#Tight Space Demo Bar

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say less

summary: a midnight demo and your voice on his track dom had no idea you were the harmony he didn’t know he needed.

word count: 4.6k words

a/n: this was a request! i hope you enjoy!

⸻

Your phone buzzed just after midnight, one sharp vibration across the marble countertop where you’d left it charging, barely loud enough to break the quiet hum of your apartment.

You padded across the floor in socks, half-asleep and still glowing faintly from the aftertaste of a long studio day, and flipped the screen over.

Kevin Abstract: 😏[Google Drive link: Geezer (Dom’s Crybaby Demos)]

You blinked. Then blinked again.

Typical Kevin. No explanation. No context. Just vibes and a vaguely suspicious file title. Still, your curiosity got the better of you. You grabbed your headphones off the couch, plugged in, and opened the link.

The first file was unlabeled, just a string of numbers and the word “rough.”

Classic Dom.

You hit play. The track opened with a few scratchy bars of guitar, stripped raw like it had been recorded in the middle of the night on the first take because knowing Dom, it probably was. Then came his voice. Softer than usual. Unpolished. Honest in that way that made your chest pull tight before you even caught the lyrics.

You sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on knees, the city quiet outside your windows as the song filled the room like a secret. His voice cracked halfway through the second verse not because he missed the note, but because he meant it. It was that Dominic Fike signature, a little reckless, a little broken, impossibly beautiful in its imperfection.

He sang like he didn’t know anyone would ever hear it and god, something about that made your heart ache. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until the track faded out and the silence hit, sharp and sudden.

Your phone lit again.

Kevin Abstract: You didn’t hear this from me. But Dom’s been stuck on this one for weeks. He won’t admit it, but he wants a feature just won’t say who😮‍💨

You read the text twice, eyes darting back to the open file. You could still feel the ghost of his voice in your chest. Then three dots appeared.

Kevin Abstract: You in?

You stared at the message for a long second, thumb hovering over your screen, suddenly way more awake than you had any right to be. Your heart beat faster not with nerves, exactly, but with knowing. Like standing on the edge of something that already felt inevitable.

Because the thing was this wasn’t the first time the idea had come up.

Dom had teased it months ago casual, offhand, almost like he was testing the waters. “We should do something sometime. Would be fun.”

And you’d played it cool. Laughed, shrugged, said something deflective. But deep down, you’d wanted it. You’d wanted this. Him. In that creative space with you. Not just as the boy who made your heart race, but as the artist who made your head spin.

You wanted the mess and the magic and the way his voice curved around emotion like it was carved to fit. You wanted the real Dom. In the booth. No filters. No ego. Just you and him, and whatever the hell you could make together.

Your fingers moved before you could second guess it.

For Dom?

Say less.

⸻

You pulled into the back lot just before 1 a.m., headlights cutting briefly across the side of the building before flicking off. The engine hummed in the silence for a beat too long before you finally killed it, sitting still in the dark for a moment hoodie drawn low over your head, sunglasses still perched on the bridge of your nose despite the fact that the moon was the only thing watching.

Classic L.A. behavior. But tonight wasn’t about being seen. Tonight was about being felt. Kevin met you at the side door, hoodie up and grinning like a kid sneaking into his own birthday party. He cracked the door open just wide enough for you to slip in.

“You look like you’re about to rob the place,” he whispered, eyes dancing.

You tugged your hood a little lower, lowering your sunglasses just enough to peer at him. “Well,” you deadpanned, “I am stealing his song. Temporarily.”

Kevin snorted, quickly locking the door behind you. “Fair.”

The studio smelled like long hours faint incense, leftover takeout, and the warm metallic tang of gear that had been humming all day. Most of the overheads were off, casting the space in a soft, golden half light. The mixing console glowed like it had a secret, and maybe it did.

You stepped inside and let the door shut behind you with a soft click, muffling the rest of the world. The city could wait. Kevin didn’t say anything as he moved toward the booth just pulled up the project file and clicked through the tracks like he’d done it a hundred times. He paused with one finger over the play button, glanced over at you, then gave the smallest nod.

You pulled your hoodie back and slipped on the headphones. Then play. Dom’s voice hit you instantly. No build up, no polish. Just him.

Raw. Quiet. Close.

You swore you could hear the room he recorded it in the creak of the stool, the breath he took before the first line. The guitar was barely there, more feeling than sound. The drums whispered underneath like they were afraid to interrupt. And his voice god, his voice. It wasn’t perfect, and that’s what made it brutal. That familiar rasp. The little cracks in the second verse where it sounded like he might break but pushed through anyway. Like every word cost him something to say.

You sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, elbows on your knees, your thumb absently tapping your bottom lip as you listened. It felt like he was confessing something he hadn’t even admitted to himself yet. Like this track wasn’t made for release it was made because he had to. The bridge hit and took your breath with it.

“Did you know I only write about the things I never say out loud?”

Your chest ached just a little. You smiled, small and reverent.

“Jesus, Dom,” you whispered.

The track faded into silence, and the room held its breath with you. You didn’t move for a second. Didn’t want to. But the moment passed like all moments do. And then, your instinct kicked in.

“Can you loop the second half?” you asked, voice low but steady, rising from the couch with a new kind of energy threading through you.

Kevin was already on it. The mic smelled faintly like eucalyptus and old stories. You adjusted your headphones, tapped the stand once, and rolled your shoulders back. No plan. No scribbled lyrics. Just your voice. And his.

You started small, a low hum that curled under his vocals like a second thought. Then came the harmonies, soft and close, shaping themselves around his melody with the kind of ease that only came when you weren’t thinking too hard. It felt like talking to him through the music. Like answering something he didn’t know he’d asked. Then came the verse.

Not too clean. Not too sharp. You didn’t want it perfect. You wanted real. Your voice dipped and rose, danced with his, not overpowering, just with.

The words came easy. The emotion, easier. Kevin sat back in the chair, hands frozen on the console, lips slightly parted like he forgot how to breathe. When you finished, you pulled off the headphones slowly, your breath still shaky from the last note. The studio fell into that sacred kind of silence the kind that follows something true.

Kevin didn’t speak. Just hit play again, eyes focused, jaw slack. When the final harmony faded, he let out a low exhale and swiveled in his chair.

“He’s gonna flip when he hears this.”

You leaned against the booth doorway, arms folded, the smallest smirk tugging at your lips.

“That’s the idea.”

⸻

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Dom wasn’t even meant to be at the studio until the afternoon. That was the plan a late call time, a slow ease into the day, maybe some half-hearted journaling and a smoothie before diving into the tracklist. He’d even told Kevin he needed “a reset,” like his brain was a dusty etch a sketch that just needed shaking.

Kevin had nodded, said “bet,” and planned everything around it.

But Dom being Dom got restless. He woke up early, mind spinning, something tugging at him like gravity. So he threw on a hoodie, didn’t brush his hair, grabbed the first snack he could find, and headed to the studio like a man possessed.

At 10:47 a.m., the side door clicked open.

“Yo,” he called out casually, stepping in mid-thought, half of a granola bar clutched between his fingers and his phone still lit with scribbled voice memo notes. “So I was thinking, for the bridge on ‘Ghosts’ maybe we strip the drums out entirely. Just let the vocal carry it like, almost naked, right?”

He didn’t get to finish. Because something was playing through the monitors already. Low volume. An old mix, maybe? He didn’t really clock it until it hit the second verse. His voice. The one he recorded weeks ago raw and too emotional, the kind he almost didn’t want anyone to hear. And then her.

Dom froze in the middle of the room, the granola bar halfway to his mouth, his sentence stalling midair like someone had hit pause on his entire body. Her voice. Clear. Warm. Cutting through his like sunlight through a dusty window. It was hers, no question and yet it blended with his in a way that felt seamless. Like her voice had always been there, quietly haunting the edges of the song, just waiting to be turned up.

The sound wrapped around his second verse like it belonged there. Intimate. Intentional. Soft in the places he broke. Strong in the places he held back.

He blinked, shoulders stiffening, foot still slightly raised like he’d forgotten how to finish the step he started.

“Wait, hold up,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “Is that…?” He walked forward, slowly now, pulled like a tide he didn’t understand. Around the corner. Past the racks of cables. Straight toward the booth.

And then he saw her.

You.

In his booth.

Completely in your own world, headphones on, hoodie sleeves pushed to your elbows. One hand cupping your ear. The other tapping against your thigh in time with the beat. You were humming into the mic, soft background harmonies, tucked right under his vocal line. Your expression focused, peaceful. You didn’t even look like you were trying hard. You were just being and it was stunning.

His chest went tight. And then warm. And then all kinds of messed up.

You hadn’t seen him yet. Which made it worse or better. He couldn’t decide.

Kevin, meanwhile, was absolutely thriving. Leaning back in the engineer’s chair with his feet propped up and a shit eating grin stretching across his face, he looked like a man watching a rom-com unfold in real time.

“Surprise, bro,” he said, not even trying to hide the delight in his voice.

Dom didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His mouth was open, but the words weren’t working. All he could do was look at you, at the way you moved, at how effortlessly your voice wove into his, at the way you somehow made his unfinished track feel finished.

His heart was doing the absolute most in his chest. A full sprint. No warm up.

You finally glanced up, sensing the shift in energy and your eyes locked with his through the booth glass.

For a second, time stretched. Hung. And then, without missing a beat, you smiled. Not an apologetic one. Not shy. Just that easy, knowing grin the kind that said yeah, I did this on purpose.

And then you winked. Playful. Shameless. A little too good. Dom clutched his hoodie strings like they might ground him.

His hand went to his mouth instinctively, like it could hold in the reaction the grin that broke across his face so fast it startled even him. His eyes softened in real time. That wide, awestruck, what the fuck kind of look that no one ever got from him unless they’d earned it. He looked like he’d just walked straight into a dream and wasn’t sure whether to speak or sit down and thank someone.

Kevin, barely containing himself, leaned over the console and stage whispered like David Attenborough narrating a wildlife special. 

“Look at him. Man’s done for.”

And yeah he absolutely was.

⸻

By the time the booth door finally opened and you stepped out, Dom still hadn’t fully recovered.

He was leaning against the console like it was the only thing holding him upright, one hand still absently clutching the headphones he’d ripped off minutes ago, eyes locked on you like he didn’t quite trust that you were real.

He was smiling wide, open, soft around the edges. The kind of smile people tried to write songs about and never quite got right. Like someone had just handed him his dream on a silver platter and whispered, it’s yours if you want it. Like if he blinked, you’d vanish.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said, his voice low, a little breathless, like he was trying to sound annoyed but couldn’t stop his mouth from curling into a grin.

You crossed your arms loosely, fighting your own smirk. “Wasn’t my surprise to ruin.”

He ran a hand down his face like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Looked at Kevin through the glass like he was debating whether to throw hands or give him a standing ovation. Kevin just threw up two triumphant thumbs and slapped the record button like he was directing a rom-com.

And then it was on. You slipped back into the booth, this time with Dom beside you, both of you facing your mics, your lyric sheets, your self control.

Your mics were spaced out enough to keep it technically professional. Emotionally? Not even close. The second playback started, something shifted. The air in the room turned electric sharper, heavier. Like the music was pulling some invisible thread tighter with every bar.

You came in first your harmonies sliding in like smoke curling under a door, instinctive and warm. Dom turned his head slightly when he heard it again, like it was the first time, like it still surprised him how right it sounded.

By the time his verse kicked in, you were already scribbling ideas, adjusting phrasing in your head. You didn’t want to just fit into the song you wanted to answer it. Echo it. Challenge it.

Dom caught you flipping through your notes between takes, a grin tugging at his lips.

“I think I’m gonna flip the second line,” you said, chewing your pen cap as you made a quick edit. “Make it more of a response. More bite.”

Dom raised a brow. “You’re rewriting again?”

You didn’t even look up. “Keep up, rockstar.”

His laugh was immediate, full and unfiltered. It bounced off the booth walls and landed right in your chest.

Kevin’s voice crackled through the talkback mic. “God, this is gross. Can y’all flirt after we get a clean take?”

Dom looked toward the glass, deadpan. “We’re professionals, Kevin.”

You turned to him, raising your brows like are we really doing this? “Are we?”

He lost it. Full body laugh. Head back. Shoulders shaking. One hand pressed to his chest like you’d just knocked the wind out of him with a single sentence. You tried to keep your expression straight, but it was a losing battle. He was grinning too hard. You were grinning too hard. It was chaos. It was chemistry. It was the most fun either of you had had in a studio in months.

“This is insane,” he muttered after he got his breath back, adjusting his headphones. “You’re way too good at this. It’s rude, actually.”

You scoffed. “I’m rude?” You gave him a mock scandalized look. “Coming from the guy who casually drops heartache into a demo like it’s no big deal?”

Dom shrugged, smirking. “I do what I can.”

You rolled your eyes but your smile betrayed you. And then the track rolled again. This time, your voices didn’t just blend they collided, danced, tangled. You didn’t have to look at each other to know exactly where to pause, where to push, where to leave space for the other. It was effortless. And completely not safe. Every glance between takes held a little more weight. Every note hummed with something unspoken. Every harmony was less about pitch and more about tension. Kevin let it go for a while, but eventually, even he couldn’t take it.

“Yeah, we’re not finishing this song today,” he muttered under his breath, dragging his hoodie over his face like he needed to shield himself from whatever emotional firestorm was happening on the other side of the glass. “Y’all are killing me.”

Dom just leaned toward you slightly, the corner of his mouth still quirked.

“Not to be dramatic or anything,” he said, softer now, “but this might be my favorite version of this song. Ever.”

You didn’t say anything at first. You just bumped your shoulder gently into his, close enough that your arms brushed. And stayed that way. The track rolled again.

And neither of you moved away.

⸻

The studio was almost completely silent now.

No music. No buzzing monitors. No Kevin shouting sarcastic commentary through the talkback mic. Just stillness soft and golden and sacred in that way studios get when the work is done, but the moment isn’t over.

The overheads had been dimmed to their lowest setting, casting a warm glow across the space like dusk frozen in amber. It pooled in corners, softened edges, made shadows look kinder. The leather couch you’d collapsed onto hours ago creaked faintly as you shifted, worn and familiar and exactly the kind of place you could stay for a while.

Kevin had left with a dramatic flourish and a parting shot something about “you two better name your duo project after me or I’m suing for emotional damages” and then he was gone, the click of the door leaving a new kind of hush in his absence.

Now it was just the two of you. You and Dom, legs stretched out in opposite directions, one of his socks balled up on the floor like it had tapped out first. A single water bottle being passed back and forth without a word, condensation slicking your fingers each time.

You were both flushed skin warm, cheeks pink from laughing too hard and singing too long and maybe from the fact that you still hadn’t quite come down from whatever that was in the booth. That feeling like the two of you had cracked something open. Not just in the music but in each other.

Hair messy. Clothes rumpled. The kind of tired that felt earned. Dom tilted his head back against the cushion with a quiet sigh, like it had taken him all day to remember how to exhale like that. His fingers drummed absentmindedly against the bottle cap as he turned to look at you.

And then he didn’t look away. He just watched you for a moment really watched you like he was letting himself see you without the adrenaline and distractions. Without the music playing or the mics hot. Just you, sitting next to him in this soft, suspended quiet.

“You didn’t have to do all this for me,” he said finally, voice low, the kind of low that feels like a secret. Like truth slipping out before ego can catch it.

You blinked, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. But then you smiled, slow and sleepy, like the answer was obvious. “Of course I did.”

He shifted slightly, his knee brushing yours. Not an accident. You didn’t move away.

“You’re brilliant, Dom,” you said simply, your voice matching his unpolished but true. “You just don’t always see it.”

You shrugged like it was nothing. Like that kind of faith in him didn’t cost you anything. But it kind of did. It was that rare, unguarded kind of belief that only came when you really meant it. He looked at you like he knew that.

Stared for a beat too long, like he was searching your face for whatever it was you saw in him. And then he looked down, let out a breathy, broken little laugh not the flirty kind, but the overwhelmed kind. The you’re wrecking me and you don’t even know it kind.

His voice cracked slightly as he said, “You’re the most talented person I’ve ever met.”

You froze just a second. Then you tilted your head, caught off guard by the sincerity pouring out of him. But you didn’t stop him. You wanted to hear it.

“Not just like ‘she’s hot and can sing,’” he added quickly, like he was trying to untangle his thoughts and failing spectacularly. “Even though that’s, like obviously true.”

You snorted quietly.

“But you’re it. You’re the real deal. You don’t just walk into a room and light it up you build the fire. You make the whole thing warmer.”

He swallowed hard, eyes flicking down to his lap, like he hadn’t meant to say it quite like that. Like it slipped out too honest.

“I still don’t get how I got lucky enough to have you here. On my song. In my booth. Sitting here like this.”

Your heart thudded, quiet but certain. Like it had been waiting for that moment. For him to see you back. You didn’t rush to answer. You just leaned over and gently bumped your head against his shoulder soft, slow and said, “Well. You’re welcome for your best track.”

That made him laugh, really laugh. The kind that made his whole chest move, made him shake his head like he couldn’t believe you.

He nudged your knee with his again. “See? That’s the problem,” he muttered, voice warm and wrecked and full of something he wasn’t quite naming yet. “You’re cool and you’re humble. It’s exhausting, honestly.”

You grinned and let your head stay there, resting against him. Neither of you said anything else for a while. You didn’t need to. The music was gone, but the moment stayed. Full and quiet and golden. Heavy in the way only intimacy can be when it sneaks up on you and settles in without asking. The studio didn’t feel like a workspace anymore. It felt like a secret. And neither of you rushed to break it.

Because some silences feel less like an ending and more like the start of something you don’t want to name just yet.

⸻

The track rolled from the top, crisp and clean this time the final mix, every piece of it sharpened and smoothed like glass. The harmonies tucked just right under the melody. The bass line hugged the low end without smothering it. The reverb on your last note faded out with the kind of timing that made Kevin sit back and mutter, “Damn, that’s cinematic.”

But somehow, it still felt raw. Still felt like the first time you heard it. Like it hadn’t been touched at all. Like it came straight from a heartbeat.

Dom’s head was bobbing before the first chorus even hit, one leg bouncing, lips moving with the words like he couldn’t help but sing along. His hoodie sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, exposing the fading imprint of his guitar strap across his arm. He looked like a kid on christmas morning wide eyed, beaming, a little stunned.

The grin tugging at his mouth was huge unguarded, messy, pure. The kind of joy that couldn’t be staged or filtered or rehearsed. The kind that only happened when something finally came together in a way that made you come together too. 

He kept sneaking glances at you out of the corner of his eye, like he needed to check if you were hearing it the same way. If you knew. Because this wasn’t just a track anymore. It was yours. And his. And no one else’s.

When the final harmony faded that soft, aching note you added at the very last second, the one that sounded like the emotional equivalent of a hand brushing skin the room dipped into silence so full it was almost holy. Dom let out a low whistle, exhaling like he’d just held his breath for the entire track.

And then, without missing a beat, “This one’s not going on the album.”

You blinked, turning toward him, one brow raised. “Excuse me?”

He looked at you, completely serious, but the grin on his face betrayed him. He looked ridiculous. Giddy. A little in love.

“It’s going on every album. From now on. All of them.”

You burst out laughing, leaning back on your palms. “At least put me on the deluxe, damn. Let a girl breathe.”

He was halfway through forming a reply and judging by the look on his face, it was going to be flirty and probably a little unhinged when the door creaked open behind you.

Kevin strolled back in like he hadn’t just left a nuclear moment brewing in his absence. Snapple in hand. Hoodie sleeves bunched up. Chaos in his eyes.

“Or,” he said casually, eyes flicking between the two of you, “you two could just date already and make a whole joint project. Blush x Lovers collab incoming.”

The silence that followed was immediate and deafening. You and Dom froze. The kind of stillness that’s instinctual like your bodies knew before your brains did that this was a moment.

Then you looked at each other. Then immediately looked away. You felt it the second it happened the heat rising from your collarbones to your cheeks, ears burning like someone had spotlighted you onstage with no warning. Dom wasn’t any better his face had turned the color of his snapple cap, and he was suddenly very interested in the floor. You snatched the nearest throw pillow off the couch and launched it at Kevin. It hit him square in the chest. He didn’t even flinch. Just took a long sip of his drink like he’d been waiting for this exact moment to unfold.

“I’m just saying,” he added, completely unfazed. “It’d go platinum.”

You looked at Dom, waiting for him to protest to roll his eyes or deflect or change the subject. But he didn’t. He just smiled slow, quiet, genuine. And blushed even harder.

You squinted. “You’re seriously not gonna defend yourself right now?”

Dom shrugged, eyes twinkling with something warm and weightless and way too honest. “He’s not wrong.”

Your heart kicked in your chest too fast, too full. You didn’t push it. You didn’t name it. But you didn’t deny it either. You just gave him that soft, tilted smile the one you always gave when you meant something but didn’t want to make a big deal about it. The one that said I see you.

And Dom? He gave it right back. Like yeah. I see you too.

The track looped again in the background, quieter this time like it was bowing out, letting the moment take center stage. And it didn’t feel like an ending. It felt like the start of something you hadn’t even written yet.

Something unreleased. Unlabeled.

But already playing on repeat.

⸻

MASTERLIST

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[newformkitchenmore]

How to Personalize Your Kitchen Remodel Without Blowing the Budget

Everyone wants a kitchen that feels like theirs. Not something that looks copy-pasted from a showroom. But let’s be real—adding personal touches during a Kitchen Remodel can feel pricey if you’re not careful. You don’t need to spend like a celebrity to get a space that reflects your style. You just need a smart plan and a creative Kitchen Contractor who knows how to stretch every dollar.

At Newform Kitchens & More, we help Anaheim homeowners build kitchens with personality—without breaking their budgets. Here’s how you can add custom vibes to your remodel while still keeping things lean, clean, and totally yours.

Use Color Where It Matters Most

You don’t have to commit to a full forest-green cabinet set. Add color on a smaller scale. A bold island. Painted lower cabinets. A statement pantry door. Or even just inside your drawers. You get personality without regret.

Working with the right Kitchen Remodel Contractors Near Me means knowing where color feels fun—not forced—and how it can change a room without a full cabinet overhaul.

Swap Builder-Grade for Character Pieces

The fastest way to personalize a space? Change one or two standard pieces for something that speaks your style. Think a vintage light fixture over the island. A handmade backsplash. A reclaimed wood shelf instead of another row of uppers.

Small swaps create big visual shifts. These touches cost less than gutting the kitchen but give you a remodel that feels nothing like everyone else’s.

Customize Your Storage—Not Your Layout

You don’t have to reconfigure every wall to feel customized. Keep the layout simple and personalize what goes inside the cabinets. Pull-out trays. Drawer dividers. Lazy Susans. These details shape how the kitchen fits you—and they’re way cheaper than moving plumbing.

This is where smart Kitchen and Bathroom Remodeling work shines. We keep the structure and flow simple and use your budget for clever upgrades behind the doors.

Mix Materials for Layered Style

Using all one finish makes things feel flat. But mixing just two or three materials—carefully—creates depth. Quartz countertop with a butcher block bar. Matte black hardware with brass lighting. Ceramic tile next to a natural stone slab.

A thoughtful Kitchen Renovation includes texture and tone to keep things personal without piling on costs.

Get Creative with Open Shelving

Open shelving lets you show off your taste without adding big bucks. Plants. Vintage bowls. Cookbooks. Even just nice jars. Shelves cost less than closed cabinets and they help you express your look in a liveable, flexible way.

Ask your Kitchen Contractors Near Me about floating wood shelves or metal brackets that match your faucet. These small additions create that custom-built feel—on a tight timeline.

Why Choose Us at Newform Kitchens & More

We Help You Prioritize Personality Without Pressure Not every project needs a full demo. We guide you through where your money makes the most difference and how your unique style can show up without expensive overhauls.

We Customize With Purpose Not Just Price Tags Custom doesn’t mean costly. Sometimes it’s a hardware swap. Sometimes it’s a cabinet with a unique finish. We help you choose impactful touches that reflect you without draining your wallet.

We Keep Your Style Consistent from Start to Finish We tie every detail together. From your drawer handles to your grout lines, we make sure the whole kitchen speaks your language. That’s what makes a space feel truly personal.

We Respect Budgets as Much as Design You tell us the number. We build the plan. No shame. No upsells. Just smart solutions, value-focused options, and honest advice about what’s worth it and what’s not.

We Blend Function and Style in Equal Measure Your space has to work before it can wow. We focus on how you cook, clean, and live—then design around it with features that match your habits and your taste.

We Treat Your Kitchen Like It’s Ours We care about the result. We care about your happiness. We build every kitchen with craft, care, and intention—like we were going to cook in it ourselves every day.

FAQs About Budget-Friendly Kitchen Remodels with Personal Style

Q: What’s the easiest way to personalize a Kitchen Remodel in Anaheim CA without overspending? Start with hardware, lighting, and backsplashes. These change the look fast and don’t require major layout changes or costly installations.

Q: Can I reuse any of my cabinets in a budget remodel in Santa Ana CA? Yes. If the cabinet boxes are in good shape, we can reface them or paint them. Then add new hardware and soft-close features for a fresh but cost-effective upgrade.

Q: How do I find a Kitchen Contractor who works within a tight budget in Irvine CA? Ask for flexible design services and real cost estimates—not vague promises. We always offer budget-conscious paths for homeowners who want custom results without high costs.

Q: Are prefab cabinets a good choice during a Kitchen Renovation in Fullerton CA? Yes. Many prefab options are high quality and customizable with colors, handles, and interior storage solutions. We help you pick the ones that suit your space best.

Q: Do Kitchen Contractors Near Me offer partial remodels in Garden Grove CA? We do. Whether it’s new counters, upgraded lighting, or a backsplash refresh, we help you transform the feel of your kitchen one smart piece at a time.

Q: How much does a personalized Kitchen and Bathroom Remodeling project usually cost in Huntington Beach CA? Prices vary by materials and scale, but we always create personalized, itemized plans. We make sure your design fits your goals and your numbers.

Make It Yours Without Breaking the Bank

A personalized Kitchen Remodel doesn’t mean spending endlessly. It means spending intentionally. At Newform Kitchens & More, we specialize in making kitchens that feel custom—even on a budget.

Contact Newform Kitchens & More Address: 1385 S State College Blvd, Anaheim, CA 92806, United States Phone: +1 (714) 563-2050

Let’s create something that fits your life, your taste, and your budget. Personal touches. Smart upgrades. Zero regret. We’re ready when you are.

[justyoursicanon]

Hey, it's me the anooon

Uh, maybe something for a certain... one eyes bomber-

Basically Demo with a male S/o who will pass out due to their really reaaaally low alcohol tolerance-

Sorta like how Mark can't handle alcohol but not lethal-

Here ya go anon! (Yes I know thats you G-)

Alcohol is mentioned but overall enjoy!

"And so then I said 'holy shit man that the best ya got? I seriously could beat your ass!-'" Scout continued rambling on about to the others as they celebrated their victory once again. Surprisingly, Spy had decided to pay for drinks tonight since everyone seemed to do 'better then the average as Spy had stated.

And of course, with drinks being paid by probably the richest merc, Demo may or may not have taken advantage of that.

"Aye Scout! And what happened next lad? Did the man kick your arse?" Demo slurred out as he finished another glass. Scout replied to him in great detail how he won the bar fight, until someone came up and interrupted them.

"Say, sorry to ruin your fun boys but Demo I kinda need your help." Engineer said as he grunted and adjusted his arm, which was occupied as it slung around half of Y/N's body to keep the man steady. Demo had quickly forgotten his empty bottle to gather Y/N in his arms. "I'll leave ya boys be, come on Scout I think Sniper's bouta start his little saxophone show in a bit." Scout seemed to light up at the statement and quickly followed Engineer to the small stage at the bar.

"What happened to ya love? Thought ya said ya didn't want to drink while your here?" Demo asked as he set him down on the chair beside him. Y/N only groaned as they leaned onto Demo's chest. "Did I say that??? Naaah not only did I say I would go for youuu but I also said i would try just a tinsy bit." He describes his 'tinsy bit' by putting his thumb and pointing finger together, only to leave a very tiny space in the middle. Demo laughed as he hugged him tight. "Aye your always a cute little one aint ya?" Y/N giggled and kissed Demo's cheek. "Mmm I don't knoow Taves, your definitely cuter hereeee~" But as soon as he tried to continue, his head fell on the others shoulder and soft snores can be heard. Demo only laughed again as he placed a small kiss onto his boyfriends head.

[tf2workbench]

Follow the bouncing grenade

A month or so ago, I talked about rockets that could ricochet off walls. A month or so before that, I gave up talking about stickybombs that could do the same thing. And now we’re gonna meet in the middle: grenades that can bounce off walls.

Bouncing Grenade Launcher Iteration 1 (+/-) Grenades ricochet off surfaces once before losing their bounce (+) Grenades explode on impact until touching the world a second time (+/-) Can hit self with bouncing grenades (-) -25% clip size

As when I did the rocket launcher, I’m going to independently discuss a few facets of the weapon.

You can do a significant amount of damage by bouncing grenades around corners.

Right angles and tight spaces are ideal for this grenade launcher. Even if you’re not really aiming at anyone, you can still score direct hits on foes who happen to be in the wrong place. Unlike with stickybombs, you don’t even really have to move close to the corner to fire them, which gives you unprecedented indirect-fire capability. How difficult might it be to root out the Demoman who fires around blind corners? Hard to tell, but we’ll keep an eye on this.

Unlike with the rocket launcher, it doesn’t really alter how you position yourself.

When I attached this attribute to a rocket launcher, I remarked that firing down from above was no longer as viable. By contrast, grenades don’t explode when they hit the environment, so your position relative to your target doesn’t really matter. Unlike the rocket launcher, this grenade launcher is no worse at direct combat than its stock equivalent - but, because it’s a grenade launcher, it’s still not as versatile as a rocket launcher.

Your effective range is increased.

Because you can bounce grenades along the ground without them taking any damage penalties, your grenades can fly a lot further before they explode. This can be very handy against sentries or Snipers, but requires very careful aim (and maybe a little luck).

On the other hand, it’ll be difficult to put “rollers” (grenades on the ground) in the place you want. This may not come up very often, but there are times when rollers can be useful for area denial.

Fighting in closed spaces may come back to bite you.

I explicitly noted that ricocheting grenades can hit you, which may pose a problem if you’re firing in tight spaces. Don’t miss your shots, or you might hit yourself in the face! This brings another element of the environment into your consideration.

It’s hard to aim.

This may be obvious, but it’s hard to aim regular grenades, let alone account for bouncing off map geometry. It’s far from impossible - people will learn a lot of odd skills if they really want to - but, if it’s too hard, we run the risk of 1) newcomers becoming too frustrated to try and 2) enemies feeling that kills with this weapon were more luck than skill. I alluded to this when I talked about blind corners, where I fear that Demos would do a lot more spamming than aiming. This is all uncertain, though, and I’d be interested to see how it really plays out.

Grenade jumps become significantly easier.

This is my favorite part of the weapon, bar none. By firing at the right angle, you can hit yourself with a grenade, flying into the air. This is quick (i.e. combat-viable) and powerful, with similar force to a rocket jump. It’ll take off a decent chunk of health, but that’s the price you have to pay. It’s a great way to deepen gameplay with this grenade launcher!

Conclusion We’re certainly dealing with something a little different than the rocket launcher I keep mentioning. Honestly, this grenade launcher seems very powerful, but what’s more important is that it’s interesting; there’s all manner of new things to consider. I’d be very interested to see what people could do with it that I haven’t thought about, and I’d welcome you to ask questions or discuss how you’d use it.

One other thing to consider is that I almost decided to make the projectiles like pseudo-cannonballs, not exploding on direct hit until they bounced once. I rejected this as too complex, but it might be a useful way to nerf the weapon if it becomes too powerful. Would you prefer to see that, or do you like the launcher the way it is?

[toolaisle]

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What Makes It a Must-Have:

Tear down smarter, not harder—add this game-changer to your demolition kit today!

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[thetoolaisle]

Shield Your Hands with Extreme Protection!

Demolition work is brutal—and your hands deserve the best defense. The Gutster Demolition Impact Gloves - XL offer gel-padded comfort, cut resistance, and TPR protection, so you can work hard without compromising safety.

What Makes It Stand Out:

Get your pair now and protect what matters most—your hands.

Shop now: https://zurl.co/NVSgO

[matbarzyy]

Wasted Love (part 3) [T.S.]

A/N: I have no motivation to write so enjoy this even though I was supposed to make this chapter a lot longer. Hopefully I’ll be back with the rest of this series soon but who knows at this point lolz (getting this degree is going to end me)

Word count: 1932

.

Easter brought about yet another event at the rink. Alessia was quietly finishing up work in her office when 5pm rolled around, and she stretched into her seat before reaching for her phone. One last text from Claire had gone unanswered, but it was only one last confirmation of their plans for the night so Alessia didn’t make much of it.

Fridays were the only days everyone could really leave work on time, so she got up from her desk and began gathering her essentials back in her purse. She had plenty of time to get out, Claire was only meant to meet her in twenty minutes and they were hanging out at the bar across the street.

Ever since she had started taking time to be with the team after work Alessia had realised that letting Jordan believe she was working late was the best way for her to get some time with a friend.

“Allie let’s go!” Tyler barged into her office without so much as a knock. It startled her enough to make her jump, and she got ready to tell him off, the words about to leave her mouth until she saw the look of excitement on his face.

“Go where?” She softened, putting her bag over her shoulder.

“Come on,” he bounced on his feet and pulled her from behind her desk to drag her through the facility.

“What’s got you so excited?” Alessia exclaimed as she stumbled after him, following blindly and dodging a few people along the way.

She didn’t have to think much to know he was taking her to the rink, but what she didn’t understand was why. Tonight was a family skate, players with their wives and girlfriends, kids and other relatives. Alessia didn’t fit in there and she had already told Tyler she had other plans.

Tyler stopped abruptly when they reached their destination, and in her course Alessia almost sent them both toppling over. She still collided into his back, but he didn’t say anything about it.

“Look,” he motioned to the ring, decorated with a banner for the event and coloured fairy lights all over the place.

Families were on the ice, Alessia was able to spot Jamie among the others. The youngest players were messing around although mindful of the kids around, and the older ones taught their kids how to skate. Some held their babies, making them discover what being on the ice felt like for the first time.

Tonight was special and Alessia didn’t want to be in the middle of it. This was their own little universe, it was intimate and she was just one of their coworkers.

“Why do you want me to go?” She asked quietly because Tyler had mentioned she should come at least three times this week.

“Because now you’re with us, you should get to enjoy the fun parts of the job too. Weren’t you supposed to meet with a friend tonight?” He asked, watching her nod slowly. “Why don’t you tell her to come in, we’ll get her a pair of skates, it’ll be fun for everyone.”

Tyler’s excitement had died down, but he was still looking at her with the same expectant look in his eyes. His voice was calm, he used that soothing tone he always took to reassure her whenever she was stressed or upset, yet she still hesitated.

Jordan was the main thing on Alessia’s mind, and not in a positive way. His frustration about her staying out after work was still growing, the whole thing had escalated and Alessia didn’t want to upset him further.

“Ty, I really can’t stay late,”

“It’s five,” Tyler almost whined. “Live a little!” He made his tone cheerful again to get her to cave in.

He knew he had won the second she shook her head with a sigh, taking her phone out of her bag and texting Claire about the change of plans. She was too busy typing to see the way he beamed, but had Jamie been around he would have surely given Tyler the disapproving look he was growing accustomed to whenever he was around Allie.

What she did see was the way he bounced on his feet again as he got impatient waiting for her, and the corners of her lips rose. He could be such a child sometimes.

“Alright Seguin,” Alessia followed him to get a pair of skates, sitting on a bench to lace them. “You’re lucky I actually like skating,”

“Oh yeah?” His own skates replaced his shoes in what felt like half a second to Alessia. “Need help?” He noticed her pulling at the laces.

“I’m good,” she refused, finishing up fast enough and getting up again. The tightness around her feet was familiar, and she suddenly felt more excited about stepping onto the ice.

“Show me what you got,” Tyler motioned for her to go first.

In her confidence, Alessia forgot how many kids were on the ice on top of a bunch of reckless hockey players. She started off just fine and Tyler remained behind to watch, laughing at the way she showed off her skills, but as soon as a little girl cut off her trajectory she lost her balance.

Tyler stepped on the ice, gliding slowly to come help, but with a few awkward waves of her arms she almost regained her stability. She would have been just fine if someone hadn’t skated fast right next to her at that exact moment, startling her again and making her fall backwards.

Alessia’s exclamation when she hit the ice had Tyler rushing to be next to her in a few seconds.

“Are you okay?” He worried immediately, trying to see if she was hurt.

“You get slammed into the boards ten times harder and keep playing,” she winced as she pushed herself into a sitting position. “Of course I’m okay,” she reassured him and accepted his hand to get back to her feet. “Thanks,”

“I can see you’re a pro,” Tyler chuckled now that he was sure she was fine. “Thanks for the demo, champ.”

“I can skate!” Alessia defended herself, glaring at him and letting go of his hand to skate ahead of him, trying to prove her point.

“Yeah sure,” he laughed and ignored his protests, easily getting in front of her and turning around to skate backwards with her hands in his. “Let me just make sure you don’t end up on your ass again in less than ten seconds,”

“Rude,” she snorted but made no move to get out his hold.

They skated hand in hand for a while until Alessia’s phone pinged with yet another text that let her know Claire made it to the rink. They parted so that she could catch up with her friend and the two ended up holding hands as they talked and skated together.

“So this is your life now, uh?” Claire asked as they took a break on a bench.

“I mean, it’s actual work during the day but yeah,” Alessia leaned back against the wall behind them, taking in what she had achieved. “It still feels crazy that I made it here all on my own,”

“Well it’s not like Jordan would’ve been any help,” her friend snorted, earning a glare. “Oh come on,”

“You always make him sound so bad, we’ve been together for ages,” Alessia sighed and pouted a little, making her turn softer as she replied.

“No, you make him sound bad and I just put it in a less concealed way.” Claire brought her knee up on the bench to look at her. “When’s the last time you actually had a good time being around him?”

“We get along great at home,” her tone became defensive and Claire knew better than to try to have this conversation again.

“Okay,” she decided to drop it and stood back up. “Come on, let’s get back to it,”

Tyler saw them coming and stopped to let them step onto the ice without being trampled by the rest of the team. Most kids were tired now and off the ice, so things were getting a little rowdy.

“Ladies,” he motioned for them to go first, giving Alessia his stupidest grin to make her laugh.

“This is the first time you actually look like you have manners,” she teased because of something that had happened earlier during the week.

“Excuse me?” Tyler gasped, his hand over his hard to show his offense.

“You eat like an animal!” Alessia threw back, earning an eye roll and a whine from him.

“It was one time!” He complained before starting to make excuses for himself. “It didn’t have breakfast before practice and I was running late for a meeting, I had to be fast!”

“You’re disgusting,” she chuckled in response while Claire watched from the side, amused at the exchange.

“Oh I’m disgusting? You sure you wanna play that card in this situation?” He slowly inched closer to her, and since Alessia was facing him and had no chance of escaping by skating backwards she immediately started warning him.

“Tyler I swear to god I will- FUCK!” She screamed as he threw her over his shoulder and kept on skating. “I’ll kill you!” She tried to hit him but he was laughing too hard to care.

“Take it back!” He sped up, taking advantage of the space the others were clearing now that they were staring at the scene he was causing.

“Put me down you freak!” Alessia tried to wriggle out of his grasp and yelped when she felt his grip was less tight. At this speed she was too scared to fall from his shoulder if she moved too much.

“Insulting me isn’t helping,” Tyler said in a sing-song voice, a shit-eating grin taking up most of his face. He thought the situation was hilarious and he loved being the centre of attention.

“I’m sorry! You’re not disgusting! Just put me down!” Alessia pleaded, holding onto his jersey for dear life.

“There,” he laughed, helping her get steady on her skates. “See, that wasn’t so hard,”

“I hate you,” she grumbled as she adjusted her clothes and regained her balance.

Tyler gave her a playful eyeroll and held his hand out for her, which she didn’t hesitate to take so that they could skate back to the other side of the rink where Claire had stayed through the whole scene. She gave Alessia an unreadable look as she joined her again, and after skating and talking to them for a while Tyler went back to his team.

“You know…” Claire trailed off for a second, trying to find the right words as she once more noticed Tyler glancing back at them while he was supposedly busy with his friends. “I wouldn’t encourage you to like… cheat on someone, but that guy looks like he’s into you and he’s already a million times nicer than Jordan.” She eventually let out.

“Tyler?” Alessia almost choked on air. “No, god where did you get that idea? I’m sure he’s not interested, and it’s not like I’d be either. Jordan is… I’m with him and that’s not going to change anytime soon. I’d never do that to him.”

“I’m not sure Jordan thinks of you as highly as you think of him,” She watched as her friend shut her out once more, so she held back a sigh and tried once more to knock some sense into her. “Keep this one around, he looks like he’s a good friend for you.”

.

tags:  @itrocksmysocks​ @kerwritesthings​ @pupsandpucks @shawnsreputation​ @whythough1319 @smit41​ @glassdanse​ @fiveholegoal​ @brokeninsidebutnobodyknows @thefootballfaithfull

tumblr decided to be a bitch with the tags, strikethrough means I couldn’t get the tag to work.

Please reblog and let me know what you thought

[oftenderweapons]

Love Talk - Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 6.1k words

Genre: romance, minor fluff, mild smut

Rating: suggested 18+

Hello cuties! Welcome to the Love Talk scenarios.

In these small series we’ll see how the guys handle the turn-ons turn-offs conversation, talking about their previous relationships, kinks and limits.

In this first piece we’ll see how our perfect leader plays his cards with his not-yet girlfriend, fondly nicknamed Vixen. It’s their fifth date and Vixen meets him at hers for a lovely homecooked meal. Expect the situation to escalate. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Consumption of alcohol (wine), swearing, toxic past relationships. Discussion of sexual topics, [DDLG/daddy kink, oral, voyeurism, sex toys and impact play, restraints (handcuffs and manacles, spreader bars), lingerie fetish, discipline and rules, mind games, pornography, slight roleplay, sensation play, edging, orgasm deprivation and control, bruising and marking kink, blindfolds. Mentions of angst about Vixen’s past relationship. Mentions of a series of hard limits (hardcore bdsm, heavy pain kink, knife play, electric play, suspension play, water sports, degradation and humiliation, chastity devices, infantilization, dubious consent, asphyxiation, triple penetration, touch deprivation). Just in case you didn’t know already, Vixen is a brat and Joon is the smoothest brat tamer to exist (Can you imagine him sweet talking and tricking his brat into obedience? I. Am. Shaking.)

Wordcount: 6.1k (listen, these two flirt a lot, they like talking to each other and Joon could dirty talk for days. Anything less than 5k would be an insult to them and I GOT CARRIED AWAY) Also, here is my Masterlist

Do you want to read what happened next? You can find it here!

------------------------------------

He didn’t expect it. Yeah, last time you’d made out in the backseat, the driver hopefully uninterested in your anthem, but that doesn’t mean he expected you to ask him out. Usually he was the one texting first and asking out.

International, Korean or fusion? The text read. 

Are you thinking of bringing me lunch?

I’m thinking of asking you out this Saturday. If you’re free, of course.

Picnic at Han river? He asked, hopeful.

They say it’s gonna be stormy. Dinner at mine. I’ll cook.

You can cook? His computer went on screensaver mode. He was too caught up texting. He was already done with the demo anyway. 

You’ll see. You teased. 

He smirked. Then it’s a deal. Want me to bring wine and dessert?

Just wine, you wrote before adding a flirty smirk. 

He was blushing. You’re so naughty. He replied. A pause. Cook your signature dish.

Don’t get ideas. You texted back cheekily. 

That was nice. However, a few seconds later you found yourself questioning how long it would take you to lose your cool and throw yourself at him. The night was going to be disastrous. 

That’s how you found a drenched Namjoon on your doorstep the following Saturday. “Sorry, my umbrella broke on the way. I’m a mess.” He spoke, checking how bad he looked, the words spilling out of his mouth lightning fast. With an apologetic smile he looked up at you, his jaw going slack, a little shocked. “Wow.”

He noticed you had dolled yourself up. You blushed and thanked him for the compliment quickly, your main interest focused on taking care of his situation. You quickly dragged him in, already fussing over him before he got cold, your apprehensive side taking control.

You smiled at him and asked him to wait for a towel. When you came back you noticed he was wearing a thin cotton t-shirt, now perfectly sticking to his skin. You were ready for self-ignition. Fortunately, you managed to find a spot for his dripping jacket and tell him to get comfy. He was already barefoot, his sandals on your entry mat. You offered him your oversized sleeping t-shirt and left as he dried himself and got dressed. 

“Let me see if I have a pair of sweats for you.” You came back a few minutes later with some basketball shorts you didn't even know you had. “Sorry, I don’t have boxers. You could use one of my thongs, if you fancy those.” You smirked, giving him an awkward thumbs-up. He snickered at that, shaking his head. 

God, he felt fond of you already. 

After a few minutes he was sitting at the kitchen table, looking like boyfriend material in his exceedingly domestic outfit, and fidgeting with his hands. Previously you had led him to the bathroom, giving him space to change and asking him to give you his stuff so you could put it in the dryer. In the meantime he had noticed the small details in your bathroom. Your pink toothbrush. Your sleeping robe hanging from the heater. And a small collection of delicate lace — too delicate for machine washing and drying — hanging from a small rack. 

Fuck. 

“It’s almost ready. I hope you like lasagna. It’s a classic.” You called from the stove. 

“That’s nice.” He admitted. “It feels amazing in here. Smells good. And it’s nice, toasty. Great autumn vibes.”

He was probably talking out of nerves. He should stop. He was painfully close to slapping himself.

“Thank you. I know you like hardwood. And that’s exactly the vibe I go for.” You said referring to your furniture.

“Your house is truly lovely, ____.” He spotted more details, trying to ignore the rumbling of his stomach, both from nerves and the mouth-watering scent coming from the oven.

“I’ll give you a tour later. Don’t expect a lot, though. It’s just the living room, the studio and the bedroom. Other than the bathroom and kitchen, that is.”

Bedroom. Hell. Keep calm, Namjoon, she said don’t get ideas. “I’d love to.”

Dinner was easy, you talked about his job and your job, and how you’d moved to Seoul and found that incredible, small apartment in such an exclusive neighbourhood. 

Together with conversation flowed the wine. You both were red cheeked by the end of the meal and your head felt a bit light when you stood up. He noticed and smirked kindly. “Need help?” A hand sweetly supporting your waist. 

You were standing in front of him now and you couldn’t help but notice how his head reached your navel while he was sitting. “Have I already told you you look breathtaking tonight?”

You blushed. “Maybe.” You stroked his hair back, the gesture incredibly intimate. He closed his eyes and pushed his head against your hands, inviting you to do that again. You obliged. “And you look ravishing in my pink and frilly sleeping shirt.” You joked. 

“Yeah I feel incredibly cute. But don’t jump my bones, please. Right now this place feels like the dragon’s den.” He confessed. “And you keep luring me in.”

“I might eat you. Be careful.” You teased. “This dragon can be very hungry.”

He looked up at you and smiled, his eyes crincling. “That sounds amazing.” 

You took your chance and poked his dimple, then you grabbed his hands and removed them from your waist, getting ready for dessert. You started collecting the dishes and bringing them to the dishwasher, leaving only the wine and glasses on the table. As you turned and bent he let his eyes run down your tight-fitting dress, biting his lip as he noticed the lack of panty lines on your behind. “Do I get the dessert now?” He growled quietly. You turned your head, pretty sure that he was enjoying the view, which you had no intention ruining.

“Have you been a good boy?” You questioned playfully. 

“I’m always good.” He replied “Maybe not a good boy, but good for sure.”

“You can go in the living room, we’ll eat dessert there.” You directed him. 

He let his hand caress your lower back, catching your attention. “Need me to take the wine and glasses there?” He asked.

“Yes, thanks, sweetie.” You whispered, somehow entranced by the small touch. 

You were starting to get intimate and it felt right. Comfortable. You took a few minutes to yourself, cleaning up the kitchen and loading the dishwasher, then trying to get dessert ready, your movements slower both because of the wine and because you felt like you needed more time to get psychologically ready for him and your bantering.

Meanwhile he reached the other room and fumbled around a little, searching for the light switch. Suddenly the place felt comfy. And dangerous. The lights were low, the sofa looked soft and inviting with a big woolen comforter thrown over it. 

You were well-read. He knew that already, but noticing the big library and the books laying a little bit everywhere really made him wonder how many things you knew. He put down the glasses and bottle and explored, careful of where he put his feet. 

You had Korean books and English ones. A few in one or multiple languages he didn’t know. On your wall there were a few movie posters. Studio Ghibli. The Grand Budapest Hotel. Lost in Translation. Lolita. 

He knew that one. He would ask about that later. 

Moving back to the library he noticed other books he knew. The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Again, Lolita. The Memoirs of a Geisha. The Delta of Venus. A thorough guide to the language of sex… A thorough what?

“You found my forbidden stash.” You asked him, propped against the door jamb, dessert in one hand, spoons in the other. 

“If it’s forbidden, then why are you displaying it so openly.” He asked, moving away and innocently sitting on one edge of the sofa, legs closed, trying to occupy as little space as possible.

“No one visits here, usually. And why should I hide being interested in erotism?” You laid the heavy bowl on the table. “It’s tiramisu. It’s coffee-based. I thought you would like it. If you’re bold enough I might tell you the story of it.”

“Come on, try me.” He teased.

“It was invented in Italy. It’s said that prostitutes would make it to reinvigorate their clients.” You took a spoon and dipped it in before bringing it to your mouth. 

He laughed. “Really.”

“It’s a quite popular legend.” You smiled. 

“Did you learn that in The thorough guide to the language of sex?” He asked flirtily, his ears blushing.

“I learnt that during my cuisine lessons.” You replied matter-of-factly.

“And what did you learn from that interesting book?” He wondered, keeping eye contact as he fed himself some cake.

“A lot of things, actually.” You lowered your eyes, playing hard to get. 

“And have you ever used them?” He asked, his curiosity now poked and fully awakened.

“Are you asking me if I’ve had sex before?” You questioned.

He shook his head. “I assumed you have.” He stopped, embarrassed. “I mean, you’re in your mid-twenties and you mentioned having a couple past relationships.”

“Correct. Even though those factors are actually insignificant. But yeah, I’ve done it before.” You shrugged. “So have you, right?”

“Yes. I’ve had three committed relationships. A few casual flings. That’s it.” He admitted, completely unbothered by the fact. 

You looked at him, swallowing your mouthful before asking: “Now we’re gonna talk bodycounts and turn-ons, right?”

“Only if you want to, darling.” His voice became soft, caring. He was your boy now. 

“Then yeah. Well, let’s go through some history.” You poured some wine in both glasses and took a sip of yours. “Lost my virginity at 19. First serious boyfriend. He was a lot older than me. A lot. Like a loooot.”

“How old?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. 

“Like… twelve years...” You said, as if it were a question. 

“He was… thirty-one?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah...” You exhaled. 

“And why did it end?” he asked. 

“We were together for two years. Then he wanted family. I wanted career. Seems fair.” You told briefly.

“He must have been important, then.” He assumed out loud.

“We’re actually still friends. He has a family. But he really made me what I am. Actually, he helped me grow up and past some traumas.” You admitted with a smile.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, again warm and comforting. 

“The usual. Daddy issues.” You giggled. 

He bit his lip anxiously. Now what?

“I was overly responsible from a young age. I wanted rules, restrictions. Attention from my parents. I was always wound up tight and with no one taking care of me.” You shrugged. “He helped me find an outlet and discover how my mind works. I realised sometimes I just need someone to take care of me when I'm too tired to do it myself.”

“I noticed the Lolita theme. I was going to ask you about that, honestly. Is that what you’re into?” He asked, tiptoeing around the huge black hole that was calling to him. Asking you to get into his lap and then praise and cuddle you until the little girl eventually came out to play. 

“Are you asking me if I have a daddy kink or if I like owning multiple versions of the same book in different languages?” You asked, putting some humour in the heavy conversation you would be diving into shortly. 

“Obviously the different versions.” He shrugged with a teasing smile. 

“Yes.” You took another small sip. “To both of those.”

He felt like he needed to stretch his neck. “I’m glad this came up.”

“I’m pretty sure you have one yourself, don’t you?” You licked your lips before taking some more dessert.

He took a sip of his wine. “Yes. I think.”

“From one to ten, how far up?” You asked, eyes sparkling bright.

“I would say eight. Maybe nine.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself. You’re safe with me. I was hoping that by now you knew I wouldn’t ever judge you.” You murmured, a pout on your lip. 

“A solid nine. But I won’t go higher up. There’s some kinky stuff out there that I’m seriously not into.”

“What’s that?”

“Stuff like pacifiers and drawings and plushies and playing tea party. That’s not me.”

“No, I’m not into infantilization either.” You agreed. “Honestly I’m more of a brat than a baby girl.” Now that the ball was rolling it was easier getting to the core of things, using terms and explaining kinks. The initial dive is always traumatic, but now you only had to swim. Metaphorically speaking.

“I could tell.” he smirked. “Too teasing and independent to keep your head low and say “yes, sir”, aren’t you?”

“You got me.” You lifted your eyes to him, batting your lashes a couple times. “And where’s the fun in that? The fun is in the chase. All the sweet talking and the manhandling that lead to surrender and conquest. I need to be won, earned, deserved. Of course I will bend, but I want you to show me how much you want me, how far you’re willing to go to get me. If it suits my taste, I will give in.”

He swallowed and took another spoonful of tiramisu. You were getting to his head faster than the wine. “So you’re a brat.” He stated, then licking his lip. 

You nodded. 

“What else are you into?” He asked, his stare dark and serious. 

You subtly clenched your legs. “I like the fight. I like the sensationof my partner overpowering me. But I also like feeling loved and taken care of.”

“That’s right and natural, darling.” He supported you. 

You felt your body caving in slowly, the desire in his eyes felt intoxicating and the sweet understanding and tenderness oozing from his mouth made you want to please him immensely. You were already yielding without him even touching you. “I like rules.”

“Oh, you do, sweetie?” He lured you in, inviting you to share more details. 

“They make me feel like the other person is giving me boundaries to protect me.” You confessed.

“I like those too.” He diminished the power imbalance between the two of you, showing you his more delicate side. “I like giving them. And I like receiving them. I also feel like the other person is teaching me how to respect them. How to love them right. And is also indirectly protecting me from harm.”

“That’s right.” You agreed. “That’s exactly how I feel.” You smiled shyly. 

“Do you like punishment, in any forms?” He asked, his voice so delicate it felt like a butterfly landing on the tip of your nose.

You blushed and exhaled. “I like spankings.” You bit your lips, hiding your face in your hands.

He caressed your hands tenderly. “I’d love to spank your perfect ass, Vixen.”

You giggled at the nickname. He’d used it at the end of your fourth date, when your hand had started playing with his belt.

Mood lightened, you lifted your head, smiling brightly. “I like it barehanded. It’s my favourite. But I also like the paddle and the hairbrush.”

“Not afraid of bruises?” A shiver ran down his spine, even though his blood was boiling. 

“Not really.” You took more dessert. He stared at the spoon as it disappeared in your mouth, your lips latching and sucking at the silverware. His eyes then moved to your fingers as they held the spoon elegantly but energetically. “Actually the more the better. But tell me about you.”

He took in a deep breath before exhaling quickly. “I like bruising. Of different sorts. As I said, I’d love to cover your behind in those, if you’ll ever allow me to, that is.” He put down the spoon after he realised he was gesticulating with it. Dangerous. He was getting dumber. “This might sound very horny teenager but I like hickeys. Loads of them. Like marking. I really like marking.”

Your attention sparked up. He could claim you like that whenever he wanted to. 

“And other stuff like biting. Licking. A lot of mouth activity in general.” He admitted, toying with his hands and shifting in his seat.

You couldn’t contain a small squeal and a giggle. “Oral fixation. Sounds nice. I have that too. Official member of the oral squad.” You grinned as you saw the gleam in his eyes. You took a small pause analysing your next move. “However, I can assume from your size that you’re a lot.” You gestured to his shoulders and height.

He only opened his mouth, raising his eyebrows and averting his gaze. 

“And my gag reflex sucks. So I can only guarantee you I’ll try. Enthusiastically. Over and over.”

He felt like evaporating. “The only thing that counts is that you’re okay with receiving.” He waited for your answer expectantly, eyebrows raised, heartbeat galloping.

“Yes. Anytime.” You deadpanned. Eyes already closing at the thought of his mouth between your legs. “But don’t expect me to be shy about it. I will ask for it. Repeatedly. Until I’m a blabbering mess.”

He could make you a blabbering mess right in that second. He took a deep breath. Don’t start thinking of that.

“Come on, say it.” You flirted. 

He laughed his big old grandpa laugh. “Say what?” He looked at you, happy and excited.

“Come on, you’ve admitted it to national tv but won’t talk to me about it.”

“Oh, you mean porn.” He blushed to the tip of his ears. “Fuck. I’m so fucking dumb.”

“Just clumsy. It’s lovely.” You complimented. “It’s a nice contrast to the hot daddy look you have eighty percent of the time. But don’t get distracted. Talk to me about your voyeurism kink.” You spurred him on. You needed to unlock that part of him. Craved it. 

“Okay, fine. but we’re getting back to the hot daddy part later.”

“I’ll make sure of that.” You quipped. God, the chemistry was getting insane.

"Honestly, back then I used to watch it a lot more. Now I'm sort of… Lazier. It's so difficult finding what I like, and actually liking it the way it is carried out." 

"Like, you're not sure you like how they're doing it." You suggested.

He clicked his tongue in agreement. "Yes. And it just lacks that… Spark. The intimacy, you know." 

"Yeah, I know. That's why I one night stands aren’t it for me. I need to build that trust.” You admitted. 

"I feel the same. And I get it, sex is amazing and everything, but only when you do it right. Like — with the right person. Someone that understands you and someone you're free enough to do it with. Someone you know, mentally and emotionally."

"Sex that comes from knowing and understanding is so much more intense." You said with a dreamy tone.

He looked at your face, longing blatant on your lineaments. He wished he could give you that. He wished he could take it from you. "That's the right word. Intense. You know, like the way lovers look at each other, like ‘yeah, I know your tits look great but you know what looks even greater? The way your chest flushes when you're close and your eyelids flutter and you subconsciously wet your lip with that little, oh-so-familiar flick of tongue’."

You felt your body soften at the words, secretly answering to his description. "You just explained intimacy." You agreed, nodding along and picking up a spoonful of dessert. 

"That's why I watch a lot more amateur stuff these days. I would never have the audacity to film anything — too risky for my taste — but I like watching, at least."

"And how do you feel about watching… Live?" You asked, curious but also guarded. 

"You mean watching my partner as she touches herself?" He asked, eyes blown wide.

"Yes." You said, shrugging.

He licked his lips and gulped, though his mouth was awfully dry. Wine. That's what he needed. 

As he downed a large sip, you waited for his answer expectantly, almost ready to change topic when he started talking. 

"Yeah." His voice was deeper now and an obscure part of you stood to attention, your hearing enhanced to capture any order he was ready to give you. None came. "I would love to. I love looking at a confident woman showing off her lingerie —  and don’t think I forgot about your little collection.” He licked his lips and parted his legs, trying to ease his discomfort. “Sadly, I think that the vision would be an exercise in restraint, since I have zero patience and I can't stand being provoked. But I would watch, were she to touch herself with bare hands or with… Toys."

Lord, save me. You thought, your legs squeezing tighter. 

This time it seemed Namjoon had noticed, although he did not show any reaction except for a cocky smirk, which he hid readily. 

"If it's such an exercise in patience maybe some restraints could help you rein yourself in." You suggested. 

"Being tied up by you as I watch you take off your lovely, expensive lingerie set and then watch you touch yourself? Is that what you're asking me?" 

"A girl can dream." You teased with a cheshire grin.

"Good thing dreams do sometimes come true." He suggested, an eyebrow raised, mouth quirked to the side, panty-dropping dimple in tow.

You smiled and moved half an inch closer to him. 

"You said once you did it a lot more. How much then and how much now?

"Well, back then I did it at least once a day or every two days. Now it's three times a week, roughly." He looked just slightly ashamed, but not really. You couldn't quite decypher his mind in that second. "May I ask about your… Needs."

Your brow creased, fingers entangling. "If I watch stuff? Or how often?" 

He looked stuck somewhere in his brain and you tried helping him out. "Yeah."

Both, then. "Not films. Usually it's just pictures or short clips. When I'm especially needy I might listen to audios—” 

"Of people having sex?" 

You nodded. "Yeah, or just having some alone fun-time. "

God, he wanted one of those. Of you. "That sounds interesting." 

"Sounds interesting in more ways than one, indeed." You offered back with an innuendo. 

Your silver tongue and quick brains would be the end of him. "Talking with you is like a dangerous tango. Like that scene from Mr and Mrs Jones."

You laughed. "I'll have to catch up on that one."

"We could watch it together, next time." He suggested. 

"I'd love to." You were sure that watching the film would probably be the last thing you’ll do. If you did it at all… "About frequency…" You took a pause, trying to verbalise decently what you felt wasn't decent at all. "I must say I'm quite high maintenance."

He poked your side, leaning across the sofa, but staying respectfully two feet away from you. He wanted to see if you would come closer. "Don't be shy. You made me grade my daddiness, now grade how needy you are from one to ten."

"Nine?" You were getting panicked. "Ten?" 

"How often, baby?" His voice was so deep and husky it made your stomach shake with the reverberations of it. 

"Like normally at least once a day?" You confessed in a shrill, insecure voice. 

He nodded with a dark smirk. "Very needy indeed." He turned towards you slightly, his body language showing openness and inviting you to cuddle up next to him. 

He wanted to touch you. Platonically. He wanted to comfort you throughout this conversation as you opened up and showed your vulnerabilities to him, but he also wanted to respect the distance you were keeping. Little did he know it was just a facade. All you wanted was to feel his hands combing your hair, his solid chest pillowing your head, his lips whispering sweet nothings at your ear. 

"So you said you like rules, spankings, power struggles and discipline, anything oral, toys and mature content. Anything else you need me to know, little vixen?" He asked, and the addition of "little" to your nickname made you understand that you were completely out of your mind for this man. You were ready for anything he commanded you. 

"I like restraints." You admitted. "I tend to fight back a little unless my daddy sweet talks me into things. Sometimes I like feeling a bit helpless, like my daddy can manhandle me and maneuver me into positions. That's why I like harnesses and cuffs, especially thigh cuffs. Also spreader bars. And manacles. I don't like handcuffs, they hurt and leave marks which are a bit difficult to hide, and embarrassing to explain."

Namjoon's mouth watered at the thought of thigh cuffs. Of the way your flesh would swell there, of how much skin there would be to bite. However, he also realised he had a lot to learn about you. And he needed to learn new things to play with you. 

"I am absolutely okay with that. I must admit I have never explored this deeply into restraints, so I need to tell you I'm inexperienced with stuff like spreader bars and bondage. I know basic knots for wrists, but that's it. I don't usually have much patience for shibari and the likes. The furthest I've gone is handcuffs and using ribbons or belts, on wrists only." He explained. 

"That's okay. Bondage is something too tricky for me too. Lengthy." You admitted. "Do you have any special need I should know of?" 

"Not really. Except privacy and absolute monogamy." He states coldly. "I like experimenting, and you mentioned a spreader bar earlier. I'd love to try that. Both on you and on myself. Same thing about manacles. They seem less aggressive than handcuffs."

You nodded and explained further. "The pressure is distributed on a wider surface, which minimises the risk of injuries and markings. Especially on rebellious… individuals." You chose your word carefully. 

Namjoon bit his lip and hummed in understanding. By now the discourse was getting highly technical, the need to verify and negotiate interests and limits coming to the surface. "We're both voyeurs, but I'll ask anyway, what about blindfolds?" 

"Soft limit. Really depends on how you handle it. I need constant reassurance and guidance, it really destabilizes me."

"Understood. I might be into those when paired with sensation play, but we'll get into that when the time is right." He conceded tenderly. "Just one last thing, baby. I need to know your hard limits. Stuff you really don't want to do."

"Degradation and humiliation are a big no no. My second — and most recent — relationship was with a degrading bastard. He hurt me in ways I'm not comfortable remembering."

"Okay, love." He looked you in the eyes and waited a second for your approval before caressing your face in comfort. 

"Stuff like hardcore BDSM, water sports, triple penetration and most anal play. And asphyxiation or choking."

Namjoon nodded quickly. "Anything else?" 

"Okay, orgasm denial and chastity devices are an absolute no. That should be it, about hard limits. There are a few things that make me safeword but that I can stand to a certain point, like edging, blindfolds, and touch deprivation."

Namjoon nodded once more, waiting for you to finish."Okay. I think that the only stuff I might meddle with is blindfolds and edging. I have no interest in controlling your orgasms — our aim is to please." He winked and smirked at you, your knees growing weaker and weaker. "Also, believe me when I say I tend to assume a very nourishing and protective role, therefore it would go against my nature to humiliate you or degrade you. I don't intend to attack your emotional stability, so if you're interested, we can tackle the problem with blindfolds a bit at a time. Same with edging, we'll take baby steps if you decide you trust me and want to give me the honour of trying." His brow creased as he tried to remember the other thing he wanted to say. "Oh, about touch deprivation, I always need my little one close to me, so you should never feel touch starved." He took a meditative pause." And I intend to touch you a lot, baby." 

You shivered and leaned closer to him, attracted to the comfortable nook he was creating while leaning on his side against the back cushions of your sofa. It looked so warm. And safe. 

He noticed your wandering glance and quickened the pace. He had ideas. And he needed you closer. 

"My hard limits are including other people in our intimate life. I don't share like that." He warned perentoriously. "Also, you know my clumsiness. If there's any chance that it could damage you, then there's no going that way. I'm thinking of stuff like knife play and kinks that involve obviously dangerous material. Like violet wands. Anything involving hardcore BDSM, suspension play, infantilization and dubious consent is a non-negotiable hard limit. Are you still with me, baby?"

You nodded, making eye contact. 

"Good. I might be interested in some anal play. No penetration and no strap-ons. Maybe rimming. Both giving and receiving. But we'll see. Same for sensation play." He scratched his neck, trying to think of things he doesn't like doing. "I don't like being edged and I have poor control of myself, so orgasm control and denial are kind of softish limits." And then you noticed the shift, like his spine getting straighter, his shoulders rolling back in the process, looking broader, still his voice came out sweet and caring. "Listen carefully now, little vixen. I have little tolerance for disobedience and insubordination. If you have a temper or challenge my dominance, you will have to face consequences. Also, I like claiming my partner entirely. What is mine is mine. I don’t like sharing. Infidelity is a deal breaker. Understood, ____?"

"Yes, sir." You replied, automatically, without even intending too. You did’t feel ready for that title. And sir felt neutral enough.

"Such nice manners." He praised with a proud smile. "Now, would you like to come closer, baby?" 

You batted your eyes a couple times. You were sliding into subspace quickly and you found yourself questioning whether it was a good idea to get closer. Still,  your body was faster than your brain, making you nod and crawl next to him, settling inside his embrace. "Can I sit on your lap, Joonie?" 

He blushed, smiling kindly at you. He was beginning to melt at your complicated charms. "Of course, babe." He sat elegantly with his back leaning against the sofa, legs slightly parted so you could place yourself between them, your thighs across his and your side pressed to his front as his arms slowly wrapped around you, ready to retreat at your first show of discomfort.  "Does it feel nice, darling?" 

"Yes." You whispered. You were so close to him, his body warm while the late summer night felt chilly on your skin.

He cupped your cheek with his hand and pulled your head to his breastbone, building a calm cocoon for you. "You mentioned I look like a hot daddy before. Care to elaborate, little one?" 

You purred at his term of endearment, cuddling into him some more. "You look so hot with your glasses on. Sometimes I close my eyes and still see you in your outfit for Gayo Daechukje in 2019. Grey three piece suit, necktie and glasses. Everyone was fantasising about you as their hot kinky professor in classroom roleplay."

He had some troubles reminiscing the details, but he saved in his mind some keywords. Glasses, suit, necktie, kinky professor roleplay. With your face burrowed in his chest, he propped his chin on top of you hair, his spare hand soothing your skin from your waist to your knee, raising goosebumps in its wake. 

"Did that outfit cause discomfort, baby thing?" He questioned, hands caressing your hair gently. 

"It did fuel some steamy dreams, yes." You conceded. 

"And did you wake up all hot and bothered for me?' He kept teasing. 

"Mh mh." You confirmed, head nodding slowly and timidly. 

His chest shook in a breathy laugh. "Poor little girl, so desperate for the hot professor."

He sounded so cruel, basking in your needy struggles. "I'm so lucky I'm a smart girl who can take care of herself." You counterattacked.

"Smart indeed. But now that I know maybe I can take care of it for you." He pressed a kiss to your head. It was the first time he did a gesture so tender and so intimate. 

"What else gets my little girl all ticklish and lightheaded?" He asked, curling tighter against you and around you. 

"When you call me little." You admitted. 

"Do you like it, ____?“

“Yes, Joonie. I like it a lot." You replied meeting his gaze. 

He leaned down and pressed the tip of his nose to your earlobe, a spot he had discovered during your first make out session. "What if I whispered it here, little vixen?" 

Your eyes closed, lost in sensations, your insides clenching so violently that your body followed the movement, knees pressing against each other, thighs squeezing for relief.

"I guess you really like this spot, am I right, little girl?" He pushed you closer and you started recognising the shape of him against your hip. The basketball shorts he was wearing did no good job at hiding him. 

"Please Joonie."

"Please what, darling?" He pressed his lips there, kissing you with a featherlight touch, impossible to perceive, were not for the sound of his disclosing lips. The tip of his tongue met the skin there, your back arching into him. "When I first saw you you looked like a wet dream, _____, in your smart formal attire, looking like the most confident, adult, unbreakable woman in the world. Legs for days and an ass I wanna bite like a ripe, juicy peach. You looked polished like a model, negotiating over the price of a painting in a private gallery. You looked so damn hot." He bit into your neck, moving your hair aside. "You looked like the most refined and expensive thing I have ever seen. Polished, edgy. So sexy." He bit into you again. 

This time you whimpered. 

"I thought I stood no chance, with my clumsy character and boyish ways." He giggled, and his voice vibrated against your throat. "Now you're in my arms, all cosy and needy, begging me to please you with your big doll eyes and pretty, plush lips, behaving like the cutest, sweetest little girl I could ever dream of." He sucked at the column of your throat gently, hard enough to cause a blush but soft enough to avoid a bruise. He leaned closer to your ear. "You're my fucking wet dream, Vixen."

You whined loudly, turning your head towards him, hoping he would put you out of misery and kiss you. 

Instead he grabbed your cheeks passionately and murmured on your mouth, staring intently in your eyes. "All mine. To enjoy, to ruin. But most importantly to protect and nourish and care for." He kissed you like you were made of porcelain, lips stiff against yours, afraid of letting go. "What do you want, little girl?" 

You stared with equal intensity in his eyes. "Kiss me. Please, daddy, I'll be so good to you." You had no problem using his title this time, your brain completely surrendering to him.

"Good girl." And as you felt your lungs bloom at the praise, wetness pooling between your legs, you slowly gave in to him, opening your mouth, letting his tongue dance with yours, mixing with the fruity taste of the wine and the creamy texture of the dessert. His hand stayed at your waist while the other, once gripping your face, slithered into your hair and cupped your nape, dragging you closer. You didn't know what to do with your hands. 

He kept kissing you as your lungs began burning, his technique impeccable. He kissed you thoroughly, licking your tongue and angling your head to give you access to his mouth. He fuelled your desire with short jabs of his chin, giving you the feeling of him caving in but then retreating and making you chase him. It was… Heady. 

"We need to stop, little one. We need to take our time." He exhaled heavily, his cheek against your forehead as he calmed down. "Why don't we cuddle as we watch something?" He suggested.

"No more making out?" You cried out in tiny disappointment. 

"You told me not to get ideas. First I'll learn about you. Properly. Then, when my brain gives me the green light, I guarantee you my body won't hold back. Just, give me time, ____.” He explained, controlled and at the same time empathetic.

You nodded in understanding, caressing his face and pressing a kiss to his chest. "I wanna kiss you again though."

"Don't worry, baby, we'll have the chance later. Let me calm myself down first." He replied, adjusting you in his lap, trying to separate you enough for decency. 

You were glad that at least the dampness between your thighs was matched by the severity of his hard on. 

"What do you say, I go to the bathroom, recompose myself real quick while you choose something to watch?" 

You agreed. 

Date five finished with a sweet kiss at the doorstep as he left after the film you watched together. 

However the following morning you found a lengthy paragraph in your chat with Namjoon containing a detailed description of his intentions towards you. Let's just say you were glad for the girthy, buzzing friend you keep in your bedside table and for its assistence as you read his text and crumbled, calling his name. 

[okeymakeydude]

Sorry sorry and sorry for responding too late.

I refer S/O as They/their

Request by @thewinterflagforever .

Engie. (Inspired by this post made by @snoozyhooter )

If they had free time, Engie would propose to do a picnic. He doesn't want something too boring or simple but also, exaggerated. He'd offer to make the food, and look for the best place to eat, surely chooses one where they can see almost everything. He doesn't hesitate to bring his guitar to sing them some songs.

They have to stay in the base? No worries! That won't stop them. Both can be working in the garage and keep talking about how their day was while they are doing their business. This man loves helping his S/O and spend time with them.

"Hey hon." "Yes?". They looked at him and smiled, he was with his arms open, waiting for a cuddle. Engie being a extrovert person and even touchable, the hug is something different and important for him, only for the people who really he cares about and one of them is his S/O. Prefers face-to-face to see their face.

Sniper.

He will take his S/O to a place where the sun is the protagonist, why? 'cuz he loves seeing how the sun is falling and giving permission to the night. Near his camper, they would prepare a campfire, to cook something and just, talk about how their day was. Like Engie, he prefers easy plans without exaggerating.

If they have to work, Sniper will be watching that no enemies approaches to the base and his mate doing their job, and at the same time, protect him from spies. They both would be in a room, only for Sniper, but he'd invite his S/O. It'd be more silence but that doesn't mean they're unsure, just on the alert.

Being honest, Sniper is not a big fan of cuddles (excepting his parents). He's like a 'suprise hugger', because no one will never know when he's gonna do that. S/O is surprised when they feel arms around them from behind and, a head resting on their shoulder. Then a soft voice near their ear "Don't know how much i love ya."

Demo.

Does his S/O love party? Hope so 'cause this man does! They would spend the evening going to bars or nightclub; Dancing and drinking. However, if there is a quite place, like a beach with few people or none, they would sit and talk about everything and, i mean, everything.

Nothing keep him away from fun, with a few bottles bought and the only thing left to do is to have the party in any part of the base. Second option? When he makes bombs, he has to see if they really explode, what could be better than throwing some to the opposing team? Without doubts, he'd ask his S/O to come, they are the one who gives him more entertainment.

Demo'd hug them every 5 mins if he could, he wraps his arms around their waist, warmly towars him, looking each other. He loves seeing their face. God, he said once "I got a manky eye, i'm a black Scottish cyclops drunk!", what he did to deserve them? What did they see in him good? S/O would respond his questions and he'd happily listen.

Scout.

A walk through the nearest town or city is enough. Holding hands, they go to look at the things there; they buy sweets (or buckets of chicken), go to the shops or even play in the park. If there's a funfair nearby, Scout will do the 'puppy-dog eyes' so he can go and suggest paying for both, the first traction would be... well, the tunnel of love.

Near base, he has an area where he can do whatever he wants, mainly sport, they can pass the evening practicing and challenging each other or, sitting on the grass and letting nature be the protagonist, Scout'd bring what is needed to draw and be happy to tell about his comics!

Sideway hug. At first nervous, unsecure, he prefers to start with an arm around S/O's neck and get them close to him 'discreetly', "it's getting cold, yeah?" just give him a second before he decides to completly cuddle them and hides his face on their shoulder.

Heavy.

When his family moved to U.S.A, near him, he'd like to pay them a visit and more with his S/O. Yes, it may sounds boring but he really cares that they know his love perfectly and is sure his mother will love them. Clearly they'll have some privacy at some point, "This is for you, со́лнышко" he'd use it that moment to give them 13 flowers, all possible colors except yellow and 3 kisses each cheek. A tradition for someone he would give even his heart.

If they have to stay in the base for any attack, Heavy would be reading a book while his S/O is relaxing by his side doing something else, even teaching them some russian words if they're interested o translating the story. Another option would be Heavy cleaning his weapons while he shows them and yes, even he likes to brag about it.

Bear man? Bear hugs! He does everything he can to put his arms around them, carefully, like a shield. Wants to make them feel protected, nothing is gonna hurt em, not in Heavy's watch. He doesn't forget the soft kiss on their head.

Pyro.

Well, the name already say it, they (Pyro) would be trying to burn everything they can all the evening and proudly show it to their S/O. They would be holding hands and going everywhere without wasting time, until Pyro saw the sun and decided to stop moving, he sat down and rest their head on S/O's shoulder, completly in silence.

Sleepover. Being inside of the base isn't gonna prevent them to have fun, with a lot of food, fluffly toys and makeup, it's enough to stay in their room for all the evening. Pyro would paint the nails of their love while they're talking how their day was and eating all the candies. Later they go to Medic because stomache.

A tight, strong, loving, breath taking embrace, a way to say how much they love their partner. A bear hug but a bit different, applying a powerful pressure, and making S/O immobile. Luckly not enough to hurt them and just for a few seconds.

Medic.

"Look, schatz! We can use its organs for—" "Oh, don't you dare! I swear - No!". Wasting all his time in his laboratory, makes him a bit umconfortable staying outside, but he'd accept if it's S/O, a walk near base. Ngl he adores talking about himself about the progress he's doing, the ideas he has or what Archimedes did, he laughs and then... He apologizes, but his love assures they won't never get bored listening to him. Only got scared when he saw a roadkill and started to approaching.

He needs an assistant while he's working, an excuse he often uses when he wants to spend time with his love, and it works. Loves seeing Archimedes rubbing his head against their check and will whisper "Why you...?", because he also doesn't know what he did to deserve someone like them. Likes to observe how the sunlight creates different perspectives on their beauty while they're talking.

Another nonfan hugger, he usually does it unconsciously and when he's very happy, jokes aside, he's really strong, enough to lift his partner with his arms around their waist and leaning against his body. When he realized it he didn't help but blush.

Spy.

A hot air balloon trip? Spa? A meal at the best restaurant and hotel in town? Going to a concert or theatre? He just looks for anything to surprise his amour, he likes the exaggeration and extravagance of dating, to show that he's determined to use his time and attention for them. He has already prepared everything that will be done during the afternoon until nightfall. However, he'll change plans if they have another idea, he'll try to please them.

In his private room, S/O is free to do whatever they want, read a book? Look at the fireplace? Take a nap? Talk? Go ahead. "Mi casa es tu casa" he's say with a smile, he's not that talkative but with them, he's confident to do that until someone have to stop. By the way, did you know Spy is good at giving massages?

Being someone who stabs from behind, doing back hugs, means a lot, he doesn't like giving 'em but trusting his loved one, wants to say that they're safe and protected by him. He hides the head and give a quick kiss on the back of the neck.

Soldier.

"See those submerged logs over there? That is The Beatles! Do not stop running!" "Okay...—wait what!?". He's able to sum up a 1600 hour tour in just one afternoon, holding their hand and with a big smile, he will show them everything he knows and be proud of that. Has anything caught his love's eye? Don't worry! He'll get it for them, if they're happy, he's happy too! Everything gangsta until there's is a neck snap.

In his "secret" space, he'd love to show them how good he is teaching the students (Ignoring that they are decapitated heads), and may sounds weird, he would be able to talk quietly when there is a debate or a talk. He will be happy to teach rocket jump if S/O is interested and any moment, he'd let them see a beautiful place where they can watch how the sun falls.

A bear hugger too. When he's joyful, when he won a match or because he wants, his S/O will be the first one to know it. He will put his arms around their waist and bring him closer to his body, placing his face on their chest. Don't miss this opportunity and respond him in the same way! His cuddles are gold.

Masterlist.

If there is any mistake, please, correct me.

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness Chapter 62

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I kicked my feet up and I watched the striper dance before me. I took a long draw on my packed pipe and since Aurum was doing it, I tossed some bills on the striper. Why the fuck not?

She bent down low in front of me in pretty white bottoms. She had pretty blue eyes besides and a frilly matching white top. She danced in front of Aurum and I and he poured me a drink.

I took it from him with grace and sipped on the alcohol slowly, though faster than I might normally.

"No word on your mustached man," he told me. "I've been keeping an ear to the ground about it and I haven't heard a thing. If only you'd seen his weapon, man. Then we'd have something to go off of."

I grunted and nodded. I took a swig of drink.

"Can I get something sugary up here for Neo? Girliest, sugariest drink you have in the house. All the better if it has ice-cream in it."

Neo hit me in the side but smiled. She didn't disagree.

"One fuzzy navel coming right up," Aurum called out to a wait staff member who was passing by on the second floor of his club. The man nodded and took the order. Like all of Aurum's waitstaff the man was good looking. Stand out in a crowd good looking. Almost hunter angel-like good looking.

Aurum owed me. For killing Tyrian. Neither of us said it but mass murderers are bad for business, they brought the wrong kind of attention. He was paying me off with drink and women a little. Or trying to. I was hard to buy off with such trivial things. I wasn't saying I couldn't be bought with it. That seemed like a bit much. And the dancer was beautiful with those baby-blues. She reminded me of my first crush a little.

I was good for his business because I was so dangerous. Keeping me happy was good for his business because I was so dangerous. It was a razor that might cut one of us but for now he was happy and I was happy so why not drink with one another and party while I waited for my information to come in?

I'd already paid for it by murdering some of his enemies and he'd probably tell me about it as soon as he knew something because Cinder Fall was another murderer who wasn't interested in the drug game or playing the game like I was.

"Cloud, I still don't have any news on the others you asked me to watch out for. Cinder Fall or Hazel Rainart."

"Cinder Fall is probably not her real name anyways. Plus she could be working through some other associates. Emerald Sustrai or Mercury Black."

"I'll keep an eye out for them all the same. Did you learn what you needed from Avalanche?"

"I did. The General's project wasn't so secret after all. Hard to keep everyone in on something that large quiet."

"Fair enough." He said without asking me more about the project. He probably didn't care to know the details so long as it didn't affect his business ventures. "Come with me. Try some hyper," he said. He was trying to buy me off with drugs as well. He'd hooked me up with more greens. I'd paid a little but it was discounted.

"I don't know that I should. I already have some psychosis. That's what the weed is for."

"Oh it's not so bad. Just an intense rush."

"Isn't it a pro-psychotic?"

"Maybe a little. I'm not a doctor. Try some, you'll be fine."

I shrugged my shoulders. Fuck it. Why not? What was the worst thing that could happen if I did? I'd become a murderer? That ship had sailed, thanks. I'd become involved in the drug game? A bit late, thank you. An alien goddess would seize control over my mind, again? Maybe. But I couldn't live in fear of Mother all the time.

He cut out a line of the stuff and showed me how to inhale it.

I did. I pulled deeply into my nostrils and up into my sinuses.

I leaned back as the powder filled my nose and dripped down my esophagus a little. It hit my brain fast and hard. Aurum had been right. It was intense.

And it was a rush. I was zooming. My brain strummed like it was endlessly hitting a high wiry note on an electric guitar with an amplifier. Volts coursed through my veins in my skull. My arteries seemed to be full of odd amps. Like I'd been shot in the head by some kind of electric gun.

Bugs wiggled their way around behind my eyes more intensely than ever. I just didn't care as I leaned back into my seat once more.

I swear I could almost hear mother's voice over the din of the music in The Den. But only just. It wasn't bad now that I thought about it. Just a dull whisper. Just some bitch talking to me like she owned me.

What else was new?

My leg was moving restlessly. I felt like I was about to jump out of my skin.

Neo sucked on a long blue bendy straw next to me and on impulse I nearly took it from her hands and threw it across the room. I reigned myself in, though. There was no reason to do that. I just needed to sit back and relax… relax… relax.

My brain seemed stuck in a loop and I repeated that over and over in my head like a mantra. Relax… relax… relax… why wasn't I relaxing?

I drank and smoked some more. I drank like I was thirsty and I smoked like my personal stash wasn't running a bit low before I'd bought some more.

It felt damn good to over indulge and crossfade myself as thoroughly as I could.

"Well you're handling it well," Aurum said. "That was your first time, no?"

"It is. Was. Whatever." My heart beat fast and my leg bounced. "I want to kill something. Is that normal?"

"Depends. For you, probably. You're a killer."

I nodded. That made sense. It was hot in all my clothes so I stripped my armor off and set it beside Neo and I on one of the long couches.

I sat back and watched the dancer before me work as my vision came in and out. Blackening and refocusing.

It beat a steady tide in rhythm with my heart.

"Though there is one man in town who I thought you should know about." Aurum told me. I wasn't sure how he was staying so fucking calm.

"Oh?" I asked.

"Name's Adam Taurus. Old White Fang member. He's another killer. Caused the SDC problems for years."

"Want me to kill him?" My voice was much more calm than I felt. My heart was racing. My head throbbed in time with the music in a pleasant way. My eyes felt like they were going to pop from their sockets.

"Maybe. He's the sort who is also bad for my business. Idealistic. Unwilling to compromise. And he paints the town red wherever he goes."

"I could go for a fight right about now. Not sure it's a good idea. Neo, your thoughts?" She shrugged at me, then she shook her head to the negative. Thank you for that contribution Neo. Enlightening. "We'll probably end up passing. I'll kill him for a favor if you change your mind."

"I just might take you up on that." Aurum took a long swig of his favorite amber drink.

I followed suit and found my glass empty. It was quickly refilled by a gorgeous young redhead with a staff shirt on and long legs.

I stared after her for a long time.

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I came down with a headache. "Neo would you get me a glass of water." I bemoaned from my bed in our shared motel space.

She obliged. Fetching the water, then she poured it right on my face.

"Ack! Neo. Gods damn it." I was awake now if nothing else.

I sat up in the bed. I spat water from my mouth. I stood up and got my own drink of water. Neo could be so unreliable.

"You're such a bitch, Neo." I told her over my throbbing headache. I palmed my forehead and over one of my eyes.

"Why I oughta," I said it like a complete sentence with no real heat.

She blinked at me innocently and her eyes switched colors. She fooled nobody with that.

She had a cigarette in her mouth, the smoke from it was filling our shady apartment.

I wasn't sure which drug that I had partaken in the night before that was killing me. It could have just been alcohol. It could have been hyper. Either way I was thirsty enough that when I downed a glass, I followed it up with two more.

I could scarcely remember the night prior. Other than a soft warm feeling that followed my memories about it. Too much drink. Too much weed. Too much of everything. I probably wasn't going to try hyper again. I crossfaded myself hardcore. I rubbed my eyes firmly.

I looked over at Neo and really took her in for the first time. She wasn't wearing a shirt and was just in her brassiere and a pair of pink panties. I took her milky cleavage in for a moment before I looked down at myself. I was totally naked.

"Did we…?"

She rolled her eyes at me. A smirk on her face as she did. She reached over with her cigarette and put it out on my chest, nice and slow. She grinned at my pain. Her breathing rushed a little as I hissed. The tips of her breasts hardened and I noticed that the burn she left there was not alone. It had company.

"Neo, I'm damn well serious." I tasted my own lips with my tongue a little. It tasted funny. Was that someone else's lipstick or was my mouth just fucked from drinks and hyper? It tasted like lipstick. Neo was wearing pink lipstick.

"Did we or didn't we?" She just turned and began putting the rest of her clothes on. She spun and twisted a curtain into place between our two sections of room and beds as she clothed herself.

"Neo!"

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She refused to answer me. In any capacity. She just left it as it was which was well within her personality but was more than a little obnoxious from my end. Fuck her.

Sex with a demoness or not, and I was trying hard not to think about that, I still had other business to attend to. Like heading over to Avalanche headquarters.

We rolled up on the bar with Neo's arms wrapped around my waist. She held herself nice and tight to me for the ride. The absolute… I mean honestly...

"Neo you little devil," I said to her, looking forward. Neither of us were wearing helmets. Little point when we were both hunters.

It was on me for getting black out drunk and giving her the opportunity to hold it over me. Forever.

Plus if I really did do it I had a lot to feel guilty about. Wherever little Ruby Rose was she wasn't enjoying another's company like that. She was probably shattered to pieces.

She was probably in a lot of pain over me. I had caused that. I didn't deserve to cause her pain. But I had anyway. It made my chest ache to think about. It made me feel worthless. More worthless, that is.

Guilt rose up in my mouth like bile and it whipped at me like a switch. I didn't much like to think about that. But by all accounts we were broken up. I had no idea when I would even see her again. We were shattered, me and her. So what did it matter if I did have sex with Neo? Evidently it mattered to me. I didn't want it to have happened. I regretted that I didn't know.

It meant that Yang was right about me. One way or another her older sister instincts had been on point. She'd been right to keep me away. For more than one reason, probably. That made me feel like shit.

It also meant disappointing Weiss. I had long wanted her approval for one reason or another. That hadn't exactly changed. Her affectionate dawn smile with her hair down reflected in my mind for a moment before I imagined her looking at me with a cold hard apathy like she had so many times before. And I grimaced at so many memories of asking her out.

Besides, I should feel guilty about what I had done to Ruby. She was probably off saving lives while I was taking them like some common criminal or something. We couldn't be more different. She was an angel and I was a demon.

And I wasn't about to talk to Neo about that. Or have a one way conversation with her, at any rate. As much as you could have a conversation with Neo. About all of this.

I walked up to the bar and opened the door with a jingle of bells. I tried to roll my shoulders and undo a kink in them I'd worked into the muscle the night before.

Jasper was up behind the bar, washing the counter down with a cloth.

"Oh, Cloud… you're back!"

"I promised to train you guys a little. Where's the others?"

"They're out for a minute. There's a big player in town. Adam Taurus. He's causing problems for the union and with the miner leaders like Dyne."

"Dyne?"

"Just Dyne. No last name. He's one of the old miner leaders. Been around since the old days of the White Fang. He was always outspoken about union action over taking up arms. Or at least he used to be. He hates the Schnee name, now. His daughter was injured in a mining accident recently. Bisque is worried about what he and Adam will get up to."

"This is the second time I'm hearing about Taurus."

"He's problems. At least for us. They're working up strikes, which is a good thing. But they also have the potential to get violent. People could get hurt. Bisque is trying to stop things from escalating."

"Yeah but you guys are fairly militant. Shouldn't you be on board with Taurus?"

"We always plan our operations around not killing people. People always die with Taurus on the job. Always. He's got a red streak a mile wide."

"Guess that's why Aurum might want me to kill him. Not willing to play ball. And Wenge?"

"Leading a strike. Avalanche needs to stay involved in all of this if we want to be a player at all. I'm just holding down the fort because somebody needs to be looking after the bar. People might come by and have questions for us about the strike. We have to stay on top of information."

"Need me to kill Taurus?" I asked.

"You think you can pull it off? I know you're good but Taurus is also a badass. He's got some real power," Jasper said.

I thought of Tyrian. He was one of Salem's guard and I'd killed him. He was probably about as dangerous as hunters came. Barring people like Cinder who were also maidens and had some extra kick.

"I might be able to manage it. Difficult to say before I lay into him but it's a possibility. Aurum talked to me about maybe taking him down. I remember that from last night at least."

"What happened last night?" Jasper asked. She leaned forward on one hand which rested with her elbow on the counter.

"Drank too much. That's all. Nothing else happened."

Neo nudged me. I looked way down at her short ass. A calm smirk was on her face looking back up at me. One end of her lips turned up.

Shut up, Neo.

"You up for some training?" I asked.

"I can't." Jasper sighed. "I've got to man the fort. Think you can come by again later? Wenge should be by then too."

I nodded.

"Probably. I'm just waiting for some information to come in. Not much else is going on in my life at the moment. Running favors for my 'friends.' That sort of thing."

The door jingled again. I turned to look. It was the crossbow girl from before.

"Oh. It's you," she said with some derision at me. I could live with that. At least I was being remembered.

"Me." I agreed. Like it was a curse. Which it was in a lot of respects. Boy was it.

"I'm not here to talk to you." She looked away towards Jasper. "I'm here to talk about the strikes. You kicked this off by bombing the mind and shutting work down."

"Maybe we did, as far as Avalanche is concerned the strikes are a good thing."

"Not this close to the elections. It's too much unrest."

"You're just upset because the strike leaders aren't paying homage to Robyn. They don't care about another election cycle where nothing gets done to improve their conditions. Especially when Schnee himself is running."

"This isn't about that. If martial law gets declared it will push elections back."

"I know you're concerned about Hill's chances of winning. Maybe you should be out leading them instead of hiding away or whatever the Happy Huntresses are doing," Jasper told her. Crossing her arms over her chest.

"The Happy Huntresses are always fighting for Mantle."

"Yeah, on your time table. Not on Mantle's. The people want change and they want it now."

"You stirred them up. Your bombing caused this. The people were content to wait!"

"We didn't cause the strikes. You're looking for Dyne and Adam Taurus."

"Adam Taurus?!" Fiona was incredulous.

"Oh you haven't heard? Maybe the Happy Huntresses are out of touch."

"Don't be petulant just because I wouldn't help you with your bombing. Look at what you've done! Now Adam Taurus is involved."

"If you're scared of him-" Jasper began she was cut off.

"Only a fool wouldn't be," Fiona said. "Call off the strikes."

"No can do," Jasper said. "Wouldn't want to even if we could. Take it up with Dyne."

"Dyne is unreachable. He wants revenge against the SDC at all costs. We're hoping Avalanche is more agreeable. You have a network. You can shut this down."

"I told you we want the strikes." Jasper leaned forward into her words. "Live with them. Or don't. Better yet."

"All this because I wouldn't bomb them with you! It was a bad idea. Look at all the unrest it's causing. Ironwood might declare martial law. Who will win then? Not the miners. The military always backs the SDC to break up the strikes. People get hurt every time. Please. This has to stop. Only through elections will real change get affected."

"I disagree. I think we can get real change done by collective action."

"It never works. It'll end with them opening fire on the mob. It always ends that way. Dust mining is too important to stay shut down. The military will back the SDC because they need the dust."

"There's an oversupply with the embargo. There's enough dust to last months. The strike won't last that long anyways. Old man Schnee will have to give in and improve the working conditions."

"He never does. And the negativity too, it's drawing the Grimm."

"So what? That's exactly why they can't open fire on a crowd of protestors." Jasper refuted.

"So what? So what?" Fiona repeated sounding shocked. "So people will die. And what about people who want more than improved conditions? What about the levelers who want wealth and property abolished? You're giving them a platform."

"What if the levelers are right? What if wealth and property should be abolished. Look at the pain it causes."

"It's the foundation of our society with the Grimm at the gates!"

"Cloud, what do you think, are the Grimm that big of a threat? We've got the largest military in the world for a reason."

I had been watching the two with rapt attention as they ran down Mantle politics. To be honest I was learning a lot. Particularly about these levelers. They sounded a lot like the Anti-capitalists of back home in Vale.

"I think the Grimm are always a threat. More than the layman knows," I murmured.

"See, even the murderer agrees. All this negativity can't go on. If you don't shut down the strikes, then the military will."

Fiona turned at the door.

"Please," she begged. "Shut it down."

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-WG

[moonstruckbucky]

Come Over (6/7)

Summary: You’re new to New York City. Fresh out of post-grad and wanting a change of pace, and this change comes in more ways than one.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader. Neighbor AU.

Warnings for Chapter: ....Smut. There’s smut ahead. And this is fucking long. And I’m sorry?

Notes: It’s the penultimate chapter, guys! I can’t even believe it. I would really, really love some feedback on this one! Enjoy x

Series Masterlist //  Main Masterlist

Bucky is early the morning of Thanksgiving. The knock itself is quiet, as if he’s pulled his knuckles back too soon. Still it startles you, has your hand jumping and nearly impaling your eye with the mascara wand.

A hissed “dammit”, you set it down, double-check your eye that it hadn’t smeared, hurry to the door as that soft knock sounds again. All the air leaves your lungs in a whoosh. Being his neighbor, you’ve seen him in various states of dress, but never like this.

Hunter green looks good on him, you decide. The satiny material looks about ready to give where it’s stretched across his broad chest. A flat plain of forestry you want to trace and memorize with hands and tongue. Dark charcoal dress pants wrap tightly around his thick thighs, and your mouth waters. Shiny black dress shoes cap off the outfit. Your neighbor is a tall drink of water and goddamn are you parched. Subconsciously you lick your lips.

His clearing throat jostles you, eyes snapping up to his. They’re glittering, those crystalline eyes of his that pull you in like a lighthouse beacon. The edge of his mouth is turned upward, a sure sign that you’ve been caught ogling him, too lost in the beauty of him to notice he’d done the same to you.

You cough lightly, poorly covering yourself. “You’re early. C’mon in. I’ll be done in twenty.”

His body brushes by yours as you step to the side, cocoons you in his warmth and a clean, fresh scent with a hint of spice. Eyes flutter closed, deep breath in and then out to compose yourself, give yourself the confidence to get through today without ending up a puddle on the floor. Bucky’s seated on the couch, flipping through a magazine with Tony Stark on the cover. It’s the newest issue—the first publication of the upcoming “super suit” demo and he flips right to it, already engrossed.

You duck past him back to the bathroom to finish getting ready. A few more touches to your makeup, a pair of black tights, black boots, and a light jacket, and you’re ready. Bucky turns his head when he hears your heels on the floor, eyes widening just a fraction, but you notice. You notice everything when it comes to him. He rises slowly, and it’s almost comical. Like that scene in a teen romance where the girl, in her beautiful prom dress, descends the stairs and her date is rendered speechless, jaw dropped, eyes full of adoration.

“You, uh.” Voice cracks, clears his throat, tries again. “You look really nice.”

Your smile is easy, gentle, a little bashful as your cheeks flush. “Thanks, Bucky. Shall we?”

His answering grin is just as bright, just as easy, as natural. He holds out his elbow. “We shall.”

The drive to your parents’ is spent chatting back and forth, mostly about the new projects you’re allowed to talk about. Bucky’s enthusiasm is addicting, makes it easy for you to just keep going. You almost feel badly about doing all of the talking, but the excitement on his face covers it up, and his responding questions are eager and hurried, like he can’t get them out fast enough. Conversation with Bucky is easy. He makes it easy.

You’ll come to realize later that Sharon is far from both of your minds. So far, nothing could sour this day.

Clint and your family are extremely welcoming when the two of you arrive. Clint takes your coat and purse, claps Bucky on the back and leaves you to do the introductions. Your mother raises an eyebrow, aims it at the two of you and inquires how long Bucky’s been seeing her daughter. Matching blushes creep up your necks and without thinking, you take a step sideways, put space between you because you hadn’t realized just how close you’d been standing to him.

“Mom, we’re—we’re not dating. He, uh, he has—”

“I’m her neighbor,” Bucky interjects with a charming smile. The look on your mother’s face clearly says yeah, right, but she moves the conversation along, asks Bucky about his work and gets lost in his stories about the tattoo shop.

Clint comes up behind you, where you’ve moved to the small bar in the kitchen and have poured yourself a hefty glass of wine. Judging by the sly, fleeting looks your mother sends you, you’re going to need it.

“Mom seems to be digging in the claws,” Clint murmurs, pulling from his beer. You hum around your wine glass. “She doesn’t buy the neighbor bit, does she?”

“How could you tell?” you deadpan. Despite your concern your mother will spill something she’s not meant to, you’re relieved Bucky seems to fit in with your family.

Your parents have hogged him mostly, though Clint’s stepped in here and there to help him along, but his eyes are never far from you. Every few minutes they’ll find you, sparkle under the dim kitchen lighting, before he looks away again to give your family his full attention again. Once or twice, he sends a wink that warms your body more than your wine does. Oh boy, are you in trouble.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it), Sam arrives not too long after to break up the growing tension between Bucky and you. He greets Bucky excitedly, hugs him like he would a brother, offers him another beer from the fridge that Bucky accepts. The grin on Bucky’s face, the rumbling echo of his laughter, the lightness in his features all do horrible, horrible things to your belly and your heart, and you have to duck out of the room and find Laura, distract yourself, before you do something stupid.

She must see it on your face when you drop beside her on the couch in the living room. Cheeks rosy red, and not just from the wine, pupils dilated just a bit with a few tiny beads of sweat at your hairline. Laura and Clint had been together off and on since high school, until your brother manned up and proposed to her while out on their anniversary date. He’d taken her on a whale watch in Nantucket, something she’d always wanted to do. She said yes through a bout of sea sickness.

“You’ve got it bad,” she tsks, the ring on her left finger sparkling and tinkling against her wine glass. You groan.

“Don’t remind me.”

“Why’s he with that she-witch again?”

You hurry to shush her, glance over your shoulder to make sure you’re not heard. “Jesus, Laura. I don’t know why, okay? From what he’s told me they don’t even click anymore. Except...in the bedroom, which I can hear usually.”

Laura’s frown is sympathetic, both for your ears and for your heart. It doesn’t really make you feel any better, and despite how close the two of you have grown since you moved in, you still haven’t quite found it within you to tell him to break it off. Sharon’s already wary of you, though whether that’s from her rising insecurity or because you’re not hiding your feelings as well as you think you are, you’re unsure. The last thing you want is to stick your nose where it’s not wanted.

You and Laura go back and forth, straying from the taboo topic of Bucky’s relationship, until the men enter the living room. Bucky grasps a fresh glass of wine for you. You can feel Laura’s smirk from where you sit, hide your blush behind a long pull of the bitter red. Bucky sits beside you on the couch, close enough his thigh touches your knee where your leg is tucked up under you.

“Thank you,” you murmur once you’ve drained half the glass, tongue swiping over your top lip for the excess. You miss the slight dilation of his pupils, the way his chest rises with a deep inhale.

“Sure, doll.”

Your insides twist at the nickname and on the other sofa Laura smirks. Subtly, you flip her the bird and she snickers into her glass of water. Conversation buzzes between all of you, and you have to really focus on it instead of how warm Bucky is beside you. Maybe you should lay off the wine.

When your mother calls that dinner is ready, you’re the first one out of your seat. Clint makes a comment with a knowing grin.

“I’m hungry, dammit,” you snark back with a smirk. The others laugh a little, and you all find your seats.

Bucky pulls yours out for you before he takes his, a charming little side grin that sets your stomach to fluttering. You’re not sure if it’s just because the holiday has him in a good mood or if he’s purposely laying on the charm. Probably a bit of both.

He captures your attention over dinner, holds it as he converses with your family. You know your ‘heart eyes’ as Wanda would call them are on full fucking display, but it’s getting harder and harder to hide how you feel. Especially when he makes a dad joke that has your father howling with laughter. Sam nearly chokes on his beer. He clearly adores them, and it appears the sentiment is mutual.

And while your stomach feels like it’s flying, your heart suddenly takes a nosedive. The realization that he won’t be yours is heavy in your gut, icy tendrils slithering up to your throat to choke you. Pressure behind your eyes, a rising need to get away for a minute. It’s too much, knowing he isn’t yours when he damn well should be.

The chair scraping across the floor cuts through the conversation, halts it as everyone watches you in confusion. Your eyes are shiny, blurring all of their faces, so you keep your head down with a muttered “excuse me”.

A sharp, deep breath that’s almost painful once you’re locked away in the upstairs bathroom. Where you know no one will hear you as you let out a sob into your arm. For a little while it’s a gross mess of snot and tears and smudged makeup you wipe away with a tissue, only to have another black rivulet sliding down your face. The pent-up longing, confusion, and outright love comes pouring out, unable to be held back.

Nose stuffy, eyes crimson, you know you’re a mess and you’re going to have a hard time explaining it away. A rap of knuckles on the door, momentary fear that it’s Bucky coming to check on you, a rapid search for an excuse. More tissues swiped under your eyes and your best attempt at composure.

You open the door just a crack, surprised and relieved to see Sam instead of Bucky. His smile is sad, understanding, as if he knows exactly what’s in your head. You swing the door open a little wider, enough that he can get his body through to tug you into his chest. Large hands sliding up and down your back as you fight back another round of waterworks.

“This sucks, Sam,” you whisper. Eyes drift closed, squeeze, when he kisses your forehead and shushes you.

“I know, honey. You need to tell him, or don’t. Start dating, help yourself move on. Do something because I hate seeing you in pain.”

“I can’t tell him, Sam,” you murmur, stepping out of his space. You wipe your nose with your soggy tissue. “How could I put him in that position? I guess...maybe I’ll see if Wanda knows anybody…”

Sam smiles gently, tucks your chin with two fingers and nods his head towards the stairs. “C’mon. Let’s get through dinner and dessert.”

You’re nearly ready to cry again when Bucky lays worried eyes on you. You manage to choke it down, wave him off as you retake your seat. He tries to catch your eye but you avoid it, pointedly look to your other side. Your mom rests her hand on yours, a silent question. You smile faintly and nod, give the others a nod as well, and dinner resumes. It’s a little less light, less jovial, but soon Sam has everyone chortling again.

Your mood slightly improves once dinner is over and dessert begins. You’re laughing with Laura and Sam, Clint rolling his eyes because he’s the butt of the joke. Bucky’s a little quieter now, still perturbed from your earlier breakdown. You dread the car ride home, knowing he’ll ask you what it was about.

You gorge yourself on pie—apple and pumpkin because your mom is an exceptional baker. By the time the dishes are cleared from the table, you feel like you’ll have to be rolled out of the house. But then you remember who you’re riding home with and immediately volunteer to do the dishes for your parents if only to push that off a little longer.

Laura, bless her soul, doesn’t ask you about it. Instead, she asks you to be a bridesmaid in her wedding. Immediately you say yes, and the following conversation is a pleasant distraction from your earlier embarrassing episode. But there are only so many dishes and eventually, your time runs out.

Bucky and you bid goodbye to your family, your parents hoping they see Bucky again (thanks for that, Mom) and Clint promising to have a guys’ night soon. You barely feel his hand on your back as the two of you walk out to the car, breaths expelling in puffs in the cold November air. Immediately you crank the heat once the car is on, turning up the radio when a soft classic rock song comes on.

Bucky doesn’t ask you until you’re about halfway home. “You wanna tell me what that was about?”

It’s slow, deliberate. The chance to spill your guts, risk everything. He’s giving you the choice and you almost want to take it.

Almost.

“I’m okay,” is your reply instead. I’m fine is too much of a giveaway that you’re not. He’s quiet in the other seat, jaw muscle jumping and eyes sweeping outside the front windshield, but he nods, lets you have this because you can’t. Can’t say it, can’t cross that line with no hope of stepping back over it.

In the hallway outside your apartments, he thanks you, kisses your cheek, and it feels an awful lot like goodbye.

Two weeks. Fourteen days, three hours, and thirty seven minutes have gone by since you’ve last seen Bucky. You’ve heard him, walking through his apartment, on the phone, his door opening and closing as he comes and goes.

But not once do you ever see him.

It’s obvious he’s avoiding you, and once the initial confusion and sadness fades, anger takes over. What right does he have to avoid you? You’ve done nothing wrong except maybe get your heart tangled up somewhere it shouldn’t have been, pined for someone who’s unavailable. But are those crimes really so heinous? 

When the anger fades, resignation settles in. You’d been too obvious, it seems, especially near the end, so he’s backed off, given you room to sort your feelings and shove them away. But it’s easier said than done. In the time you’ve lived here, Bucky has somehow taken root inside your heart, spread himself out within it and dug his thorns in. With each beat of your heart, they pinch a little more, leave a sharp ache in their wake. He’s implanted in you, unable to be shaken, like a giant redwood towering above the others, shading and guarding. But at the same time, smothering.

Another week goes by. The demo goes well; no injuries, and aside from a minor short-circuit, it’s a success. Investors scramble for possession of the super suit. It keeps you occupied, your mind off your suddenly-absent neighbor when before he only seemed to be ever-present. Always popping out of his apartment as you were leaving or arriving. At the mailbox when you came home from work. His absence is, to your displeasure, heavily felt.

Until there’s a knock on your door one Friday evening. If a knock could be hesitant, this one surely is. It’s slow, a long beat between the first and the second. Like the knocker almost wanted to turn tail after the first but changed his or her mind.

He stands before you, arms crossed, hands tucked under them, shoulders hunched and head ducked. Looking every bit a kicked puppy. At first, you’re ready to chew him out, let him have it for ignoring you when you’re not the one at fault.

But a sniffle from the hulking man before you makes you freeze.

“Buck?” you question on a whimper. He looks up, lifts his chin away from his chest, and your heart stutters, stalls completely at the tears running down his face. “Bucky, god, what happened? Come in.”

His arm is hot where you grab onto him, tug him into your apartment. His feet are bare, as if he hadn’t had time or care to find socks, much less shoes. You know you should be angry with him, are such underneath, but it’s easy to brush it aside when he’s so obviously hurting.

He takes up half your couch when you sit him down, offer him tea to which he barely nods. It only takes a few minutes, but Bucky’s damn near sobbing again when you return with the hot mug. It burns a ring into your coffee table but it’s ignored in favor of wrapping Bucky in the blanket you keep on the back of the couch for lazy movie nights in.

He tugs it up to his nose, calms himself by taking a few deep breaths. Those oceanic eyes glimmering again with tears and it breaks your heart all over again. You’ve never seen a man look so broken, so lost.

“Bucky?” you ask, lay a hand on the blanket over his knee. His eyelids flutter as he looks over at you, eyes clearing just a bit in realization, and he seems to recoil in embarrassment. It’s visible, the wall he tries to throw up but you grasp at his hand when he reaches to rub at his face. “Bucky, what happened?”

He sniffs hard, coughs a bit to clear his throat, and mumbles, “I don’t know why I came here.”

It stings, but he continues, “You’re mad at me. You should be.”

Fingers lace between his tattooed ones, squeeze reassuringly. “Bucky, the only thing I am right now is concerned. What happened?”

“Sharon came home, uh, yesterday. We’ve been fighting more.” You don’t say anything; you’ve heard him through the walls enough recently. “She came home, apologized, we made up. She went in to take a shower this morning, left her phone on the nightstand. You know, I never realized she locks her phone now. Never even crossed my mind. Has a password and everything. Well, it, uh, it went off, and I looked at it. The preview anyways. It was a photo, from what I could see from some guy named Rob.”

You feel like your heart plummets into your stomach. You don’t need him to finish before you’re wrapping yourself around him as he begins to cry again. Your own eyes burn with suffering, with the obvious heartbreak in his voice, in his eyes.

“Bucky, I’m so sorry,” you whisper. His hair is silk as your fingers card through it, nails scraping gently along his scalp, the back of his neck. 

His face is tucked into your neck, breath hot against the skin there, and you have to push aside the realization that it brings goosebumps to your arms. His massive arms wind around you, tug you closer as he lets out all of his anguish. Months of arguing, of insecurity, of pointless arguments have all come to fruition, come to a sharp, jagged head that you swear you can feel yourself. It’s all laid out for you to feast your eyes upon.

His kiss is unexpected, makes your eyes fly open and hands to tightly grasp his wrists where his cup your face. It tastes of his tears, salty-sweet, and while your heart soars and tries to relish it, your brain jumps in.

“Bucky.” It’s weak on your tongue, but you tighten your grip on his wrists and attempt to pull back.

“Please,” is his sobbing beg, cheeks shiny with new tears, “please, I need…”

To feel something, are the unspoken words, something besides this heartbreak.

You give in. You let him pull your mouth back to his, let him part your lips with his tongue. It’s heaven, kissing him, and it’s so overdue. So goddamn overdue. You whimper against his mouth, against the wet curl of his tongue, and you can feel when it shifts. The atmosphere, the kiss itself. It becomes less about curing his heartbreak and more about his desire for you.

He lifts you from the couch, whines when you wrap your legs around his waist and grind against him. Hands fisting in his hair to wrench his head back and latch your lips onto his neck. It’s exhilarating, having this mountain of a man at your control. He finds his way to your bedroom, grunts an apology when he knocks your bottom against the door frame. 

You sigh when he sits at the edge of your bed, his large hands cupping your ass and pulling you into him, into the hard length of him tenting his sweatpants. It’s too much and not enough all at once, feeling the firm planes of him under you. Shuddering when he slides his hands under your shirt, you let him strip you of it. You’re braless, your bare breasts on full display for him and the heat of his gaze raises goosebumps on your arms.

Part of you wants to cover up, but the sheer awe and adoration on his face makes you bold. You scramble off his lap, stand before him and tuck your fingers into the waistband of your own sweats. They pool at your feet, and you’re naked for him. His gaze alone takes you apart, like fire as it rakes over your form.

His broad chest heaves as he lifts a hand to reach for you, but you dodge it, sink gracefully to your knees instead. Bucky’s eyes go wide and his cheeks fill with pink. Jaw muscles jump with the need to tell you, you don’t have to.

But you’ve been waiting to have Bucky, all of him, and you’d rather die than wait any longer.

He offers no resistance when you tug on his pant legs and raises his hips. They’re tossed elsewhere, and you smirk when you see he too is bare underneath. With one hand he reaches behind his head and tugs his shirt off, and dear God, you nearly want to faint.

Every inch of him is sculpted muscle, adorned beautifully with tattoos in both black and grey and in vivid color. He’s magnificent, and right now, he’s yours. The moan that pulls from his throat when you wrap your hand around him is music to your ears, a beautiful sound that sends wet heat straight to your core. You feel it between your thighs as you kneel, brace yourself on his thigh, nails scraping gently across the sensitive skin and the coarse hair there.

A small taste, a flick of your tongue along the underside of him. A strangled hiss from the man above you, who leans back on one hand, cards the other into your hair. You mouth at his length, velvet-covered hot steel, beautiful to match the rest of him. Tease him to madness with your tongue and hand. A curl of the hot muscle around his glistening tip and he tenses, falls back against the mattress.

“Fuck,” he nearly shouts as you take him in your mouth finally. Warm, wet, and soft as you sink down on him inch by agonizing inch. He peers down, almost comes on the spot when you gaze back at him, pretty pink lips stretched wide around the girth of him. He has to close his eyes as he groans, fingers clenching in your hair.

It’s torturous, the pace you set. A warm glide up and down his shaft, your free hand teasing his balls, heavy and soft in your hands. It’s maddening for you, the sounds you pull out of him cause your thighs to clench. He twitches in your mouth, heady and tangy and something you decide is just him, and you pull away. His chest deflates as he exhales, a near whine in the back of his throat.

But then you’re straddling him, leaning over to kiss him deeply. Bucky’s inked arms snake around you, his stomach muscles shifting and clenching as he sits up, rolls the two of you over. He’s solid and heavy above you, wet from you where he pokes your inner thigh. He smiles against your mouth as you gasp at the intrusion of his fingers at your core. Slides them up and down and then finally, inside, and as he moves them, a twitch of your hips. It’s a beautiful fullness, but it isn’t enough.

“Bucky,” you moan, lay your head back and let him ravage your throat, your bare breasts. His tongue swirls a nipple, blunt teeth tug at the bud until it's pert and erect. You need him. Like air in your lungs you need him. You tell him as much.

He resettles over you, withdrawing his fingers, ruts his length against you before taking himself in hand. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he presses in. A gasp that’s swallowed by his mouth, an echoing groan as your walls stretch to accommodate him. You’re so tight around him, he thinks he might burst.

“G-God,” he sighs, forehead pressed to yours. He bottoms out, waits, meets your eyes when they flutter open. He’s so beautiful above you, dark hair in his face, nothing but pure want and love in his eyes. You see it, know he sees it mirrored on your own face. No more hiding.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he admits as his hips pull back. You shudder at the drag of his cock. He’s nearly completely gone from you and he halts there, just the smooth tip of him inside. He slams forward, punches a cry from your throat. “So long.”

A steady pace, slow but god, is it deep. Plants his knees wide and opens your legs wide. You’re so full, it’s so much, but you beg him for more.

“Oh - Bucky, please.”

He braces his hand beside your head, the other pushing your hair out of your face as he leans on the elbow. Hands on his sides, his back, his ass, anywhere you can reach for more. Buck your hips to meet him, send him deeper. He grits his teeth when you toss your head back and moan, loud enough he’d be able to hear it next door.

“James.”

It sets something off in him, something primal. And in the back of his head he remembers how Sharon always called him James, but it has nowhere near the same effect as you calling him that. It’s heaven on your tongue and he kisses you deep, tongue and clashing teeth and he pulls your hand from his back. Laces your fingers together and presses them deep into the mattress. This is what it feels like, he knows now. Knows he’ll be ruined for anyone but you.

You’re seared on his heart, burn him from the inside out, and god, he needs you to come because he can’t hold back.

“Fuck, gotta come for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your ear, breathing harshly into the shell of it. “Shit, ‘m so close.”

“Fill me, James, oh, I need it.” Your needy whines echo in the room, the burning in your belly about ready to erupt. He growls low, thrusts his hips even harder and faster against you until you cry out, see stars bursting behind your eyelids, and you clamp down him so tightly he comes, too.

His thrusts are languid now as he fucks you both through your climaxes. His arm trembles where he still grips your hand, and he slides off you to the side, tugs you with him while he’s still buried within you. He kisses your forehead, slick with sweat, and can feel your eyelashes against his throat.

When your heartbeats slow, the sweat dries on your skin, you feel the weight of what’s just happened. It sinks like a lead weight in your heart, and you feel your throat closing up, eyes burning with your shame. Bucky shifts, feels the wobble in your chin, but you pull away from him to sit at the edge of the bed.

He’s alarmed when he hears you sniffling, a hand over your mouth to muffle your sobs. He panics internally, the hurt slicing through him like a blazing knife. But he reaches out to touch you, flinches back when you shove off the bed. You begin to gather your clothes, meet his glistening eyes with tears of your own.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” you sob before whirling on your feet to shut yourself in the bathroom.

Bucky’s chest rattles, teeth gritting together as he bites back the emotion welling up. You’re sorry? For goddamn what?

He leaves your apartment in a noxious mix of anger, hurt, and confusion.

End

[bluejeanlouis]

COMING SOON: The Yellow Roof, 1970s AU by kiddle

Louis is a gifted musician spending his days on the wrong side of a drive-thru window. Harry is the lead singer of a band in need of a little talent. Their big break is a thousand miles away. 

Preview under the cut:

With a deep sigh, Louis leaned his chair on its back two legs, propping one of his feet up next to the till in front of him. The sun was blinding between the trees of the neighbourhood across the street, striking his eyes through the drive-thru window. He yanked the blind closed even though he wasn’t supposed to when the Fotomat was open. But there was no one around and his ability to give a shit had decreased significantly today. Slurping on the can of Coke he brought with him, he pulled out his lyric book.

Louis was not a poet. In fact, the pretentious and dull poetry class he took in his second semester at college was detrimental in his decision to drop out a year later. He didn’t like the confusion of poetry and the rules despite being an art form that claimed to be free of them. Don’t get him wrong, he was confident in his own writing, he just didn’t want to be taught how to do it.

But one look under the cover of that notebook would reveal pages and pages of poetic garbage. Some of it was great, and a couple had even ended up as actual songs back when Louis was performing solo at bars before he gave up on that too. Most of it was scribbled chicken scratch. That was just his process.

He held the notebook against his knees, tracing dark lines across the last words he wrote last night with his pen. It was some bullshit angsty heartbreak harnessed from his high school first love mixed with the anger of being sacked from a band that he was the best instrumentalist in. Sometimes that kind of emotion makes for a perfect writing session, and sometimes it’s a diary entry you never want to see the light of day.

Louis bit the end of his pen, rereading the words on his page. ‘Heart’ had to be the most overused word in love songs, and he had it down in every verse and the chorus. Love songs weren’t even what he wanted to write about. It wasn’t the only feeling out there. It sure as hell wasn’t the most predominant one in his mind.

A loud and abrupt knock on the window made Louis nearly leap out of his seat. His notebook and pen tumbled to the ground as he dropped his feet from the desk. He yanked on the string to make the blind spring back up, knocking his Coke over in the process. He picked it up just as quick, groaning at the mess it made. All the commotion caused the stack of pickup envelopes next to the widow to splay out over the desk in front of him. Now that the customer could see him, he tried to push him all out of the way before he slid the window open.

“Hi, welcome to— Shit!”

One of the envelopes had landed in the small puddle of spilled Coke. He tried to wipe it off on his jeans as quickly as he could before returning it to the scattered pile with the others. Once he finally composed himself, he tried to greet the customer properly.

But then his face fell to disgust.

“What are you doing here?”

“You left so quickly yesterday, we didn’t have the chance to talk,” said Harry, the lead singer of Louis’ former going-nowhere band. Harry had one hand casually rested on the steering wheel, the other elbow poking out the window, and sunglasses sitting low on his nose. Louis hated how effortlessly cool he could always look. It made him the perfect goddamn lead singer.

Louis rolled his eyes. “What did you want me to do? Beg for you to let me stay? ‘You’re out of the band’ was pretty loud and clear.”

“I mean, I thought we could have a discussion about it.”

“So you showed up to my work to have a discussion about it?” He hunched over so just his head was sticking out the window, his fist squished into his cheek to hold his head up.

“You wouldn’t answer the phone last night.”

“Take a hint,” he snapped, then slid the window shut with enough force to make it bounce halfway open again. He pushed it the rest of the way closed in a huff.

But Harry hadn’t driven away yet, so Louis slumped over in his chair and refused to look in his direction. Why the hell would he show up here? Just to rub it in his face? The new guy always loses the band argument. Louis was over it, and he had the faint remnants of a hangover to prove it.

He took a swig of his Coke that was now almost empty. No one ever left any napkins around here, but a few tissues seemed to do the trick to sop up that puddle. As he tried to avoid getting sticky hands, Louis could see Harry getting out of his car in the bottom corner of his eye. Then he heard the window opening again.

“Louis, listen to me,” Harry pressed. He had his hand in the way so Louis couldn’t shut it, but it did cross Louis’ mind to crush his fingers just to get him out of here.

“Go away,” he stated, pulling the roller blind between them. If only it was soundproof.

The blind sprung up again, revealing a wildly frustrated Harry on one side and an indifferent Louis on the other. He was pretending to read a copy of Vogue that one of the girls from the after-school shift left behind last night.

“We have a meeting with a record company in L.A. and they’re expecting a four-piece to show up. There’s no time to find a new bassist, so you’re back in the band.”

Louis folded down one corner and peeked his eye over Carrie Fisher’s head.

“How’d you get a meeting? The band sucks.”

Harry stared at him, angrily chewing on his lip, then turned around with a huff. “Fuck you,” he muttered, opening his car door.

Louis waited for him to start the engine and leave, but then the words “L.A.” and “record company” flashed with lights and sirens in his mind, and he imagined this opportunity driving off and never looking back.

“Wait!” Louis called out, tossing the magazine to the side and launching himself out the back door. He ran across the front of the car and slammed his hands on the hood so Harry couldn’t move the car an inch further. They eyed each other, and when Louis trusted that Harry wouldn’t speed off the moment he moved, Louis ran around to the passenger seat and got in.

Harry shook his head, both hands gripped tight on the steering wheel. “I’ve been dealing with your bullshit for ten years, man,” he said.

So maybe Louis wasn’t being totally truthful about what happened with the band.

Louis met Harry in his first year of middle school. They ended up in the same gym class, which was hell for every twelve-year-old, but for people like Louis and Harry, it was just a little too much to bear. They found skillful ways to ditch whenever possible, especially when it came to running the mile. Sometimes they’d hang out near the back of the group when everyone was filling out the gym doors, then slip out the side and circle the building before the teacher saw. The equipment closet was full of plenty of hiding spaces that begged to be taken advantage of. The best days were when they had a substitute who wouldn’t even notice that they never came back from a bathroom break in the change room.

In high school, they drifted, hanging out in the same group of freaks and burnouts, but not often with each other. They’d find themselves at the same parties and bickering in the same cars full of friends, but that initial bond had faded. Once college rolled around, they weren’t surprised to find out they’d be going to the same state school, but discovering their dorms were across the hall from each other was quite the shock.

They had become inseparable again, except for the inevitable monthly fights that left them not speaking to each other for days at a time. That went on for about two years until Louis dropped out and Harry continued with his literature degree. During that time, they hardly saw each other at all. Louis began to wonder if their friendship had only ever been one of convenience. But just as the year of 1972 was beginning, Louis got a phone call from that on-and-off best friend of his asking if he wanted to join his band.  

Harry and Louis fought from day one, but just as much as they hated each other’s guts, they loved each other too. Louis would still consider Harry his friend, but he would have no problem telling him what an insufferable bastard he was right to his face. It was a brotherly bond. Sort of.

“How’d you get the meeting?” Louis asked, turning sideways in his seat. “When is it?”

“We sent in our demo and they want to talk to us. That’s it,” he said. “The meeting is next week and they want all of us there.”

“Me included?”

“You’re on the demo.”

The demo was pretty shit if you asked Louis, but he decided to keep that to himself. They recorded it at their old college in the crummy basement studio run by students, and you could guess that by the first listen. Louis looked out at the empty parking lot ahead of them. He had memorized every detail of this parking lot. It had become the scenery for his life. He couldn’t wait until he never had to look at it again.

“Do you actually want me back in the band?” Louis wondered, sincerity in his voice for once.

“I—” Harry started, but didn’t look him in the eye. “I want to be at a place where you could be in the band without the two of us constantly at each other’s necks.”

“That would be nice, yeah,” Louis sighed.

They sat in silence, Louis weighing his options and Harry wondering if he really should’ve taken that ignored phone call as a hint.

“So, what, is this to discuss an album deal?” Louis asked, hoping more detail might help his decision.

“It’s to discuss our potential. They didn’t tell me a whole lot, but if they want to spend their time on us then they gotta have some hope.”

A car horn blared loudly behind them, an impatient customer waiting his turn to desperately develop the photos from his five-year-old’s birthday party, surely. It startled them, but that was Louis’ cue to get back to work, he supposed.

“Can I think about it?” Louis asked. He was already halfway out the door.

“Not for too long. We meet them next week.”

The horn blared again.

“One second!” Louis called out. The guy in the car flipped him the bird and Louis wasn’t hesitant to send him one right back.

“What’s the label?”

“CBS,” Harry said.

Shit, Louis thought. CBS was no joke.

“Move your fucking car!” the guy behind them hollered out his window.

Harry glanced at the angry face in his rear-view mirror, then ignored it completely. Louis looked like he was about to leave, but Harry grabbed his arm to stop him. “Before you go, take this.” He dropped a roll of film into Louis’ open palm.

Louis looked at it curiously, his other hand on the door handle. “What’s this?”

Harry laughed. “Photos I need to get developed. This is a Fotomat, is it not?”

“It is,” Louis said slowly.

“I’ll be back in twenty-four hours,” Harry said, plucking his sunglasses off the dash and sliding them onto his face. “For those photos and for an answer.”

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[thetoolaisle]

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