandering with a drink in hand. He spotted you and gave you a smile. You forced an extremely fake one for a split second before storming past him out the front door.

Instead of forcing your friend to have to drive you home so early in the night and cutting their fun short, you risked taking an Uber by yourself back home. There were still cars outside which meant mafia members were still over. It was ten after midnight. You had had half a mind to invite your friends home, prepared to throw Tony’s words back at him about the pool and the bar. But you were afraid that the mafia would still be here and that had proven to be a legitimate fear. Plus, if Tony had lost his temper, you did not want to put your friends in that awkward position of witnessing that.

You slammed the front door as loudly as you could and immediately made your way towards the kitchen to make yourself a stiff drink. Throwing your clutch onto the kitchen island, you kicked your shoes off as well, leaving them haphazardly on the tile. You could hear music and voices coming from down the hall in what you assumed was the billiard room.

The vodka cran was stiff just like you wanted, and you took a huge gulp, leaning on the counter.

Natasha walked into the kitchen, and she paused seeing you before smiling; you returned it weakly.

“Looking for the chip stash,” she told you as she moved towards the pantry. She rummaged around in there and emerged with a couple bags. She asked, “Are you going to join us?”

“No, thank you though,” you told her. “I’m gonna watch Netflix. That’s what people do when they’re forced home before midnight, right?”

Natasha looked uncomfortable and said, “I… suppose. Well, if you change your mind then we’re in the game room.”

“Thanks,” you said again and she left you there, like she could not wait to exit that awkward conversation.

<><><>

Tossing the chips on the table, Natasha told Tony, giving him a cringing look, “You really pissed Y/N off. You gave her a curfew?”

Bucky rose his eyebrows as he grabbed one of the bags. He slowly opened it, waiting for Tony to respond.

Tony looked down at his watch and realized it was in fact almost 12:30. He had lost track of the time. “She’s home, then?” Natasha nodded and he smirked in triumph. “Good.”

“So, did you?”

“She doesn’t need to be out dancing in clubs all the damn time now. It’s embarrassing and frankly insulting for me,” Tony responded. “She’s not available and she shouldn’t be acting as such. She’s got to respect me. If my own wife won’t, then what’s stopping everyone else from not doing it either?”

Natasha chewed on that and shrugged. “I can see that. But maybe you shouldn’t be so gloating about the fact she obeyed your rule. You should thank her for listening to you. Just my opinion. Might help melt down the ice a little bit.” Tony scowled and she pressed, “You know I’m right. Her coming back when you asked should build some trust, right?”

Tony said after a few beats, “In the morning.”

“No, now.”

“Who is whose boss, here?” Tony asked her, cocking his head incredulously.

She nudged him and he let out an exasperated sigh as he got up from the couch, putting his drink down on the table.

“You said you had next game right?” Rhodes asked as Tony walked by. He was playing against Wanda at the pool table.

“Yes, and I’m going to kick whoever’s ass it is,” Tony answered, leaving the room.

<><><>

Tony walked into the bedroom, finding you under the covers, watching Netflix.

You told him scornfully, “I know, I know. I was ten minutes late. I’m sorry. In my defense, I took an uber home because I didn’t wanna make Jasmine leave early. So, they got lost for a few.”

He held up his hand, his brows raised. “Easy, tiger. Ten minutes is not a huge issue. I was just… coming up to check on you.”

“Well, I’m fine,” you muttered, eyes going back to the television.

He pointed at your glass and asked, “Want a refill?” You eyed him suspiciously and he said, “Just asking.”

“No, thank you. I had enough at the bar, and this is gonna be my last.”

Tony nodded and said, “Right. Well, be sure to drink water before you go to bed. And thanks by the way… for listening to me and coming back on time.”

“You’re welcome…” you told him, confused as all hell at his out of left field behavior.

He nodded again and clapped his hands before turning on his heel and walking out.

“What the fuck?” you said under your breath to yourself.

Since when was he that calm?

Slowly, you sunk back into the pillows. You shot another look at the door, wondering what had gotten into him.

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney @biiskuitx @buttercupfangirl

Fic tags: @patheticallysentimental

#tony stark x reader #mafia!tony stark #mafia tony stark #mafia marvel #marvel fic #my shit

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taetaespeaches · 4 years

Text

“I didn’t think you’d care if I came back.”

yoongi x reader (or oc) genre: angst; fluff word count: 3.2K

a/n: Finally we have some fluff again! I mean, the angst is still here, but we’re getting to a resolution. This drabble is inspired by “this is me trying” off of Taylor Swift’s album, folklore, and it takes place after, “You know that I would ruin myself over and over again for you.” This also includes a hint of crack for some comic relief, and because where Jin and Poopsie go, crack follows. I hope you all enjoy, and thanks for reading! :))

STEPPING into your apartment, returning home from work, your eyes scanned the small space with distaste. You dreaded coming home to your empty sofa and your empty kitchen and your very empty bed. Even more so, you hated the disappointment you felt in yourself for letting another person get so close to you that they started to feel like home.

Dropping your bag at the front door, you kicked your shoes off carelessly before making your way straight to the bathroom to take a shower. Your showers had been doubling in length, perhaps in hopes that the heat of the water would scald the past couple months right off your skin. Or maybe it was just to feel something other than the hurt.

It was just two months of your life. Why was it having such an impact? It had only been three days since Yoongi walked out, so you hoped it was just the newness of it all that had you feeling so hollow.

Yoongi was just stopping by the dorm for a change of clothes and then he was heading back to the studio. He had spent three days straight in his studio, not even returning to the dorms after leaving your place. Whereas his fans would probably think he was working hard on the second Agust D mixtape, he was mostly just sulking.

He did what was best right? You said you were ruining yourself over him. He was ruining you. So, he left. He didn’t try to work it out, he left. For you. That way, you would have a chance at happiness with someone else. Someone more suitable for you. Someone who could give you what you deserve.

Walking toward his bedroom with his overnight bag in tow, the sound of his roommate’s squeaky laughter echoed through the hallway. Yoongi was suddenly very thankful for the isolation his studio provided, as he remembered Jin saying his girlfriend was visiting family for a few days so he wouldn’t get to see her right away upon returning to Korea from Japan. She must be back now.

“I don’t care if the whole game and franchise is named after Mario, Yoshi is hands down the best character in the Mario realm, and that’s just a fact,” her ranting sounded through the closed door, Jin interrupting her with overdramatic sound effects. Yoongi’s hand was on the doorknob and he had half a mind to ignore his need for a change of clothes and escape back to his studio before anyone noticed he was there.

“There wouldn’t even be a Yoshi if it weren’t for Mario because there would be no Mario franchise,” Jin shouted back, Yoongi’s motions still stalled as he stood on the other side of the door in disbelief. Fucking Mario? Really?

With a sigh, Yoongi opened the door, clearing his throat to alert the two idiots of his presence. Jin’s head popped up off the pillows, greeting Yoongi with an, “oh, hey,” his girlfriend sitting up from her spot next to Jin on the bed.

“Oh, Yoongi, thank god you’re here,” she exclaimed, Yoongi flashing her a surprised expression. “Tell Jin that Yoshi is the best Mario character.”

“That’s ridiculous and you know it,” Jin shouted with wide eyes, his girlfriend turning to look at him. “Yoshi can be your favorite character, but you can’t argue he’s the best.”

“Why can’t I?” She complained, Yoongi quickly losing all interest as he escaped to his side of the room, separated from the bickering couple by a large bookcase.

“Because it’s not called Super Yoshi, or Yoshi Kart,” Jin informed her. Yoongi hurried around his belongings, shoving some clothes into his bag so he could get back to this studio without being dragged back into the couple’s pointless disagreement.

“You’re so annoying,” she huffed, Jin laughing at her attitude.

Zipping the bag back up, Yoongi started toward the door, anxious to get out of the dorm, away from everyone.

“Aw, but I got you something in Japan,” Jin told his girlfriend. Her silence piqued Yoongi’s interest, for reasons unknown to Yoongi, enough for him to look back. She was looking at Jin with her eyebrows raised as Jin pulled out a Yoshi figure from his pocket. “It’s Yoshi!” Yoongi watched as the girl held back a smile, trying to keep up her challenging glare. “I may disagree with you, but I support you and your poor judgement,” Jin teased the girl, lowering himself onto his knees on the bed.

“I'm in love with you, so you may be on to something with the poor judgement thing,” the girl teased right back, taking the figure before cooing at it. “It’s so cute, thank you,” she told him, Yoongi quickly exiting the room.

Part of him found the two lovers cute. A much bigger part found them annoying and gross. Shoving their love in everyone’s faces. He felt like a bitter old man as he shuffled out of the dorm angrily. Why was it that Jin could manage a relationship? How was it that Jin could have his shit together, but Yoongi couldn't? And Hoseok for that matter. Hell, even Namjoon was seeing someone. Why couldn't Yoongi do the same? Making his way out of the building, you overtook his mind. You would have called him out on being a bitter old man. “Jesus, Grampa Min, stop being so grumpy,” he could hear you saying with a giggle. You’d probably even press a kiss to his forehead, flashing him a warm smile. All anger and bitterness dissipated from his body, leaving him sad and frustrated with himself, even more so than before.

Another addition to the list of things you were growing to hate about your living space: it was cold. Bundled up in a large sweatshirt, baggy sweatpants, and colorful fluffy socks on your feet, you waited in the kitchen for your water to boil. All you wanted to do was have a cup of tea and plant yourself in front of the TV to waste away while watching the next Netflix series in your queue. Your still wet hair only made you colder, a shiver moving through your body, causing you to let out a groan.

You resisted the urge to check your phone. He surely hadn’t texted, and you didn’t feel like dealing with the pain that struck your heart every time you saw no notifications from him.

As you mindlessly played with the ends of your damped hair, a knock suddenly sounded on your door, and your heart dropped into your stomach. It had to be him. No one ever visited you at 6:30 pm on a Thursday night. You thought about not answering it, but when the knock sounded again, you convinced yourself you could be wrong. It could be someone else.

Then you caught yourself hoping it wasn't someone else.

Hesitantly, you opened the door, and if you weren’t so angry you would have cried at the sight in front of you.

Yoongi stood in your doorway, dark circles just as prominent as three days ago, eyes puffy and slightly red, one of his hands shoved into his pants pocket, the other hanging by his thigh as he held onto a bouquet of tulips.

Your eyes lingered on the flowers for a moment, not because you really cared about the gesture, but because the appearance of the man who had always been so composed before now looking so completely broken on your doorstep was almost too devastating for your heart to bear.

His eyes scanned your features desperately, though neither of you spoke. It was hard to find the words.

It felt like minutes passed by before Yoongi finally opened his mouth to say something, though he struggled to get the words out. “Kid, I-” he started, tears forming in his eyes.

“I don’t want your flowers if they come with disillusions,” you told him bitterly, holding onto your anger, despite the bubbling feeling of wanting to wrap him up in your arms.

Your eyes followed a tear as it slid off his plush cheek, the cheeks you adored so much, landing on the side of his hand. “If you want me to lay out all my mistakes right now, I will,” he told you sincerely, the comment taking you by surprise. “For starters, I shouldn’t have left. I should have fought with you, I should have stayed to finish that fight,” he said in frustration, partly to himself.

Maybe the words should have confused you, but you understood exactly what he was saying. For you both to express your frustrations with each other and with yourselves, the fight needed to happen. With Yoongi leaving, you didn’t get to the point of discussion following the anger. Instead, he walked away, as if you weren’t worth fighting with, or for.

“Why did it take you three days to come back?” You asked, a strange mixture of anger and sadness and hope swirling around your stomach.

“I didn’t think you’d care if I came back,” he admitted sadly, wiping his face with the back of his hand to get rid of the tears, the bouquet messing his fringe as it made contact with his forehead. He avoided eye contact, keeping his stare directed to your fuzzy sock-covered feet.

“Of course, I care,” you told him, taking a step back to allow him space to enter your apartment. His eyes followed the colorful fluffy material as you moved aside. “Now get in here so we can fight.”

You barely noticed the quirk in Yoongi's lip as it curved just slightly into the tiniest of smiles. He entered your apartment tentatively, and his presence already made it feel more like home again. You felt certain in that moment that no matter what room he walked into, it would feel like home.

Turning toward you, still avoiding your eyes but raising his gaze to your waist, he weakly held up the bouquet. "These are tulips," he told you dumbly, finishing the statement off with a sniffle.

You stared at him for a moment but he didn't continue. "I know," you finally said.

Another beat went by as you faced each other, a feeling of awkwardness enveloping the room. “They symbolize-" he started, just as the teapot started screaming in the kitchen.

“Hang on,” you told him, rushing to the kitchen to remove the pot from the stove, turning the burner off. For a moment, you thought about sitting in the kitchen for a moment to gather your thoughts, but with a vulnerable Min Yoongi standing just a few feet away, you found yourself hurrying back to him.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” You asked, Yoongi looking to the side of the room.

“Tulips symbolize-”

"Yoongi,” you breathed out. “I don't care about the flowers right now, what are you doing here?" You cut him off, getting straight to the point.

"I want to fix this," he told you sincerely, lifting his gaze to meet yours.

You shrugged. "And how?" He stared at you for a moment, so you decided to continue. "I'm sick of feeling like I'm not wanted."

Yoongi quickly negated the comment, shaking his head. "I always want you."

"Then why do I feel unwanted by you?" Your volume raised as you asked the question, Yoongi appearing to hold his breath for a moment. Letting it out in a shaky breath, he looked back to your feet. "You say you want me but your actions say different, Yoongi. And you can't tell me how I feel, I feel unwanted."

"I'm sorry," he apologized quietly, lifting his gaze to meet your eyes. "I'm not trying to tell you how you feel, I'm just coming to terms with the fact that I made you feel that way," his voice broke.

"I don't want to hold this over your head, and I don't want you beating yourself up for it," you told him. "I just want you. But if I can't have you and feel good about myself and us, then I need to you to leave and I need you to stay gone." Speaking the words added cracks to your heart, but it also lifted a weight off your shoulders.

"I deal with a lot of shit," he suddenly said, your eyebrows pulling together in confusion. "Mentally. And that mixed with my work- I'm afraid of putting you through hell just because I'm selfish and want you," he told you with tears in his eyes. That’s what he’s afraid of? Putting his burdens on you? "I get so stuck in my head and I was in Japan and all I could think of was you and,” he sighed, looking into your eyes. “Fuck, Kid, I wanted to call you every moment I was gone. But that's for me, what am I giving you?" He shrugged hopelessly.

"You," you told him, your tears threatening to fall. "You're giving me you."

"And what's that worth?" His question shattered your heart. What's that worth?

"Baby, that's worth everything to me," you told him. "When you’re actually giving yourself to me, I feel more like myself. I feel braver and happier and-" looking back at the bouquet in his hands, you asked, "why tulips?"

He stalled for a moment, surprised by the question. "Right now?" Nodding at him, you bit back a grin. A faint smile appeared on his face, scoffing at himself. "Tulips can mean rebirth and forgiveness and true love, and I'm not saying we're in love,” he quickly backtracked. “I mean not yet, but we could be some day, and," he spoke slow but he was lost in his words, panicking over bringing up love, and the sight of him trying to find his way was enough to make you crack a smile. His speech faded out as he watched your face brighten just the slightest bit, a blush overtaking his plush cheeks. "I don't know what the fuck flowers mean, I don't know what I'm doing."

"That much is obvious," you teased, Yoongi letting out a single breathy chuckle at the comment.

"All I know how to do is care about you, Kid," he shrugged.

Tears forming in your eyes at his confession, you shook your head. "Then care about me."

"I'm trying," he told you, staring into your eyes. For a man who usually avoided eye contact, you were surprised by the sincerity he was trying to convey as he held your gaze. "I really am trying."

"I know," you nodded. And he was.

"I wanted to protect you from me," he added, his orbs scanning your face. "But fuck, Kid, I can't stay away from you." You watched him thoughtfully as he spoke. "But when I saw the hurt in your face-" he paused to compose his emotions. "When you said you thought I left that morning," he shook his head. "That's when I first realized what I was doing to you."

"But you don't have to do that to me," you reminded him. "You don't have to protect me from you, I've told you I'm prepared to be with you regardless of your lifestyle and your work." Yoongi stared at you as you spoke, and you cocked your head at him. "I'm ok with the time apart and the late-night dates and the days where we can only fit a few texts in.”

“But are you ok with me? And everything that comes with me?” He asked. He was really asking, he needed the assurance.

“Of course, I am,” you told him definitively. “I want all of you. You don’t need to wear this mask around me, you don’t need to shield me from you. And you’re not the only one with demons,” you told him. “I want you and everything that comes with you. I’m just not ok with feeling like I'm always about to lose you."

"Baby," he whispered.

"I can't keep being afraid that every time you walk out the door, you might not come back," you whimpered, a tear falling down your cheek. "I need assurance too, I need to know you're in this with me as much as I am with you." Yoongi nodded quickly.

"If you want me here, I'm here," he assured you, sincerity coating his words.

"I want you here," you told him. Yoongi suddenly tossed the bouquet onto the table before approaching you. His arms wrapped around your body before you could react, your arms slowly folding over him, holding him close to you as he buried his face in your hair. You felt a kiss on the top of your head, your body responding by relaxing against his frame, turning your face to nuzzle it against his neck. "I'm sorry for the shit I said," you mumbled against his cool skin, still slightly cold from the night air.

"Don't apologize," he whispered into your hair.

"I didn't mean the mean shit," you added, Yoongi chuckling at the obvious pout on your lips.

"You were hardly mean, Kid," he told you, pulling away just a bit to look down at you with a soft smile, his eyes glistening in emotion.

“Well, I’ll never mean the mean shit,” you said with a small smile.

"I missed you,” he told you as he wiped the fallen tears off your cheeks.

"I missed you too," you whispered. “We were supposed to fight, you know,” you added teasingly.

“That wasn’t a fight?” He questioned in feigned surprise. “We still can if you want,” he playfully responded, his eyes widened humorously.

“You came in here trying to explain flower symbolization and I just couldn’t get mad at you,” you giggled, Yoongi smiling adorably just before pushing his lips to yours, giving you a sweet kiss. Before you could deepen it, he pulled away again.

"Yoshi or Mario?"

"What?” You questioned in utter confusion. “Min, I'm trying to make out with you," you complained with a look of dissatisfaction, Yoongi smiling fondly at the expression. With a sigh, you said, "Yoshi, obviously, what do you think I am, an idiot?" Yoongi laughed fully at the comment, his shoulders shaking as he flashed you that adorable gummy smile you were so obsessed with. "Why?" you asked through a small laugh, "what about you?"

"Honestly, I could not care less," he smiled, now your turn to laugh.

"I love that about you," you told him through your big grin.

"My roommate, Jin, thinks Mario is better," he told you, you raising your eyebrows in response. "I think you should come by the dorm to put him in his place. Maybe meet all the other guys too?"

You smiled widely as you nodded. "I'd love to," you said softly, Yoongi nodding before leaning in to kiss you again. "I mean, for Yoshi's honor," you whispered right before his lips pressed to yours.

"Of course," he giggled against your mouth. Pulling back just slightly, Yoongi stared at you for a moment, his eyes appreciating your every feature slowly, taking his time, as you did the same with him. Wrapping his arms around the back of your neck, he tugged you closer to him to hold you against his body once again. "Jin's a moron but remind me to thank him one of these days," he whispered against your temple.

"I will," you giggled. "But for what?"

"For having his shit together."

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insfiringyou · 3 years

Text

BTS - A Chance Meeting (V & Ara)

Contains: Slight angst

*Alert for potential spoilers for fics not yet written in Jimin x Ara’s storyline*

Ara notices Taehyung sat alone in a quiet cafe and decides to stop by.

You can find out more about our headcanon universe and ongoing storyline here and more about our headcanon girlfriends here.

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook & our full masterlist of fanart and fanfictions can be found here

If you wish to follow all member’s storylines in chronological order from the beginning, you can find them listed here.

Content below the cut

Ara hesitated, before tapping lightly on the single-pane glass with her fingernails. She didn’t want to draw too much attention but was unable to stop herself from knocking. It was a surprise to see him after so long and she had double-taken in the street. His hair was a little longer, but that was expected. The last time he had just returned from the military and his short, closely-cropped cut made him seem more somber; years older than he was. Now it was back to a length she found more familiar but the dark, wispy suggestion of facial hair on his upper lip was new. He seemed lost in thought, sat in the back of the cafe with a small cup clutched between his fingers, staring into space. Despite her being gentle, the sound seemed to startle him and he looked up. Ara gave a tentative wave, hoping he recognised her.

She tucked her fringe behind her ear, watching him pause before he raised his hand slightly in acknowledgement. Her bleached strands felt unfamiliar as she brushed the neck of her hair; the short, pixie cut still freshly blow-dried from the hairdressers that morning. She had asked Da-eun to do it for her but the young woman had refused, thinking she might get into some kind of trouble for it. Ara understood, after all, she had not yet spoken to her manager about a change in style.

Taking the plunge, she tucked her black purse beneath her armpit and walked around the corner to the entrance; the soft tinkle of a bell above the door signalling her arrival. She could not read Taehyung’s expression as she approached his table at the back of the small space but hoped she was not intruding. He was sat snugly behind a column which, luckily, seemed private. The cafe only had a small handful of customers but she looked around cautiously before joining in.

“Hi…” She beamed, keeping her voice low. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?”

He nodded, meeting her gaze. “I’m good.” His tone gave nothing away, but after a moment he gestured to the spare chair opposite. “Do you want to sit down?”

She slid onto the seat automatically. “I can’t stay for long. I’ve got an appointment.”

He blinked a few times. “You’ve cut your hair.”

Her replying smile was bashful as her fingers moved in response to her fringe which had once more come untucked. “It was too warm in the heat. It’s much easier to maintain now.”

“It suits you.” He said coolly.

There was a long pause between them, though it wasn’t awkward. She had grown used to these drawn-out silences, from the time he temporarily took lodge in her and Jimin’s apartment and when her boyfriend had left for the military. It would have been a lie to say she had gotten a lot from his company. He always seemed absorbed in his books as well as his thoughts, but there always seemed to be something he was holding back; an aura of mystery she couldn’t quite place and at odds with Jimin’s usual openness. But Taehyung was tidy enough and greeted her when she came home, so she hadn’t minded having him around.

She found herself wondering what she could say to him. It seemed polite to stop and talk, but this chance meeting now reminded her how little she knew about his life now. Eventually, she spoke. “How’s the baby?”

The corner of his lips twitched in a vague smile. “Toddling.”

Ara was silent for a moment, only just realising it had been longer since she had seen him than she initially thought. “How old is he now?” She asked, voice open and inquisitive.

He took a sip of tea; it’s aroma fragrant in the small space. She tried to read the label on the tag but couldn’t make it out. “Almost two.”

Her eyebrows raised in disbelief. “I can’t believe it’s been so long. I keep meaning to go and see Cassandra, but I wasn’t sure where she was now. Is she still in Seoul?”

Taehyung nodded, putting down his cup. It made a soft, strangely comforting sound against the china saucer. “She’s in Gangnam. Do you have her number?”

She thought for a moment, before nodding with a frown. “If she hasn’t changed it. She was kind of hard to get hold of for a while.”

“Gabriel had colic.” He replied with a shrug, as though that explained the years of absence. Ara thought the explanation a little odd, but did not comment.

“Did you choose the name?” She asked.

“It just seemed right.” He quickly murmured, not entirely answering the question. Ara thought the reply seemed rehearsed, as though he had answered it many times. She wondered if his family had commented on it and whether he felt the need to defend the decision. Jimin had not spoken much about Taehyung’s family, and she herself had never heard them mentioned in conversation. All of a sudden she found herself hoping they had been supportive; not just for his sake but for Cassandra, whom she had known for so long.

Ara forced the thought away. “I bet it sounds lovely when she says it. Cassandra always had the most wonderful voice.”

Taehyung looked up from his tea cup. “She still does.”

Her mouth opened, forming an ‘oh’, thinking she might have gotten it all wrong. Or maybe things had changed in the past two years. She approached the topic tentatively. “Are you two…?”

“No.” He confirmed. “But we make it work.” He quickly added.

Ara settled back in her chair; understanding. She gave a soft smile which she hoped didn’t come across as patronising. “I can tell you care about her a lot.”

“She’s the mother of my child, Ara.” He said quietly.

She sensed the sadness in his voice; a longing he couldn’t quite put into words and she nodded. “Of course.” She changed the subject lightly, seeing there was nothing else she could say on the matter of her old friend. “You should get in touch with Jimin. I know he wants to see you.”

He appeared to wince a little but recovered well. She almost hadn’t noticed. “You can tell him he’s welcome any time he wants. He knows where I live.” He murmured.

Ara fell silent, realising he didn’t yet know. “You really haven’t seen him in a while have you?” She asked, before pressing on. “We broke up.”

He met her eyes across the table and she saw the shock in his expression. “When?”

“A few months ago.”

Taehyung was quiet, pensive, before he asked. “Was it mutual?”

She smiled sadly. “I think he needed it too. We still speak sometimes.”

The man opposite nodded in confirmation. “That’s good.”

Ara watched as he leaned forward to pick up the cup, looking downwards as he took the last few sips. She realised how lonely he looked; how the times she had come home to find him seemingly preoccupied masked the fact he didn’t seem to have anyone. His fans, she remembered, always thought him something of an enigma. She wondered now if that was truly it.

“Have you thought about dating again?” She suggested, making sure to keep her voice down low, should anyone else hear.

He didn’t look up from his cup. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know…” She trailed off, figuring out how best to word it. “Being in a relationship seemed to suit you.” She shrugged. It seemed silly now she said it out loud. “As far as I could tell anyway.”

“Cass has moved on.” He murmured, frankly.

Ara hesitated. “I meant with someone else.”

Taehyung’s eyes snapped up, meeting hers purposefully and she let out an unexpected giggle.

“I didn’t mean me.” She confirmed, shaking her head. It felt strange without the usual brush of hair against her shoulders. She settled down, her laughter subsiding, and gave a long, dramatic groan, anticipating how pathetic she must sound. “I’m still trying to find myself.”

He looked back at the table, picking up a napkin and twisting it absently between his long fingers. “I don’t think I could have that again.”

“You never know.” She easily dismissed.

His brows knitted together, creating deep, frustrated grooves in his forehead as he mumbled, glumly. “Maybe some people are only meant to be with one person.”

Ara raised a questioning eyebrow. “You never dated anyone before Cassandra?”

Taehyung looked up once more, answering quickly. “That was different.” He sharply declared. “I was young.”

“You’re still young.” She said, deliberately gently, seeing he was hurt.

He grew quiet and shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. Ara feared she might have crossed the line and she tightened her grip on her purse, getting ready to leave before he suddenly spoke. “I wouldn’t even know where to meet someone.”

Her hands stilled and she relaxed. “Well…” She held out the palms of her hands. “What do you like?”

He met her gaze. “In a girl?”

She shrugged. “Or a guy.”

Half-expecting him to question this, he surprised her by remaining silent, meditative; thinking deeply. She wondered if he knew about her. Perhaps Jimin had told him.

“Someone sweet.” He eventually said. “Someone kind.”

Her lips curled, simpering. “Is that all?”

“I’m not that picky.” He stated.

She couldn’t help but scoff. “You dated the most European girl in Seoul.”

“She’s only half European.” He contended, entirely missing the point.

“You know what I mean...” Ara shook her head with a grin and sitting back, she reflected for a moment. “What about looks?”

“Personality is more important.”

“You must have a preference?” She challenged, suddenly curious.

Once again he fell silent and Ara found herself a little impressed at how seriously he was taking this. “Dark eyes...soft and sweet.”

“The kind of girl you’d bring home?” She questioned with a smirk.

“Someone I could marry.” He stated, a little dreamily.

Ara nodded, amused. He sounded strangely serious. “I know just the girl.” She teased, an idea already forming in her mind.

He looked at her; eyelashes heavy, giving him a sleepy look “How about you?”

She stretched in her seat, realising she hadn’t thought about it much before and was surprised he asked. Smiling to herself, she blushed. “Smooth skin. Nice lips.” She giggled in embarrassment, adding: “No stubble.”

“So Jimin?” He challenged.

The corners of her lips turned up and she looked away, unable to help the way her heart still skipped a little at his name. “I don’t know…” She admitted, drifting off and watching from the corner of her eye as he reached into his pocket, searching for his wallet. She took the opportunity to flick through her phone, typing a name and bringing up a familiar social media account. She swiped through the pictures with her manicured thumb before finding one which showed the girl in question at a good angle. It was taken at a company event, and the dress she wore was uncharacteristically short. The other girls on the make up team had talked her into wearing it but Ara saw the way she had tugged on it incessantly all night, trying to cover her pale knees with the frilled hem.

“What about her?” Ara held out the screen, showing him.

Taehyung squinted at the picture. “Do you know her?”

“She’s my stylist.” She confirmed before tucking the phone back in her purse and closing the magnetic clasp. “You’d like her, she’s sweet...and single.” She added.

“What’s her name?” He asked casually.

“Da-eun.”

She thought he was going to ask more, but instead changed the topic. “Are you going back on tour soon?”

“Once the new album’s out, we still have a lot of work to do. I’m meeting the producers this afternoon.”

“That sounds good.” He murmured, sounding a little tired. She sensed the conversation was drawing to a close.

“Are you working on anything?” She asked politely.

“I was thinking about it.” The other man shrugged indifferently.

“I’m sure your fans would really enjoy it.”

“I’d be doing it for me.”

The steely tone of his reply took her aback a little and she found herself recalling the news headlines in the days following the birth. “Even so…” She drifted off weakly and checked her watch before drawing her chair away from the table. “I’d better be going.” She murmured apologetically, getting to her feet. “It was really nice bumping into you.”

His eyes followed her as she gathered her belongings and extended the strap on the purse across her shoulder. “You too. Take care.”

“I will.” She smiled, tucking the chair neatly beneath the table and turning to leave.

“Ara?” He called softly and she spun back. He was silent for a few seconds but she waited patiently. “Your friend Da-eun…” He seemed a little embarrassed. “You can give her my number.” Another pause. “If you like.”

It took her by surprise but she nodded in agreement. “I will.” She confirmed, giving a gentle wave. “Goodbye Tae.”

***

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not-so-mundane-after-all · 3 years

Note

loved your previous fic with dick & gar for the "hand-holding" prompt. if you're still taking prompts, then please do #12 - "pushing a strand of hair behind their ear" with dick and gar

Fandom: DC Titans

Title: Good Men and Women NOT Doing Nothing

Pairings/Relationships: Dick Grayson & Gar Logan, Dick Grayson & Rachel Roth

Summary: There's something different about Gar when he walks into the kitchen one morning and the reason behind it is deeper than Dick initially thought.

Touching | 12. pushing a strand of hair behind their ear, Dick & Gar - for @wanderingroundwonderland

Also tagging my besties @undertheknightwing and @wonderbatwayne 😘😘😘 and now I'm going to sleep 😂

____________________________________________

Dick liked getting up along with the sun, especially on a day like this when warm rays of sunshine filtered through the wide windows, coloring the inside of the Tower with a soft golden glow. It filled his body with much needed energy for the day and brightened his mind like not many other things could.

He was just flipping another pancake over when his attention was distracted by a long, loud yawn.

"Good morning." Rachel mumbled at him as she entered the kitchen, all messy hair and cute pajamas, heading straight for the coffee pot he had prepared for her beforehand.

"Good morning, sunshine!" He replied cheerfully, placing the pancake on the plate beside him. He reached for a can of whipped cream and squeezed a little on top of it, then decorated the meal with fresh strawberries - the way Rachel liked best. "How'd you sleep?" rolled off his tongue with ease as he offered her a portion while she sat down on the stool across from him, holding her favorite mug full of caffeine drink in her hand.

Rachel, rubbing her eyes to get rid of the rest of sleepiness, gave him a lazy smile and pulled the stack of pancakes towards her. "Fine." she shrugged and eagerly got to eating. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the taste, which caused a wave of warmth swarming Dick's chest and made him smile to himself, pleased with both his growing cooking skills and her reaction. "But do you really have to kick us out of bed so early? I need my beauty sleep, Kory says it's very important."

"Of course she does." Dick muttered under his breath, trying not to pay attention to the fact that his heart twitched as if it was electrocuted at the mention of Kory. "Early morning means you have more time during the day."

"So what if we have more time when we can't even move after early training." a new voice joined their conversation, making Dick and Rachel simultaneously turn their heads in the direction it was coming from.

And Dick fell speechless, frozen with a pancake on a spatula in one hand and a plate in the other.

Gar walked in, stretching with his arms raised behind his head, fingers tangled together tightly. It wouldn't be anything unusual, that was a part of his morning routine, but what threw Dick off guard was that Gar looked… different.

"Good morning to you, too." Dick told him with a grin plastered to his face to mask his confusion when the boy dropped down next to Rachel, eyeing her pancakes longingly. The girl snickered and elbowed him in the arm, seemingly not surprised nor bothered by the sudden change.

Gar must have felt Dick's eyes boring into him because he stilled suddenly and turned to the older man.

"What?"

"Nothing, just…" Dick paused for a moment, not exactly sure what to say. "Uh, what's with the new haircut?" he finally blurted after handing the boy his own plate of pancakes.

Gar's eyes grew large like he just turned into a night owl - or more like one eye, the one Dick could see, because the other one was covered by a curtain of his green hair, brushed down on the side of his forehead. He blinked twice and just kept staring back until Rachel shoved her elbow in his side, harder this time.

"Ow! Uh, yeah… that." the boy stuttered, rubbing the hurting spot while shooting Rachel an annoyed glare. "I, uh… I decided to change things up a bit, experiment… yeah…" his words trailed off into an awkward silence and Gar shoved a big piece of pancake into his mouth to avoid talking. As he reached for a strawberry from a bowl on the counter, he didn't meet Dick's eyes.

He's embarrassed, Dick figured as he watched the boy putting all his focus on eating his breakfast to avoid going more into the topic. Rachel kept observing him as well, her stare warm and sympathetic, though Dick couldn't help but notice a hint of worry behind her eyes.

"Looks good to me." Dick commented finally, earnest and true. The change was unexpected, yes, but if Gar felt like wanting to change something about himself then he had every right to do it. And it really didn't look bad. His words got the boy to lift his eyes back up and he sent him a sheepish grin.

"What's up, people?" Jason announced his presence with an unnecessarily loud shout, making Rachel flinch in response.

"Damn it, Jason. It's 7 am, keep it down, would you?" she grumbled at him when he slid into a free seat on her other side.

He threw a glance at her coffee mug, then almost obnoxiously pushed it closer to her with his index finger "Looks like someone is in desperate need of more caffeine."

Dick couldn't resist a chuckle when she rolled her eyes so hard she must have seen the back of her skull.

"Shut up." she huffed as Jason stole a strawberry from her plate and threw it into his mouth, but then his eyes set on Gar.

"Cool haircut, bro." he said, his lips stretching into a smirk. "But that emo punk fringe was cool back in like 2009, y'know?"

Gar sent a death glare his way. "Very funny, Jason."

"Hey, it looks dope!" The other boy raised his hands in defence, but then leaned in closer again, eyes squinting mischievously. "It makes you look… mysterious. Like you got something to… hide."

This time it was Jason's side that became a target of Rachel's elbow and that plus the way he said it made Dick do a double take. There was an undertone to Jason's voice, an insinuation of a deeper meaning. Gar froze for a moment, unsure how to react. Eventually he opted to end the conversation by throwing Jason an awkward smile and got up from his seat, taking the empty plate with him and rounded the kitchen island to put it in the sink.

"You know, Dick," he started, inching closer to his side. "I checked out online this fighting style you mentioned during our last training, the uh… Okichitaw, yeah. And I'd really like to learn it. Some basics at least."

Dick put the last portion of pancakes - his own - on the plate and turned to the boy with a smile, feeling excitement rising slowly in his chest. He knew what Gar was really trying to do right now - change the course of the conversation, turn it away from him and his hair. Dick couldn't blame him for that. But Gar also wasn't lying, he really was eager to learn and Dick appreciated the fact that he even did a bit of his own research.

"Sure, buddy. We can start right away." he replied instantly and Gar beamed at him, buzzing with happiness. His head twitched in an attempt to get the hair out of his eye. It was clear getting accustomed to that new hairstyle is gonna take longer than the boy expected. Dick chuckled at his annoyed frown when the hair fell back on his face. "Now go get ready, we'll start in an hour."

He reached out to playfully ruffle the boy's hair but when he did, Gar unexpectedly flinched. He froze, his body taut as a string, jaw clenched to bite back a groan of pain. The kitchen suddenly became very quiet, no clattering of cutlery, not even breathing. Dick's hand stilled on the boy's head and he slowly took it away, looking at Gar who again was trying to avoid his eyes. Dick looked back at the other two teens, who sat still as statues in their seats, both nervous and waiting - Rachel was biting her lower lip nervously while Jason's eyes jumped between Dick and Gar, smirk tugging at his lips.

At first he hesitated, but eventually Dick reached out again, slowly and carefully this time and pushed the strand of hair out of the boy's face, tucking what he could behind his ear. The green curtain revealed a nasty long cut travelling in line with his hairline, held together by two small dressing plasters. It already stopped bleeding but it looked deep and was inflamed, the area around it red and swollen.

"Holy shit, Gar! When did this happen?" The man's voice rang out with worry as he stepped closer to take a better look. He brushed his fingers over the wound, his touch feather-light but Gar still twitched a little, face twisting in a grimace. He didn't answer, just looked to the side - right at Rachel - pleading for help with his eyes. Dick followed his gaze.

The girl sighed as she put her fork down and shook her head.

"I told you he was gonna notice." she told her friend. What was even more strange was that Jason actually agreed with her, nodding eagerly.

Confusion is not strong enough of a word to describe what was going on inside Dick's mind right now. How the hell did this happen? Was that during yesterday's training? No, he would notice. After? They had a free evening and he let the kids go out to have some fun in the city. A surge of fierce protectiveness washed over him as his eyes went back to Gar who looked so miserable Dick's heart almost broke on the spot. He let his hand slide under the boy's chin and he gently lifted his face up so their eyes could meet.

"What happened, Gar?" he asked, his voice calm and soft, but not without the tense undertone of someone who is ready to throw some punches with the reason behind that wound. "Who did this to you?"

Gar gulped down, eyes wide in fear and mouth dry, and looked at Rachel again - just a glance, but she noticed anyway.

"Tell him." she encouraged him softly. Gar nodded once and took a deep breath, bracing himself.

"Um, yesterday when… when we were at the mall, me and Rach passed by these guys in SFSU jerseys. Six of them, I think." he started, stumbling through the words. His fingers fumbled nervously with the hem of his t-shirt but he bravely held Dick's gaze as he spoke. "They started catcalling Rachel, saying some gross stuff I am not willing to ever repeat and… and I had to step in."

At first all Dick could hear was static after what he just heard. Then the sense of Gar's words slowly started coming to him and he staggered back.

"What?"

Now it wasn't just protectiveness, it was pure fire raging through Dick's veins. Rachel… getting catcalled? That was unacceptable. Unfathomable. It wasn't just crossing the line, it was breaking it like a dry twig and setting it on fire and whoever did that was really fucking lucky Dick wasn't there to hear it. He let go of Gar's chin and set his hand on his shoulder instead, trying to keep himself from shaking. His other hand already formed into a fist, fingers curled so tightly his knuckles turned white. He instantly looked at Rachel, searching for any signs of something being wrong, a series of questions already forming on his tongue, but she beat him to it and quickly shook her head.

"I'm okay, I swear. Nothing happened."

"You sure?" he insisted, his gut gnawing at him to learn more because maybe they are not telling him everything. "They didn't do anything? You're not hurt? Because I swear to God, if-"

"Dick, I'm okay." was her only reply, soft, quiet and calming.

"She wanted me to ignore them but they were very pushy." Gar continued, his gaze darting between her and Dick. "They surrounded us, one of them got too close to her and got… grabby, so to speak so I punched him."

Grabby? As in… no, that was too much. His fists were now itching to meet that person's face. To rip their insides out and wrap them around their neck. No one dares to lay a damn finger on her. No one.

"Fucking assholes." Jason muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He sent Rachel a sympathetic look and she smiled back at him, thanking silently.

"I would have been fine, I know how to handle myself." she insisted to Gar as she got up from her seat and walked up to him to lay a hand on his shoulder. He instantly turned to her.

"I know, but what was I supposed to do? Just stand there and do nothing? We're Titans now, remember? Men and women not doing nothing."

Dick honestly wanted to hug Gar in that moment, his chest filling with an insane amount of pride. He stood up for her, protected her, even if he got his ass kicked in the end. They can work on that and after what Dick just learned he will make damn sure that they will, but the intention was what mattered the most right now.

He squeezed Gar's shoulder gently and when the boy turned back to him, Dick leaned in to look him in the eyes.

"That was very brave of you, thank you. I'm proud of you, buddy." he said, noticing how Gar's eyes glazed over with tears after hearing the words. The boy chuckled softly, nodding in response. "But how did you get this?" He asked, pointing at his forehead.

"Well, that asshole punched back." Gar stated bluntly, his hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. "He knocked me down pretty hard, I hit my head on the edge of a fountain, y'know that giant one in the main hall. I saw stars, for a moment I couldn't move-"

"You scared the hell out of me." Rachel whispered, sliding her arm around his shoulders.

"Sorry." Gar replied, bumping his head with hers. And immediately regretted it, flinching at the pain it caused to his forehead. "Anyway, after that they left us alone, walked away laughing. And before you ask-" he pointed his finger at Dick, seeing that the man was already gearing up to ask questions. "No, I don't know their names and no, you can't go find them and beat the shit out of them. I know you want to."

Dick snickered and shook his forehead.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Dude, you're basically vibrating with fury right now." Jason told him, crossing his arms over his chest. "Ooof, I wouldn't want to be on the other end of that wrath."

Dick decided to ignore his younger brother's remark, but couldn't deny the truth behind it - the fury he felt right now, if unleashed, could be deadly. It pulled a delicate string, knocked on a door he locked when he brought these three kids to San Francisco. It reminded him of the rage and violence of his Robin days. Dick wanted to put it away for good but to be honest it would really come in handy right now.

"I'm sorry," Gar suddenly whispered, which brought Dick back to the present - and caught completely off guard. The boy bowed his head down, letting the hair fall back on his forehead and cover the cut.

"For what?" Dick asked softly, moving his hand to the nape of Gar's neck.

"I should have done more. I would have but the Tiger started showing and… I couldn't risk it so I had to back down."

At first Dick just stared at him, same as Rachel, completely taken aback. Then he opened his arms and smiled at the two teenagers.

"Come here, you two."

He pulled them into his arms, pressing them tightly to his chest. Gar froze at first, surprised but then tucked his face into his shoulder and breathed deeply. Rachel nestled into his other side, he could feel her smiling against his neck when her arms circled his middle. He put his hands in their hair, cradling their heads and pulling them closer as he spoke.

"Gar, you have nothing to apologize for, okay?" he insisted, turning his face to the boy. "You did the right thing. I'm proud of you and you have no idea how happy I am that you were with her back then." When Gar nodded, Dick turned to Rachel and she lifted her head to look at him. "And you. I'm glad you're okay. To be honest, I was scared something like this would happen someday but thankfully Gar was with you. But if it ever happens again, you go straight to me, got it? You shout, you call, whatever means necessary. I'll be there in a heartbeat."

Rachel gave him a single nod, a soft smile turning her lips upwards.

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Dick sighed, finally feeling his anger subsiding and disappearing completely. He pulled back, brushing his palms over the kids' cheeks. He turned to Gar, who again was fiddling with his bangs and reached out to tuck it behind the boy's ear, laughing. "Alright, now let's get you properly patched up, huh? I'm sorry, but whoever did this-" he pointed at the plasters that were barely holding onto the skin. "-did a terrible job."

Jason scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Ouch, harsh."

#dc titans #dick grayson #rachel roth #garfield logan #jason todd #graysonfam #titans #titans season 3 #dcu titans

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ramblinganthropologist · 3 years

Text

Fictober 5 and 6 - “I’m not saying I told you so” and “Didn’t we just have this conversation?”

Fanfiction

Fandom: Mass Effect (Actor AU)

Summary: Well... this was bound to happen eventually. Now it’s time for Alex and Macen to face the music - and more importantly, their feelings. What’s gong to happen... and is someone going to win the pool about them dating or what? It’s getting up there...

---

“I’m not saying I told you so…”

“Then don’t.”

Right then, that couch cushion was Alex’s only salvation. Face down in it, he could block out the world and his burning face. It protected him from the strange reality he had found himself in the middle of, at least until he needed to breathe. So… a minute of peace and quiet before he had to face the music.

Maybe he should work on learning to hold his breath?

Much to his displeasure, he was suddenly airborne and face-to-face with Beau. She had taken his lack of movement to get behind and pull him up by the back of his shirt. Now he was dangling there like a newborn kitten, unable to do much except groan.

He should’ve just gone home… but no, he’d gone with his costar to her place to deal with the fucked-up reality that was his life.

“Nope, it’s talking time.” She placed him down on the couch, sitting up this time. Then Beau shoved a mug of coffee in his hands, full of sugar and cream. Someone was clearly trying to bribe him – or this was the hope the sugar would make him talk. “Drink up and tell me just what the fuck happened.”

Alex sighed as he looked down at the mug. “I mean… shit…”

And as he took his first sip, his mind wandered back to that afternoon and what had gone down. Just thinking about it made his face boil with heat, but it needed to be done. All that lay in his path right then was endless embarrassment, but it needed to be done. If he didn’t tell her, somebody would.

But man, he was going to hate this… she was so smug about this kind of shit.

“Huh… wonder where Beau got off to…”

Lunchtime had finally come, and all Alex wanted to do was sit down and rest his tired bones. Thanks to last night’s… activities… he was pretty sore and even all the action scenes hadn’t been enough to rid him of the dull aching completely. In a day or two, he would be ok – until then, he would just have to work through it.

He supposed that was the downside of having sex with a turian – stretching to fit your legs around a carapace was demanding work. Good thing he was flexible.

Not only that, but he had fairly good eyesight. Off in the distance, he spotted a familiar mop of pink hair paired with black armor. Beau stuck out in a crowd to say the least, and he was glad for it as he started to walk over. However, he realized she was standing in front of someone as soon as she moved away, heading off to who knew where.

And lucky him… there was Macen.

The turian looked vaguely uncomfortable to say the least. Alex had been around him long enough to pick out some of his tells. His mandibles were twitching, and the way he was standing reminded him of those old school puppets you stuck your hand into. If he started speaking in a squeaky voice about the alphabet, he was out of there…

Ok, he was a little tired. It had been a long morning of filming, ok?

At the very least, he slowed down as he approached. “Sorry, did I break up a conversation?”

Macen’s mandibles twitched again as he met Alex’s gaze. “No, she was just leaving…”

He glanced to the side. “Do you mind following me? We need to talk about something…”

Now, for some people this could go down a road where somebody would have to pee on a stick. Lucky for them, they didn’t have the right equipment – or species, for that matter. Still, Alex felt a lump form in his throat as he managed a nod. Oh, how he had wished that had been from his stupid costume armor…

Fuck. He knew a breakup when he heard one.

“Yeah… lead the way I guess.”

Without another word, Macen was soon leading him away from where the crew was gathered. He eventually ducked into a small room, closing the door behind them once Alex stepped through. There was no other way in, so he was stuck there waiting for the sky to collapse on him.

But yeah… no big deal.

He did his best to stay casual as he took a seat – the armor was uncomfortable, especially when standing. Macen mirrored him, and they were soon seated with a small table separating them. It wasn’t particularly cozy, but maybe it was better he didn’t feel comfortable. If he needed to make a quick retreat, this was for the best.

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck as he looked over at the turian. “So, what did you want to talk about? I didn’t hurt you last night, did I?”

Doubtful – Macen was built tougher than he was. Still, a human could put a hurting on a turian if they moved in the right way, or so the internet had told him during a late night frantic search. He didn’t see any of the telltale signs, but it wasn’t like he was a medic – he just played one on TV.

Man, if only Alistair Shepard was here now to save his ass…

Macen shifted in his seat, mandibles twitching. “No, I’m fine. I wanted to talk… about things between us I guess.”

Yep… here it came. Alex had to wonder how it was going to end; was Macen a ‘it’s not you it’s me’ guy, or did he prefer to cut and run? The tabloids had made suggestions back when he had been more active in the dating scene, but nothing had ever been concrete. Now he was about to get the real scoop – if only it didn’t come at the expense of his… well, if he was going to get dumped should he even call it a relationship?

Shit, he was no good at this sort of thing… it was why he didn’t date much.

At least being an actor made it easy to play things off as neutral as he felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck. Turians couldn’t smell that, right? He forgot if they had strong noses or not some days. Honestly, since they didn’t really have visible nose structures…

Yeah, he was trying to avoid reality. So sue him.

“Do you not like how things have been going lately?”

Maybe they had been a bit too forward. They had both originally agreed that this was just a fuck and run thing. They had never discussed spending the night or anything else that had been happening with increasing frequency. It would be fair to say they had thrown the agreement out altogether and had been ad-libbing for quite some time. Maybe Macen didn’t like that… it was hard to read his face then.

Damn turians and their lack of eyebrows…

Macen laced his talons together as he took a breath. “I… find myself uncomfortable with it, yes.”

Alex felt something break inside him, but he did his best to keep it off his face. Oh. Well, if you want to stop…”

“No!”

The sudden outburst caught the human off guard. He blinked as he realized Macen looked almost frantic now. That definitely raised some new emotions as he waited for the other shoe to drop. At the very least, he was confused – confused and not getting broken up with. What was actually going to go down, though, he couldn’t see. All he could do was just live through it and hope for the best.

He had never been good at that, but there was a first time for everything.

It took Macen a few moments to calm down, and even then, he was a little twitchy and his frame looked rigid. Yet when they met gazes after he had, Alex felt almost embarrassed to catch his attention. His expression was just so painfully honest that it hurt to look at him.

“That’s the exact opposite of what I want.” The turian took a deep breath, prop armor creaking a little as he moved. “I… think we both know this has gone a lot further than just sex.”

Alex managed a nod. “Yeah… that probably happened after the first time you stayed the night.”

That had been months ago. Ever since, they had wavered between colleagues and… well, he didn’t want to name it. Naming it made it real. And right then, that was terrifying. He couldn’t even form the words yet – it had been far too long.

“And it’s only gotten…” he flexed his hands uselessly. “Well, stronger. After I saw you looking so passionate when you danced…”

He took another breath and held it for what must have been a painfully long time. What Alex would’ve given to see what was going on underneath his fringe. Maybe it would have settled the sensation of sitting on a pile of pins, hoping Macen was going to offer him a magnet to get them out and not another round of them. Right then, he just had to wait.

“I think I’ve fallen for you, Alex.”

Now, if he had been in a sober state of mind, he would’ve registered this was one of the few times the turian had used his first name. However, he was way past sober thanks to the beginning of the statement. His stomach had gone from bubbling in distaste to fluttering like a flock of butterflies had gotten stuck in there. Forget rational thought – he wasn’t thinking at all.

Was this actually real?

Macen’s mandibles twitched slowly as he looked away. “Of course, I understand if you don’t feel the same. We can forget this ever happened and just end things before it gets awkward. I think we’re both mature enough to be able to work together, right?”

While Alex wasn’t a military man in truth, he knew the sounds of a retreat sounding when he heard it. Right then, Macen was trying to get back from the no man’s land he had found himself in before he got his head shot off. Of course, that meant he assumed that someone was aiming a gun at him and had their finger on the trigger.

And honestly? His finger hurt too much from his prop rifle to even think about pulling a real one. Fuck that.

The turian took his silence as a yes and started to rise. Alex felt panic take over as he jumped to his feet, reaching out to grab him. He found purchase on Macen’s wrist, tugging him back with such force that both fell onto the floor with a hearty thump thanks to gravity and the differences in their weights.

This was a great reminder of why he didn’t enjoy being on the bottom. Macen was too fucking heavy and bulky for this.

“Oww…” the turian groaned above him as he rubbed his mandible. “You didn’t have to grab me.”

Alex groaned as well, but mostly because Macen’s knee was close to a sensitive area. “Could you move please? I only like your dick there…”

With a clatter, his costar and part-time lover jumped off with the speed of his character. Even better, he offered out a hand to help him get to his feet. Normally he wouldn’t have gone for it, but given he’d had a turian knee to the crotch, Alex needed all the help he could get to return to a standing position. For not the first time, he was glad he had been wearing armor. Even if it was fake, it had protected him from some real pain.

Had he ever mentioned he was glad he didn’t have testicles? Because, man, he was feeling that now.

“Sorry.” Macen wasn’t letting go of his hand, even though they were both standing. “But… you still didn’t answer me. What do you think about… well… us?”

There was a hopeful note to his voice as he cocked his head to the side in an adorable way that made Alex’s insides flutter once more. If that didn’t tell him what he wanted, nothing would. So, the human decided to go with his gut.

Carefully, he leaned up on tiptoe and planted a quick peck on Macen’s left mandible. “I think we may have to change our agreement to include the clause about catching feelings for each other.”

That would’ve been so much cooler if he hadn’t lost his balance immediately after. Lucky for him, the turian was quick to make sure he didn’t fall flat on his face. Surprisingly strong arms held him close enough that he could hear Macen’s heart beating its strange, frenetic pace. It was faster than usual – someone was nervous.

He was too. But it was ok.

“I mean, I knew you were falling for me…”

And Macen chuckled when Alex groaned. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Oh great, you like dumb puns.” Still, he chuckled too as he leaned in close. “But I’d say that makes us even. Dare I even say it, but I think you’re my boyfriend now.”

Did turians have a word for that? He had never really studied alien languages in school beyond the basic shit to get you around on the Citadel if the translators went out. Maybe he should get Duolingo in turian if this was going to be a thing.

Damn, he hated that owl… but it was for the best.

“I think that would be a fair assessment.” Macen’s voice was soft with those words. “It’s going to get around… are you ready for that kind of thing?”

Of course he wasn’t – nobody was ever ready for their relationship being front page news. Given their previous animosity and their roles, this was going to drive the tabloids insane. Yet even though he knew that Alex found that he didn’t really care. Maybe he would later, when cooler heads prevailed, but in the moment, he was fine with whatever came at him.

Dumb, maybe. But no one had ever claimed he was smart.

“I think we can make it work.” He would have leaned in for another peck, but the sound of motion on the other side of the door drew his attention. From the sound of things, they needed to get back to set. “Damn, talk about awful timing.”

Macen helped him get steady on his feet as they left the room behind. “We can talk more later. It’s not like I need to ask for your number or anything.”

“Ah, the benefits of fucking beforehand.” Alex chuckled as they made their way back to the set. “Well, I think the director will applaud our new chemistry at the very least.”

The turian stuck out his strange tongue at that. “Always the professional, I see.”

Someone had to be. If Macen was giving up the role of resident stick up his ass perfectionist, it needed to go to someone. And his ass was smaller anyway…

But he could think about his boyfriend’s ass later. They had a scene to shoot first. Afterwards… noodles, maybe?

---

“And… yeah, so I guess we’re a thing now.”

Alex’s mug was empty now, and he was craving another. However, he would have needed to go through Beau, and she was currently staring at him as if he had two heads. As far as he knew he didn’t, but he touched his neck anyway just to check. Nope – just one.

His costar shook her head as she came back to reality. “I mean… I’m not saying I told you so…”

“Didn’t we just have that conversation?” He frowned as he felt his face heat up. “But… yeah I guess you’re right. The just sex thing folded like a house of cards.”

Beau smirked as she picked up his empty mug, heading off to refill it. “Took y’all long enough, but I knew it would happen eventually. So, any bets on who is going to leak it first? Citadel Weekly usually gets the hot gossip first, but the head editor over at Daily Drama has had it out for you since you started fucking…”

Anyone but Daily Drama. He still wanted to punch that asshole in the face…

“I don’t know. I’m half debating doing it myself to some unknown paper so they all hate the fact they didn’t get it first.” He shrugged. “But that’s a conversation for me and Macen to have later. Right now, it’s just… weird.”

Weird was good word for it. It wasn’t bad, just… odd. Sex was one thing; an actual relationship was something else entirely. Yet as he thought about it, he didn’t really mind. There were worse positions to be in – like having a turian knee in his crotch.

Had he mentioned that really hurt? He was lucky he wasn’t bruised…

Beau returned, coffee in hand. “Well, as long as nobody finds out until next week, I still win the pot.”

All Alex could do was shake his head and accept the mug. “Dare I ask what your winnings are going to be?”

“Oh, just a low five figures. All the human crewmates were going hard as hell. I’m pretty sure Rili is going to be just crushed about it, mind you.”

Ah, yes. Because Beau would totally be worried about the quarian member of the cast. She wasn’t subtle.

“Well, I can recommend a place to take her for a consolation dinner. They have both levo and dextro.” He sipped from the mug, sighing in relief. It was good to have things off his chest. “Shit, it’s been so long since I’ve dated someone that I forgot how it feels.”

“Something, something, getting back on the horse?”

Something, something, indeed. Still, Alex was glad to be back on the old-fashioned mode of transportation as he sat there, drinking his coffee and planning his costar’s date with the woman who played Tali. Like he had said, there were worse positions to be in.

And… well, the heart he had added next to Macen’s name in his contact list was a nice touch. Maybe he should have done this sooner…

Nah. It would’ve been a shame to cost Beau money. Rili deserved a nice date spot. It was the least he could do as her unofficial wingman.

#fictober21 #ramblinganthropologist's writing #Shakarian #That Mass Effect Actor AU #Why is half my fictober Mass Effect Actor AU lol

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joozvoicemail · 3 years

Text

Desperate | H/N

Genre: angst

Pairing: optional member x female reader

Word count: ~900

📌A/N: H/N means it’s a member of your choice again! You can consider this a former chapter of another piece 👉🏼 End of The World. Let me know if you feel a particular member after reading this :) I tried to use H/N’s first person POV. Hopefully it works alright🤞🏼

====================

When you desperately want someone, you try everything to hold on to them.

They said she seemed glad to see her ex again. Maybe I was impulsive when I hinted on our ambiguous relationship. Even so, I was merely owning up to whatever misbehaviours I had done, with her.

Here she was standing in front of me, face dark; her shoulders and the front of her jeans slightly damp. She stormed into my apartment, left me holding the door. I tightened my grip on the door knob as my emotion followed hers.

She kicked off her wet shoes before stepping onto the light grey rug in the middle of the living room. Clean freak’s habit did not change even when she was mad.

“Why did you do that?” She hung one hand on her waist, the other covered her forehead. She was panicking. I felt something complicated growing in me. I frowned, hoping to earn a moment before I could speak calmly. “Why did you tell them about-“ she lashed out impatiently, then sighed before finishing her words.

“About what?”

I thought she would raise her voice. Instead, she softened her tone, “About us, about what we…what we did,” she stuttered, eyes drifted away when she said “we”.

“So there’s an ‘us’,” smiling was not appropriate at this not-so-delightful moment so I kept it under my skin. Though I bet she could hear it in my voice, if she had the mood to catch that.

She clenched her eyes and sighed again. “Just tell me why,” she resisted the urge to raise her voice.

“Oh, remind me again what’s so shameful that you need to hide?” I challenged her as the frustration heats up, “It’s true that you and I aren’t just friends.”

Several strands of hair fell to cover the sides of her face as she lowered her head. “Aren’t we?” She asked rhetorically, irritating my boiling exasperation. We both knew the answer but neither of us was less of a coward to admit it.

I drew air into my lungs to simmer down the anger, “See your ex in the day then call me at night, huh?”

“You know me, right?” she gave me a ridiculous look, “he’s part of the friend group and-and I already told him… why did you even bring him up anyways?” she grumbled. Seeing no reaction from me, she shrugged her shoulders, “what about you Mr Popular? I don’t get to ask who you go on dates with.”

“Ah-huh, fairness it is. Go let everyone know how fair we are!”

“Oh God, grow up a little!” Her fingers ran her fringe to the back, “you telling them only makes things awkward for everyone!”

“Right! God knows how many fucking friends you sleep with!” I sneered. It slipped out of my mouth as I dropped myself onto the sofa. The chaos took a pause with my loud complaint.

I had not realized how the rage swallowed my mind until the absence of response made me look up, only to meet her dim glare. The anger in her round eyes were gone. Her eyelids trembled in disbelief and pain; chest sunk. As she finally gave in and closed her eyes, she inhaled deeply like she had been suffocated.

I had not seen those dark eyes for quite a while since she got her heart broken that year. It turned out I was also someone who broke her. Perhaps worse – pretended to repair her just to shatter her again.

The silence between us used to make me feel relaxed and secure. It was home. Looking at her back now, the rage in me cooled down into a panic.

“H/N…” I did not dare to respond. The air was so thin; she sounded fragile like the surface of a frozen pond. What if I opened my mouth and it cut her heart again?

“I can’t do this anymore…” she whispered.

I got up from the sofa, eyes on her crown. “Don’t use me to make you happy then dump me in the corner leave me thinking what went wrong,” my voice quaver with vulnerability, despite making a plead that sounded like a command. I was putting my heart in her hands, giving her the power to decide whether to hurt me or to heal me. I could no longer bear anything in between.

I missed the scent of her shampoo, the goosebumps on her skin when I tickled her, the timid giggle when I put my arms around her. I kept myself at arm’s length from her. I unconsciously clenched my fists as I sensed all of that dissolving in the space between us.

“I’m sorry,” after an eternity, she turned to face me. She wiped away the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hands, as if the pain would dry with the tears.

I stepped closer to lock eyes with her. If my stupid ego kept me from saying something right, I could at least try begging with my eyes. For a moment, I thought she faltered. However, she averted her eyes before we both crumbled. I silently scoffed at how pathetic I was making myself.

She stood by the door, “You’re my best friend.”

If I had to lose her, at least I needed to win the fight. In my head, I ran through all the nasty things that could save my ego.

“I wish I never was.”

The thunder outside covered the sound of the door closing.

When you desperately want someone, you grip too tight and the only thing left is those nail marks on your palms.

====================

Thank you for reading. Have a good day, or goodnight🖤

#monsta x scenarios #monsta x imagines #monsta x angst #monsta x fanfic #shownu #wonho #minhyuk #kihyun #hyungwon #jooheon #changkyun #mywriting

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duskowithapen · 4 years

Text

Of Flowers And Tattoo Needles Chapter Three

Read on Fanfiction

Read on AO3

A Resolution

“Don’t you dare tell her, bug!”

Luka wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. Adrien had walked into the tattoo parlour proper, standing toe to toe with his fiancée, having a full argument in front of them. If Adrien is in a relationship with this Kagami, then what was up with the pet names and the forehead kiss?

“Why are you so intent on keeping this a secret?!” Kagami demanded, waving her rapier under the blonde’s nose threateningly.

“I wanted it to be a surprise!”

“You know that I hate surprises!”

“But this is a good surprise, I promise!”

“Adrien, I swear if you got a dragon tattooed onto your chest I will do something drastic!”

“C’mon Kagami, like Marinette would let me get something so obvious-OH-GODS-DON’T-IMPALE-ME—”

Much to Juleka’s displeasure – she was watching the argument with one of her signature ‘ah yes, chaos’ smirks – Marinette intervened before blood could be shed. “Maybe we could all calm down and talk this out like rational, non-violent human beings. I don’t think bloodstains will do anything for my shop’s reputation.” She pressed a hand to her hip and started Adrien down. “Unless you want to keep playing the scaredy cat, chaton?”

Adrien’s mouth dropped open. A hand was held dramatically to his chest. “So cruel m’lady!”

Kagami huffed and lowered her weapon, turning to give Marinette a bow. “My apologies, Mari-hime. I shall eviscerate him outside.”

“Let’s just not eviscerate anyone, hmm?” Marinette sighed.

The pout that appeared on Kagami’s face made Rose giggle, and it seemed to remind the swordswoman that yes, there were other people in the store. In the back corner, while the redhead was intent on his work, the client was watching them. Kagami bowed again. “I did not realise you had other clients, Mari-hime. Was this a bad time?”

Marinette waved a hand towards the couches. “It’s okay, Gami-chan. I was about to get Luka’s tattoo started, but I should probably help my idiot of a best frien before he gets himself killed.” Adrien visibly wilted at the look Marinette gave him. She turned an apologetic smile onto Luka, and he blinked at the full force of those beautiful bluebell eyes focusing completely on him. “Are you okay if I postpone your tattoo for a little bit? I promise this won’t take too long.”

Luka shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. He was really missing his guitar now. “I’m fine with that. You’re not the only one wanting to know about someone’s tattoo,” he directed at Kagami, who hummed questioningly. “My sister and her partner have been pestering me about my tattoo all morning.”

“See!” Adrien burst out, “Keeping your tattoo secret until it’s finished is normal Kagami!”

A loud clap stopped the argument from restarting. “Alright! If everyone could just sit down, we can get this cleared up,” Marinette said in a tone that demanded total obedience. There was a glint in her eyes that suggested great violence on those who did not comply.

Luka was very lucky that he was standing in front of one of the couches in the first place. That tone of voice, that look on her face… he dared any man not to get a bit weak in the knees.

“Sounds like a plan,” Juleka murmured as she brushed past, shooting him an uncomfortably knowing look as she sat by Rose’s side. “Considering that Luka thought you and Adrien were together. Care to explain how he could have come to that conclusion?”

There was a moment of silence. Luka and Marinette’s faces flared up in identical blushes. Adrien’s face reddened slowly as he bit his lip. Kagami’s eyebrows rose past her fringe. In the back corner, the client was still watching like the whole situation was a soap drama.

Then laughter.

Luka’s head snapped up as Kagami of all people started giggling, stern face crinkling into a smile as she tried to smother her amusement behind one fist. Adrien finally took a breath, losing his battle with the laughter he’d been restraining. His tugged his fiancée down onto the other couch with him. “Oh god, really?!”

Marinette dropped into the seat beside Luka, face hidden behind her hands. He leaned in a little. “I feel like I’m missing something?” He said lowly.

A blush still stained her face when Marinette looked up. Despite their closeness, she didn’t shift away. “Just a little, yeah,” she replied hoarsely. “I just feel so stupid. There I was, practically throwing myself at you, and you seemed interested, and then Adrien walks in, and oh god, you must have thought I was some floozy, that I was flirting with you despite having a boyfriend – which we’re not by the way, I swear I’d never cheat on you – I mean, if we were together I wouldn’t cheat – not that I’d cheat on Adrien if we were together, which again, we aren’t – but I wouldn’t have said those things or done anything if I was with someone else, but you didn’t know that, and ugh it’s all just a great big fucking mess –” Marinette stopped with a sudden inhale as Luka pressed a finger to her lips.

“It’s okay, Marinette,” he whispered, ignoring their avid audience. “I admit, I was confused, but I figured I could try and clear it up today anyway. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d made a wrong assumption,” he said with a self-depreciating chuckle, “I’ve never been all that good with people. I find it easier to communicate through my music than anything else.”

Marinette opened her mouth to reply, and Luka had to restrain a shiver at the feeling of soft lips against his guitar calluses. “I really am sorry, Luka. I keep forgetting how mine and Adrien’s… dynamic can be seen by other people.” She paused for a moment, looking away, before continuing, “And I think you communicate pretty well like this. Better than my anxiety-fuelled rambling anyway.”

Luka leaned in a little closer, drawing his finger down her chin and barely brushing her neck before pulling it away. “I thought it was kinda adorable,” he whispered.

Adrien coughed, pulling the two out of their haze. “Uh, I just wanted to apologise, Luka. I’m a very touchy-feely kinda person, and I keep forgetting that not everyone, y’know, hugs and kisses and just generally touch their friends as much as I do. I was… isolated as a kid, and I never really got the concept of personal space.” Now, didn’t that sound concerning?

He waved a hand at the nervous looking blonde. “That’s okay Adrien. I can get a bit touchy too – I shouldn’t have made assumptions. People have thought the same thing about Juleka and I before.” That had made for a very awkward conversation as they explained to the landlady no, they weren’t teenage lovers, but siblings who had decided to move in together.

“It’s all the nicknames,” Juleka said with a smirk, “Wasn’t it your dad you asked if he needed to design two wedding dresses, Adrien?”

Marinette groaned deeply and twisted to bury her face in Luka’s shoulder, hand grasping his jacket just in front of her face. “Don’t remind me,” she said, words half-muffled, “I can’t look Mr Agreste in the eye anymore!”

“Out of curiosity, where did the nicknames come from?” Luka asked, trying to keep a straight face as he wrapped an arm around Marinette’s waist, holding her to his side. Based on Juleka’s fake retch, he wasn’t very successful.

It was Adrien’s turn to blush, as he grabbed Kagami’s hand. “Well, like I said, I was an isolated kid. The only kind of unsupervised social interaction I got was when I played Ultimate Mecha Strike online. When I was thirteen, I met a player called Buginette03 – who tuned out to be Marinette – and we got pretty close, despite not sharing our real names. I’d ask Bug for advice when it came to my father, or later on, social stuff, and then she’d ask me for help when her anxiety spiked, or she started catastrophising.”

“And he’d use me as a sounding board for his awful pickup lines,” Marinette cut in, finally pulling her head away from Luka’s arm. It suddenly felt very cold. “You are such a cat-ch is a horrible excuse of both a line and a pun.”

“Hey! It worked with Kagami, didn’t it?”

Both Marinette and Kagami rolled their eyes. “Obviously, she took pity on you, kitty,” the tattooist said, deadpan.

“I found your determination in finding a successful line pitiful enough to be amusing.” Was Kagami’s response.

“Meowch!” Adrien said, insulted. “So cruel, ganging up on a poor cat!”

Marinette rolled her eyes and turned to face Luka properly. “Anyway, after almost a years worth of playing with each other and chatting, we decided to… reveal ourselves, I guess? I was so surprised when I realised that the snarky, goofy LostKittenOnTheCatwalk was actually in my class.”

Adrien slapped Kagami gently when she scoffed at his username. “Hey, I thought it was funny! I was thirteen!” He shook his head for a second. “But yeah, I was both surprised but not when I found out that Marinette was Buginette. Like, once I knew, I wondered how I could have thought it was anyone else.”

“We tried to date for a little bit,” Marinette said, taking up the narrative. “We thought that it was a ‘meant to be’ kind of thing, but it didn’t really work out.”

“We’re partners, but not? We work better as close friends, or siblings, rather than lovers,” Adrien looked at Marinette with a small smile. “I’m just glad that Marinette chose to remain friends with me. Probably not her smartest move,” he said with a shrug, “But oh well.”

Kagami flicked Adrien in the shoulder as Marinette pulled a pencil out nowhere and threw it. “Don’t get started on that again, chaton,” The tattooist said sternly. “We were both young, and stupid, and made you, stupid mistakes that we both learned from. And I will get Kagami to bash that into your thick head if I have to!”

Adrien waggled his eyebrows halfheartedly. “Not wanting to bruise me up yourself, m’lady?”

Marinette’s response was a raised eyebrow and crossed arms. “I think I’ll leave that dubious honour to Kagami. Besides, I already got to stab you.”

“Indeed,” Kagami said with a frown, “I am still waiting for an explanation of your tattoo, Adrien.”

“Well-look-at-the-time-gotta-GO!” Adrien was on his feet in an instant, sprinting out of the store. “See-ya-later-guys-bye!”

Kagami followed suit with a low bow, a murmur on how nice it was to meet them all, and then she was gone, smirk crossing her lips and sword held firmly in one hand. Luka wasn’t sure if he should be worried about Adrien’s safety or not.

His attention was pulled away when Marinette patted his arm. “They’ll be alright,” she soothed, “Kagami’s been stressing out over a fencing competition for a while, so Adrien’s been drawing out the whole ‘no you can’t see what my tattoo is’ thing so that she’ll actually take a break. Pretty sure this is the first time she’s left the dojo for something other than food or sleep for a week.”

“What is Adrien’s tattoo?” Rose asked, leaning forward.

“I’ve still got the concept page, if you’ll just give me a moment…” Marinette jumped up and rifled through her desk, returning with a thick, tattered at the edges sketchbook. She flicked it open to a drawing of a curled up dragon the size of Luka’s palm. It was Chinese style – all long body, short legs, fur crest running down it’s length, flowing whiskers – in various shades of black and red. The crest was a pale shade of yellow, contrasting with the dark gold underbelly. Lighter gold made up the claws and teeth. The eyes were, surprisingly, a rather normal brown. The dragon was curled into a circle, with it’s jaw open. Interestingly, it wasn’t breathing fire, but rather a stream of what appeared to be wind, portrayed in curling lines of grey that created clouds around the dragon. Scattered throughout were tiny gold stars.

“It’s beautiful, Marinette,” Luka breathed, glancing up at the blushing artist. “You’re incredibly skilled.”

Her stammers were covered up by Rose’s squeals. “It’s so detailed Marinette! I take it that the dragon is meant to be Kagami?”

“Ye-yeah. It’s inspired by a story about the dragon of the stars, which was one of Kagami’s favourite when she was little, and Adrien wanted to have it curled up over his heart to show how she both owns his heart and protects it – thus the clouds and kina scary expression.” Marinette traced over the drawing slowly. “Definitely one of my best works.”

“Just one of your best?” Luka asked lowly.

When Marinette looked up, a blush still tinted her cheeks, but there was a determined spark in her eye. “Yeah. There’s this messy haired florist who’s getting my best tattoo at some point, if he still has time to have it done?”

“I’m all yours Marinette.” And oh, how Luka hoped he could make that literal.

“Well, that’s our cue to leave,” Juleka said with a smirk, grasping a protesting Rose by the shoulders and pushing her towards the door. “I expect progress photo, big brother!”

He just waved a hand in her direction, not taking his eyes off Marinette’s. “Yeah, yeah, I will, you impatient brat.”

When the door shut behind them, Marinette extended one ink-stained hand. “So. Ready to get stabbed?”

Luka took it. “By you? Always.”

A few days later, after tattoos were drawn, inked, admired, wrapped and cared for, Luka appeared outside Charmed Ink. In his hands was a large bouquet of flowers – Pink orchids, larkspur, daffodils, cherry blossoms, blue morning glories and hyacinths. In the very centre was a single lilac.

For love beginning.

#miraculous ladybug fanfiction #of flowers and tattoo needles #lukanette #marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine #marinette x luka #tattoo artist/florist au #tattoo artist marinette

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come-on-shitty-boys · 4 years

Text

//sober thoughts. kuroo tetsurou//

Warnings: slut shaming, vulgar language, swearing

Word Count: 2K

Notes: I was listening to the Breath of the Wild soundtrack while working on this and now, I may or may not be planning on spending my weekend FINALLY beating the game on Master Mode

*Characters are aged up because I am a responsible adult who does not condone underage drinking*

*Read Part I - ‘Drunken Words’ HERE*

Honestly, he didn’t know what he was expecting when he sat down next to you in the lecture hall. Maybe he was hoping that things would go back to how they used to be, before he made a total fool out of himself. Maybe he was hoping that he’d be able to sit down and joke with you. He was hoping that you’d start doodling little pictures in the margins of his notebook just like you always did when you were bored during lecture.

But, he got none of those things. He was welcomed by a cold silence, a quick glance up from your phone to recognize that he was there. As he sits down in the seat next to yours, he watches you shift your body, leaning further away from him as if not wanting to be seen anywhere near him.

And who could blame you? The videos of drunken Kuroo making all of those snide remarks, telling everyone about the relationship that you had with, had been circulating the campus all weekend. Everywhere you went, you could feel the judgemental eyes on you, staring you down to punish you for your sins. Even now, in a lecture hall filled with hundreds of students, people were turning their heads to get a glimpse of you and the fraternity brother who let all your secrets out after a few too many glasses. Hushed whispers were filling the room as the rumors continued to grow and increase in severity. Calling you any number of filthy names in the book.

As if the guilt wasn’t already eating you alive. The heartbreak that had crept into Daisho’s eyes as he realized that this wasn’t just Kuroo talking to talk felt like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t even bothered to yell at you, he just walked upstairs, locking the door to his room. You could’ve knocked on his door all night and he never would’ve answered. You had sat outside for what seemed like hours before you heard the lock slide out of its place, the door creaking open ever so slightly as he poked his head out. His eyes had been trained at the floor, refusing to meet your gaze. But, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, there was no mistaking the slight puffiness to his eyes or the tightness in his voice.

“I think you should just go.”

Nothing else. He spoke six words to you and went back into his room, locking the door tightly behind him. You didn’t know why it hurt as much as it did. You had said yourself that you weren’t in love with him anymore, but seeing all of the pain etched on his face overwhelmed you with guilt and Daisho wasn’t even giving you the option to try to fix things. It was over. Plain and simple.

It didn’t matter how many times you tried to text or call him, each one was ignored. You showed up at the house the next day to try to talk to him, but you were turned away at the door by one of the fraternity members. You didn’t deserve it, but you wanted to see him one more time, try to leave things off on a better note, but he wasn’t having it. All of the pictures of you that had been posted to his Instagram were gone by the end of the night. He was already forgetting you, obviously having no intentions of trying to work this out.

And then there was Kuroo. To everyone around him, he was perfectly normal. He still had his normal kind smile plastered on his face as he greeted people on campus. He was still able to laugh and joke, this entire weekend just being funny for him. No one was belittling him or calling him a whore. If anything, people were high-fiving him, congratulating him on getting Daisho’s girl. Kuroo Tetsurou’s life hadn’t even shifted. Sure, the extra shit he got from Daisho wasn’t fun, but it was bearable. This whole thing was so easy for him.

At least, that’s how it looked from the outside.

If anyone were to get a look inside of his mind they would see the same scene playing in his mind, the loop never seeming to end. That look of shock painted so sadly on your face as he finally said what he had been hinting at throughout his entire drunken rampage. Those solemn eyes staring up at him, mouth open as if you wanted to say something, but then closing as you come to realize that nothing could save you. He broke whatever trust had been built between the two of you and now, he was being pushed away as you put up another wall around yourself. Kuroo was getting pats on the backs, fist-bumps, and high-fives from guys he didn’t even know. They would simply say, “Man, I saw the video! Epic!” and leave him to carry on with his day, unaware of the guilt gnawing away at him, worsened by the fact that it seemed that everyone around him had seen that stupid video.

So, when he sat down next to you, he wasn’t expecting to be completely ignored, but he couldn’t say that he was surprised either. But, you both carried on throughout the class like normal, silently taking notes, glancing over at the other’s notebook to copy something missed, phones being checked for the time every few minutes.

1:51 p.m.

The sounds of students shuffling to put their books away echoes throughout the lecture hall, quiet conversations being held between friends filling the air. But, nothing could fill the awkward silence that enveloped the area that surrounded you both. It’s not like he wanted to stand there in silence, eyes locked on you trying to fit your binder back into your bag, but what was he supposed to say?

“Kuroo?”

Amber eyes snap up to meet yours and he sees you adjusting your bag onto your shoulders. He’s pulled out of whatever mental games that he had been playing with himself, expecting you to start the conversation that he had been anticipating all weekend. But, his “Yeah?” was only met with:

“You’re blocking the aisle.”

“Oh, right, yeah. Sorry, about that,” he mutters, shouldering his own bag to move out of your way. But, the slight bounce to your hair as you walked away, the soft pat pat pat of your well-loved sneakers against the tile floor, the various enamel pins that you had stuck to your bag, glinting off the harsh lighting of the classroom. He wasn’t ready to let all of that go just yet. He wasn’t ready to let go of all of the time that he had spent with you. Kuroo wasn’t ready to let go of you.

Before he could even second guess himself, Kuroo’s fingers wrap around your wrist, keeping you from moving another step away from him. “Y/N.”

“Kuroo, let me go. I have class.”

“No, you don’t. It’s Tuesday and on Tuesday’s you have Italian in the morning, you used to go take a nap at the house afterwards, and then we’d walk to lecture together. Don’t lie to me.”

“Well, don’t you have class? You should get going,” you argue, trying to get out of his grasp, but Kuroo’s fingers only tighten around your wrist.

“I’ll be late. I don’t care. Please, can we just talk?”

“What the hell is there to talk about, Kuroo? Do you want to call me a bitch? A slut? There’s nothing to talk about as far as I’m concerned. I’m done! Do you know how many random guys are harassing me, asking if I can give them head, see if I’m as good as you say I am? You may just get to laugh Friday night off, but I can’t!”

“I’m so-”

“I don’t care! Your apologies aren’t going to make this all magically disappear. This whole thing was a mistake, Kuroo. I threw everything away. I was stupid and now Suguru hates me. He won’t even look at me, let alone talk to me!”

“But, didn’t you say-”

“I know what I said! I know that I told you that I didn’t love him, but you should’ve seen him, Kuroo. I don’t remember the last time that I’ve seen him so upset and knowing that he was that hurt because I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life? Seeing him so close to me, but so stupidly far away, because he didn’t want anything to do with me? That hurt and it still hurts.” You pause, turning away from him. A little laugh leaves your lips. “You just- You wouldn’t understand.”

The grip that Kuroo has on your wrist releases as he drops his hand down to his side. “I wouldn’t understand? What makes you think that? Just because I didn’t cheat on my high school boyfriend, doesn’t mean that I feel good about what happened either!”

“You ruined a relationship with someone that you already didn’t like. Do you want me to buy you ice cream for your loss?” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “I know that after all of this, it probably seems like I don’t care about him, but I really do. He- he was good to me and he didn’t deserve this, but I fucked up and now I can’t do anything to fix it,” you say, your voice straining to get through your sentences without falling apart as all of the shame comes bubbling back up. “I hurt someone that I cared about, Kuroo.”

“What? And you think I didn’t? Y/N, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t buy you coffee after lab because I just want to be your friend. I don’t put granola bars in my bag because I know you always wake up too late to eat before class, because I just think of you as someone that I’m sleeping with. I don’t carry around a pack of your favorite pens for me. Whether you like it or not, I love you. And I know that this is the worst possible time to say it, but I love you and I was too stupidly drunk to realize that I was hurting you before it was too late.” Kuroo runs his hand through his hair, exasperatedly pushing his fringe back. “I keep thinking about how sad you looked and every time I see that in my head, it feels like someone just stabbed me in the heart. I know that my apologies aren’t going to fix a damn thing, but I’m sorry, Y/N, really. And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re any of those things that people are calling you. I still think that you’re the same person that I fell in love with.”

His words catch you off guard. After everything, Kuroo Tetsurou is professing his love to you in the middle of a poorly lit university building, students slowing down as they try to overhear what’s going on between the two of you. Part of you already knew it deep down, but you had hoped that his feelings would just go away and your arrangement could go back to what it was meant to be. Seeing that you were likely not to give him an answer, Kuroo spoke up once more before turning to leave you.

“I know that I can’t tell you what to do, but I care about you, really. So, remember, that I’ll always be in your corner. I want it to be us versus the world, but I’m okay with just supporting you from the sidelines. I just want you to be happy, okay?”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #Kuroo #kuroo tetsurou #tetsurou #kuroo x reader #x reader #imagine #one shot

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mor-beck-more-problems · 3 years

Text

Deathly Fun || Morgan & Dakota

TIMING: Recent, before New Year’s Eve

PARTIES: @dakotasgrant & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Just gals being pals

CONTAINS: mild gore, brief medical blood talk

Nine times out of ten, Dakota would have said no. To be more blunt, she would have said absolutely fucking not when Morgan invited her over… But wallowing in her own self-pity was just more fuel to her flames, and if she let that fire grow any bigger or brighter, she’d burn the whole damn town to the ground. So hanging out it was, apparently. And shit, if she were being honest… Bone carving actually did pique her interest, as much as she hated to admit it. So when Morgan invited her over, and Dakota found herself parked in her driveway, she figured it was worth a shot to try, even if getting her into the house was like pulling teeth. Just don’t be a dick. Make a friend. What’s the worst that could happen? They could get to know you. After fifteen or so minutes of just sitting in her jeep debating on pulling out and speeding off, she finally hopped out and made her way to the door, knocking three times… and praying that Morgan didn’t answer.

Morgan laid on the floor in her new studio, trying to remember breathing, or at least the way it had connected her to the world’s energy. Her chest rose and fell, the floor pressed against her back, the air circled around the ceiling fan and teased the fringe on her rug. She was here. She was whole. Each of these tiny perceptions was a cord binding her to this place, cocooning her against all odds in comfort. She was here. She was okay…

Knock, knock, knock.

She was late for meeting with Dakota. Morgan shot to her feet and stumbled to the door, smiling bright when she opened. “Oh, good! I was worried you wouldn’t be able to find me. This building is a little hidden from the driveway. But uh, come on and make yourself cozy? I actually have a lot of craft stuff you can play with and works in progress. I’ve got way too many pillows over there--” she pointed, “--but my table is in the sort-of-kitchen area. Do you need anything to drink? Snacks? I’ve got some pretty quality basics for guests.” Morgan sat down at her craft table and propped her legs up on one of the spare chairs, nudging one out for Dakota to take, smiling brightly. “You can say if that was a lot. I can mostly assure you the evening will be much more chill. It’s just, you know, a very long winded way of saying ‘make yourself at home.’”

As soon as the door swung open, it was like being blasted with a very small—but very real—beam of pure energy. The only way Dakota could truly and accurately describe it was as if Jessica Day and Arizona Robbins came together and created the woman that was standing before her—Morgan. Morgan… Something. The thing was, she probably would have been just as taken aback as she was even if she wasn’t hungover, but… Well, that was besides the point. Stop thinking about it.

The main objective was to get in and get out in under an hour, and if it took being an asshole to do it, well… Rest In Peace, Morgan. “Yeah, you just said more words than I’ve said in the past 24 hours,” she stated, shrugging off her coat and taking the seat she’d nudged out for her. If Dakota was anything, which… she was a lot of things… but if she was absolutely anything, it would be awkward. Hands folded in her lap, she looked around the room, taking in the decor as best as she could. Crafting wasn’t her thing, but bones? Bones were cool. She tuned back in when Morgan mentioned something about making herself at home. Honey, I’ve never felt “at home” in my entire life, she wanted to say. But she’d save that tid-bit for her friends Jack and Daniels back at her cabin.

“Uh, I’m fine, thanks. Also, I’m not a very ‘crafty’ person… So if you want to just skip to the part where we talk about death and I get to see some carcasses, that’d be great.”

Morgan scrunched up her face, amused and confused in equal measure. She got up and went over to the small fridge, blocking the view of the brain slices safely tucked away in their novelty pyrex containers as she took out what drinks she had available. “Do you want to talk about whatever’s behind all of this--?” She gestured vaguely to Dakota, slumped by the craft table. “I don’t know you well enough to judge you.” She brought the bottles over along with a water pitcher and a glass and set them down in front of the woman. “As for the carcasses…” She laughed dryly, swallowing the urge to say, well, you’re looking right at one if you feel like playing medical examiner. She climbed up her stepladder and retrieved Ratty and Squirrely from their shelf and brought them down. She brushed and dusted them regularly now, too fond of how helpful they’d been when she’d first died to let them gather dust. “There’s these little guys. And…” She untied a large velvet pouch from the table and carefully poured out a collection of bones. “These came from a raccoon, and these bad boys came from a buck.” She gestured to the antler pieces stacked neatly at the edge of the table. “What is it you like about death anyway?”

Dakota could have crawled out of her skin just at the words “do you want to talk,” period. Why the fuck would she want to talk to a complete stranger about her issues? If she wanted to do that, she would have gotten a therapist by now. But you do, don’t you? You’re dying for someone to listen. Why else would you be here? Why are you here? “What exactly is ‘this?’” she asked, helping herself to the bottle set in front of her. “Because I was under the impression that I was here to craft and maybe talk about murder, not open up about my feelings.” There was a beat of silence, mainly because she was taking a look at the animals she’d retrieved, and then her attention had shifted to the contents of the velvet pouch that was dumped onto the table. Dakota had no problem picking them up, examining them carefully. A female rib, part of a male radius… Multiple vertebrae, an antler. “I don’t like it,” she said, though it was a lie she didn’t know she was telling. “I’m intrigued by it. The intricacies of it. The decay of it. The symbolism of it… The way people who are living experience it all the time, even if no physical death has actually occurred.” she paused. Was she still talking? “What about you? Why do you collect all this stuff?”

“You’re not exactly being subtle about how upset you are right now, but somehow you’re still here,” Morgan beamed, pouring a glass of water for herself. “I’ve been on the wrong-ass side of depressed when you’d rather drop dead than show anyone you’re not okay. And I’ve been like this too.” She twirled her finger in Dakota’s direction, especially around the wrinkle in her forehead. “But we can wait, or just not. I just figured I’d ask.” She listened to Dakota’s vague answers as she started sorting through the bones on her table. A beaded bracelet might be interesting to make. Maybe a little time intensive, but it would look like some of the crystal beads she’d once made when she was done. The antler tips would be good for that too, but other parts would become pendants, or some kind of add ons to a sculpture. She’d save those for when she had a clearer idea. Morgan took up a delicate looking raccoon limb bone and started cutting it down to size. “Oh, no, you’re not getting away with something that vague,” she said, laughing softly. “It sounds like you like it. What do you think it symbolizes anyway? And what do you mean ‘experience it all the time.’” She took out a little drill and started evening out the hollow within the bone. “My girlfriend got me into them at first. But I feel an affinity with them now. Like we’re on the same frequency, and they understand something about me.” Being dead would do that. “I like repurposing them, letting them transform into beautiful things, or compost and nourish the earth, or simply decay and feed the crows and the bugs. It gives me hope.”

Oh, no. Dakota wasn’t going there. She wasn’t depressed, and if she was, she sure as hell wouldn’t be talking about it with Miss Sunshine over here. Just.. Focus the conversation on a morbid reality and maybe she’ll kick you out herself. “Death is all around us. It’s in my sentences, in yours… The things we do, what we eat. Our thoughts, our emotions, this conversation. A few hours from now when the sun sets. A relationship, a friendship. Ourselves. Death is really just the ending of something. Everything, actually, when you get down to it.” She said, still examining the bones before her. Dakota didn’t know why she kept humoring Morgan with her answers, but it was better than finishing the bottle at home. “I guess it depends on who you ask and what you read. It can symbolize renewal, rebirth, cleansing. Transition, opportunity, possibility…” she trailed off. There was a bout of silence that swelled between them, but only for a moment. Dakota didn’t know why she felt compelled to keep talking. “I think life is really just death in disguise because no matter what you’re doing or who you’re with, it ends up ending. I’ve felt that way since I was a kid. I don’t know why I feel that way.”

“You’re starting to sound like a real woo-woo mystic gal,” Morgan said, smiling wider. “But you know, I think everyone has their own relationship to death. Even if it’s pure avoidance or denial or something more thoughtful. I’d like to know what it symbolizes to you, if that’s not too weird or personal. At least recently. I appreciate that these relationships evolve, they die and rise again differently, like all relationships. They evolve. I used to be afraid of it, honestly. I lost so many people, watched some of them die, watched their caskets go into the ground, it just seemed so horrible to me. But then I had this uuhh…” How to put this delicately? “Really bad accident. And now it’s different. A lot of things are but that especially.” She took up a new section of bone and drilled through that one too, snowing thin spirals of bone onto the table in fluffy stacks. “You should get to know my girlfriend. She makes death sound like something beautiful when she talks about it.” Which wasn’t too often these days, but still dear to Morgan. When she finished with the second bead, she held up the pair for Dakota to examine. “What do you think? I need like, thirty more, but not too shabby side-by-side, right?”

Woo-woo mystic gal? So much for saying anything she actually thought, literally ever again. Dakota let Morgan talk—not really listening, of course, because now all she really wanted to do was get the hell outta dodge and probably never see again. That would really be the icing on the shit-cake that was her life. Sooner or later, Morgan held up a pair of the bones she’d turned into beads, and even her cynical ass had to admit that she’d done a good job. Part of her almost felt inspired to take up crafting in her spare time, but that fleeting moment of inspiration was quickly squashed—not for any particular reason, but it often took her several years to try anything new. Hence breaking off an engagement, moving half-way across the country, and sleeping with just about every single woman she could find that seemed desperate or hopeless enough to come back to her place… Or reckless enough to invite Dakota to hers. Out of all of the things Morgan had said, including something about how she wanted to know what death symbolized to Dakota personally, her interest was piqued at the mention of Morgan having a girlfriend. She thought she’d heard it earlier, but she couldn’t brush it off a second time. Fuck it, she thought. She called you woo-woo mystical. Ask her a question. “—Who’s your girlfriend?” Please don’t say Marley…

Morgan’s brow furrowed. Clearly her own brand of self-deprecation was lost on Dakota by her stiff silence. Maybe she didn’t know enough about the tarot cards on her bookshelves or the sigils on some of her book spines to know that she was as woo-woo as they came. But Dakota’s question puzzled her even more. It wasn’t exactly what she assumed the takeaway would be. “Uh...her name is Deirdre,” Morgan said. “She’s a life actuary, like a death accountant. She has a whole room dedicated to bones in the house. For her birthday, among other things, we articulated a deer skeleton together and went for a cemetery walk. Hambry is really beautiful right now, with all the snow on the ground. Have you been?”

That was true—Dakota was lost on anyone else’s self depreciation because she was so entombed in her own bullshit to care about anything anyone else said about themselves. Selfish bastard. But she hadn’t quite realized that yet...Or, if she had, she was ignoring it for as long as she possibly could, because she had an amazing track record in that department. Above all things, she was just glad Marley’s name hadn’t come out of Morgan’s mouth, ‘cause if it had, there would have been a Dakota-shaped hole through her front door. “Sounds nice,” she murmured. “I’ve never been, no. Never even heard of Hambry, actually.” Wow, you’re an amazing conversationalist. A beat or two of silence passed before she shot in the dark. She’d always been the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ sorta person. Except now she was asking questions first and thinking about it after the fact. “This is going to sound like the dumbest question in the world, but… When did you know? I mean—you know what I mean. That you’d rather date a woman than a man. Or.. That you were at least okay with dating a woman. When did you know that?” Okay, you’re officially never speaking to this person ever again.

Morgan set down her tools and took a moment to really look at Dakota. She had known from the start there was something apprehensive in her, but she hadn’t guessed the depth of her fear. Morgan’s fingers twitched, wanting to take her hand. “First of all, it’s not dumb. Secondly, It took me a while,” she admitted. “I had this best friend, Karen, and she had this amazing two storey house and thick plush carpet in her room, and a pool. I told myself I liked being over at her place as many days as I could get away with because of that stuff. But I also liked it when she played with my hair, when our legs would brush together in the pool, and when she held my hand or my arm in the school hallways I just felt so special…” Morgan sighed. “We were friends for about a year and I didn’t figure out a thing. But then she was kissing this guy in the hall and I was so furious and hurt and awful and didn’t tell her about any of it. And then I had a dream about kissing her, which was a big ol’ flag I couldn’t avoid. And...I mean, it was the 90s and I had these weird special circumstances that made me worry that...what if this is why bad luck seemed to follow my family all around? What if all those awful protest signs and President Regan were onto something and I was some kind of blight on the family. And then things got weird and we didn’t visit or talk so much and I worried she could smell the lesbian on me or something, but then one day we’re in the girl’s bathroom and I start to beg her to talk to me and then--we were kissing. And it was weird and awkward, you know, on a tactile level, but inside, all those dopey romantic things fell into the right key and made sense. I couldn’t un-know after that.” She searched for Dakota’s eyes and held her gaze, waiting for some piece of her own story to set itself free. Was that part of why she bristled so easily? Why she was so desperate to hide herself? Was it just too much of a habit by now,or did Dakota still feel the ghost of that old fear haunting her? “It didn’t end so great about two minutes after we got started, and I didn’t come out to my mom for another three years, because of all that fear. And didn’t date, not really, until after I got out of college. And Deirdre is my first really serious ‘we-moved-in-together and lasted-longer-than-six-months’ relationship ever. It’s been it’s own weird time and process. As far as I know everyone like us has their own weird and different time too. We’re just special like that, temporally clusterfucked.” She paused a moment and looked thoughtfully out the window: evening was coming, the sky turned all the grass blue, and Anya stalked the dead flower beds. “When did you know, Dakota? Is that something I can ask?”

Dakota listened, which in and of itself was a miracle, because she wasn’t just listening for answers to process and remember for as long as she needed them and then do away with them whenever she was done—she was actually just listening for truth, and that was something you don’t just do away with. And Dakota hated eye-contact more than anything, but she didn’t really care at the moment, because as annoying as it was, she had to hand it to her... Morgan didn’t pry. And that was nice. Because everyone always prys. When she looked out the window, Dakota’s gaze followed suit, and she realized she’d been there for a lot longer than she’d planned already. What the hell happened to that ‘one hour only?’ But, as conversations normally go, it was Dakota’s turn to share… If she wanted to, of course. And the thing was, she actually did kind of want to. “Two years ago,” she began, sort of straightening up in her chair. Old habits die hard, so maybe that’s why her gaze fell to the table and her hands fidgeted with the bones laid out on it. “That’s a lie. I knew when I was fourteen. I took my best friend to go see a movie, and I remember being so fucking nervous—I mean, I didn’t think my palms could get any sweatier, especially not in the middle of December. Detroit’s a big town, you know, but.. All those little neighborhoods that make up that city? They’re all like small towns, and everybody knows everybody. So it didn’t matter how bad I wanted to hold her stupid hand, because Michael and Tom from third period were two seats over, and I knew she liked Michael, and.. Well, the point is that it didn’t matter how bad I wanted to hold her hand, because I couldn’t. And I didn’t. And I pushed that so far back in my memory that when I met my ex at 25, I thought.. You know, just.. Run with it, ‘cause it’s the only fuckin’ chance you’re ever gonna see.” Dakota paused, then, because this was the part of the story she hated telling. She wished she could just avoid it all together, but… “Flashforward, we’d been together ten years on and off. He wanted to get married so bad, and I kept telling him I wanted to wait, and I wanted to be established in my career, and I wanted to do all of these things and.. And then, you know, I did them. I was established, and I was the investigative lead, and I was a mentor, and.. Well, to make a long story short, he took me to a restaurant and his dumbass got down on one knee, right there, in the middle of the restaurant, in front of everyone—you know, total strangers just.. Gawking and looking at me and waiting for me to say yes. And I should have. I should have just worked it out, and said yes. But I didn’t. I, uh. Stood up from the table, and I closed the stupid ring box thing that rings come in—why do they come in those stupid boxes?—and I just.. Left him there. At the restaurant. In front of everyone. And he had to stand up, get up off the floor, pay for a meal neither of us ate.. By the time he got home I was already in a studio apartment above a Chinese take-out place across town. So..” she trailed off, then let the silence swell, as she normally did. It felt like forever. “Yeah, I’d say fourteen.”

Morgan waited a little while, in case Dakota wanted to sit with her words, say something else, or just collect herself. When she was sure, she said, “It’s not your fault, you know. Knowing and admitting and being able to do something about realizing you’re gay are all really hard, different steps. It takes as long as it takes. And it’s not wrong or cruel to do what’s best for you, for both of you, really. I mean, if he was so great, he deserves someone who can love him enthusiastically the way he wants, right? And so do you. Going into that kind of lie just to spare his feelings in a moment would’ve just harmed you both, deeply, maybe irrevocably. Not that this doesn’t hurt either, I’m not saying that, but… I think you did the kindest thing you possibly could. Even if that’s not how you felt in the moment, that’s what you did.” She leaned in, knowing just enough from Dakota’s body language that she shouldn’t reach for her, not yet. “I am sorry, though. I know something about how carrying that knowledge around can hurt. How it can feel like the scariest or most impossible, awful, stupid thing. I mean, no one dreams of having their first serious relationship at forty, that’s for sure. But can I ask-- where are you now? With--this. Is it still on you, that guilt, that fear?”

Dakota scoffed—not meanly, not because she was upset, but because the question was almost funny. “Uh, yeah.” She shifted in her chair, clearing her throat a bit. “I’ve been screwing just about anyone stupid enough to say yes for weeks. Waitresses, bartenders.. I just fucked a coworker last night. Not just a cop, dude—a fucking detective. I mean, it was great and all, except for how we left things. And also how she left, actually. And then the fucking shitstorm I caused afterwards.” Dakota sighed, leaning her elbows on the table and rubbing her hands over her face. “Annnnd then I called in sick. So, yeah. I feel guilty. And I feel.. Just this raw fucking shame, all the time. And I feel fucking stupid because, you know, for maybe half a second, I wondered.. You know, what if we did it again? What if it could.. Turn into something? What if I finally just get what I’ve always wanted and what if it just.. Get to hold the girl’s hand? And.. and what if it just works, y’know?” Why the fuck are you sharing all of this? “But, you know, she kind of reminded me that that’s impossible. I mean, it’s not impossible for people like you and Deirdre and her and whoever she decided to run to after she left. Yeah, all that “hope” shit went right out the window because not two minutes after we were done she called it a mistake and high-tailed it out of there.” A beat. “But, you know, I’m meeting another chick at Dell’s later tonight, so. Anita something, I think?”

Morgan moved her chair closer, practically leaning against Dakota. “You know you’re allowed to put some of that shame down, right?” She asked. “And it’s not really impossible so much as it’s just...not right, not yet. If you’re really, really lucky, one time it will just work, and all the stress and the angst and the bullshit that comes after you get to hold the girl’s hand and kiss her goodnight will feel worth it.” Carefully, she brushed back Dakota’s hair from her eyes. Under other circumstances, or with a less strictly monogamous girlfriend, she’d try to ease Dakota’s hurt here and now. She hadn’t let herself alone long enough to figure out what kind of person she really wanted to be, but Morgan couldn’t help but feel like that would-be person was probably kind, or could be without too much struggle. “Be careful with Anita. She’s a friend of mine, and a lot of fun, but I have it on good authority that she’s still hung up on someone. But you didn’t hear that from me.” She wondered how Dakota felt about corpses and their startlingly cold temperatures, if she would be horrified, or stay still long enough to realize Morgan’s chest didn’t rise or fall and her pulse was silent. “I have a very weird question to ask you,” she said with a sheepish grin. “Is it okay if I touch you--very affectionately but sans romantic agenda? I feel very endeared to you right now and I'd like to be closer than we are right now. We can also, you know, go straight back to the dead things, or talking about literally any other thing…”

Part of her really wanted to be annoyed, or to ruin whatever the hell was going on by being an asshole somehow—it’s what she did best. Or, well, so she believed. Regardless, it was the best way Dakota could maintain her distance from people, maintain her invulnerability, keep the walls built up as high as she could, with the strongest bricks and the strongest cement binding them together so that way nobody gets in. But it gets so lonely in here sometimes. “Uh..” she began, not knowing how to respond. Maybe it was the fact that Morgan already took the liberty of brushing some hair from her face, and maybe it was because nobody’s done that to her in a while… And maybe this was the first time she’d been semi-vulnerable around anyone, so.. Did she really have anything else to lose? Her dignity, maybe… “Sure…?”

Morgan beamed, her whole face brightening up. “Thank you,” she said softly. She brushed back the rest of the young woman’s hair with a careful, tender touch, and scooted close enough to wrap her arms around her in a hug. “You’re still worthy of love, Dakota, even just like this,” she whispered in her ear. “And it’s all shitty and painful and unfair right now, and there’s no guarantee about any of it, but you’re not unworthy or broken just because things have been hard, okay?” She rose half out of her seat and pressed a fleeting kiss to the top of her head. “Now! Why don’t I show you some of the deathly craft work you actually came here for, at least for a hot sec, huh?” Her arms were still draped around Dakota and she reached over the woman for her carving knives rather than unfurl herself.

Dakota was torn—she enjoyed the physical touch, because damn, she hadn’t felt much of anything gentle in a while. It was sweet in a very genuine, kind way. Morgan was just.. Kind, so she guessed. But still, she was torn between just enjoying the small moment between them and questioning why the hell she was so cold. In fact, it was almost hard to enjoy the interaction because… Well, one of the reasons humans enjoyed physical touch so dearly was because sharing body heat was primal. But as soon as Morgan wrapped arms around her body, it was noticeable. Why the hell wasn’t her hug warm? Or even the kiss she’d pressed on the top of her head… I mean, she’s freezing. Before she really had time to process this, Morgan had already reached across her person to grab her carving knives. “Do you have circulation issues?” she asked, probably a touch offhand. “Or, like, low iron or something?”

Morgan laughed and snapped off a chunk of antler with one hand, too distracted to think of how weird that would look for a woman as small as she was. “That is probably the nicest way anyone has ever asked about my body temperature,” she said. “I can stop, if you want. I know it’s startling and unusual and not everyone wants to be close to an ice queen. But uh--yeah, circulation issue about covers it.” Being dead was kind of a circulation issue, right? She guided Dakota’s hands onto the table, careful to touch her sweater more than her skin. “I was thinking some of this would make a really cool pendant, but I think some designs would be better. So--” She snapped off another piece so they each had one. “You can sketch on the bone with a pencil, if you want, I’ve got plenty right here. Or if you already have and idea, you can just score lightly on the surface with this tool, before you start cutting deeper with this one ....” The larger blade was a little farther from her reach than she wanted, and as Morgan strained, the sharp edge sliced into the side of her finger, carving out a gash that did not bleed, but showed dark, liquid matter resting tepid beneath her skin. “O-oh shit! Uh--ow! Yikes, Sorry…” She pressed down on the wound, knowing it would heal soon, but the pressure of her fingers squeezed out more of her dark, dead blood onto her fingers, impossible to miss until she could wash them clean.

Despite the fact that Morgan just so happened to be unusually cold—more so to the point that Dakota was genuinely concerned for her health, to be honest—it was still nice to feel close to someone. Finally tucking away the emotions she’d let bubble to the surface, though, she truly was ready to let Morgan teach her a few things about bone carving. She was talented, to say the least, and Dakota thought it would be fun to just be creative with it. God, when was the last time she was creative with anything? Her attention was already drawn to the bone she had in her hand, and she had already started to think up a design she wanted to score into the surface, but everything came to a screeching halt when Morgan had reached for the larger blade. Almost immediately, mainly by instinct, Dakota jumped up to search for a rag or something to put pressure on the cut, but she’d only gotten halfway out of her chair before she was absolutely stunned by what she’d seen. “Jesus, Morgan! Did you—” she almost said hit an artery, but she’d seen too much blood in her life to know that whatever was coming out of her body wasn’t healthy. It sure as fuck wasn’t normal. She sat for a moment, clearly stupefied. All the science she’d studied was swirling around in her brain. Extremely low hemoglobin could be a possibility, but she’d never seen it so… No, that couldn’t be it. Early menopause affects menstrual blood, but even then… Well, that just didn’t make sense. Polycythemia vera..? No, it was too.. “What the fu— We should take you to the emergency room!” she exclaimed, finally snapping out of the shock she was in and grabbing the nearest dish towel she could find, running it under some warm water and bringing it back to Morgan, leaving the sink running in her haste. “Why aren’t you..? C’mon, dude, we need to go!”

“No, it’s fine! It’s fine! I just need to wash it off and uuh…” Morgan scrubbed her hand with the towel Dakota gave her, focusing more on the zombie blood stains on her hand than the cut. She ran to the sink and fumbled with the soap, hoping that maybe Dakota would think she was using disinfectant or something else human. Her skin had just started to stitch together and after a quick wipedown with her dish towel, it was good as new again. Morgan whirled around quickly and held up her finger. “See! Look, it’s not even that deep! You can’t even see it anymore!” Then, realizing she looked like she was flipping off her new friend, Morgan scurried over and showed her the proof. With the stains gone, you couldn’t even tell anything had ever been wrong. “It’s just a...uh...thing that happens to me sometimes. Everything looks way worse than it really is with me. I really uh….bounce back easy. I’m sorry to worry you, but look, it’s fine! See!”

Dakota never showed her true feelings, but she couldn’t not gasp when she saw Morgan’s finger. One moment it looked like motor oil was spilling out of her goddamn hand and the next, it was…? Her fucking finger was healed. Completely mended, as if nothing had happened, as if seconds ago she hadn’t needed to go to the emergency room. Given years of training herself to bite her tongue, Dakota still hadn’t mastered her facial expressions. She may as well just have said: what the ever living fuck? But instead, she started to back away, grabbing her coat from off the back of the chair she had just been sitting in, bumping into the table as she did. “I’m—Sorry, I just remembered, I.. Have a thing.” Seconds later, she was out the door, nearly ramming down the mailbox as she pulled out of the driveway like a bat out of hell.

“It’s really fine, you don’t have to go,” Morgan protested. She followed Dakota to the door, feeling helpless as she fled into the night. “You can stay, really, Dakota--Dakota?” But the woman was gone, and all the hope Morgan had built up for her vanished into the dark as well.

#deathly fun #wr dakota #wr chatzy #wr dakota chatzy #medical blood tw #gore cw #wickedswriting

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1-1snailxd-art · 5 years

Text

Sanders Sides oneshot fic - Magic Beans

Type: Magic au (kinda...like my own magic universe)

Characters: Logan Sanders, Remy/Sleep, Virgil (Patton and Roman are mentioned)

Relationships: I’m tagging losleep put it’s mostly platonic cause they’re roommates (oh my god they were roommates) and analogical because that’s the bit, implied royality.

Warnings: Remy swears...he said b**ch.

Words: 2032

Summary: Remy steps in when his sleep deprived roommate wants to quit magic school before even attempting to learn magic. A visit to his favourite coffee shop seems like the best way to snap Logan out of the funk he’s in.

Authors note: Look, I was sad, I watched @blinksinbewilderment stream on instagram and they mentioned a losleep/analogical magic coffee shop au (no angst) and I tried something.

General Taglist (let me know if you want on or off): @thequeensphinx @ollyollyoxinfree @celeste-tyrrell @pumpkinminette

Bonus: @aowrot did some art of Remy (click to see). I approve of his style and floating hat. Honoured to have fanart done for this little tale.

———————————————

“Girl, you know there is a bed right there for a reason.”

Logan sat up stiffly when the sound of Remy’s voice filled his tired ears, along with the crinkling of paper as he moved.

“I am…aware.” He said, squinting up at the man highlighted by his desk lamp. “I did not intend to sleep here.”

“Well, you did, and if that schedule is correct, you have class in an hour.”

Normally that comment would have caused Logan to bolt upright, but instead he slammed his head against the desk and groaned in frustration. If Remy’s statement on time was correct, he’d probably managed a maximum of 2 hours of uncomfortable sleep and was nowhere near ready to give his presentation on wand construction.

“You learning through osmosis now?”

“If it were possible, I would.” Logan mumbled into the paper before sitting up to rub his forehead. “I shouldn’t even bother. This whole thing is pointless. I’m not going to get into the magic course anyway, so I might as well give up and go to sleep.”

“Right, bitch, we’re out!”

Logan gasped and fumbled over his words as Remy suddenly pulled his chair back and pulled him up by his arm.

“Wha-where are we going?”

“We need a magic elixir to find my annoying, magic obsessed, roommate because that ain’t you right now.”

“That is ridiculous.” Logan huffed, unable to pull out of their friends firm grip. “Even if some personality changing elixir did exist, you wouldn’t be able to afford it.”

“True, but you don’t gotta bring it up.”

Remy was kind enough to at least grab Logan’s satchel as they left their tiny dwelling and headed into the town centre; leading the conversation so Logan could walk in reasonable silence. When the pair had first moved in together, they had hardly interacted beyond cleaning and rent day. Remy was either working or out at someone’s party until the early hours, while Logan filled his daily schedule with work, class and study. At one point, Remy questioned if the man ever slept or understood the meaning of free time. However, over the past month, Remy noticed a shift in Logan’s behaviour that he couldn’t ignore. Dishes were left piled into the sink more often, curse words penetrated the thin walls at all hours and he found an empty jam jar left on the count with a spoon in it. The jam was the final straw for Remy because it was too weird to be considered normal for his formally perfect roommate.

“May I ask where exactly we are going?”

The further they walked into the busy centre, the more Logan wanted to return to his room and forget the real world existed.

“I told you. To get an elixir.”

“That was a joke, so what is the truth.”

A sideways glance with a raised eyebrow was the only response Logan received as Remy took his hand and quicken their pace down the street. Rounding the corner Logan groaned as he saw the painted sign for ‘The Magic Beans’ and understood what his black jacket clad mate had meant by elixir.

“Coffee? Seriously?”

“Serious as a heart attack, babes.” Remy said, holding the door open for Logan to walk inside. “Trust me, this will perk you right up.”

“You’ve been partying with Patton again haven’t you?”

“I will not apologise for appreciating Roman’s poppin’ parties with that puffball dancing around. That kid has more energy than 100 shots of espresso.”

Shuffling awkwardly around the couch in the stores centre, Logan watched as empty cups levitated their way into the kitchen and laughter echoed from full tables and booths. Jealousy gripped his gut as he watched how effortless some of the workers made magic seem. Clearly, they had been blessed with strong magic in their families, unlike him. Remy may have been perfectly content with a magic-less existence, but Logan wasn’t. He wanted nothing more than to point his finger at a book to guide it to him, or even just be able to use a wand. Anything that would make him more than what he was.

“This way bookworm,” Remy guided Logan to a secluded booth in the far corner of the store and ushered him into the seat. “Let me introduce you to my magic elixir of life.”

“I don’t understand the allure of a beverage brewed from bitter tasting beans.”

“You’ll understand soon enough,” Remy beamed, hiding his face behind a menu.

“Doubtful. I’ve tasted coffee before and it was far from an enjoyable experience.”

“Haven’t tried magic beans then, have you?”

Suddenly Logan understood why Remy was hiding his face, because he was sure he was trying to compose himself right now. The voice belonged to a man that made Logan’s brain come to a sudden halt; eyes lined black, purple highlights peeked through black hair, and glossed lips were pulled into a half smile that Logan couldn’t take his eyes off.

“He hasn’t.” Remy cooed, lowering the menu and leaning back now he could maintain a cool expression. “Logan is a hard one to coax away from study hall and your parents don’t allow take away.”

The worker chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, giving Logan a peek of his hip as the black uniform lifted behind his apron.

“Yeah, they are very protective of our recipes. Better safe than sorry though. You just want the usual, Rem?”

“Cheers, babes. You know how I like it.”

“Sure thing. And what can I get - ah, Logan, was it?”

Worry danced across the server’s eyes when he was met with only a stare in response. Upon releasing he had been asked a question, Logan cleared his throat and forced his mind to function enough to grab a menu without showing just how shaky his hands were.

“Ah-um-yes. Logan is, well, me.” Cheeks burning, Logan cursed his sleep deprived brain for being unable to form coherent sentences and tried to read the jumble of letters in front of him. “I’ll have a…um…”

With a sigh of defeat, Logan dropped the menu on the table and hopped he didn’t look too ridiculous smiling up at the other man.

“I don’t know what to have. I’m sorry. This isn’t really my…”

“Cup of tea?” He offered, seeming to immediately regret the comment as Logan blinked back.

“…ironically, I’m not a tea fan either, um…my apologies, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Oh, sorry. Virgil.” Quickly scrapping his hand down his pants to dry it, Logan shook the hand Virgil had extended. “So, you’re a real newbie to this scene then. How have you survived studying?”

“He isn’t surviving, which is why I’ve brought him here.” Remy offered before he had to watch another awkward pause.

“Right.” Virgil let out an awkward chuckle and ran a hand through his fringe as he thought out loud. “So, coffee noob, not a tea fan, study-aholic. Do you prefer sweet or savoury flavours?”

“Oh, Logan is very salty.” Logan’s head snapped round and glared at his friend opposite him. “Girl, that look only cements my point. What do you recommend, Virge?”

“I think I’ve got an idea. I’ll be back.”

“Take your time,” Logan called after him as he watched Virgil walk back towards the counter.

“You’re so gay-ow!”

Logan kicked Remy under the table and spoke in a hushed tone.

“What the heck was that?”

“You’re smitten, kitten, that’s what.” Remy said, rubbing his shin under the table. “Thank Mama Remy when you get his number.”

“Falsehood. I’m going to kill Mama Remy while he sleeps.”

“Good luck with that, you’ll be too preoccupied to even think about me. So, what’s the most powerful wand core?”

“Phoenix feather strands with northern tree sap.” Logan replied without thought; resting his elbow on the table so he could comfortably massage his left temple. “What exactly is your plan here?”

“To find the nerd that wants to put magic into the Sanders name despite what his parents say. Should I buy a wand or make my own?”

“I seriously doubt I will ever be able to learn magic at this rate… and if you’re born with magic, and the wand is just for show, buy it; but you’ll need to make it if you’re not.”

“I think you’re gonna blow them away when you pass this course and get to make a wand. I can see you now;” pushing his glasses up onto his head, Remy gestured an invisible wand out to the side. “Wielding a wand crafted from a fallen elm.”

“Based on previous encounters, I’d say that is more likely Roman’s style. Given my birth is in the later part of the year, and my reduced sight, oak would be a much better fit.” Yawning, Logan fiddled with the corner of the menu until he froze at Remy’s laugh. “What?”

“Girl, you are going to ace that test.”

“Falsehood.” He said with more force than earlier. “With an infinitesimal amount of sleep and limited knowledge, it will be impossible for me to achieve a passing grade.”

Leaning onto folded arms, Remy locked eyes with his friend and smiled. “You just answered 3 key wand questions without batting an eye. I think you’ll be fine.”

Logan raised a pointed finger to rebut the statement, before realising what Remy had done.

“You are one bad elixir away from an evil genius.”

“I was born without magic because I would have been too much for this world to handle.”

“I will concede to you this time, but even if I do go to school, I will still need to stay awake for the test and practical examination. I don’t think I can function for another 3hours.”

“I’ve got you covered,” Virgil beamed, placing a tall dark mug in front of Remy and holding another out for Logan. “Chilled to help you wake up. Mild bean blend with a salted caramel mix; extra salt to balance out the sweet. All the buzz of Remy’s coffee, without the bitter bite and some cream on top just for show.”

“That hasn’t been on the menu,” Remy grumbled as he reviewed it one more time just in case he’d missed a new addition.

“I know.” Logan noticed Virgil shift nervously on his feet after placing the beverage down before him. “Thought I would make something special for the beginner.”

“You never did that for me!”

“Don’t act so offended. You were already a veteran drinker when you first came here.”

Tuning out the other voices, Logan glanced sadly between the clock on the wall and the personalised drink in front of him. He considered what Remy had just demonstrated and made a decision before speaking again.

“Thank you, Virgil, but unfortunately I can’t stay.” Two sets of eyes snapped to Logan as he carefully shuffled out of the booth. “Remy believes I can pass this test, but if I don’t leave now, I might not be able to even take it in the first place. I’m sorry.”

A smile crept back onto Remy’s face as Virgil grabbed Logan’s hand when he turned to leave.

“Wait…you said you needed something to help get you through the exam, though.”

“I-I-I’ll just have to…push through it I guess.”

“No. Here.” Grabbing the cup from the table, Virgil held it out for the other. “Take it with you.”

“But… you don’t do take away, here. What about your family recipes?”

“Yeah, well…this is my recipe a-a-and I want you to take it.” Cautiously, Logan took the cup and Virgil released his other hand. “Besides, when you return the cup…I’ll get to see you again.”

Logan almost let the beverage slip through his fingers in shock but nodded and hurried out of the store. Remy chuckled before carefully taking a sip of his own drink.

“The only thing that would have made that gayer, would have been if Pat and Roman were here sharing a rainbow unicorn.”

“You planned that whole thing, didn’t you?” Virgil breathed, not taking his eyes away from when he last saw Logan.

“Not entirely,” he sighed and dug into his back pocket. “I thought for sure the bitch would have paid.”

———————————————

What else have I done?

Writing masterlist / master post thingy

Check out my main blog @snail-giggles for random fandom reblogs and stuff

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escapingpost · 5 years

Text

Five Things Everyone Knows (Final)

Part 1: Five Things I Know About Cho Seungyoun

Sequel: Five Things Cho Seungyoun Knows About You

Suggestive and language warning.

The kiss in the alleyway would have been the cherry on top for this mess of romantic comedy. It would be the turning point of the plot where the next few scenes were merely a fast-forwarded, shortened down versions of what would be to come with your perfect “friends to lovers” relationship.

But, you were hit with the reminder that this was not an actual romantic comedy and reality is much harsher.

The next day, you woke up from a text from yours truly telling you that the girl he was texting ages ago finally got back to him. They were going on a date this weekend.

Your mind went through different thoughts in a span of one minute:

Were the two of you that drunk yesterday? If that was the case, you would have a hangover. And Seungyoun? You were sure he was too busy making Hangyul drunk to drink himself.

Were you just dreaming? No, your hair definitely smelled of rain water and you could still almost feel Seungyoun’s strong arms around your waist.

Then, what the hell was this?

As if answering your thoughts, Seungyoun sends another text message.

younie: I smell like sewage right now. What even happened last night.

And with that one text message, you were brought back to the reality of romantic relationships in your twenties.

Romance was dead and so were your feelings.

NOT my best friend: Dumbass, how am I suppose to know.

“I can’t believe you did that.” Woohyun was currently hovering over Seungyoun on the couch as Seungyoun holds his phone out of his reach. Woohyun gets up and dusts himself off. “Have fun being lonely. I’m rooting for Hangyul.”

“Wait, Woohyun.” Seungyoun also gets up from his couch. “I’m sorry. I just, I can’t do it.”

“Seungyoun, what do you mean, you can’t?” Woohyun says trying to keep calm. Him and the guys did the most to get Seungyoun to realize his feelings, but when he actually does, it backfires.

“I don’t want to mess us up.” Seungyoun says, avoiding Woohyun’s gaze.

“You know the feeling is mutual, so why?” Woohyun asks.

Seungyoun takes out a few crinkled pieces of paper from the small trash in his studio. He takes the first crumple piece of paper and hands it to Woohyun.

Woohyun looks at Seungyoun weirdly before unfolding it and reading his chicken scratch writing.

I wish you happiness

It's okay if it's not me

I don't think I'm good enough for you

We're so different

Woohyun takes the rest of the crinkled papers and unfolds them.

Tell me you're tired of me

Tell me you're seeing someone else

For me, even just a little bit

To hate you, just lie to me

Woohyun stops reading and crumples the paper into its original state, “This is different from the last time. You know it.”

“We’ve been best friends for years. I just can’t risk that.” Seungyoun looks down, his fringe hiding his eyes.

And Woohyun could not think of a comeback with Seungyoun looking like he already lost the most precious thing in his life.

“You know, its true what they say about musicians. You are all creative, crazy messes.” Woohyun says with a huge sigh.

Which brings us to the first thing everyone now knows: 1) Seungyoun, for a fact, has slight commitment issues.

A week passes by after the night with Seungyoun. You try your best to avoid him, but he stuck to you like nothing had happened. Sure, it was only the alcohol that made him do it and the reason why he could not remember. But, he should take some sort of responsibility, right?

The day of his date with the girl, you went to a library to study for your classes, but the silence was worse. It only made your sad thoughts louder. Letting out a deep sigh, you run your fingers through your hair and leave the quiet room.

“Hey!” Before you could start walking down the staircase to the lobby, a familiar voice calls your name.

You close your eyes. You knew exactly who it was and he was probably the second person you did not want to run into. Quickly changing your expression into a neutral one, you turn around to him, “Hey, Hangyul.”

Long story, short: You and Hangyul did go on a date. You actually had more fun than you thought and he said he would call you back, but never did. When he did end up calling you for a second date, the two of you still had unfinished business. Seungyoun crashed your second date before the two of you could talk about it.

Hangyul scratches the back of his neck, a habit of his whenever he felt uneasy. Your fake expression was apparent to his eyes, “Do you want to go to a cafe? I hated the silence in that library.”

You said yes and maybe it was the fact you wanted to show up Seungyoun for being on a date. Or, it might have been that you believed Hangyul was a nice, decent guy so he deserved some sort of explanation.

“I just wanted to say sorry for everything.” Hangyul says with a soft smile.

“Sorry about what?” The warm tea hits your throat and it calms your nerves.

“Sorry about not calling you when I said I would.”

You let out a petty laugh, “So you did know.”

Hangyul moves in closer, “Of course, I did. I was just confused and needed time to think.”

You purse your lips, “Well, I’m sorry for taking Seungyoun along on our second date.” You look down at your cup of tea.

Hangyul plays with the straw of his smoothie, unsure of what to say.

“It was a dumb decision.” You add.

“Did something happen?” Hangyul carefully asks.

You shrug, not wanting to think about it, still looking down.

Hangyul takes a deep breath and lowers his head so he was in your peripheral view, “Hey, to be honest, I wasn’t sure if you were actually available.”

You are forced to return his gaze, his face a little closer than a few minutes ago, “What do you mean?”

“I know you don’t have a boyfriend.” Hangyul was now staring at you intently with a soft expression, “But, on our first date, it didn’t seem like you were emotionally available.”

And that’s exactly what everyone thought: 2) No one else was really good enough for you, but him.

The guy with cute dimples? You preferred adorable rabbit teeth. The talented vocalist? A high-toned voice with the duality of IU’s ballads and Flowsik’s rapping was more your genre. The possible future president of the country? How about the person who you trust all your secrets, dreams, and inside jokes with?

As exaggerated as it was, Seungyoun just started to infiltrate your mind with no invitation.

You gulp and slowly nod your head, “Sorry, Hangyul.”

Hangyul feels a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders and he gives you an assuring smile, “We’re good.” He pats the side of your head.

You return his smile, feeling ten times better.

"I’m not sure what happened with you and Seungyoun, but if you want, I’m meeting with him later with the guys. Maybe you want to come?”

Your ears perk up at hearing his name, “Wait, Seungyoun is hanging out with you later?”

“Yeah, Seungyoun and some other people from the Taekwondo club.”

‘What about his date?’ You think. ‘Did that brat lie to me?’ You add. Did you not just have a small monologue on how great he was?

Hangyul calls out your name.

You snap back to reality, “Oh sorry, why don’t you text me the address and I’ll meet you there?”

The night was a little colder when it was predicted to be a warm summer night. Mercury was in retrograde or something along the lines of a pseudoscience explanation. 3) Everyone just knew it was going to be an interesting night.

“You like to hurt your own feelings?” Dohyun scratches his head.

“Masochism. Its called masochism.”

“Yohan, shut it. Don’t teach him that.” Hangyul rubbed his temples.

“Well, at least you’re better off than Seungyoun. He didn’t even give closure. He completely made his whole friendship awkward as hell.”

Hangyul blows out air from his nostrils. He wanted to keep it a secret and was not planning on inviting you to see Seungyoun. It was his chance to ask you out for a third date. But, taking advantage of your vulnerable state was the last thing he wanted to do.

Yohan hands Hangyul his black jacket, “Here, buddy. At least look cool while setting up the two idiots.”

Hangyul turns to Dohyon, “Don’t you dare learn from Yohan.” Hangyul moves closer to whisper in Yohan’s ear, “Yohan thinks he’s some sex god.”

Yohan has an appalled and disgusted look on his face, “A dude grinds on the floor one time and automatically becomes the icon of greasiness.”

Hangyul receives a text message alert and stops their conversation.

soju girl: Hey, I’m already here. My phone’s on vibrate so just text me when you get here! Too loud to take a call :(

“Lets go, idiot three.” Yohan puts his arms around Hangyul.

hangyul: see you soon

You bite down on your bottom lip and pull down on the short black dress that you wished did not sacrifice to cover either your chest or thighs. It was one or the other. You furiously shake your head to get some sense in you, “I need a drink.” Or not.

One drink turned into two, then three, then four and it all went downhill from there. The last sober thought you had was the fact that you could change your social media addiction and put your energy in making a blog about the wonders of alcohol.

“Close her tab.” you hear a voice and the person has reached over the counter. That was weird because you only conditioned yourself to listen to one specific voice through a loud bass of music.

“Oh? Its my best friend, Cho Seungyoun.” your voice slurs and you see he is confused because he can’t hear anything through the music and you made no effort to talk over them music. Seungyoun quickly scans your state and has you wear his oversized bomber jacket. You do not put up a fight while he quickly zips up the jacket. “Am I your date for tonight?” You say with no energy or volume.

Seungyoun gets to eye level with you and smiles, “Lets go.” He mouths.

The unapologetic smile, his eyes that assured you that your were safe, and his eyebrows that drooped in worry made you furious. The alcohol spoke and made the decision for you, “Fuck that.” You push him away and stagger through the dance floor.

And Seungyoun never felt so awkward trying to keep you away from other people on the dance floor while still remaining a sinful centimeter away from you and that miniature piece of fabric people called a dress.

His eyes darted around to catch the glimpses of other people on the dance floor to make sure they knew you were with him. Just when he thought people were getting the hint, a stranger attaches himself behind you.

He quickly snakes his hand around your waist and pulls you into a secure hold, turning your whole body like a tango move.

You continue to shamelessly dance, not giving a two coins because all you could see are the blurry lights, your mind was still buzzed, and whose ever arm was around you felt too good.

No matter how much he tried, there was only one answer to your shenanigans.

If you can’t beat them, join ‘em.

Seungyoun brings you into his chest as close as humanely possible and lays his hands on your hips as you two dance. He can only catch glimpses of your face, but when he did see you through the club lights, the look on your face got to him.

Your eyes were no longer the awake eyes that he could see from a distance away. Your eyes were half-lidded and seductive. Your baby hairs stuck to the side of your face and your cheeks flushed pink.

Then, Seungyoun’s ears were blocked as if he had water stuck in them. Your mouth was moving, but he could not understand what was happening anymore. The loud bass drowns out any reasonable thoughts.

Seungyoun did not drink any alcohol that night.

But, he got the same sweet alcohol on the tip of your tongue and caught the same alcohol buzz.

When Hangyul left the club that night and did not get to see you or Seungyoun, it was already a given: 4) The literal climax of the story that everyone would know of.

By the time you were all partied out and the two of you got to his apartment, the alcohol high wore off, but neither of Seungyoun’s or your hormones did.

The conversation was said through messy kisses, but it went something along the lines of Seungyoun apologizing for being a coward and a liar. Then, you try to say something back, but whatever he was doing down there did not help you form a coherent thought.

It was the climax that happened in Seungyoun’s small studio, both emotionally and physically.

Finally, it was the scene before everything fell into place. At least, as much as reality allowed you to.

“That dress wasn’t going to cover anything.” It was the morning after and you did not wake up glamorously. It was a good thing Seungyoun always saw you like that and nothing about his feelings changed. He laid on the couch and watched you find your stuff that was lost in the hurricane.

“Yeah, but your sweater will.” You quickly slip into it a sweater that he left hanging on his chair and Seungyoun curses in his mind for being weak to the cold.

“Wanna get breakfast?” Seungyoun sits up and also looks around for his lost t-shirt.

“Not like this.”

“I can pick something up from the convenience store.” Seungyoun finally finds his clothing piled up on the side of the couch.

You two only had to be apart for ten minutes, but Seungyoun was running back from the store like he left a stove on.

Also, you had no idea what you were getting yourself into until Seungyoun drops the food on his small desk and starts to make his way towards you. Alert, you hold him back with one finger, which stops him for a grueling second until he picks you up like a bride and lays you down on the couch.

You always thought Seungyoun looked like a rabbit with his two front teeth. Now, he looks like a tiger creeping up on his pray (read: you). You were quickly reminded Seungyoun was actually a bear because he pulls you into a warm hug as the two of you lay on his couch.

“There’s not enough space, so we have to stick as close a possible.” Seungyoun is breathing down your neck and you were not sure if it was on purpose.

You stir in his arms and he looks at you.

The images of you two playing tongue hockey in the middle of the dance floor flashes through your mind and you wanted to dig a tunnel into the couch because this time, he was there to remember it.

Seungyoun bit back a silly smile.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything?” He says with a smirk.

“Hey, we can’t tell anyone.” You are talking to his chest because you could not bear to look at him without being reminded of last night.

“Why not?” Seungyoun, on the other hand, had no shame and kept his eyes on you. “I swear, I was going to post this on my story.”

“Seungyoun!”

He gives you his cheeky, smiling eyes and presses his forehead on yours, “I’m sure every already knows.”

“That’s a little bit T.M.I, no?” You ask him.

“Not with them. They know everything.”

The two of you look at each other both thinking that everyone was weirdly invested in the two of you getting together. You and Seungyoun laugh knowing the same thought went through your head.

“I like you so much.” Seungyoun unconsciously says.

“I like you too.” You say making random shapes with your fingers on his chest. “Hey, um.” You finally muster up the courage to look at him.

“Yeah?” Seungyoun gives you his full attention.

You gather your arms and push him off the couch, “I’m hungry.”

Even if you were not hungry, Seungyoun’s scent was getting to your head and all the red flags went off.

He didn’t have to know that, though.

Months pass and you two are still together and annoying.

“Can you not?” You step on Seungyoun’s foot under the table.

“What?” Seungyoun moves his hand closer to your inner thigh, but you swat his hand off.

“Can you two just stay in Seungyoun’s studio? Forever.” Wooseok pretends to barf.

“We would, but the AC is broken.” Seungyoun shrugs.

You smack him on the side of his head.

“I don’t even want to sit on that damn couch now.” Seungwoo slowly shakes his head.

“Maybe it was better for you two to stay single.” Yohan taps on the table.

“Hey, I’m all for that.” Hangyul chuckles as he opens a bag of chips.

Seungyoun’s neck almost breaks turning to Hangyul, “If you eat chips like that, your fingers are going to stain.”

“Well, I’m gonna eat it with chopsticks.” Hangyul retorts.

“Where are the chopsticks, genius?” Seungyoun mocks Hangyul’s matter-of-fact tone.

Hangyul’s eye darts back and forth, until he sees you slipping him the chopsticks. “Here.”

Seungyoun makes a face at you, “Whose side are you on?”

You give him a chaste kiss and the self-proclaimed all rounder turns into one thing and it was the fifth and last thing everyone knew.

5) “Whipped.”

#cho seungyoun #seungyoun #seungyoun scenarios #seungyoun imagines #x1 scenarios #x1 imagines #x1 #Hangyul #lee hangyul #hangyul scenarios #hangyul imagines

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thecatprince · 4 years

Text

Stages and Stars

First | Previous | Next

Read on AO3

Relationships: Eventual Prinxiety, Eventual Logicality

Summary: Four people, an actor, an astronomer, a musician and a baker, move into a flat together at the start of the year. As they go through the various struggles of life, they slowly become friends and end up making friendships and relationships that are unbreakable.

Warnings: None

Authors Notes: Thanks for all of the love so far!!

Reblogs > Likes

Chapter Two - Pizza and Puns

It had taken a lot of time before they sat down together for pizza. Logan had stayed in his room for a couple of hours after he had arrived and then left for a bit and had to be chased down by Roman. Virgil seemed quite reluctant to come out and talk to the others, but Patton had managed to coax him out and into the living room. Roman and Patton had hit it off immediately, Patton’s bubbly personality well matched to Roman’s passionate one.

“…and so I told him that he could stuff it and he punched me,” Roman said. They had started sharing stories from when they were younger and Roman had done some very dramatic re-enactments as he went into a couple of his childhood stories.

“Geez, that guy sounds like a real pizza work,” Patton said. The grin on his face was the type of grin that a person made when they knew they had made a particularly bad pun and were very pleased with themselves. Logan gave a slight groan and exchanged a look with Virgil, who gave him an amused smile in return.

Roman gave a huff of laughter at the pun, and grabbed another slice of pizza. An awkward silence filled the apartment, as awkward silences tend to do.

“Well…” Patton said, breaking the silence. “We should probably get to know each other given we are going to be living together for a while. How about we get up a list of questions and ask each other them? That’s what we did in college to get to know each other better!”

“That sounds like an excellent idea!” Roman said, pulling out his phone and looking up a list of questions. “Alright question number one, favourite tv show?”

“Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey. Arguably one of the best space documentaries, although there are quite a few good ones.” Logan stated calmly. Roman snorted, and Logan glared at him.

“What? It sounds very nerdy,” Roman said, looking at Logan with amusement. Logan raised his eyebrow and looked considerably disgruntled. Patton sent a pointed look in Roman’s direction, causing Roman to feel slightly guilty.

“So, Logan, you’re interested in space?” Patton asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Yes,” Logan responded. “I always have been. I majored in astronomy and I hope to be able to become a certified astrophysicist in the near future. It has been my lifelong passion for as long as I can remember.”

“That’s wonderful,” Patton said. “I love baking. My dad taught me when I was little, and ever since then it has been one of my favourite things to do. I want to open my own bakery, but it will take a while. What about you Virgil? Do you have a passion or a hobby you love?”

“Well, sort of… it isn’t as good as baking or astrology, but I really like music.”

“Music is wonderful,” Patton exclaimed. “Do you play any instruments? What’s your favourite genre? Do you sing as well?”

Virgil blushed, slightly nervous by all the attention, but he responded quite calmly. “Yes I play several instruments, but my main ones are the guitar, both electric and acoustic, piano, saxophone and clarinet. My favourite genre is probably what people would classify as ‘emo’ music-“ He was cut off by the sound of Roman snorting. “What are you laughing at, Disney Prince reject?”

Roman looked at him, having the audacity to look offended at the name. “It’s just, of course you like emo music, just look at you!” Roman said, laughing slightly. “Also Disney Prince reject? Ouch.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? And the name is very fitting. I mean, just look at you. You wouldn’t look out of place in a Disney movie.”

“I will take that as a compliment, given that Disney princes look very handsome. And what I mean by that is, well, you look like a classic emo. The long fringe, black clothing, basically everything about you screams ‘no one understands me’.”

“Now, now,” Patton said, wanting to interrupt the two men before it turned violent or one of them said something they would deeply regret. “Roman, don’t say things like that, and Virgil, there is nothing wrong with liking emo music, and I think your style is very nice. Now both of you apologise to each other and then we can continue.”

“Why should I apologise to him? He was the one who started it.” Virgil said, glaring at Roman.

“Well that is unnecessarily childish, emo.”

“So is teasing someone for being emo.”

“Okay, okay,” Patton said, looking slightly exasperated. Logan gave him a sympathetic look. “You are both being childish by not apologising to each other. Alright, Roman, apologise to Virgil.”

Roman gave Patton an ‘are you serious’ look. Patton responded by giving Roman a classic ‘I’m waiting’ dad look. Roman sighed, then grudgingly looked at Virgil. “I’m sorry Virgil,” he mumbled. Patton then looked at Virgil.

“Oh come on, do I have to?” Virgil said. Patton gave him a pointed look and Virgil caved. “Fine, I’m sorry too Roman.”

“Good.” Patton smiled. “Now we can move on. Roman, do you have a passion or hobby you like?”

Roman’s face brightened considerably at the question. “Do I? Why, I love acting and performing and I love reading and writing. Anything creative really. One day I will make it onto Broadway, but at the moment I am doing small shows at the local theatre. I just love being able to disappear into different worlds or help create them. It is just the most magical feeling. Anyway, one day you can all say that you knew Roman Prince, the famous actor.”

This time Virgil was the one who snorted. “Wait, your last name is Prince?”

Roman gave him an annoyed look. “Yes, what about it?”

Logan and Patton shared a ‘here we go again’ look. They could already tell that this would be a common occurrence. Luckily, Roman avoided having an argument by simply responding with “I know.” A more comfortable silence followed as they finished off the pizza before them. Patton offered to clear the table, which no one objected to, and eventually they all drifted off to do their different routines before bed.

Tag List - Send an ask to be added or removed

@patton-cake @alias290

#cat writes #stages and stars au #logicality #prinxiety #sanders sides fanfic #human au #ask to tag

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dvp95 · 5 years

Text

still the best, more or less

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: teen & up

warnings: none

tags: memory loss, canon compliant, fluff, established relationship, clothes sharing

word count: 10,241

read on ao3 or here!

Phil wakes up on a tiled floor, head pounding and tongue heavy, and he wishes he could say it was the first time. He doesn't even remember drinking last night, can't recognise any of the colours or blurry shapes when he squints his eyes open, feels a swell of nausea when he tries to sit up. It isn't the first time for any of that, either.

The migraine is clamping his temples and he's got a twinge in his lower back - falling asleep on the floor will do that to you, when you aren't fifteen anymore and can't bounce back from anything with a big grin - but eventually he feels okay enough to push himself into a sitting position and then, slowly, standing. He grips the marble counter tight and has to close his eyes to breathe deeply a couple times. He blinks around the light, open space, and tries to figure out where the hell he is.

It's a kitchen, a big one, but he can't make out any details without his glasses. He can barely make out shapes. The thing closest to his hand looks like the right size to be a coffeemaker, and he almost groans out loud at the need for caffeine. Maybe it'll reduce his migraine, help the obvious hangover.

He's careful with his movements, not wanting to make a lot of noise. It's for his own benefit, sure, but he also doesn't know who else might be lurking around, trying to sleep a party away. He has to get right up to the machine to confirm that it is, in fact, a coffeemaker that he's pressing his nose against, before he starts opening nearby cupboards at random to search for his fix. He's trying to be quiet, he is, but he's not very good at that even when he can see what he's doing.

The sound of someone plodding into the room and yawning gets his attention, and he gives an apologetic sort of grimace in the person's general direction.

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

"Yeah," the guy says, but he doesn't sound very bothered. "Thought someone broke in, didn't think you'd be out of bed at this time."

Phil wishes he could see anything aside from a tall, blurry figure with a lot of pale skin on show, because the sleep-husky posh accent would really be doing it for him if he wasn't about to fall over.

He also wishes he could say that waking up in an unfamiliar man's home is unusual, but. He's got no reason to lie to himself.

"I feel like shit," Phil informs the guy, rubbing at his temples.

"Oh," says the voice, softer now. Even when he comes closer to Phil, it isn't any easier to make out his features. He's tall, taller than Phil, and his hands are huge when they come up to press gently against Phil's temples, but that's all Phil can really tell. He has brown hair, probably. He's mostly naked, unless he's wearing beige. "You got a migraine, huh?"

Phil leans into the gentle touch with a sigh. "Yeah."

"Okay, why don't you go sit down?" the guy suggests. He's still talking softly, like he doesn't want to hurt Phil's head any more. "I'll make you some coffee, grab your glasses and paracetamol, etc."

"Thanks," says Phil. He's vaguely surprised by the kindness of the stranger - he doesn't even remember going home with anyone, let alone this guy's name, but he really wishes he did.

"Stupid, don't need to thank me," says the soft Southern accent. His big, big hands are on Phil's arms now, guiding him to sit at a white table he hadn't even been able to see against the white tile. Phil nearly trips over his own feet, over the chair's leg, over nothing at all, but the stranger's hands are steady enough to keep him upright for the journey.

The room gets darker, like the light has been switched off or the curtains have been closed. It helps with Phil's brain clamping down on itself, but makes it harder to track the pale figure, so he gives up and closes his eyes, burying his face in his arms on the table and letting the smell of brewing coffee relax him. He'd probably drift back to sleep if his head didn't hurt so badly.

It doesn't take long before he hears the guy return to the table, setting several things down in front of Phil without speaking. The coffee smell gets stronger. It's unbelievably kind of him.

"Thanks again."

"Stupid, again."

Phil lifts his head and gives the best smile he can muster before he feels for his glasses.

"Oh," he says without meaning to, blinking owlishly at the man sat across from him. He's shirtless and blinking back at Phil with big, sleepy, very brown eyes. His hair is curly, frizzed up and soft over his forehead like he hasn't bothered to do anything to it yet. He smirks very slightly when Phil doesn't say anything else.

"Oh?"

"You're fit," Phil says, more than a little surprised at how well he'd apparently pulled while blackout drunk. He regrets more than ever that he can't remember a single thing about this man.

The man in question laughs - a short, bright, ha! of a noise that fills the whole kitchen - and his smirk widens into a grin. His dimples nearly make Phil miss his mouth when he pops the paracetamol. "It's barely eight in the morning and you've got a migraine. Keep it in your pants, Lester."

Phil smiles back, sheepish for more than one reason. God, why can't he remember anything?

They sit in a more or less comfortable silence for Phil's benefit while he drinks his coffee and waits for the painkillers to set in.

While he sips at the slightly-too-bitter coffee, Phil watches Dimples watch the birds outside. Dimples doesn't seem bothered by the staring, he just quirks an eyebrow at Phil when he turns back to him.

"Hungry?" Dimples asks, stretching his arms above his head. "Know you probably just want some toast."

Phil does want some toast. Like, very badly. He doesn't think he's ever craved something the way he craves toast right this second. Dimples may be a mindreader. He nods, wincing a little as it feels like his brain shakes around at the motion. The migraine is receding, slowly, but he doesn't want to antagonize it.

So, Dimples makes him toast. And another coffee, when Phil finishes the first. He hums quietly to himself while he putters around the kitchen, a tune Phil doesn't recognise, only turns on the light when Phil says he's feeling better, and Phil wonders if this is just what it's like to hook up with older guys. That's not something he's made a habit of, but this morning after has been so much more comfortable than the awkward 'you should get going', 'sure but where did you toss my pants' conversation that he's used to.

It's really nice, but it's also making something itch under Phil's skin. This is the longest he's ever hung around in the light of day, and he wouldn't have done that at all if he hadn't felt like death. So he watches Dimples put their plates and mugs in the dishwasher and says, "This was - nice. You're really nice. But I should go."

"Go where?" Dimples asks, levelling Phil with a look that he can't read.

"Home," says Phil. "I should go home."

He expects some relief or disappointment at the statement. He does not expect Dimples to throw his head back and cackle a laugh.

"Alright, if you're feeling good enough to joke, you're feeling good enough to go through emails for us," he says. He's giving Phil this soft, open smile that warms his eyes and deepens his dimples impossibly further.

Phil cocks his head to the side, glad that his brain doesn't rattle this time. "Uh. Okay. It's just that - I mean, like, I'm not joking, I really do need to go home, I've got shit to study for, and you've been great and all, but, um, yeah. I need to go."

He reaches up to fiddle with his fringe, a nervous habit he's had since he started growing it out, but it's pushed off his forehead and his fingers just brush skin.

Dimples is still smiling, but he's starting to look uncertain. "You... have shit to study for?"

"Yeah," says Phil. "Exams are soon."

"Exams?"

"Did I not tell you I'm in uni?" Dimples' eyebrows crumple in bewilderment, and Phil hastens to explain himself. "Sorry, if I didn't, but it's not like I'm - like, I'm not, like, seventeen or anything, y'know, you don't have to look at me like that."

"I know how old you are, Phil," says Dimples, snorting. "Seventeen, my ass. You're in a weird mood today."

Phil frowns. "I mean, I woke up on the floor, didn't I. You can't exactly expect me to not be weird."

That makes Dimples pause. Turn to face him fully. "You woke up where?"

"On the floor? Here? Like, in front of the coffeemaker. I must have blacked out at some point when we were drinking or whatever."

"You blacked out?" Dimples asks, tone wary like he isn't sure if he's supposed to believe Phil or not. Phil does his best to look trustworthy. "Phil, you didn't drink anything last night. You went to bed like you always do. Fell asleep with a book in your hand and your glasses on. This is a weird prank."

None of that makes any sense, but Phil holds his ground. "I woke up on the floor and my head felt like it was being squeezed by a juice press or something. Of course I got drunk last night."

Dimples comes around the island counter, the uncertain air making his movements stilted. "You - oh, Phil, I think you might've fainted again. Unless you're fucking with me."

"I'm not fucking with you," Phil says, and Dimples' eyebrows raise into his curls. "I've never fainted before, what are you on about?"

"You fainted last November," Dimples corrects him, slowly, and frowns deeper when Phil shakes his head.

"Think you might have me confused with someone, mate. I definitely didn't faint in November, and you wouldn't know even if I had, would you? I didn't know you."

Phil still doesn't know him, but that seems rude to say to a hot guy who made him coffee.

"You didn't..." Dimples trails off, looking between Phil's face and Phil's hands, which are twisted together on the table. "You - what?"

He sounds so helplessly confused, but that's not Phil's problem. He stands, glancing down at himself so he doesn't need to keep looking at Dimples. "Sorry. You really do seem nice. Thanks for the coffee - and the pyjamas, but I really should get going."

"Phil," says Dimples. "Where? Where would you even go?"

"Home," Phil says again. "York."

"York isn't your home," Dimples says dismissively, waving a hand as if to physically push the fact away. "And I'll take you to A&E if you keep this up."

"Sorry." It feels like Phil is repeating himself a lot. "Just point me to wherever I dropped my jeans and I'll get out of your hair."

"Get out of my," says Dimples, shaking his head. His curls bounce a bit. It's very cute. Phil really cannot stay without the itch under his skin getting worse. "Phil. I'm being so serious right now. If this is a joke, you're sleeping on the sofa for a week. I'll lock the guest room. It'll be the sofa. Your stupid back will hate it."

Honestly, Phil is a little bit freaked out now. He bites his lip and tries to think about how to phrase this without making things worse. He comes up blank.

"Sorry," he says for what feels like the dozenth time. "I just - I'm really sorry, mate, but you can't just keep me here."

"Phil, sit down." It's partially a plea and partially a demand, but Phil isn't interested in following either. That must show on his face, because Dimples shakes his head and starts patting down the pockets of his sweatpants. "I - fuck, okay, I'm calling your mum."

Phil was about to just walk out, head home in someone else's pyjamas, but that stops him before he even starts to move. He's flabbergasted.

"You know my mum?" he asks. Then he repeats it a couple of times, the emphasis on different words, like it'll make more sense that way. "You know my mum? You? Know my mum?"

"Course I fucking know your mum," Dimples mutters, pulling a slim rectangle out of his pocket that Phil doesn't recognise and tapping on it with his thumbs. "Sit down. I'm putting her on speaker and you're going to feel so fucking bad for this prank when I tell her, you'll feel - it's not even funny, you know, it's not even -"

Dimples is cut off by the sound of a tone, coming out of the rectangle. Oh, so it's a mobile phone. It doesn't seem like it has any buttons. Curiosity holds Phil in place, and he sits down hard when his mum's voice chimes in the suddenly quiet kitchen.

"Hello, dear, is everything alright? Something on fire? I only ask as it's before noon."

"Very funny, Kath," Dimples says with a level of familiarity that makes Phil's knees feel like jelly. "Hi, how are you?"

"Fine, fine. What can I do for you, Daniel?"

Dimples - Daniel - locks eyes with Phil, like he's calling Phil's bluff, like he really has no idea what Phil is talking about, and says, "Your son fainted sometime last night and now he's acting weird."

"Oh, dear, is he okay? You've got him there, don't you? Phil?"

"Mum," Phil responds, his voice cracking. Daniel brings the strange phone closer, sitting down across from Phil without breaking the intense eye contact.

"Hello there, child, are you feeling poorly?"

"Not so much anymore," Phil says honestly, his mum's concerned voice enough to make him feel like he's stepped into the Twilight Zone.

"Well," she says, then pauses. "Good. I know Daniel is taking care of you."

"He is," says Phil. Looking at Daniel is too much, suddenly, he has to look down at the phone. It's all flat and says 'mum 2' across the top of the screen. Phil can feel his migraine start to sneak back. "I just - sorry, mum, I'm really confused. I don't know where I am, or who - I'm sorry, Daniel, but I really don't remember meeting you at all, how do you and my mum even know each other?"

The silence that follows is loaded with something Phil doesn't understand. He refuses to look back up at Daniel, doesn't want to see whatever's happening in those big brown eyes.

"That's not funny, Phil," his mum admonishes in the same tone she uses when he and Martyn are too harsh with their banter.

"Daniel said that, too, but, I just - I don't even know what the joke would be. I don't know what's going on. I just want to go back to York before I miss another lecture."

"Please stop calling me that," Daniel says, quiet.

"I don't know what else to call you."

Quiet again. Phil is really starting to hate that. It feels like he's out of the loop of something important, big enough that even his mum knows, and nobody is explaining themselves. He's got a lump in his throat and his head is hurting again and he can feel Daniel's eyes burning into his face.

His mum is talking again, her voice a little more frantic, a little less comforting, and Daniel is responding to her, but Phil isn't listening anymore. He's staring at the phone, zoning out completely.

What the hell is going on?

Turns out the doctors don't know, either. Phil spends all day and half the night in A&E, Daniel at his elbow, while people talk about him like he's not in the room. The nurses and doctors ask him easy questions, like how old he is, who the Prime Minister is, where he lives, what his family's like - but each answer he gives seems to be the wrong one, leads to muttering just out of his earshot and harder questions being directed at Daniel instead.

"Has this happened before?"

"No. Not - not this, but similar. He's fainted twice before. Um, vaso-something. Fuck. Sorry, vasovagal attacks. He's prone."

"How has he been reacting to stimulus today?"

"I haven't given him anything. Coffee. He hasn't seen anything on the telly or. Nothing. So he's, like, confused, but he's not overwhelmed by the state of the world or anything."

"Have you told him?"

"I've got no idea how to do that, no."

"Tell me what?" Phil interrupts that one, tired of the back and forth happening over his head.

More quiet, but this one doesn't last long. The doctor looks Phil in the eyes and, rather gently, says, "You're experiencing quite a large gap in your memory. We're going to have to run some tests to figure out why this is happening."

Amnesia doesn't happen to real people, Phil wants to say. That's a soap opera trope, and not even a very good one.

But he catches Daniel's eye and sees the abject fear on his soft features, remembers the way he'd spoken to Phil's mum on a mobile that looked like it was from the future, and he holds his tongue. He thinks back to everything that happened since this morning and has to admit that the doctor makes a certain amount of sense.

Leaning into the trope of it all, Phil turns back to the doctor and asks, "What year is it, then?"

He almost faints again at the answer.

They let him go home while they schedule the MRI, which Phil doesn't fully understand until he hears Daniel arguing in whispers with one of the tired-looking nurses.

"He should be where he's comfortable," Daniel is insisting. "Something could - I don't fucking know, trigger his memories."

"He's in good health, this episode aside," the nurse says, not looking up from her clipboard until she's finished reading. She hands it to Daniel for him to look at, too. Phil wonders if those are his test results, wonders why they're being given to Daniel and not to Phil, wonders wonders wonders. "You can take him home. I strongly recommend keeping him away from news sources or anything else that might be overwhelming."

"He thinks it's 2007," says Daniel. His voice trembles a little. "I'm unplugging the fucking wifi."

Daniel is signing something on the clipboard, then, and Phil realises it's not his results at all. He doesn't know where home is, if home isn't York or Rawtenstall, but he's happy to follow Daniel out anyway. He hates hospitals.

The nurse gives him a sympathetic sort of smile on his way out. Phil doesn't know how to respond, so he doesn't.

They're in a car that looks strange to Phil, the same way Daniel's mobile had looked strange, and he knows now that it's because he's used to seeing the same types of machines twelve years ago. A stranger is driving them, following a GPS on their own flat mobile, which is stuck to the dashboard. They don't try to talk to Phil or Daniel, which is a relief, but the soft music is unfamiliar and Phil is already so, so tired of being out of the loop.

"Tell me about yourself," he says to Daniel with no preamble. For a long moment, Daniel doesn't reply. He just keeps staring out the window, watching London alleys pass by.

Eventually, though, he looks back at Phil. His eyes are still very big, very sleepy, very brown, but there's too many emotions behind them for Phil to start interpreting. He pushes a stray curl off his face with a big hand, sighing.

"I wouldn't even know where to start."

"You don't have to tell me something that encompasses all of you, or anything," says Phil. "It can just be stuff. Anything."

"Okay," says Daniel. He does a small salute with two fingers against his forehead. "Hi. My name is. Dan."

Phil doesn't understand the pause before Dan says his name, feels like it's something else just outside of his grasp. He hitches a small smile onto his face. "See, that's not so hard. I'm Phil, but you know that. I like Buffy and making videos and I always thought I'd have a dog by now."

The noise that Dan makes is somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"Hi, Phil," he says, making the same noise again. "I'm gay, and depressed, and make videos sometimes too, and we can't get a dog yet because we're renting."

"How long?"

"To which thing?"

"Any of them."

"Ten years, some of it. Near enough for the others."

"We've lived together for ten years?" Phil asks. He needs the clarification on that one, because. Dan is a gorgeous man with very big hands and he can't imagine him not getting tired of Phil after that long.

"More like eight, but we've been... friends, for ten," says Dan. The hesitation on the word says so much with so little.

Phil wonders if he hasn't been clear enough that he knows. Dan had spoken to his mum with such familiarity, had filled out his forms at the hospital without thinking twice, was bringing him home to the place that they'd woken up more or less together (inasmuch as the kitchen floor and bed are together).

"And were we ever actually friends?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows so Dan knows that he doesn't have to downplay this thing, not for Phil's sake.

"Yeah, best friends," Dan says, clearly taken aback. His shoulders relax after a moment. "Still are. But we were only just friends for a few months. And barely 'just' about it, if you count the hours of torturous Skype flirting."

"Wow," Phil says, looking down at his own hands and half expecting there to be a ring he hadn't noticed earlier. "I haven't been with anyone for ten days before."

"I know," says Dan. He laughs then, quiet but genuine, no sob hidden inside. "Sorry, that'll get annoying fast. I know everything about you."

"So tell me about myself," says Phil.

The smile Dan gives him makes Phil feel warm to his bones.

"Well, you like Buffy, and making videos, and you beg me to smuggle a dog into our flat at least once a month."

"Not fair," Phil laughs, smacking Dan's knee lightly. "You gotta tell me stuff I don't know."

"Okay - when you laugh, you trap your tongue between your teeth and one of these days I'm convinced you're going to bite it off."

"I do not."

"You fully do, rat."

Phil shoves at him again, not surprised when Dan grabs his hand and links their fingers together as he does. The itch under Phil's skin is still there, his anxiety barely being kept at bay by pure exhaustion, but he presses his thumb against Dan's pulse point and lets the steady thrum of it keep him calm.

The flat seems bigger, now that Phil knows it belongs to him.

("Kind of," Dan reminds him on their way down the stairs, "we're just renting for now."

"For now?" Phil asks. Dan smiles.)

There's an unreasonable number of candles and houseplants on nearly every surface, making the whole place smell vaguely of nature, and Phil gets distracted by things in every room while Dan leans against the frames of doors and makes sarcastic comments.

("Why are so many of these plants dying?"

"You tell me, Phil. You're the one who keeps coming home with them and not watering them."

"I'm sure they'll bounce back.")

A photo on their fridge makes Phil's hands start to shake. He hasn't looked in a mirror yet, too scared of what he'll see, but without warning, there's a Polaroid of him and Dan crammed onto a too-small sofa with Martyn and a small woman with a shock of bright red hair. It's harder to look at Martyn than it is to look at himself, to see the lines around his eyes and mouth that he doesn't remember being there. Seeing himself, hair short and pushed off his forehead, giving the camera a wide eyed look, is almost secondary.

("Dan," says Phil, his fingers trembling. "Dan, I can't see my parents."

And he's prepared to explain, but he doesn't need to. He remembers Dan in the taxi, saying he knows everything about him, and so he isn't even surprised when Dan just says, "I'll go put their pictures away. Stay here."

Phil does, pressing the tips of his fingers to his brother's face like it'll do any good at all.)

They end up in a bedroom with a moon-shaped mirror on the wall and all sorts of clutter laying about. Lion is up on a windowsill with several other plushies, which makes Phil's stomach untwist a little bit.

(He doesn't know how to explain that one. How to say this feels like home when the truth is that it only kind of does. It feels like a stranger has placed his things, his photos and clothes and contact lens pot, into a space that's shared by another stranger, but it still somehow makes him feel better just to see Lion sat next to a Tonberry.)

He exhales. In this room, he can breathe.

"Do you want to sleep in the guest room or should I?" Dan asks later, leaning against the doorframe while Phil brushes his teeth.

Phil is altogether too busy looking at himself to pay the question much mind, cataloguing every change with chagrin. He looks so old, it isn't fair. He doesn't remember getting the laugh lines, so they shouldn't exist.

"Hm?" Phil prompts absently, his toothbrush hanging between his teeth as he rubs at a small patch of discoloration on his temple. He hears Dan snort.

"You look good, Phil," says Dan, in the confident tone of someone who has said it many times and, hopefully, will say it many more times. "I know you, I know the way your stupid brain works, but you look good. Being in your thirties suits you."

Phil wrinkles his nose at himself in the mirror and spits into the sink. "Oh, don't say thirties."

"It's what you are," Dan says unapologetically.

"Fuck off."

"You kiss your mother with that fucking mouth?"

"What did you want?" asks Phil, fighting a smile. It's so easy to talk to Dan, which makes this whole situation a lot more tolerable. "Something about a guest room?"

"Yeah," Dan says, looking down at his nails. "Which one of us is sleeping there? I dunno where you'd be more comfortable."

"I'm not fussed, to be honest."

"You'll probably be better off in your own bed," Dan says, more to himself than to Phil. He shrugs and stands up properly. "Better for your memory and, also like, your old man spine and shit. Snoop around to your heart's content, I guess, it's all your junk too." Dan pauses and shakes his head. "Well, okay, 'cept my nightstand. If you snoop in there, you deserve what you get."

"Now that's the first place I want to snoop," Phil whines slightly, dropping his toothbrush on the tap beside his contact lenses.

Dan rolls his eyes and comes over, picking up the mess Phil left and putting it away in the cabinet. "I'm only doing this for you because you don't know any better yet, nasty. Now go away, I need to shower hospital off me."

Even the clear dismissal somehow sounds fond, and Phil can't resist giving Dan's waist a quick squeeze before he scurries off to snoop.

He doesn't look in either bedside drawer, not sure which side is whose, but he's more drawn to the closet anyway. He expects a kind of organised chaos, the way the rest of the room is cobbled together with knick knacks and socks everywhere, but when he opens the doors the closet is just plain organized. Shirts are arranged in a rainbow of colour that somehow only takes up half the closet; the rest of the gradient is all black, a handful of white and grey, but mostly black.

Phil likes a bright colour that's likely to give someone a headache more than he likes neutrals, but he finds himself looking at the monochrome side more carefully. Everything is so soft to the touch. It makes him wonder if Dan, too, is soft to the touch, since these are clearly his clothes.

He's not really snooping so much as he's looking and feeling. When he reaches the end of shirts and finds the jackets, he tugs one of the softer tees off the hanger and changes into it. He leaves his other shirt on the floor, because. Whatever. He doesn't feel like finding the laundry hamper or figuring out if they, as functional adults, have some kind of hamper system.

The shirt pulls a little tight across his shoulders but it feels so nice and it smells faintly of deodorant, like it got hung up after half a wear. He can't be bothered to dig for anything else, just kicks his sweatpants off and flops into bed.

He tries every pillow before he makes a decision on a Side, curling up with the softest pillow in his arms and the firmest under his head. He buries his nose in the soft one and inhales the scent of citrusy shampoo.

This sucks. It sucks less with Dan around, though, and the pillow is a poor substitute.

By the time Phil wakes up, the sun is at the exact right angle to be in his eyes. He groans and rolls over, into the side of the sheets that smells like citrus and mint, and tries to block out the rays slanting through the windows. It doesn't really help unless he completely buries his face, which is a recipe for suffocation if he's ever heard one.

"Hey, stupid," a sleep-husky posh voice says from somewhere above Phil, "I made breakfast."

Phil was right. Now that he isn't about to pass out, that voice is really doing it for him. He groans again, dramatic, but sits up and feels around for his glasses anyway. "Time's'it?"

"Noonish."

Big hands are at Phil's face again. He freezes for a moment, not sure what's happening, but then his glasses are slid onto his nose.

"Oh, thanks," says Phil. He tries not to stare, but Dan doesn't make it easy.

Dan hums, standing there with his hands in his hoodie pockets and his long legs bare. He's far too comfortable walking around in his pants. Phil is going to have to get used to that. "Sure. It's what I'm here for. Dan Howell, maker of breakfast, finder of glasses."

"Howell," Phil repeats, trying the name in his mouth and smiling. "Hey, you know what I'd call a kid with your last name?"

"Wolf," says Dan, unimpressed.

"Yeah."

"You told me that one six years ago. It still isn't fucking funny."

"I think it's funny."

"You would." Dan's lips twitch, showing off just a hint of his dimples, and he lifts a leg to prod at Phil with one slippered foot. "Get up, you're so annoying."

"This is abuse," Phil protests, but he does stand and stretch.

"That's my shirt," Dan informs him.

Phil looks at himself and then looks at Dan, the university name spread across Dan's chest. "And that's my hoodie."

Dan dimples properly and shrugs. "Maybe so."

After a couple hours of idle banter and season four of Buffy, Dan gets up from the sofa and yawns. "I gotta go or I'm gonna be late. You can watch any of the DVDs or read a book or whatever, but the satellite and wifi are both off so you don't get too much information at once."

"Where are you going?" Phil asks, trying not to sound too disappointed. Judging by the smirk he gets, he fails at that.

"Therapy," says Dan, like it's just heading to the store, like it's something that happens every day. Maybe it is. Phil wouldn't know. "I've got a lot to talk about this week, y'know."

"You talk about me in therapy?"

"I talk about you in therapy," Dan confirms. He's smiling. "You're a pretty big part of my life, Lester."

"Oh, that makes sense," says Phil. It still unsettles him, just a bit, knowing that he's going to be discussed when he isn't in the room. He doesn't want to seem like he's weird because of the therapy thing, though, so he just shrugs. "So you'll be back in a couple hours?"

"Mhm. You'll be okay?"

"I'll be okay," Phil says, and he thinks he means it. The flat isn't exactly what he's used to, no, but all his favourite movies are under the tv and he's curled up with a colourful coffee mug, so. Life could be a lot worse.

At least, that's what he thinks. The reality settles in, twenty minutes after Dan has disappeared in a flurry of black clothes and creative curses: the flat is too empty without Dan in it. He's a huge presence, takes up so much room with his long limbs and his loud voice, and Phil feels very, very alone once that presence is gone.

Buffy is usually good at making Phil relax, but not even Sarah Michelle Gellar doing sick stunts distracts him from the lack of Dan.

The flat is too big, too empty, so Phil gets himself dressed and decides to go for a walk. He finds two drawers full of black skinny jeans in one of their dressers, and he can't even tell whose are whose. He pulls on a plain pair because the ripped ones can't possibly be his, finds some sneakers, tugs one of Dan's black hoodies on. Phil hasn't worn all black for anything but Halloween and funerals in ages, but he likes the way Dan's clothes fit. And the way they smell, which. That's probably creepy.

He doesn't bother putting his contacts in or doing anything with his hair, leaving it soft and pushed off his forehead like it usually is when he wakes up. Mostly he just doesn't want to look in the bathroom mirror again.

Phil is just planning on leaving the door unlocked and walking around the block, but there's a set of keys and forty pounds on the little table beside the front door. Dan has left him a short message on an anime-themed sticky note. sbux 2 blocks if u turn left. diff sbux 5 blocks if u turn right. i know u don't know which is which. don't go far, stupid.

He intends to go to the closer Starbucks. He ends up walking five blocks. He should have made the Ls with his hands. The walk isn't so bad - it's a chilly day for early September, but at least it isn't raining.

"Hey, Phil," the barista says with a tired smile when he reaches the front of the queue. "Coffee or macchiato today?"

"Macchiato, please," Phil decides, trying not to look surprised that someone knows his name.

He knows he doesn't completely cover the deer in headlights expression, but the barista seems used to him enough not to be offended by it. They also make his drink perfectly, and Dan did give him forty pounds for Starbucks alone, so Phil drops more money in the tip jar than he normally would.

It's just - it really does seem like he has money. He's in London, and it isn't a shit area, and he's got a huge flat with tons of electronics and miscellaneous junk in it. Dan gave him forty pounds to go to Starbucks. He's fairly certain they're well off.

Phil sits by the window and people-watches for a while, content to sip at his drink and watch this tiny piece of the world move past him. The cars and the street fashion take some getting used to, because they're all just slightly wrong to his active imagination, like an old film guessing at futuristic styles. The dogs that pass with their humans, at least, look like dogs.

Still renting, Dan had said. For now. Phil knows the itch is coming before it rears its head, and he does his best to logic it away.

It's been ten years, or near enough, so of course they've talked about getting a house and a dog and everything else that comes with intertwining your life with someone's. It only scares Phil because he feels twenty and his longest commitment was to a girl in year five who he didn't even like. He's sure he isn't still scared.

He hopes he isn't still scared. He thinks, absently, that Dan deserves better than that.

Someone says his name, interrupting his thoughts. Phil looks away from the window. He expects to see the barista, maybe offering to take his empty cup that he's just been sat here holding, but instead there's a teenager a couple steps from his table, their eyes wide and their flat phone clutched to their chest.

"Hello," Phil says politely, just in case this is someone else he's meant to know. He even manages a smile.

"Hi," the teenager breathes, blinking furiously. "Oh my god, hi, I'm so sorry to bother you, I never do this, I just saw you and I thought - I don't know, I thought you must not be AmazingPhil because that doesn't happen to me, I don't want to be a bother -"

They keep rambling, a bit, and Phil gets it now. "It's all right," he says softly. He stands up and extends a hand to his - fan, he has a fan? - with another smile. "What's your name?"

"Um, Alex," the fan says, shaking Phil's hand quickly. "He, him," they add, which doesn't make any sense to Phil until it does.

"Nice to meet you, Alex," says Phil.

"Nice to meet you, too," says Alex as if in a trance. He shakes his head and flushes deep enough for the red to show on his dark skin. "Can I - sorry, I know it's, like, annoying, but can I get a photo?"

Phil easily takes a couple selfies with him, pulling faces in them and making Alex laugh. The phone's camera is surprisingly good, far better than Phil's webcam. Alex is a lot more relaxed when he steps back from Phil, although his hands are still fiddling around with his phone.

"All good?"

"Yeah, yeah, I just," says Alex. Makes a vague hand gesture. "Can I take a picture of just you, like, front and back? Only, no one will believe you're wearing that."

Wearing what? Phil blinks down at his black hoodie, plain but for the silver circle over one breast. It's got letters on it, words encircling it, but he hadn't bothered reading them when he pulled it over his head earlier. When he looks over his shoulder and tugs at the fabric, he realises there's some kind of huge design across his back, too. Those photos take even less time, just him pulling faces and doing weird shit with his hands to make Alex laugh, and then Alex is thanking him and hugging him round the waist before running off to catch up with his friends outside.

Phil goes to get another coffee before he sits back down, putting far too much in the tip jar again, and tries to ignore his shaking hands.

"I probably should have warned you," Dan says when he finally finds his way back to the building. He's leaned over the stair railing like he heard Phil coming and came to greet him. He sounds amused.

"You could've done," says Phil. He kicks off his shoes and blinks up at Dan. "Am I, like, famous?"

Dan's nose wrinkles. "Ew. Don't say the F word."

Despite the anxiety still thrumming under Phil's skin, he laughs. It's easy to walk up the stairs and join Dan, watch the way his brown eyes crinkle happily. It would be too easy to lean into it. Phil doesn't think that would be very fair to Dan at this point, though. "Not famous? So how do you already know what happened?"

"You're wearing my merch," Dan says, sounding altogether too pleased with himself. He plucks at the silver circle on Phil's chest. "It has my initials on it, you didn't notice?"

"No, but if I had I wouldn't think it was merch. You said you make videos sometimes, you didn't say you were fucking Smosh."

Dan giggles but otherwise keeps speaking like Phil hasn't interrupted. "You're wearing my merch and fucking, like, posed for photos in it, so I've had people blowing up my phone for the past hour. I ought to pay you for the advertisement."

"You gave me forty pounds to go to Starbucks," Phil says. He's not quite over that.

"That was your own money, mate."

"So we're famous."

The face Dan pulls is ridiculous. It makes Phil want to kiss his dimple. "I really hate that word. We have an audience, yes. We get recognised sometimes, yes."

"How big of an audience do we have, Dan?" Phil asks shrewdly. He has a feeling Dan's protest is all semantics.

"Well, like, we have separate channels and a joint channel, and I can't say what the exact overlap is on all of them, and there are people who follow us on social media who don't subscribe to us, especially this year, and there's -"

Phil cuts him off. "Dan."

Dan makes a vague, helpless gesture. "A few - like, altogether ten million between us, but there's overlap, so. A few million."

The need to sit down hits Phil so suddenly that his knees almost buckle. He holds tight to the railing and lowers himself to sit on the top step rather than collapsing.

"That's not a real number," says Phil. "2019 is not a real year. Ten million is not a real subscriber count."

"There's overlap. It's probably more like five million."

"You're not actually helping," Phil informs him.

"Sorry," Dan says, his lips twitching. He sits down next to Phil with a dramatic exhale of a noise. "I know. I know that it's - a lot. It's part of why I'm not letting you go online yet. The other part is that the world is going to shit and you don't need to see twelve years of misery all at once."

Phil has no idea if that's a joke or not. Honestly, he doesn't want to ask.

"So this is, like, our job," says Phil. He gestures around them, indicating the flat as a whole. "YouTube pays for all this?"

"A combination of YouTube and opportunities we got from it," Dan confirms. "It's, like. It's a really long and weird story. But if you want to hear about it, I can make us some coffee."

"I've had three macchiatos this afternoon," Phil admits.

The smile he gets is warm and feels almost private, like Phil shouldn't be looking at it when he barely knows Dan, really. Dan shakes his head, still smiling, and stands up. "Alright. Hot chocolate, then. Let's go sit somewhere that doesn't hurt my ass."

Dan tells him a lot of things, that night and every night after, but Phil starts to notice patterns. He's open with any questions about their career or Phil's family, hesitant to talk about current events in the world, passionate about the media they apparently spent most of their twenties consuming. Most of Phil's questions get answered easily and his confusion is met with smiles and explanations, so it takes him a little while to realise.

Dan tells him a lot of things. Dan does not, however, talk about himself.

Once Phil notices that, it's like he can't stop noticing. Dan only talks about himself when it's wrapped up in Phil; he uses 'we' for things he really could use 'I' for. We like Indian food. We want to go back to Japan. We hate this character.

It's strange, especially since Phil finds himself caring much more about Dan's opinions on things than whatever his own used to be.

"You like this movie," Dan says to him one night, poking Phil in the cheek.

Phil notices the pronoun, so caught up on the 'we' of it all lately. "You don't, then?"

"Not really," says Dan. He's stealing handfuls of Phil's popcorn and contorted into a position on the sofa that doesn't look remotely comfortable. He's wearing one of Phil's shirts, but that's okay. Phil is wearing one of Dan's.

"Then why did you put it on?" Phil asks.

Mouth stuffed with popcorn, Dan can only shrug and turn back to the tv. Phil is tempted to turn the movie off, now, but he's gotten invested in the story. He waits until it's over, the empty popcorn bowl discarded on the coffee table as the credits roll, before he prods Dan's thigh with his toes.

"Oi, what?"

"You don't like the movie," says Phil. "Tell me why."

Dan gives him a sleepy, quizzical sort of look and shakes his head. "It's really not that big a deal."

"But I want to know." Phil casts around for the words, Dan's big brown eyes drawing him in and making him forgetful. "Like... I want to know stuff about you."

"I guess I'm not used to that," Dan admits. He looks down, picking at a rip in his jeans. The loss of eye contact makes Phil feel like he can breathe again. "You know - you knew everything there is to know about me. Like I do for you. Feels weird to talk about myself."

"I bet I'd talk about myself a lot if you were the one missing twelve years," says Phil.

"If I was the one missing twelve years, Phil," Dan says, a sad little smile playing around his lips, "then you'd be a little too distracted by Gay Panic 2: Electric Boogaloo."

"You didn't know, then?" Phil prompts.

Dan glances back up at him and smiles, warmer. "No. I knew I wasn't straight by then, but. It took me a long time to be okay with that. Took me even longer to settle on what I wanted to call myself - there's so many fucking labels now, y'know, and that's. That's all well and good for some people, but." He takes a steadying sort of breath. "Anyway. I'd never even met an out gay person until, well, you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, so the whole thing was kind of over my head. And then I met you, and it didn't seem to matter what I called myself, because there was you."

Phil feels the corners of his lips turning up, pleased by that. "Ten years," he says, because he still can't believe it.

"Ten years next month," Dan informs him. He's smiling back at Phil and it is so easy to reach over and link their fingers together, squeezing reassuringly. The smile widens to show off his dimples. "And, like. That's basically how long it took me to come out. Just did that in June."

"Well, that's fine," says Phil. "It's nobody else's business, really."

"Yeah," Dan says, squeezing Phil's hand again and again. "Yeah, you. You said that a lot. But it was important to me, so."

"Then I'm glad you did it."

The lounge is filled only with the sounds of the DVD menu looping and the rain pattering against the windows for a handful of minutes, but the quiet is a comfortable one. Dan is still all curled up in his jeans and Phil's shirt but he doesn't try to take his hand back from Phil's grip. He looks - cute. There isn't really any other word for it, and Phil has no reason to go searching for one. He sticks his tongue out to break the tension and Dan huffs a laugh, rolls his eyes.

They're smiling at each other, hands linked, and Phil pushes past the anxiety of being tied down by something like commitment and raises their joined hands to his mouth. He presses soft kisses to Dan's knuckles and laughs at the dumbstruck expression he gets for it.

"What?" he asks, his voice sounding too loud.

"You don't have to do that," says Dan.

"I know I don't have to. I just wanted to." Somehow that makes Dan look even more shocked, and Phil laughs again. "Why are you so surprised? I already told you, you're fit."

It's more than just that, really. It's Dan taking care of him and joking with him and watching movies he didn't even like so that Phil could experience a favourite for the first time again. Except he's terrified of expressing real emotion like that, so. Easier to stick with a less telling truth - Dan is hot. It's not exactly a hardship to be on the receiving end of his dimples.

"You did tell me that," says Dan. His face is softer, harder to read. "I just. I don't know."

"Spit it out," Phil suggests, not unkindly.

"I know you love me," says Dan. Phil isn't proud of the way he wants to climb out of his skin at the sound of the word. "Or did, I guess, but that makes it sound like you stopped loving me and never will again, and. I don't like that."

"I don't like that either," says Phil. Since Dan is being open with him, he looks down at their joined hands and admits, "I have no idea what I'm doing, here. You scare the hell out of me."

"You scare me, too. Fuck, Phil, that's why I'm so surprised. I never really felt like I was, whatever, good enough, and you'd always say I was being ridiculous, that you loved me forever and you'd love me no matter what." Dan takes a shaky breath. Phil squeezes his hand. "And I kind of believed you but kind of didn't? But here you are, you don't know me from fucking Adam and you - you still want to be with me? Well, I hope you still want to, because if you don't I need to excuse myself and jump out the window."

"It's scary," Phil says again. It's easier not to look at Dan for this hushed exchange. "Like, the whole world is scary right now but I feel sure about you, and that's. That's scary on its own."

Dan doesn't say anything for a long time, but Phil still can't bring himself to look up. He'd rather look at the way their hands fit together. Phil isn't exactly a small man, and he likes that Dan's hands are bigger than his, fingers longer, because it makes him feel somewhat protected in all this madness.

When Dan finally does speak, it's not what Phil is expecting. "I didn't know you had to put water in pasta. So I burned dry pasta in a pan when I was nineteen."

"What?" Phil grins, surprised into looking at Dan again. Dan grins right back at him.

"I almost blinded myself by spraying deodorant into my eye," he continues as if Phil hadn't spoken. "I got my head stuck between the doors on the Tube. We can't have sex in the shower anymore because of the time I almost broke my collarbone."

"That was a 'we' statement," Phil points out. His smile grows wider the more Dan tells him. It may all be silly things, right now, but Phil still feels like he knows Dan a bit better with every story.

"Fine. I can't have sex in the shower because I'm clumsy as fuck. You can't have sex in the shower because you're clumsier. And you only get to have sex with me, sorry."

Phil shrugs. "Sounds like all I'm missing out on is an awkward A&E trip."

"Probably more than one, knowing us," says Dan.

All the stuff Dan tells him that night is self-deprecating and the way he says it all has Phil in stitches before long. He bickers with Dan about the details of things, because Dan likes to exaggerate whiny panic when he's talking about Phil's roles in the stories. The DVD menu stays on a loop until the tv shuts itself off from lack of activity. Phil doesn't let go of Dan's hand the entire time.

At some point in the middle of a 'pants ripping on stage' story, Phil finds himself yawning.

Dan smiles, cutting himself off. "I'll tell you the rest later, you should really get some sleep. But. Yeah. That's me. I'm a giant fail and, also, the guy you hitched your wagon to."

"I'm glad," says Phil around another yawn. "You're funny and weird and cute. I like that in a guy."

"I like your mum in a guy," Dan says nonsensically.

"Mm. Think it's your bedtime, too."

"Yeah," says Dan. He doesn't seem like he's in a hurry to get off the sofa, though, and Phil knows how he feels.

Feeling brave with the good conversation and late hour, Phil rubs his thumb over the side of Dan's palm. "You should - you don't have to sleep in the guest room, y'know. It's your bed too, isn't it? I've been stealing it all week."

"I don't mind," Dan says.

"I mind," Phil says. "You should come to bed with me."

A little more forward than he'd meant to be, but whatever. Dan was his, even if it felt like he hadn't earned him, so there was no reason to feel weird about wanting him close.

Dan wiggles his eyebrows and Phil laughs, tugging them both to their feet. He almost falls over, but he refuses to let go of Dan's hand. They're giggling and stumbling and shushing each other on the stairs even though nobody else is around to hear them, and Phil feels lighter than air.

He can do this. If every moment is as easy as leading Dan to their bedroom by the hand, then he thinks he can finish what he'd started all those years ago.

"Gotta brush my teeth or I won't sleep," Dan says, squeezing Phil's hand apologetically before he lets go. Phil feels his hand flex in the absence of Dan's. "Why don't you pick us some pyjamas?"

So Phil digs around their drawers and closet again, not really minding the mess he leaves in his wake as he finds comfy bottoms and bright shirts. The look on Dan's face when he comes back is worth it. Phil brings his own pyjamas into the bathroom to change and takes his glasses off so that he doesn't have to look at himself brushing his teeth and washing his face.

That's one of the scariest parts still. Phil doesn't know the person looking back at him from the mirror.

He puts his glasses back on once he's turned away from the mirror, both so he can make his way back to bed uninjured and so that he can look at Dan a little more.

Dan is tidying up a little, just closing drawers and idly sorting Phil's dirty laundry on the floor, but he stops when he notices Phil's return.

"You're the worst person to live with," Dan informs him, tone soft. "You're so messy."

"Sorry," Phil says without any real heat.

"I don't have to stay here," says Dan. He's standing rather still, like he thinks that he's going to scare Phil off somehow. "Or I can stay til you fall asleep and then leave, whatever makes you comfortable."

"I'd be more comfortable with you here all night," Phil says, dropping onto his side of the bed and patting the other. "C'mere, Dimples."

"Dimples?" Dan repeats, showing them off.

"You've got them," says Phil. He's too tired to really explain himself. "Two of them."

"I know, I'm disformed on both sides of my face."

"You're pretty on both sides of your face," Phil argues, starting to feel lazy and a little grumpy from how close sleep is. He yawns and sets his glasses on his nightstand. "I'm too tired to flirt, just get over here and snuggle with me. You wanna be the big spoon or the little spoon?"

"Little, always," Dan scoffs. "Everybody knows little spoon is the best."

He turns off the lamps before he crawls under the soft duvet with Phil, and they sigh in harmony as their hands find each other again.

"Feels better with you here," Phil murmurs, fighting to keep his eyes open even though he can't see anything.

"Good," Dan says on a hum. He turns and gently pulls Phil into a cuddle, both of them on their sides and hands interlocked on Dan's chest. Phil can feel his heartbeat as he rests his nose in the curve of Dan's shoulder, and he inhales.

It's much better than curling up with Dan's pillow. The citrus scent comes straight from Dan's hair, makes Phil feel warm and cozy as he drifts off.

He could get used to this.

Every morning after that, they wake up tangled together. Phil expects there to be some awkwardness, because he's never slept beside someone without that stilted conversation in the light of day, but there isn't any.

("Your elbow is in my spleen," Dan informs him without opening his eyes. His voice is deep and inviting with sleep.

"Sorry," Phil grunts, pulling all his bony limbs away from Dan to sprawl on his back.

Dan makes a grumbling sort of noise and curls into Phil's side, arm flung over Phil's hips and cheek resting on Phil's collarbone. Every time he exhales, Phil feels it on his neck and smells his morning breath, but it's bearable. They don't get out of bed for a while.)

Sometimes Dan makes breakfast and sometimes Phil does. They follow each other around the kitchen, Phil making bad puns and Dan closing all the cupboards, and it's companionable. They take their food into the lounge every time and watch an episode or two of something Phil hasn't seen before. He absently wonders if their table is just for show, since they never seem to use it.

("We use it when we have guests," Dan insists.

"And how often do we have guests, Daniel?" Phil asks, poking Dan in the ribs.)

Dan is there for him when he has to deal with the harder things. He holds Phil's hand when he's on the phone with his parents, waits quietly with Phil after the MRI, doesn't laugh at him when Phil almost starts crying at the reflection he sees.

("You're still hot," says Dan, winding his arms around Phil's waist and hooking his chin over Phil's shoulder. They're both facing the mirror, and Phil thinks that he looks better with Dan next to him.

"I've got greys," says Phil. He runs his fingers through his hair like it'll change that fact.

"You dye it anyway," says Dan. "Want me to touch up your roots?")

He exhales. In Dan's arms, he can breathe.

"You don't have to do this," Dan reminds him for the hundredth time. He adjusts the light and camera anyway, because Phil has been insisting for a while now.

"I like making videos," says Phil. It's strange to just be sat in one place and talk to the camera, but Dan had let him watch a few of his more recent videos, and it seems like that's his whole deal now. Maybe he'll transition into more creative stuff again now that he's got the reins of this, but for now he's happy to do what his audience is familiar with.

"I know you do," Dan says fondly.

"You're so far away, though," Phil pouts, reaching for Dan. It makes something in his chest swoop when Dan comes easily, wrapping his arms around Phil's neck.

"Sorry," says Phil, nosing into Dan's curls. He's sitting in his office chair and it's easy to pull at Dan until his long limbs are tangled with Phil's and they're dangerously close to falling backwards. "I know none of this is easy for you."

"Could be worse," Dan says, settling on Phil's thighs properly and pulling back to dimple at him. "You're here, aren't you."

Maybe it's muscle memory or maybe Phil just wants to so badly that he doesn't even think about it, but he's leaning in and pressing his lips to Dan's before he can tell himself it's a bad idea.

Dan smiles against his mouth, thumb rubbing circles on the back of Phil's neck and knees on either side of Phil's hips. Phil wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

After what feels like an hour of just Dan's chapped lips on his own, Phil hums into the kiss. "Mm, don't think I can film with you in my lap."

"You could do," Dan teases, but he stands up anyway and flicks everything on. "Go on, then."

"Hi guys," Phil tells the camera, doing the wave he'd watched himself do over and over the previous day. He can't stop himself from glancing up at Dan, those warm brown eyes more of a draw than the camera lens. "Things have been a little weird lately. Like, weirder than usual. Strap yourselves in."

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #dnp fic #words words words #2019

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